Mike Reeves-McMillan by City of Masks

Author:City of Masks [Masks, City of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-03T16:29:30+00:00

“They all three agreed, nodding, aye, they had heard of Sallia, of course.

“‘Well then,’ I said, and the overlord, still scowling, told the right-hand one, the shorter, to show me the nearest ladder up to the middle streets.”

“My dear Corius,” I said, perturbed, “I told you not to go.”

“Indeed you did, Master,” he said, “but it was necessary. And now besides what else I found out, we know this: That Bardo’s is a name to conjure with among the Rats.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Master, the Rats are what those who live in the Low Ways call themselves,” he said patiently.

“You think he has bought them?” asked Felkior.

“No, I think he has cowed them,” replied my servant. “And that worries me far more; for it is a token of how formidable he has become.”

We talked around and around, unable to escape our two options: Betray Bardo and risk what we sought to avert, or arouse equal suspicion by causing the moderate Personalists to vanish all at once. At this point I revealed that I had taken some action myself towards this second solution, in case Corius’s suspicions of Bardo proved to have foundation. I had spoken with a Calarian captain, the same who was our transport to the City, and made certain arrangements. He would be in port at the solstice, and his ship was capacious enough to hold perhaps two hundred persons if they packed in tightly. If any Uncast persons should appear – or, as far as Bonvidaeo was concerned, not appear – on his gangplank he was to pay them no attention, but sail with the next tide.

“But, Mysir,” Corius burst out, “though I agree with you that he is an honest man enough, will he risk the damage to his trade? And how shall he be paid? Merchant captains do not often act from charity, and it is the nature of being a Personalist in this city that one will be impoverished, for we are barred from advancement in most professions if our sympathies are known.”

I muttered a reply regarding certain resources I possessed in Calaria.

Corius began to protest again, for he knew my situation, but his father hushed him. “Mysir Bass has done well to arrange this, and I only hope that we do not need it. Bear in mind, though, Mysir, that the costume of the Uncast does not keep one from the sight of the authorities, only from ordinary citizens.”

“I had remembered that,” I said, “but could think of no better scheme.”

“Nor, indeed, can I,” he sighed. “Corius, there is a small community of fugitive Personalists in Calaria already, is there not?”

“There is,” he said. “I have spoken with them.”

“Then at least they will not be without friends to take them in, if it comes to it. If anything would be worse than being an exile it would be being a friendless exile. Though better that than what might happen to them here.”

We fell into a disconcerted silence, and Felkior, uncharacteristically, fidgeted with his

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