3
HIS ALLEY WAS THE SAME. THE DEBRIS HAD shifted slightly, but he still recognized everything. He didn’t quite understand the utility of this moment, the crossing, which always left him in the same place. Morgan and Babieca had their own alleys, in different vici. It didn’t make sense that a city ruled by chance would allow this. He guessed that it represented a neutral square, a place to start from. The city held infinite alleys. They’d meet at the clepsydra soon, but this moment was his. The golden moss was incandescent. He smelled fish and smoke. People were shouting, wheels were smacking the cobblestones, but it all seemed far away. The alley was what he’d always wanted. His personal honeycomb, never changing.
Via Dolores was full of traffic. Wagons jammed the curbs, and several litters were jostling for pride of place on the street. This was the time for sending messages and visiting patrons. Chances were good that Domina Pendelia’s front door would be unlocked, in anticipation of morning obeisance. If they could get into the atrium, they had a chance of making her listen. Her minor infatuation with Babieca might prove distracting, and Morgan’s presence would lend a touch of respectability.
When he got to the clepsydra, Morgan was waiting for him. The heat was climbing, so everyone clustered around the fountains. As he stared at the water, he noticed a cracked die, floating. It couldn’t mean anything good.
“He’ll be late,” Morgan said. “It’s his special talent.”
“He also makes us money. We can’t really complain.”
“He’s going to argue. Maybe he won’t come.”
“He always comes.”
“Roldan, why exactly are we doing this?”
He looked surprised. “You defended the idea.”
“Returning the knife is honorable, but it leaves us broke.”
“You still have your stipend.”
“That covers food and bow repair.”
“You can have my emergency boot coin.”
“The money isn’t my only concern. After what happened in that house, I’m not sure it’s in our best interest—”
“Nothing here is in our best interest. Anfractus eats people. Why do you think there are so many furs? They’re small-time hunters, looking for conies like us. That’s all we are to them. If we want to change that, we have to play the game.”
“Returning a knife won’t get you into the Gens of Auditores.”
Roldan bit off his reply when he saw Babieca coming. She was right, of course. Domina Pendelia wasn’t going to be happy to see them. Even if she knew the meretrix, why should she help them? You didn’t become a citizen by giving away secrets for free.
“So?” Morgan looked at Babieca. “What’s your alternative plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You weren’t going to suggest that we sell it and split the profits?”
“Nobody would buy such a fine weapon from the likes of us. After dark, maybe, but not while the sun’s out.” He shrugged. “If you and Roldan want to do this, fine. There will be other jobs, but this is the first thing that’s seemed like—I don’t know. A quest?”
Roldan looked at Morgan. He could tell that she’d been thinking the same thing.
“Maybe nothing will happen,” he said. “But nothing is all that’s been happening to us for months, and I wouldn’t mind changing that.”
“That’s not—” She stopped herself from saying something. “I mean, if we’re all in agreement, there’s no sense arguing.”
“You were about to say something.”
“I really wasn’t.”
“I don’t hate change.”
“Roldan—”
Babieca raised his hands. “Let’s just go. We can decide who was right after she chains us all to the hypocaust.”
They made their way to the seventh insula of Saxum. Domina Pendelia’s house was two stories, with a covered balcony. Morgan knocked on the blue door. After a moment, a member of the house staff opened it. Roldan didn’t recognize him.
He could be my replacement. I’ll bet he has steadier hands.
“Do you have an audience?” he asked.
“We’ve come to pay our respects to the domina,” Morgan replied.
“Is she your patroness?”
“Not exactly. We have a gift for her.”
He looked at Morgan’s bow and quiver. “A sagittarius bearing gifts? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I think she’d be interested in seeing us.”
“My lady is quite busy.”
Babieca withdrew a coin from his sleeve. “Of course she is.”
He examined the coin, then tucked it away. “You can wait in the atrium while I locate her. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t come, though.”
“Her whim is our pleasure.”
They followed him through the entrance. Morgan gave him a look.
“What?”
“How many more coins do you have hidden away?”
“We’re inside. You’ve got nothing to complain about. Plus, Roldan—”
“I already know about his boot bank. It’s your personal treasury that I’m interested in. You complain about having to spend money while it falls out of your sleeves.”
“This tunica has many pockets. That’s all you need to know.”
