The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  Kaab looked up at him. “Are you of honor?” It came out wrong, but the grey-head nodded.

  “This is Riverside, honey. We know no honor but the sword.”

  He stepped back a pace.

  “Now, pick up your blade; and go back to whatever traveling sideshow you came from, girl. And if you ever want to come here again, I advise you to take a few more lessons, first.”

  She risked a look across the circle. Ben stood there, panting and grinning. The perfidious Tess pulled at his arm. “Now, Ben!” She spoke to Kaab directly: “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s mean when he’s hung over.”

  “I was provoked!” Ben objected.

  “Provoked to fight a girl?” someone jeered. So the sailmaker had been right. Women did not fight here.

  “He’ll tell you all about it,” Tess said pointedly, “when he gets back from visiting his dying father.” She shooed people away like flies. “Stop gawking. Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

  But Kaab was a curiosity, now that the fight was over, and they would not depart. “Where you from, lady?” the voices came at her. “Where’d you get them clothes? What’ll you take for that stripy head rag? Who taught you to fight?”

  It was the kind of situation Kaab always enjoyed, Xamanek help her. A new city, a new role. She could tell them anything, and they’d most likely believe it as not.

  She lifted her head, trying to look like the carving of Xkawkaw on a temple gate, and announced: “I came on a great ship from the west, on the Road of the Wind. An old god taught me to fight, and I honor him by shedding my blood on your soil. Lord Ben, you have served me well. I give you leave to depart.”

  She nodded imperiously at him. Much as he might like to, he would not attack her again; the glorious Tess would see to that. And indeed, she was rushing him off as quick as she could, berating him all the way.

  Ixkaab Balam smiled. Her shoulder stung, but she’d had worse. It was a good first day in the new city.

  Such a play-actor! her mother’s voice said fondly.

  And the Riversiders parted to let her pass.

  • • •

  The Ink Pot was a very nice place. It was pretty clean, and not too crowded. There was a good fire going, and people were laughing and even singing in one corner of the room. Nobody seemed mad, and no one was looking at her. Lots of them were drinking things, mostly from pewter or earthenware mugs.

  The boy who had guided her said, “I’ll have one with you, if you like.”

  “All right,” said Micah.

  “Where’s your brass?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “Give it to me, then.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can go get the drinks, you gubbins! What are you having?”

  “I like hot cider,” Micah said. “But you can’t have my money. It’s mine.”

  “They won’t give me drinks without money! Don’t be stingy. Didn’t I bring you here? This place is for poets, and I’m a geographer.”

  “Don’t call names,” Micah said. He should at least be polite.

  She looked around for someone selling drinks. She’d never actually been in a tavern by herself before, and Cousin Reuben always got the drinks.

  “How much are they?” she asked the boy. When he told her, she nodded. She certainly had that much, and a little left over. “All right,” Micah said. “I’ll give you the money if you get the drinks.” It seemed fair—or at least, a price worth paying so she didn’t need to wade into the throng and figure it out herself. She counted out exactly the right amount, and watched her helper head towards the bar.

  “Come on!”

  The voice behind her was loud and startling. Micah whirled; but they weren’t shouting at her. Four young men sat at a round table, playing cards by candlelight in the low-roofed tavern, beer mugs at their elbows.

  “Rafe, are you in or out?”

  “I’m in.” The tallest and darkest of them put some silver on the table.

  Wow! Micah thought. They were betting with real money. She and her cousins only played with acorns.

  Drawn to the game, she edged closer to the table, standing behind the dark-haired one, Rafe. She could see his cards. Not a bad hand, but it was more important to know what the others held. He couldn’t bet against them if he didn’t know. Each player had one card showing faceup on the table. The others had a Sun, a Comet, and a Two of Beasts. Rafe had a five, so at least they knew that. The betting went round again, and then another set was dealt.

  The boy who had guided her handed Micah her drink, but she hardly noticed. She was following the patterns of the cards. She pretty much had them when Rafe laid more silver on the table and said, “All right. Everyone show.”

