by Alex Linwood
“How much of a cut do you want?” he asked, getting right to the heart of the matter. “If your procuring skills be as good as your stitching skills, that is.”
“Where I came from, good linen went for a silver a piece. Give me a copper for each one I bring in,” Portia said. That was higher than she had gotten in Valencia, but she was going to at least ask for that much.
The shopkeeper considered, rubbing the linen where Portia had removed the stitching. He sighed. “How’d ya find me?” he asked finally.
“Elyas sent me,” Portia said. “Elyas Penry.”
The shopkeeper nodded then tossed the linen towel back onto the pile on the workbench with a grunt. “Good enough. Come back tomorrow—with goods.”
The following weeks passed quickly for Portia. She felt comfortable enough with Elyas that soon she forgot all about her plans to find another place to live. They got into a comfortable routine. She would leave in the morning to either go thieve linens or remove stitches in the shop, and return in the evening to a home-cooked meal. Elyas never asked where she had been that day, and when she left coppers on the table for food, he only nodded and dropped them in a jar on a shelf in the kitchen. He always had mead for after their meal. Then he would ask her for a story from Valencia or share one of his own. Portia favored Elyas’s stories that involved his daughter. His daughter had been a wild one—running through the Warrens and terrorizing the bullies. At least that’s how Elias told her it had been. She wondered how much was exaggeration, grown large through retelling after retelling in the distance of time.
But that was back when the Warrens had not been as rough as they were now. Their present state directly resulted from the ill will of one of the houses of Coverack. Elyas’s voice turned bitter when he told her of what they had done.
Coverack had four great houses: Riddlepit, Ladock, Kelynack, and Hayle. The royal house was simply known as the Royal House of Coverack. Riddlepit had always considered the House of Ladock, to whom Elyas served, as its main competitor in gaining favor from the Royal House of Coverack.
As a liege to Ladock, Elyas lived in one of its districts, the Warrens. It was where many of the Ladock citizens and servants lived. To undercut the House of Ladock, Riddlepit had done all they could to destroy the Warrens. They had strangled access to the district where they could. It was easy for them since the Riddlepit districts abutted the Warrens. They could use that to control access to the streets of the Warrens. This made it difficult for customers to reach shops and difficult for shops to bring in goods. It also brought down the morale of the residents of the Warrens. Riddlepit had further sent undesirables to live in the Warrens, paying their initial rents and getting them established before abandoning them to become a drain on the resources of their new neighborhood. Riddlepit had even gone so far as to magically harass people who lived there, disturbing their sleep and affecting their health. This was too much to bear for many of the retainers of House Ladock. Despite their loyalty, many of those in service had fled. The leadership of Ladock had made a grave mistake in not defending their people vigorously enough. The Ladock house was now in great disarray as the younger members fought for control, desiring to fix the errors of the past.
“Why didn’t you move when it became so bad?” Portia asked as she dipped her bread into the last of the soup in front of her.
Elyas sighed, pushing his empty bowl away. “I had wanted to, especially for my daughter’s sake. But by the time it was clear we had to move houses, Ladock had released me from service. And then we could no longer afford it. It was a sad time for us. That is when I learned about the world of thieving. I did it so my daughter wouldn’t have to.” He got up, put his bowl on the sink, and grabbed the bottle of mead and two glasses. Returning to the table, he poured them each a drink. “At least I could support us.”
“Release you from service? How could they do that after you had stayed despite all that was going on in the Warrens?” Portia asked, not understanding. How could a lifetime of loyalty be betrayed like that?
“Politics. You have to be good at the game to survive in this city,” Elyas said, taking a deep drink of his mead. “I was the personal servant of one of the senior members of the house. When he died, the younger house members saw me as a threat. They wanted reform. And I was old. I guess I am old.”
Fear trilled in Portia’s heart. The fact of Elyas’s age scared her, only because she knew with age came death. She was not ready to lose him. She was not ready to lose a comfortable place now that she had just found it. “You’re not old,” she said emphatically.
