She had been the king’s comandante nearly twelve years ago. She was killed on her journey back from Dos Palos, where she had gone to discuss new trade agreements on behalf of the king. Within hours of her murder, Dos Palos closed the bordersbetween itself and Costa Mayor, then claimed they would no longer trade goods with Costa Mayor unless they could inspect every shipment entering or exiting its lands. King Amadeo took her death and the new barriers as a sign of deepest disrespect. And thus, the war began.
The tailor tapped on the temple of his porcelain goat mask. “What about the tin box in your coat pocket?”
Ignacio balked. “How did you—”
“Or what about that badge hanging around your neck?” the man queried. “Though, I don’t suppose it’s worth much. Might want to hide that, matter of fact. You officers are unwelcome here.” He put a hand to his heart. “Not by me, certainly, I welcome all. Especially if they pay well.”
Ignacio stuffed the aforementioned badge inscribed with the king’s crest beneath his shirt.
“What about the shiv at your hip, then? That seems like a nice compromise.”
A deep unease clenched Ignacio’s gut. How did this man know what he had hidden in his clothing? This place was off. Wrong. He felt dirty for even being there. The faster he found whoever wrote to his father and used that mysterious ink, the faster he could leave. The war was continuing; more lives would be lost if he didn’t give the Defiant some sort of damning evidence against his father and the king to print up and share with the world. And if he also found out where the ink came from, maybe, just maybe, he could find his way back to her. Though, he had no clue why he would even want to see the girl who had decided he wasn’t good enough to love.
He unsheathed the dagger. The tailor virtuoso plucked it from his grasp and flung it into a wooden box as if it were scraps.
Ignacio scowled. That dagger wasn’t cheap. The blade was specially made for the Blackbirds and was nearly indestructible.
“Now to spiff you up.” The tailor spun and scampered to the wall of masks.
“Perhaps you can help me with something?” Ignacio asked.
“It will cost you,” the tailor said over his shoulder.
“That was an expensive piece of weaponry. Surely, it’s worth more than a silly costume.”
The tailor held up a finger. “You get one question.”
Ignacio clenched his jaw. He turned his face away, trying to calm his temper. A poster lay face up beneath the counter. A young man with a curling mustache winked up at him from the parchment. Ignacio balked. He rubbed his eyes. The young man was gone. In his place glistened sentences written in the exact ink he was searching for. He raced to the poster and snatched itup.
“Who wrote this? Where can I find whoever used this ink?”
“That’s two questions,” the tailor said.
Ignacio grasped the tailor and whirled him around by the collar of his goat-hair cape. “Tell me…now.”
The tailor giggled boyishly as if this were all some sort of game. Ignacio’s grip tightened.
“All right,” the tailor said. “Kindly unhand me first.”
Ignacio released him.
The tailor hopped onto a small crate and cleared his throat. In a theatrical fashion, he announced, “You will find youranswers with our beloved ringmaster. But he is neither here nor there. He is everywhere and all at once. Heisthe carnival. Ángel Veracruz, inventor of the most fantastical carnival there ever was, is a wonder. A friend to the gods. A magical provocateur!”
Outside the tent, a woman dressed as a chicken clucked and pecked at the empty peanut shells on the dirt. A man in a rooster costume tried to stop her to no avail.
Ignacio shook his head.I’ve got to hurry this along.
He refocused on the tailor, who was still going on about the glorious Ángel Veracruz.
“Where might I find thismagical provocateur?” Ignacio asked.
“Let me think.” The tailor rubbed his chin. “Where does one find a ringmaster, I wonder?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Where might aringmaster be found? Somewhere with a center ring perhaps.”
“The Big Top.”
“He’s handsomeandintelligent, folks!” the tailor yelled out. He held his hand to his ear. “Sounds like the show is getting ready to start as we speak. Perhaps if you stay and watch the performance, making sure to ooh and aah at all the right parts, our Señor Veracruz will feel generous enough to meet with you after.”
“Perhaps?”