The atrium was a bit smaller than the last one they’d visited, but she’d painted new frescoes in their absence. One of them was nearly pornographic, if you tilted your head. Couches were arranged next to a small table, which bore a glass ewer of wine and a tray of sesame balls.
Babieca poured himself a cup of wine.
“Stop that,” Morgan said. “Stop it. That spread is for guests.”
“We are guests.”
“No, you’re both deserters. Why would she want to feed you?”
“That’s a good question.”
Domina Pendelia stood in the entrance. She wore a dark blue stola with red fringe. He wondered how many insects had perished to make those strips of crimson. Her sandals were intricately laced, with bright buckles. Her jade earrings had faces, one smiling, the other sinister. Nobody spoke for a moment. Roldan could hear water dropping in the cistern. Then Babieca put down his glass and took a step forward.
“We’re back,” he said. “Did you miss us?”
She walked over to them. Her wig made her the tallest person in the room.
“You left in the middle of my bath,” she said.
“We’re very sorry. An urgent matter came up.”
“You stole from me. Everything you’re wearing is mine.”
“Easily remedied.” He slipped out of his sandals, then began to unhook his belt. “It’s only fair that you should have your property back.”
He was about to pull off his tunica when she grabbed his arm.
“Are you mad? I don’t need a scene in my atrium.”
Babieca smiled and stepped back into his sandals. “Too bad.”
“Domina.” Morgan withdrew a small leather purse. “I can vouch for them. Here’s what they owe you in lost wages.”
She stared at Morgan. “These two are no company for a sagittarius. What purpose do you have in being here?”
“It may become clear in a moment. For now”—she extended the purse—“I imagine you’ll find use for these coins.”
Domina Pendelia took the purse and opened it. “This is barely a third. How do they plan to pay off the rest?”
Before he could lose his nerve, Roldan stepped forward and spoke. “We’re sorry, Domina, for the trouble we’ve caused you. But we need your help. And I think you’ll find what we have to say more than compelling.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Roldan, Domina.”
“Roldan.” She smiled thinly. “Of course. You speak to the lares.”
“Yes, Domina. When they’re willing to listen.”
“Did you ever speak to them on my behalf?”
“I had a few conversations with the salamander in your hypocaust chamber. She encouraged the fire, in exchange for milk and pumpkin seeds.”
She blinked. “Isn’t that something? Are there other lares in my house?”
“There’s a gnomo in your garden. He doesn’t do much, but if you gave him some marble, he could probably make you a nice frieze. Something to make your neighbors jealous.”
Domina Pendelia gave him a long look. “You’ve become more interesting. And I did just order some rose marble from Egressus.”
“If he’s here, I can ask him about it. Then, perhaps, we could discuss the matter that brought us back to your doorstep.”
She considered it for a moment. Then she took the coins and handed the purse back to Morgan. She opened an etched ivory drawer in the table and deposited the money.
“Let’s go to the garden.”
They followed her down the hallway, which opened to a columned peristyle. Light bathed the myrrh and olive branches. Just as she’d said, there was a square of blushing marble on the table next to the lemon tree. It was good bait for gnomoi, though some of them refused to breach ground for anything less than a carbuncle.
“The stone is exquisite,” said Domina Pendelia. “I was going to a hire a mason, but—” She looked at him uncertainly. It was a change from her customary indifference. “How much do the lares charge for something like this?”
“It varies,” he replied. “Stone is a gnomo’s chaos. He may see the work itself as payment. They always take something, though.”
Roldan sat down and tried to listen past the wind and the faint street noise that lingered beyond the house. Marble was like pastry to the gnomoi. He must be close. After a few seconds, he heard something, like a soft tapping. He looked at the marble again. The lemon tree cast shadows across its pink planes. The tapping grew louder as he listened. One of those shadows had a very odd shape. He could feel something there. It wasn’t particularly interested in him, but it knew that he was listening.
“The stone is beautiful,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
The tapping stopped.
Delectable striae, a voice said.
“It came all the way from Egressus.”
The gnomo said nothing.
“Their quarries are legendary,” he continued. “Do you see how the stone is nearly translucent? Like a rose spun from glass. Whatever you made from it would last forever.”
There was more silence. Then:
Why make something for you?
“Not for me. For the domina of this house.” Roldan gestured to her. “She would be honored and delighted to display your work.”
Her statuary offends me.
He sighed quietly, then turned to Domina Pendelia. “He has a problem with your statues. If you get rid of them—”
“Are you mad? They cost a fortune.”
