14. Behind the Mask

 “I can explain.”

Hellebore took a few halting steps forward, a silhouetted shadow in the darkness of the gloom-draped hall. Water dripped from their cloak, leaving a trail of dark splotches on the boards behind them.

Most of the party took an instinctive step backwards, but Valerios surged forth like a moustachioed avalanche.

“Explain what, thief?” he demanded, looming down until their faces were inches apart. Their difference in heights was so great that he was practically doubled over. “Why we have a dead assassin in our camp? How it was they knew where to find us? Or how about why they said it was your fault they came?”

His angry breath condensed on the porcelain mask, dulling the shiny surface. Hellebore stared up at him, frozen.

“This… must seem strange…” they began. Their hesitant words were immediately interrupted by a delicate giggle.

“Oh my god, it’s so strange, yes,” Freija drawled. “The professional criminal hiding their identity turned out to be a shady little rat.”

She held out a finger. Icy mist swirled above it, a perfect icicle forming on her fingertip. It span slowly, ready to fly.

“Let’s kill them.”

“Absolutely not!” Lux hurried past Freija, swatting the ice knife out of her hand as he went. She shot him an irritated look, massaging her fingers.

Lux squeezed between Hellebore and Valerios, pressing the larger man back with a hand on his breastplate.

“No-one’s gonna kill anyone,” Lux said, firmly, and gave both of them a stern look. “We’ve only just got one of us back, remember?”

Valerios and Freija glanced at Caela, still half-hidden in shadow, and had the good sense to look contrite.

Their recently resurrected friend moved into the moonlight. The cold light played over the stony contours of her scar. Footsteps loud in the quiet hallway, she stepped closer to Hellebore, who tensed, but didn’t move away.

“Is it true, what they said?” Caela whispered, taking their hand. Uncharacteristically, they didn’t protest, seemingly unaware that they were still clutching the black knife.

They dipped their head, hood cloaking the mask in shadow. “Mostly.”

“But you accepted my invitation tonight, even though you could’ve ignored it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Hellebore squirmed for another one-word response. “Because… I felt bad. That he had no idea what was coming. I thought I could stop the killer before they got to Rose.”

Lux looked disquieted. “And you knew they were coming to kill Rose because…”

Hellebore sucked in air, leaving an ominous vacuum. “Because I was supposed to do it.”

At the looks on the others’ faces, they continued in a hurry. “I didn’t accept! Obviously!”

Shuffling their feet, they picked their words out carefully, mask tilted towards nobody in particular. Unconsciously, their fingers moved, slowly turning the black dagger, like a very sharp worry stone. Caela realised that they didn’t seem to flinch at the blade’s coldness any more.

“Someone who was… important to me… went away, and left me with a debt. Some bad people came to collect. They told me this job was one way to pay it off, but… I said no.”

Hellebore’s voice was hollow. Caela wondered how hard it had been for them to make that decision. If they’d taken the offer…

They’d all been sleeping, peaceful. Lux hadn’t even woken when the window above his head was opened. Rose would have been dead before any of them could do anything. And Hellebore gone without a trace.

They cleared their throat, wryly. “They said they’d just get someone else to do it. From what I’ve heard tonight, this wasn’t even their first attempt.”

There was a shifting in their midst as Rose unsteadily pushed his way to the front. Freija’s poultice was still doing its work - his face was drawn, his skin ashen, and dark blood seeped between the folds of his bandage, but he managed a wan smile. He winked at the rogue.

“That’s right. It takes a lot more than that to knock me down. Especially when I’ve got you guys watching out for me.”

He considered Hellebore, who looked back with that inscrutable mask.

“I know a bit about getting into debt with scum,” he said. “Your ‘friend’ left you in the lurch, right? Leaving you to pick up the pieces. You didn’t ask for any of this. You were only ever given that job because my old bosses have paid to see me dead.”

He held out a bloodstained hand.

“I’m sorry I made it harder for you to clear your debt.”

Hellebore stared blankly at the offered hand for a moment, then looked away quickly.

