The Woman Behind the Curtain

At the Assembly gates, Deren's steward burned Sel's letter without reading it aloud.

He was very polite. He gave Mali a receipt for the paper. He explained that the Assembly had received many warnings, most contradictory, and that the masters would discuss them after the demonstration. He offered Gorrath a room in the honoured guests' wing.

“Where are the doors?” Hesh asked.

“Attendants will see to everything.”

They left before the attendants arrived.

The city had grown around twelve courtyards, each belonging to a different teaching house. Refugees slept beneath the covered walks. Swordsmiths hammered beside kitchens. Recovery instructors led children through slow exercises under banners that promised REST WITHOUT FEAR. Mali watched a boy struggle to hold his injured arm in position while his instructor patiently lifted it for him.

“Stop,” she said.

The instructor stared. So did the child. Mali had no explanation that would fit between them without frightening him. She lowered her voice.

“Ask him where it hurts.”

“We know where it hurts.”

Hesh drew Mali away before the argument brought guards.

They found shelter through a stage door. A woman carrying a coil of cable opened it, inspected their weapons and said, “If you're debt collectors, you'll have to wait until after the show.”

She was Rin of VESPER. Mali recognised her from a poster outside the gates: four women in dark performance clothes beneath a silver crescent. The actual Rin had ink on her thumb and one boot repaired with wire.

She listened to them because Gorrath showed her the cracked drum. Then she took them downstairs.

Sori was counting medical supplies. Mae was asleep beneath a table. Sena stood on a chair repairing a lantern. Their afternoon performance had been moved to the central court. The masters wanted the demonstration to follow their final song without an interval.

“Our cue track was replaced yesterday,” Rin said. “House arrangement. They said it would make the crowd breathe together.”

Mali unwrapped the page. Rin backed away before its mark was visible.

“That was on the arrangement desk.”

Sori put down the bandages. “We cancel.”

“Then they'll use the track,” Sena said from the chair. “And say we're ill.”

Mae emerged, hair over one eye. “We can take the amplifier apart.”

They argued with a speed and familiarity that made Mali feel suddenly lonely. No one accepted the first proposal. No one was struck for interrupting. At last Rin asked to see the copper loop. She carried it through the basement until it blackened beside a speaking tube built into the wall.

Behind a curtain they found the old service passages. Brass tubes ran from the stage into the teaching courts, carrying announcements, exercises and the daily recovery lessons. Someone had added crystalline wafers at every junction. Each wafer bore the branching mark.

Hesh reached for one. Rin caught her hand.

“That tube also carries ward instructions to the infirmary. If they close the lower doors during a disturbance, we need it.”

They marked the junctions on Sena's lighting plan instead.

Footsteps sounded above. Deren's voice travelled down the tube, asking whether the quartet was ready. Mali had not heard her teacher for two years. Her back straightened before she could stop it.

Sori noticed. She said nothing.

“Tell him yes,” Mali whispered.

Rin stared at her.

“I need him to meet me where people can see.”

After a moment, Sori spoke into the tube. “We have a visitor from Red Eave. She requests a correction before the Assembly.”

Mali closed her eyes. The phrase was exactly right. A student did not challenge Deren in public. A student asked to be corrected.

The answer came after three long breaths.

“Bring her sword.”