City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  The man nodded, still smiling with victory despite his coworker’s predicament. Clae gathered up his gun and bag, and they left. Almost as soon as they were in the passenger car, they were hailed by the attendant.

  “I’m sorry, but do you know what’s going on back there? There was so much noise, and one of the workers was shouting about felin,” he fretted.

  “There was a felin on board, along with an infestation. We’ve already taken care of it, though the back end of the train is gone.”

  “G-gone?” the attendant squeaked.

  “It should be on the tracks a ways back. The felin was still in the last car when it separated. You’ll want to call that in as soon as possible.”

  “Y-y-yes!”

  He panicked for a moment, then turned around to go back up the train, but Clae caught him. “Oh, before I forget. You’ve got two baggage handlers in that back car. The younger one’s a thief.”

  “Huh?”

  “He took equipment we needed to kill the infestation. I hope the appropriate punishment will be given?”

  “O-of course.”

  The attendant hovered, waiting for any more information, and when it was obvious there wouldn’t be, he sprinted back toward the engine. Clae slid open the door to their compartment and they sat down. Laura leaned her head back and allowed herself to relax. No more felin. They were safe. She never wanted to run into those again. Just the memory of that weight made her queasy.

  “Why didn’t the Bijou work?” she wondered aloud.

  “Because Sweeper weapons use magic, remember?” Clae replied. “Felin survive on magic. It’s what they eat. That’s also why it was a bad idea to use Gin in the wilds: they sensed a lot of food and came running. If anything, Sweeper weapons are only snacks for them.” He clutched the Gin bag in his lap, as if letting go would allow it to run off.

  Laura opened her eyes to squint at him. “What did you mean, when you said people have magic?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Elaborate?”

  He huffed. “Magic is your life. Or your soul. Look, no one really knows what magic is, beyond it being some kind of energy that’s tied to life. Felin were created by some batty alchemist with magic, so they feed on it. Studies show that being in the area of a felin for an extended period, direct contact or not, causes lethargy and illness. Why? It absorbs your magic, your energy. Some people say that a felin doing that will take years off your life, since your magic is your life. But they also say that magic is your soul, and your soul is what makes an individual, so eating or using your magic would fracture your self, correct? So a felin eats part of your soul, then? Are we a soul-powered society? Does that mean Gin has a soul?”

  “You’re waxing philosophical,” Laura pointed out dully.

  “Because no one understands it. The only thing we know is that it’s linked to living creatures and Gin. Few people have bothered to define or research it beyond what it can be utilized for.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  He pondered awhile before replying, slowly, “I believe magic is created by the soul. A product, not the same thing, that nurtures the body and keeps one alive. There are flaws to the theory, of course. You may as well be arguing about religion.”

  * * *

  When they arrived at Puer it was still dark and somewhere in the early morning. Laura would’ve checked her watch, but in the limited light she wouldn’t be able to read it anyway. She didn’t see them go through the gate, only registering when they stopped. Clae stood immediately and pulled down his luggage. Laura followed his lead. They got off the train as soon as the attendant opened the door.

  The Puer depot was empty at this hour. The big room with its soaring ceiling, pillars, and empty benches must’ve been some kind of gathering place in the daytime, but right then it looked like a ghost town. Their footsteps echoed as they strode across the space and out the large doors. Lights glinted from nearby windows, but Laura couldn’t make out much beyond that. But there in the glow of the depot waited a horse-drawn carriage, decorated with gaudy colors that identified it as a pleasure ride or entertaining taxi. The driver shifted, leaning over to inspect them.

  “Are you from Amicae? The Sweepers?”

  “We are.”

  “I’m here to take you to your quarters. If you’ll come aboard, the sooner we can get going, the sooner I can go home and sleep.”

  Laura wanted to sleep too, so she wasn’t going to argue with that logic. Clae just grunted, and they climbed up into the carriage. It was cramped but the seats were much more comfortable than the ones on the train, and when they began to bounce and rattle across cobblestone Laura wasn’t bothered.

  “So, Puer,” she drawled. “The flat place.”

  “You’re going to start talking again.” Clae had his eyes closed, face tilted toward the ceiling.

