The Hero Strikes Back Read online

  “Oh my yes, can you believe it?” said a young woman named Delia, who worked at the pie shop Risa loved. As far as I knew, that was the only thing the two of them had in common. Delia made pies and Risa loved eating them. Risa could make friends with absolutely anyone.

  “Just disappearing like that,” Delia continued, snapping her fingers. “It’s spooky.”

  “Oh, no doubt he’ll show up in a ditch somewhere,” said Samuel, a bailiff. “Probably got drunk and was attacked by robbers.”

  Shaka, a street artist who thought he knew everything, snorted. “They’d be wasting their time, wouldn’t they? Greenmist’s pockets have less in them than mine.”

  It never ceased to amaze me, the kinds of intimate details strangers knew about each other. I’d never heard of Greenmist before he went missing. I certainly didn’t know the weight of his purse. But once he disappeared he was famous, and everyone knew how well—or badly—he’d done in school, who he slept with and what he liked to eat for breakfast. Incredible.

  “If he looked the part of a lord, they wouldn’t know he was broke until after they went after his purse,” Captain Wong pointed out.

  “And then they would have killed him for raising their hopes.”

  “Don’t say that, Shaka,” Delia chided him. “There’s no reason to think he’s dead.”

  “No reason to think he isn’t,” Shaka retorted. “No one’s found any of the other High Landers that have gone missing, have they? The Risto Reaper strikes again, and gets away scot free.”

  Puerile name aside, I had to admit—to myself—that I was feeling uneasy, too. Five disappearances over five months, all of them aristocrats, with no indications of why they were disappearing. No one knew for sure that there was a single person behind it, if the disappearances were even connected at all, but stories of the Risto Reaper, some brilliant, mad villain intent on cleaning out the High Landed class of its least appealing members, were making the rounds. And for that reason, I was willing to let Karish linger in Erstwhile for as long as he liked.

  Captain Wong’s eyes narrowed at the less than subtle criticism. “We’re working on it,” he snapped.

  “Sure you are, Captain, but nothing’s turning up, is it?”

  The party had taken a decidedly dark turn.

  “He might have merely taken a vacation,” said the Captain.

  I wanted to smirk. I couldn’t believe he’d said that. How weak. Captain Wong knew it, too, if the way he flushed were any indication.

  “Without telling anyone about it?” Shaka mocked him.

  “Besides,” Samuel added, “he didn’t have any money either. Where was he going to go?”

  Visiting friends and family who had money. I’d heard aristocrats did a lot of leeching.

  “What would anyone want with landless High Landers?” the Captain challenged them. “All the High Landers who’ve gone missing have had no power, no money, no land. There was no reason to take any of them. Or kill any of them. And we have no evidence at all that the disappearances are related to each other. I tell you, it’s just a bunch of bad coincidences. Or someone’s idea of a joke.”

  “Oh, who cares?” Zeva piped up, speaking for the first time. She was a prostitute. I found it ironic she had been invited to a Runner’s home for a social engagement. “They’re High Landers. Useless High Landers. If there is someone picking them off, they’re doing us a favor.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” Delia scolded her.

  “Oh, grow up.”

  “If someone’s doing something to these people,” said the Captain, “it is a crime, and they will be punished.”

  “Aye, as soon as you can figure out what is going on and who is doing it,” said Shaka, his voice nicely laced with derision.

  And they were off. Suddenly the whole room was taken over with competing discussions concerning the uselessness of High Landers and the ineffectiveness of Runners. I folded my collection of sodden serviettes and put them on a table. I made my way through the crowd, sneaking up to my mother’s side. “Well done, Mother.”

  “I thought so,” my mother responded without a trace of remorse. “It’s certainly more interesting than talking about the most fashionable length of skirts this season.”

  She had a point there. I didn’t know if Risa would appreciate my mother setting her guests at each other’s throats, though.

