Chapter 176 Chorus of Five

The Rhino training yard lay swept and silent at sunrise, rings of packed earth scored by a thousand drills. Squad Nine stood at the center in a loose circle, rubbing sleep from their eyes and holding steaming cups.

Zinnia lifted her cup toward the gate, "Tilly, you brought the entire workshop."

Tilly arrived last, hauling a toolbox twice her size, her cast covered in doodles of tiny exploding masks. She tapped the bandolier on his chest with a wrench, listening to the lacquer ring like a bell.

"Five hooks, one zip tie, snap the loop and you pay for the lacquer."

"You are charging me for my own armor now?" Nilo asked, pulling the coat straight.

"I'm charging you for my time, the armor is a gift."

"Five hooks is a lot of lacquer to trust," Zinnia said, eyeing the bandolier.

Tilly tapped each hook in turn, "The loop runs Clangor, Zilch, Cadenza, Drifter, Weeper, reorder it mid-fight and the zip tie cries."

"Then the zip tie can cry with me, we will share the tissues."

Ganzo planted his hammer in the dirt, leaning on it like a conductor at a very dangerous concert. Zinnia, Bruno and the captain himself would attack together, while Nilo answered with nothing but the five-mask Chorus.

"Rules of the yard, nobody dies, crying waits until noon, the Director never hears about the fence," he rumbled.

"I cry in every fight now, so rule two is already broken."

"Then I shall go easy on you for exactly one exchange," Zinnia said, drawing her rapier.

"A Steelhorn does not go easy, he goes straight," Bruno announced, cracking his knuckles.

Pipa lifted her slate toward the circle, grinning at the two million viewers already watching live. She tilted the lens left of Nilo's face, where footage always blurred into its usual smear.

"Chat, five masks in one breath, if he drops one I'm calling it a hat shortage," she whispered.

The five hooks glittered in a line across his chest, lacquered black and stamped with Tilly's tiny initials. Each mask waited in its order, Clangor first and the Weeper last, like tenants lined up for rent.

Horns lowered like a bull's, "Ready when you are, try not to flinch when the ground starts shaking."

Bruno charged first, a rolling wall of horn and muscle that shook the packed earth like a drum. Nilo flicked the bandolier, Sir Clangor's plate sliding over his chest in a single flash of rusted silver.

Clangor's voice rang out from the plate, "Come, young man, a Steelhorn charge deserves a knight's welcome."

The shield rang like a cathedral bell, Bruno skidding backward three paces with both feet dug into the earth. Zilch's mask replaced the helm before the echo died, black cloak snapping around him as the shadows pulled tight.

Jingles squeaked from the rack, "He appeared out of nowhere, how does he keep doing that, somebody make it stop?"

He vanished from the center and reappeared behind Zinnia's shoulder, a dagger resting lightly across her bare collar. Her reflection flickered and split into three shimmering copies, rapiers leveled at his throat from every possible direction.

[ SKILL USED ]

[Chorus: three masks, four seconds]

[Next: Cadenza]

"Three of me against one of you, I like those odds," Zinnia said, all three mouths smiling at once.

Cadenza's mask slid into place with a flourish, the opera tailcoat blooming around him in gold and crimson. He spread his arms like a man greeting a sold-out house, a voice that could crack glass rising.

"Three foxes shine, but one is true, the others melt like morning dew," he sang.

The note rolled across the yard in a ring, shattering the two false copies into drifting streaks of light. Zinnia staggered, covering her ears, then laughed in spite of herself as her real rapier clanged against his gauntlet.

"Four seconds, you owe me an apology for the ringing in my ears," she called.

"Ask the diva, I only carry the microphone."

A silver coin tumbled from his fingers as Drifter's mask came down, cold and lazy as a long afternoon. The katana slid a thumb's width from its sheath, a hush falling over the yard like a held breath.

"Hurry up, kid, I was napping," Drifter drawled.

Ganzo's hammer burst into forge fire, a wave of heat rolling over the yard like an oven door swinging open. He swung it overhead in a glowing arc, his beard crackling, his grin as wide as an open barn door.

"Now the final verse, my boy, show the old man something he has never—"

Nilo's hand closed around the fifth hook, the Weeper's mask settling over his face with the soft hiss of rain. Tears spilled down his cheeks at once, a fine drizzle falling from the clear morning sky to drench the yard.

"Rain, he made it rain on my fire, the cheek of it," Ganzo said, blinking water from his lashes.

The forge fire died in a long hiss of steam, leaving Ganzo standing in a puddle with a smoking hammer. Silence stretched across the yard, broken only by the drip of water off the captain's hat and Pipa's strangled giggle.

[ LEDGER ]

[Chorus: five masks, nine seconds]

[Price: the lost colors recalled, then taken again]

"I have been rained on by a Great Face," he said solemnly, wringing out his beard, "I intend to frame this towel."

For one heartbeat the whole yard bloomed with two colors he had no names for anymore. Then a headache hammered them out of reach, leaving him gripping the bandolier with both hands.

'Two colors, gone again. I forgot what they were called. Worth it, almost.'

The Weeper's voice fell soft as rain on glass, "Let it fall, little one, I will carry the weight with you."

"You did it, you actually did it, five in a row," Zinnia said, lowering her rapier.

Pipa's comment counter spun past a million, hearts and exploding masks flooding her screen faster than she read. She mashed the broadcast button with her thumb, laughing, then pointed her slate straight at the rain-soaked sky.

"Chat, nine seconds, the clock does not lie, neither does the rain."

Bruno planted his hands on his knees, panting through a grin that looked almost boyish at long last. Behind the smile hung the old exhaustion, the weight of a father carried across a courtyard hours before.

"I shall remember this, Nilo... a Steelhorn can lose to five masks with dignity," he said.

"Only nine seconds though, Tilly will want to hear that part."

"Nine is plenty, nobody needs ten," Tilly said, scribbling in her notebook.

"I need ten... the Collector has a hundred hooks," he said, wiping tears from his chin.

Tilly looked up from the page, her pen frozen above a column of numbers she never quite finished. For once she charged no interest, only pinched his sleeve hard enough to leave a small red mark.

"Then you practice until ten, but you eat lunch first, those are the two rules."

They returned to floor twelve near noon, where the new printer hummed quite happily in its corner again. Nilo dropped onto the sofa with a wet towel over his face, his head ringing like a gong.

Someone knocked on the door of the office, three polite taps, each spaced exactly the same distance apart.