“They’re very nice,” Babieca interjected, “but they’re not doing anything for your reputation. An original piece by a gnomo would be the talk of the insula.”
She made a face. “Can I at least keep the Wheel of Fortuna? It has a water feature.”
I hate that one most, the gnomo whispered.
Roldan shook his head. “They all have to go.”
“Oh, very well.”
He turned back to the slab of marble. “She agrees. Your creation will be the garden’s new centerpiece, with no pretenders competing for attention.”
It will take time.
“There’s no hurry.”
Touch the stone.
He blinked. “Why?”
“Why what?” Morgan whispered. “What is it asking?”
Touch the stone, the gnomo repeated, and we are done.
Slowly, he laid his palm on the marble. It was cool to the touch. Then he felt the pressure of a hand on top of his, smaller, but strangely heavy. The invisible hand pushed. There was a strange pinch in his fingertips. Then his hand sank into the marble, as if it were soft clay. His whole arm went numb. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Dark spots gathered at the corners of his vision. He heard the voice again, much clearer than before:
The salamander spoke of you.
His teeth were chattering. “What—did she say?”
You have a dangerous talent.
“I don’t understand.”
Don’t trust water.
Then the pressure disappeared. The stone rippled as he lifted his hand. The numbness was replaced by tingling, then vicious pins and needles. The gnomo was gone.
Domina Pendelia was staring at him. “What just happened?”
“We made a deal,” he said. “The gnomo will make something for you. Tonight, I think. They generally work at night.”
Unexpectedly, she touched his hand. “You’re cold.”
“Yes.”
“I thought—I mean, it looked as if—”
“That’s never happened to me before.”
Babieca placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. It said something strange to me, though.”
“What?”
“Don’t trust water.”
“Does he have something against the fountains?”
“I have no clue.”
“Odd. Should we leave an offering of some kind? More apple skins?”
“No. I think it’s happy with the stone.”
Domina Pendelia looked at him with newfound interest. “I’ve met auditores before. I’ve heard them mumbling to themselves in corners, talking to spiderwebs. That was different, though. I felt something. I believed it was there.”
“I’m no auditor, Domina. You said as much yourself. Only an eavesdropper.”
She smiled. “Let’s go back to the atrium. I hate to talk on an empty stomach.”
Domina Pendelia sent for food, and it arrived in vast quantities: roast boar with a fruit glaze, hot chickpeas, wild cabbage, grilled sausages, and swan pastries, which Morgan avoided because they made her uncomfortable. They drank wine from goblets with suggestive carvings; Roldan’s had a picture of two lovers being spied on through an open window. Although they’d eaten in this house before, it had always been downstairs, where the rats gathered in a hopeful circle at their lamp’s edge. This was the first time they’d actually dined with the domina herself, and it was a very different experience. She told wry jokes, asked them about their lives, even flirted cautiously with Babieca, who was more than receptive. Maybe it was Morgan’s presence, maybe she really had been impressed by his conversation with the gnomo, but for the first time, Roldan felt that they were seeing the real domina.
The man who’d met them at the door reappeared. He glanced at the three of them, and Roldan was surprised by the hostility in his look. Everyone knew that Anfractus ran by virtue of an insidious class engine. New arrivals had no gens to protect them, no money, no friends. They could steal to survive, but the Fur Queen was known to deal swiftly with those who encroached upon her territory. The most common solution was to labor for someone else, someone like Domina Pendelia, who needed people to stoke her hypocaust, peel her oranges, and deliver furtive tablets to her many lovers throughout the city. The jobs never paid well, but they certainly helped fend off starvation. They’d taken a chance when they left this house. If Morgan hadn’t discovered them, who knows what they would have been reduced to?
We were in the same position, he wanted to say. And it’s not as if we’re flush with coin at the moment. Now she’s throwing delicacies at us, which you had to prepare, but once we leave we’ll be back on the bottom of the wheel.
Everything was cleared away. They reclined on couches, and Roldan was grateful to be even slightly horizontal, because the wine was reaching his brain. He was aware of the scant distance between himself and Babieca, who was still—incredibly—eating candied figs. The domina had a couch to herself, and Morgan had chosen to stand, unwilling to be within less than a few feet of her bow and painted quiver. She kept her eyes on the hallway that led to the atrium, silently following the movements of the house staff.