  “Something tells me the driver won’t be happy if we nod off in here. Besides, I can’t see much out the windows. Do they not have streetlights?”

  “They have streetlights in Puer.”

  “Glad that’s covered. What else do they have here? Five Quarters instead of six, I know that much, but the most I know is that they have a big tower with lights all the way up it. No one talks much about other cities in Amicae. They like to think Amicae’s the center of the world.”

  Clae opened one eye. “I remember that one. You pulled that picture off a Second Quarter theater.”

  Laura chuckled. “I didn’t even see the film. Most of what I know about cities, I learn from scraps of posters and the films we get from them. Or the semi-legal books on Paglia Road. So I know what a city like Carmen or Coronae looks like, basically. I know one’s big on mobs and cheese, and the other has royalty. I kind of know what the accent and the fashion is. But Puer?”

  “Puer prides itself on technological advancements.” Clae pulled out his pocket watch and dangled it in front of her. “Take this, for example. They couldn’t do the art, but they’re the first ones to bring in a moving clock face. They like taking things apart, seeing how they work, and making it run in the smoothest way. They don’t focus on the human form like people do in other cities, claim it restricts them. But they can go into ridiculous detail, and they always cover up the workings on their projects. Man-made magic, they like to call it. You may as well think things are amulet-powered. You won’t see the technology just walking the streets, but it’s everywhere. They’re pretty modest when it comes to that, possibly so no other cities decide to snoop on their secrets. Of course, they brag about anything else. Their social structure and fiscal policies are different, so they’re wealthier than Amicae with a much stronger emphasis on upkeep in all levels of the city. Amicae focuses on the top two Quarters, but Puer divides evenly all the way down. Most cities get stratified badly, so Puer gets a big head about it. Someone’s probably going to say they’re much better than you if they get wind you’re from another city. Long-winded bluffers is what they are, just ignore them.”

  “The flat land of rich, machine-building braggarts. Anything else I should know?”

  “They make this egg dish.” He gestured vaguely. “Don’t eat it.”

  They drove a long way. It seemed like it took an hour. They went uphill a few times, so Laura wasn’t sure what to make of it until the carriage stopped.

  “Here you go. Sweeper quarters,” the driver announced.

  They were on what looked like a street of businesses, this one well lit by ornate streetlamps. The buildings all looked well maintained, even rich, and the one they stood directly in front of was freshly painted white. If the Sweeper shop in Amicae looked like a candy shop, then this looked like a multilevel candy emporium. The letters on the main window to the right of the door read, in flowery writing, Puer Sweepers Guild.

  “You okay from here?” asked the driver. “Looks like they’re closed at this hour.”

  “I’ve got a key,” Clae assured her. “I’ve been here before.”

  “Have a
nice night. Day. Whichever.”

  The carriage drove away, leaving them alone in the lamplight.

  “So we’re staying here?” Laura looked up at the shop, trying to figure out if the second level was a home like the one in Amicae.

  “Next door, actually.”

  Next to the shop was another door, but the building it belonged to, squished between other buildings to the point where there was no separation, was thin. If Clae hadn’t said something, she would’ve thought it to be part of the other shop. He went up to the door and pulled a key from under the stairs. He turned this over in his hand, hesitating—he seemed to be hesitating a lot after that felin attack—before unlocking the door.

  “It’s a guesthouse, but it’s not very big. You can take the top floor. I’ll take the second.”

  As predicted, the inside was tiny, maybe half the width of Laura’s bedroom and a little longer. This first floor housed a rudimentary kitchen area with a covered basket on the table and no windows. A small door stood ajar on the far side, through which Laura could glimpse a bathroom. The light came from a naked electric bulb on the ceiling. A ladder protruded from the wall on the opposite side, leading up through a hole in the ceiling.

  “We’ll get some rest for now, but be ready to meet with the Sweepers in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I got plenty of sleep on the train, if nothing else. Good night.”

