~ TASHA ~

“Carry that carefully, it’s very fragile.” Tasha watched as Eva Renet left her stateroom, arms laden with a porcelain mask. It was one of a set, hand-made and painted for a distant ancestor of hers, back when hers had been a wealthy family. The money hadn’t made it through the generations, but the masks had. There were four of them in total, and they all belonged to Tasha. They were oversized, far too big to wear.

The first time Oliver had visited her, back in her tiny Tol Manase flat, he’d pointed out the absurdity of these priceless masks bunched together in the corner of a narrow room. “You should sell them,” he’d said to her. “You’d make a lot of money from them.” She’d told him in no uncertain terms to forget that idea. The masks were a family heirloom, formerly in the possession of her late aunt Danyer, and a dozen other Caerlin women before her. No amount of money would persuade her to part with them. And besides, one day she’d live in a house big enough to display them properly.

At last the time had come. The parcel of land Oliver had claimed was very generous. When their house was fully built, it would be worthy of her. In her mind she could already see the vast ballroom where the masks would hang. They’d have parties for the well-to-do every single week. By the time the histories of this new world were committed to paper, Tasha Caerlin Wrack would be the most envied lady in the valley. The pinnacle of society.

She followed Eva as the girl navigated her way through the gleaming corridors. It was a waste, really, spending all that money on a nice new ship. Most of its passengers had chosen to sleep through their journey, and the number still living out of the Eia was dropping with every new house that was thrown up. In a few months it would probably be abandoned, left to gather dust and become a relic. Now, at least, it was still clean. Tash wondered if someone was responsible for mopping the floors every night. What a soul-sucking job that would be.

Eva caught her eye. She was looking at the mask in her hand with a frown on her face. “What is it, Lady?” she asked.

“It’s a mask, Eva.”

The girl nodded. “Yes. But... pardon, Lady, but I don’t see the point of it. Who has a face that big?”

“It isn’t for wearing,” Tash explained. The concept seemed alien to Eva. “It’s a display piece. A decoration.”

“But why is it so big?”

“Are you going to ask questions all day?”

Eva’s pale skin flushed pink. “I’m sorry, Lady. I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

“To be honest, your grovelling is more annoying. I don’t want to hear the word ‘sorry’ coming from your lips, not unless someone’s died and you’re the one responsible. If you do something wrong, Goodwife Mabeth will hear the apology. I can receive it from her at my own convenience.”

The girl nodded silently and scurried off. Tash felt a little guilty for shouting, but she had to be told somehow. If this question was answered, there would be more. The sun would have set before her masks were moved.

They didn’t have until the sun set. Oliver wanted her to get on with the job, to spend her day doing rather than moping. Her mind had been running circles of late. There were thoughts of Tema, demonstrating her low morality by mocking Tasha and refusing to make space for her to have a scan. And there was the baby, her little Jem. She’d once thought she was to have a daughter, but the man in the hospital had pointed at her, and screamed ‘mama’, and she’d known then that she was looking at her own son.

Tema being Tema, she had to know better. Her biology had left her incapable of ever carrying a child, so she acted as though the mother’s instinct was nonsense, but Tasha had the instinct, so she knew the truth of it. It didn’t stop Tema from putting out an injunction, banning Tasha from visiting her son. Oliver had taken Tema’s side, incredibly. Oh, they’d had a row after that. Sesi had to ply Tasha with starflower tope to calm her down. She passed out, and by the time she awoke in the morning her thunder had died.

Her son was dead, so she’d heard. Barbara Flower, her old friend Barbara, had supplied her with that titbit. Who did Tema think she was, claiming to be hard done by when she’d denied Tasha the chance to see her son on his dying bed?

Oliver had grown fed up of Tasha repeating this. “Forget about Tema,” he’d snapped, the previous evening. “Do something to make fun. You insisted on bringing those masks—why not get them moved in?”

So that’s what she was doing. And she intended to be done before Oliver returned from his business of the day.

She caught up to Eva a little way outside the ship. The young maid’s head was cast down, and she was walking slowly, clutching the mask tight to her chest as if it was heavy. It wasn’t. They were all deceptively light, made so as not to damage the flesh beneath them. The dead were fragile, so the stories went, and burial just a vessel to guide them to the Hills of Alénor. If a face was crushed or broken by a heavy mask, its owner would be impure for eternity.