“Idiot,” they rasped.

Caela thought she heard the tiniest voice crack, a hairline fracture in the rogue’s façade. She exchanged a silent look with Lux. Despite everything that had happened between them, she could still tell what he was thinking. He gave her a small nod.

“You’re one of us, Hellebore,” Caela said gently. “Whoever these people are, we’ll get them to leave you and Rose alone.”

Hellebore wavered. “If you can find them, that is. They only ever came to find me.”

“Whoever they are…”

The rumble came from Valerios, a pensive aftershock of his earlier anger. He crouched by the bound assassin’s corpse, examining her bandana. He tugged it free from her froth-coated lips and showed it to Freija, who let out a cry of surprise, then turned it to face the others. Though crumpled, the fabric still clearly bore the coiling insignia of a black serpent.

His eyes were shining again, this time with excitement.

“I think, little thief, that I know who sent your assassins.”

—

The Banco de San Aria squatted like a golden spider at the nexus of the city’s canal network. It seemed significant to Caela that this, rather than any of the nobles’ palaces, had become the city’s centre.

The central building - a marble rectangle placed squarely down by some divine bricklayer - sprawled out into several smaller wings, presumably added in order to store more money. The bank’s front was decorated with a mind-bending trompe de l’oeil, depicting rows upon rows of false windows, balconies and friezes. Below the deceptive grandeur, a steady stream of citizens drifted in and out of the double doors, diffusing into a sunlit courtyard to seek relief by a shaded fountain.

Rose shook his head in wonder. “No matter how many times I see it, I’m still amazed. This guy Daedalus Gwill must work twenty-five hours a day, if he really is running this place and a band of assassins on the side.”

Caela didn’t reply at first, running a distracted hand through Mene’s mane. Her thoughts kept returning to the past night’s revelations.

Valerios had explained his encounter with Gwill, as well as the serpent emblem on the letter the Councillor had sent to Freija. Hellebore had claimed to know nothing about the Black Serpent’s organisation, and Caela was inclined to believe them. Despite everything, Caela felt the mask had slipped a little - metaphorically, if not literally - and revealed some of the burglar’s true face beneath. She imagined it was probably a kinder face than they let on.

No, she wasn’t worried about Hellebore, who sat on the wall next to them, their mask shrouded in a thin headscarf. Caela was worried about Lux, and his Plan.

“It’ll be easier than giving a fish a bath,” the boy had said as they’d set off from Menelaus’ manor that morning. “We’ll go on in through the front door, and do some recon.” He’d tapped his temple craftily. “Undercover.”

Caela hadn’t been comfortable with his cover story - that of Freija, wealthy prospective customer - nor with the idea of pooling all their wealth and handing it over to the admittedly unpredictable elf. However, Freija had insisted that, to be believable, they would need to dazzle the bank with hard cash.

Caela had also expressed concerns about potential assassin-related dangers; after all, that was what they were expecting to uncover on their scouting mission. Undeterred, Lux had unveiled The Buddy System.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, so I’ve been thinking it over,” he’d explained, with great excitement.

Most of the group had been unable to rest well after their nocturnal ambush, but Lux seemed to be the only one unaffected the following morning. The only person more jolly than him was Johannes, who had managed to sleep through the whole ordeal without so much as rolling over. He’d found it all rather amusing at breakfast.

“It’s a buddy system,” Lux had continued, counting them off on his fingers. “We split into pairs, and then those two people focus on looking after each other. That way no-one gets left on their own in a crisis.”

His cheer seemed to dip at the mention of a crisis, and Caela remembered how he’d looked when she’d told him to leave her behind in the basement. After a moment, though, he recovered his momentum.

“It’ll be me and Coach, Freija and Caela, then Hellebore and Valerios. I guess that leaves Mr Johannes on his own.”

“I want to be with Rose!” Freija had objected, pouting. “I need a meat shield, and he’s quite good at surviving injuries.”

“And I can’t sneak around with a man in full plate,” Hellebore had pointed out.

