Chapter Text
Tristan felt that he had a fairly keen sense of impending danger.
One doesn’t survive many years alone in the Murk without a strong self preservation instinct, and Tristan liked to think himself a decent hand at avoiding risk, despite the contrary advice of his goddess. As he walked into the Chimerical those well honed instincts tingled, and the thief braced himself for disaster.
Then again, a devil wearing an ear to ear grin was probably enough warning for just about anyone.
As Tristan walked over to the counter, he began interpreting Hage’s smile. A little too wide to be a routine punishment, which ruled out cleaning up after Mephistofeline’s antics. Not obviously inhuman, which ruled out anything that put him in too much danger. But the unmistakable glee in Hage’s expression promised humiliation and severe inconvenience.
“The honor of our covenant is at stake, Tristan,” Hage said in lieu of a greeting.
“I didn’t know that we had any at all,” Tristan said mildly. The devil shot him an unimpressed look, but let the comment pass without censure.
“Some enterprising Stripe decided to record the number of our students in their Gallery,” Hage said. “Such information is confidential, obviously, so we must go remove it. Every Mask student is being assigned to sneak into the Gallery and correct this error. Sadly, our esteemed comrades do not see it this way, and will resist any attempts to do so. ”
“The Gallery?” Tristan asked.
“A private space for all the Academy students,” the devil replied, “On the top floor, they keep count of all the students attending Scholomance. The Krypetia count is to be hidden, and a message left to the Academy not to interfere with our work. The civility of this warning is up to you.”
“And I assume that every Stripe will be rewarded for preventing this?”
Hage’s grin widened. “It would be quite embarrassing if anyone tracked mud into their little ivory tower,” he said. “Might remind them where the funding really ought to be going.”
“I thought the Krypteia were above this sort of thing,” the thief complained. “Why should I risk the ire of every Stripe on this island for a point of pride?”
“If you’re the one to succeed, I’ll keep your poison cabinet stocked for six months.”
—
Song felt that she had a fairly keen sense of impending danger.
Her supernatural sight aside, years of keeping an eye out for vengeful Tianxi and her career thus far in the Watch had given her entirely too much practice in avoiding death. As she descended the stairs of the cottage and saw Tristan standing before a well organized breakfast table with suspiciously neat hair, she knew that her day had become just a little more trying.
Admittedly, Fortuna looking between the two of them eagerly was also a bit of a giveaway.
“Good morning, Captain,” Tristan said.
“Good morning,” Song replied, “May I ask what prompted all… this?” She waved at the meticulously arranged cutlery and already brewed pot of tea.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Tristan said with a perfectly even tone that was undercut by Fortuna doubling over, wheezing. “Please, enjoy.” Song decided that she could face this trial after breakfast, and settled in for an admittedly nice meal. As she chewed her eggs, she considered her opponent. Tristan had picked his battlefield well: Maryam and Hooks, who would be inclined to interfere for their own amusement, had stumbled back late after tests with Captain Yue. Neither of them being willing to risk life and limb waking the sisters, they would be sleeping through the conversation. Izel was off at a seminar for the Tinkers held by some famous aetheric engineer. Angharad was out on assignment for the Skiritai. Some particularly dangerous breeds of lemures had been spotted in the Tolomontera wilds, and Marshal Tavarin decided it would be excellent training to march all the students deep into the woods and expect them to find their own way home, with boons being awarded to any groups that brought back trophies. Song had no doubt on her ability to make it back unharmed, but regrettably she could not be enlisted to run interference on the thief’s plans. Tristan waited to speak until Song was finished with her meal, which only heightened her suspicion.
“I’ve been wondering,” the rat said idly, “Where exactly do you attend your covenant classes?”
“Why do you want to know?” Song replied. Tristan hesitated, and Song held in a sigh. They had come a long way from the thinly veiled hostility of the 13th’s early days, but sometimes the thief’s trust issues complicated matters. How long would she be paying for those mistakes? Hand on the chisel , she reminded herself. Nothing to do about the past but make a better future. She raised a hand to forestall the lie she felt coming. “If it’s some Mask business, I may be inclined to help if you simply ask honestly.”
