Skate turned a corner to find herself in a sort of makeshift courtyard, an open space behind the backs of several buildings. She did not see Tillby. Nor, apparently, did anyone else. The gang of thieves were looking around and arguing with one another.
“You lost him, you idiot.”
“I did not; I was following you—”
“My foot, you were. I followed you down the path—”
There were numerous such squabbles among the gang, while others were conferring in more subdued tones, trying to find out where the man had gone. A voice rang out among them, and she recognized it as the voice of Tillby.
“Good afternoon,” he said in false joviality. “I trust your travels through the city have been pleasant.” A stack of junk against one wall disappeared within a wisp of smoke to reveal three figures close to the wall: Miss Amanda and Kibo the Magnificent were on either side of Tillby and immediately put their hands to work.
Acting on instinct, Skate covered her ears, turning away and ducking around the corner. She began humming a random note to drown out any sound that might get through.
Skate sat for what felt like a few minutes before she chanced a removal of her hand from one ear. She heard nothing. Feeling emboldened, she peeked around the corner. The Ink members were standing in a crowd facing away from her and toward where Tillby’s troupe had been. The performers, however, were now at the back of the crowd, talking amongst themselves in animated gestures and excited tones. They were not hiding their voices at all.
“—went as well as could be expected.”
“Yes, and that’s great, but what are we to do with them now that we’ve got them?”
Tillby stroked his beard and thought about Amanda’s question. “We’ve got them for several hours. Why not just leave them here and have them join in with the main group when we get started?”
“I have a better idea: distraction.”
Tillby arched an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.
“Send them to the other side of the district and have them cause havoc of their own a few minutes before we begin; that will mean fewer Guards springing up to stop the next crowd.”
Tillby laughed and clapped Amanda on the shoulder. “An excellent idea! Kibo, will there be any difficulties in keeping these under thrall and moving forward with her plan?”
Underneath his wrappings, Kibo shook his head. He brought his arms out in a self-enveloping hug to warm himself. “No problem.”
“Good! That’s settled then. Give them their order and send them on their way. Then we’ll go set up.”
Kibo nodded and turned toward the crowd. Without a word, the whole gaggle turned to meet his gaze. There they all stood, looking dazed and stupid. Again, without a word spoken, they all moved at once in various directions, their slack jaws tightening up in a slightly unnatural grimness.
Kibo nodded, satisfied, and turned around. “We’ve got about twenty minutes.”
“Then let’s put on a show,” Tillby said.
The other two nodded in turn and strode out of the makeshift courtyard. Skate followed at a safe distance to watch their progress. They exited out into the street near a set of shops not unlike the area the Plume had been built in. In the middle of the white-covered lawn, presumably a garden in the warmer months, the three of them got ready. Skate watched from behind the low fence that separated the shops from the main road. Amanda got out her instrument, and Kibo began to stretch his fingers while Tillby called to passersby and patrons. “Come one, come all, my fair ladies and dashing gentlemen! We bring to you a show the likes of which you have never had opportunity to witness, a greater experience than all the wealth you could buy. We charge nothing for it, but only pray that you will give whatever pittance you can be moved to part with in appreciation. If it displeases you in any way, you may keep your coins. We hope only to move your hearts, not your purses. Come one, come all!”
The lines were followed by similar calls, and a crowd began to gather. Most buskers were thrown out of the Baron’s district in short order, but most buskers did not look like Tillby’s troupe. Some Guards approached at the sound of shouting, but they made no move to restrain the performers. In fact, they lingered at the edge of the crowd, though whether that was out of a desire to maintain order or to get a better view, Skate didn’t know.
Tillby was introducing The Tales of Beuford Hall in a much more prolonged manner than he had in the slums—probably, Skate guessed, in order to let the crowd continue to grow—when a hand touched her gently on the shoulder.
The jeweled red sleeve trimmed in blue told her who it was before she turned all the way. Belamy was not looking at her, but at the crowd and its centerpiece. “You ought not to have come, Skate.”
“They’re going to hypnotize everyone in the crowd.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m not sure why, but they’ve already caught a bunch of thieves and sent them off to cause trouble.”
“Very shrewd of them.”
“I’m not sure what they’re planning.”
“Look where they are. Take a guess. Think of what you know.”
Skate turned back to the crowd full of people chattering excitedly, some almost giddy with anticipation, others only slightly above boredom. They’ve been planning this for a while. People who watch and listen will do what they’re told.
“The shops,” Skate realized. “They’re going to rob the shops.”
Belamy dropped his hand from her shoulder and walked toward the crowd.
“You’re gonna stop them?”
“I need to talk to the inestimable Mr. Tillby about his contact with the thieves. I think that would be harder to do once he has everyone under his thrall.” Belamy did not slow down as he spoke, but he had raised his voice accordingly in order to be heard. “If the show starts, stay away. You don’t want to get caught up in it.”
“Wait.” Skate knew what she was going to say, but her self-preservation was screaming at her not to. He turned to face her, brow pinched in concern. “I’m one of them. One of the thieves. They’re called the Ink, and they’re taking money from Gherun each month now. Whether you give his books back soon or not won’t matter. Do you need to do any talking to Tillby now?”
Belamy’s expression did not change for what felt like minutes.
Then, as Tillby continued working the crowd up into excitement over the promise of a coming story, Belamy went from a slight frown to a smile—a full-faced, gleeful smile she had never seen on his face before. “Thank you for being honest with me, Skate. No, there’s no need to talk anymore.”
Belamy turned toward the crowd and launched himself from the ground, seeming to lunge an impossible distance. The wind whipped his robes while he flew, and he looked like a streak of flame over the white snow. He slammed into Tillby, who shrieked in fear as they flew into the air. Belamy held him there by the front of his shirt. He was saying something while the crowd gasped and pointed. Amanda stood in shock, and Kibo began to wave his arms and mutter. The magician’s lower half became a whirlwind of smoke, and he flew up to meet the airborne pair.
The Guards had begun trying to disperse the crowd in order to get a handle on the situation. The spectators, however, were not budging; most assumed this to be part of the show. Only when the Guards began yelling and shoving did members of the crowd begin to scatter. Kibo, Belamy, and Tillby were talking in tones too low to be heard this far down, but Kibo looked ready to lash out at Belamy, who, for his part, held Tillby with both hands and was chatting with a pleasant air. As they spoke, Kibo’s posture became more relaxed, until he was eventually “standing” with arms crossed, as if listening to a conversation about the weather. A member of the Guard saw Skate and walked her way.