“I know you’re hungry. I am too. I’m working on breakfast,” Sarn told his son as he extricated his pants from Ran’s fingers.
“And lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Problems?” Shade hazarded, speaking for once without rhyming or adopting a singsong tone.
“We missed breakfast—”
“And lunch—” Ran glared up at Sarn, who held both hands up in defeat.
“—and lunch. I’m about to get both. Want to join us?”
Shade gestured for Sarn to lead on and he did, right to the Middle Kitchen’s double doors. There he stopped on the far side of the twenty-foot wide corridor.
“Watch my son. I’ll be right back.”
Shade gave him an incredulous look, but Sarn ignored it. He stole food from here twice a day. Since he’d missed one meal, he’d take both now and save himself a return trip. So nice of Fate to provide an extra pair of hands to carry things because he would need the help. He had to steal enough food to feed his family and the Foundlings too, then he would find a way to help the ghost boy.
“Stay with Shade,” Sarn told his son before crossing to the doorway to get a better glimpse of the goings-on.
At this hour, the cooks’ helpers lined every available surface. Knives chopped, hands kneaded, and younger assistants ferried bowls of cut vegetables and chopped meat to the line of aproned cooks stirring pots. Red lumir glowed in the wall-mounted banks of ovens, dying the bakers red with their light.
Aproned youngsters seized bottles of herbs from a shelving unit and passed them down the line. A door opened in the wall opposite the ovens and a blue glow spilled out. Inside, blue lumir pumped cold into the air to keep the perishables from rotting. Next to it, a door led to the pantry, which would satisfy all his alimentary needs if he could reach it unseen.
Sarn made certain his hood hid his too remarkable features before darting into the kitchen. His magic turned his limbs into lead weights causing him to stumble. One of the helpers turned. Pink stained his apron from the beets he’d diced. Sarn ducked behind an island and shut his glowing eyes.
Don’t see me; I’m not here. Sarn repeated the command, willing the youth to keep walking until sound became form. The six words stretched and twisted. Each took on circular shapes against the green glow imprisoned by his closed eyes.
Sarn pushed up to a crouch. Staying close to the kitchen’s periphery, he skulked to the next station in line from memory. Don’t see me; I’m not here. Each word hooked the magic and yanked it out, changing its prerogative from stopping to helping him. Don’t see me; I’m not here.
Dropping to the tiled floor, Sarn slid behind a butcher’s block topped island. He nabbed a sticky bun and devoured it in two bites. The remaining eleven dropped into a sack he produced from his pocket. With his eyes tight shut, he squatted there and searched with his sixth sense for more portable food.
Don’t see me; I’m not here. Slower and slower the words repeated—consonant, vowel, consonant, vowel—Don’t see me; I’m not here. Six beats for six words and the magic danced to its tune. It wove between the word-shapes building a framework.
Salivating for the freshly baked bread cooling somewhere nearby, Sarn ducked behind two wine casks. He slipped on spilled water as magic burst from him in a blaze of white light. Sarn went down in a sprawl. Magic settled over him, merging his forest green cloak with the shadows behind the counter.
What had he done? No one screamed as Sarn gathered himself to rise. Runners crisscrossed the kitchen fetching and carrying. Had anyone even looked up from their assigned tasks? He'd have to open his eyes to check, but they’d see him if he did.
Sarn rubbed his closed eyes to remove the afterimage of a twisted ellipse. Magic poured into the drunken circle spinning around on a tilted axis, but not a power he recognized. His magic always shined green like his eyes but not this—whatever the hell it was. The thing hung above his head reminding him of something he’d seen within the last day or so.
It had to be a spell but what was its aim? And most important of all—how could he shut it down? Sarn ground his molars and fought the urge to punch the floor.
Why did the magic pick now to interfere? He stared at it—this accidental thing he’d conjured remembering the circles chasing him in his dream. The skin on his arms prickled and the temperature dropped from stifling to subzero, flash freezing the puddle at his feet. Something dark was coming, and its gaze had just fixed on him. Sarn shuddered and pushed up from his crouch. He had to fetch what he’d come for and get the hell out of here fast.