  Laura adjusted her satchel, then climbed her way up the ladder. The next floor was a bedroom, equally cramped, but plain. At least it looked like there were clean sheets on the bed. Another ladder on the other side of the room led into the third floor: a bedroom almost identical to the one below, just arranged the opposite way, with no other ladder. She set down her bag near the nightstand and changed into a nightgown before crawling into bed. It was nowhere near as uncomfortable as that Partch mattress, and she found herself smiling. She was looking forward to the meeting tomorrow.

  21

  GOSSIPMONGERS

  Laura didn’t sleep well. Having slept so long on the train meant she was restless, so while she napped a bit, she mostly lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the sun rose to shine through the window. She got dressed and brushed her hair once she convinced herself it was late enough and sat on her bed. The old Coronae book lay open on her lap, simultaneously worn and pristine. There was no counting the number of times she’d flipped through these pages, reverent. The man with the sun in his hand was there the same as he’d been when she was five. None put terror into the fiends of Orien like the Sweepers. While small in numbers they are the bravest men in Coronae. She ran her fingers over the image. This book had given her direction, and she didn’t regret it for a moment. Sinclair Sweepers weren’t what she’d pictured, but the work was better than she’d dreamed. Were other Sweeper guilds like the one she’d glimpsed in this book? Surely they were, with proper backing. It was foolish to think that this armored man would greet her in the Sweeper shop, but armor hardly made a person. The confidence, though, the importance—surely she’d find it here.

  She stayed like that until she heard movement from below, and listened until that movement descended to the first floor before putting the book away and following. Clae was dressed and moving around the kitchen.

  “Good morning.” Laura hopped off the last ladder rung.

  “Morning.” He pulled the cover off of the basket on the table to reveal a large pile of pastries.

  “That looks good,” Laura observed. “A lot for two people, though.”

  “I told them I was bringing an apprentice, and some Sweepers take multiple apprentices on these trips. They were probably playing it safe.”

  “That’s nice of them.” Laura took one and sat down.

  Clae sat opposite her and took a pastry of his own. He inspected it like he thought it might be poisoned. “There are a lot more Sweepers in Puer, lots of incoming apprentices. Their city promotes them a lot better, and their public isn’t being misled. Might be a little overwhelming.”

  “I’m looking forward to it! I’ve always wondered how other Sweepers work.”

  “I suppose you’ll find out, then,” muttered Clae, taking a sullen bite of his pastry.

  “What are the Sweepers here like? Unless you came when you were really little, then they may have changed.”

  “There are three main Sweepers I know of. Melody Dearborn, Joseph Blair, and his wife. Helen.” He paused, as if the last name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Melody doesn’t talk much, but she’s strong and she’s capable. Very levelheaded. She’s the one I’m usually in contact with. Joseph does talk—too much. He’s an antsy person who goes over everything too many times. As for Helen? I don’t know much about her anymore. What little I do I don’t like. Be wary around her.”

  Clae had made quick judgments like this before, so Laura wasn’t surprised.

  “Do we have a time set up to meet them?”

  “It’s about seven thirty now. We can go over after we’re done eating.”

  They ate quickly. Or at least, Laura did. Clae didn’t eat much. Eventually they gathered up the Gin and left the guesthouse. Cars rumbled up and down the road outside, and people strolled the sidewalk to window-shop. Judging by their rich clothing and the sheer abundance of automobiles, Laura guessed this was somewhere in the Second or First Quarters. But despite being in an upper Quarter, she was startled to see that the clouds looked much farther away. In Amicae it almost seemed like the tallest buildings of the First Quarter could brush the clouds, but here they looked miles away. The two of them walked over to the next door. A sign in the window declared the building closed until eight, but Clae knocked anyway.

  Almost immediately the door swung inward. A tall, thin woman stood there. Her skin was dark, her short hair tightly curled. Gold hoops dangled from her ears to accentuate the thin strands of gold in her clothing. She looked at them with a stony glare that made Laura uneasy.

  “Clae Sinclair,” she rumbled.

  “Melody,” he replied. “It’s been a while.”

  “With the letters it doesn’t seem so long. Come inside.”

  They walked past her, into the shop. It was immaculately clean inside, with wooden chairs along the walls and a long counter on the opposite side. It was a similar setup to the Amicae one, just with more chairs and no Kin sprawling all over the place.

