Arthur was quite the opposite. He was only a few miles away, in Bytown. But Kuro had to be somewhat more cautious with the letters he penned to his school roommate. Arthur was a good friend, but he was also the adopted son of Talen Dubois, and Kuro had no doubt that Dubois would read his son’s mail. More than that, Arthur adored his dad, and Kuro did not wish to damage the friendship by expressing his true feelings about the Hound.
Kuro began to write Arthur a letter, leaving out the bits about destroying government property and melting chunks off the statue of Dubois. He had only half a page filled before he was interrupted by a quietly furious voice from outside his room.
“You ruin everything.”
Kuro was so startled by the sudden accusation that he jumped from his seat to the ceiling, propelled by a magical burst of air. The explosion sent his chair flying and filled the air with the loose papers that had been on the desk. He clung to the rafters briefly as he searched out the source of the voice, but his wounded hand refused to carry his weight, and he tumbled back to the floor.
Dark eyes peered down at him over the edge of his windowsill. It was the familiar glare of Azalea.
“I’m sorry,” Kuro said instinctively before realizing that he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.
He was given no more explanation, just a final murderous scowl before she sank below the window and was gone.
Two
Market Day
Kuro scratched another chalk mark on his wall to count off yet another summer day. The enchanted chalk he’d borrowed from the younger orphans made it hard to keep an exact count, as the markings kept wandering off, but he felt enough of the wall must be covered now to mean summer would soon be over.
There were still no letters back from his friends. He thought at first that they were just slow to respond. When the delay strained that explanation, he started to worry that they didn’t care about him. After sending nearly daily letters for the better part of two months without a reply, though, he thought that they would at least write him to tell him to stop. Having run out of sensible reasons for their lack of response, he was beginning to resort to ideas of grand conspiracies.
Depending on the hour, Kuro was sure that Dubois, Phineas, or Ms. McCutcheon was intercepting his letters to prove crimes, regain control of him, or catch him cheating at his schoolwork. On particularly creative days, he thought they might all be working together.
He was spared another day of failing at magic and musing about the villainous schemes behind his missing mail, as the orphans were headed to Bytown to get supplies for the coming school year. It would be the most exciting thing to happen since electrocuting himself the month prior, and with luck, much less painful.
He heard Miss Brigid summoning the children to the bus that would take them into town. Kuro would have preferred to walk; it was only a few miles along the fairy road to the market, and he would much rather stretch his legs than ride in a vehicle. The other children were less keen on the idea, and Miss Brigid said they would be purchasing more than was practical to carry back.
Kuro would have offered to carry everything if it would have changed her mind. He couldn’t imagine that they’d need to buy more than would fit inside his magical book bag. It was big enough on the inside for him to comfortably spend an afternoon inside it writing letters. He knew that for certain, as he’d done it regularly to avoid Azalea.
It was probably best that he kept that hiding spot a secret, even if it did mean enduring the nauseating experience of riding a bus.
He jogged out to join the other students boarding the big yellow school bus. Those not yet of school age were complaining loudly about being left behind. Their minder for the day did nothing to quiet their complaints, as Bella was at least as upset as they were. She sulked against a tree while the children boarded the bus. It seemed that the previous year she’d used the excursion to craft a plan to steal shoes, and her Bytown privileges had been entirely revoked.
If Bella was grouchy about her abandonment, Azalea was furious. Shopping for her first year at school without her big sister was unthinkable, and she snarled at Kuro as he boarded the bus.
He sat as far from her as possible for the trip, which unfortunately meant that he was at the back of the bus. The other children liked it there and fought over the back seat. Kuro couldn’t understand their feelings. The back had bigger bumps and lurched more violently as it rolled down the bumpy lane. Kuro was already regretting having eaten breakfast by the time they turned on to Zephyr Way, the fairy road to Bytown.
They shot along the straight and level fairy road for only a few minutes before the city came into view. Despite having lived in Bytown most of his life, Kuro had never seen it clearly from the outside; there wasn’t anything to steal out on the open road, and so he’d never gone.