Ran crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Papa creeping across the twenty statue-choked feet to a doorway. Hurry up, Papa. I’m hungry. But Ran knew better than to voice his complaints aloud.
Papa’s attention had fixed on the goal of food finally. Why it had taken all morning to aim him in breakfast’s direction mystified Ran. Mama had been more reliable about meal times, but Mama was gone. Only Papa was still here, and Papa operated on his own timetable. Most of the time it matched up with Ran’s. Not today though and the missed meal made him cross.
His stomach gurgled again. Papa continued his statue impersonation as he studied the kitchen’s interior. Go inside. What was taking Papa so long? Ran had smelt hunger’s fruity scent on Papa’s breath.
Finally, Papa went in. A light flared up inside Ran’s head marking Papa, and he smiled. Papa might be out of sight but not out of mind. Behind him, Shade shifted from foot to foot in nervous agitation. Ran moved out of knee range. Big People tended to forget he was there, not Papa, but Papa had magical reminders.
Ran glanced over his shoulder to gauge the distance between himself and Shade’s shifting appendages and froze. Shade’s clothes bulged in odd places as melons rolled around under the gray cloth. Ran moved sideways, stopping when his back bumped a statue’s braided base. Something was wrong with Shade.
Doubling over, Ran groaned as nausea crawled into his tummy, twisting it into knots. A translucent hand pointed toward a narrow aisle between the statue and Shade. Ran shook his head at the not-boy-thing. Frantic now, the hand semaphored his danger.
“Papa said I have to stay with Shade.”
Intense cold gripped Ran’s wrist. Papa had made him promise to be quiet, so he clapped his free hand over his mouth to silence his whimpering. The cold crept up Ran’s arm as the not-boy-thing’s hand dragged him out of the alcove formed by two catty-cornered statues. Lumir crystal eyes scowled at Ran for disobeying Papa.
The disembodied hand yanked Ran into the corridor proper and let go when they’d reached its middle. By then, its touch had numbed Ran’s entire right arm. Tears stung his eyes as feeling tingled back into his fingers.
White light exploded from the kitchen blinding Ran. Shade screamed, and a breeze rustled Ran’s clothes. After rubbing his eyes, Ran searched the corridor for Shade and the floating hand but saw only gathering shadows. They extruded whipping tendrils. Ran backpedaled. If he stayed here, a shadow monster would eat him.
Scary things always fled from Papa and his magic. Ran darted through the door toward the beckoning afterimages left by the light show.
Winding around giant slabs, he slipped through a forest of legs, tripping up a rotund fellow. As Ran scrambled, heart in mouth, he shivered from fear and cold. Where was Papa?
Ran popped up beside Sarn, startling him. “Why’s it so cold in here?”
“I told you to stay with Shade.”
“I got scared, then I saw a bright light.”
Sarn put an arm around his shaking son. “Shh, you have to whisper.”
Feeling eyes boring into him from the corner, Sarn pulled Ran behind a cart draped in white cloth. A broom rested against the stone wall, and two beady eyes peered around its bristles. Just a rat, thank fate—the sight slowed the jackhammer beating of his heart.
“Did anyone see you?”
Ran shook his head and bumped a sore rib, making Sarn wince. “What made the light? It hurt.”
/> “Where are you hurt?” Sarn checked his son who turned in a circle looking at everything and everyone. The boy seemed fine though Ran’s right arm was chilled. Rubbing his hands over the affected area, Sarn held onto his son until the boy stopped shivering.
“What’s the hanging thing for?” Ran pointed at a rod suspended from the ceiling, dangling hooks.
A fly buzzed them, turning tight circles around their reflection in a copper pot until Sarn swatted it.
“It’s where they hang pots and pans.”
The unnatural interest the fly and rat had taken in them, discomfited Sarn. He still had no idea whose side Rat Woman was on.
“And what’s that?” Ran pointed to the luminous thing revolving over their heads.
“A spell maybe I don’t know.”
A roach darted out from under a nearby counter. Sarn yanked his cloak aside before it could snag a ride and stomped down, missing the vile creature.
