Everyone Wears a Mask
When Chris accepted the note, the man explained the auction. Then he drew a mask from a drawer and held it out.
"What's this?"
"Wouldn't it be wise to hide who you are at the auction house?"
Chris took the mask.
"Am I the only one wearing one, or does everyone?"
"Everyone wears one."
"So the auction isn't exactly honest, then?"
"If the goods were clean, would they turn up at an auction run by our Black Hand Guild? Frankly, a great deal of what we sell is stolen."
"I may need to reconsider attending."
The branch manager smiled and gestured at the desk.
"Aren't all of these stolen too?"
"..."
"That's why precious things show up at the auction more often than you'd think."
"Why is that?"
"The more expensive an item, the more of a past it carries."
The old gatekeeper brought over a box of mana stones and handed it across. Chris opened it, checked the stones, and tucked them into the bag on the floor.
The branch manager spoke.
"There must have been a curse or a trap on that spatial pouch. Did you disarm the security yourself?"
"It was already undone."
Chris told the truth. The man didn't believe him.
"Hard to credit that a pack of suspicious mages wouldn't have planted at least one curse."
Paron had set no security on the spatial pouch at all. He had been confident, it seemed, that no one alive could take it from him. And the security on the pouch seized that day had been stripped the moment it changed hands. Looking back, the man had been arrogant past all reason.
Thanks to that, Chris could use the spatial pouch without any trouble.
"Whoever handed the pouch to me must have released it."
"Who gave it to you?"
"That's a secret."
"You're sure you didn't release it yourself?"
"I never learned petty tricks like that."
"Petty tricks... An arrogant fellow, aren't you."
"Save 'arrogant' for the mage who didn't bother putting any security on his pouch in the first place."
"Someone like you?"
"I didn't set any because I don't know how."
"A mage who can't cast a security spell?"
"There was too much to learn. Security magic got left out."
"At last you admit you're that mage."
"Think what you like. Still no identification, and no passage ticket?"
"Wait patiently."
From then on the two of them killed time trading quips. Through it all the old gatekeeper never stepped outside. He stayed right beside them, watching Chris.
Three hours passed.
"Things ought to be ready by now. Let's go."
Chris followed him out. The old man didn't come along. He remained where he was.
A short while later the branch manager returned. The old man was sitting in his chair, and yet the manager didn't raise his voice. He bowed his head.
"Vice Guild Master, what did you make of him?"
"Golin has a good eye for people. He smells dangerous."
The branch manager reported their conversation down to the smallest detail, then added one thing more.
"I'm certain he's the one who hit the Senfo Trading Company's convoy."
"Don't jump to conclusions."
"He's hiding a great deal."
"Most of the people we deal with are like that. Let's scrape together whatever we can find on him."
Chris spent the night at a shabby inn. He ate a solid breakfast, checked out, and stopped at a bakery for three or four loaves. He passed the time wandering the city, tearing into a loaf whenever his stomach started to complain. By the time he finished the last of them, the sun was beginning to sink.
He made his way slowly toward the place where the auction would be held. It was a mansion on a hill overlooking the harbor. As he climbed on foot, carriages passed constantly. The road was narrow, and he took their dust full in the face.
He had pressed himself to the roadside and was brushing the dust off when an ostentatiously decorated four-horse carriage swept past. It filled the lane so completely that one wrong step would have meant a collision. He hugged the edge as tightly as he could. A window opened, and a portable chamber pot came out.
A wet splash.
The pot tipped, and filth poured down. Dung and piss were more frightening than an incoming fire arrow. Chris leapt clear, and a curse burst out of him on its own.
"Shit."
A mage's hearing is keener than an ordinary man's. Whether the curse had carried or not, the carriage stopped. The door opened, and a sour-faced mage stepped down. He lifted his chin and crooked a finger.
Chris looked behind him. No one was there.
"Are you calling me?"
The man nodded. Being summoned was no reason to go. Chris ignored him and walked on, and the mage suddenly loosed a fire arrow.
Chris hopped aside, let the arrow pass, and jabbed a finger at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to kill you."
"Why?"
"You spoiled my mood."
"When did I do that?"
"You cursed at me."
Chris was dumbfounded.
"Because you dumped your filth in my direction."
"That is the secretion of a great mage. Count it an honor."
This one's out of his mind.
Chris saw no further point in talking.
"You need a beating."
The sour-faced mage snorted.
"On your way to the auction house, by any chance?"
"Yeah."
"A laborer?"
"No."
"Surely not a participant."
"I am, actually."
The mage clicked his tongue.
"I've been too busy to attend for a while... The quality of the auction has fallen off badly."
"What's wrong with me?"
"No robe. No staff. Penniless wandering mages like you are dragging the reputation of mages through the mud."
"If anyone's dragging it down, it's filthy mages like you, dumping their waste wherever they please. Don't pin it on someone who's minding his own business."
"Words aren't going to settle this."
He came closer, and went on.
"My name is Franco."
"I didn't ask. Why are you telling me?"
