The canals were never still, not even in silence. Water sloshed faintly against rotting pilings, tugging at the foundations of houses that leaned inward like conspirators. Yet that night, as Seraphine and I slipped from the counting-house into the fog, the canals did more than stir. They reflected faces.
Not our reflections—those were faint, half-smudged by mist. The water showed pale visages, some familiar, others unknown, drifting beneath the rippling surface. Masks without wood or cloth. Faces with eyes closed, lips stitched in repose. They hovered in the depths, like drowned saints waiting to be called back to shore.
I staggered at the sight, marrow already hollowed, my throat clawing for air that would not come. The Ledger burned at my side, pages snapping open in a hiss of ink:
Phenomenon Identified: Canal of Faces.
Nature: Water mirrors debts unpaid. Faces surface when fragments are scattered.
Directive: Contain before witnesses drink.
Seraphine crouched at the canal's edge, her iron arm's plates whirring faintly. She watched as one pale face broke the water's skin—open eyes staring upward, lips parting. Its mouth whispered without breath: "Varrow."
She recoiled, spitting curses. "It knows you. They all know you."
The Ledger pulsed, ink scrawling furiously:
Options:
Burn Candle: Evaporate reflections. Cost: Two marrow beats.Confess: Admit whose face you fear most. Cost: Identity fracture.Spine of Iron: Break canal's current. Cost: Bone rupture.
I fell to my knees, staring into the water. Among the shifting faces, I saw Aurelius—my brother, drowned in silence long before the Ledger had chosen me. His eyes were hollow but accusing. "You could not balance me," he whispered, voice rippling through the black water.
My chest hollowed. My breath caught. I wanted to answer, to beg, but my throat split into silence. My marrow throbbed, demanding cost. Seraphine seized my arm, dragging me back from the canal's edge. "Don't give it your fear," she snapped. "It's fishing for it."
The Ledger throbbed hotter, ink staining the air above its page:
Debtor manifests when fear confessed. Balance requires selection.
I shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe shallow, ragged. My candle-mark flickered weakly. I pressed it against the page, burning two marrow beats. Light spilled from my ribs, scorching the reflections. The faces screamed soundlessly as the water hissed and boiled, steam rising in sheets. They dissolved, leaving only ripples.
I collapsed, black bile staining my lips. Seraphine steadied me, her scarred hand gripping my shoulder. "You're killing yourself. For water. For reflections."
But the Ledger's ink scrawled a verdict:
Debtor Faced: Canal of Faces.
Balance: Partial. Some faces remain.
Cost: Two marrow beats. Bearer nearing collapse.
I coughed, silence splintering my throat, but forced one broken word: "Partial."
Seraphine's jaw clenched. "Then it will come again. Stronger."
As we staggered away, I heard faint footsteps behind us. Citizens had gathered at the banks, cups in their hands, ladles fashioned from broken boards. They bent to the water, desperate to scoop up what little shimmer remained, to drink a face into themselves. I saw one boy raise a cracked mug, and inside its liquid shimmered a stranger's face—not his own.
He drank. His scream split the fog.
Seraphine pulled me faster, her iron arm hissing. But the Ledger seared me with one last line before we turned the corner:
Curtain call approaches. Faces already cast.
—End of Chapter 32—