That had sparked several more rounds of negotiation. Eventually they’d settled on the few pairs that nobody could object to too strongly. Caela and Mene. Johannes and Valerios. Rose and Hellebore. Lux and Freija.

Then had come the next stage of The Plan, courtesy of their resident battlefield tactician.

“We shall split into two forces, to better pincer our foe,” Valerios had announced.

“The Black Serpents know the Thief and the Dancer, so these two will stay outside. Likewise, the wolf is not suitable for an undercover mission. Wolves do not normally walk into banks.”

It was hard to argue. Mene didn’t seem offended by the remark.

“I will lead the vanguard, alongside the wizard, Lux and Miss Freija,” Valerios had continued. “We shall uncover the Serpents’ base of operations within the bank, and regroup at noon to plan our attack.”

Thus Caela, Mene, Rose and Hellebore had been assigned a vantage point to cover the bank’s front doors. It was along a raised bridge, shaded by a row of olive trees; a pleasant enough place to sit, in other circumstances. Caela had immediately realised her task was impossible; even discounting alternative entrances, there were far too many people milling around the courtyard to track. Still, she’d kept to her post, even though Lux’s group had now been gone for well over two hours.

What’s taking them so long? she wondered.

She was brought back to her thoughts by a jangling sound. A rotund street peddler in a washed-out jester’s outfit was hobbling along the bridge, a tray hanging around his neck bearing a dozen bulging paper bags and a small coin bowl.

“Nuts! Nuts! Get your nuts!” called the jester. He caught her eye and approached, grinning hopefully.

Rose shrugged, and dropped a couple of coppers into the bowl.

“Ooh, thankee, sir,” the peddler said.

Rose hovered his hand over one bag, but the man stopped him with a surprisingly quick movement. “Not that one, sir, that’s the poisoned one!”

He, alone, chortled at the joke. “Just fooling, sir, but you’ve got to be careful around here. Never know when someone’s going to slip something in your food.” He rambled on, seemingly oblivious to the change in mood. “Or in your drink, or around your neck, or in the small of your back.”

For the first time, the man looked at them properly. His piggy eyes glittered. When he spoke again, his voice was completely different, the jollity replaced with refined coolness.

“We have your friends. I suggest you come along if you want to see them again - with all their limbs attached. And don’t try anything funny. I’ve got a loaded crossbow on the underside of this tray.”

Mene growled, but Caela put a warning hand on his muzzle. She looked at Rose, his face torn between laughter and anger, and at Hellebore, whose mask showed no emotion at all.

“We’ll come quietly,” she said.

—

“Sorry, sir, no weapons in the bank.”

Valerios’ vanguard team had passed through the front doors of the bank and walked straight into their first obstacle.

The guard was a large man, though still half the size of Valerios, and was looking at the paladin’s portable armoury with dismay.

Valerios glared derisively at the guard. “These are my personal arms. I need them to defend myself.” He looked past the guard, into the bank. “From thieves. Of my money.”

The guard shuffled uncomfortably. He didn’t want trouble, it seemed, but Lux couldn’t tell how the man would act if trouble did arise. “Sorry sir, but that’s the rules. The bank does guarantee the safety of yourself and your possessions within these walls. We take security very seriously.”

“That’s great,” Freija interjected, slipping under Valerios’ arm. “Because I’m actually planning to open an account, and I’m so concerned about the security!”

She patted Valerios on the arm. “Go on, leave your weapons with the nice man to look after. We’re just here to have a look around, right?”

After a meaningful glance, Valerios reluctantly unclasped the straining buckles on his pauldrons. The whole mass of scabbards slid off his back, landing in a three-foot-high pile of steel and leather. The paladin pointed a thick finger at the daunted guard. “Not. One. Missing.”

The guard nodded vigorously, gesturing for them to pass.

Freija made a beeline for a free counter, while Johannes ambled away into the throngs of people. Valerios assessed the regularly-spaced bank guards with disapproval.

