Queen of faces, p.3
Queen of Faces, page 3
I flipped through the pages, and a scheme blossomed in my mind.
The ship would unload two hours before Clementine’s heist. For two hours, the precious cargo would sit in the open, exposed.
Clementine wanted to steal bodies? Fine. I’d beat her at her own game. I’d use the knowledge she’d gathered to steal a chassis before she could, and transfer my Pith. I would free myself from this rot, from this withering Edgar. I’d outsmart the guards, Clementine’s buddies and anyone else who tried to stop me.
I knew only one spell. I couldn’t block Clementine’s magic, and I didn’t know how to fight. My odds were rock bottom.
It was the easiest choice of my life.
My hand tipped, and the clumps of pale grey hair fell into the water.
I strode up the staircase, leaving the strands to drift away on the current.
first, i went to a nightclub.
I wove through Lowtown, the twisted slums at the foot of Mount Elwar. Elmidde, the capital city of Caimor, had been built on the slopes of the seaside mountain, spilling out east into the ocean, and west into the mainland. For gourmet tea and botanical gardens, you went to Hightown near the peak. For merchant markets and universities, you went to Midtown.
And if you were Edgar trash without a penny to your name, you went to Lowtown. The poorest, ugliest chunk of Elmidde, built near the bottom of the mountain. Clementine lived in the one affluent neighbourhood by the water, a shrinking oasis of wealth. Go three blocks north, though, and you were back in the churning stomach of the capital.
I waded through a flooded street, grimy water up to my shins, drenching my socks. Factory workers sloshed past me in tall rubber boots, raincoats thrown over their work clothes. A tram pushed through the shallow liquid, creating ripples in its wake. Further down the cobblestones, a Shenti beggar crouched on a ground-floor windowsill, rattling his near-empty bowl. Traders bellowed prices in clouds of cigarette smoke, selling beer and toilet paper from the top of rafts. A housewife piled sandbags in front of her home, while her children splashed through the flooded avenue.
These days, a good fifth of Lowtown’s streets were submerged, even when it wasn’t raining. And the water was rising. More and more each year. More and more ships went missing at sea, and fish were dying en masse, driving merchants out of business. It had started half a century ago, and no one knew why, not even the brilliant minds at Paragon. Dozens of mages had tried hunting for answers on the ocean floor, using magic and submersibles to descend. None of them had returned.
On the radio, the prime minister gave loads of speeches about the rising tides, using words like hope and endurance, but everyone knew the truth. The world was drowning, one inch at a time. At some hidden inflection point, people had stopped asking if, and started asking when.
I could certainly relate.
I pushed through a crowd of drunkards, keeping a tight hand on the wallet in my servant’s jacket. After a minute, I turned down an alley and approached a flooded building, the wooden shingles peeling off its roof. A joint at the corner of town, which had moved to the second storey when the street went underwater. I climbed up a fire escape and ducked through the window, entering the empty nightclub. My wet shoes squeaked on the splintering floor, and a dim twilight haze shone through the grimy windows. After dark, this place would fill up with barflies and swing dancers, flapping their arms to the beat of a scratchy gramophone. During the day, it sold greasy plates to a handful of locals.
I bought a spicy beef omelette and a pitcher of iced tea, nearly draining my wallet. It all tasted like cardboard, but it filled my aching belly, burning the weariness from my nerves. I sagged over an oily wooden table, dripping water on to the booth, and scanned the pages of the silver folder I’d stolen.
Dozens of port police would be guarding the shipment at the docks. There was Clementine too. I’d ruined her dinner party, embarrassed her in front of her wealthy friends. If I ran into her, she’d slice off my skin with a potato peeler. And if I got truly unlucky, the Eldritch Guard might show up. Caimor’s magical law enforcement would be deadlier than all the rest put together.
And even if I made it, the cops would still know my new face. I’d be a fugitive. I’d have to live in hiding, or far across the ocean, in another country.
Suddenly, my grand heist sounded absurd. I couldn’t even hold down a pauper’s job. How could I possibly steal a million-pound chassis?
