by Kaylin Lee
I kept quiet as Zel left the rooftop. Weslan gave me a rueful smile. “We’re in this together. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
His words warmed me more than I ever would have believed possible.
We took the next day off from the market. Instead, we visited the other shops on our street, making conversation with the owners, feeling them out for support. We were about to do something I had never heard of anyone doing before. It was risky and most definitely illegal. We stayed cautious, never asking anyone outright for their support, and then went home to make a list of the people who might be open to my plan. Of all the merchants on our street, three seemed like a good possibility—Gregor, of course, Master Lagos, the brewer, and Master Anton, the carpenter.
I wanted to add more, but Weslan insisted that the fewer people who knew what we were doing, the safer we would be. I knew he was right. I wanted numbers on our side, but we had to be careful in case it didn’t work out. We contacted our chosen three, and then Weslan and I got to work, covering the kitchen table with notes, lists, and sketches.
Late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, a knock rattled the back door of the kitchen. Weslan raised an eyebrow at me. “Here’s your moment.”
We answered the door together and ushered each visitor into the kitchen as he arrived.
I set mugs of hot coffee and a plate of honeybread in front of them, and then Weslan and I joined them at the table. The three men glanced between the two us, looking bemused.
For a moment, my nerves sizzled uncontrollably, and I wasn't sure if I could do it. What if they laughed in my face? Or worse, what if they reported me?
Weslan must have guessed what I was thinking because he reached under the table and squeezed my leg for a moment before letting go. The quick contact startled me, but when I looked at him, he just smiled and gave me an encouraging nod.
“Gentlemen,” I spoke as confidently as I could, trying to ignore the slight shake in my voice. “We have invited you here tonight because we have an … idea. As you may have heard, we've had some success at Theros Street Market.”
The men nodded. Master Lagos, the brewer, folded his hands over his large belly. “I heard something about you raking in the marks over there.”
“It’s true.” I squared my shoulders and plunged ahead. “Thanks to Weslan’s power and my own experience and skill, we managed to launch a bakery stand in the market the day it reopened. The stand brings in a great deal of profit.” I took a deep breath. “In fact, within the first week of operation, we saw a return of over one hundred times the initial investment of twenty marks. Our cakes sell for four to five times more than what we pay for the ingredients.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Then the carpenter, a reedy, dark-haired man with pale skin, scoffed in clear disbelief. “I don't know anyone who has profits like those. What are you doing, cooking with sawdust?”
I looked at him steadily and tried to hold his gaze. “Nothing like that,” I said. “In fact, we’ve done the opposite, and our cakes taste all the better for it. We’re no longer cooking with cinderslick.”
They stared at me, and then Master Lagos placed his fist on the table. “Then how are you—”
The carpenter, Master Anton, broke in. “Are you using wood fuel?”
At the same time, Gregor asked, “What are you thinking, Ella?”
“We're not using wood fuel. We would never do that and risk endangering the whole city. No, we're using something better than fuel, because it doesn't run out quite so easily, and it doesn't have the same quality issues that the government rations tend to have.” I reached across the table and grabbed Weslan’s hand. “We're using Weslan.”
Weslan gave a theatrical bow from his seat.
“Weslan is a mage who is working for our bakery.”
The brewer frowned at Weslan. “Why aren’t you working for a patron or for the government?”
I shook my head dismissively, silently willing Master Lagos to drop the topic. “That's not the point here. The important thing is he now works at the bakery, and he's been using his magic to help our shop. For example, he only touches the oven once, and it bakes at the right temperature for the right time without using cinderslick. The end result is a cake without the slightest scent or taste beyond the flavoring we use. People love the taste of our cakes so much at least in part because we don’t use any cinderslick to make them.
The men gave Weslan appraising looks. Gregor glanced between me and Weslan, and I wondered what he was thinking.
They grumbled among themselves for a few minutes, and then Master Lagos spoke up. “That's all fine and dandy for you,” he said, “But none of us have a mage like Weslan in our house. I'm not sure how you got so lucky, but we don't all have sweet pretty faces like you.” My face grew hot, and Weslan glared at him. “So what does any of this have to do with us? Or did you call us here to brag?”
“The truth is, what Weslan is doing for our bakery could be done in other ways for other shops, and yes, if you had a mage working in your shop and you made use of their powers effectively, you would probably see the same profits that we see today. But you don't have any mages who can work in your shop, and you never will, because mages are not free to choose. They're forced to work for the government their whole lives, and their only alternative is to take a Procus as patron.”
They eyed me skeptically, so I pushed as much confidence into my voice as I could. “We believe the solution to our problems, and all of your problems, is for mages to become … well, essentially, free. For mages to have the opportunity and the choice to seek employment among common merchants. They should be free to use their powers for profit and not just for government services and Procus luxuries.” I held my breath and squeezed my hands together in my lap. Had I gone too far?
The brewer’s eyes narrowed. “What you're saying sounds dangerously close to treason, young lady. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t report you.”