Elyas laughed. “Thank you for saying that, lass, but your words do not make it so. It’s okay getting old. Many are not lucky enough to have that experience.” He looked down at his glass glumly.
Portia nodded, pretending agreement, although she wasn’t sure she agreed.
That night, as she lay in bed, she decided she would pay back the House of Riddlepit for the pain they had caused Elyas. She nodded off dreaming of revenge. Her plan was not forgotten when she awoke.
In her thieving runs, she had not ventured outside of the Warrens. But she had learned enough to find the districts of the other great houses of Coverack. She entered the district just to the north, a district of the House Riddlepit, where she knew there were many homes of their elite. She picked one that looked like a castle—its owner’s arrogance clear in its styling with turrets, a vast entryway, and even a fake moat. She could feel the anger welling in her throat just looking at it. The people in this house thought they were special. She thought they especially deserved revenge visited upon them.
Jumping over the useless dirt moat, she scaled the wall thick with ivy. Portia thought any house manager worth his salt would have had that ivy removed long ago. It was too easy for thieves to climb it. It was as if they were asking to be robbed.
She climbed into a second-story window. It was a bedroom, awash with velvet curtains, thick wool rugs, and a bed piled high with fine linen coverings. Portia stepped towards the bed, half in awe and half in anger that any single person could have such a nice room. There were many who slept in the streets in the city, and yet here was enough linen for ten people. All for a single person.
Portia swallowed. She had to complete her task and get out of here. She grabbed her leather bag, the one she had purchased just for this run since it was larger, more spacious, and sturdier. She yanked it open and walked to the bed, then grabbed the linen closest to her and shoved it into her bag. It was bulkier than she expected. Portia wished she had brought a rope to tie it up in a bundle. A loud coughing noise from behind her caught her attention. She froze then slowly turned to face a girl her age in a long blue silk dress and with a face red with rage.
“Explain yourself,” the girl demanded. Her fists clenched at her side, white-knuckled.
Portia bluffed. The girl was slight, smaller than her. If she could buy time and escape out the window, she would be fine. The girl was too small to physically stop her. Portia just needed her to be quiet long enough for her to get away.
“What would you like to hear?” Portia asked, trying to affect a solicitous tone.
“Don’t be smart with me,” the young girl spit out. “You’re a thief. You will pay for this.”
“I am not,” Portia said, edging towards the window. “How would you know I was a thief anyhow? Perhaps I’m here to do the laundry. Who are you?”
“I am Magisend Lucy Gwynn of House Riddlepit. Those are my bedsheets you are defiling.”
Portia laughed. She couldn’t help it. That was the most ridiculous name she had ever heard. The girl’s eyes widened even more at Portia’s mirth; her faced turned purple in rage.
“You will pay for laughing, and for stealing, you worthless girl,” Magisend said as she walked towards Portia .
Portia made a dash towards the open window. Magisend lifted her arms and then motioned in front of Portia’s feet. A stream of ice shot out from her fingertips. Portia jumped, leaving t
he ice to pool where her feet had been. That was magic she’d never seen before. Perhaps she had misjudged this situation.
Portia used Mark’s magic to create bright dots all over her face to blind the irate girl.
Rather than react with howls of pain as others had, the girl only laughed. “You sorely lack talent—and judgment—if you think that is enough to stop someone like me.” Magisend waved her right arm at the window, sending another blast of ice that filled the opening, cutting off Portia’s escape route.
Portia turned and ran for the door to the room. Magisend cut her off with another pillar of ice. Portia’s heart beat quickly, and she willed herself to not panic. She jumped back from the now blocked door and veered right. She nearly ran into a third pillar of ice that Magisend created. Portia had a hard time breathing; the air in the room was turning cold from all the ice. Her lungs hurt with each inhale. She ran in still a different direction, and this time did not stop herself in time from careening into a gigantic pillar of ice. Blood ran down her cheek from the collision. She slipped and fell in shock, landing on her left side, pain radiating along her entire body.