Nickie the cook’s girl was approaching them the other way, long hair fluttering in the breeze. She’d been given the job of transferring Mam Argent’s kitchen equipment to the new place, and had taken to the task without any issue. She wore a thin jacket over her dress, which she threw to the floor next to Eva. “I’ll tell you the best thing about this place,” she said. “It’s nice and warm. Not at all like home.”

She wasn’t wrong. The heat wasn’t stifling, but it was sticky, and coming up to the point of being uncomfortable. All around, people were talking, and the smell of roasting meat was wafting over from somewhere. It smelled like the open air market they had in Tredelon every summer weekend. Tema used to enjoy those. He... no, she—Tema’s a woman now—always went to the racks of unwanted clothes and rummage. Tema always pulled out a few pretty dresses which she said were presents for Mother. Funnily, Mother never seemed to receive any of them.

Tash hadn’t seen the point of the markets. They felt like excuses for grubby men to sell off all the cheap old tat they’d gathered over the year, and fund their next month’s drinking. Now they made her think of the oppressive heat, the grubby men pawning wares. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

A shadow fell over her, the shadow of somebody approaching.

There was a man, squat and chubby, his teeth red and misshapen. His hairline had receded so far that Tash was expecting a tsunami to shoot across his scalp, but what hair there was grew long and unkempt, thick as straw.

“Can I help you?” she said. A courtesy, nothing more. She didn’t intend to help him any. He was grotty. If Cassandra Fiouhart saw her conversing with him, that would be the end of her society aspirations. She felt her brow crease into a scowl, which she made no attempt to disguise.

The man laughed a pig laugh. “Don’t you worry your pretty little face. I don’t give half a rat’s turd about you.” He flashed a toothy grin at Eva, who looked away with a whinnying gasp. “It’s Little Miss Terrified here I want to see. I have a message for the bitch, so this is the point where you leave us be.”

“You think I’m just going to leave my friend here all on her own? If you have something to say, I’m sure Eva won’t mind if I hear it.”

The man raised his eyebrows. In his hand, Tash saw suddenly, he was nursing a blade, running his finger along the blunt edge. “Stay if you want,” he said, “but you definitely won’t be hearing anything. Ever again.”

For some stupid reason, she felt suddenly emboldened. “Are you going to kill me? The wife of a reeve?” Don’t antagonise him, she thought. You’ll only make things worse. But she didn’t heed her own thoughts. “And what about Eva? Will you kill her too? If you don’t, she’ll raise the alarm. You want to risk a murder sentence?”

The grotty man grinned. “If you think the little bitch is going to be raising any alarms, you don’t know her well enough to die for her. She won’t say a word.”

“Okay then,” said Tash. “If you’re sure.” Trembling as she was, her voice remained steady.

For a minute, she thought the man was going to follow through on his threat. He gripped his knife tighter, so tight his knuckles turned white, and briefly raised it. She tried to recall a prayer. What was the one Aunt Danyer used to say? Something about pillars and seas.

With a sigh, the man pocketed his blade. “The Ealdor wants this bitch dead.” He looked Eva in the eye, as though he was looking at distended faeces. “Your friends can’t be everywhere, bitch. Watch your step.”

When the man was gone, Tash turned to Eva. The poor girl was shaking. “Give me that before you drop it.” She took the mask from Eva and set it gently on the ground. It was a favourite, with markings of red lacquer on it in an imitation of a pattern carved into the rock innards of the Caerlin barrows—a kind of curved cross, each line bulging in the middle. Her ancestors had wielded this mark when they were kings of their small corner. If Eva dropped this one, she’d never be able to shake off the debt.

“You... think me a friend...” Eva spoke hoarsely through tears.

Tash couldn’t abide weepers. “Stop that,” she said. Little infants cried, not grown women. Eva rubbed at her nose, and a large bead of yellow snot came away on her hand. She rubbed it off on the side of her dress.

“I’m sorry, Lady,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

“No. You shouldn’t.” Eva was a state. It would be to nobody’s benefit to make her stay. “Go and see Goodwife Mabeth. Get yourself cleaned up.”