“What’s a spell?”
“It’s something mages do in the old tales.” But not him, this was a fluke, and it was drawing too much attention. Sarn swiped the loaves of bread tempting him from a nearby counter. He bit into its flaky crust savoring each bite as he darted behind an island.
“What are those red boxy things?”
Sarn pulled his distracted son into the shadows next to him. “They’re ovens. We use red lumir to cook because all the wood in the forest is enchanted, so its wood refuses to burn.”
Sarn slipped behind a column, scanning the bustle. He kept a hand on his son’s shoulder, ensuring Ran moved when he did. A dark blur followed them. It was that damn rat—its gaze never wavered as it staggered on two legs after them. Something about it raised Sarn’s hackles. Was it one of Rat Woman’s minions? Whose side was she on?
“There’s no such thing as an evil overlord,” Sarn muttered.
No archmage watched them through the rat’s eyes because the Seekers had killed them all. Ran coughed interrupting his speculation. Staying low, Sarn carried his son to a line of sinks.
Snatching a cup from a stack, Sarn held it under the stream dripping off a U-bend. Beside him, a youngish man washed dishes without ever glancing away from his sudsy pan.
Between sips, Ran coughed and probed the leaky pipe with curious fingers.
“What are those and—” Ran slid off his lap and turned in a circle of questions and curiosity, pointing at everything in sight. His voice rose to be heard above the clamor until Sarn shushed him.
At the other end of the kitchen revolved a shining white ellipse casting its spell, ignored by all. Was the spell dampening any sounds they made? Sarn glanced around and met the malevolent eyes of the rat. There was something unnatural about it.
“I’ll explain later,” he whispered in his son’s ear. “Stay with me and be quiet, okay?”
Ran nodded, but his eyes tracked a tray sailing their way. “Saw-sages—you said I could have two.”
“No, I said you could have one. Come on.”
Sarn’s stomach gurgled and propelled him on to the next patch of cover. Licking his lips for a taste of those sausages, Ran hurried at his side.
A quick tug sent a dozen sausages sliding off the rack. Into his sack, Sarn dropped ten of the sausages, after handing his son one. Sarn ate the other sausage before nabbing more. Everyone loved sausages, and he spied no convenient roasts left out to cool.
The temperature dropped, and nausea cramped his stomach. Sarn glanced at the rat. Its eyes swelled into twin black marbles and fell. Hitting the floor rolling, they sprang open releasing piles of roaches that marched toward him. Jerlo’s orders echoed in Sarn’s head—stay out of sight—and pushed him toward the door. But his bag was only a third full.
A tray of hard-boiled eggs lay cooling in their shells on the next counter and on another, a basket stacked high with fruit had caught his son’s attention. They’d have to do.
“I left the bread here to cool. Did someone send it out?”
“I didn’t. Ask Fieman if he saw it.”
Cursing his ill-luck, Sarn plotted a zigzag course to the exit, knocking every edible thing he passed into his sack. Shouts followed his progress, but he ignored them since no fingers pointed in his direction.
The exit beckoned. Sarn gave the spell writhing in the kitchen’s middle one last glance. It flickered as its revolving slowed. Would it cover their escape?
Jerlo’s orders would not allow him to chance it. They weighed Sarn down keeping him low and under cover while he scanned the corridor. When he sensed a gap in the passersby, he shot through the exit towing his son.
Seeing no sign of Shade, Sarn bit off a curse. He’d left his friend right next to that centaur statue, but there were only shadows there now.
“Shade left.” Juice sprayed as Ran bit into a miniature All-Fruit.
“I know, but I hoped he'd come back.” Sarn turned away, anger burning his belly. His friend would pay for this.
Behind them the clamor of pots diminished. Glass shards tinkled. White light exploded out of the kitchen and slammed into Sarn. He leaned against the marble centaur, gleaming eye to disapproving one, as his body reabsorbed a magic, he should not possess.
Sarn struggled to stand upright. Power crackled in the air around him making his hair and his son’s stand on end. Ran turned wide eyes on him and opened his mouth to ask if he was okay.