This was it. I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “Because it isn’t treason, and you know it. And we're not really rebelling. As many of you know, I've been training to work in the government for the past five years. While that … dream … was cut off, the fact remains that I have been trained. I know how the Asylian government works. I know if there's anyone who has a shot at convincing the government to change this policy, it's me.”
I wanted to cringe as the arrogant words passed my lips. I’d never said anything so boastful before. But I needed them to help us, and to do that, I had to convince them to put their faith in me.
“Here's what we're going to do. We’re going to give the Asylian government the information they need to change the regulations on mages. Government bureaucrats need numbers for every decision. They must depend on hard facts, not emotions or pity, for every decision. If we can convince them that letting mages work with common merchants will be good for the city, they’ll listen. What we need to do is prove it will be good for everyone. Once we can put together the facts and make a proposal, I will personally take it to the government to ensure that they listen and give our proposal a chance.”
Weslan gave me a sidelong glance. I still hadn’t told him this part of the plan.
“How are you going to do that, young lady?” said the brewer, still looking suspicious.
“All you need to know is that I will. I'll hand our proposal to the prince himself if I must. But one way or another, the government must know how important this could be for the city. It could change everything, for everyone.”
Gregor spoke up for the first time since arriving. His tone was gentle, but his face was serious. “I still don't understand that part, Ella. Those are pretty words. A nice dream, for certain. But there aren't enough mages in the city for each merchant to employ one, not since the plague, and each shop makes just a little money. There's no way a mage would be willing to come down to our level. Why would they live like us when they could live with a Procus family or have a stable allowance
from the government?”
“That’s all true,” I said. “But not every shop needs its own mage. There are so many ways that we could …” I stopped myself and took a deep breath. “If we never give the mages the opportunity in the first place, then you can be sure it will never happen.” I looked at each man in turn. I had to convince them I was serious. “Back in the old days before the plague, when trade with the West first started, Asylians first started using things like the printing press and indoor plumbing. Those new inventions changed the city, didn’t they? They gave Asylia a chance to grow and develop more like the West instead of being left behind, trapped and stifled behind our walls.”
I rapped the table with my knuckles to emphasize my point. “But since the plague, no one invents anymore. No one has the extra time or money, and we have no more contact with the West. All we do is depend on the rations for anything we need to survive. If mages were free to work with merchants, all it would take is one or two who were willing to try to make their own inventions. If they did something in a different way, it might ignite more ideas with other people, the way it did in the past.” I looked from man to man, silently willing them to understand. “We don't have to live like this. Things could be different, but we have to try.”
Weslan gave me a small smile, but the rest stared at me skeptically.
Gregor crossed his arms, frowning at me. “You've said that it's not treason, because you're putting together a government proposal and you want to work within the government to make this policy change. It makes sense to me,” he said. “But I don't know if it's going to make sense to them. How do you know they won’t arrest you the moment you hand over the proposal?”
I smoothed the folds of my skirt under the table and forced myself to sit up straight. “I don't. But like I said, if we never try anything, then we can be sure that nothing will ever change.”
Mr. Lagos leaned back in his chair. “And what exactly is going into this proposal?”
“That's why we need your help. We want to prove that using magic in a common merchant’s shop would have the same returns for another type of shop as it did for ours. Because unless we prove it, it will only ever be a nice dream, as Gregor said. Here's what we are hoping you will do. For the next three days, write down all the main measurements in your shop—the ingredients or materials you use, how much they cost, how many marks you bring in for each item you sell, how many hours you work, how many employees you have, and how many hours they work. Everything—every last number that you can measure—write it down and give it to us.”
The carpenter blew out a snorting laugh. “It would take us as much time to write all that down as it takes us to actually do our work.”
“But we’re not just asking for a favor, sir. We’re giving you something in return. At the end of those three days, Weslan is going to make your shop a custom mage-craft tool that will make your shop more profitable, the same way he did for our oven. For free. Then you'll simply do everything again for three days, record your numbers, and give them to us.”
One by one, they leaned forward in their chairs. They were all interested, including the brewer, the biggest skeptic.
“So will the mage-craft tool still work after three days?” Master Lagos asked Weslan.
“No. We cannot guarantee exactly how long it will last. That depends on the specifics of the tool, which we don’t know yet. But at least three days at full strength are guaranteed. Remember, this is an experiment. We need numbers to present to the government, so things can truly change for the long term.”
Their faces fell a bit, and I felt bad.
“Still,” said Gregor, “I'd sure love to try something like that.” Slowly, the other men nodded their agreement.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Magic changes everything. Take it from me.”
~
For the next three days, Weslan and I operated the bakery stand in defiance of the government regulations. Besides, it wasn’t as though we had much choice. We needed the money to pay off the fines, and I didn’t see how else we were going to get it.
What surprised me was the joy I felt when we ended each day at the market. Even knowing that every penny of our profits would have to go toward the last week’s fines and the new ones that would hit at the end of the week, I loved the bakery. I loved working with Weslan, baking beautiful cakes every day, and putting them into the hands of smiling customers. It was strangely gratifying, though it was far from what I’d always dreamed of doing, and it wasn’t about the money. I was enjoying myself immensely, though my family would not see the slightest bit of profit from my labor.