Song watched as Tristan went through his routine foundering, shocked that she meant it and that he believed she meant it, before he sighed.
“Hage has tasked me with sneaking into the Gallery and covering up the count that you keep of the Krypetia students. It would help immensely if you told me where the Gallery is, and when it is least occupied,” he said.
Song stared at him disbelievingly. He wanted her help and permission for something as petty as this? Seeing the disapproval in her eyes, Tristan doubled down.
“Hage will supply me with expensive poisons upon success, and I’ll donate half the difference that I save to brigade funds. On top of the money, we both know how much more useful I can be with a full set of tools.”
The silence stretched.
"We both know the count isn't even accurate! Why does it matter if it's hidden?"
“No,” Song said. Did he think her insane? Bribery having failed, Tristan swiftly changed his approach.
“I’ll stop getting the tea you like from that Tianxi store that won’t sell to you,” he threatened. Song pushed down a flicker of guilt and dismay. She had made the mistake of attempting to going there with everyone before realizing the owners were from Jigong. The whole cabal was now considered tainted by association, so the thief was the only person capable of getting those leaves. Illegally. Song wasn’t proud of her tacit acceptance of petty thievery, but she had found nothing else on Tolomontera that tasted so much like home. But Song was a Stripe, unwilling to bend at the first sign of trouble, and so she struck back.
“I’ll tell Angharad that you’re corrupting the youth." Tristan grimaced. Angharad would be quite offended by Arabella’s informal apprenticeship with the thief, and had no reservations about informing him of her opinions. Extensively. While he was never chastised by the noble’s attempts to instill him with a stronger moral compass, he did consider the lectures a waste of time.
“I’ll tell Maryam that you were making eyes at Commander Tredegar on the boat to Asphodel,” he countered. Song narrowed her eyes at him. That was serious escalation, and both of them knew it. Even if Maryam would restrain it to jokes at her expense, Hooks was unreliable in these matters. Any leaks to Angharad would lead to weeks of awkwardness, and they both knew that any time the Pereduri excused herself to avoid it Song would take her irritation out on the cause of her troubles. Song glared, letting the silence loom as Fortuna watched the proceedings with undisguised glee.
“How about we settle on no involvement of our fellow cabalists,” Tristan retreated, “your eyes against my skills.” Song’s glare didn’t ease at all. She gave it even odds that this was what the rat was after the moment he realized he wouldn’t get her approval to prank her own covenant .
“Deal,” she said anyway. Involving the others was a surefire way to make sure this got out of hand, and she didn’t want to waste any more time or energy on this than necessary. “So long as you give up this farce once I’ve caught you out.”
The thief stalked away, vengefully mussing up his hair in a way that had Song suppressing a flinch. Hopefully a few other Masks would be caught and humiliated and Tristan would give it up as a lost cause before anything too serious happened. Song caught herself, surprised by the thought. Almost unbelievable that any optimism has survived this cabal’s adventures .
—
Since Tristan was not an idiot, he didn’t tail Song when trying to discover the location of the Galley. Her contract would spot him if even the tiniest part of his body was ever in her field of view, and Fortuna could be bribed with insincere flattery to sell him out. No, with the number of Stripes at Scholomance it would be much easier to find someone less attentive and follow them instead.
One fine morning he found an Izcalli pair talking loudly and walking in the vague direction he had seen Song depart in for covenant classes. They were not a difficult tail, and Tristan found himself spending more time looking out for other Stripes on the way to class. Fortuna must have been sufficiently entertained by the previous morning’s negotiations with Song, as Tristan didn’t encounter any other students. Tristan followed the Izcalli to the Old Playhouse, and watched as they vanished into the basement. Sneaking into a place with one entrance when he knew other Stripes would be following eventually seemed like an unnecessary risk, so Tristan hid in one of the higher alcoves until for the rest of the tide to pass through. A few minutes after class started, he went to investigate. The hidden tunnel wasn’t too difficult to find, but the door, guards, and slit where he assumed a password or key would need to be presented were troubling discoveries. Tristan grimaced. He saw no easy way into the Gallery without insider assistance, and there were few realistic options.
