until he can learn to grow a new head of brown hair in under a minute, he’ll have to dye it,’ added Donte. ‘Besides, what would happen if he’s doing a job and gets caught with a razor?’
Hava nodded. ‘No weapons.’
‘No weapons,’ repeated Hatu. As they approached adulthood, the students had been taught that when violence erupted, they stood a better chance with the authorities if they tossed their weapons aside rather than be captured armed. Loose clothing sewn with rags, to rip away splattered blood, and a host of other tricks had been drilled into the future agents of the Invisible Nation.
All of their training aimed to make the youngsters as useful as possible to their nation. They pledged not to a king, despite their nation’s name, but to a ruling council, a system that had existed for centuries in this region.
While the preceptors bore responsibility for educating the boys and girls, the masters were the final authority in Coaltachin. Each hierarchy within the gang culture of the island had a captain, crews, gangs, and regimes, but the person at the top of the order was simply called ‘master’. Above any single master was the Council, made up of the seven most powerful masters in Coaltachin, and heading the Council was Master Zusara, the single most powerful man in the nation, as close to a king as it was possible to be.
‘I’m hungry,’ muttered Donte.
‘You’re always hungry,’ replied Hava and Hatu in unison, which provoked another burst of barely contained laughter as they struggled to remain hidden.
The forays into the various cities, towns, and villages of Coaltachin were part of the students’ education, but Donte always treated them as an excuse for a holiday, much to the consternation of both his master and his instructor. He began to construct a miniature lance from a windswept tree branch on top of the awning where they lay, using his dagger to whittle it into something he could use to impale a sausage sizzling on a grill below. Muttering, he said, ‘Wish I had a proper spear.’
Hatu shook his head while Hava grinned and chided their friend. ‘We’re supposed to be observing discreetly. Strutting around the market with a spear is hardly inconspicuous.’
The merchant below was busy selling his wares to people hurrying to their own places of work, and to servants from nearby homes seeking the spiced delicacies for their master’s breakfast. If any of the customers noticed that three youngsters were causing the brightly coloured awning of waxed cloth to sag a little deeper than normal, no one spoke of it.
When his opportunity finally came, and no customer looked on, Donte thrust his lance and successfully impaled a stout link on the grill. He quickly pulled it up while the merchant had his back to the fire.
‘You’re going to get us all a beating,’ whispered Hatu.
Donte tried to remove the hot sausage from the makeshift harpoon and burned his fingers in the process, while his companions continued to stifle their laughter.
A small tearing sound caused Hatu to look down in alarm, and he whispered, ‘The awning!’
The students scrambled back to the tiled roof above the awning as quickly as they could, but as they moved, the tear widened and the cloth began to give. None of them could see through the canopy yet, but an angry shout from below made it clear that the merchant had noticed that his striped awning now sagged heavily with a widening tear at its front.
All three youngsters reached the peak of the roof without pause, then quickly scrambled down to the eaves at the back of the house. Like all of the buildings surrounding the market square, the house was a merchant’s dwelling and place of business. There was a good-sized yard below them with a wagon in it and a gate opening onto the alley beyond. Donte glanced one way and then the other, and then signed for Hava and Hatu to follow him as he tiptoed along the edge of the roof. When he reached the alley at the side of the house, he knelt and jumped, and was followed by his two companions. Donte looked back towards the busy market before he motioned for them to follow him to the trade alley behind the yard.
They moved swiftly but didn’t sprint, as they had been taught that running drew too much attention. Donte turned a corner only to find them confronted by a large, broad-shouldered man with a heavy black beard and blue knit cap. He held a long truncheon in his right hand and his arms were crossed.
‘Been stealing sausages?’ he said.
Before any of the students could reply, the man stopped them with a dark look, and with a nod indicated that they were to follow him back into the market. ‘Lose the sausage,’ he instructed Donte, who immediately tossed the warm, savoury treat to the ground. They followed the burly man, a gang captain named Hilsbek, who had been put in charge of Facaria’s pupils while the island master was in a meeting. This wasn’t unusual, as the youngsters spent as much time in the field as in the classroom or training yard.
‘The sausage?’ repeated Hilsbek.
‘I got hungry,’ said Donte, trying not to smile.
A quick cuff to the ear told Donte that this wasn’t amusing to the gang leader. The blow was hard enough to get the student’s attention without damaging him. Donte’s eyes glistened from the pain, but he didn’t let tears come. His face and stance shifted to a position Hatu and Hava knew all too well. Donte would usually have challenged anyone who struck him like that. He’d even risk fighting a crew captain if he thought he could win, but would not defy anyone of a rank higher than that.
Donte was the grandson of Master Kugal, one of the seven masters on the Council, which granted him some additional status, though it was never openly commented upon. The students were supposed to be treated equally, but in practice, their privilege was often dictated by the amount of power held by their close relatives.
Though rank was not official, the pecking order among students had been well established by the time they could leave their mothers. Hava was unusually gifted, among the best archers, runners, and hand-to-hand fighters, both boys and girls, which earned her more respect than was normal for a farmer’s child. Hatu was an orphan, an anomaly without connections, but he was treated with greater care than might be expected.
‘What was your duty?’ asked Hilsbek, his eyes narrowing as he looked from face to guilty face.
Hava and Hatu glanced at each other as Donte, with as impassive a tone as he dared, replied, ‘To watch the market for anything unusual.’
Hilsbek nodded. ‘You were on that roof for over three hours—’
‘And I got hungry,’ added Donte, which earned him another cuffing, one hard enough to leave a red mark on his cheek and tears in his eyes.
Hilsbek glared at the youngster, as if daring him to utter another word.
Donte fell silent.
Hilsbek remained quiet for a while, then spoke in an even tone. ‘What did you see?’
Hava said, ‘A busy market.’
Donte hesitated, as if anticipating another slap, then added, ‘Nothing unusual.’
Hilsbek looked at Hatushaly next. After a pause, the youngster said, ‘There was one group of men trying to appear … normal. They came from the docks and moved a little too fast, as if they were in a hurry but trying not to be noticed. They wore simple robes with deep hoods. One wore boots, the rest sandals. They moved to the north and I couldn’t see them leave.’
Hilsbek looked at Hatu. ‘Well enough. If you were to see such a group while on duty, what would you do?’
Hatu said, ‘What I was told to do. If I was told to report at once, then I’d leave and report. If told to wait until relieved, I’d—’
Hilsbek interrupted. ‘Enough.’
Pointing at Hatu, he said to the others, ‘He knows how to see. You looked, but you didn’t see. Learn how to see.’
Hilsbek regarded the three youngsters for a moment, then he said, ‘You are only months away from being