Bytown was the crossroads of the commonwealth, where several fairy roads met, as did people, money, and trade. The lowtown, the part Kuro knew, with the market and the houses of the common people, ringed the base of a large hill. As the hill rose, so did the size and grandeur of the buildings, growing through mansions to palaces at the peak. In the very centre stood an obelisk of dark stone, the Granite Citadel. That was the home of the Royal Guard and a place Kuro was far more familiar with than he wished to be.
The city approached them much faster than they moved towards it, as was normal on the warped space along the fairy roads. Soon they were among the low houses and outlying shops. They stopped at a few, all piling out to pick up new uniforms, shoes, and a surplus of socks. Kuro needed very few new things, as he had, rather disappointingly, not grown out of his clothing from the past year. The only new clothes he got were trousers. He had worn through the knees of his first pairs so badly that paying for the magic to fix them would be more costly than just getting new ones.
In a fit of blind optimism, Miss Brigid bought the pants a size too large in hopes that Kuro would grow into them.
Clothes bought and stowed, they drove on to the market proper to gather pens, pencils, and notebooks. The junior high students were then released to explore on their own while the older students shopped for the more specialized beakers, bells, bones, and other sundry oddments required in the high school courses.
“Partner up and don’t cause trouble,” said the orphanage matron. “Make sure you stay in sight of the clock tower in the middle of the market at all times. Be under it by three unless you want to be sleeping in the streets tonight.” She darted a quick look at Kuro and reconsidered her threat. “If anyone is more than five minutes late, I’ll have the Guard scouring the continent for you.”
The warning was unnecessary. While Kuro longed for the freedom of his life on the streets in Detritus Lane, his memories of the hunger and cold were still fresh. The thought of escape never grew beyond a flight of fancy. The other half of her instructions, however, were more troublesome. Kuro had failed to make any real friends at the orphanage. The only reason Kuro had any friends at all was that Charlie had forced it on him at the start of a school year when nobody knew anyone yet. In a place where everyone had known each other a lifetime, Kuro had felt like an unwelcome invader. Now, the few other junior students paired off and disappeared into the bustling market. All except one.
Azalea.
She didn’t have any more friends than Kuro at the orphanage. Without Bella by her side, she, too, was abandoned. She considered Kuro coldly for a moment, appearing to weigh her options. Calculations complete, she fixed Kuro with a deadly stare and said, “Come on, then.”
“Where do you want to go?” asked Kuro.
“The clock tower,” she said without further explanation and began to march for the centre of the market.
That made a sort of sense. Neither of them wanted to be in each other’s company, and Kuro expected that she had a book stashed somewhere in her layers of loose clothing. They could pass the hours in the shade of the clock, vigorously ignoring each other.
Kuro couldn’t pretend not
to be disappointed. He had hoped to visit Mr. Schumacher at Wing-Tips, the enchanted shoe shop. He’d even schemed about slipping away down Detritus and seeing his old acquaintances, Mrs. Vulch and Father John. Maybe he still could; Azalea certainly didn’t want his company. Although she wasn’t inclined to allow him peace and freedom if she could help it.
They wove through the customers of the open-air stalls that ringed the clocktower. Breaking through the crowd, they could see the structure clearly. It was a marble monument to the Confederation with a domed top and three clock faces set into it facing the three capital cities. The dome sat on eight tall columns, which in turn stood on tiers of round platforms forming a series of steps. All together it was something of a raised gazebo just a bit too tall and narrow to hold any kind of gathering in.
Kuro had been chased off the clock tower in his old life when he’d tried to use it as shelter from the rain. It was too nice for beggars.
As always, a guard was present. A peacekeeper in a blue uniform coat dutifully patrolled around its base, making the visitors to the market feel safe from people like Kuro as they sat on its steps eating their ice creams and candy apples.