Lux took the time to appreciate the vaulted hall’s interior as Freija yapped away at her bank teller. A dozen polished counters had been constructed around the hall’s perimeter, each staffed by a teller half-hidden behind a stack of paperwork. Runners skated across the gleaming floor, bearing even more paper in a byzantine pattern that Lux couldn’t begin to decipher. He observed that banking seemed to be mostly about bits of paper, and much less about actual gold pieces.

Eventually, Freija returned, triumphantly bearing one such paper fragment. Just as well - she’d been unleashing a torrent of chatter upon the poor teller for at least an hour, maybe more.

“What have you found out?” Lux asked excitedly as Valerios rejoined them, still grumbling to himself.

Freija beamed up at the two men. “I learned a lot about banking. I think I want to be one. It’s very complicated, but I got us started with a basic account.”

Lux nodded. That had been their cover story. In order to bolster their disguise, the party had pooled every penny they’d earned and put it in Freija’s heaving bag.

Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him.

“Wait, you actually set one up? I thought that was just an excuse to ask about security?”

“Oh, no problem! The bank is super secure, our money’s going to be so safe.” She looked very proud of her good work.

The paladins stared at her for a moment.

“So what you’ve actually done, more or less,” Lux said, slowly, “is give all our money to the people who are tryin’ to kill us. Or will be, once they work out we killed their friend.”

“Ye- oh.” Freija looked crestfallen.

Just then, Johannes appeared at her shoulder, with the carefree smile of someone who has yet to learn he’s lost all of his money.

“I had a little wander around,” he said. “I’m afraid to say that I managed to locate the vault, but have had no such luck when it comes to assassins.”

Lux looked from Valerios to Freija. “Come on. Let’s get our money back.”

They set off at the fastest possible stroll, following Johannes through an offshoot corridor into the bowels of the bank. The two paladins took pains to avoid any passers-by while Freija, in mouse form, shared space with The Beast in Johannes’ front pocket. The wizard ambled along, quite unhurried.

“I’m impressed you got this far without raising suspicion,” Lux murmured.

“Probably because he looks like he works here,” came the muffled reply from Johannes’ pocket.

After a few more twists and turns, they arrived at the vault door. The square of steel was solidly embedded in the marble wall, with not an inch of space for a crafty mouse or ferret to squeeze through.

“No guards,” Valerios observed with satisfaction. “They are too arrogant, placing this much faith in one locked door.”

“Too true, Mr Valerios,” Johannes replied, producing a stick of blue chalk. He began sketching out a circle of runes on the marble wall beside the door. “After all, there are more passageways than doors.”

He stepped back, admiring his handiwork, then pressed his hand against the markings. It slid into the marble as if it was mud and, in an instant, Johannes had passed through entirely. Lux hurried over and smacked his own hands against the wall, finding it impossibly solid.

“Oh my! There are jewels in here!” Johannes cried, his voice muffled by the steel door. Lux heard the sounds of little rocks clacking together - presumably being stuffed into a bag.

Valerios put his cheek to the door. “Open it up, wizard!” he hissed. “We don’t have much time.”

There was a faint sigh from beyond the door. “So impatient. Very well. Let me just get this handle…”

There was a heavy clunk, and the door swung open to reveal Johannes. Beyond the self-satisfied mage were shelves full of bulging pouches and treasure chests. Johannes opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was smothered by an almighty jangling of bells.

Running footsteps sounded in the corridors around them. Guards shouted to each other. Lux’s hand went to his belt, only to find an empty sheath.

“FASCINATING!” Johannes shouted over the crescendo. “AN ALARM INCANTATION ON THE DOOR! HOW INGENIOUS!”

Lux did not think it was ingenious. Looking around for an escape route and finding none, he turned to the others.

“SCATTER!”

—

The lookout team followed the street peddler around the side of the bank, into one of the angular shadows cast by its sharp edges.

The peddler - no, the assassin - was still wearing his tray, and rolled his eyes when he saw Caela looking at it. “I know, I know, why am I still wearing the disguise?” He spread his hands dramatically. “We have to bring back all our props; otherwise we’re on the hook to pay for replacements. It’s a bit of a faff, but what can you do?”

