bulls. Which meant Vocho was no longer wearing sackcloth but a fine new set of breeches with his pilfered coat and matching cloak in scarlet and gold.
Kacha gave him a sideways look and a little hooked grin, a look he knew from old. It said, “Dare you.”
Neither of them could ever resist a dare. He flipped up the hood of his cloak and put the hat on top. At least the feather made him feel a bit jauntier. Kacha followed suit, though her hat was more restrained than his. Still, it shadowed her face well enough, and he could barely make out the giveaway scar under her eye. Maybe they’d get away with it. Maybe they’d live long enough to see tomorrow. Reyes was their only hope of that, if they didn’t fancy living in a cave for the rest of their lives. And Vocho most certainly didn’t.
He sat up straight and looked Reyes right in the eye. “The plan is, Dom, my old friend, that we get in and settled well before midnight and the change o’ the clock. Then we go and find ourselves a nice discreet translator. First lodgings, nothing too flashy, and then Cospel can go and see who he can find.”
“We could try down by the docks,” Kacha said. Then, in a wistful voice, “No, I suppose not.”
No. Not because someone down on the docks would be sure to know them, though that would have been the reason Vocho gave. More because he’d have to face the spectre of his dead father, when Vocho could ignore him anywhere else. At the docks he’d see him, hear the echo of him tell Vocho he’d broken his promise, just as his father had expected him to. It’d taken a while, but he’d broken it just the same, when he’d dragged Kacha into being wanted for murder and now this. The thought of the disappointment in his da’s voice made Vocho shiver worse than the thought of being vaporised. Worse was the thought of what would come after – that it was no more than Da had expected of him, because he was only stupid, clumsy, imperfect Vocho, after all.
“Anywhere but the docks,” he muttered and kicked his horse on.
It took a little while to get down onto the main road into Reyes. The dust there was worse, made a sticky choking in the back of Vocho’s throat that he’d forgotten about in his wistful daydreamings. They slid in behind a trade caravan and caused no raised eyebrows. So far, so good.
The guards on the gate looked bored and thirsty in the heat and waved them through without a second glance. Just inside the gate lay the first indication that they were home: two turrets, ticking as they spun in place. A guard held up a warning hand, and the caravan stopped, Vocho and his companions with them. The guard nodded as he counted the ticks, a final clonk and a flurry of spears shot out of each turret right into the centre of the roadway. Three more ticks, the spears withdrew and the guard waved them on. Vocho didn’t hang about – they might have fifty ticks to get through or fifteen. Turret guard was a specialised job, and there’d been more than one accident at the gates when a guard had counted wrong, or misremembered what part of the sequence the turrets were in. Vocho had always assumed that’s why the cobbles beneath were painted red, so as not to show the stains and alarm visitors, and said as much to Dom.
“Stains?” he said faintly.
“Oh, didn’t they teach you that at university? The clockwork isn’t just a wonder – it’s a damned good defence mechanism too, especially the seemingly random parts. Just be careful when you hear ticking.”
They made it through Turret Alley without staining anything, out into a square lined with smoothly whirring mannequins going through their motions, and then the city swallowed them whole.
Narrow cobbled streets ran higgledy-piggledy away from the square. Each was filled to bursting with traders, riders, hawkers, gawkers, buyers and beggars, storytellers and thieves. Houses leaned over the way and at points met in the middle, holding each other up like drunken lovers. Kacha and Vocho’s hats were a decent disguise but also handy for fending off what got thrown out of the windows.
The horses moved slowly in the crush, with the exception of Kacha’s, which cleared a path with teeth and feet, until the street opened up and the