Free City of Masks by Kevin Harkness Page B

Master Arict might be old,” Salick said, “but she is scrupulous about the daily entries. That means, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, that it is possible the demon slayers were not Banes, or at least not Banes of this Hall.”
    “But that’s not possible, Salick,” Dorict said. He closed the book carefully on a strip of cloth to mark the page. “Any Bane that travelled from another city would be known in the Hall and would not patrol on their own. And what non-Bane could do this? It all seems like mist and moonshine to me.”
    “Marick,” Garet said, looking to where the small boy pouted beside his friend, “didn’t you tell me earlier that the slayers wore fiery masks and were aided by Heaven’s lightning, or some such froth?”
    Marick waved his sarcasm away with one hand, while the other covered his heart.
    “That last part was just for dramatic effect. What’s a good story without it? But I swear by Heaven and all the stars that the mask part is right. They weren’t children’s masks either, but made of stone, or so the girl said.”
    “How would you really know what she said?” Garet demanded. “You heard this from a chain of people that stretched across the city!”
    “Well, I had business, Hall business that is, in the Seventh Ward after lunch and happened to run across this girl in one of the south-side tenements. Out of courtesy, I asked after her health. I was invited into their room, and we had tea together. It was quite nice. Her parents might have thought my visit was on the orders of the Hallmaster, though I have no idea how they got that impression. But the story stayed the same, more or less: four in black, three men and a woman, all wearing stone masks and fighting like Banes against the beast. Save for the bow, of course.”
    “Stone masks?” Salick asked. She looked to where Garet sat at his table. He was studying Marick, but it was to Dorict that he spoke.
    “When was the last time you saw the silkstone suit of armor at Lord Andarack’s house?”
    There was a shocked silence as the others wrestled with the implications of the question.
    “Weeks,” Dorict said. “Perhaps a month now.”
    “We need to find out more,” Garet began, but Salick held up a hand to stop him.
    “Do we? Do we really need to? We aren’t in charge of the Banehall, Garet. I know we did much last winter that fell beyond our . . . duties, but that was a thing of life and death for the city, and it was Master Mandarack’s lead we followed. I think we should not . . . overstep our bounds this time.”
    Marick gaped at her open-mouthed, and even Dorict seemed surprised. Garet was not as shocked. He had seen many Banes cling to the traditions and authority of the Hall since the Caller Demon had been killed and peace restored with the Palace and the Wards. It was as if they tried to forget the horror of that time by pretending that no great upheaval had occurred.
    Salick, who loved the Hall more than her life, displayed this feeling to a greater degree than most.
    Marick stuck out his chin, a sure sign of volcanic disagreement.
    “Let’s leave this for now,” Garet said, hoping to forestall an argument and restore calm between them for now. “I’ll ask Tarix about this tonight, if she comes on patrol with us, and she can choose to enlighten us or not. We can all trust her, can’t we?”
    Marick stopped in mid-swell and nodded. He worshipped Tarix and would not say anything that might jeopardize his future chances of apprenticing to the Red. Dorict nodded because it was sensible, and Salick smiled because Garet had suggested it. Garet turned to talk to her of more pleasant things. At least he still had a few hours until the late patrol.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 7 Masks and Their Master
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    THE WAREHOUSE WAS a cavernous structure, filled with stacked crates and barrels. There was little light, perhaps by design. What there was shone on a space left open