“I,” he said, “need to have a civil conversation with Tupoc Xical.”
—
Tristan and Angharad caught Tupoc on his way back from his afternoon classes. The attempt to usher him to a slightly more private place off the road was duly ignored, and to Tristan’s consternation Tupoc began loudly pondering what nefarious deeds the 13th Brigade might be planning for him.
“And in broad daylight! Abrascal, I thought Masks were supposed to be subtle about such things. I seem to have no choice but to defend my honor -.”
“It’s a chance to get one over on Song,” Tristan said. Angharad shot him an alarmed look, but he waved her off.
“I’d love to hear what my boon companions have to say,” Tupoc smoothly finished. The trio entered a nearby ruin, and Tristan started speaking before the Izcalli could interject.
“I need help,” he said bluntly. Any real attempt at subtlety would be cheerfully ignored as the Stripe tried to rile him up. Getting straight to the point would hopefully undercut most of his deliberate time wasting.
“Begging is traditionally done on one’s knees,” Tupoc informed him, “so before I hear you out I’ll need you to observe the proper practices. Both of you, that is. Why is she even here?”
“I see you have yet to be taught manners,” Angharad said coldly, hand unconsciously drifting towards her saber. Tupoc grinned and reached for his spear. As much as the Pereduri’s presence was required to get Tupoc to interact with him in any serious manner, her lack of patience for his antics made her something of a liability.
“Think of her as an encouragement to remain civil,” Tristan said, watching as Angharad caught herself at the word ‘civil’ and somewhat guiltily relaxed her hand. It never became less odd matching the woman embarrassed by her own rudeness to the one who returned to the cottage covered in blood, beaming, and holding the stuffed head of some type of snake lemure she had killed.
“I’m hurt, Abrascal. You really think Tredegar alone could beat me?” Angharad bristled, and even Tristan himself felt a sting at that one.
“I’m here too aren’t I?” He knew he wasn’t much of a combatant, especially compared to his current company, but he could at least provide assistance. Angharad shot him a pitying look.
“It might be best if you stayed out of it, Tristan.” The thief winced at the shot to his pride. The accidental nature of it made it sting all the more. But, on the whole, he considered Tredegar’s contribution positive: visibly pleased by Tristan’s humiliation, the Izcalli would likely be more receptive to bribery. Tristan tried to get the conversation back on track.
“I need to get into the Gallery,” Tristan said, “so I need whatever key you Stripes use to get in.”
“Don’t need to ask where the Gallery even is? Sneaky, sneaky,” Tupoc said, wagging his finger, “I’m not sure I should be allowing such dishonorable rats into our nice facilities. Why don’t you ask your own captain?” The Izcalli looked amused, so Tristan gauged that instead of being shut down he was being invited to begin negotiations. He explained his task.
“She refused to help when I asked her, but accepted the challenge of me trying to work around her,” Tristan said patiently, “and so my success would annoy her.”
“Annoy,” Tupoc echoed, “and this quiet, completely ‘controlled’ annoyance would happen visibly?”
“Very,” the thief promised. Angharad was frowning at him, but that could be handled afterwards.
“It would be immensely entertaining to watch Ren throw a quiet tantrum,” he mused, “however! My loyalty to my own covenant is unbreakable, unless you bribe me sufficiently.” Tristan sighed. He knew that the chance to annoy Song wouldn’t be enough, but he was hoping to exit this room with at least some of his limited wealth.
“Oh, and whatever terms we come to, I also want to remain here while you try to convince Tregedar not to tattle on you to your captain.” And there went his dignity as well.
