time. In a few days, if you still believe you should know, come and find me. I’ll tell you what I saw.”
The waiter came over before Valkyrie could respond, and Dusk took that opportunity to leave. The waiter dumped Militsa’s plate on her side, then gently laid Valkyrie’s in front of her.
“There you go,” he said warmly. “Have your friends left?”
“My girlfriend is just in the bathroom.”
His smile widened. “In that case, can I just say, and I hope I’m not being out of line here or anything, that I am a huge, huge fan. The idea that I’m even talking to you right now is blowing my mind.”
“Right,” said Valkyrie.
“Could I be incredibly cheeky and ask you to sign an autograph for me? Is that terrible? It’s probably terrible.” He put his notebook and pen into her hands and waited there, still beaming.
Militsa retook her seat. The waiter ignored her. She did her best not to laugh.
“Sure,” Valkyrie said reluctantly. “Who’ll I make it out to?”
“Haecce. H A E C C E. Thank you.”
“To Haecce,” she murmured as she wrote.
He peered at what she was writing. “And could you maybe sign it Darquesse?”
The pen stopped. Valkyrie looked up. “I don’t do that.”
“Aw, just this once!”
She closed the notebook, held it out for him. “I don’t do that,” she repeated.
His smile faded. “I’m just asking you to write your name.”
“That isn’t her name,” Militsa said.
“Are we talking to you?” the waiter said angrily.
Valkyrie was out of her seat before she knew what was happening and the waiter was bent backwards over a table with her hand on his throat and energy burning behind her eyes. She became aware of Militsa tugging at her, trying to pull her back.
She released her hold and the waiter slipped sideways and fell off the table, sending chairs crashing into each other.
“We’ll eat somewhere else,” Militsa told him as he tried to right himself. “We’re not paying for this food, by the way. You can explain that to your manager. Also, you’re not getting a tip. I always tip, because I appreciate floor staff and kitchen staff, and I realise that, generally, you’re not paid an awful lot, but you’re getting nothing this time. I think you know why. Sweetie, shall we take our leave?”
“Yeah,” Valkyrie said quietly. “Let’s go.”
Militsa linked arms with her, and marched her out on to the street.
Once they were out of view, Militsa stopped and turned. “Are you OK?” she asked. “You don’t usually fly off the handle like that.”
“I’m good,” said Valkyrie. “I’m fine. Just … just got a little angry.”
Militsa hugged her. “Want to go somewhere else? I still have half an hour left of my break. Are you still hungry? What do you want?”
“I want a muffin,” Valkyrie mumbled into her shoulder.
“My baby wants a muffin,” Militsa said, “my baby gets a muffin. Come on.” They started walking. “So what did tall, dead and handsome want to talk to you about?”
Valkyrie smiled. “‘Tall, dead and handsome’. That’s good.”
“Isn’t it? I thought of it when I was peeing.”
“You’re very clever.”
“I am a teacher.”
They walked on, looking for somewhere that sold muffins.
Temper Fray left his sword and his City Guard uniform in his locker and dressed in civilian clothes for the meeting. He slipped his badge into his back pocket and his gun into the holster beneath his jacket. If there was one good thing about winter, it gave cops like him a good excuse to wear bulky coats.
He took the tram across the city. He liked the tram. It was smooth, efficient and good for the environment. Just like him.
He grinned to himself. That was funny.
The store where he’d arranged to meet the guy was called The Cabinet of Curiosities. If it had existed in any mortal city around the world, it would have been one of those weird little shops that attracted only the most discerning customer, those with dark sensibilities pursuing arcane delights.
But, because it was in Roarhaven, it was just another store that sold magical junk.
Temper nodded to the guy behind the counter and walked to the back, where an over-the-hill surfer type with shaggy hair was trying on lacquered masks over his sunglasses. When he saw Temper coming, he tried to stuff the masks on to a nearby shelf. One of them fell, hit the floor and broke into two pieces.
“Awwwwwww,” the surfer said.
“Adam Brate?” Temper asked.
“Yeah,” Brate said, eyes still on the broken pieces. “Aw, man.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Temper said quickly. “I’ll pay for the damage.”
“That’s a Necromancer ceremonial mask,” Brate responded. “It’s worth more than my house.”
“In that case, let’s talk over here,” Temper said, and led the way to the far corner. “You know who I am.”
“Yeah, dude, I know who you are. Of course I do. I mean, I got in touch with you, didn’t I? You’re the traitor.”
Temper let that one slide. “I guess I am.”
“That’s, uh, that’s why I called. I figured you’d understand the, well, the implications of what I have to tell you.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Oh, it is,” said Brate. “I mean, I think it is. I don’t have the full story, and you’ll certainly know more about this than I do, but … but I had to tell someone. For years, I’ve been … I mean, I have been devout, you know? My family have worshipped the Faceless Ones, we’ve gone to church, we’ve done the prayers, the offerings, read the Book of Tears …”
“I’ve got some friends coming,” Temper said. “They’ll want to hear this, too.”
Brate