He shrugged, revealing the tattoo of a black snake peeking out from his frilly collar.

Caela wondered if every aspect of assassination was conducted with such rigid bureaucracy. Indeed, as their captor led them through a hidden door into the Black Serpents’ lair, Caela was struck by how drab it all looked. There were no smoky interiors, no racks of fiendish weapons. Just a series of dull offices staffed by bored-looking clerks.

She felt Mene twitch, and heard the rustle of starched fabric. At once Caela realised that a handful of these clerks had silently detached themselves from their desks to shadow the group. She reflected that looking dull was about the best disguise for a contract killer.

They were ushered upstairs into an office overlooking the main banking hall, closely followed by their passionless escorts. The room was a small taste of luxury in an otherwise functional warren of rooms. A handful of blue velvet armchairs surrounded a cream carpet in the corner of the room, attended by a modest drinks cart. The office’s centrepiece was a solid-looking writing desk lit by a glimmering crystal chandelier directly above it.

The far wall was a single piece of glass - an impossible feat of engineering that suggested the hidden hand of San Aria’s Mage’s Guild. From this vantage point, a man in trim black robes was surveying the bank’s main hall, gazing into the eddying currents of information. He stood as still as a statue, hands clasped behind his back.

There was a movement beside Caela, and she noticed with a start that someone was lounging in one of the armchairs, her vivid blue skin almost blending in with the velvet. The woman, clad in familiar black leather armour, was toying with a hooked dagger. Seeing their arrival, she sprang, catlike, out of her resting place, her hood falling to reveal a pair of ram-horns curling from her navy bob.

With an unpleasant grin, the woman swaggered up to loom over Hellebore. The thief, who seemed used to being looked over, stared her down.

The woman placed her square chin in her hand, adopting an expression of exaggerated disappointment. “What, not even a hello?” she asked, mockingly. “That’s an awfully rude way to greet a mate.”

Hellebore said nothing. Mene growled.

“Tell me you at least bought me a gift, Hellebore?” the woman continued, tilting her head petulantly. “I know you haven’t eaten three square meals for a while, but you could at least stump up the cash to say thank you to the person who’s been cleaning up your mess.”

Her face broke into a snarl at Hellebore’s stony silence.

“Say something, you little shit!” she spat. “Or are you so scared you can’t speak? Look, you’re shivering…”

Hellebore was indeed trembling, although Caela suspected more out of rage than fear. She felt the assassin escorts behind them tense as the horned woman raised her dagger, playfully tapping the hooked point on the mask’s porcelain cheek.

“Go on, give us a smile.”

The blade dipped to the corner of the painted lips, and the woman smiled as she twisted her wrist with purpose. There was a horrible scraping sound as she slowly gouged a curved, deliberate line into the lacquer.

Caela stared, horrified.

Before she could speak, move, do anything - there was a blur of movement, and the dagger was sent spinning, thudding point-first into the wooden floor.

The assassin jerked around in time to see Rose lunging towards her. She ducked, moving with the same slippery grace Hellebore had shown, but Rose caught her forearm and jerked her to his chest like a tango dancer.

Before she could escape, his arms snapped like a bear trap around her torso. The blue woman strained to reach something on her ankle - probably a hidden weapon - but found her arms pinned to her sides as Rose easily lifted her off her feet. He simply held her aloft, letting her legs kick impotently.

With a feral look in her eyes, the woman bared sharp teeth and bit into Rose’s cheek, only letting go when his iron grip threatened to squeeze all the air from her lungs.

The two glared at each other, faces almost touching and mirrored in furious expression, as a handful of crossbows were levelled in their direction. A row of bloody rivulets ran from the tooth-marks on Rose’s face. The fighter raised one crimson boot and stamped on the fallen dagger, driving it up to its hilt into the wood.

“If you touch Hellebore again,” Rose said evenly, “the next thing you’ll touch is the floor, with your nose, very very quickly.”

