Hearts of Tabat

by Cat Rambo

  Her inner dialogue broke, and she realized Eloquence was looking at her and laughing to himself, but laughing as though pleased, not as though he were mocking her.

  “You are lost to me,” he teased. “Your heart is flying with the moths. That is how you know whether someone is a true romantic or not, you know. By whether or not they love the candle moths.”

  “They frighten me, actually,” she said.

  He pretended to gasp. “The most notable Publisher in all of Tabat, and you are frightened of moths!”

  The swinging, giddy happiness of her heart slowed. “I am just an editor for the Press,” she said cautiously.

  “You do not need to pretend with me,” he said. “I can keep a secret, but I have seen how everyone speaks to and of you. You may hide it out of modesty or some trade strategem, but were the Press a ship, it is your hand at the helm.”

  GREAT FAT-SIDED PURPLE and scarlet lanterns, their oiled paper withstanding the rain, held sway over the Night Market, shedding their light on the tarpaulins and canvas tent roofs.

  “This is a poor vantage point,” Adelina said, but Eloquence smiled and kept pulling her along.

  “I am frightened of the moths,” she confessed again.

  “Then I will protect you,” he said. Across the market was a narrow gate, and then a high-walled lane, so close her elbows brushed on either side, and then a set of stone stairs leading upwards. At the top, roofways led towards the canal and the terrace’s main avenue, but Eloquence pulled her over a railing, and along a ledge barely wide enough to set both feet.

  “Lucky I am not scared of heights,” she said.

  He laughed at her, eyes flashing in the moonlight. Her breath caught at his expression, graven on her heart in an instant like a lifetime souvenir.

  They were at a balcony, set into the wall here, the ledge the only possible way to reach it. Two Trade Gods sat here, Enba and Anbo, Want and Supply, watching out over the harbor. The dais on which they squatted afforded the two Humans space enough to curl between them.

  The stone was damp and cold, but Adelina didn’t mind. Nor did she notice when the moths fluttered around them.

  CHAPTER 25

  It hadn’t been until much later that Sebastiano remembered his promise to the boy. But when he had, he’d found him, and though Maz was reluctant at first, he’d agreed to come see the Gryphon.

  As the boy trailed after him, Sebastiano was reminded more and more of his former self—not happy at the College, not by any stretch of the imagination, but rather so determined, so ardent in his pursuit of magic that he’d been willing to overlook all the difficulties.

  Despite Corrado’s belief, he’d first encountered magic when he was very small: an animated doll that could be set to fight mice. At first he’d tried it against all manner of opponents, but a hive of wild Fairies had driven it into the teeth of a mastiff. It had been a pricey toy and, despite his howls, his parents had refused to replace it. He suspected Letha had not appreciated the fate of the mice and, when you cut to Truth’s core, he was himself a little appalled at the bloodthirstiness of the boy he’d been.

  Either way, he had been drawn by magic, by its inexplicable nature, and as he’d grown older, he’d only come to appreciate the magics of Tabat—the ever-shifting color of the Moonway, the Winter roses that grew along the docks, the fact that sometimes statues changed post or even nodded at you, more and more. Tabat was magic, down to its bones. And unlike the Trade Gods, magic was real and it called to him in an irresistible voice.

  Was it the same for this boy? He looked sidelong.

  The boy trudged, hands in pockets, demeanor wary yet resigned, an I know you mean me no good, I just don’t know what shape the attack will take posture. Was I ever that way? Have things gotten that much worse since I was here as a boy? He frowned as he wondered, but as the boy glanced back at him, quickly changed the expression to a smile.

  What is it about this boy that makes me feel such a need to reassure him?

  “The College seems daunting when you first come to it,” he ventured, “but once you have settled in, gotten your bearings, it is easier.”

  “I have been here two white moons,” Maz said glumly, “and things seem much the same.” Nonetheless, he followed Sebastiano past the old well into the stable, skirting the cage of Piskies and moving to stand by Sebastiano at the entrance to Fewk’s stall, his eyes gone satisfyingly wide with wonder.