—
Song sat at the Gallery bar, sipping her tea and reading her Tetralogy textbook in near complete darkness. The numbers under each covenant had shifted some, but for once there was no ink marring the Krypteia’s numbers. Song now knew better than to trust the count provided, but something still rankled about letting the Masks flaunt their reach so blatantly. And so she waited, long after the other Stripes had departed for the day. She glanced at the clock, then went back to her book. Any minute now.
A golden flash in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Fortuna made no attempt at subtlety, striding into the room imperiously and looking around. When she saw Song, she tried and failed miserably to hide her surprise. She scurried back to the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. Only the otherwise dead silence allowed her to catch faint, but furious whispers. A few moments later, Fortuna peeked above the stairs once more, before flinching at Song’s gaze and ducking back down. Amusing as this was, Song did want to get to bed.
“I know you’re there, Abrascal. Go back to the cottage.” A beat passed. To her irritation, Tristan strode up the stairs with the same air as his goddess and a grin on his face. Song glared. Surely he didn’t believe acting charming would get him out of this?
“So. Did Angharad sell me out?”
“No. However much Tupoc was looking forward to my reaction, he decided that foiling you would be more entertaining,” Song caught herself. “Wait, did you involve Angharad in this mess?”
“I just needed her there to negotiate with Xical,” the rat said dismissively, “it doesn’t really count. Also, I am now voting to move her snake head to the dining room. More importantly, I’d like to negotiate another attempt.” There was no chance that Song would put up with having to look at that thing’s dead eyes every time she - . She refocused.
“And why, exactly, would I let you continue to waste both of our time on this?”
“Because I’ll tell you what Imani is planning. You can turn her in for the bounty on this.” Song almost refused him immediately, before thinking more deeply. She could always catch him again, and being able to guilt Angharad about her involvement would make doing so easier than it was this time. Her eyes flicked to the cabal score board. The 13th (she refused to accept the title of ‘Unluckies’ even in the privacy of her own mind) was solidly in the lead due to the points awarded by the Asphodel investigations, but the 9th was rapidly closing the gap. Song had to admit that Sebastian Cameron was using his connections skillfully to amass both prestige and points in the Academy circles.
“Fine,” Song said. “So where is she?”
“Tucked into one of the overnight rooms. I saw her name on their room lists.” Tristan sounded disdainful, and Song hid her amusement. As much as the thief decried any notions of personal honor or pride among thieves, he held many of the other Krypteia students in professional contempt for perceived incompetence. He was likely offended that his bargaining and sneaking had almost lost to someone else who simply had more access to the area. That, or offended that Imani hadn’t bothered to cover her tracks in the Gallery logbooks.
“Very well. You’re dismissed, Abrascal,” Song said, “and if you sneak back up here to write anything while I’m busy with Langa I’ll begin visiting the Chimerical with the 13th during your shifts.” Song watched him balance the risks, before deciding that she was too likely to follow through, and that he didn’t want to spend his shifts getting harassed by both Hage and his brigade. She stared at his retreating back until he ducked out of sight, then sighed. It had been a long night, and she still had to apprehend Langa. She tried to focus on the positives. If the sneak was a little more battered than necessary when Song turned her over to Colonel Cao the next day, no one would care.
—
Tristan was not proud of his next plan, as getting too attached to plans was asking them to be thwarted, but he certainly would be satisfied if it worked. It not only involved his success, but also the downfall of an enemy. He had waited a few days before attempting again, partially to allow the timing to align and partially to let Song’s sleep deprived glares diminish in intensity. After making himself conspicuously absent at the cottage through the afternoon, he made his way back to the Gallery. He once more gave the password and his name as ‘Villazur, Ferrando’ to the bored watchman keeping the logbook. A quick glance confirmed that Song Ren had come in earlier that evening and had yet to leave. Tristan then settled into a nook in the lower libraries, stole a random book off the shelf, and waited. There was a beautiful simplicity to the scheme, but it did require some patience. In the end, it took Cressida Barboza another full hour to sneak in and begin creeping her way up the stairs. Slow , the thief sneered, then pulled on his luck.