“But Lady... your masks...”

“I can move them myself.” And then see about getting a manicure to fix the mess it’ll make of my fingers. “Go on, go. You look like an urchin.”

Eva quickly disappeared.

As luck would have it, Lieutenant Sharp was on the gate when Tash reached the house. He took pity on her, and sent a couple of the household guard to help her move the masks. Wilkie and Quant did the brunt of the lifting. They didn’t ask nearly as many questions as Eva did.

Tash hung a few of her favourite masks on the wall of her solar, and spent the rest of the morning alone, running through the great Belaboran queens. Their names flowed nicely off her tongue. Marguerite, the forgotten empress. Peach-face Bessily. Anna and Edith, two virgin daughters to end a hundred-year dynasty. Adelina, the princess of the wall, who’d faced down a fleet of foreign invaders whose swords were already soaked in the blood of her father and brother.

These were the heroes she grew up worshipping. She liked to toddle into her mother’s powder room and ruddy her cheeks to look more like Bessily. Oftentimes, she’d cut a piece of cardboard into a mask and pretend she was the second coming of Good Matilda, the third Queen Matilda, who hid her face to conceal her war wounds. There was a grove in her parents’ garden, a clearing surrounded by dark-leaved cherry trees. She spent many a summer day sat on the curved stone bench in the heart of the clearing, singing to herself like Adelina had sung while her father was being cut down.

When she went through the list, she always added her own name at the end. Maybe Belaboras was out of her reach, but why could she not have Essegena? She could be Queen of the Valley. Oliver wouldn’t deny her, if she asked. Hers wasn’t a queenly name. It wasn’t regal in the way Marguerite was, nor did it conjure up visions of great deeds like Adelina’s. But were any names queenly before they were the names of queens?

“Lady.” She was interrupted by Eva, announcing her presence in her characteristic timidity. Her eyes were still red from the sobbing. “You have a visitor.”

“Thank-you, Eva. You may go.”

Eva did a half-decent curtsy, and left the room. When she was gone, a woman with an unusually large nose entered. It looked almost like those caricatures that the crones of old cartoons had, without the wart on the end, but it was very much her real nose. She had hair tied up in the shape of a star on the top of her head, held in place by sea-shell clips. Her gown was adorned in an ermine pattern.

“I hope you aren’t thinking of names for your child. Edith? Adelina? Don’t you know it’s gauche to use a royal name?”

Tash shook her head, no. “I’m having a boy, not a girl.”

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“Edith would be doubly bad then.”

Tash blinked, momentarily confused. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled a fake smile. “Apologies, Mistress Wrack. We’ve yet to be acquainted.” She curtsied, substantially better than Eva had ever managed. She’d obviously had plenty of practice. “My parents named me Felicity. I have Dall blood, but my husband is of the Peulions, and like yours a reeve of the Council. As it goes, his father is High Commissioner.”

“Felicity Peulion?” Why did she have to be so confusing about saying it? “I’m Tasha Wrack.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know who you are. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Tash frowned. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to extend an offer of friendship. And advise you.”

“I don’t need advice.”

“Of course you do.” Felicity Peulion sat herself down on one of Tash’s nice chairs, unbidden. “Your money’s recent. It’s only natural that you aren’t familiar with all of the proper social graces.”

Tash took issue with that. What matter did it make how long she’d had money? She had it. It was just as good as gold that had been sat in somebody’s vault for a few centuries. If anything it was better. She’d worked far harder for her wealth than Felicity Peulion ever had. The woman’s fingers were slender and smooth, fingers that had never seen manual labour.

“What social graces am I not familiar with?”

“Oh, hundreds.” Felicity pointed at her face. “Your make-up is commoner make-up. Your cheeks are red. That’ll never do. Common maids blush, society ladies do not.” She placed a pot of mustard yellow on the table in the middle of the room. “Please take this, as a gift from me. It’s a more noble colour for you. I’m sure your girls will be able to find more easily enough, but if not you can point them in the direction of Madame Dravis. Hers is the grandest emporium on this quaint little world.”

