City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  “In a manner of speaking, he did.”

  That confirmed her suspicion. Sinclair Senior had probably died on the job like most of Clae’s apprentices. Best steer away from that memory if possible.

  “Is he the reason you became a Sweeper?”

  “Kind of. There wasn’t much choice at the time.” He pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at the ticking hands. He rolled his eyes, pocketed it. “But I suppose I’d never considered any options before that anyway.”

  “Why wasn’t there much choice? Were you in another Sweeper drought like this one? Wait, how old were you? My age?”

  “It was a significant drought. No one else was—What is that?”

  He stopped short and frowned. They had reached another door, though this stood only half the height of the others. They knelt down to inspect it.

  “Is that an actual door?”

  “Certainly looks like one.”

  “Who uses a door that small? A dog?”

  “A child could use it.”

  “Maybe a tiny child.”

  “There are such things.”

  “But it’s not fake?” As she said this, Laura reached out and twisted the doorknob. The door swung inward, revealing another small passage beyond.

  Clae ducked his head to see better. “This is inaccessible enough that no Sullivan would investigate it. Probably a good place to find a planted amulet.”

  He tossed the briefcase into the little passage, and it made a loud retort against the hard floor. With the ceiling too low to stoop, he crawled in after it. Laura followed, pulling an Egg from her bag and shaking it for some light. Clae set his hands on the case and pushed it along the floor as he crawled, producing a scraping, shuffling sound that grated on Laura’s nerves. While it was tight, she wasn’t stuck crawling directly behind him. They crept through the passage for what had to be ten dull minutes, and gradually something reached Laura’s ears. Music. A warbling male voice echoed around them, muffled and distorted in a way Laura immediately recognized as the sound of a radio. The sound grew stronger the farther they went until they reached a roadblock. A grate separated them from whatever was beyond—Laura could glimpse the detail of the frame as she leaned to see around Clae. He looked through the grate, at what she couldn’t tell, and there was a small shift in how he held himself.

  “Something interesting?” Laura wasn’t sure what that shift meant, but it had to be significant.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Like amulet-interesting, or—”

  “Aha.” His head rose sharply.

  “Did you find one?”

  “Better.” He actually sounded kind of excited. He shifted, pressed against the wall. “Come here and look.”

  Confused, she did as she was told and squeezed into the spot next to him. It was an uncomfortable fit. She resigned herself to feeling like she was being crushed against the wall.

  The grate seemed to be a vent cover, set near the top of a room along the ceiling. Apart from its maybe being a vent, Laura couldn’t guess its purpose. The room itself looked like another parlor, walls almost hidden, floor strewn with cushy chairs and tables and pianos and other rich furniture. A radio sat wedged between one of the chairs and the wall, its arched form crouched on a rickety table as the next verse sang from speakers shaped like church windows. There were two people there. Mary paced, circling an armchair in the middle of the room with long strides that made her skirt swish loudly. The other was a young man, maybe Laura’s age, who stood with his back to the window on the other side of the room. Judging by his suit he was another one of the servants, but he stuck out in a way none of the others had. Not because of his ridiculously long brown hair, though. Laura wriggled a bit further, squinting to try and figure out what was so special, and she came to the conclusion it was his eyes. His eyes were gray, but not the dull gray she saw every day; they were bright and shining, like brand-new silver coins. Those eyes were fixed on Mary and her progress.

  “A problem?” he muttered. The conversation had probably been going for a while.

  “Yes,” answered Mary, wringing her hands. “So we have to keep them out of the way as long as possible.”

  The servant stayed silent, just stared, and something about his lack of expression reminded Laura of Clae.

  “What do you think?” Mary fretted.

  “I have no opinion.”

  “Surely you must have some idea.”

  “Being under the employ of Mr. Sullivan, it would be detrimental to follow a scheme such as this.”

  Mary scowled at him. “Oh, you just don’t want another whipping.”

  “I’m sorry, did she just say ‘whipping’?” Laura hissed.

  “Shut up and watch him.”

  “What about him?”

  “His mouth.”

  Laura craned her head about to look at Clae, giving him an incredulous, concerned look. “Why should I be looking at this person’s mouth?”

  “Just. Look.”

  Laura huffed and went back to staring at the servant’s face. It was hard to look at his mouth instead of his eyes, because as much as she didn’t want to admit it those were gorgeous. But he was speaking again.

  “—best interest,” he was saying. “If you’d really like an opinion—”

  “There.” Clae scooted forward too, eyes like a hawk.

  “What?” Laura squeaked. “What did I miss?”

  “Weren’t you watching?”

  “Sure, but I didn’t see anything.”

  “That’s just it.” When Laura continued to look clueless, he clicked his tongue. “Look closely. You hear it, but his mouth doesn’t move for it.”

  “Hear what?”

  “The word ‘you.’”

  Puzzled, Laura looked back at the servant, ignoring his eyes completely.

  “I’m not asking Jeremy, though,” Mary groused, “I’m asking you. He’ll listen to you.”

  “I think there’s a misunderstanding. He doesn’t listen to me, he keeps me. There’s a difference.”