  They started laying their hands out, but she couldn’t stand it. “Fold! Fold! What are you, stupid?”

  Everyone was looking at her again. But she hardly even cared. How could he be so dumb?

  Rafe turned a sharp face to her, and said kindly, “It’s all right, young ’un; I’ve got a pair of Beasts, a pair of Crowns and a Celestial. They can’t beat that.”

  “Yes they can! It’s so obvious!” She had that needing-to-pee feeling again, only it was needing to talk, to explain. “Look! He’s got a Celestial showing, and he’s got two cards down and he’s betting high. There are only twenty-two cards left undealt, and the chance of one of them being a Celestial is five in a hundred, so that guy clearly has one more in his hand, which means he’s got two and you lose!”

  There was silence. Then, one by one, each man laid open his hand on the table.

  “Holy Mother!”

  She was right, of course. She always was. Her cousins wouldn’t even play her anymore unless she played blindfolded.

  “What’s your name, son?” Rafe asked her, and she felt so sorry for him she didn’t even bother to tell him she wasn’t his son.

  “Micah.”

  “Just come to town, have you?” She wasn’t wearing a scholar’s robe. And her hair wasn’t even very long. But Rafe seemed to think she was one. “Well, Micah, would you like to join us for a hand or two?”

  Five games later, Micah had a nice little pile of brass and silver in front of her. After the sixth, the other guys wanted to quit. “It’s all right,” Rafe told her. “We can go elsewhere. You’re not tired, are you, Micah?”

  “No,” Micah said. This was fun. She’d already made four-sevenths of what she and Reuben had made all day selling turnips at the market.

  “There’s usually a good game going at the Gilded Cockatrice. Rich boys, too. Do you play Constellations?”

  “No. What’s that?”

  “I’ll teach you later. It’s a fancy game, you’re right; not as much fun as Seven-Card Slap-up. We’ll go to the Blackbird’s Nest instead. Full of historians who don’t know a Celestial from a hole in their bum, and fancy themselves card sharps. Easy pickings. And if there isn’t a game going, we’ll get one up.”

  They walked together through the twilight of the streets. Micah liked the way Rafe knew where he was going all the time. People just got out of his way.

  In the Blackbird’s Nest, she bought them both drinks, because that was what you did when people guided you somewhere, and she had plenty of money, now. Rafe got a rum punch, and she got more hot cider, because it was the only thing she knew the name of that she liked.

  Three men were playing Hole in the Corner. Rafe asked one of them, a man called Lawrence or possibly Larry, if he and his friend Micah could get in on the game. The other two were named Thaddeus and Tim. They moved aside on their benches for her and Rafe.

  At first she hated betting her money, because once she had silver she wanted to keep it. But then she started getting some of theirs, and when they switched to Slap-up she got even more.

  “I’m out,” said Tim. She didn’t like Tim. He bluffed a lot, and she could never tell when people were bluffing. It didn’t make sense. It was a crazy thing to do.

  “What about you, Micah?
” asked Rafe. “You getting tired?”

  “No,” she said. It was just getting good, really; she’d figured out that Rafe always thought that three of a kind would beat anything, even when it wouldn’t. She felt bad about taking his money, but rules were rules.

  Larry leaned forward. “Hey!” he said, but in a friendly way. “I remember you now. We went into Introduction to Geometry together this afternoon.” He didn’t look familiar to her; but all these men with long hair and black robes tended to look the same. “You’re the one who knew about squaring triangles. Doctor Padstow wanted to meet you, but you ran away like the Hundred-Skin Maiden. Guess you realized you were in the wrong lecture, eh? You want a more advanced class.”

  “I like numbers,” Micah muttered.

  “Whose classes are you taking? Or don’t you know yet?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, we can help you. Thaddeus here did a lot of math before he realized he was a history man.” Thaddeus had bought everyone another round. She’d had something that was like hot cider but with a special taste in it. It was good.

  “And Tim can tell you where to get your robe for cheap, if you don’t mind used.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Your warmth is heart-melting,” Rafe told his friend. “But we’re here to play cards, Larry. You in?”