Desperate, Portia poured her magic—every ounce of strength she had—into Mark’s bright lights. The lights were so warm she could feel her skin sizzle. She concentrated on creating them on her hands. Crawling to her feet, she half-ran, half-slid, to the window. She pushed her hands against the ice block in the window. The ice melted in rivers of water that flooded the room. Blessedly, it also cooled her hands.
Magisend inhaled sharply. “No!”
Portia knew what was coming. She took one hand from the ice block and thrust it behind her, blocking the stream of ice coming from Magisend. She gritted her teeth, trying to not black out, as her energy streamed from her fingertips in each direction. She concentrated on the hole in the ice, willing it to grow larger, faster, before she passed out. Suddenly, the ice surface cracked in hundreds of hairline fractures. Portia could feel it give slightly under her hand. She braced herself, then gave one last magical push towards Magisend before physically pushing at the ice in the window frame. The surface shattered. The window opening was clear. Portia released her magic and jumped headfirst out the window.
She landed with a roll on the ground below the window, grateful she had practiced such maneuvers before. Without that experience, she would have broken her neck. She felt pain on her tailbone and along her spine and right arm, now matching the pain she had in her left arm. She didn’t linger to see exactly where she was hurt though. She scrambled to her feet and limped away.
Above her, Magisend screamed for the guards.
Portia hurried down the street, gasping with pain from each step. When she had gotten several blocks away, she noticed the people on the street giving her queer looks. Looking down, she saw that she was bleeding profusely from her hand. Blood stained her clothing. Worst of all, she was dripping a trail of droplets behind her. She hissed in dismay. Grabbing a corner from one linen in her bag, she tore a long strip off and bandaged her hand. She also dabbed at the blood on her face. It had run down her neck and into her shirt. Stopping briefly in front of a storefront window pane to see her reflection, she cleaned herself off as best she could. At the very least, she needed to stop dripping blood.
She concentrated on healing her hand, but she was too exhausted from the battle to do so. Her magic flickered weakly. Even so, she was able to muster enough to stop the immediate bleeding.
Portia caught people staring at her in the window’s reflection. She had to hurry. Looking cleaner, she left the window and walked down the street, trying to be casual while still listening intently for the sounds of pursuit behind her. But none came. She wondered why the guards of Riddlepit had not found her yet. She considered going off in the wrong direction, to mislead them on the whereabouts of her home just in case they were truly in pursuit, but she was too exhausted for that. She was hurt and needed to get rid of the stolen goods and get out of sight.
Portia pushed open the door to the linen shop and staggered in. The shopkeeper looked up at her in surprise. He gasped as he came closer to look at her injuries. Seeing the bloodstained clothes and her bandages, he looked out the front to see if anyone was coming. There was no one. He then quickly ushered Portia into the back room, swiftly drawing the curtain that separated the two spaces.
“What happened to you?” he asked with concern.
Portia leaned against one workbench, not wanting to bend her knees enough to sit in a chair. “Riddlepit. Some stupid girl in one of their houses… that’s what happened.”
The shopkeeper recoiled. “And you’re here to talk about it? Do you know how lucky you are?”
Portia did not expect that reaction. How bloodthirsty was this house? What had she done by openly stealing from them? “They are that bad?”
“It looks like you got a taste of their methods. A small taste.”
Portia was regretting her decision to wreak revenge on Riddlepit. She could see fear on the faces of the girls in the back when she had mentioned the house. It was one thing to steal linen from a house that could easily afford to lose it—it was another to put herself or Elyas, or even the shopkeeper and his staff, in physical danger.
“Anyone follow you here?” the shopkeeper asked, wringing his hands in anxiety.
“No. I am not that dumb. I would not lead them here.” Portia hoped that was true and not just wishful thinking. Her flight from the Riddlepit house was a blur in her mind now. “I should go anyway.”
