Jebilu broke another fragment from his pastry and ate that busily. A crumb dropped onto his chest: he removed it carefully and inspected the cloth where it had fallen, turning it this way and that to see if the crumb had left a spot. Only when he was satisfied that his garments were still clean did he ask, “This concerns me how, Pahan Moss?”
“She has to be taught, Pahan Stoneslicer,” Briar replied. “As far as I can find out, you’re the only stone mage in town. The others are gone.”
Jebilu broke off another bit of pastry, inspected it — for teetering crumbs? Briar wondered — then popped it into his mouth. Once he had chewed it thoroughly and swallowed it, he delicately sipped his tea. He blotted his lips dry, then said, “It was necessary for me to limit magical influences. The stone of the heights is vulnerable. Too many magics would create a disaster. My lord amir places his entire confidence in me.”
You mean you didn’t want competition, Briar thought. He regarded his cup of tea. For a moment he wanted to give it a good, loud slurp, to annoy Jebilu. He got that urge under control along with his temper and gently sipped his tea. Sandry had taught him elegant manners, though he seldom used them. He supposed he was trying to show Jebilu he was both educated and mature, if not for his own sake, then for Evvy’s. When he was calm again Briar said, “That’s very well, but Evvy needs a teacher right now. It’ll be a while before she knows enough magic that her workings might conflict with yours.”
“Send her to Winding Circle,” Jebilu replied. “They seem prepared to indulge the young.” He smiled at Briar.
“She’ll get into trouble without a teacher,” Briar said flatly. “She’s run into it already. If she’s scared she’ll defend herself, and end up doing more harm than good.”
“My dear boy, I am a very busy man,” Jebilu insisted. He gave his tea another tiny sip. “My lord the amir keeps me busy inspecting the bridges, walls, fortresses, and dams around our fair city. With stone so ancient, problems arise. I would say, bring her here, but I am so rarely at home.”
“She won’t come here. She’s afraid to. You can teach her while you inspect whatever you must.” Briar put his cup down hard enough that the porcelain rattled.
“Impossible. I must not be distracted.” Jebilu looked at his pastry, then broke off a new piece, chewed, and swallowed it. “You should try these,” he said once he’d finished.
Briar got to his feet. “By the laws of Lightsbridge and Winding Circle you have to teach new mages in your discipline,” he insisted.
Jebilu smiled. “Winding Circle and Lightsbridge are far from here. If you think they will bestir themselves for a girl of no family, you are as deluded as the stone mages who fought my lord’s command for them to leave Chammur.” Seeing that Briar had blinked when he’d mentioned Evvy’s family, Jebilu broadened his smile. “If she had family and a proper place in the world she would not fear the palace. Neither would she rely on an eknub mage to present her case. Stone mages are a dav a bushel,” he continued. “She will find one sooner or later. After she leaves town, of course. She mustn’t stay and endanger my work.”
Briar was furious on several levels. Later, when he’d calmed down, he would be the first to admit he was vexed partly because the man hadn’t rolled onto his back like a defeated dog at the sight of the medallion. There was more to his anger than hurt pride, though. The thought that someone might drive away all potential rivals offended his sense of right and wrong. Rosethorn and Dedicate Crane had spent their adult lives in competition, but neither had made the other leave Winding Circle. Frostpine’s apprentice Kirel had always envied Daja’s magic, but he’d never even asked Frostpine to keep Daja away. Mages worked together or separately, but all had a right to work.
Worst of all was Jebilu’s dismissal of Evvy. The girl could be maddening, contrary, and rude, but she was a human being, with her own heart, mind, and power. It was as if Jebilu had said that no matter what she had, she would never count, simply because she was a poor orphan. He didn’t care that she survived a crueler world than that of this pretty citadel with its perfumed air and silk rugs. She deserved a chance to work her way out of poverty, as Briar had. Who was this pampered lapdog of a man to dismiss her?
About to inform Jebilu that in fact there was a representative of both Lightsbridge and Winding Circle in town, Briar stopped himself. I could argue this kaq around, he thought, using an extremely rude Trader word for someone valueless. He could do it, but he knew he would be upset and unsettled for the rest of the day. That wouldn’t be any good for his trees, and he had to get them ready for market in the morning.
