“Where will you be?”

 

Aeris rolled her eyes, dragging her hands up the length of her underweight torso. “In the back of the wagon, making no sounds and pretending I’m not there.” She ended her gesture with a flourish of fingers and a mouthed poof. 

 

Salvien’s brow pinched as he leaned across the space between them, broad shoulders and loose brown curls giving him the appearance of a lion. He snagged his dagger from the center of the city map. He thrust it towards Aeris, at the last second maneuvering away and stabbing an apple. 

 

She flinched. Salvien smiled. “You don’t have the stomach to do hard things, novice.”

 

Luri cleared his throat from the corner where he leaned. “Are you finished, Salvien? The lass earned her ride-along, just like each of us.” Aeris shot him a small, grateful smile; the silver-haired warrior simply stared at her. 

 

Three knocks at the door. It door eased open, and a feathered round cap the shade of mountains at dusk inched into view. 

 

Salvien sighed around a mouthful of apple. “Another hat, Cecil? That’s the third one this evening.”

 

Cecil stepped inside, fingering the edge of his aubergine cap. “You asked for a code to alert the crew to the next step in the plan, and I have a penchant for fashion.” He flashed a dazzling smile at Aeris. “What should this one tell the crew, Aeris? I am thinking… an apple a day keeps the guards away.”

 

Cecil threaded his arm through hers and pulled Aeris out of the room. Luri pushed the door closed behind them, crossing his arms across his chest as he turned back towards the map. “Have you heard from Borget today?”

 

Nodding, Salvien dropped his apple core beside the map and leaned forward on his palms, his eyes tracing the path through the market square. “Mentioned something about exchanging pitch for sulfur, because a sack is more durable than a vat if you accidentally drop it.”

 

Luri shrugged. “If he wants to reek to the high heavens, so be it.”

 

Salvien chuckled. He tapped his finger against the map, drawing attention to the tower in the center of the market square. Silence stretched between them, until finally Luri said, “Humor me, Salvien. What could possibly be in this vault?”

 

Salvien’s fingers drummed on the table. “The rebels believe it is a royal vault. If they can get inside, they can drain the coffers and sweep the king’s feet out from under him.”

 

“You weren’t concerned that the rebels named themselves ‘The Rising Doom', then?” Luri rolled his neck. “And this rebel leader, the unhinged mage, this…”

 

“Priomon.”

 

“This Priomon said it's the correct hidden vault?” Luri pointed at the map. “Why not the one beneath the academy, or below the actual fucking bank?” He threw his arms out. “It has to be the one under the cathedral?”

 

“Luri, you were the one who told me that my second-in-command could have zero doubts.” Salvien pushed himself off the table, stretching to his full height. “This sounds a hell of a lot like doubt.”

 

The older man huffed, running a hand down his face. “Call it a veteran’s intuition, then. Something’s off here.”

 

“Then your intuition will be put to the test tomorrow. We’ve got a job to do.” Salvien jerked his head towards the door. 

 

Luri blinked at Salvien, and then disappeared into the hallway. 

 

***

 

Germund dropped to the ground from the footboard of his mummer’s wagon, breathing in the morning air. His hired role today was simple - distract the masses - and it was a lovely day for a guise. Actors tumbled out behind him, arms laden with banners and costumes and backdrops. In no time at all, a small stage stood beside the wagon. 

 

The market square yawned to life around the stage. Merchants tugged awnings up, shoving loose cabbages back into barrels and hooking slabs of meat to their rafters. Early risers wandered into the square, baskets in the crooks of elbows as they gathered what they needed for the day.

 

Cecil appeared beside a baker, peering at the wares before he glanced towards the mummers to confirm a built stage. At the next stall, he exchanged coins for a thin maroon scarf and tossed it across his shoulders. 

 

Scarf in sight, Germund began warming up his voice, humming scales. Each exercise drew more attention to the makeshift stage, and a few shoppers paused in the middle of the road to listen.

 

Cecil wandered towards a cobbler, laughing with delight at a pair of dragon leather boots. He pulled a pair of gloves in matching ochre from his bag. Sliding them on, he waggled his fingers along the boots and then shook hands with the man in the stall. 

 

Germund poked a member of the troupe, who proclaimed, “We shall begin soon!” The space between stalls filled quickly, blocking passage through that part of the market. Costumed actors climbed on stage, bowed deeply to the audience, and then pointed towards Germund. He wore a masque, brightly painted and tied off with long ribbons, a rainbow beard that floated as he moved. He cleared his throat, lifted his lyre, and opened the guising with a gentle ballad about a young boy who dreamed of becoming a knight. More townspeople pushed towards the stage, smashed together to watch the actors give movement to Germund’s song. Children were lifted to shoulders, giggling when one of the actors waddled across on his knees, brandishing a stick around his head. 

 

Cecil edged around the crowd, turning to visit a florist. He sniffed several bouquets before he settled on a corsage of soft pink flowers and walked away. He passed several stalls before he paused to signal another crew member by pinning the corsage to his shoulder-bag.

 

Across the square, a block of a man emerged from an alley, cradling a large sack to his wide chest. He leaned against the side of the clock tower, turning towards Germund’s stage. Borget pulled a knife from his belt and an orange from his pocket, settling into place as he peeled the fruit. Over the blade, he watched the mummers. 