  “You seem to be enjoying Erin’s company,” my mother said.

  “You seem to be enjoying the Captain’s,” I retorted sharply. Ooh, bad. Keep the tone even.

  “Yes, he’s interesting,” she answered, unmoved by my obvious disapproval. “I spend so much time talking to holders and traders, it’s nice to meet someone with a completely different perspective on things. I’m sure you understand.”

  The hell I did. I wasn’t laughing coyly and flipping my hair at anyone. “What would Father say if he saw you flirting that way?” And why was I still talking? It had nothing to do with me.

  Mother stared at me, surprised. Then she started laughing. Not the reaction I’d been expecting. “My dear sweet cloistered child! That wasn’t flirting!”

  I was not sweet, cloistered, or a child. “You were fiddling with your hair,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t trained out of my natural twitches, dear,” my mother said dryly. “Unlike some.”

  I’d never had any twitches. “I’m serious, Mother.”

  “Yes, dear, aren’t you always.”

  I had discovered that my mother was never short of a quick comeback. That could be annoying. “It is not appropriate for you to be making up to another man—”

  Mother rolled her eyes. “I was not making up to him, Lee. I was just talking to him, and enjoying it. We are people. People are meant to enjoy each other’s attractions.”

  “Mother!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “I’m not talking about sex, Lee.”

  Gods. Struck speechless. I was not hearing this. Surely I wasn’t too old to stick my fingers in my ears and hum? Surely.

  “What is wrong with enjoying another person’s wit? Or the timber of their voice? What’s wrong with liking the knowledge that they enjoy your company, too?”

  I tried again. “When you’re married—”

  “You swear your loyalty to one person. And your fidelity. It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the company of other people. And it doesn’t mean we can’t like being attractive to others. Else we’d all be wearing black.” She looked me up and down with blatant censure.

  I wasn’t wearing black. I was wearing a dark blue gown of simple, practical lines. It wasn’t the most attractive gown I had, but it was warm. I’d wanted something warm. “Don’t start, Mother.”

  “That dress—”

  “I like this dress.”

  “It’s a lovely dress. For someone twice your years.”

  So? I hadn’t noticed a real difference in the fashion of young girls and mature women, more’s the pity. “It’s fine.”

  “It does nothing for your complexion or your figure.”

  Was pale a complexion? And I had, unfortunately, no figure to speak of. I was neither ethereally thin nor sensually voluptuous. The best anyone could say about me was that I was healthy.

  There were times when it was appropriate for me to go to the extraordinary effort of looking my pitiful best. An informal party given by a friend was not one of those times. I’d just have to charm people with my winning personality. But my mother wouldn’t accept that. It was the only thing marring her visit. From day one she hadn’t stopped harping on my clothes. “Leave it, Mother. I mean it.”

  “Right then.” Mother nodded. “How about we come to an agreement? I won’t comment on your way of doing things and you won’t comment on mine.”

  “Fine.” My mother was a grown woman. If she wanted to make a duplicitous, unfaithful fool of her . . .

  I shook my head, actually shook my head right there in the middle of the room where ev
eryone could see me. It was none of my business. Really. I hadn’t lived with the family since I was four years old. I had no idea how they behaved on the day-to-day basis. Maybe my father was a flirt, too.

  It was strange, seeing my mother every day, without the rest of my family. I wouldn’t have thought of such a visit myself. But I’d barely settled back in to High Scape after returning from Erstwhile before I got a letter from my mother, telling me she was going to visit and teach me how to live in the real world.

  She didn’t actually write that last bit out, but that was what she meant. I could tell. And I didn’t mind. It had been made clear to me, not long after I left the academy, that I didn’t understand how regular people lived.

  And I didn’t really know my mother, despite what I had said to Erin. Despite what I often actually thought. I knew her better than most of the students of the academy had known theirs, for my family had had the means and the inclination to visit me almost annually. But those had been short visits, only a couple of weeks, barely worth the trip. And they had been on academy grounds, where we were all subject to academy rules. And it had been my mother and father and sister and brothers and me.