I could do all that, he thought. Or I could give him to Rosethorn. It would cheer her up to give this sniveler what for, and she could use cheering up.
He grinned, showing all of his teeth. “I wish you would reconsider,” he suggested, his mild tone belying his grin. “If a member of one of those councils knew of this, you could find yourself in trouble.”
Jebilu’s face twitched as he thought quickly; Briar wondered what was going through that selfish brain. “Here.” The older mage searched through his robes until he found a purse in his sash. Opening it, he counted out coins: three gold chams. “I am not heartless. This will pay for her to go to Winding Circle and to cover her fees for a year or two. If she spends it carefully she may even get a wardrobe out of it — No,” he interrupted himself, “people like that simply have no notion of economy.” He inspected his purse, and added a silver cham to the gold ones. “She must not come back to me if she spends this without going to Winding Circle,” he told Briar, holding up a warning forefinger. “My good nature may be imposed upon once, but not twice. If she spends it on drugs, or fancy clothes, or drink, she will get no more. So.” He tucked the purse away and crossed his hands over the bulge of his stomach. “I have been more than fair, I think.”
Briar was breathless with rage. That this festering slug would judge a girl he’d not so much as glimpsed in the street … Briar’s magic surged against four years’ worth of barriers and controls, begging for him to loosen his grip, presenting him with images of this man as plant food or a trellis with big-thorned roses twining around his flesh. The vines in his hands rippled and twisted, looking for an exit. The trees and flowers in the garden just outside begged to come in and swamp whoever had hurt their friend.
When the servant rapped on the door and opened it, Briar’s concentration snapped. Give him to Rosethorn, he ordered himself. She needs a blow up worse than you do. He slammed a lid on his power before it could escape, reminded the vines in his skin that they had no woody stems to support them outside his body, and sent a wave of calm toward the garden. Only when he’d done all that, hard and fast so his green friends and his power would remember who was in charge, did he hear the bowing servant tell Jebilu, “— required in the Pink Audience Chamber at once.”
“I will not keep his highness waiting,” Jebilu replied, struggling to his feet. “This pahan was leaving.” He waddled out as quickly as his tiny feet would take him.
The servant eyed Briar uncertainly. “My lord pahan?” he inquired cautiously. “Shall I bring your horse?”
“Why bother to ask?” Briar wanted to know. “His royal roly-polyness just told you I was going.” He strode out of the room before he said anything worse. The servant, who looked as if he might be hiding a grin, trotted ahead of him to get Briar’s mount.
After a moment in the courtyard, Briar’s rage started to fade. When he could think, he realized he’d forgotten something. Stupid! he told himself. You left the money!
Anger flared again, equaled by horror with himself. Why hadn’t he taken it? He should have. It had been a bribe, after all, for him or for Evvy. Accepting it did not mean he had to do as the fat man had suggested, send Evvy to Winding Circle. He could put it in his own purse. Once he would have kept the coins without worry, and told himself that Evvy needed to collect her own money.
He’d thought he was past these moments when Briar Moss, student a
nd mage, smashed into Roach, the Hajran street rat and convict he’d once been. Even Briar Moss understood the value of money — surely temple life and mage life hadn’t destroyed that for him! He could have kept it for Evvy, and be repaid for the bribes and the clothes.
But he hadn’t taken it. He’d left it there, so furious at the insult to Evvy that he’d refused to touch it. Had he lost his mind? He was acting just as foolishly as some Money-Bag whose honor had been offended! He would just walk back in there and take the money. It would still be on the table unless someone entered that room. Just a few steps. Evvy would be better off, and he would be someone he knew.
Bitter orange shrubs grew along the wall outside Jebilu’s palace rooms. Briar walked in among them to get a grip on himself, rather than go back for the coins. As he listened to the oranges’ praise of sun, soil, and the palace gardeners, Briar’s sizzling nerves cooled. Plants had no concept of money. It didn’t make them crazy; nothing made plants crazy. He petted their stems and leaves, and calmed down.