"You ought to know who killed you before you reach the underworld."
"You really aren't right in the head."
The short-tempered mage raised ten fire arrows into the empty air. From the shape of his casting, he had barely set a foot in Thought Formulation.
Chris preferred to beat an enemy with magic rather than with his body. That preference, though, was for mages of a similar level. Against a novice like this, he felt no need to cling to spells.
"What a pain."
He kicked off the ground.
A rush of air.
The short-tempered mage was too slow even to see him properly. He never got the chance to loose the fire arrows. In the space of a startled gasp his opponent was right in front of him, and a fist smashed into his jaw.
A dull crack.
Teeth tore free of the gums and flew into the air. The fire arrows he had so carefully prepared winked out, useless.
Chris crooked a finger toward the carriage. The driver flinched and hunched his shoulders.
"Me?"
"Yes. You."
The driver hesitated, then climbed down and approached. Having seen Chris's speed, he didn't dare run.
"Who does this one belong to?"
"The Dafuno Magic Tower."
Chris picked up the unconscious, limp Franco and headed for the carriage.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"Leave the carriage sitting in the road and you'll inconvenience whoever comes along behind. No sense causing trouble for innocent people. When you hit a fork, take it."
Seeing that Chris didn't seem inclined to harm him, the driver answered with some relief.
"Yes, sir."
Chris boarded with Franco in his arms. He dumped Franco on the carriage floor and took a seat himself. Some magical working must have been laid into the coach; even as it rolled, it barely shook.
"Nice ride."
He nudged Franco over with his foot, stripped off the robe, and took the staff. At that moment Franco's eyebrows twitched.
"You're awake."
No response.
"You think if you play dead I'll just let it go?"
"..."
Chris tapped his cheek with a finger.
"Get up."
The lashes trembled.
"If your eyes aren't open by the time I count to five, I'll dig them out. One, two, five."
Franco protested.
"You're supposed to count three and four as well!"
Chris pulled a spatial pouch from the robe and shoved it in front of his nose.
"Why?"
"Release the security."
Just then the driver called back.
"We've turned onto a side road."
"Go a little farther, stop the carriage, and wait right there."
"Yes, sir."
Chris turned his attention back to Franco.
"I said release it."
Franco grumbled.
"A mage, stooping to common robbery without a shred of dignity..."
Chris had no interest in a long conversation. He cut him off.
"Do you want to die?"
Franco flinched, eyes darting, and released the pouch's security. Chris watched every detail of how he did it.
Once it was open, Chris reached in and drew out what was inside. The pouch held only a single box.
"Nice chamber pot, and no money?"
"I am not a pauper. Look inside the box."
He lifted the lid. Seven top-grade mana stones lay within. Chris whistled.
"Not bad."
"I sold everything else and turned it into mana stones so I could attend the auction."
"I'll put them to good use."
"Um... who are you?"
"You don't need to know. Close your eyes."
Franco went pale with fear.
"Wh—why—why do I have to close my eyes?"
"I can't just leave you as you are."
"Why not?"
"If you burst into the auction house shouting that you were robbed, that puts me in a difficult spot."
Tears spilled down Franco's face.
"Please spare me."
"I'm not that bad a person. I don't intend to kill you."
"Then why are you telling me to close my eyes?"
"Hey. When I say close them, close them."
Franco squeezed his eyes shut. Then he cracked them a sliver. Chris reached toward his head and set his mana moving. As the mana wove together and became magical power, he whispered.
"Sleep."
Franco's eyes closed. Chris ordered him to sleep once more, then studied him. The lashes quivered, ever so slightly.
Faking it.
Chris cast the sleep magic again.
Sleep.
He still didn't sink under. Casting a spell on an ordinary person and casting one on a mage were very different things. A mage's resistance was strong, and magic did not take easily.
Chris increased his magical power tenfold and poured a harder will into it.
Sleep!
The strength left Franco's neck, and his limbs went slack. Magic this strong might keep him from ever waking, but Chris didn't care.
If he dies, he dies.
He called the driver in, laid Franco on the seat, and cast sleep magic on the driver as well. The man fell under it at once and slipped into sleep.
Chris put on Franco's robe and moved his own belongings into Franco's spatial pouch. Staff in hand, he set the mask the Black Hand Guild's branch manager had given him over his face and climbed the road with a light step.
Chris stood before the iron gate of a great mansion that looked like a castle, a tower rising high where the building met the cliff. The gate stood wide open. Two mages in black robes watched the guests come in.
He stepped through and paused. The black-robed mages looked at his mask and nodded. The mask, it seemed, served as an admission ticket as well.
He crossed the courtyard, where carriages stood in rows, and headed for the mansion. The building was a long rectangle, narrow at the front and deep behind.
The hall had an old-fashioned air. Beneath the dais, some hundred chairs had been set out, and on each seat lay a paddle for the auction.
Chris took a place in the very back row, folded his arms, and waited for the auction to begin. Mages appeared one by one and filled the empty seats.