Tash thanked Felicity. It was a surprisingly kind gift. Assuming it was actually the fashion, and not just a plan to make her look like a fool in front of all of the society ladies. If she rocked up looking like Oliver had beaten her, and they were all peachy-faced like Bessily, she’d be humiliated. She made a note to have Sesi look into the veracity of Felicity’s advice.

In the here and now, she was being a poor host. “Would you like something to drink? Something to eat, maybe? Stini’s a fantastic cook.”

Felicity nodded, so Tash yelled for Eva. The girl poked her head around the door. “You called, Lady?”

“Have Mam Argent bring some cake and coffee, please, Eva.”

“At once, Lady.”

“And there’s another mistake,” said Felicity, the moment the door clicked shut behind Eva. “You should never refer to your staff by their given names. Are you a cook?”

Tasha shook her head. “No. I’m terrible at it.”

“Are you inferior to a cook?”

Just what was she insinuating? “Definitely not,” Tash bristled.

“So don’t act like you’re on their level. Face to face is fine, in certain contexts—they actually do better work if they feel like you care about them. But in prominent company, remember they’re your staff, not your friends.”

She forced a weak smile. It was embarrassing to be wrong, but at least Felicity was the only one here to see it. She wondered why Sesi hadn’t said anything. But then, Sesi wasn’t a Lady herself, she’d just spent a lot of time in service. She wouldn’t know the ins and outs. “I’m glad you came.”

“I shall give you an additional freebie.” Felicity continued as though Tash hadn’t spoken. “Your maidservant. She’s been crying. You’ll want to sit her down with a cup of something hot and find out what it is that’s bothering her. You’ll be surprised at how her work improves when she feels valued—she might even begin to curtsy properly.”

“Oh, it’s not that important to me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Felicity reached across the table and squeezed Tash’s hand between hers. “I’ve been where you are. I know how much it hurts you—it might as well be written on your face. Maids don’t come cheap nowadays. For the money you’re laying down, surely the least you can expect is that they can do the basics right.”

Tash pulled her hand free. “She’s only young. She’ll get better.”

“Will she?” Felicity stood up. “Perhaps you’re not ready to listen to my advice. It’s fine if you want to be a rich pauper. When you want to be a proper Lady, you can come to me. You know where you’ll find me.”

Tash followed Felicity to the hallway, just to make sure she left. She watched through the open doorway for a short while, then ran up the first flight of stairs. There was a better view to be had from the window there. At her insistence, Oliver had conceded that a touch of plush carpet would better suit the stairs than cold tiles. Her bare feet thanked her for this decision. She stretched them out as the pile hugged them.

She turned at the sound of clacking heels, and saw Eva emerging from the kitchen with a plate of Mam Argent’s finest. “You can bring them up here, Eva,” she called.

Eva nodded and started up the stairs. As she climbed, she looked from side to side. “I don’t understand, Lady. Is Mistress Peulion hiding?”

Tash laughed. “She’s gone, Eva.”

“But the cakes.”

Tash grabbed one and jammed it into her mouth. It was too stuffed full for her to close it properly, and crumbs sprayed all over the carpet as she chewed it down. “We’ll have to eat the cakes ourselves, won’t we?” she said, as soon as she was able to talk.

Eva, the dear girl, shook her head. “No, Lady, I shouldn’t. Mam Argent made these for you. They’re much too sweet for the first floor, she says.”

Tash picked up another cake and pressed it into Eva’s free hand. “Don’t talk such nonsense,” she said. “I’m the Lady of the household, and I want you to eat these cakes with me.” She spoke with sufficient force that Eva winced, then meekly nibbled on the cake. There was no disguising the way her eyes lit up as she tasted it. Clearly she’d not tasted Mam Argent’s recipe before. Tash hoped this revelatory moment wouldn’t become the gateway to a craving for finer things. She had no intention of sharing these cakes on a regular basis.

While Eva worked through the cake, Tasha took the plate from her and set it on the floor of the first floor landing. She sat down beside the plate and beckoned Eva to join her.

“You had an upsetting day today,” she said. “That man who threatened you. Is he somebody you know?”

Eva said nothing, but kept her lips pursed.

“Come on, Eva, I want you to feel safe. Did you know him?”

Eva nodded her head slowly, shakily.