  This was different. Mother was staying for an indefinite time—and with her behavior with the Captain I was beginning to wonder why, if there was something going on with the family that I knew nothing about—and it was just her, with none of the others for distraction. We were both adults, free of anyone’s rules but our own. She was staying at an expensive boarding house called the Lion’s Den, but she spent most of her days at the Triple S house, occasionally staying the night. Which sort of made me the host, but she was my mother, which meant—didn’t it?—that she had some kind of authority over me. It was a logistical mess. Who was supposed to be making the decisions for whom?

  I went back to my drink. It had started to melt. It didn’t taste as good that way.

  Risa and Erin returned from the kitchen, halting the conversations because they were carrying food, which always had that effect. And the food was on fire. Chunks of meat and whatnot on sticks, on fire. Apparently it was supposed to be served that way. I didn’t know if serving flaming food to alcohol-filled people was the best idea ever, but it certainly made a good spectacle.

  After everyone who cared for some had been served with torched meat and fresh drinks, Erin came back to me. “Sorry about that.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She seems to be, just washed off the blood and wrapped a bandage around her hand, but with Risa it’s always hard to tell. You know these law enforcement types. Can’t show any pain unless you’re actually dead, and then, well, what’s the point?”

  He said that as though it were a bad thing.

  “Ah hell!” Samuel shouted, disgust blatant in his tone, his words silencing the conversation and music once more. He was staring out a window. “It’s snowing!”

  Snowing? Was that what he’d said? As in white, frozen precipitation?

  A rush to the other windows in the flat, and I was no better than the others. I flipped aside a curtain and, aye, it was snowing. Hard. Pretty.

  “But it’s summer!” Delia wailed.

  “Don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about this,” Samuel said to me.

  I was startled by the question. This was snow, not an earthquake. Why would he even think to ask me that? I shook my head. “I can’t do anything without Taro. Besides, we can’t do anything about snow.”

  The expression on Samuel’s face suggested that might have been one of the stupidest things he’d ever heard. “You don’t do snow?” he demanded.

  That was not what I had said, and I certainly hadn’t used a tone that implied mere snow was somehow beneath the efforts of a Triple S Pair. “We can’t do anything about snow, rain, overcast days. You know, normal weather. Just cyclones and earthquakes and the like. Big, unnatural events.”

  “Are you trying to tell me snow in the middle of summer isn’t unnatural?”

  He had me there, but it didn’t change the fact that there was nothing I could do.

  I set my drink down. No more alcohol for me. It was depressing me. And really, there was no reason for feeling inadequate. Karish would be back soon; he’d promised in his last letter. Then I’d be back on the roster and back at work and life would feel normal again.

  “Damn it,” said Zeva. “As if business weren’t bad enough this summer. This’ll just kill it.”

  “You’re telling me.” Delia, who’d been holding up a curtain to stare at the snow, let it slide back into place. She looked at Zeva and smiled wryly. “I’m sure you’ll do better then me, though. I have a feeling there are more willing to brave the cold for your product than for mine.”

  Zeva snorted. “Maybe,” she said, “But then I just have to spend more money on frostbite cream, and I have to put it in the most unusual places.”

  That earned chuckles from everyone, including my mother, so I decided not to be shocked on her behalf.

  “If things continue as they are, I’ll have to leave town,” said Shaka. “I’m thinking of heading south. Maybe to Three Keys.”

  “You’re running out of money?” I asked Shaka.

  “Aye. Business is real slow.”

  “But you’ve always been popular.” His shows involved a combination of juggling, sleight of hand and vocal comedy, and every time I’d seen him he’d been surrounded by a throng of spectators.

  “No one wants to stand around in this cold.”