Sarn nodded and bent to pick up the sack he’d dropped. Lightning crawled across his knuckles, mapping the back of his hand. Biting off a curse, he swung their lunch over his shoulder. Unincorporated magic bounced around his muscles making them twitch. At least there was no sign of the rat or whatever it was becoming, but the corridor wouldn’t stay clear for long.
“Come on. We have to go.” Sarn hurried his son down the corridor taking the first turning he passed.
Footsteps resounded, echoing as two men pelted toward the kitchen. Sarn stuffed his haul behind a statue of a winged creature. Flattening himself against the wall, he peered between the sculpture's legs and caught a flash of blue when two more guards ran past his hiding spot.
Ran tried to peer around him. “Are we in trouble?”
“Not if we get out of here fast."
Another set of guards flashed past the mouth of the tunnel. Six guards were four too many. Something valuable must have gone missing, not by his hand. This was another mystery but one he could consider later when he was not on the verge of being discovered red handed.
“Who’re they looking for?” Ran stood on tiptoe and peeked over the statue’s base.
“A better question is what are they looking for—not bread and sausages that’s for sure.”
Ran elbowed his thigh. “You said I could have two.”
“No, I didn’t.” Sarn hefted his sack and ushered his son toward the nearest staircase. Those six guards had a lot of ground to cover unless they called in reinforcements—would they? What the hell had gone missing?
He glanced at his son, but he sensed only the slingshot and the metal balls in Ran’s bulging pockets. Besides, the countertops had been well out of Ran’s reach.
The need to know what this was all about warred with the desire to slip away unseen. Too many odd things had happened in the last couple of days, more than was normal in his chaotic life. Was this a new mystery or a new dimension to the batch he still needed to solve? The question pursued Sarn as he hooked a left at a ‘T’ intersection, but no answer came as he led his son through a warren of lesser used tunnels.
Footsteps echoed out of sync with his and his son’s as they ducked down another ornate corridor. Someone was following them. Had the Guards begun their search already?
Dust choked this tunnel, and they sneezed as they wended around statues poised for flight. Sarn shook the errant thought away. The statues weren’t extinct mythological creatures turned to stone by some magical calamity. Hunger was skewing his reasoning toward fantasy.
Ahead, a dark void resolved into a staircase. As Sarn neared it, the g
low of his eyes sparred with the shadows concealing it. Ran stopped at the first step.
“I can’t carry you and the food too.” Sarn hefted the sack a little higher on his shoulder so it could dig into a new spot. Nolo might be right about him being too lean. He had broad shoulders, but they could use a layer of padding.
As Ran gave him a forlorn look, Sarn felt something touch his spine and slide up it. Magic lashed out, shoving Shade’s hand away as revulsion pushed Sarn to take two steps forward.
“Don’t touch me.” Pivoting to face his attacker, Sarn clamped a hand on his son’s head and yanked Ran behind him.
Shade held both hands up in surrender revealing a livid burn on one of them.
“Papa doesn’t want an-y-one to touch him.” Ran stepped between them, his gaze fixed on Shade as he patted his father’s knee.
Magic wove around Ran in a protective emerald circle, snarling at Shade. What the hell was going on? Sarn rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache stabbed him. His magic had never rejected anyone but the healers' touch. Had it adopted his preferences?
Shade held up both hands in surrender. “No harm meant.”
“Don't touch me. You know I don't like it.” Anger tore through Sarn.
“But I can.”
And his magic welcomed the tiny hand touching his hairy leg through a tear in his pants.
“Yeah but you’re my son, so you don’t count.” And Sarn received no impressions or other troubling insights from his son’s touch.
Ran scowled at this intelligence until Sarn patted his son’s head and steered the boy behind him.
“Why did you abandon my son?”
Why had the magic interpreted Shade’s hand as a threat? Sarn studied his friend while he waited for an answer. But Shade’s head to toe gray regalia did a better job of hiding everything than Sarn’s did and he felt a twinge of envy. Maybe he should swap his green cloak for the gray wool most of the Indentured favored. He touched its once fine weave—proof someone had once given a damn whether he survived and knew he couldn’t part with it.
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