City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  Laura remembered the way that servant reacted in the kitchen, like a wary, mistreated dog, and how Mary had been talking about whipping. Her stomach did an odd, sympathetic flip-flop, but she still wasn’t keen on where this was going.

  “He’s treated just as civilly as the rest of—”

  “Don’t try to bullshit me, woman. We made a deal.”

  “But you don’t even care about money! Why would you want him?” Mary practically shrieked.

  Laura couldn’t make any connection between the servant and money, but before she could think too hard on it someone else came into the hallway. It was Henry.

  “What’s going on here? Mary, why were you shouting?”

  Mary buried her face in her hands and shook her head. Her husband looked up at Laura and Clae, and his expression clearly blamed them, even if he didn’t know what for yet.

  “What are you still doing here?” he growled. “I thought you were thrown out!”

  After a moment Mary’s hands slid down and she forced calm as she said, “I told them to do their job anyway. I said if they found something they could have anything from the house as payment, and they found an amulet planted in the kitchen.”

  Henry’s face contorted. He seemed to war with worry over the danger, and anger. He settled on the latter.

  “Why would you make such a stupid deal? And with my father’s property! You own none of this, nothing!”

  “You were in danger! We were all in danger! What was I supposed to do when he refused to accept money?” she yelled back.

  “What is it he wants, then?”

  “He wants Okane.”

  Clae gave a loud snort, but Laura didn’t catch the joke. Henry’s face was dark as a thundercloud.

  “That’s not happening.”

  “Oh yes it is,” said Clae, “because that’s the deal. God forbid the Sullivans go back on their word. Who knows, this little old Sweeper might spread some rather unsavory accounts of your activities, and what exactly you’re hiding around this house.” That was a bluff and Laura knew it. As far as she could tell they’d found nothing incriminating. “Of course, I could just go to the police about that slave. They wouldn’t even question me about it. We’re quite well acquainted, you know. Either way you lose him. Best take the option that doesn’t drag your name through the mud. Your choice, of course.”

  Mary’s expression was one of horror, and Henry looked just about to blow his top.

  “You have nothing,” he spluttered angrily.

  “Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

  His voice was full of confidence, even with a face the very picture of a clean slate. Laura was impressed by this if not by the blackmail. If the police caught someone with a slave they could be thrown in jail for a long time, and if someone like the Sullivans had their names stained with that, no one was likely to want anything to do with them. Business sunk. Pit disaster averted. Either way, Clae got the better end of the stick.

  They seemed to hold a staring contest. The intensity of Henry’s glare made Laura happy she wasn’t the target, but Clae stared back with no concern. The silence pressed on for what felt like forever, but Laura could see Henry breaking. The muscles of his face twitched and jumped, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. Laura had to shift her weight by the time he spoke.

  “Fine. Fine.”

  He turned and brushed a hand against one of the amulets they’d found earlier, a slight detail of the umbrella stand, and a short time later the butler arrived.

  “You called, sir?”

  “Get Okane,” Henry ordered.

  The butler’s eyes flickered to Clae and Laura but he inclined his head, murmuring, “Yes, sir,” before vanishing the way he’d come.

  Did this mean Clae had won?

  Laura looked around at the others. Mary’s face was downturned, Henry’s flushed red. After a while footsteps broke the silence again. The butler returned, silver-eyed servant in his wake.

  “—called for me?” the servant said, again barely discernible. Now that Laura paid more attention she saw the delay in his speech, and didn’t hear the word at all.

  Henry eyed him venomously for a moment before saying, “Okane, you’re not staying here anymore. You’re going with them.”

  Confusion flickered over Okane’s face. “Sir?”

  “Go,” growled Henry, turning away. “Now!”

  “Hang on,” Laura cut in, confused. “Doesn’t he need to gather his belongings? He must have clothes, or—”

  “Get out!” Henry roared.

  It was so loud Laura jumped in fright, and she wasn’t the only one. Clae was singularly unaffected.