  “It’ll work! Just tell him the fates say to go to the Second Quarter and turn three circles on a bridge or something! I don’t care, whatever keeps him out of the way.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” The servant’s deadpan expression drifted toward a frown.

  “Then how does it work?” cried Mary, exasperated.

  The servant hesitated. “That doesn’t matter. It won’t work for your plan.”

  It might not have exactly been a “you,” but his mouth didn’t form the word “your.” Laura heard it clear as day, but it hadn’t actually been said.

  “What the hell is going on?” she whispered.

  “Magic,” Clae answered.

  “He’s got an amulet strapped to him?”

  “No. There’s a group of people who can use magic without amulets, and this is their distinctive trait.”

  “That’s impossible. People can’t just wave their hands and use magic. That doesn’t even make sense!”

  “There aren’t a lot of them, and they’re mostly in hiding. People went after them with a vengeance during the witch hunts, so they went underground and never resurfaced. These Magi have stayed out of the limelight for centuries.”

  “And you know about them how?”

  “Urban legend, obviously.”

  “But why would anyone want to use magic on something so small?” Laura gestured at the room and nearly bashed her hand against the grate. “It’s not like most people would even notice.”

  “It’s involuntary. Only known innate magic that can affect other people.”

  “Say what?”

  “Magic user, that’s all you need to know.” Clae seemed utterly unenthusiastic again, and Laura wondered if she was supposed to pick up on something important. “Now let’s get going. I don’t know what they’re talking about and I’m not much interested.”

  5

  WHAT DO YOU HATE?

  They continued along the main passage again.
It took them to a grandiose red bedroom with a canopy over the bed. Why a secret passage spanned from the library to a bedroom Laura had no idea, but she didn’t waste time questioning it. They explored the rooms in that wing, finding two more harmless amulets—one in a bathroom and the other in a box in another bedroom—scared two more servants, and ended up in another hallway as noon rolled around.

  “What kind of lunch do you think they serve in a place like this?” said Laura, rubbing at her amulet; it still buzzed with energy after having bumped into another Niveus amulet. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t seen the thing coming. Who made an amulet out of a doorknob?

  “Possibly potato peels,” said Clae.

  “They wouldn’t.”

  “You never know. Rich people like strange food, and Ralurians have managed to make peels into a delicacy.”

  Laura had seen a poster advertising something similar near the cinemas, but it had also prominently featured a dish she’d discovered to be nothing more than fried goat testicles. “I’m more convinced that’s a joke they’re pulling on the elite.”

  “More power to them.”

  “I am interested, though, and it is about that time. Should we head to the kitchens?”

  Clae hummed as he opened a large door at the end of the hall. “The kitchen’s on the other side of the house. This is a shortcut.”

  “How would you know about shortcuts in here?”

  Clae held the door open wider. The door led into a spacious ballroom with meticulously cleaned floors and tall stained-glass windows spilling colored light everywhere. The crystal chandelier glinted, enormous in the center of the ceiling.

  “This place really is a castle,” Laura muttered, awed.

  “If it was built with a normal plan we’d be done by now,” Clae grumbled. “Come on.”

  They descended a flight of stairs onto the dance floor and made a beeline for the other side. Halfway across, that door opened. The butler stepped through, and his eyes lit up in recognition.

  “There you are. We were wondering where you’d gotten to. Mrs. Sullivan tells me she promised you lunch. We have plates set out for you in the kitchen.”

  Laura perked up. “It’s all ready?”

  The butler checked his pocket watch. “Mr. Sullivan walks around the mansion at this time, and the lady wants you out of sight. If you’d follow me, I can take you to the kitchen.”

  They were led through more hallways, and down another flight of stairs into what looked to be a servants-only area. No paintings, trinkets, or wallpapers here, just blank walls and floor, darker than the rest of the house.

  The kitchen was as big as the Sweeper shop, give or take. On one side stood two big ovens with enamel coating. Cupboards lined the walls, pots and pans hung from the ceiling rack, and a huge wooden table stood in the middle, covered in supplies. There was a wide space left that looked like it was once a room of its own, but the wall had been knocked down. Another long table and chairs were there, a poor imitation of the set in the dining room. That room was mostly empty. The kitchen itself was full of people hunched over stovetops, mixing things in bowls, fetching supplies and nearly tripping over themselves as they hurried things from point A to point B. It was a madhouse.

  “Wow,” Laura marveled. “Is it always this crowded?”

  “Tonight is a special occasion.” The butler elaborated no further. “Your lunch is on the table.” He gestured to the long one on the side, and now that Laura paid more attention she spied two places set. “Please return to your job as soon as possible. The master of the house isn’t fond of your presence, so it would be best to finish quickly.”

  Laura felt chided. She frowned. “Right.”

  Clae didn’t speak at all. He ducked around a scullery maid and headed straight for the table. Laura had nothing else to say, so she followed. A large platter sat there, covered in small sandwiches with no crust and accompanied by two bowls of soup. They sat down and Laura eyed the soup suspiciously.

  “What is this?” She spooned some up and watched it dribble, chunky and red-brown, back into the bowl. Clae leaned over his own bowl and breathed in deeply.

  “Canir.”

