They came in their finery, surrounded by retainers. The bagheads took their knees one by one, and Ori felt the hands of his captors on his back. Sparrow had taught him well, and the boy dropped to one knee and lowered his head as he was taught to act toward the high nobility. The girl went into a curtsy, her wet dress spread before her as she went fully down, while Owl hung his head lower, his face pained as he dropped down in supplication.

  The Kings were as varied as their subjects. Short, tall, thin, fat, they wore masks of silver limned with gold with designs as varied as their bodies. The first Ori saw, a tall man thin and lanky, had a mask marked with the holy symbols of the Mother and Father, along with dozens of other sigils the boy assumed were for other gods. He wore the robes of a priest, and around his neck were relics of a hundred faiths.

  A fat, rolling King had hands drawn across his face, running in lines around the mask’s edges and across the brow. He was dressed in traditional robes of the king of the stage. Cloth of gold, shot through with notes of red, silver, and purple. He was a clown of a king, who wore his crown and several others as bangles around his wrists and a choker around his neck. His hair was white, a braid of it hanging down his back and beard braided in a royal plait.

  The next was dressed in a long robe of black, a strange oily opalescence playing in the folds. This mask was marked with small, strange symbols packed tight, making the face appear wrinkled and wizened.

  The last was a tall King, whose mask was carved with the features of a skull. The robes of this King were all grey, his mask wrapping the entirety of his head. The King was faceless, nameless. Ori felt a wave of fear as he stared at the death mask, and froze completely as the skull turned to him and seemed to stare through him.

  The Kings came forward and sang their praises. Reedy, profound, loud and quiet, their voices varied as much as their speech.

  “We are the Kings of the valley! I am the King of the Mob, controlling the masses! Swear fealty to me and I will teach you the ways of the rabble, to scrap and scrape, to take and return. Stand before me and be a knight of the people.”

  “I am the King of Kings! I rule over the noble, the birthrighted, the damned fools who fear the common man! Swear fealty to me and seek riches and honor, loot and plunder, to tax and return. Stand before me and be a knight of swindlers.”

  “I am the King of the Gods Themselves! I rule over churches and temples, prayers and spirits. Swear fealty to me and learn the ways of the holy and the Art. Stand before me and be a knight of the lords.”

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  The wizened face stared blankly to the crowd, the face turning to each before looking towards the skull.

  “You know me, and who I serve. You know my business, and know my fealty. All will stand before me, but if you stand today you may be in my service.”

  “You walk your own path, Oriole. I will not tell you where to tread. I will tell you I have served with all of these kings in my life, and each is kind and cruel at his face.” Sparrow turned away then, leaving Ori to it.

  You are for me, and you know it. You are meant for me, and I for you. Come to me. Come to me and find peace. Ori looked around to each of the faces, only to settle on the final King. The King extended his hand and crooked a finger to Ori. As if in a trance the boy walked to Him, and stood beside the last King. Are you sure you’re ready for me? I am jealous for those in my service.

  I’m ready.

  Then you have chosen a great master. You’re hurt, are you not?

  Yes, but I will manage.

  Then show them how hurt you are.

  The King reached to Ori’s shirt and drew one finger down. Ori saw the finger had a bladed ring, and gasped as the King cut through his shirt. Gingerly the King helped him out of the shirt, and the room went in an uproar.

  “Sparrow you crippled old son of a whore! How dare you beat this boy so badly!” one voice in the mob cried.

  “He brutalized him! Look at his arms, his back!

  “The old bastard cut him as well!

  “Call a summit! Let the fucker burn for it!”

  The Kings looked to each other, trapped in a silent conference. Sparrow was being held by Heron and the Queen, both ready to do the mob’s justice. Sparrow looked to his prentice with eyes filled with tears, then bowed his head ready to receive the sentence meted out.

  After a few moments The King of Kings came forward, a sad look on his face. He spoke to Sparrow, gesturing wildly to the crowd, Ori, and back to Sparrow. The old man looked dumbstruck, resigned to whatever fate the Kings set forth for him.

  They will be hard on him. Cruel and unfair. You will speak at the calling, and I hope you can save him. Fairefaced Sparrow Hill is a good man, and a useful tool to Us. It will be a fine game as any to play.

  I’m sick, tired, soon to be drunk, and you want me to defend him?

  You’ll be in far worse conditions doing far more dangerous things soon enough. Are you not up to the challenge before you, Oriole Tanner?

  Ori felt the fear for his mentor and his own honor rush through him. Of course he would do whatever is necessary to fix this, but he needed proof. He felt the rush of the booze, the haze of the medicine Sparrow had given him kicking in.

  Dirk, Blade. They wore striped leather shirts. They beat me with bashers, tossed me into a wall near the Yards. They would have killed me if a lamplighter hadn’t found me. They ripped my arm out of its place. Please, for Mother and Father send someone to find them.

  The presence was out of his head the next moment. Ori felt the whirling of the ground and the pulse of the blood in his chest rising to his temples. The voice had kept him up, and as he fell into unconsciousness the boy prayed the voice had listened to him.