When he heard the clop of hooves, he knew the servant had come with his horse. It took Briar a moment to talk the bitter oranges into letting him go. Through it the servant held the horse, gazing at his feet, as if well dressed boys talked to plants every day. Briar gave him a coin and mounted up. It was time to go home and have a chat with Rosethorn.
He returned his horse to the stable, making certain the animal had a good rubdown and an extra ration of oats. Walking down the Street of Hares, Briar was wondering if he ought to visit the souk when movement across the street from his house got his attention.
A girl sat on the roof of the home directly across from his. Briar knew everyone who lived nearby. If his neighbors had seen their daughters in trousers, not skirts, they would have beaten the rebellious girls and kept them inside until they forgot such folly. Briar also doubted that any of their girls knew how to twirl a dagger on one finger.
He wandered idly to that side of the street, acting as if he hadn’t seen the watcher, and turned down the lane to the souk. Yesterday he’d noticed ladders to the roofs along the lane; today he used one to clamber up to the road that Evvy used so freely.
A neighbor was washing clothes on her roof where he came up. When he put his finger to his lips, she raised her eyebrows, and jerked her head in the direction of the watcher two houses over. Briar smiled grimly and nodded. The woman — he had given her something for her skullsplitting headaches three weeks ago — snapped her fingers. The scruffy dog who slumbered in a corner got to his feet.
Briar shook his head. He wanted to talk to the spy first. The woman made a shooing motion with her hand and the dog lay back down. Briar crept forward through lines of drying laundry until he could see the watcher without being seen. She wore a gold nose ring with a garnet pendant. Briar scowled. So the Vipers were still about!
Using laundry, barrels, and other rooftop clutter as cover, he crept up on the Viper unseen, nodding to those of his neighbors who were present. Someone from every household was up here, puttering. They might have to live with gangs using the upper roads, but they weren’t about to let anything be stolen.
One roof away, Briar watched the Viper. Her attention was fixed on his house — she definitely wasn’t expecting company. The very casualness of the way she lounged by the roof’s edge vexed Briar. He was getting tired of the Vipers. It was time they knew it.
The house she had chosen was perfect for his purposes. Its owners had roses planted in tubs along the back and sides of the roof. With a little encouragement, they would prevent the Viper’s escape. Briar stood and stepped over the low wall between his roof and that of the watcher.
She scrambled to her feet. There were now daggers in both of her hands; she held them easily, a girl with plenty of fights under her belt. She was nearly as tall as Briar, perhaps a year or two older. He backed up three slow steps toward the rear of the roof.
Thinking he feared her, the Viper closed with him, dark eyes flashing. “I know you,” she said tightly. “You’re the eknub pahan who lives across the street.”
“You’re not here for me?” Briar asked, trying to look scared. It wasn’t something he was sure he could do. When he was afraid, he did his best to hide it. “You want Evvy.”
“That’s right.” The Viper advanced another step, ignoring the rustle of the roses along the wall behind her. “And you don’t have a thing to say to it, not if you don’t want me gutting you.” She sneezed.
“I have plenty to say,” Briar told her coldly, showing her that he carried a knife of his own. The girl settled into a street-fighter’s crouch. Briar was about to ask the rose bushes to grab her when she sneezed twice more.
“What’s your name?” Briar demanded.
She spat a curse that ended in a sneeze. Briar smiled. She had rose fever, what the Winding Circle healers called an “allergy.” Just as some people got sneezes or itching spots at haying time or in a room where cats had been, others could not live with roses.
“I’m going — to — leave you for, for fire ants,” the girl raged between sneezes. “I’m —” She sneezed three times in rapid succession, then wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Briar used the moment to push two more potted rose bushes forward, until the Viper was hedged all around. The older girl gasped for air, forgetting the knives in her hand.
“Wrong answer,” Briar replied calmly. The roses had faded, preparing for the autumn rains. He called them to full, lively growth. Buds swelled to the size of grapes, then exploded into heavy crimson blooms. The Viper sneezed repeatedly, unable to do anything else.