  “Come on, then.” He beckoned to the servant.

  Okane hurried over and Clae waved them on to the door. He glanced over his shoulder as they left.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” he purred.

  Henry snarled, and Mary choked back angry tears.

  Out on the front step, Laura eyed this Okane person shrewdly. He looked right back from the corner of his eyes, distrust clearly stamped on his features. Clae shut the door with a loud click and glanced between them.

  “What are you waiting for? Get walking.”

  Okane moved at the pace of a snail, but they began the trek toward the main gates. Laura itched to ask what was going on, but she didn’t like the idea of asking when the subject of her uncertainty was right there. Luckily said subject was just as uncertain as she was.

  “If I may ask,” Okane ventured, “what exactly is going on?”

  “You’re switching jobs.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Switching jobs. You’re going to be my apprentice now.”

  Laura almost tripped and fell flat on her face. She was glad she didn’t, but that relief was eclipsed by shock. Apprentice? He was supposed to be an apprentice? But that was Laura’s job! She’d been doing well, too, and she didn’t think she was too annoying. Was it that Clae wanted a complete pushover to follow him around instead, with no questions or concerns, just blind faith? Did he not like a chatty girl? Was it simply because she was a girl? Another glance at Okane and he was altered in her mind: no longer a sad-eyed pretty boy but a threat.

  “Don’t make that face.” Clae bumped her knee with a corner of the briefcase. “Sweepers can have more than one apprentice.”

  Laura was relieved, though not by much. She hadn’t had to compete with anyone in this job yet, and wasn’t a fan of the idea.

  “But I work for the Sullivans,” Okane insisted.

  “And they’ve given you up, so you can work for me. If you want the job.”

  “They won’t let go of me that easily.”

  “Look, kid.” Clae’s eyes carried a hint of irritation now. “They may not like me, but I’ve got at least half the police department to back me up. The Sullivans have no hold on you now.”

  As if to directly counter that statement, the door swung open behind them and Frank Sullivan stepped out. His earlier calm was gone; instead the animosity bubbled to the surface, twisting his features.

  “Bastard!” he shouted. “You goddamned, underhanded, flea-bitten bastard! Get back here!”

  Laura gawked for a moment before Clae jabbed her with the briefcase again and hissed, “Get moving!”

  The three of them sprinted down the rest of the driveway with Frank hobbling along behind, raging all the way. He was nowhere close to catching them, but there was still the gate. They reached it at full speed and practically smacked into it. Clae shoved the briefcase through the bars, clicked his heels together, and began to scale the gate. Laura clicked her own heels together. As the amulets there activated, she felt gravity’s hold slacken enough that she could climb more easily, gripping the iron bars and heaving herself up. Okane scrambled up after her, doing well for someone without an amulet’s help. They vaulted over the spikes on top and landed heavily. Laura was sure without the magic she would’ve broken one of her ankles. She glanced back to see Clae st
ill on the other side. He was near the top, but he reconsidered and jumped back down. He charged back toward Frank. The businessman faltered in his tracks, then turned tail at the sight. Clae chased him a good ten feet up the driveway before dashing back to the gate and vaulting over it. He landed next to Laura and scooped up the briefcase, glancing over at her.

  “Come on. I can scare him, but he probably has security. Best get out of here before they show up.”

  Laura nodded, and they fled the scene.

  They only stopped running at the cable car platform, and by that time Laura was completely winded. She leaned against the platform rail and panted there for a while. Okane breathed hard too, but Clae regained composure quickly. He knelt down and opened the briefcase to check if anything was broken. The cushioned lining must’ve done its job, as he nodded and closed it again.

  “What were --- saying, before?” Okane wheezed. It was so quiet Laura guessed they weren’t supposed to hear it, but Clae replied immediately.

  “They’re sore losers, but they’re not going to get you again.”

