The officers file into the police coach, with Ru climbing on top. The driver scoots over to make space for him, slaps the reins, and heads off. He wears a drab coat to stave off the mists, and a wide-brimmed hat. His leathery, worn face and scraggly dark hair mark him as a Blackchapel fellow, poor, but confident and gainfully employed.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, officer," the driver begins. "It's not often that I get company up here. I'm glad to have you. Name's Tavish."
As the coach heads back down through the streets, Darian carefully watches Kitten and Marionette, carefully studying their movements as Alek continues talking. Darian notes the comfort by which the two women share space with Alek. Kitten slinks and plays as she stays close to Alek's side. She is more animated, showier, but also needier. She dare not give up her persona. Marionette moves far less, but in her seated position, it becomes clear that she is the more reserved one, still comfortable with Alek, but also more private. Something also apparently dangles off her arms, covered by her always-closed cloak.
"It's a strange thing, deceit. It is one thing to lie, to claim a situation you know to be false, and yet another to simply be mistaken. Yet, how do we ever know something to be true? We may have been lied to ourselves, and our view of the world dictates what is a lie and what is truth. If a mistaken man deliberately lies and tells the truth, is it deceit? And would the listener, in knowledge of the truth, call that man a liar? What's worse is when the listener lies at listening. Anything the speaker says becomes lies, even when they are true."
Ru notes that the gnome carriage follows the cab closely. Its horseheaded driver gives no indication of malice, simply that of someone following the leader. Atop the cab, Ru and Tavish turn past the clock tower and the festival, as the clock rings the fifth hour in the afternoon. Is it that late already? Yes, the shadows are growing long. The haze in the sky fades slowly from gray to black. The sun, a weak celestial disc, hides between the buildings. "Our passenger, he's an odd sort, isn't he? Rather cheeky. Still, he does have a charm about him, like a cat. Those masks are a right strange tradition, though. Can't trust someone who won't show his face."
The revelers twirl to the fiddlers' tunes, and dance around exploding fireworks. A happy crowd is busy buying and eating sausage links from the pig-merchant. Down a nearby alleyway, a gnome hunches over a lying figure.