She’s always on the battlements, Roldan thought. She’s good at her job—it’s why the Gens of Sagittarii accepted her. She has focus. Unlike us. He looked again at Babieca, who had three perfect droplets of wine on his tunica, like a bloody print. Morgan watches. Babieca consumes. I wait. I just wish I knew what for.
“Now that we’re comfortable,” the domina said, “I’d like to know what convinced you to come back here. I could still report your desertion to the aedile. Showing up at my doorstep wasn’t without risk.”
Her mention of the aedile reminded him of last night. Why would the commander of the watch appear at an empty house? It seemed improbable that someone as busy as the aedile would send a group of miles to recover jewelry. And if it was destined for the basilissa, what need would he have to intercept it?
It did light up. And the salamander knew that they were coming. Why would she tell the gnomo that I had a dangerous talent?
Morgan took this as her cue to rejoin the conversation. She walked over to their couch and stood in front of Babieca, as if to bodily prevent his words from reaching the domina.
“We were hired to test the veracity of an item—something on its way to the basilissa. Roldan, as you’ve seen, has a way with lares, so he provided the proof.”
“What sort of item?”
“A fibula.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Someone hired an auditor to test a brooch? That seems like a waste of a surreal conversation with invisible creatures.”
I’m not an auditor—
He didn’t say it this time. It was pleasing to be mistaken for one.
“Deadly things can come in small packages,” Babieca said. “It practically caught on fire when Roldan touched it.”
“We got it from an artifex,” Morgan continued. “She told us to deliver it to a friend of the basilissa, who was waiting for us in an empty house. The friend turned out to be a meretrix.”
“That stands to reason,” Domina Pendelia replied. “Some of her most powerful allies happen to be members of that gens.”
“The fibula burned with green light—it must have come from the salamander that Roldan was sweet-talking. Immediately after, we heard voices at the entrance to the house. The aedile himself was at the door. We hadn’t been there long, so they must have left around the same time we did. They knew of our meeting with the meretrix.”
“Where was this house?”
“Vici Secreta, fourth door of the second insula.”
Her eyes glittered slightly. “Domina Niobe owns that entire block.”
“Is she also a friend of the basilissa?”
“She wishes as much. She’s a treacherous slut who enjoys playing games.” Domina Pendelia frowned. “What role might she be playing? If the meretrix is truly a friend of the basilissa, perhaps she hopes to increase her reputation by acting as go-between.”
“There are already plenty of those,” Morgan said. “We’ve got an artifex, a meretrix, and an absentee householder.”
“The artifex was nervous,” Babieca added. “She met us at the Hippodrome, where the crowd might act as a shield. As soon as Roldan took the fibula, she was gone.”
He’d been floating slightly, due to the wine, but he looked up at the mention of his name. He remembered the dueling miles at the Hippodrome, the smell of the throng and their wild cries, the steady gaze of the spado.
“Didn’t her warning about the basilissa seem a bit hollow?” he asked. “From what little I know about the family’s history, her mother was far more terrifying.”
“She may know nothing of this gift,” Domina Pendelia replied. “The basilissa receives trinkets all the time, from her suitors across the city and beyond. She probably spends most of her day unwrapping shiny things from desperate people. One more fibula on the gleaming pile wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”
“Could it be a weapon of some kind?” Morgan asked. “Or poisonous?”
“I touched it, and I’m fine.” Roldan looked thoughtful. “It had some kind of power. Almost as if it were alive. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”
“Until today, you’d never stuck your hand into a piece of marble,” Babieca replied. “Those listening skills are taking you in all kinds of mad directions.”
“Was she truly an artifex?” Domina Pendelia asked. “The woman who gave you the fibula? Or was she simply a gemsmith?”
“She wore the tunica of the artifices,” Roldan replied. “And she looked exhausted, like most builders do.”
“Aside from fixing the machines in the Arx of Violets, and minding the fountains, there aren’t many jobs for an artifex. She wouldn’t be the first builder to supplement her income by dealing in gems.”
“It didn’t have any gems,” Roldan said. “It was a plain silver fibula, with the likeness of a bee on a bunch of grapes. Does the basilissa even like bees?”
“I’m not exactly her confidant.”
“But you’ve been to her parties. You spoke of them often.”
She managed to look slightly awkward. “I’ve been in the same room as her, but she’s never graced me with more than a few words. Her group is a tight engine, virtually impenetrable. She only mingles with old citizens, and I haven’t lived here for so long. She’d probably still consider me a new householder.”