  “Come meet a new friend, Fewk,” Sebastiano coaxed, but the Gryphon rolled his eyes at the boy and came no closer despite the fruit Sebastiano proffered.

  “He is shy, no doubt,” he half-apologized to Maz, but the boy was unoffended.

  “He is the splendidest Gryphon I have ever seen,” he said. Fewk’s ear swiveled around at the words, but he remained still.

  Sebastiano toured the boy through the other stalls, and finally brought down biscuits from his quarters, which they shared between themselves and the stable-lizards.

  Later, he rebuked Fewk. “The boy is lonely, and it would have meant a great deal to him to pet you.”

  “He smells too much of magic,” the Gryphon said.

  Sebastiano was surprised. Was the boy some prodigy? Even so. “Talent should not put you off.”

  The Gryphon shook his head slowly. Sebastiano had asked various Beasts to describe their perceptions of magic to him; possessing it in their very bones, they were more sensitive to it than Humans.

  “He presses at the air with it,” Fewk said. “It feels like old spells.”

  “Perhaps some protection his parents laid over him. He comes from a place thick with magic.”

  The Gryphon huffed a warm breath, its equivalent of a shrug.

  “He will come again,” he warned Fewk, “and next time you will be kinder.”

  Again the Gryphon huffed, and Sebastiano left it at that, though when he glimpsed Maz later that day he could not help but eye the boy, and resolve to speak to him of it when there was time.

  LATER, cutting across the campus past clotted groups of students and their chatter, eastward towards the grassy sward that housed the Circus, Sebastiano thought, I don’t like dealing with people from outside the College of Mages. They’re ignorant of magic, they assume that one can conjure coins from thin air and that anything worth doing should be measurable in gold.

  The adjunct grounds housing the Circus, an immense grassy lawn, were often rented out for public events and demonstrations. Periodically the Duke tried to annex the land for one project or another, but the College had successfully resisted such claims for centuries. A garden buffered the space between College and field, ending on the College side with its elaborate wrought-iron fencing, high enough to repel even a magically augmented mount’s leap.

  He didn’t relish this errand for the College more than any other recent one. He’d had to wait, and he didn’t like waiting. The musty tent smelled of one of the larger Beasts, as though it had been nesting there. A tangle of blankets near the wall of the tent was matted with coarse hair, short and tawny, longer black threads emaciated ghosts against the once-white fabric.

  “Merchant Mage Silvercloth,” the other man said as he entered.

  “We meet again, Circus Owner,” Sebastiano said.

  This time the man’s clothing was tomato-colored embossed velvet, as fresh and flashy as though just lifted from a Tailor’s rack, clearly meant for the ring. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I shall send for tea.”

  Sebastiano flushed. He was used to dealing with Northern traders who did not know the niceties of Tabatian caste titles or the importance of the trade greetings.

  “Tea would be nice,” he said as graciously as he could muster.

  Murga sat down at the desk, and pointed a chair out to Sebastiano. The Altos lace at his sleeves was crisp with starch. “I have seen many Mages in the past few days, and none of them have seemed ready to get down to business.”

  “I am a Merchant Mage and can speak for the College financially,” S
ebastiano said.

  Murga’s voice hinted amusement. “At last.”

  After tea had arrived and they had begun the conversation in earnest, Murga seemed less amused with Sebastiano’s bargaining skills, as though he had expected to be able to push much further.

  “The money you’re saving by being able to pitch here at the College is phenomenal,” Sebastiano pointed out. “Some would say you should be paying us.”

  “Doubtless people who don’t know the value of an intelligent Manticore,” Murga sniffed. “The agreement with the Duke was that we would stay here and in return you’d be able to study our Manticore, who is, to quote Faustino Landoro, ‘quite unique.’”

  Endommu take the fool, Sebastiano thought. Cursing Faustino’s indiscretion, he said, “Many people have tried to fool the College over the years.” He sipped from his tea and looked around at the interior of the tent. It was dark outside, but the lantern light danced on the white and red canvas, jerking at the stripes.