The shopkeeper’s face battled between concern and greed. Greed finally won. “Will you be able to work this week?”
Portia grunted. She opened her bag in response to his question, dumping out its contents on the table. The lush linens looked even more resplendent in contrast to the dingy interior of the back room. One girl removing stitches inhaled with a gasp.
The shopkeeper waved her to be quiet in irritation, but he himself came closer to look at the unusual haul. “Amazing. I’ve not seen this quality before—if ever.”
Portia nodded. Her head throbbed with the movement.
The shopkeeper found a piece with a house insignia on it. He gave a whistle of approval. “You have done well for yourself, girl, very well. This quality will fetch a fine price. I’ll pay you extra for these and for any others of the like you can get.”
“What about the danger from the house?” Portia asked, surprised at the shopkeeper’s sudden bravery in keeping the stolen linen from the dangerous house.
“I’ll sell them quickly, don’t you worry,” he said, distracted. Portia imagined him already counting the profits in his head. She smiled at that, even though it hurt her face.
She grinned even more when the shopkeeper dropped two pieces of silver in her hand. She gripped them tightly.
Chapter 9
Elyas put down a steaming mug of mead in front of Portia. “Drink this up,” he told her. “You’ll need it.” He said the last part low, under his breath, as he looked at her bandaged hand. Portia gingerly took the mug with her left hand and brought it to her lips, blowing to cool the hot drink.
He turned back to the fire and hung a large kettle on the hook over the flames. He filled it with water. “We’ll let that boil, then we can take care of your injuries.”
Portia had said nothing when she had limped in the front door. Elyas had taken one look at her and brought her into the kitchen. He made her sit and then ladled a plate full of food and set it down in front of her. He motioned for her to eat, watching her consume every bite.
Once dinner was over and the dirty dishes were pushed in a pile in the sink, Elyas sat opposite her at the table, nursing his own drink. He gave a sigh. “Okay, what happened?”
“I was working,” Portia said, not sure how much she wanted to share. “Someone didn’t like how I was doing things.”
“You got that at the shop?” Elyas asked, indignant.
“No… no. I was thieving. ”
Elyas squinted his eyes
in disappointment, shaking his head. “Okay, I was hoping you weren’t. I knew there was other work at the shop. That’s why I had sent you to that place.”
Portia felt a sharp pain in her stomach at the thought she had disappointed Elyas. She knew it was childish, but she couldn’t help protesting. “There was not much work, at least none that paid any real money. It’s much easier to make money—or at least it’s a lot faster—from thieving than from sewing.”
“I know, lass. But I hate to see you take the risk.” He nodded at her injuries. “And look what happened.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been hurt. I’ve been doing this for months, and no one’s ever caught me, much less injured me.” Portia said.
She could take care of herself. She didn’t want to look weak in front of Elyas. She already felt like a burden. He had never said she was, but she was not used to so much kindness. It felt uncomfortable sometimes.
“So, what was different this time?” he asked as he got up to check the water over the fire.
“I went into… I chose… I stole from a Riddlepit house.”
Elyas pivoted to her. “You what? No, don’t do that.” He stared at her intently. “That house is too dangerous. You leave any of the households that belong to that group alone. Nothing good comes from them.”
Portia chuckled under her breath. “They had some nice linens. That came from them at least.”
“You invaded their territory to steal linens? Oh, lass, that is bold. But promise me you won’t do it again.”
Portia nodded her promise. He wouldn’t have to ask twice. She had realized when coming home that Magisend could have easily killed her. The only reason she was still alive was that Magisend had held back—and that she herself had some natural talent for magic—and a bit of luck. But she had nowhere the control nor the strength of magic that Magisend had. She didn’t even think the tiny girl had broken a sweat, while she had been putting all of her own energy into just surviving. If Magisend was that powerful, she hated to think how skilled the older members of that household were. Especially if they had gone to the Magic Academy. It was a sharp lesson on how much she had to learn.