The tension was broken by a voice like cut glass. It came from the man at the window.

“Your threat is noted, Mr Rose, and I assure you that Lencia will behave from now on. Please, put her down. I would so hate to have to deliver bad news to her parents.”

Rose relaxed, setting the woman gently on the floor and patting her curled horns. The assassin seemed ready to continue their fight, but whatever revenge she had planned was arrested when the older man turned to give her a commanding look.

From his rear profile, Caela had expected the man to be severe, elderly, a wraith of a man. She was surprised, then, to see a pink-cheeked face that had been lined with stress more than age. He was probably no older than forty – though, when he stepped forward, it was with the easy spring of a man half his age. He wore his black silk robes like a coat-hanger, with the posture of an iron poker and an expression of polite expectation. He addressed her first, giving her a thin smile.

“I gather you’re a visitor to our fine city,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Daedalus Gwill, representing the Banco de San Aria on the Council of Twenty.”

He paused for effect, then continued, pacing in front of the window like an actor delivering a monologue. “As you no doubt have gathered, I wear a number of hats, so to speak, in my role as Councillor. Some are less distinguished, but no less essential for the smooth running of this city.”

He turned, wagging a lecturing finger that held a heavy signet ring. Caela thought she saw the emblem of a serpent.

“Everyone wants someone dead, Miss Caela - may I call you that? - and the Black Serpents merely provide a quote for services rendered. It’s not so different from any other business.”

Finally, he cast a look at Hellebore. It was not a look of anger, or even annoyance. It was something worse, perhaps: disappointment.

“For example: it may not be palatable, but it is an undeniable fact for both the Bank and the Black Serpents that one must pay one’s debts.”

Gwill punctuated the last three words by rapping on his desk with his ringed knuckle. He appeared lost in thought for a moment, before producing a handkerchief and handing it to Rose, who mutely accepted it to dab his face. The Councillor looked at the dagger embedded in his floor with a grimace, then turned to Lencia, who had returned to her armchair to quietly fume.

“Retrieve your dagger, and write yourself up for a new floorboard.”

He turned away from her, then wheeled back to the rest of the assassins, wearing a look of exasperation.

“And do try to keep hold of your weapons, people. I don’t know why I supply you with the best equipment, if you’re just going to toss it around like a bunch of circus performers.”

The assassins, looking a little abashed, followed Lencia as she stalked out of the room. Last to leave, the street peddler glanced cautiously at Gwill, who waved a dismissive hand. The peddler shut the door behind him with a sharp click.

“Are you going to kill us?” Caela asked, nervously.

The Councillor rolled his eyes.

“Kill you? What next, are you going to ask a portrait artist to paint your stable? No, I’m not going to kill you - or your friends in the cells, for that matter.”

“Oh, yes,” he continued, seeing their guilty looks, “I’m aware of your relation to Mr Valerios and company. I decided to do a little background reading after he told me a rather interesting story.”

He paced back to the window, then spun around to look at them sharply.

“Is it true?”

Caela did what she did best.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

Gwill tilted his head, clearly intrigued.

“Somehow, I’m inclined to believe you. Most of my fellow Councillors dismissed your friend’s ramblings about subterranean horrors, but my Serpents have been having a bit of trouble lately while traversing the city sewer system. It’s usually the highway of the assassin, but I’ve been receiving the most outlandish reports about overgrown monstrosities, and even my most hardened killers are too scared to go down there.”

He shook his head.

“But what am I to do, when I meet a man searching for the source of the very same problem?”

He clapped his hands, as if marking an internal decision. He gave Caela another smile - still thin, but not unkind.

“I doubt I can ask you to venture into the sewers. I doubt I can ask you people to do anything, actually. But am I to understand you’d go there of your free will?”

Caela nodded. “If my friend in the cells knew where the lab was, he’d be trying to break out as we speak. But really - you’d let us all go? You were trying to kill Rose just yesterday.”

Gwill grimaced. “Yes, rather a sticky point, but Mr Rose has turned out to be more trouble than he’s worth. I’d be happy to let you buy out his contract.”