Roldan thought it must be strange to live in Anfractus day and night. Like them, Domina Pendelia had once lived beyond the city. She’d spent half of her time in another world. Did she have a family? A career? When someone became a citizen, they vanished from that other place, whose particulars he could barely focus on. It was strange to think that people might be searching for the domina, might be dreaming of her, praying for her return. Or maybe she’d left nothing behind at all. Disappearing would be easy, if that were the case. But to be a citizen, you needed to endure the night, full of venom, arrows, and crooked lares. How had she done it?
The domina turned to Morgan. “You still haven’t explained to me how you managed to fall in with these two. If the Gens of Sagittarii knew that you were making money on the side, they’d punish you. Perhaps they’d even expel you.”
“You know a lot about the gens for someone who isn’t a member.” Morgan lowered her gaze slightly. “With all due respect, Domina.”
“Perhaps I once was a member—of that gens, or another.” She smiled. “That would be a story for another time, though. Stop dancing around my question. What is your part in this, sagittarius? Why are you helping these nemones, clever as they are?”
Babieca sat up. “We’re not nemones. We may not belong to a gens, but that doesn’t make us nobodies.”
“Nemo means ‘without a gens.’ That makes you both nemones by definition. It’s no grave insult. Anfractus runs on nemo labor. It’s a temporary condition—for some, at any rate.”
“We don’t think of ourselves as nemones.”
“Because you have a sagittarius with you? Because you’re no longer shoveling coal or chasing rats out of my undercroft?” A flicker of the old domina had returned—perhaps this was the true version after all. “Meeting her was a lucky turn of the wheel, but that’s all.” She looked at Morgan again. “Now, my dear—you’ve eaten my boar, drunk my wine, and I’ve asked nothing in return. However, it is customary for strangers to repay their host with a story. Do you really want to violate the laws of hospitality?”
Morgan started to protest—then thought better of it and nodded. “Of course not, Domina. You’ve been very kind.”
“She misplaced her quiver,” Babieca supplied.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t quite the way of it.”
“She was in her cups—”
“The domina asked for my story, not your inebriated version of it.”
Babieca raised his hands. “Of course. I’m an unreliable narrator.”
“I was with a companion,” she continued. “We’d both spent our day on the battlements, and we wanted to share a few drinks. It was a festival day, though, and all of the respectable cauponae were full. So we tried the Seven Sages. While we were drinking, we set our quivers under the bench. I had to use the necessary. When I returned, both quivers were gone, along with my companion.”
Domina Pendelia looked confused. “Why would he take yours?”
“He was going to bet it in a game of Hazard,” Babieca said. “Roldan and I were sitting at a nearby bench, and I saw him take it downstairs. He had a grin like a pig in shit. We followed him, and Roldan created a distraction—what did you do, again?”
“There was a salamander, asleep under the brazier,” Roldan replied. “I convinced her to set fire to the dice. It’s not easy, but stone will burn if the fire is hot enough.”
“At any rate,” Morgan said, “they helped me recover my arrows. It was peculiar. I realized that a member of my own gens had betrayed me, not even for money, but for the mere possibility of money. These two—” Roldan could see that she was about to call them nemones but then stopped herself. “They helped me without any promise of reward. They seemed like far worthier company than the jackass who’d tried to gamble away my arrows.”
“The wheel often makes an odd turn.” Domina Pendelia smiled. “Look at the three of you—practically a company. You only lack for one.”
“Nemones can’t be part of a company,” Babieca said. “A blind spado would have more luck than us finding a quest.”
“Oh? You seem to have found one already.”
Morgan reached into her quiver and withdrew the knife, which she’d wrapped carefully in linen. She laid it on the table. Domina Pendelia examined it with interest. Her eyes fell to the gems encrusted in the hilt. If she knew where to properly fence such a piece, she could probably afford to redecorate the atrium from top to bottom. Roldan could almost feel her adding sums and managing possibilities. Finally, she looked up from the blade.
“Where did you get this?”
“It belonged to the meretrix,” Morgan said. “He lent it to Roldan. In the middle of the chase, we all forgot about it.”
“This is no courtesan’s toy. Its owner must have enemies.”
“We thought you might recognize it.”
“Why? Because I spend my time at court studying weapons?”
