The Witch of Lurago

A Masquerade

A Masquerade~

Ava Buchanan

Turniff, Innis

Red Watch soldiers guarded the doors of an old keep near the center of town. The Turniff outpost was a bland block of featureless grey stone, deeded to the Red Watch in exchange for guaranteeing an impressive number of soldiers filled its bunks when Ochmoon Meet rolled around. Having seen the unrestrained mayhem firsthand, Ava considered it a prudent investment on the town’s part, ensuring the cattle-obsessed crowd didn’t leave the place in shambles.

Above its iron-banded doors, two small windows on the square-faced old keep put her in mind of a hulking brute staring out over the boisterous crowds, too jaded for their antics merit his notice. The most substantial building in Turniff besides the cathedral, the Red Watch outpost also served as the settlement house. Bankers and solicitors from all over Innis staffed desks inside its secured walls, facilitating the transfer of substantial sums from buyers to sellers.

Three days of masquerading as a man in this madness were more than enough. It was time to settle accounts and go home. Nate and Duncan climbed the steps with her, fixed to her elbows as they’d been since the first moment they’d stepped foot into town.

“State your business,” said a soldier.

“Glenayre, Windermere, and Dundarien to settle accounts.” Nate held up a fistful of stockyard vouchers.

“Rothcraig and Medloch as well,” said Duncan.

“Check your swords and pistols in the hall,” the soldier said with a yawn. “Aleron solicitors are on the second floor.”

Ava’s stomach roiled. She’d made it past the first checkpoint without being outed for a fraud. She kept her head down and let Nate lead the way to a trestle table strewn with weapons. The soldiers stopped their chatter as they approached.

“Crossbow and pistol,” Duncan whispered near her ear. “Every blade you have on you. Don’t give them any cause to search.”

Ava did as he said, keeping the brim of her hat low, making sure she took the dagger tucked behind her back out slowly enough for the soldiers to notice. She slid another blade from her boot and handed it over. Her hands. She’d forgotten to put on her gloves. Even with dirty nails, the slender fingers belonged to a woman’s hands. She balled up her fists and hoped the soldiers hadn’t noticed.

They left the checkpoint without a challenge, and Ava followed Duncan’s boots up the winding stairs. She hurriedly pulled on her forgotten gloves. Her stomach was turning somersaults by the time they reached the second floor.

The solicitors would be the hardest to fool.

The solicitors came from banking companies in Greywing and Ellard. They would redeem the stockyard vouchers and prepare contracts to deposit the bulk of the sale proceeds into secured accounts, but a tenth they would pay out in silver to be delivered to the estates under the same guard as rode south with the cattle.

Nate paused before the table with a gold thistle banner. It was the largest table in the room, occupied by three spectacled men dressed far too well for the streets of Turniff. They all rose as Nate approached and extended his hand.

“Nathalyan Callan,” he said. “You are with Gilbraith and Company.”

The older man in the bunch clasped Nate’s hand. He had shrewd little eyes behind his spectacles, and his shaggy grey eyebrows knotted in a peculiar wrestling match above them.

“We are, my lord. Lyall Gilbraith, senior solicitor with the company, at your service. I hope the Rhi’Aleron will be pleased with this year’s sales.”

“It was a good auction for the Callans,” said Nate, stacking the stockyard vouchers on the Gilbraith table. “For Dundarien and the Gruder estates, too.”

Duncan offered his hand on cue. “Duncan Gruder of Rothcraig. And this is Taegan Buchanan of Dundarien,” he added with a nod in Ava’s direction.

“Oh my, how splendid. Splendid,” the solicitor practically tittered, and his wrestling eyebrows parted amicably. “Sons of the Storm Hawks here together. Truly an honor, my lords. An honor.”

Ava bit her cheek. The starched-cravat banker seemed to have a lad’s awe of their fathers’ reputations. And an odd compulsion to echo his own words.

“We are eager to see to our business, Solicitor Gilbraith,” said Nate.

“And set off for home,” said Duncan.

“Oh, certainly. Certainly,” said Gilbraith. “My associates will tally the vouchers straight away. Straight away. May I assume you wish the customary ten percent to take with you?”