  “Nope,” Larry said cheerfully. “I’m the King of Losers in Loser City. If I lose any more, I’ll lose my next term’s fees, and then I’ll be back to digging ditches for Lord Trevelyan like my dad.”

  “Me, too.” Thaddeus rose. “But another time, maybe. Your luck can’t last, Micah. I’ll win it all back from you, see if I don’t.”

  “Do you want to bet?” Micah asked him. Back on the farm, she wasn’t allowed to bet, but here at University nobody knew that.

  Thaddeus leaned across the table. “Bet what?”

  “Bet I can beat you eight games out of ten or better?”

  “Eight hands, or eight full games? And why eight? Why not seven, or nine?”

  “Because eight is—is the right number,” Micah said.

  Thaddeus rolled his eyes. “Mathematicians.” He gathered up his books and wrapped a scarf around his neck. “I’ll see you at home, then, Rafe. Don’t stay out too late.” He rapped his friend on the head in passing. “Or if you do, don’t kick over the slop bucket and wake everyone—”

  “I only did that once, you loser. And only because you and Joshua got drunk and left it in the middle of the floor.”

  “Because you were stone sober, of course . . . Where is Joshua, by the way? I thought he was supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Off getting into trouble of his own, I hope.”

  “You need to find him some.”

  They were a lot like her big boy cousins.

  After Larry went away, Thaddeus left, too, and Rafe and Timothy started talking about stuff Micah wasn’t interested in.

  She counted the money in front of her again, and gasped. Now it was more than twice what she and Cousin Reuben had made all day in the market, even including the turnip cook—

  Then Micah gasped again. She’d forgotten all about Cousin Reuben.

  She tugged on Rafe’s black sleeve. “What is it?” he asked lazily. His breath smelled a little funny, like her cousins’ at Year’s End. She wondered if he’d had too much to drink. Drunk people didn’t talk right, and did bad things. Jackson on the farm down the road got drunk and beat his wife, and his children never had shoes. But Rafe was still perfectly clear and understandable, and still nice.

  “I have to go back to the market,” she said.

  “The market’s all closed up, kiddo,” Timothy said. “Shops, too, by now. What do you need?”

  “I’ll take care of him.” Rafe swept a sleeve around her shoulders, and she let him because he didn’t know any better about how she didn’t like being touched and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Micah’s new in town. Come on, son; got all your winnings?”

  Micah carefully put them in her pouch, tucked that inside her boys’ breeches where Cousin Reuben told her nobody could lift it, and followed Rafe out of the tavern.

  It was dark out. Really dark, except for the light from the torches stuck in brackets on the walls in front of all the taverns and cookshops that were still open, even this late.

  Rafe leaned down to look into her face. “So what’s this about the market?”

  “My cousin is there. His name is Reuben. I came with him today. He’ll be worried, and then he gets mad.”

  He peered at her in the flickering light. “What was he doing there?”

  “Selling turnips. Only by now he might be asleep.”

  “You’re a farmer?” Rafe kept looking, and then he slowly smiled. “But you found your way to Padstow’s class. You want to study here, is that right?”

  “I need to go find Reuben. He’ll be mad, and I’ll get yelled at.”

  Above their heads, the bell tolled. But the streets remained quiet and still, except for the noise from the tavern, spilling out the windows along with the bars of light.

  “Look,” Rafe said. “Micah. It’s really, really late. You can’t go running around the city at this hour. It’s dangerous, see? There’re bad people out.”

  “Oh,” said Micah. “Well, all right. But where can I sleep, then?”

  “In my rooms. You’d be welcome. There’s three of us there already; one more won’t matter, as long as you don’t mind sleeping under the table.”

  “Well, all right. As long as I can tell Reuben in the morning. He’s not stupid. He can see it’s dark.”

  She trotted to keep up with Rafe. But at a low window along a twisty street, with good smells trickling out of it, he paused. “I haven’t eaten. And I bet you haven’t, either.”

  It wasn’t a real bet, because he’d been with her for hours. But Micah realized she was ravenous.

