Reign of Beasts Read Online Free

on the eve of the Saturnalia. It was a new revue for once, though the play was still saints and angel — we’d started a fashion there and half the musettes in the Lucian were putting on similar shows. Adriane was pregnant and still pretending she wasn’t. The costumes had been let out three times, but we all knew better than to joke about it where she could hear. I had a solo of my own in the pantomime, playing a capering orphan with a secret past. The stagemaster said I had a gift for comedy.
    Lord Saturn bought a ticket that first nox. He didn’t bring any of his chorus. Just sat there in the front row of the dress circle as if nothing had ever happened. The stagemaster threw out a line in his introduction about our private benefactor and Saturn bowed his head while all the fine demmes and seigneurs peered at him, muttering.
    I knew Aufleur pretty well now. Pasting posters for a year will do that for you. I’d got better at tracking people without being spotted, too. I’d been practising, waiting for my chance. I was quick and quiet. This time, I was going to find out his secrets. So I followed him home.
    I’d never been up on the Balisquine before, the hill where the Duc lived. The vigiles would cripple any lamb they caught up there with a paste brush, and I knew about the lictors, too — axes, they carried. Didn’t want to get on the wrong side of them. Saturn walked quick, like he had somewhere to get to or something to hide. I could see the flickering lamps of the Duc’s Palazzo, but he didn’t go near it, which was a relief.
    I scampered after him and crested the hill, looking across to a ruined old tower. There were white birds everywhere. Owls, all snowy white, all sizes. I’d never seen an owl properly before, just heard the occasional hoot or seen a silhouette over the city. They were beautiful in the half-moonlight. Bright as anything.
    Saturn walked towards the tower, casting off his top hat,his long coat, his boots. Then he … changed. Flew apart into pieces and became all feathers and air, beak and claws. Hawks. I knew the shape of them from the bird-puppeteer who used to fill in between the tumbling spots back at Oyster. Saturn’s hawks were larger, though. Sharper. He flew in a cloud around the owls, and then they all vanished into that ruined tower, down, down.
    I walked slowly across the grass and reached out to grab the brim of his hat as if it might not be real. I waited, but he didn’t return.
    Hells, yes. I stole his clothes.
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    After that, every time I got a half-day off, I’d go up on the green around the Balisquine and lie in wait for his Lordship. Sometimes I saw the owls, sometimes the hawks, but never a real person. Not until sometime late in the month of Martial, with the cold of the city starting to ebb into spring.
    â€˜You again,’ said the voice, and it was Bad Cravat, who still hadn’t learnt how to tie a piece of silk like a gentleman. His suit was ill-fitting, too, and the wrong colour for his red hair. The wardrobe mistress would despair of him. He tried to speak like a gentleman, but his hands had seen rough work. He couldn’t fool me.
    â€˜What do you want up here, ratling? Looking for another top hat to steal?’
    â€˜You know what I want,’ I said boldly. ‘I want Saturn. I want the … bastard’ — I’d never said the word before; the stagemaster washed our mouths out if he caught us being coarse — ‘who killed Madalena. Who let her be ripped apart by animals. I know enough to know that’s not supposed to happen in cities !’
    A look crossed his face. ‘Was she dear to you, lad?’
    â€˜Don’t you lad me, you’re not that old,’ I said. He wasn’t nearly of age, I could tell that. ‘She was the closest thing I had to a mam, and I want answers.’
    â€˜Get away from here,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Don’t come