  Murga seemed unaffected by the hint. “And more to come, no doubt.”

  “No doubt.”

  Murga leaned forward with a waft of expensive cologne. “Can you spare us nothing from the kitchens? Feeding this lot is pricey. I would volunteer any creatures that you might care to use. Our Mermaids are older than most—a Southern variant.”

  “We have plenty of Beasts and animals,” Sebastiano said. “Only your Manticore is rare.”

  “Lucky for us, then, that he is! I don’t know where we’d be staying otherwise.”

  Sebastiano was not convinced that the Circus Owner understood exactly how lucky he was.

  “Can you send your new Beast Trainer around to speak with me?” he said. Perhaps whoever the Trainer was, they would be able to work out some accommodations.

  Murga sighed. “Unfortunately, I am still looking about for a new one, but right now they are much in demand and expensive. You’re not interested in changing positions, are you? We would pay well!”

  Sebastiano chuckled. “Alas, I am sworn to the College for now, but I thank you for the compliment.”

  “I’ve heard of you elsewhere,” Murga said. “You are the Mage who spoke on the use of soporific smokes to keep Fairy swarms from damaging each other in the Spring flights?”

  Sebastiano flushed with pleasure. “You’ve read my pamphlet?” It had been his first venture into writing a piece for his fellows, but he had not expected anyone outside the College to see it.

  “Indeed! Such works have a small following among those of us who concern ourselves with Beasts and their training. And I do some dabbling in publishing myself. Here.” Murga pulled a red-bound volume from a box half-shadowed by the canvas wall and gave it to Sebastiano. “A pleasure to meet someone concerned with the plight of Beasts. Are you still pursuing the idea of making the Spring War a pacifistic, bloodless celebration? Perhaps you might be interested in producing an essay on the topic? I’m sure I could suggest a willing Publisher.”

  Sebastiano slid the book into his coat pocket. Despite the chill outside, he was warm with happiness. “I’ll think about it,” he said. Buoyed with munificence, he added, “I’ll talk to the kitchens to see what they might have as leavings that we are not already using.”

  “Ah, it is a pleasure doing business with you, Merchant Mage.” Murga gazed across the desk at him. “It is good to speak with a man of decision and effectiveness.”

  Was the other man mocking him? Sebastiano weighed the words and didn’t think so, but something about the other man’s tone gave him pause. An odd manner of delivery, as though every word were imbued with more significance than it should hold.

  “If you are interested in Beasts, you may find wandering the Circus instructive,” Murga said. “I will leave directions that you are to be allowed to check our cages and come and go as you please.”

  “Thank you,” Sebastiano said, surprised. Some Circus Owners jealously guarded the secrets of their performances and trading. It pleased him to meet someone more forward-looking, who realized shared knowledge enriched everyone.

  “You have a nasty wound on your cheek,” Murga said.

  “I am bound to the Doctor next.”

  Murga stood, half-bowing. “Then I will wish you happy healing, Merchant Mage.”

  The bow was impeccable; Sebastiano returned it with sincerity. So rare to deal with someone like this, who appreciated Sebastiano’s work.

  “I look forward to speaking with you again,” he said, and was surprised again to find himself meaning it.

  CHAPTER 26

  The mark the Dryad had left on Sebastiano, a long gouge her fingernail had dragged into the skin along his cheek near the hairline, still refused to heal. It did not seem to grow worse, did not fester, but at the same time it never grew better. It hurt him whenever he grimaced, whether the expression was smile or frown.

  He felt a certain satisfaction that he’d delivered her safely to the Duke, no doubt to go into the Menagerie or, more probably, to be turned over to the Duke’s researchers, who were intensely interested in everything that had to do with Dryads and ways their growth might be speeded up.

  Tabat depended on the Dryad forests. Sebastiano didn’t think they’d outlast his children’s lifetime, and he shuddered to think of the changes their vanishing would bring.