  Rafe grinned. “Ever had tomato pie?”

  • • •

  Micah hadn’t realized that cheese could be so good, all melty and drippy on top of tomato goop on top of flat bread baked in an oven. She usually hated goop, but this was so salty and chewy and, well, friendly, you couldn’t mind it.

  A barmaid brought them both beers. It was thin and nasty; nothing like the warm brown ale that Cousin Seth brewed each fall. Micah gave Rafe hers.

  The barmaid came back. She had big titties, and she drooped them in Rafe’s face, like a cow, which made Micah giggle.

  The barmaid ignored her. “Anything else you need, Rafe? I gave you extra cheese.”

  “I know you did, Margery, and I’m grateful.” Rafe tilted his stool back and looked off into the distance. “Mannerly Margery, milk and ale. That’s a poem.”

  “A poem? For me?”

  His stool came down with a thunk. “Thing is, Margery, I’m wedded to my studies. And Astronomy is a cruel mistress.”

  “Cold up there in the sky, is it? Maybe you need a nicer mistress, then.”

  “Probably. But I’ve got plans. Big plans. I—”

  “Big plans.” She snorted. “Big ones. Bigger than everyone else’s? Right.”

  Margery went away. She wasn’t interested anymore.

  But Micah was. “What plans, Rafe?”

  “Oh, Micah.” Rafe spread his hands on the table. “Did you recognize the poem?”

  “I don’t know poems.”

  “There, see? I want everyone to know poems! Poems, and philosophy, and astronomy and geometry and mathematics and—and poems. Beauty. Complexity.”

  “How?”

  He leaned forward, and his voice got lower. “I’m going to found a school. A school that’s dedicated to teaching—to letting everyone learn beautiful, complex things! First in the city, and then, maybe, all over the land.”

  “If you think farm people are stupid, we’re not. We can read, and write, and cipher.”

  “Yes, and so can my father! He’s a merchant, with ships and countinghouses. But h
e might as well be a farmer, for all he knows or cares about the finer things in life. A farmer of the sea, a farmer of coins and—and money.” Rafe finished his beer and started on hers. “And will he support me in my venture? Hells, no. He wants me to study law, and accounting. To join him in his miserable little life of crates and bales.”

  “Will you?”

  “Hells, no!” he said again. “I’m going to have to get a job, as soon as I become a Master. I’ll need money, and lots of it, if I want to teach the poor.” He was moving his hands around in the air. “Sure, I’ll probably have to earn it tutoring some noble’s kiddies at first, but I’m no climber. I won’t be secretly hoping to be noticed by Lord Papa and raised to a secretarial position on his political staff, so I can help the nobles keep things the way they are. Not me!”

  Micah stared, fascinated. “What, then?”

  “I’ll write pamphlets about my theories. Then people will come flocking to me—”

  “Like sheep?”

  “Yes!—No! Not like sheep. Like . . . like . . . Like true men and scholars! To spread knowledge throughout the land.” She didn’t quite know what he meant, but he made it sound nice. “Micah.” He leaned across the table to her, a little too close. “I want you to promise me something. You have a thirst for learning. I know it. Stay here. Stay here and learn.”

  “But I don’t want to know poetry.”

  “Not poetry.” He leaned back to wave his hands again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Mathematics. Start there. But not Padstow. Padstow’s for beginners, and you’re not one. I don’t know who your tutor at home was, but there are doctors here more worthy of your knowledge. Men who can teach you something. Men you can study with. You have to join us here. You have to stay, and study what you love. Will you promise?”

  She had never seen anyone whose face lit up as much as his. His eyes were like stars, like the first stars of evening that appeared while the low sky was still blue around the edges. Micah always wished on the first stars.

  “Promise me,” he said again. “Not just: Sure, Rafe, anything you say, if you’ll let me go. Promise me you’ll give it a chance, to dedicate yourself to learning with me.”

  “All right,” she said breathlessly. How could she not? “But just for a week. Just ’til next market day, when Reuben comes back. Then I have to go home.”