After three days, we got the numbers from our partners and spent the evening brainstorming ways to create the tools that they would need. For the brewer, we decided on a magic stone for him to add to the stove beneath his copper cauldron to heat the malt and water without the use of cinderslick. For the carpenter, we settled on a sanding cloth that, when held with a magic metal clamp, vibrated and sanded all on its own the way our whisk whipped the frosting. For Gregor, we chose a cooling cabinet to preserve his most perishable ingredients, keeping them fragrant during the hot summer weather.
We worked late into the night. Weslan added magic to each of their tools, and I tested them on the sample materials they had given us. The next morning, we delivered their tools, and three days later, they turned in their new figures. We reviewed them in the evening, after cleaning up the bakery, and we were shocked by the results. Every shop had seen efficiency and profitability improvements. Master Anton had reported better profits than we had at our own bakery stand.
Weslan was tired from all the extra work and lay down on his pallet in the kitchen when the sun set. But I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in my bed, head spinning with all the possibilities that lay before us. If I could create a convincing proposal, one that could persuade Prince Estevan to change the regulations, Asylia would never be the same again.
I shifted again in my bed. I couldn’t get comfortable tonight. Was there something wrong with my sheets? Finally, I got up and patted my mattress down, trying to find whatever kept poking me in the back. A small, red scrap of rough fabric was tucked into my sheets, and I had lain right down on it. My hand shook as I turned the luminous dial and picked up the fabric, holding it to the light. A pattern of black thread was woven into the center of the red square. THAT WAS UNWISE, CINDERELLA
Boom! Something exploded outside. Boom! Boom! Someone in the street began to scream.
Chapter 17
I threw a robe over my nightgown and ran through the kitchen toward the front door, nearly crashing into Weslan as he raced in the same direction.
We rushed into the street which was filled with our hysterical neighbors.
A whistle rang out and the Quarter Guard arrived. Healers raced toward the end of the street where several injured people had collapsed on the ground. A sick feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. The three shops with the worst damage were the three that had been using Weslan’s mage-craft tools.
We raced down the street, and then I slammed to a stop in front of a gaping hole where Gregor’s shop used to be. A message scrawled in red paint marred the rubble-strewn street in front of his shop.
KNOW YOUR PLACE
“Gregor!” He staggered through the rubble of his shop and fell onto the cobblestones. I landed on my knees at his side to check his body for wounds. His face was dark from soot, his gray hair strangely dark and wet. “Gregor? What’s wrong? What happened?”
His wrinkled eyes cracked open, and a small noise like a sigh and a groan exited his mouth.
“Gregor! Healers, get over here!” The dark, wet substance coating my hands was his blood. My stomach twisted painfully. “Gregor, say something!”
“El—” he started to say, and then he broke off and smiled softly, his face relaxing before my eyes.
“Don’t give up,” I sobbed, my voice high and hysterical, unrecognizable to my own ears. “Please, you pro
mised. You said … you said you’d always be there for me!”
But even as I spoke, the light went out of his eyes. His chest rose once, fell, and didn’t rise again.
No, no, no, no … not Gregor. Not like this. Not because of me. “Please …” Tears coursed down my cheeks, and I pressed my face to Gregor’s chest, unable to speak.
Then a rough hand gripped the back of my nightgown and lifted me from my knees. A man with a protruding stomach and wild, greasy hair spun me around and thrust a finger in my face. “You,” he spat out.
It took me a moment to recognize the brewer, Master Lagos. I’d never seen him so angry in my life.
“This is all your fault.”
I stared at him, numb with shock, only dimly aware of Weslan’s attempts to edge between me and the enraged man. The brewer hauled me close to his purple face and hissed, “You will never speak to me or my family again. I want nothing to do with you and your stricken proposal.”
The hate and fear in his eyes shook me as much as if he had shouted. I tried to speak, but my throat was bone dry, and I reflexively put up my hands to try and break his grip on my robe. Weslan shoved his shoulder between me and the brewer, and Master Lagos loosened his grip at last.
I stepped out of arm’s reach, gasping for breath.
“We had no idea that something like this would happen,” Weslan said.
“No idea? No idea?” Master Lagos shook his head, his face twisted into an ugly mask. “This is what happens when you step out of line in this city. You should’ve known. I should’ve known. And I want no part in it any longer.”
~
Zel pounced on us the moment we were safely inside the kitchen. “Are you hurt?” She grabbed me by the shoulders, unknowingly pressing the painful bruises left by Master Lagos’s cruel grip. “What happened out there?”
The twins peered anxiously around the entrance to the stairwell with owlish eyes. There was no sugar coating the horrible news. “Gregor’s store was attacked by the Blight. He’s dead.” I gulped back a sob. “Gregor’s dead. Several other people were hurt.”