Kuro’s mounting of the steps drew the attention of the guardswoman, but she did not yet move to force him or Azalea away. Students were better than street rats in the eyes of the guard, but only marginally. Urchins were at least more considered in their mischief and vandalism.
“Do you know much about this monument?” asked Azalea as they climbed the last step and stood within the circle of pillars.
“I suppose not,” Kuro replied. He wasn’t aware that there was much to be known about it.
“It’s where the war of the three kingdoms began and ended. The kings of the Summer, Winter, and Spring Courts fought a three-way duel here to decide who would rule the continent. It ended in a draw with all of them dead, which started a war.” She spoke with a threat in her voice that seemed out of place for a history lesson. “It was also where their heirs returned to sign a truce so they could fight together against the growing threat from the West. Ever since then it has been a place where people of different kingdoms come to settle matters of honour.”
“Oh,” replied Kuro. “Neat.”
Azalea stopped talking and began to dig something out of her layers of loose black clothes, and Kuro assumed the lecture was over. It was a shame, too; Kuro would have been interested in knowing more. He resigned himself to an afternoon of boredom and moved to find a pillar in the shade against which to lean. But Azalea did not retrieve a book as Kuro had expected. She instead pulled out an amber rod, which began to crackle and spark with electricity.
“I, Azalea Lamorak, squire of Summer, sworn protector of the throne of Tirnanog, demand satisfaction for crimes against my family and dishonour against my house.” She didn’t shout it, but she was loud enough that anyone in the area would have heard her clearly.
“Sorry, what?” Kuro asked. He’d heard the words but was having trouble assembling them in a way that made sense, and the lightning arcing from the amber rod distracted him.
“I am challenging you, Kuro Hearn, to a duel,” she said firmly.
Kuro was dumbfounded. That was ridiculous. Real people didn’t duel. Only rich people with more power than sense dueled. He looked to the guardswoman to stop this silliness, but rather than storming up to lecture them for disturbing the peace, she was moving onlookers to a safe distance.
“What say you? Have you any honour?” Azalea demanded as a small blazing orange ball of fire formed in her free hand.
Kuro took a deep breath and stared Azalea dead in the eye. He gathered all his will and magic about him and did the only thing he could do when posed with such a challenge.
He ran away.
With a panicked squeal and a burst of wind, Kuro launched himself from the clocktower. He threw himself into the crowd. Instincts taking over, he found his bearings and headed for Detritus Lane. There he could hide. There he could be safe.
Kuro was fast, but the crowd was slow. Their clumsy efforts to get out of his way interfered with his escape, as the forest of moving legs was harder to dance through than if they’d just stayed still. They were much faster, however, at making way for an angry girl wielding fire and lightning.
He broke through the mass of onlookers and out into the market stalls. He dove over the first he saw and rolled behind the next, working to keep something solid between him and Azalea.
A melon bursting over his head as he ducked around a fruit display told him that she was still too close for comfort. The final dash from the vendors to the entrance to Detritus would be dangerous—he’d be exposed to her assault for a few yards—but it was his best hope of a permanent escape. He could run in circles around the market all day, but eventually he’d get tired, or she’d get lucky.
He waited for another crack of lightning to sound before he made the dash. The brief time before she recharged her rod would give him the best chance of covering the distance unscathed. She could still fling that ball of fire at him, but in Kuro’s experience, it was easier to ignore a serious burn than electrocution.
With a burst of air that overturned a newsstand he had ducked behind, Kuro threw himself across the divide between the market and the entrance of the lane.
He heard a cry of anger and saw a ball of fire fly past him. The beggars by the lane scattered as it exploded against a wall, leaving a black stain. Kuro was lucky. Azalea was dangerous, but her magic was clumsier than her big sister’s. He covered the final span of cobblestone to the lane uninjured.
He made a hard left and suddenly he was home. His feet knew the feel of the broken pavement. His lungs recognized the musty air. The shadows of the too narrow street welcomed their wayward son.