  “But—” I cut myself off. I had no right to ask why, with day after day of huge piles of coins tossed at Shaka’s feet, he now found himself without because things had slowed down for a while. While I couldn’t understand why someone whose livelihood was so reliant on the weather didn’t fortify himself against the event that the weather turned difficult simply by putting aside some money, it wasn’t my place to say anything about it. I didn’t have to pay for anything. What did I know about budgeting or saving for the future?

  “Hey,” said Risa, her voice sharp. “That’s enough talk about money. I happen to know no one with any class talks about money at parties. Amia, start playing.”

  The music resumed. Erin fetched more wood and built up the fire until it was roaring. It gave the room a cheery atmosphere, and after a while everyone seemed to forget it was an atmosphere unsuited to the season. More drink, more food, more conversation. All in all, a successful party, despite lacking any outbreak of scandal or a brawl. I had a good time.

  But when Mother and I left the warm flat, it was still snowing. That was strange. And I didn’t like strange. The last time things were strange, it was because a twisted crazy Source had used his abilities to deliberately create said cyclones and earthquakes and the like. For the fun of it. Because he could. Because he was bored. And crazy. He had chosen toppling cities and causing the deaths of thousands as a sort of hobby.

  Strange was bad.

  I pulled the collar of my dress closer to my neck. The chill was making even me uncomfortable. And it seemed to me a bad sign. Bad signs put me in a bad mood. And bad moods were just plain unprofessional.

  So I ignored the chill. Problem solved.

  Chapter Two

  It had been snowing for three days. Big fat flakes that stayed on the ground, and accumulated, and built up, and soaked through boots and caused collisions in the streets and killed crops and generally infuriated everyone. Except the kids, who were having a grand time building snow forts and engaging in snowball fights. But it was winter, in the middle of summer. It was weird and frightening and really, really irritating.

  I tapped my boot against the door frame, dislodging the snow that had been caked to the sole. On the second day, when I realized that the snow was going to be around for a while, I had dug out my winter wardrobe, which only gave my mother fresh fodder for eye-rolling and pained expressions. My choice of winter clothing caused her some distress. She claimed it was possible to have clothes that were both practical and stylish. I h
ad begged to differ. It seemed to me one always had to be sacrificed to the other, and I preferred to ditch the style and keep the comfort. Besides, there was a rush on materials that merchants had packed away or left to dwindle for the summer season. The tailors were in a panic and their services were scarce. As a Shield I could be put on the top of any list, my orders given priority over any, even the High Landed, but I’d never felt right about pulling rank like that. Especially when I already had clothes I was perfectly happy with, my mother be damned.

  “You’re back quick,” the bedamned woman called out as I pulled off my boots.

  “The stalls weren’t out.” I’d been sent out by my mother to hunt down bay leaves. Being sent out on errands for my mother was a new experience for me. One I couldn’t say I cared for.

  “Oh well. I guess I can do without it.”

  I hung up my cloak on a peg by the door and wandered into the kitchen. “That smells really good.”

  My mother shrugged. “It’s only stew,” she said, stirring the pot. “Nothing special. I should teach you how to cook.”

  I pulled out some cutlery. “Ben usually cooks for us.”

  “Ben’s not here, though, is he?”

  There was something censorious about her tone that irked me. “No, Mother, he isn’t.”

  “You shouldn’t have to rely on others to cook for you.”

  I’d often thought so myself. Why did having her say the exact same thing irritate me so much?

  We heard the entrance door open and close. A loud thud on the floor, followed by some lighter ones, as of someone stamping their feet.

  “Ah, good, one of the others are here,” Mother commented. “I’ve made enough for everyone. I can’t believe, with six and a half Pairs living here, how empty this place always is.”

  I hated being called half a Pair.

  I quietly stepped out of the kitchen, into the corridor to the foyer. I wanted to see who it was before calling out an invitation to join us. If it were La Monte or, far worse, Wilberforce, I’d back into the kitchen unnoticed.