“No,” Babieca said. “Because the make of the weapon suggests wealth and power. This meretrix has to be part of—what did you call it?—the basilissa’s engine. Her inner circle. Why else would he need such protection? Surely, you would have noticed a masked man who spoke with her, maybe even danced with her?”
“The court is full of people in masks. That’s nothing new. Meretrices have always been a fixture in the Arx of Violets.”
“The mask was—distinctive,” Roldan heard himself say. “It was silver, with delicate filigree, and precious stones around the eyes. It reminded me of the moon.”
“It sounds like the meretrix made an impression on you.”
He looked down. “That’s not important. We can’t simply carry his knife around—if we’re caught with it, we’ll answer to the aedile. There’s no point in trying to sell it. If we return it, he might tell us something more about the fibula.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer to remain ignorant?”
“Everyone here used to be ignorant—until we found ourselves alone and naked in a strange alley. Were things really better before Anfractus? Was that bliss?”
Domina Pendelia looked at the dagger again.
“I slept better,” she said. “In that other life.”
Roldan hoped she might say more. Instead, she opened the ivory drawer, withdrawing a wax tablet and stylus. Roldan stared at them both enviously. She wrote a quick message on the tablet, which she handed to Morgan.
“Take this to the black basia, in the Subura. There’s a guard who watches the door—she used to work for me, ages ago. Show her this, and I believe she’ll let you in. Her shift doesn’t start until twilight, so as noncitizens, you’ll be cutting it close. There won’t be time to take in much of the scenery.” She looked at Babieca when she said this. “If you throw the dice true, you may just find the one that you’re looking for.”
He could tell that she knew more than she was saying. Had she recognized the dagger? He thought that he’d seen something in her eyes when he was describing the mask. Desire? Fear? He didn’t know her well enough to read her silences.
“Thank you,” Morgan said. “We’re in your debt.”
“Yes.” She reached for more wine. “You most certainly are.”
The sky was beginning to darken by the time they left Domina Pendelia’s. Had they really spent the whole day there, eating and comparing shadows? Time didn’t always flow smoothly in Anfractus. It had the habit of escaping from you, like a cat, leaping swiftly through the open space of an unguarded door. Babieca had matched the domina cup for cup, but she had a surprisingly high tolerance for her own wine. Now he was a bit unsteady. He put his arm around Roldan, leaning on him for support. His breath smelled of cloves and raspberries.
“I’m at the Arx of Violets tomorrow,” Morgan said. “I won’t be able to meet you until it’s time to visit the Subura. Will you be able to stay out of trouble in the meantime?”
“Roldan’s going to keep me safe,” Babieca said. “He’s got a knife, remember? And if we run into trouble, I can either sing or get naked. Both have the element of surprise.”
“Yes. Play to your strengths.” She turned to Roldan. “You heard what the domina said—we won’t have much time once we reach the basia. We can’t just wave a knife around, asking if anyone’s seen its owner.”
“Maybe the guard will recognize it. Failing that—do you think there’s some secret room full of labeled masks? That would be our best bet.”
“This is going to go so well.”
“You had faith in the idea when you were sober.”
“I’m still sober. I mixed my wine with water, remember?”
“That’s because you’re sharp as a t—” Babieca’s tongue stumbled over the word. “—sharp as a sharp thing, with lovely barbs and hooks.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
“We should go,” Roldan said. “It’s nearly time.”
They made their way back to the clepsydra, joining the crowd that was also leaving the city. Roldan studied his fellow noncitizens in the waning light, the people who, like him, divided their time between worlds. Domina Pendelia had slept easier when she was one of them. He barely slept at all. Sleep had always been his enemy, the monster prowling the edges of his thought, waiting for him to blink first. Sometimes he wanted to give in, but his wheels kept turning, powering the infernal machine that refused to gather rust. Staying awake was a talent that helped him in that other life, where reading seemed so dreadfully important. The closer they got to the alleys, the more he was able to think of his twin, the one on the opposite shore.
Words are his shield. He thinks he can read the whole world.
Once the sun dropped, the silenoi would appear. They used to hunt beyond the city walls, but now they roamed the streets in packs.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He smelled something, like a mixture of iron and rain-soaked ground. His alley was close. A part of him always resisted this moment. It wasn’t that he hated change. It was that he feared it. He wanted the alley forever, the blind corners of Anfractus, the smoke, power, and din that made him Roldan. It would all unravel. He couldn’t hold it together.
Just as they were about to part, Babieca squeezed his hand. “Tack,” he said, grinning.