I ran through my other options.
Paragon was the only magic school in the country. Far south across the ocean, Kshatra’s mage college didn’t admit foreigners, and to the east, the Twelve Towers in Shenten had been taken over by insurgents after the war.
I had no money. No friends to fall back on. And with a body like this, no chance of getting a new job. Without my basement mattress, I didn’t even have my romance manga.
My Codex was my best asset, but most magic was illegal for civilians in Caimor. Using illusions on Humdrums would be charged as mental hijacking, manipulating the minds of helpless souls without magic. A crime that could carry a penalty of up to twenty-five years in prison. The Eldritch Guard cracked down on illegal magic like a boot crushing a beetle.
I could scrounge up the funds for an ocean liner ticket. Go back south, to my Humdrum family in Caimor’s Agricultural Islands. But my Caimorian father was out of the picture, leaving before I was born, and my mother was a nurse. She couldn’t afford a used car, much less a body. And we hadn’t parted on the best terms. Her last words to me had been screamed at the dinner table, forbidding me from applying to Paragon. She was Shenti, after all, with good reason to distrust the school. She thought they were all evil witches, schemers and sorcerers who couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t know them like I did.
I’d asked her if she had a better plan to save my life. She didn’t. That night, I’d emptied her wallet while she slept and bought a one-way ticket to the capital.
Guilt stabbed in my belly. If I went home, my mother would probably throw me to the streets, if she didn’t call the police.
The black markets weren’t an option, either, like they had been for her. Even if I had the money, the Eldritch Guard now took a far more aggressive approach to the illegal body trade. Finding a dealer would be near-impossible. I’d overheard as much at Clementine’s dinner table. And stealing an occupied body would be futile, even if I wanted to. It required an immense amount of raw magical strength, the brute force to rip someone’s Pith out of their skull and put your own in its place. Only the most advanced mages could do it.
Raindrops pattered on the windowsill, an early drizzle before the storm. This was my only shot. Turning back was no longer an option.
I gazed at the blurry pages and started to plan.
After my meal, I walked through the Lowtown stalls, a line of crooked tents and smoking grills winding up the sloped cobblestones. I swapped out my servant’s jacket for a raincoat from a gap-toothed vendor, long and dark blue, along with a crimson dust mask and a peeling backpack with a spare set of clothes. A large, stylised eye had been painted on to the red mask, giving it an eerie look. I trudged towards the docks with an empty wallet, rain drizzling as the sun set.
The first part of my heist was remarkably easy. The Port of Elmidde was locked and guarded at all hours. But the port police were Humdrums, and none of them knew about Rainbow Veil. All I had to do was stand across the street and look like a beggar, which felt very little like pretending. I hunched under a rusted awning, my boots crunching on cigarette butts and broken soda bottles. When a truck arrived, they opened the gate, and I threw my illusions over the minds of the cops and driver, twisting their eyesight.
At Clementine’s party, I’d created something fake to layer over people’s vision. This time, I erased something real: myself. I jogged past the checkpoint, completely invisible to my targets, and hid behind a crate. My hands were shaking the entire time, but the police hadn’t even looked in my direction.
After that, I slid on my mask and slipped through the maze of warehouses, dodging patrols. The haze cast by the rain provided cover, helping me melt into the shadows.
In half an hour, I found the perfect hiding spot, a dark alley between two warehouses.
There, I waited. Rain poured down, soaking my trousers and filling my shoes with water. I pulled my jacket tight, shivering in the darkness. Across the way, the Endeavour landed at dock fifteen. Stevedores rushed over it like worker ants, unloading crates in the storm. Dark waves crashed against the shore beneath them.
Slowly but surely, the stevedores trickled away, leaving only a single huge crate sitting by the water. It was locked at the front, and roughly the size of Clementine’s bathroom. That had to be my target. Two port police patrolled an iron walkway above, and four more stood by the cargo. All armed, smoking cigarettes under umbrellas, tiny red glows on their faces.