Tristan’s brush with Sainthood had caused severe short and long term problems, but every now and again the closer connection with his goddess provided a benefit. He had a better sense of the weave that Fate would spin whenever he used his contract, and even with only impressions it was enough to plan around. Cressida missed a step and made a thump even as she tried to catch herself. In response, the binding of the book that Tristan was holding suddenly gave out and the paper fell to the floor as a stack, making a second bump echo through the Gallery. Cressida froze, waiting for another indication that she had been discovered. But Tristan had been strategic about where he was standing; his bump could be dismissed as a particularly loud echo should a would-be intruder let their greed overcome their caution. Sure enough, after another thirty seconds of dead silence Cressida resumed making her way up the stairs.
One more piece to the puzzle , the thief thought. Song Ren, alerted by the noise, would have surely peeked over the balcony to investigate. Those silver eyes would have immediately spotted the other Mask, but Song was a suspicious woman. Knowing that Tristan would likely be making an attempt, and knowing that a second year Krypteia student was incredibly unlikely to give themselves away so obviously, she would assume his involvement. But Cressida was still advancing up the stairs. She couldn’t allow her to succeed, but pursuing her would leave the tally unguarded. Tristan waited patiently. A minute later, he saw Cressida sprinting back down the stairs with an irate Song Ren in hot pursuit. She must have bet on catching her and still having the time to wait by the entrance for Tristan on his way out. The rat smiled, having no intention of lingering so long, and swiftly climbed up to the top floor. He approached the Krypteia tally and took a note out of his pocket. Then he hesitated.
“Oh go on , Tristan,” Fortuna urged. “She will surely appreciate the extra effort!” As usual, his goddess was blatantly lying to him. Unusually, he decided to humor her. The Mask traced the Cathayan characters he had prepared then turned to make his exit. After a certain point, there was little difference in the degrees of his captain’s wrath. Why not have some fun on the way into her bad graces?
—
Song most certainly did not clench her cup of tea, imagining it as that rat’s neck. She had lost the bet fair and square, and would be graceful in her defeat. Professionally ignoring Tupoc’s clear delight, she took in the sloppily blotted out number and message accompanying it. She took a measured sip and tried not to plot venga- consider how best to restore good order and discipline within her cabal too obviously. She was so lost in her plans that she was surprised by Colonel Cao’s entrance, and by her accompanying bark of laughter upon seeing the message.
“ Masks ,” she said, almost fondly. “I’ll still give you credit for catching two of the sneaks, Ren, but let this be a warning to all that we don’t meddle in Krypteia business without good reason.”
The consolation fell on deaf ears. It was one thing that her own Mask was the one flaunting Academy authority, but the part that really got to Song was the content of Tristan’s message. He had likely meant to write ‘It’s a secret’ in Cathayan, but having no understanding of the language he clearly had only grabbed a dictionary and copied the words. The translation leaned more towards ‘privacy it is,’ written in a scrawl so messy that the ‘privacy’ was almost unreadable. The desecration of her mother tongue was like an itch behind the eyes. Song continued to stew throughout the lesson, only snapping out of it when Ferranda approached her afterwards with an offer to tackle a larger bounty together. Song demurred, personally interested but wanting to clear things with Angharad first, before being struck with inspiration.
“Ferranda, the night I caught Barboza I found something very interesting in the visitor logbooks…”
—
Tristan had acquired more tea as a peace offering. His captain had been suspiciously unbothered on her return the previous evening, but Tristan knew better. It was best to smooth these things over excessively rather than not enough. He was passing through a busy street with the leaves when he saw Ferranda shoving her way through the crowd, glaring at him.
“Hey, rat,” the former infanzona spat out, “I hear a Mask named Ferrando had quite the adventure a few nights ago.”
Tristan felt that he had a fairly keen sense of impending danger. That was why he was halfway towards an escape route before she had finished speaking. As he ducked into the back alleys with the angry infanzona on his heels, he sighed internally. Farewell, Ferrando , he thought. Your adventures shall never be forgotten .