 

Once he saw Borget, Cecil strolled to a silversmith, where he haggled over a belt buckle as he placed his aubergine round cap on his head with a dramatic flourish and stone-sweeping bow. 

 

“That damn grape hat,” Salvien muttered. He reached through the narrow drop-window and tapped Danzi’s shoulder. 

 

The young stable-hand snapped the reins, and the carriage jerked forward through another alley. Luri reached beneath the seat cushion to withdraw a coiled rope. He slid it over his arm and tucked it into his side, then nodded at Salvien. 

 

Danzi guided the carriage along one side of the market square, purposefully approaching the crowd entranced by the mummer’s play. A guard stepped out before them, waving the carriage away. 

 

Salvien snapped his fingers, grinning like a braggart. “Like clockwork.”

 

Aeris glanced between the men in confusion. She bit her lip, and then asked softly, “I thought we were breaking in through the tower?”

 

The carriage jolted to one side. Danzi steered the horses in a turn back towards the center of the square, kicking up a cloud of dust beneath the wheels. It filled the interior of the carriage, causing Luri to cough sharply as he replied, “We are going in through the tower. But we can’t exactly take a pickaxe to it.”

 

“I told you she wasn’t ready,” Salvien hissed. Aeris shrank into her corner.

 

The clock tower loomed above them. Danzi righted the wheels just as Borget tripped beside the tower, dropping the sack of sulfur. It landed underneath the horses, spooking them. One reared while the other skittered. Danzi shouted in alarm as the steer pole snapped, the momentum of the wayward carriage thrusting it forward. It slammed into the bottom of the tower, smacking the foundation and tearing a hole in the wood above it. 

 

In tandem, the mummer’s wagon exploded with its prepared fireworks, bright comets lashing out at the crowd. The townspeople began screaming, climbing over one another to escape. Wayward fireworks singed awnings on stalls, tendrils of smoke joining the dust cloud to form a haze across the square. Guards gathered near the stage, using their shields to form a perimeter around the crowd dissolving into chaos. 

 

"All coming together," Salvien crooned as he slid from the carriage, bounding towards the opening in the clock tower. He peered inside, whistled, and then gestured for the rope from Luri, who tossed it through the hole and began lowering it to the tunnel hidden far beneath the foundation. The men stood together, counting the seconds, trying to measure the depth. 

 

Aeris called to them, but Salvien waved her off. She called again, her voice more frantic, as she scrambled out of the carriage. Luri glanced over his shoulder, prepared to stop her, but his eyes filled with the sight of Borget barreling forward, arms waving above his head. Aeris pointed towards the mummer’s wagon, Borget pointed towards the front of the carriage, and Luri watched, frozen, as a loose firework fell between them. 

 

The sack of sulfur exploded. 

 

Carriage shrapnel shredded through the clock tower. It groaned beneath its own weight. 

 

One vertical post splintered, then another. The tower didn’t fall - it imploded. 

 

The stones of the market quaked as the center of the square crashed among stalls, merchants diving away from the rain of clay roof tiles.

 

Dust and dirt and death rose from the remains. 

 

Aeris crawled out from underneath rubble, wiping blood from her eyes. Blinking, she stared into the thick cloud of debris that hung like darkness across the market. Her ears rang. She spun in a slow circle, drawn out of her stupor by the brim of an aubergine cap, buried beneath wood and stone. 

 

Aeris stumbled towards the fractured tower, scanning for the others. Borget’s body around the area where the firework had landed, as if he had tried to contain the blast he created. Danzi lay trampled beneath his own horses, one hand still clasping reins. 

 

Something moved against her boot. Aeris flinched, and then looked down to see the rope uncoiling near her feet. She followed it, dropping to her hands and knees at the opening near the bottom of the clock tower. Metal glinted in the shadows below. 

 

Salvien. Luri. Climbing down, still pursuing the vault for Priomon and the Rising Doom. As if their entire plan had not gone to shit. 

 

The crew's job was a small hole, a long climb, and then ignite the sulfur to get into the vault. Aeris looked behind her, the destruction in every direction. She took a deep breath, fury settling deep in her chest. 

 

The girl made no sound at all as she drew her dagger across the rope. She simply pretended it never existed.

 

***

 

Priomon cracked open another tomb, beaming at the preserved body of another dead king. With a flick of his wrist, the corpse shivered, then pushed himself up and out of his deathbed. The ancient monarch joined the growing mass of the resurrected, watching the rebel necromancer work through hollow eye sockets glowing faintly green.

 

Getting to the royal mausoleum took years, but the Rising Doom would leave with exactly what they needed to make their strategic entry into the rebellion for the throne. Priomon’s undead army of former kings would strike terror into the kingdom. The church would demonize the Rising Doom, but they always made a sin of what they did not understand. He could smell their fear even now - desolate and delicious. 

 

An apprentice mage gestured to bodies nearby, and Priomon nodded. The mage waved his hand as he walked away. Priomon had hired these two to do the job; despite overall failure, the explosion above had opened the wall between useless vault and royal mausoleum. Reanimating them was simply… an extension of their contract.

 

Salvien and Luri rose, their eyes a furious green.