He let the blooms shrink, fade, and die, calling even larger buds from their stems. Wait a moment, please, he asked them before they could open. The Viper was scrubbing her red, itching face on the hem of her tunic. Briar walked over, passing through the screen of rose bushes without even hooking his clothes on the thorns. Before she knew what he did, he coolly took her knives and replaced one with his pocket handkerchief. He then walked back through the screen of roses and sat on an overturned washtub. “Comfortable?” he asked.
He listened to her curses for a moment, and shook his head. “You know, there’s kids about, learning bad ways from you,” he said. “This is a respectable neighborhood — not what you’re used to.” When she continued to swear Briar gestured to the plant behind the Viper. It had grown as tall as she, and had sprouted a very large rosebud next to her cheek. At Briar’s gesture the bud started to open, one petal at a time.
The Viper mopped her eyes and looked to see what tickled her cheek. She shrank away, only to discover the other rose bushes had closed in around her, forming a thorny cocoon that reached as high as her chest.
“Calm down and behave, or you’ll have more than one of those to worry about,” Briar informed her. Using one of her knives, he cleaned dirt from under his fingernails until she stopped thrashing. “You going to behave?”
The girl sneezed ferociously, then nodded.
Briar saw that there were a number of red spots on her face. “You’re one of the ones who tried to grab Evvy out by the Market of the Lost, aren’t you?” he asked. “One of the ones she burned with her rocks.”
The girl hesitated, then nodded.
“Didn’t you learn anything from that?” he inquired.
The girl cursed him and Evvy alike. Briar nodded to the flowerbud that bulged next to her cheek. It unfurled swiftly, a blood crimson bloom that was nearly as big as her head once it was fully open.
“Do your bidding like little scratchy lapdogs, don’t they?” she demanded before the sneezes took her.
“I can’t think of anything so bleat-brained as to insult me at just this moment,” Briar remarked. “But then, you Vipers lost the clever race a while ago, didn’t you?”
Any reply she might have given was lost in a thunder of sneezes. Her eyes were swelling shut; from her gasps, Briar realized her throat was swelling, too. “I suppose I don’t want to kill you,” he decided. “At least, not like this. It’s not
exactly fair.”
Slipping off the saddlebags slung over his shoulder, he touched one of the many outer pockets of his mage kit. It opened, letting him remove a corked glass vial. As he wriggled the cork out, he made sure the rose stems were wrapped securely around the Viper’s arms and legs. He then reached over them to dab one droplet of oil from the vial beneath her nose, and two more on each eyelid.
She gasped, an open-throated effort that filled her lungs. Her eyes slid open, the swelling down, though they continued to water. The sneezes stopped. His all-allergy oil was powerful: it could relieve symptoms for over an hour until Briar or Rosethorn learned what caused the allergy and blended a medicine that would help with that alone.
Once the Viper could breathe, Briar requested the rose bush at her back to produce four more of the very large buds near her head. As they swelled with growth, he asked, “Why spy on Evvy?”
“So we know where she is,” the Viper replied sullenly. “Our tesku means her to join us sometime.”
“Why?” Briar wanted to know. “She’s just a kid.”
“She’s a stone mage,” the Viper said. “She can say where jewels are hid, what’s garbage and what ain’t. We could be the main gang in Chammur with a stone mage.”
Briar folded his arms. “When the Thief-Lord wanted me for his gang, he asked me first. He said I’d get food and nice goods and mates to watch my back,” he informed her. “All of my mates were invited, and told why it was good to be in that gang. You, the way you do it, you don’t want a mate. You want a slave. She’ll never gang with you. I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
The girl’s mouth curled. “You want us to court some little slant-eyed rat from Princes’ Heights? She ain’t even Chammuran!”
“I don’t want Vipers courting her at all,” Briar replied coldly. “You don’t know how to act. And if I see you around here again, you’ll think this” — he signaled to the rosebuds, which burst into flower around the Viper’s face — “is a token of my love.”
The Circle Opens #2: Street Magic: Street Magic - Reissue Page 10