  Canir were animals found outside the city: big, hairy beasts with legs like a dog’s that ended in cloven hooves, a doggy body and head, curved bull horns, and a goat tail. They were typically very mean-tempered, though she’d heard of them being tamed.

  “Isn’t that expensive?”

  As soon as the words escaped she felt foolish. Of course it was expensive, but the Sullivans were rich enough to afford it.

  “Of course,” Clae agreed. “Might want to stick with the sandwiches, though.”

  Laura frowned and shoved what was left of the spoonful into her mouth. The soup had a sharp tang, powerful enough that she shuddered and made a face. Way too strong.

  Clae popped a sandwich into his mouth, probably to hide his snort. “I did recommend the sandwiches for a reason.”

  Laura pushed her bowl away and grabbed for the sandwiches. She ate two, looking around the room and kitchen beyond, and froze when she noticed someone looking back. That servant with silver eyes stood in the corner. He lurked just out of the way of the others, hunched and watching them like a hawk. Laura’s mouth was full, so she just waved her hand weakly in greeting. He didn’t react at all. She leaned to the side and mumbled, “I think we’ve got a stalker.”

  Clae glanced up, spotted him, and looked at her.

  “Indeed.”

  He said no more. Whatever excitement he had before was gone. Laura was somewhat disappointed. While he kept eating, she looked back at the servant and called, “Hello!”

  His eyes narrowed. Or, maybe they did. The movement was so slight she couldn’t tell if it was movement at all. There was no other reaction, so she gave up. In a short time the sandwiches were gone.

  “Back to the ballroom?” Laura grunted, stretching.

  “We’re here already. May as well check the kitchen.”

  That would be quite the undertaking with the crowd, but Laura didn’t voice that. She pulled out her amulet and followed Clae. It was hard to navigate in the kitchen. The number of people left only a thin path they could easily access, and even then a maid would jump in front of them, from table to counter, with bowls of chopped ingredients. Laura got bumped into six times before she was even halfway across the room. She was buffeted by these touches, but Clae stood against them like a rock and shoved past them in his search.

  One maid didn’t look where she was going and ran right into him. She dropped her bowl with a squeak of surprise and the whole load of chopped potatoes spilled onto the floor. The clang of the bowl against the tiling made everyone jump.

  “What the hell is going on over there?” someone shouted.

  The maid stayed rooted to the spot, trembling, as what seemed to be the head cook walked over. The cook was short, with a weather-beaten face and one of the biggest noses Laura had ever seen on a woman. Her beady eyes took in the spilled ingredients, the terrified maid, and then Clae.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, locking in on the stranger. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Inspection,” he responded.

  “Inspecting what? Hoping for scraps? I don’t have time to waste on some Fifth Quarter bum and his angelina. Get out of my kitchen.”

  Laura didn’t know a lot of hobo slang, but she knew enough to be insulted. An “angelina” was a hobo’s companion. Some of the lower Quarters used it like an insult, so nobody named their children Angelina, for fear the poor girl would automatically be assumed a whore. A few people in the Cynder Block called Morgan an angelina, since she’d never been married. She got into a relationship with her boss, ended up pregnant, and he fired her. That was how Cheryl came along, and that was how Laura got to know the term. Because she lived with that angelina on the top floor.

  “The family hired us. We’re doing our job,” Clae growled.

  “I said get out of my kitchen.”


  “I’ll get out when I damn well feel like it.”

  Laura jumped in before Clae could do any more damage.

  “I’m sorry!” She rushed over, careful not to tread on any fallen potatoes. “This really is an inspection. We were hired by Mary Sullivan.”

  “That little pup?” the cook snorted. She was still angry, but the name placated her some. “What’s she got against my kitchen, eh?”

  “It’s not the kitchen, she wants us to check the whole house. She wanted us to look at all the amulets to make sure they’re working properly.”

  A shadow crossed the cook’s face. “Ah, still worried about them assassination attempts?”

  “We’re just looking for the amulets, checking they’re okay, and moving on. We’ll be out of your way in no time.”

  The cook eyed her for a minute, then motioned with her hand. The maids hurried back to work.

  “We’ve got five amulets in here,” she told them. “Four to work the ovens and stoves, another for the refrigerator. Check ’em and leave. We’ve got a dinner party at six and too much to do to waste time tripping over you.”

  “Right.” Laura inclined her head. “Sorry to bother you.”

  The cook snorted and walked away. With her back turned, Laura glared at Clae.

  “Do you always have to piss people off?” she whispered.

  “They shouldn’t provoke me. Hey, you! You with the mane.”

  On the other side of the room, the servant with silver eyes froze. He ducked as if bracing himself, and slowly turned his head to look at them. He held the dishes from their lunch, presumably taking them to the sink.

  “Get over here,” ordered Clae.

  “What are you doing?” asked Laura.

  “My job, obviously.”

  The servant slinked over to them in a manner that made Laura think of a mistreated dog.

  “Yes?” His voice was barely audible.

  Clae leaned in, inspecting him for a moment longer, then asked, “Is there something you don’t like in here?”

  Laura was completely lost. Apparently so was the servant. His brow furrowed.

  “Excuse me?”