“We’re going,” Mae announced. “All of us. Where does Gerald want to meet?”
“At the Monument, six o’clock,” Jessica replied.
Sin was startled. She carefully did not look at either of the others, lest she betray that fact.
The Monument was not part of the Bankside. It was outside the Aventurine Circle’s circle of power. Other people could use magic there.
But Gerald had control of a demon, and Mae had no magic at all. He obviously wasn’t afraid of anything the Market could do.
“We’ll be there,” Mae said, with barely a pause. “And you don’t have any hint of what this bargain he is offering might be?”
“Hey, just the messenger,” Jessica said. “Not even that for long.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Sin asked.
Jessica looked across at her. “Haven’t you heard?” she inquired. “I suppose the exile’s always the last to know. Merris Cromwell left a necromancer in charge of the House of Mezentius. And the new leader of the Goblin Market is a tourist.” Jessica’s coolly amused gaze slid to Mae, standing still as stone, and back. “I heard she says that anyone who wants to join the Goblin Market—necromancers, pied pipers, potion-makers, messengers—can join. They’ll be just as good as the Market people, they can travel with them if they want, and there will be no private deals between Market folk or keeping any particular magic for themselves.” Jessica shrugged. “Who knows if it will last? But I thought it was worth looking into. I’m getting tired of the magicians’ games.”
So Mae was being referred to as the new leader of the Goblin Market, as if she had won by default.
Even worse, Mae was not denying that she wanted to overturn Sin’s Market into chaos, in a time of war? She couldn’t trust the people they had, let alone a pack of necromancers, carrying their dead bodies around with them wherever they went; potion-makers, who used God knew what ingredients in their potions; or pied pipers who would pipe you down the river literally for the joy of the song.
Worse than any of them, worthless messengers who had been reporting back to magicians their whole lives.
The worthless messenger eyed Sin, looking a little amused.
“Don’t say you’re upset, my dear.”
“Actually,” said Sin, “I wasn’t planning on talking to you again at all.”
17
The Knife That Would Cut Through Anything
MAE LEFT ALMOST AS SOON AS THE MESSENGER HAD, SAYING she had to make preparations for the meeting with Gerald. Sin suspected that Mae simply wanted to get away from her, and told Mae they’d follow her.
She had a lot to say to Mae, but first there was something she had to ask Nick.
“Where’s Anzu?”
“I let him go try to find Liannan,” Nick said. “He was angry that you left, and I knew she would be long gone by now. Neither of us were ever able to find her when she didn’t want to be found.”
It was a relief, a reprieve, not to be faced with Anzu right now. But Sin knew you had to pay for most gifts in the end.
“So he won’t find her,” Sin said. “And he’ll come back angrier than he left.”
Nick nodded, inscrutable as ever, betraying not the slightest worry about what Anzu might do when he was angry. On the whole Sin thought that was better. She could imagine it well enough on her own.
“Well, we’ll have to deal with that when it happens,” she said. “Let’s go before he comes back.”
She had to deal with the Market, and then the magicians, and last of all the demon.
The Market was not, as Sin had uneasily feared, in ruins.
It was under construction.
She and Nick could hear the hammering from halfway up Horsenden Hill. The ringing floated up into the clear blue dome of the sky like bells.
Sin lengthened her stride and Nick fell slightly behind, obviously not seeing the urgency of the situation at all. He seemed totally unmoved when they reached the crest of the hill and saw the new wagons. Some were brilliant with fresh paint in the sun. A couple were wooden skeletons, planks bare and spaced out like the yellowed ribs on the skeletons of extinct animals in museums.
She recognized almost everyone who was there, milling around, whether they were helping with the construction or fixing food or—as a lot of them seemed to be—standing around talking in unhappy knots.
Mae was on the ground, hands cupped around her mouth so she could yell something up at Sin’s friend Jonas, who was standing on the roof of a half-built wagon rolling his eyes, as if what she had to say was not significantly helpful. He caught sight of Sin and called out, “Sin! You came back.”
Mae turned and strode across the sunlit grass, beaming.
“Hey, Sin,” she said. “What do you think?”
“You invited necromancers to live with us?”
Mae blinked. “Sin, we needed more people. Confusion to the enemy, right? They won’t know what messengers to use, they won’t know exactly who’s with us or how much magic they have when they attack. Besides, this is the right thing to do.”
“To invite necromancers to live with us,” Sin said, just in case Mae had missed that point before.