  “When did you arrive?” Melody drifted past.

  “Early morning. Must’ve been two or three.” Clae followed her movement. “Where’s the cavalry?”

  “The other Sweepers will be gathering once the store opens. We’ll exchange Gin once they’re assembled.”

  “Right.”

  He sat in one of the chairs, setting the carpetbag with their Gin by his feet while Melody walked to the counter. Laura hovered in the middle, intimidated but still vaguely annoyed. She’d been ignored, not even subtly.

  “It’s like dealing with another you,” she mumbled, sitting next to Clae, and he snorted.

  At exactly 8:15, a crowd walked in. At least twenty people filtered through that door, of all different ages. Elderly ladies, middle-aged men, teenagers and two children. A tall, reedy man with a gaunt face led the pack, and spotted them immediately.

  “Ah, hello, hello, welcome to Puer,” he greeted, approaching them. “I hope the guesthouse was satisfactory?”

  “It was fine.” Clae’s tone was clipped, but in a lesser degree of rude than Laura had heard before.

  “Good.” The man smiled before turning back to look at the others. “Everyone, this is the head Sweeper of Amicae, Clae Sinclair. And your apprentice?”

  “Laura Kramer,” Clae supplied.

  “Lovely to meet you, miss.” The man nodded at her.

  Laura decided she liked him. He seemed almost timid in his happiness, and it reminded her of Okane.

  “I’m Joseph Blair, the head Sweeper here. This is my team.” He gestured with pride at the gathered people. “I think you’ve met Melody already, but this
is my wife, Helen—”

  Helen, a dark-haired woman, had an expression of blankness that somehow managed to be hostile at the same time. Something about the shape of her face made Laura think of Clae. Maybe she was a distant relative?

  “My son, Leo, he’s an apprentice—”

  That one was a dark-haired boy, maybe thirteen years old, and far too arrogant-looking for his own good.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Idstrom here work on our Kin, Miss Moran constructs equipment.…”

  He went on to introduce them all, but Laura only remembered the first few. She thought this was a ridiculous number of apprentices, and was a little baffled that there were people hired here who didn’t even go on exterminations. She hoped no one would quiz her on any names. Clae had been right, in a way: when regular workers were presented in their home city, they didn’t make much of an impression in the mass. Laura doubted she’d remember to pass word along about any of them when she got home. Her own introduction had been short and sweet, so she hoped they’d remember her well. When he finished at long last, Joseph looked back at Melody.

  “Would you please retrieve the Gin?”

  She nodded and disappeared behind a door. For a moment Laura thought this door was like the Puer version of the drapes, but realized that if Melody went in there it wasn’t secret, and she didn’t take any great measures to shield its contents from them. Before long she returned, carrying another Gin stone in her arms. This one was smoother than theirs and a little differently shaped, but beyond that they were identical. She brought it over to Joseph, and he took it from her.

  “All right, then … Shall we?”

  Clae stood and pulled their Gin out of the bag. Balancing this in his arms, he brought it forward and stood in front of Joseph. He looked a foot shorter than the other man.

  “Are you familiar with the process?” asked Joseph.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Curious, Laura inched her way out of her seat and closer to the proceedings. As she watched, both of them balanced the Gin on one arm, setting the other hand on top. There was silence for a moment; then Clae sighed. Under his fingers the Gin activated with a gentle hum. It shimmered faintly and emitted gold magic-fog again. It wasn’t near as bad as when it activated on the train, though. As if in reaction, the other Gin piece lit up. Now there was a set of humming. The gold fanned out, still faint, and Laura felt like it was reaching out, searching. She shuddered, half expecting that heavy presence to start prodding at her mind again, but it never came. Eventually the humming hit a higher pitch. Clae shifted his grip on the Gin, and the two exchanged them. The gold wavered and the humming dropped in pitch again, but after a while it returned to that earlier sound. Clae made another soft noise, which probably only Laura and possibly Joseph could hear, and ran his hand over the smooth surface of their new Gin. It hummed a bit stronger, then faded out. The other Gin did the same.