Tash put a hand on Eva’s shoulder. “It’s alright. You’re in safe hands here, Eva. Who was he?”

Once again, Eva was silent. Tash started to ask again, but Eva cut her off, shaking her head. “I can’t say. I won’t say.”

“You can trust me,” said Tash.

Eva shook her head. The implication there angered Tash, but she resisted the urge to lash out, channelling that anger into her clenched fists. A cake which she happened to be holding was crumbled into dust. “Okay, you don’t want to tell me. I understand.” She didn’t understand why Eva wouldn’t speak to her, but the maid was fragile enough at the best of times. If Tasha tried to force an answer, Eva was more likely to break completely than yield anything. “What about the Constabulary? Will you tell them?”

“The Constabulary?”

“Their job’s to enforce law and order here, Eva. We can go and make a report, if you like?”

Eva nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like that very much, Lady.”

Tash smiled. “Good girl. I must dress first, but we’ll head up straight after. Eva, if you send Sesi up to my chambers, I’ll be ready all the sooner.”

The home of the Constabulary was a half-finished tower at the northern extremity of the town, at the end of a road that sloped upwards and never seemed to end. Tash was shattered when they arrived.

Eva had been all keen and enthusiastic to go until it came to leaving the house. At that point, nerves had got the better of her. She’d shrunk back and refused to leave, and worked herself up into such a state that Goodwife Mabeth had to take her off to get some bedrest. By that time, Tasha was ready to go. She’d spent the time making ready, and had Sesi do fresh make-up. It seemed a waste to then not go anywhere.

So she and Sesi went together. She’d have gone alone, but she fancied the company.

A towering woman was stood outside the tower. She glowered down at Tash. “Can I help you?”

“That depends on whether or not you can take me to the Lord Constable.”

The woman sniggered. “The tower’s not open. The Lord Constable isn’t to be disturbed.”

“I’m a Lady of society,” said Tasha, puffing out her chest. “My husband is a reeve. He sits on the Council. I demand to see the Lord Constable.”

This earned a strange look from the tall woman, who didn’t seem sure whether to be amused or scared by Tasha. “You don’t get to make demands. I don’t care if you’re the High Commissioner himself, the Lord Constable isn’t to be disturbed. So turn around and sling your hook.”

“Now you listen here,” said Sesi, suddenly springing to life. Tasha hadn’t noticed it happen, but Sesi had a firm grip on the tall woman’s collar, and the woman was looking very ill at ease. “You’ll let Mistress Wrack in to see the Lord Constable, or I’ll be in the Tavern tonight and I’ll let slip to the wrong person just who you’ve been sleeping with. How will his wife take it when he finds out?”

The tall woman paled. “How do you know?”

Sesi lifted an eyebrow. “I know a lot. My ear is always to the ground. Now, I will know your decision. What will it be?”

“Go on through.” The woman stood aside, and Tash ran in with Sesi. She was beginning to fear her ladiesmaid herself.

As soon as they were safely inside the tower, the door shut behind them, Tash stopped Sesi. “How did you know about her?”

Sesi merely shrugged. “It was a guess. Everybody has a weakness, hers is sex. Surely you could smell the semen?”

Tasha shook her head.

“Then I have the better nose,” Sesi laughed.

“But how can you know who the man is?”

“I don’t,” said Sesi. “But the guard on the door doesn’t need to know that, does she?”

Tash smiled.

After a small, empty antechamber, the tower opened out into a wide reception area. The front desk had already been put in place, albeit without any sort of furnishing. A man and a woman were leaning against a wall. They made straight for Tasha and Sesi when they saw them.

“Excuse me,” said the man, “but what business do you have here?”

“I’m here to speak to the Lord Constable,” said Tasha. “I wish to report an assault.”

“An assault.” The man sighed. “Fine. Come with me. But next time please obey the guard on the door telling you not to disturb me.”

“I can relieve the guard if you’d like, sir,” said the woman with him. “Clearly she’s not up to the task.”

The man—the Lord Constable, presumably—shook his head. “No, Lieutenant, I need you with me. You know my hand cramps when I have to take notes too quickly.”

The Lord Constable led them to an office in a tucked away corner of the tower. There was nothing inside but a desk and some wooden chairs, stacked in a tidy pile at one side. The smell of varnish hung heavy in here.