  The College of Mages had an uneasy relationship with the nearby practicum where Doctors and Surgeons and other medical specialists were trained in the art of their craft, and taught moreover that magic could be—and should be—avoided in healing, because the cures its practice brought were often too much for the body to adjust to, leading to stranger, lesser-known maladies.

  But by mutual agreement, the students and instructors who were Mages could go to consult the same Doctor that the student Doctors themselves attended, a pinch-nosed, wasp-waisted man who was, in Sebastiano’s opinion, far too acutely aware of the social differences between himself and the Mages.

  It was proper that such distances existed. How else could you sort people out? he wondered.

  The examining room was hot and close, and smelled of soap and old cheese. Sebastiano sat on a wooden bench made for someone a foot shorter. His knees poked up awkwardly, and he tried again to gather them to his chest.

  Right now, the Doctor was checking the sound of Sebastiano’s lungs. He was a slim man with lime-colored eyes, a perpetual frown line hovering above them. He shifted his listening device, and grunted, ignoring Sebastiano’s face.

  Raising his head away from the tube pressed to Sebastiano’s chest, he said, “For the most part, your system seems to be in good order. There is no reason I can tell that you should prove particularly susceptible to infection. Perhaps the creature had filth or some other noxious substance under its nails. They have been known to do such things. They fear and hate Humans with all their hearts, as you know from your own experience.”

  Setting the tube down, he said, “Let me look at the wound itself.” He reached up to touch the fevered skin around the mark, pressing hard enough that Sebastiano let out a yelp of pain and then felt abashed at the noise.

  “Hmmm,” the Doctor said, eyes abstracted in thought. He rubbed the tips of his fingers over the skin of Sebastiano’s temples, then ran his fingertips down along the hairline, past the ear, curving inward to the hollow of Sebastiano’s throat so the two fingertips met there.

  Sitting back, he took a little silver wand, an inch in length, from his breast pocket and reached up to interlace it through Sebastiano’s eyebrow. Startled, Sebastiano jerked back, but the Doctor’s hand coaxed him forward again. The Doctor took a match from the pocket next to the first and lit it, holding the burning tip up above Sebastiano’s eye. Although alarmed, he tolerated it, even when heat flared and, thankfully, died away quickly.

  “Hmm,” the Doctor said again.

  “You said that already,” Sebastiano said, trying not to sound impatient. “Perhaps you might prescribe a salve?”

  The Doctor shook his head, sitting back
in his chair.

  “No,” he said, and the sudden word sounded like a thunderclap. “There is a physical ailment and a magical ailment, and they are bound up together, or else I’ll have my hat for dinner.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Sebastiano said.

  “And because you have not, you presume that it cannot exist?” the Doctor snapped. “I’ll have you know that I have seen more than one case of this, and it has always had to do with some interaction between the patient and a Beast, and more than once, one of the Beasts that are counted among the more magical. You said this was the result of a Dryad’s nails, and I can believe it, for they are magic walking, and those that lie with them are doomed.”

  The last part emerged sounding both dour and pontificatory, and the Doctor coughed, evidently hearing himself. “You’ll beg pardon,” he said. “The students cavort in all manner of ways and, in fact, every other case of this I have seen has been a result of overzealous swiving or some similar amorous encounter.”

  Sebastiano shook his head. “That was not the case,” he said, feeling the denial flimsy in his mouth. He remembered the Dryad’s expression, the fear and determination on her face as she’d struggled with him. What had been her intent in doing so? She must have known that it was fruitless to flee, there in the city. A loose Dryad? She might have disguised herself as some tame Beast, but that would have taken great presence of mind, far more than he would have expected from a creature new to the city and its ways.

  No, there had been something else at work there, and he could not fathom what it had been, no matter how much he worried it over in his head.

  Even the wound to his face had seemed more theater than danger, as though she were posturing rebellion … and what all had happened then? The boy had escaped, using the cover of the struggle the Dryad had caused. Had the two of them been working together somehow? It seemed unlikely, but in his time, he had witnessed stranger things.