Kuro couldn’t savour the moment for long. Azalea had not given up the chase, and while Kuro now had the advantage of the lane, he was not yet safe. He started to run, but he didn’t need to get far. There was a culvert nearby that would bring him out to the Blandlands. Should Azalea follow, her magic would not. If she wanted to continue her duel, she would have to do it with her fists, and Kuro wasn’t terribly concerned about the flimsy blows of the sickly girl.
Kuro felt a wave of heat pass him by as another ball of fire missed its mark. He skidded to a stop and pulled himself into the corrugated steel pipe that would lead him to safety.
A deafening crack and a painful tingling in his hands announced a bolt of lightning hitting the pipe, but the metal absorbed too much of the attack to slow Kuro down. He slid out into the Blandlands, coated in the sludge that had accumulated in the pipe, but safe at the edge of a busy street.
Azalea rolled out moments later. She was soaked in sweat and slime and gasping for breath as though she’d run miles. Not imagining that Kuro would just stand and wait for her, she ran past him out into the street.
Tires screeched and horns blared as oncoming traffic swerved to avoid the girl. Kuro grabbed her and pulled her back to the safety of the sidewalk.
She threw him off as though he were trying to murder her and rounded on him, levelling her amber rod at his chest.
There was a lengthy and increasingly awkward pause as nothing happened. Azalea grew frantic as she tried to summon fire to her aid as well, while Kuro just rocked on his heels patiently, waiting for her to figure out what had happened.
Finally, her single-minded fury began to fray, and she looked around. Anger turned to panic. “Where are we?”
“Montreal,” said Kuro. He knew this Blandlands exit well. There was a very good bagel shop nearby that often threw their leftovers away in the evening.
“In the Blandlands?” Her senses returned all at once. She saw the cars, the people, and the buildings, felt the absence of the magical field that powered her attacks, and noticed the muted sounds and washed-out colours that gave the Blandlands their name. Her eyes went wide with an equal mix of wonder and terror.
She watched the endless strea
ms of cars and trucks zip past. She stared at each Blandlander that walked by as though they were exotic creatures. She peered into the nearby windows, looking at the electronic screens and piles of manufactured goods in disbelief.
As the thrill of the chase drained from her, her breathing became more laboured. A hard sprint was a strain for a gaunt and frail bookworm who rarely left the confines of the orphanage, especially one that ended in the foul air of a city street in the Blandlands. She clutched at her chest and doubled over as a wracking cough took her.
Kuro initially felt victorious, having outmatched a dangerously violent wizard, but as her coughing failed to subside, he started to worry. She was coughing badly and was growing weaker from it.
Kuro guided her toward the culvert back to the fey realm. She fought him weakly, refusing his aid but unable to navigate herself while coughing so badly.
He shoved and dragged her through the pipe back into Detritus Lane, where they both collapsed, Kuro from the strain of moving the uncooperative girl, she from the continued coughing fit.
Unfortunately for Kuro, Azalea didn’t need to be able to run or speak to evoke her lightning. Once on the right side of the veil, she had her magic back and started to gather a charge on the amber rod.
As Kuro prepared to start running again, he found that his feet had no purchase on the ground. A strong hand gripped his and Azalea’s collars and began to haul them down the lane.
Three
A Wolf in Uniform
“Do you plan to make visits to my office an annual tradition?” asked Talen Dubois, knight commander of the Canine Unit of the Royal Guard, head of the Hounds. He sat behind his desk and tapped his fingers in irritation. His familiar, the huge wolf called Garmr, padded around the office, growling and looking like it was considering when might be the most appropriate time to eat Kuro.
The fact that Dubois had come himself to arrest Kuro and drag him back to the Granite Citadel for interrogation was not a good sign. Normally a couple of kids fighting in the street wouldn’t warrant any more than a low-ranking peacekeeper. Dubois was keeping a personal eye on Kuro, meaning either that Kuro was still in danger, as Dubois had implied at the beginning of summer, or that the Hound still believed Kuro himself was a threat.
Volume 2: Burglary Page 2