“You must forgive the smell,” said the Lord Constable. “When you come barging into an unfinished building, you have to accept some imperfections.” He helped himself to a chair, and sat in it on one side of the desk. The Lieutenant followed suit, slotting in beside him. Neither Tasha nor Sesi bothered to retrieve a chair. If the Lord Constable wanted them to sit, he’d have brought the chairs to them himself.

The Lieutenant had procured a pad of paper from somewhere, and she’d begun to scribble something on it.

“Tell me your name,” said the Lord Constable. “Your full name, with all the parts.”

“Natasha Entellia Letheren Accilei Caerlin Wrack.” The last time she’d needed to care about her middle names was her wedding day. There was some obscure legal justification which Tasha had resented at the time and could no longer remember. She’d spent a week reciting it all, her two given names and her mother’s unmarried name, the floranym of her birth month and her own birth surname. She just had to add ‘Wrack’ to the end, and she could do that.

The Lord Constable looked across to his Lieutenant, who was frantically scribbling. “Did you get that?”

“Natasha Wrack,” said the Lieutenant. “With some stuff in the middle.”

“Tasha, if you would.”

“Okay then, Tasha.” The Lord Constable cleared his throat loudly. “Tell me what you can about this assault.”

“My maidservant was threatened,” said Tasha. “Not Sesi. Another maidservant. The man was brazen enough to do it even in my presence.”

“And was it just a threat? Or did something actually happen?”

Tash pursed her lips. “I don’t know that I like that tone,” she said.

The Lord Constable rolled his eyes. “The door’s behind you, if you don’t want to answer the question.”

Tash sighed. “It was just a threat. But only because I reasoned with him. He held a blade to my throat. He may well have cut me open.”

“But he didn’t,” said the Lord Constable.

“And next time he might,” said Tash, raising her voice. “The maidservant who was attacked is afraid to set foot outside. The man’s known to her, and clearly she feels unsafe with him wandering about. So stop him.”

The Lord Constable looked at her for a few seconds, then sighed long and loud. “We can do nothing unless a crime is committed. But we can identify the man, and keep watch on him. You say the man is known to you?”

Tash shook her head. “Not to me. To my maidservant. She won’t tell me who he is.”

“Helpful,” said the Lieutenant.

“And can you describe the man?” asked the Lord Constable.

“Yes, I—” What had he looked like? There was something distasteful about his appearance, Tash could remember that much, but quite what she couldn’t recall. “He had greasy hair,” she said, reaching for any detail she could recall. None more were forthcoming. “And he wasn’t very nice.”

The Lord Constable leaned forward ever so slightly. “He wasn’t very nice?”

Tash shook her head. “Not at all.”

And then, to her surprise, the Lord Constable began to laugh, a hearty, uproarious laugh. “Well, thank-you, Mistress Wrack, for your helpful description. Why, I do believe you’ve given us enough detail to pinpoint exactly who assaulted you.”

“Are you going to investigate it for me?”

The Lord Constable looked her in the eye. “Don’t be absurd,” he said. “There’s nothing to investigate. It’s just a waste of time.”

“My husband’s on the Council,” said Tasha, a red mist descending. She focused on keeping her voice clear and even, though she could hear it wavering. “If something happens to me or my maidservant, and you didn’t investigate, he’ll know you’re to blame. Wouldn’t it be such a shame if you came all this way across the Unity only to be stripped of your command?”

The Lord Constable regarded her with an icy glare. “I don’t care for your tone,” he said.

“And I’ve not cared for yours since you sat down,” said Tasha. “But I’m a civilian requesting an investigation, and you’re in charge of upholding law and order. So I suggest you discharge your duty and investigate.”

The Lord Constable scowled. Beside him, the Lieutenant was staring at Tasha, her face inscrutable. “Fine,” said the Lord Constable. “We will open an investigation. If necessary, one of my soldiers will find you. Now please leave my Constabulary.”

Tasha nodded. “Thank-you for your professionalism, Lord Constable. You’re truly an example we should all aspire to follow.” She made sure the sarcasm was overbearing.

She was out of the Lord Constable’s office before he had time to finish calling her a ‘wanker’.