It was time. I slung my backpack over my shoulders and stood up.
Bright, pale floodlights lit up the road, and a car rumbled in the distance. Inspection. According to Clementine’s folder, the luxury cargo had to be examined after unloading, to check for damage and theft.
My stomach tensed. Rainbow Veil had great stamina and wielded perfect control of a target’s vision. Its downside, however, was range. In my tests, the alleycats had stopped chasing my illusory mice when I stepped too far away. I could warp their senses within twenty yards, but no more.
I couldn’t hide from all these cops. And if they spotted me, everyone would open fire.
On my right, an armoured truck drove towards the crate, headlights glaring into the rain. The cargo inspectors, right on schedule. The truck drew close, and the police turned to watch it. Which meant everyone was looking away from the crate, away from me.
I ran forward round to the left, hugging the dark edge of the road. Forty yards away. Thirty. Twenty. They were all still focused on the incoming truck.
One of the walkway cops turned his head, peering in my direction through the rain.
I imagined my dark shape vanishing. As I sprinted in range, I pushed the image into his mind with Rainbow Veil, hiding myself with illusions. He squinted straight at me, reaching for his rifle, and my heart leapt into my throat.
Then he blinked and shook his head, looking away. My Codex had worked.
I jogged forward and slid behind the giant wooden crate, hiding in its shadow. The truck slid to a halt, and two more cops stepped out, accompanying an inspector. I stretched my magic into their minds, making myself invisible next to the crate and erasing its contents. A man unlocked the chains on the door and pulled it open with a deafening creak.
The inspector stared, rubbing his eyes. ‘There’s nothing in here.’
I slid past him into the crate, his breath tickling the back of my neck. Raindrops pattered on the wooden roof, and I turned round.
A cop was staring straight through me, not a foot in front of me.
I froze, my muscles clenching up, my skin like ice. Don’t see me, I prayed. Don’t see me. I didn’t dare breathe out.
‘He’s right,’ said the cop. ‘The crate’s empty.’
‘A mage?’ said another.
‘The wood’s intact, and the lock is Voidsteel,’ said the inspector. ‘Even magic won’t break it.’
I inched back from the door. Further inside the crate, four limp mannequins hung from wall hooks, wrapped in tissue paper. Fabricated bodies. Three males and one female. Four empty shells, ready to be filled with a Pith.
The inspector stomped away, scribbling on a clipboard and muttering something about phone calls. As he did, the cop swung the door shut, but didn’t lock it. No need to watch over an empty box.
A sliver of moonlight peeked through the tiny crack he’d left. It shone past the hanging bodies, illuminating the real prize of the shipment: a tall glass case at the far end of the crate.
The fifth chassis stood within, like a statue in a museum. A feminine body with bright scarlet hair, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, touching the glass with an outstretched finger.
The chassis looked like a living, breathing girl, save for one detail: its eyeballs were pitch-black, speckled with dots of light. Hundreds of tiny white fires, burning against the dark.
Stars. The night sky had resembled this once, lit by more than just the moon. Thousands of years ago, before the Eight Oceans had risen. Before the heavens had turned black as tar, swallowing anyone who flew too high.
Star-woven. That’s what they called bodies like this. Ageless forms from the ancient empire of the Star Prophets. Legends said they were forged from the stars themselves, that light from the vanished sky flowed through their veins, shining through their eyes when they weren’t inhabited by a Pith. Modern chassis were merely a poor imitation of their masterful craft. They could be strong, healthy, physically perfect. But none of them were immortal. None could echo through the centuries.
Queens had walked in these feet. Poets and philosophers had spoken with these lips, swapping genders like shades of make-up. Their souls had aged, but this body remained, passed down from one mind to the next. Ten thousand years of civilisation, all captured in a single face.
I gazed in its eyes for a moment, lost among the stars.
My shaking finger touched the glass. Immediately, the empty chassis tugged at me, pulling at my Pith. An empty lake bed, waiting for water to fill it up. It felt just like my Edgar had eight years ago. No complex spell, no fancy technique for swapping yourself. Just breathing. And then reaching.