  Okane recoiled. Clae caught the movement and sighed. He held out one hand, palm up, and forced himself to relax. He spoke something in a different language, the words choppy—obviously he wasn’t fluent. Slowly Okane relaxed too, staring at Clae like he was some alien creature. Clae said nothing more, simply knelt there with hand outstretched.

  After a while Okane asked, “Who are --- people, anyway?”

  “Sweepers. I’m Clae Sinclair. This is Laura.”

  Okane’s brow furrowed. “--- clean floors?”

  Laura’s gasping for breath dissolved into a fit of giggles, even if it wasn’t that funny, and her lungs were further deprived of oxygen.

  6

  SILVER IS NOT GOLD

  The next day, Laura fretted over the new addition.

  She was a little upset that Clae had hired Okane. She didn’t want to be replaced as favorite—even if she was the only one that could be considered such before—and was unsure how to act around Okane himself. After a short conversation about what Sweepers did (and how there were absolutely no brooms involved, they weren’t chimney sweeps), he clammed up and skulked around after them like a sulky shadow. He absorbed information well, but trying to pry anything from him proved a hassle. Though Laura had left rather early. Maybe Clae cracked him at some point later on?

  She didn’t much like him. He’d given her no reason to. He was competition, the cuckoo in her nest, and damn if she was going to let him worm his way into Clae’s good books when she’d spent a good three months cracking the cover. But she supposed she’d at least act civilly. He was in a bad situation and maybe he’d get better.

  She decided this as she wheeled onto Acis Road. She braked her bike outside the door to the Sweeper shop and lugged it up the stairs. Opening the door and maneuvering the bicycle around it, she spotted the others quickly. The giant Egg sat on the countertop, Clae explaining what they were going to do with it while Okane nodded absently.

  “There you are.” Clae noticed her and broke off mid-explanation. “Come on. Get this in the trunk and let’s get going. We don’t have all day.”

  He was rude as ever, but for some reason Laura took it personally this time. She leaned her bike against the wall and sulked over. The trunk lay open on the floor. She grabbed one end of the Egg and waited for Clae to take the other, but he didn’t. Instead he looked expectantly at Okane. Okane hesitated, but grabbed the other handle. A hot flush of resentment crawled up the back of her neck.

  “Careful, now,” warned Clae. “You break that, and I break you.”

  Laura pursed her lips but lifted her end. Okane copied soon enough, and they heaved the glass case off the counter. Okane floundered. For a moment Laura was terrified he’d drop it, but he steadied himself, and with a little difficulty they lowered the Egg into its place in the trunk. Clae snapped it closed and locked it, then stepped back.

  “You two are carrying that, too. Take care not to drop it.”

  “You’re not helping?” asked Laura, surprised.

  “Why should I when I have two apprentices?”

  “I thought this was part of the job.”

  “Why do you care? You’re carrying it either way.”

  True, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. She felt like he’d managed to cheat his way out of it.

  As they began their walk down the street toward today’s Pit, her mood didn’t lighten. She thanked her luck that it was Friday and there wasn’t much distance to this one; Okane struggled with his half of the trunk, unable to find a position where it didn’t bump into his knees or otherwise impede his walking. To this at least, Laura was sympathetic. She wasn’t fond of how it ended up messing with her side, though. She kept having to adjust for his changes and frankly, it was getting annoying. Thankfully Clae decided now was a good time for picking up his earlier explaining to Okane.

  “There are three usable Pits in Amicae. They’re used to store broken amulets, so they can be monitored and ‘flushed’ regularly. Each Pit is visited once a week. North on Monday, Southeast on Wednesday, Southwest on Friday. The cycle is required to make sure nothing takes root in the amulets there in the Pit. There’s no way to prevent infestations from taking root in a broken amulet, and if there are multiple spaces for infestations to fester in one place, they spread faster. Flushing kin down the Pit every week destroys any and all infestations that may have begun over the week. Skipping a week of the Pit rounds isn’t life-threatening, but if you leave it much longer, infestations will grow and they will start working. So don’t fall out of the habit. Every week. Monday Wednesday Friday. Keep up.”

