The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (different e readers txt) 📕

streets here, the best places to hide and the fastest routes to escape. She didn’t know the people, either, except what Sedge had told her; Vargo controlled parts of it, but not all.

The distant sound of bells told her she still had an hour and a half before her appointment. That was enough to buy the drunk on the stoop a cup of unwatered zrel from the Three Eels and get a gutter’s-eye view of the area. Then she scouted around, making sure she had several good routes by which to bolt if she had to run. From the Vigil, from Vargo’s people, from the Rook himself… The ash was well and truly out of her body, but the fear it had created remained, like a stain in her bones.

She needed a place to watch and wait. Old habit made her look up: The close-packed roofs of Nadežra’s slums offered lots of vantage points and shadows to hide in. A narrow gap between two dormers on the tenement at the alley’s entrance was her best bet; it would let her watch the whole length of the alley, and a good portion of the rooftops besides.

The only difficulty was getting up to it. Old habit might die hard, but it didn’t do a lot for atrophied climbing skills.

Fortunately, a shouting match inside the tenement covered the noise she made as she scaled the building. Ren settled into the sheltered space between the dormers, tucked her bare hands under her arms for warmth, and tried not to think about curses.

“You took my spot.”

Only the fact that she’d half expected him to sneak up on her from behind kept her from twitching reflexively for a knife. “Then I chose a good one.”

She turned to see the Rook leaning against the sloped roof of one dormer, distant enough that she could flee if she wanted. The hood tilted—in acknowledgment? In greeting? Ren might be good at feeling the currents, but not even she could read shadows. “You’re early,” he said.

As though he hadn’t arrived three bells before the appointed hour. Or earlier still. How long had he been watching? “Call it curiosity,” she said, aware that her voice sounded tight. “When you said we would continue our discussion, I expected something other than a summons to the Shambles in the middle of the night.”

“I considered tea at Ossiter’s, but they wouldn’t give me a reservation.”

“You could have knocked on my door and had a conversation like a civilized person.”

It carried a bit of Renata’s sharp edge. Not wise, given the circumstances, but what she could see of his mouth twitched in a faint smile. “You have an odd impression of me if you think I knock.”

He crouched between the dormers, gripping the edge to avoid sliding into Ren, as the entrance of the Three Eels creaked open and slammed shut. A Vraszenian man ambled around the stoop, swinging his arms, leaning to one side and the other until his back cracked and he sighed with relief.

A passerby might have mistaken him for a patron just out to stretch his legs, but he was too interested in the empty street—including the rooftops.

“Civilized conversations can wait,” the Rook murmured. “There’s the reason I invited you tonight.”

She frowned down at the man. “What do you mean?”

“I need to get into the old wainwright’s shop, but it’s always watched. That fellow down there is tonight’s sentry. Do you think you could make friends with him long enough for me to slip inside?”

At least with the Rook, she could be sure that “make friends with him” didn’t mean “kill him.” But he’d summoned her out here with reference to their unfinished confrontation—and now he wanted her to do something for him instead?

He had leverage over her and knew it. And she had little choice but to bend. “How long of a distraction do you need?”

“Long enough for me to get in without being seen. Half a bell?”

Her jaw tightened. “Why? What’s in there?”

While they whispered, the sentry returned to the ostretta. When he was gone, the Rook said, “A printing press.”

“And?”

“And, I hope, the seditious literature the Stadnem Anduske have been using it to print.”

“Vraszenian radicals. Not your usual target.” Ren knew she should keep her mouth shut and do what he said, but some reckless instinct rebelled against knuckling under. “Or is it because one of them has taken up with Mezzan Indestor?”

The Rook’s hood swiveled toward her. “Now that’s an interesting bit of gossip. Wherever did you pick it up?”

How long would it be before guilt and grief stopped strangling her? “From Leato,” Ren whispered, trying to take comfort in the fact that the Rook hadn’t known she knew about Idusza. At least I still have a few secrets. “He investigated her—looking for something to use against Indestor.”

“More likely it’s Indestor who’s doing the using,” the Rook said. He stood, extending a hand in invitation. “So, are you up for it? Or do I need to give the fellow down there a very bad evening?”

She looked past his hand to the shadows of his hood. In Mettore’s office, she’d gotten around the imbued concealment on the hidden door by acting as if she knew it was there. But that trick didn’t work on the Rook’s disguise. Even with her saying to herself, That’s Vargo, the face in the darkness could have belonged to anyone, from Colbrin to that Kiraly granddaughter.

She stood without accepting his hand. “All right.”

Embarrassingly, she did need his help climbing down from the roof. Nine days without sleep had cut badly into her strength and endurance. But when her foot touched the alley’s broken cobbles, he held on to her hand instead of letting go. “There’s a window at the back of the shop. It’s too small for me, but you might fit. I’ll leave it unlatched.”

He couldn’t have missed the surprised twitch of her fingers. “I thought you needed me for distraction only.”

“If all I wanted was a distraction, I wouldn’t have invited