The Mages fired the statues in their magic flames, turning the mud into solid stone. Soon, deformed creatures lined every gangway, arch and parapet in the castle. In celebration of the citadel’s completion, the villains toasted their work and drank themselves to sleep.
There has been no first-person account of what happened that night. The stories choose to pick things up the next morning when the hallways echoed with silence. The Wizard’s magic would have been no use against the stone flesh of the statues, and neither would the soldiers’ swords or arrowheads. The Ingari had never killed before, but with their finely pointed fingernails and sharpened teeth, they adapted with ease.
The bodies weren’t thrown into the river this time, but carried far away from the water and buried in fields where they could feed the plants and flowers. When the rain fell the following night, it washed the fortress and its fearsome residents clean of their sins. The Castle of Gargos remains. The statues keep watch by day but at night…
At night…
In the old days, before the Coda, you can imagine the end of the story. Stone monsters with hearts of gold flying between bridges and wandering the halls of Gargos. Some strange, sweet justice. But now…
One of the actors, a rosy-cheeked hourglass with fire in her eyes, walked to the front of the stage and removed her monster mask. She held it out and examined the snarling face.
“But at night… who knows? The magic that bound the spirits of the Ingari to their fiendish rock forms was a miracle granted by the sacred river. In this age beyond the Coda, the spirit of the world has also turned to stone. Does the Castle of Gargos still come alive at night with ancient spirits or, like the morning after Domik and his forces were wiped from the land, does it sit cold and empty? Perhaps one of you,” she pointed at a nervous-looking boy in the second row, “might have to go and find out.”
The crowd emitted a small chuckle and the rest of the actors came to the front of the stage to join the woman in a bow. The actor who had played Domik went around with a hat to collect donations. He’d removed his fake beard and cloak, but some of the children still cowered behind their parents when he approached.
I waited under the tree for the audience to leave and pondered the question of the play. I’d always liked the idea of those rock monsters ruling over their stone castle on the river. I hadn’t stopped to wonder what might have happened since the great separation. I guess I hadn’t wanted to. Just one more tragedy to scratch away inside my mind.
Once the amphitheater was empty of children, the cast dismantled the backdrop. The men cleared out first, hauling the larger set pieces. I tried to throw a few questions in their path but they grunted past when they realized I wasn’t offering any money.
The curved beauty was left behind, folding costumes into a wooden trunk on wheels. She was just the kind of woman that belonged on the stage: bursting with passion but with just enough body to contain it.
“On to the next town?” I asked. She looked warily over my shoulder, hoping that one of her colleagues was still around. “I don’t mean to startle you. My name is Fetch Phillips. I’m here to ask some questions about a missing girl.”
She tried to look relaxed, and the color flushed back into her cheeks.
“What next town? You think this place is doing badly, try the smaller cities on the continent. We roll into somewhere with only two coins to rub together and end up giving one away to those worse off. Sunder’s the only place we can scrape by these days.”
I picked up one of the masks and gave it a closer look. Nothing but cheap plasterboard and foam. From the back row, it had looked like carved rock.
“You perform here a lot then?”
“Twice a week. Plus, we use it for rehearsals when the weather allows.”
“Seen an old Vamp and a young girl come by?”
She nodded. Then she remembered the first part of our conversation. Her hand shot up to her mouth in shock. The theatricality didn’t stop at the curtain call apparently.
“The Siren? She’s not the one you’re looking for?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh no!” Actual tears were forming in her eyes. No wonder she was an actress. Put these emotions into any other profession, and they’d lock her up with psychiatric problems. “She is just the sweetest thing. And what a voice. She was just getting really good.”
“You heard her sing?”
“Oh, yes. They’ve been practicing for months now. Always late. Very secretive. I thought it might be something sordid. When I found out she was a Siren it all made sense.”
“Sordid?”
“Oh, you know.” She batted her eyes with lashes you could use to paint a barn. “Old man, beautiful young girl.”
“Rye’s not old, he’s fossilized.”
“Don’t ever underestimate the mistakes a young girl can make, Mr Phillips. But once I spoke to them it was obvious he was just the sweetest old fella.”
“Any idea where either of them would be?”
“Either of them? They’re not both missing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, that is strange! He was quite frail. But so smart!” Her face fell back to an exaggerated sadness. “Poor man. Poor, poor man. What a waste.”
I followed up with a few more questions but none of them sprouted any life. All she knew was that a talented young girl and a generous tutor had rehearsed occasionally and that they’d seemed very lovely. So, she knew about as much as I did and she wasn’t even trying.
I wasn’t any closer to finding Rye, but the girl had gone missing more recently, so maybe her trail was still warm. If you tried to list all the dangers in Sunder City, it would take you a year, and someone would likely stab you in the back and steal your pencil before you were done, but if January Gladesmith grew up here then she also knew how to keep herself safe. Maybe something caused her to slip up. If she was sneaking around at night to practice her singing in secret, it would explain why her mother didn’t know where she went.
“Is it common in your business?” I asked. “Meeting a Siren who wants to perform?”
“What does common even mean any more? There ain’t a single thing in this world that doesn’t feel strange these days. Before the Coda, there were some, but not many. I always thought their ultimate goal was to find a man, get married and live a life of comfort. Isn’t that what every girl wants? A little company on a cold night?”
Days later, I realized she might have been flirting with me. I’d been out of that game so long I had no hope of catching what she was throwing out.
“There was another Siren,” she continued, once she realized I wasn’t about to sweep her into my arms. “Gabrielle. She was singing and dancing in Sunder a few years back. I don’t think it went too well for her. I heard from one of the guys that she’s started spinning tricks down The Rose Quarter.”
Of course. Every case and every angel lands in The Rose eventually. I scraped her brain for a few more details and then shook her slender hand.
“Thanks for your help. I liked the show. What do I owe you?”
“On the house. You’re doing a hero’s work.”
I forced a laugh out of my throat.
“I’ve been a lot of things, lady, but never that. All the real heroes are lying on the heap. Good place for them, too. They don’t need to see what we did to this world.”