Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
It took a full day to get to the docks outside of Valveron. By then, my stomach was starving for something more substantial than a box of citrus. Drawing on the Glamour die, I’d practiced shifting in the meantime, sure I was getting the hang of it, even though I couldn’t see my results.
Max was concerned about the presence of the constable at the River Split. If guards were stationed at connecting ports, they’d be vigilant at the ports of entry as well. But as long as they didn’t recognize me, he assured me we’d be just fine. He would deal with getting us through customs.
Max had only given me a few tips concerning the Glamour.
To focus on the details of the person I was trying to become, to make sure I knew the person well enough to remake their character.
Bria was the easiest for me. I’d stared at her plenty from my frequent attendance at Opal’s and her surprise visits to the surgery.
She was roughly the same size as me as well, tall with stubborn curves that thickened my chest and legs.
I pictured her strawberry hair piled on top of her head, loose curls draping her face after a long night of work.
Her smile I missed so much, her brown eyes and thick lashes.
Bria always told me how pretty I was, but she made me feel dull in comparison.
“It’s good enough, Nina,” he insisted, watching me change back and forth between the illusion and my real self. “They’ll never know it’s you.”
I calmed my nerves with a long breath. It was the safest option, choosing her.
She was dead, no longer using her identity, and I needed someone I wouldn’t accidentally run into on the streets.
No matter my reasoning, thinking of her for so long made my heart tear in two, one side still missing someone who’d never really existed.
I shifted again, letting the shell harden outside of my own body. I looked down at my hands—Bria’s hands—tracing the lines of her palms. Everything that I could see from my perspective was convincing, and even the slightest change in my appearance would be enough to throw off the coppers—I hoped.
Max found the crumpled bounty poster I’d tossed that afternoon, and studied it quietly. I told him, “I suppose everyone knows I’m the daughter of a disgraced engineer. It’ll fit their narrative, at least.”
He grunted. “Rebellion runs in the family.”
I tried to smile. “Hopefully history doesn’t repeat itself.”
He ripped up the poster and tossed the shreds aside. “Nothing will happen to you, Ace. We just have to get to the Lower District, and we can finally work on finding this buyer.”
“You don’t think it’s Damien, then?” I asked.
The shake of his head was a decisive no. “Damien is a greedy fuck, but he has no need for dead bodies. I can’t think of a single thing he’d use them for. It doesn’t make any sense.”
The steam horn blew, an anchor dropped, and I was thrown forward, falling hard to my knees with a grunt. The hull groaned against the strain, screaming its arrival. The steady hiss of the steam engine slowed to a laborious wheeze before falling still completely.
I brushed a red curl from my face and used the crew’s access to the cargo hold, the same entrance Max had come through when he’d surprised me.
Max led us to the main deck. His hand was a vise around my own, keeping me close to his side. When we reached the passenger level, he dipped his head to speak between us. “We’ll take the gangway at the stern. Less crowded. Quicker exit.”
“Are there always this many guards?” I asked, looking around. The deck was swarming with them.
“No.” He frowned. “They weren’t here before. Must have boarded when we docked.”
He pushed through the crowd to reach the gangway being raised at the end of the ship, farthest from the rest. We made it to the guardrail overlooking the side of the ship, where the docks loomed below, and I had my first view of the New City.
The canal was crowded with barges and tugboats bleeding smoke; the masts of merchant ships towered above us. The air reeked of coal smoke and tar, sea salt and spice carried in from the rest of the territories on the canal.
Rising along the riverbank was a massive wall composed of unadorned brick, a barrier between the docks and the city beyond. Like a fortress, it kept all the incoming treasures safe from thieves and smugglers, dotted with small archways that were guarded by the constables.
Cranes moved between ships and carriages parked for their loads.
The whole place hummed like a machine with steam winches grinding, shouts between merchants and sailors, the ring of metal on stone, and wheels upon the cobbles.
Beyond the looming wall, rooflines peeked, hiding the grandeur of the city.
Near the main dock basin were the dry docks just beyond, where I spotted a massive ocean liner—the largest ship I’d ever seen. Along the side were smaller ships swarmed with men carrying hammers and pitch pots and tar, seemingly making repairs.
I breathed in the scent of an empire, acrid as it was, and took in the complicated North Docks of Valveron.