I relaxed my mind, and reached out of my body.
It began with a tingling in my fingers, an electric buzz spreading down my arm. Blue light swirled around me, the colour of my soul.
And the chassis began to move.
Its chest rose and fell, lungs pumping. The star-filled night grew softer in its eyes, as a set of green irises appeared. My vision flickered, and I saw myself through two fields of view. I watched the female chassis become human and watched my Pith drain from the grey Edgar.
For a moment, I was two. Boy and girl. Ugly and beautiful. Half-dead and alive.
Cracks spiderwebbed on the glass case, and it shattered silently, dissolving into pale, translucent dust. It blew over me like fresh snow, drifting on to my skin, collecting in my smooth palms.
The light faded. My old body collapsed below me, and I grabbed it before it hit the floor. It felt almost weightless. Like lifting an empty box.
I exhaled, the electric feeling fading from my nerves. In its place, warmth swelled in my chest, like every inch of my form was singing in harmony. The Edgar had been a dull, aching buzz in my ears, growing louder with every passing day. This body, in contrast, was pure, sweet music. Every movement I made was fluid and natural. Like two puzzle pieces sliding together. This was what I was meant for, not some grey masculine husk.
I was myself again. Better than myself.
I brushed off the glass dust and slid on the raincoat and mask, moving them from my old body to the new. As I squeezed my feet into shoes, I marvelled at the smoothness of my skin, the lack of grey, even after millennia of use. Star-woven immortality. I could still get sick in this body, get injured, and my Pith would still grow old. But I’d look young forever.
Once I was dressed, I grabbed my bag and my old body, slinging both over my shoulders, tying a sack over the head of my Edgar. This way, I could swap back to the Edgar for my travels, and stow the stolen chassis in my luggage with no one the wiser. The Eldritch Guard would be hunting a star-woven beauty, not a grey-haired boy of seventeen. These days, banks and government buildings used a complex series of spells to catch impostors, as did Paragon. But you didn’t even need ID to purchase a ferry ticket. By the end of the week, I could be on the far side of Caimor.
I would never go to Paragon. I would never graduate and join the Eldritch Guard. I’d have to find another way to help people, to make friends and strive to be an Exemplar. It was a short, painful end to my dreams.
But here I was, breathing air in a body that worked. A body that made sense. It was electrifying.
The wooden door creaked open, letting in the sound of the rain. A cop stood at the entrance. Rainbow Veil was still active, so he couldn’t see me.
I let out a sigh of relief, then choked.
Three men stood more than twenty yards away from me. Outside the range of my illusions.
One of them was staring at me.
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Behind you!’
He raised his rifle.
the guard raised his rifle. As he fumbled with the bolt, panic exploded through my mind, filling my thoughts with black smoke. They’d seen me. They’d seen me, and now they were going to catch me. A vice clenched over my chest, gripping my heart like a noose.
The other guards turned to look at me, and two words seared through the haze like lightning bolts.
Move, idiot.
I moved.
I charged forward through the rain and pictured a fireball in my hand. I made a throwing motion, weaving an illusion with Rainbow Veil. A wave of imaginary flames, rushing towards my assailants. The two closest officers dived to the ground, clearing a path.
I sprinted towards the other cops, getting them in range of my Codex. One illusion, and I was invisible to them. Another, and a decoy Ana was running in the opposite direction I wanted to go. The illusion-Ana bolted down the road, and the cops raised their guns, shouting. They opened fire. The cracks of their rifles rang in the storm, assaulting my ears. I’d never heard a real gunshot before. The men yelled at illusion-Ana, their backs turned to me.
I jogged towards the nearest piece of cover, a pile of scrap off the side of the road. As I passed the closest guard, I grabbed his holstered pistol and gingerly slid it out of his belt, clutching the grip with my shaking fingers. It felt cold in my hand, solid, like a block of ice. With luck, I’d never have to use it.