  “And the Pits can’t be moved,” Laura added, to show she was listening the other day.

  “You try to redirect the Pit, and you’ll end up ruining its efficiency and compromising the structure of the city itself. The Pits were in the original blueprints of the city. Amicae is essentially built around them,” Clae elaborated.

  “Wait, really?”

  Throughout her school career Laura learned about the founding and history of Amicae, but Sweepers had only been touched on as being obsolete. There’d been no mention of Pits whatsoever.

  “Sweepers were heavily involved in the founding of Amicae, though we fell out of favor with the rise of industry. We had a lot of influence and space in the beginning, people got jealous, and they started appealing to the Council during a long dry spell so there weren’t any infestations around to really prove we were needed. The Council decided that Sweepers had no real purpose so didn’t need all that room, and as time went on they kept reallocating the space and we had to make do with what we had, even when the infestations started picking up again. Sweepers nearly died out, and we’ve never recovered.” He glanced back at them. “Look at you. Case in point.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “There are only three of us. Other cities have around twenty active Sweepers.”

  “That many?”

  “They never had the pedestal to fall from, though.”

  “I was more under the impression it was a cliff,” said Laura. “Sweepers were important everywhere. I thought Amicae just purposely let it slip.”

  “It’s a bit different with Amicae. More offensive. Other cities were built up and fortified even in the first years of the infestation’s spread, back before anyone knew what worked, and later incorporated all the pieces around the existing structures. Amicae was built well after Sweepers were established, so one was hired before the city was even constructed, and they asked her if there was anything important that may need to be in the blueprints. She took the chance to hijack everything and specialize the city to suit Sweepers: Pits galore, factories for Kin, weapon construction, treatment of clothes … anything that could possibly help a Sweeper, she bullied the founders into including it. Once it was all done, the job was so efficient it wasn’t until the decline that even one Sweeper was killed. People came from all over to learn
techniques here in ‘the Sweeper city.’ Glory days. And of course, all that space was city-owned property, and able to be reallocated. In the end Sweepers had to scramble and raise money to buy as much of the critical equipment as they could.”

  So there was more to it, beyond the Pits and the shop? “I’ll have to look this up.”

  “You’d best look for old material. Sweepers have practically disappeared from the history books,” Clae hummed.

  “No wonder I had to find out about us through a Coronae publication. So, check old bookstores like Brecht’s?”

  “Coronae?” He frowned but shook his head. “I have some books on the subject too. Remind me later and I’ll lend them to you. It’s probably more relevant than any glorified story they pump out. Amicae’s a pit, after all.”

  By this time they’d reached another door to the interior of Amicae. It looked identical to the others, and when it opened, right on time today, there was the same man who was always there to greet them.

  “Mornin’ son.” He grinned. “How are ya today?”

  Clae blatantly ignored him, but Laura smiled. “We’re doing well. How are you?”

  “Not bad! Better now I’m gettin’ a break!”

  He chuckled as he led them inside. Laura took five steps into the dark, smoky atmosphere, and found she couldn’t go farther. Okane froze, clutching his side of the trunk like a lifeline as he stared at their surroundings.

  “Come on.” Laura tugged at her end, but he didn’t budge. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What are you two doing?” Clae was already a good distance away from them and he looked annoyed.

  “He stopped and he won’t start walking again!” she complained.

  Clae doubled back and tapped Okane’s shoulder.

  “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  Okane seemed to shrivel up further.

  “Answer me.”

  “What is this place?” Okane muttered.

  “Interior of Amicae. That noise is industry, not a beast. Get walking.”

  Clae nudged him forward. Reluctantly, Okane began to walk again. Once Clae was sure he’d keep moving, he rejoined the bearded man ahead of them. The man watched in interest.