Vagrant’s hand drifts slowly towards the sword’s hilt.
‘All of Verdigris is looking for this man. If he wishes to escape he will need to be clever, to have powerful friends and great wealth. Ezze can be that friend, he has found people that can help but they are scared. Ezze is scared. But everything has a price; freedom, courage, it can all be bought if you have the right goods.’
Getting up, the Vagrant uncovers the goat, detaches a sack.
‘Ah yes, Ezze is interested. What else do you have?’
The Vagrant’s eyes narrow.
‘Before, a sack of pasha would be enough. But now? Now everything is changed. Now they are looking for you, all of them. Terrible things would happen if we are caught and then what would happen to the thirteen children, the three sisters, the sick brother who coughs blood, the hungry wives, and the lovers who keep Ezze going?’
Sacks are lined up between them, leaving the goat skinny, unburdened.
‘For this, Ezze can disguise you, get you to the gates a safe way, even bribe the guards. But you will need a distraction. It will cost. You understand, miracles are never cheap, eh?’
The Vagrant holds out a coin. It sits in his palm, too bright for the dingy room.
Ezze peers at the shining disk. ‘But what is this, another mystery? Ezze is speechless! There is a good price for these on the market now, so rare.’ Happy sweat lines the shopkeeper’s lip. ‘This is good, very good. Ezze accepts your offer.’ The coin is taken, kissed and tucked away, soft luminescence hidden within folded sleeves. ‘You still stare at Ezze, why? Ah you want change. Of course Ezze would normally give something back to balance such a valuable gift but it is not so simple. The coin is valuable, yes? Yes, this is not to be argued with but most have been seized, and to sell this one on will make questions. Ezze does not enjoy questions of this kind. When your distraction is bought and discretion for sale is bought, not much left for poor Ezze. So with much sadness I can give you no change.’
The Vagrant sighs.
‘Do not be that way, deal is done.’ Ezze’s hands smack together. ‘Now we must get to work, friend, if you are to escape Verdigris with all your fingers!’
The shopkeeper rummages, commentary unceasing. A pile of objects begins to grow at their feet.
‘Ezze sees problem. You are too strange, easy to spot. But fear not, friend, here are the answers!’ A pair of horns is held up, painted plastic given the appearance of bone. ‘For your beast,’ Ezze explains. ‘Make her look like a tainted male, yes? Ezze give her hump too, and fake double tail, even you will not know her! There used to be demand for costume, some customers like the taint, sexy, you know what I mean? Of course you do! But now market is full of real thing, so hard to shift costume.’ The shopkeeper examines the Vagrant, shaking his head, pursing his lips. ‘You are more tricky, for you Ezze needs to make purchase.’ A bundle of grimy cloth is offered. ‘Put this on while Ezze is out, and hide your things in a separate bag, we hide it in the hump, yes? They are looking for man with weapons so we give them something else to look at.’
Ezze leaves. Quiet follows.
The Vagrant begins to dress the goat, pulling it into the back room. Horns, tail and hump are attached, the latter’s hollow space stuffed with the Vagrant’s coat. The sword is too big for the hump. The Vagrant lashes it to a bundle of poles, crooked and rusty, wraps them in old sacking, hangs them by flaccid bags already slung across the goat’s back. The goat does not care, her nose dives into a sack, comes away with stolen fruit.
He turns to his own outfit. Stale plastic drops over his head, a giant’s poncho. He ties it loosely at the waist, slips the baby inside. It coughs delicately but does not wake. He waits.
Puffing is heard at the doors. ‘Good news, friend! Ezze finds perfect thing at Necrotraders.’ The shopkeeper emerges, unfurling something long, suckered and dead. ‘Impressive, no? Come closer, smell it.’
The Vagrant covers his nose, steps back.
‘Yes! You see, friend? We disguise you not just as tainted, but as sick. We fix tentacle to you, pad your clothes more, add a little juice, make them think you have leak. Nobody goes near you, no searching, no troubles.’
The Knights of Jade and Ash return to the gate, hands empty.
Under the arch lurks the commander. It is still, redrawing its boundaries, shaking off the sense of Patchwork and the echo of the Uncivil. New thoughts swirl within, taken from the blending of their essences. Patchwork is afraid of their coming, that they will find something, a secret. It did not expect them.
The group forms a circle, leaning together, visor to visor, essences touching, thoughts running as one.
‘Did you find the Malice?’
‘No. No. No. No. No. This feels wrong.’
‘Did you find its trail?’
‘No. No. No. No. No. There is a hole where the seventh should be.’
‘Patchwork will commune with the adversary.’
‘They will fight us?’
‘They will seek what is ours. We must hunt.’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. We are diminished. Will the Malice take us too?’
‘We hunt.’
They separate, forming behind the commander, one a step behind the others.
People part for them, pressing against the walls, staring. The commander senses something is wrong. It observes the humans recoiling but not running, their lack of fear disturbs.
A building looms, original walls hidden under repair plates hidden under yellowing skin. The Usurper’s banner hangs proud. Unlike the rest of Verdigris, it is forever loyal.
They push through unguarded doors, pass dozing half-breeds, moving deeper. They enter a hall, filled with living matter and walls that pulse, skin-cushioned, veined. A figure nestles within. It jerks up to meet them, features hidden within its robes. The commander remembers it was larger once.
It flinches from contact but the commander gives no choice, drawing out its fragmented essence.
‘Why … you … here?’
‘The master’s will.’
‘… Why?’
‘Where are the others?’
‘I …’
‘Where are our allies?’
‘They …’
‘What have they done to you?’
The memories are scattered, muddled, enough. The commander’s fists clench, powdering the empty shell beneath its fingers. This is the secret Patchwork hides. The Usurper’s
