“Because, since Gill’s death, we’ve been monitoring the patrons in Gomorrah more closely. We know that he entered yesterday, three days after Blister’s murder. We also have intelligence on him before then, placing him in the city. He wasn’t here to commit those crimes.”
I collapse into a chair at the table. Villiam and Agni thought the Alliance would strike at them? If they knew they were planning something, they should have prepared better. Even now, they only keep two guards outside their caravan. The Festival can be confusing when moving, but with all the chaos, wouldn’t this be an easier time for someone to sneak inside?
“Then we should turn around,” I say, “before others are killed or hurt.”
“On the contrary, I think this is exactly why we should pro-gress farther. Cautiously, of course. Villiam has Gomorrah’s guard keeping watch over you and the Festival at every hour of the night and day. They’re currently stationed entirely around Gomorrah’s perimeter. But wars are not won through retreat.” His voice rises, and I can sense the personal stakes he holds in this mission. If the Alliance of Cyrille is as powerful as he claims, they are at least partially responsible for the kidnapping of his son.
“What if your own past is clouding your judgment?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard you sound so much like your father. You wouldn’t normally ask so direct a question.”
It takes everything in me not to show my pride at this statement. “I’m trying to protect my family. I don’t want to risk them on a personal crusade.”
“The Alliance has personally murdered your family. This is your crusade, as well.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. I stare at the map on the wall and the various cities Agni pointed out to me. The Alliance, even if they are responsible, seems faceless. More difficult to picture than Luca’s idea of the killer, lurking within Gomorrah. Even if the Alliance did attack Villiam, I don’t know how Agni and Villiam can prove they’re also responsible for what happened to Gill and Blister. It’s likely, of course, but it isn’t certain.
Villiam returns, carrying a bag full of notebooks and struggling with his crutches. Agni quickly helps him into the caravan. “I have the list of notes from our spies. Has Agni finished explaining this to you, Sorina?”
“Yes,” Agni and I say simultaneously.
“Good.” Villiam spreads the notebooks out over his table. Each one appears to be detailing people in different cities. “For the past several years, Agni and I have been trying to compile a list of names of active members of the Alliance, and in particular, identify the most influential of those members in each city. It is our belief that if the Alliance falls, the Up-Mountains would be paralyzed long enough for the Down-Mountains to initiate a Ninth Trade War and, this time, find victory.”
I didn’t realize we were hoping for another war. I always thought we’d be trying to avoid one.
As if reading my thoughts, Villiam adds, “Hundreds of years of conflict will not be ended by peaceful revolutionaries, Sorina.”
He’s right. I’m being na?ve.
“According to our spies,” Agni says, “there is a leader. We believe he’s in either Sapris or Leonita, but probably Sapris.”
Gomorrah will be in Sapris in a few weeks. It’s only two cities away on our itinerary.
“As if a nod to history, there is a marriage occurring in Sapris when we will be arriving. The princess will be marrying her father’s advisor, an influential duke. We suspect this wedding will draw out a number of people in the Alliance and, in particular, the Alliance’s leader. If all goes according to plan, we could kidnap the leader at or just before this event. His information would be absolutely invaluable. This is what we were discussing today when you weren’t here. Our informants have only just brought us the information we needed.”
“Isn’t that playing rather dirty?” I ask.
“Gomorrah is a Festival of Sin, Sorina,” Agni says. “A city of antiheroes, at best.”
“That is mainly the Downhill.”
“The Downhill is Gomorrah. The Uphill is merely a business front.”
I frown. Maybe my entire impression of my home has been childish. Maybe I know no more about the Festival than the average visitor.
“I realize this is rather new to you,” Villiam says. “I raised you in Gomorrah’s most sheltered neighborhood on purpose, to protect you. I didn’t want to see your childhood end as early as it has. But this is the nature of the world, and we’re going to need your help.”
Now I feel even more like a fool. I didn’t ask to be sheltered.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Use your illusion-work. Agni and I are still gathering intelligence on the wedding and finalizing our plans. But, in the meantime, I want to prepare you. I want to introduce you to the arsenal that Gomorrah has to offer us, because your illusion-work is hardly going to be our only weapon.”
“Do you mean the Downhill?”
“Exactly.”
The corner of my mouth curves into a smile. “Will you admit now that there are assassins in Gomorrah?”
Villiam’s eyes glint. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“The Downhill isn’t safe in the daylight,” Villiam says, buttoning his jacket. I don’t understand how he isn’t stifling in the September heat. He eyes a knife sitting on his desk. I never realized previously that my father owned a knife, but there it sits, with a bronze handle, gleaming on a stack of papers as if freshly polished. It’s curved—definitely not meant for opening letters. I wait for him to take the knife, but he merely stares at it and then turns away. “But you and I will have nothing to worry about.”
I’m not sure I believe him. Villiam is sporting his nicest double-breasted coat and fine leather shoes. A masked criminal might take advantage of our vulnerability and Villiam’s overly luxurious fashion sense. Not to mention that I’ll be pushing him in a wheelchair, and I doubt we would be able to outrun an assailant in such a position.
“Where are we going in the Downhill?” I ask.
“To meet with the captain of the guard.”
I’ve seen the captain of the guard from afar and overheard him speaking to Villiam in his office. Unlike the regular guards, he wears a burgundy sash over his uniform, though, in the dim smoke of Gomorrah, the deep red is as equally difficult as black to perceive within darkness. While the Up-Mountain officials like to preen in their flashy medals, Gomorrah guards would prefer to dress as chameleons rather than peacocks.
Hobbling on one leg, Villiam steps down from the caravan and collapses into the wheelchair. “What are the three occupational roles a person can play in Gomorrah?”
“Well, in the Uphill, there are performers and vendors. People who cater to visitors,” I say, turning the wheelchair in the direction of the Downhill. Villiam is heavier than I anticipated. “Then there are the people who oversee the upkeep of the Festival. Teachers, doctors, merchants, gardeners.” I pause, trying to come up with the last profession. “All that’s entering my mind is criminals, but I doubt you mean—”