Free Moon's Artifice by Tom Lloyd Page B

of buildings and streets were broken up by a tattered curtain of white, the waters of the Crescent almost entirely obscured. The Imperial District was an island three miles across – nestled in the protective embrace of the mainland that extended around four-fifths of its shore – with the Crescent that band of water separating the two.
    His eyes were inexorably drawn to the huge structure that dominated his view, one that even fog could rarely hide. The great arcs of the Tier Bridge rose high in the sky ; as white as ice and, to Narin’s eye, just as cold. The ornate grey towers of the temples on both banks looked tiny in comparison to the bridge’s oppressive bulk, curving slightly left as it stretched to the far bank in House Dragon’s district.
    The bridge had no straight lines ; each tier was suspended from a twisting spray of white arches that rose from each corner and crossed diagonally to the opposite corner. Anchored to the cold forest of arching supports on each bank, ramshackle houses ran along the shore behind a bustling network of market stalls.
    Against the haze of morning Narin could make out little of the white flags bearing the Emperor’s sun at the nearer end, but the black and red dragons on the far side remained visible. Out of deference to the Emperor’s divine blood there was one fewer of the dragons, but the largest was a banner forty feet long that ensured no one could forget where the power in the Empire lay.
    He closed the shutters again and pulled on a clean set of grey trousers and jacket. Dressing quickly, Narin snatched up his stave from beside his bed, running fingers over the familiar smooth wood as he headed into the other room. The goshe lay on the bed in the same position he had been the previous day, his breathing faint against the sounds outside the quarters. Narin watched him a moment longer before turning to the door where Enchei had hung a slate the previous night. On it was a brief greeting and instructions that Mistress Sheti would be looking in on him occasionally during the day.
    Most likely it wouldn’t stop the man leaving if he woke, but Sheti was right that an Investigator – of all people – couldn’t keep an injured man tied up in his assigned quarters. Politeness might surprise a street-fighter and make him think twice about escaping, Narin guessed, while a rope would be unlikely to stop him if he was determined.
    ‘So who is the moon ?’ Narin asked the goshe softly. ‘Is it you ? Someone you answer to ? Just what are you going to tell me when you wake up ?’
    There was no response and Narin shrugged, pocketing the piece of paper they’d found in the goshe’s pockets the night before. He went to the stove on the other side of the room and opened the pantry cupboard. There was little left in there after Enchei’s efforts the previous night so Narin contented himself with taking a swallow of weak wine before finding a twig to scrub at his teeth.
    With one last look at the goshe, he slipped his stave through a loop behind his shoulder and ran it through until the flattened end nestled in a small pocket at the bottom of his jacket. Outside, the air was muted and still, the sounds of a city waking to the day softened by the mist. He guessed it was an hour after dawn as he headed down to the compound’s high gate, greeting the other two Investigators also leaving.
    ‘Narin !’ the ebullient younger of the two called out. ‘A bad morning for the early shift, eh ?’
    ‘Morning, Diman !’ Narin said with a forced smile. ‘And you, Nesare. Not keen on finding a half-eaten body before lunch then ?’
    Nesare snorted. He was a tall, willowy young man, but with an old head on his shoulders. ‘You’re as bad as Diman – worse, in fact, you’re a native. There’s shit-all chance any demon crawled out of the Crescent last night ; it’s rare enough in winter let alone spring.’
    ‘Demons are always hungry,’ Narin countered with a wink at Diman,