“Come on,” Max murmured. “We need to get through customs before the next bell.”
“Why?”
He wrapped his arm around my own, ushering us toward the gangplank now settled against the dock and ready for use.
“The Cursed have a few compromised customs officers at the gates. Many in the northern territories, even those in our own districts, don’t like to work with us, so we have to smuggle our liquor and smoke with the help of the coppers. ”
“So you know who to go through?”
“I do. Gate fourteen, just down the way. Not far, but we need to hurry.”
We were alone on our path to the last gangplank. “Max, something’s wrong. Why is no one else down here?”
He looked around, scanning the end of the ship with careful eyes. “They blocked this exit.”
A group of constables kept their gazes low as we passed. As soon as we passed, they fell into step behind us. Max cursed. The Glamour die in my pocket burned as Max used it to speak into my mind.
“Don’t do anything to make them question us. Perhaps there’s something below they’re guarding.”
The hatch leading to the cargo hold was wide open as we passed beside it. A crane was already poised above, waiting to unload the stock. “She was just here, I swear!” A sailor—the one I’d bribed—tried to convince a copper as they stood near the hatch.
I kept my head low, hiding behind Max as we made it to the gangplank. My face was different, but my clothes were the same. If the sailor noticed…
Our way was blocked by a man with broad shoulders taking up the width of the exit. A crimson overcoat, a black cape swept in the breeze off the canal, and a glare that felt as if he could see through my thin illusion.
Commissioner Cassien.
“That’s her!” the sailor shouted. At his accusation, I was yanked from Max’s side and pinned between two guards.
“Max!”
“What’s the meaning of this?” he snarled at the coppers. “She’s done nothing wrong!”
“Keep him quiet over there.” The Commissioner held up a hand. In his other, he held a pair of cuffs that glowed a faint green. My heart sank. If those touched me, all the magic I’d siphoned would be silenced, and the illusion of Bria’s appearance would shatter.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked. Cassien assessed me quickly, brows pinching in disapproval.
I sucked a breath to hide the tremble in my words. “My name is Cassandra. Cassi for short. Is something wrong?”
“You said this was our Crown Killer!” he shouted at the worker. He held up the bounty poster at the man. “Does this look like the same girl?”
“She’s wearing the same things as the girl who snuck in here. It must be an illusion!” The guard beside him rolled his eyes, sighing like this was all a waste of time and resources.
“The Crown Killer is a Forge Archetype, not Glamour.” Cassien eyed me carefully, as if trying to find a crack in my appearance.
I almost felt bad for the sailor. He’d only done his job, reporting what he’d seen.
Though I couldn’t afford to be empathetic, not when a half-dozen guns were still pointing in my direction.
“Oh my. What a nightmare. You thought I was this girl from the wanted ad?” I faked a laugh, squinting my eyes at the poster in the Commissioner’s hand. “I admit, she’s very pretty—”
He frowned, glancing at the cargo. “What are you doing sneaking into the city? We received a tip about a woman in the hold.”
My throat dried, head empty of any valid reason. “Just wanted to watch over my cargo until it made it to the market. Don’t know anything about a killer, sir.”
His face wrinkled with confusion. “Be that as it may, I’m still going to need you to come in for processing.
For the safety of my citizens.” He snatched my wrist and clamped one of the cuffs around it.
I bit my tongue to contain the cry of pain from the poison lacing the metal, watching as my skin tone shimmered from the spot and crept up my arm.
“What are you—”
Whatever he was about to say was cut short by a flying orange striking his face.
It burst on impact, covering the Commissioner’s profile and decorated uniform with the sticky-sweet flesh of fruit.
They were ripe, too. I knew from eating so many that they were dense with juice and could obviously be turned into a weapon with the right arm behind them.
The Commissioner staggered sideways, blinking several times as if trying to understand what had just hit him. He touched his cheek, snarling when he realized. “Who the hell…”
Another one was sent flying, coming from the other side of the open hatch. Max leaned against the base of a crane, rolling an orange between his fingers. “Roughing up defenseless women, Cassien? Doesn’t the Commissioner have more important things to do?”
“You!” Cassien shouted while wiping his face. “I thought I recognized you, Maxence Antonin.”