“That will do,” said Duncan.

“Excellent, my lords. Excellent. I will pen the contracts. It should only take a moment.”

Ava turned her back to the solicitors as they hunkered over their tasks. Nate and Duncan assumed an air of nonchalance and drifted away from the table. Duncan gave her a surreptitious wink. They were three signatures away from getting out of there without anyone realizing they’d handed a young woman who had no business being there a sizable chunk of the auction’s profits. Uncle Fergus would lock her away in the tallest tower and throw away the key if he ever found out.

“Ready at your convenience, my lords,” called Gilbraith. “Your convenience, of course.”

Nate signed the Glenayre and Windermere contracts first, chatting with the solicitors as they recounted their favorite tales of the Storm Hawks. Duncan embellished a retelling of Talon’s ransom from Blackheart as he read over the settlement for Rothcraig and Medloch. He scrawled his name across the bottom, and Gilbraith slid the Dundarien contract across the table.

“This one is for you, Lord Taegan” His hand lingered on the contract, awaiting an acknowledgment she dared not give. “I must say you are the quiet one. Quiet indeed.”

“I don’t think the lad has said a word since he got here,” said one of Gilbraith’s associates.

“Tae’s a bit green around the gills this morning.” Duncan’s hearty slap on her back sent her stumbling.

“First time here.” Nate caught her arm before she sprawled across Gilbraith and Company’s table. “He’s learning the lessons of a nasty hangover, I’m afraid.”

Ava grunted and nodded, wobbling a bit for good measure.

“Ah, yes. The sweet temptations of Turniff,” Gilbraith chuckled. “No matter. As long as he can sign his name.” He offered her the quill. “Sign here, my lord. Sign here.”

# # #

They ducked and darted through the throngs milling about in the streets, the pouches of gold falkenders and silver deira strapped under their tunics adding fresh urgency to their plans to depart Turniff. Duncan led the way through narrow side streets and alleyways, cutting a haphazard path through the tight-stitched rag quilt of buildings.

Turniff was a town that had grown too fast and with little thought to permanence. Shops and homes of fieldstone or brick were rare, outnumbered by the skewed geometrics of wattle-and-daub, and rough-hewn planks painted a milky rainbow of pastels or weathered to shades of grey.

“Nate?” Ava said as they hurried along. “I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.”

“No, you aren’t. You thrive on being trouble.”

“I do not.”

“No, you revel in it,” said Duncan. “Here. This is the place.”

The side entrance to the Wicked Rose was a bright red door in a narrow alley between a row of buildings close enough to touch with outstretched arms. Ava pretended confidence she could not genuinely claim and stepped inside with Nate and Duncan at her elbows again. Smoke from tobacco and who knew what else wrapped around her like a fog rolling off Lake Raven. The clink of glass and coins met the snick of cards across a sea of gaming tables.

Somewhere in the haze, she would find Rory.

In a stroke of luck, Harry was watching for them. He wound his way through the maze of tables, and he had Shaye with him.

“I quit the tables after a dozen losing hands,” said Harry. “Rory’s on fire, though.”

“Douse him,” she said. “We’re leaving. Where are Edgar and Braden?”

Harry squinted out over the tables. “Not where I saw them last. They must have moved on to another game.”

“Spread out,” said Nate. “Find them so we can get out of here.”

Duncan muttered something about brothers raised by monks and set out into the smoky haze. Ava and Shaye skirted walls, searching for familiar faces. At the far side of the gaming room, Ava jiggled the handles on a pair of doors painted lavender and gilded in brassy gold trim. One of the doors cracked open a bit. She pushed it wider and ventured inside. Heavy scents of perfume and musk replaced the smoke of the gaming hall.

Bodies moved in the dim light. Bodies with an astonishing amount of skin exposed. On a rosy velvet sofa, Braden lay trapped between a woman’s bare legs. He was grunting and grinding his hips against hers. Edgar leaned back in a chair. A woman had her face in his lap and…

“Oh, my.”

Hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. Duncan pushed her out of the room and into Shaye’s chest.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

Chapter 8