Rose was sceptical. “How much? We’re not exactly loaded.”

“No bother,” Gwill assured him, “Your friends took the liberty of depositing a large amount with us just before their… heist. We’ll keep those funds and call it settled.”

Rose looked a little green, but Caela nodded quickly - before the banker could add interest. “That’s a very kind offer,” she said. “And Hellebore, too?”

The older man shook his head regretfully.

“Unfortunately, that situation is rather out of your price range.” He smiled at the thief - not entirely apologetically, Caela thought. “I’m afraid, Hellebore, that your friend Shade racked up quite the bill before he left us.”

With a few confident steps, Gwill crossed the room to stand before Hellebore, staring appraisingly down at the rogue. Surprisingly gently, he pointed first to the strap of their mask, then to their gloved hand.

“Lose the mask, or lose a finger.” He chuckled. “Since it’s not your debt, I’ll let you choose.”

Hellebore traced the curve of their porcelain mask, fingering the scratch left by the dagger.

“…Never this.”

“A finger it is, then. Traditional for a thief, isn’t it?”

The Councillor strode back to his desk, pulling open one drawer after another until he retrieved a gleaming knife, along with what looked like a wooden chopping board. Caela was sickened to see a dark stain at its centre. Gwill set both down on the desk, beckoning over the thief, who moved as if sleepwalking.

“Left or right hand?”

“...Right.”

It was over in a moment, one swift movement as ruthlessly unpleasant as a tooth extraction. Hellebore quickly drew back to the others, clutching their hand and ruined glove, already slick with blood, to their chest.

Nodding as if at a job well done, Gwill returned to his vantage point at the window.

“Head to the south-eastern outflow drain. Ask for Alexander. He’ll lead you to the source of our shared problem.”

He didn’t turn to look at them, nor at the bloody remainder left on his desk, but they didn’t wait for an invitation to leave.

—

Caela and her bloodied companions escaped back into the sunlight, thankful to be free from the claustrophobic halls of the Black Serpents’ lair. Their friends were waiting for them, only slightly bedraggled from their capture at the hands of bank security.

The mood was not exactly celebratory, though it became less somber once it was clear that everyone had made it through in one piece - more or less. Valerios, whose weapons had remained confiscated by the bank, was like a lion shorn of his steel mane. Freija, feistiness dampened by a spell in a shapeshifter-proof cage, was at least happy to fuss over and poke at the others’ injuries.

Rose got a cursory inspection and a cheery “let’s hope she wasn’t rabid!”, but Hellebore’s cloak quickly became more ragged as Freija tore strips from it to make makeshift bandages.

“They cut off your finger?” she asked as she blotted away blood, clearly burning with curiosity. “Hellebore, what did you do to these people?”

Hellebore winced at Freija’s overenthusiastic ministrations. “It’s… complicated.”

Caela offered a handkerchief, trying to suppress curiosity herself. “They said you owed them a debt. Or… someone you knew?”

“It’s complicated,” Hellebore said, more firmly. “But it doesn’t matter any more. The debt’s paid.”

There was a pause. Nobody seemed convinced by Hellebore’s resolute determination to drop the topic, but after the day they’d had, none of them had the energy for an argument.

Finally, Lux sighed.

“Well, we should count ourselves lucky,” he said. “We got what we came for, and plenty extra to boot. Still, it came at a heck of a price. Those tinheads took everything we stole from the vault, plus a lot of stuff we didn’t.”

He displayed the contents of his coin-purse: nothing but lint.

Johannes shrugged. “Easy come, easy go, Lux. Here, have something sweet.”

He proffered a bag of boiled sweets, and Lux took one with murmured thanks. He bit into it, then recoiled.

“Ow! These are as hard as diamonds!”

He looked at the object in his hand as saliva dissolved the outer sugar coating to reveal a glittering core. He stared in disbelief at Johannes, who broke out into a satisfied smile.

“Easy come, easy go, eh?”

15. Under the Surface >>