Restriction: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (The Rise of Magic Book 1)

by CM Raymond

  She considered telling him about the lizard but thought that would be too much for one conversation.

  Not to be deterred, he kept up his questions. “So... where did the black eyes come in? And what’s with the hat?”

  Hannah bit her lip and looked down. He’d known her for years—since they were children, and he hadn’t seen this look before. Something bad had happened. Really bad.

  “Hunters happened,” she finally admitted.

  “No shit?” he asked.

  “Chased me into an alley…” She trailed off, and Parker gave her time. Finally, she looked up and locked eyes with him. Even through the pain, her eyes held something different. Something special. Parker knew that if it weren’t for their circumstances, she could have been something great. “They were going to kill me… I think, at least.”

  “Wait. Why the hell would Hunters give a shit about you? I mean, no offense, but you don’t know a lick of magic.”

  “That’s the crazy part. I don’t have the faintest idea, but they were convinced I practiced out in the market square. Right over there.” Hannah pointed off to their left. “Must’ve been what was happening with William, I don’t know. They chased me and cornered me in an alley.”

  “You were caught by Hunters and lived to tell the tale? You have some special skills you haven’t told me about, because if so,” he lifted his sack to jingle the money quietly, “I say we put you in the Pit tomorrow.”

  Hannah smiled. “Guess I have a guardian angel. Some, well… guy showed up. A magician. At least, that’s what I think he was. He looked like a character from a mother’s tale for children. Long robe, staff, and his eyes glowed a brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

  “And?” Parker pushed her forward.

  “Didn’t see too much. The guy dropped his hood and his face was all demonic—horns and everything. But now, I kind of wonder if it was only part of the magic. Either way, the guy totally kicked ass. Magic was flowing, but also his staff. I didn’t stick around to ask questions. Ran as fast as I could.”

  Hannah was holding part of the story back, and Parker let her. There was more hurt below the surface and he felt it himself.

  After enough time, he asked, “So, what did you do?”

  “I just told you,” Hannah replied, willing to punch him in the shoulder, but even annoyed, she wasn’t that mean to hit him after his pummeling by Hank this morning.

  “No, I mean to your brother. How did you heal him?” he clarified.

  She shrugged, looking around the market, “I didn’t do anything. He just...just got better. It was a misunderstanding. They were going to brain me in some back alley over their… their… misperception, I guess. And what’s worse–” she lifted the hat quickly to show off the tag still burning on her forehead “–they stuck me with this. I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna get it off, Parker. But other than that, I’m fine. Really. Let’s just get to work.”

  Hannah looked tough, but Parker didn’t buy it. Something else was going on, but he would let it be for the time.

  The morning didn’t stop for stories, and they needed to strike while the iron was hot.

  He placed his hands over his heart and batted his eyelashes. “Well, I’m glad you’re OK. I’d be lost without you.”

  “Screw you,” Hannah laughed. “What’s the play today?”

  “Well,” he said as he patted the leather bag at his side, his eyebrows dancing up and down before he winced, “I thought I’d play with my balls.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hannah pulled her legs up underneath her on the sack of flour as she watched Parker move toward the crowd. He held a crate discarded from a produce vendor in his arms, his leather bag strapped tightly to his back. As he moved through the crowded marketplace, he bumped into shoppers along his way. His feigned clumsiness was drawing quite a bit of attention.

  "Excuse me," he repeated as he made his way forward.

  Shoppers and vendors kept looking over their shoulder at him as he spun through the crowd. Finally, he bumped hard into a cart filled with fresh bread. It pitched over onto its side, and the loaves spilled out onto the ground, tumbling in every direction. Parker fell in a heap among the mess. The shopkeeper who was pushing the cart loomed over her friend.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Look at this...”

  Parker stood, hands raised in defense like a kid caught trying to steal candy. “Sorry. I can…”

  “Damn right you can. Clean this shit up. And you’re going to buy the bread I can’t sell now.”

  Almost nothing draws a crowd better than a public confrontation. A semi-circle formed around the disruption as the baldheaded salesman continued his tirade against Hannah's friend. A few shouts came from the crowd. Many of them wanted to see another fight.

  "Now," the shopkeeper snarled.

  "Okay. I’ll do whatever you want, right after I do this," Parker said.

  He bent at the waist placed the crate on the ground, and in one swift move, Parker vaulted up into a perfect handstand, toes pointed to the sky. A gasp came from the onlookers, and even the shopkeeper stared in disbelief.

  Hannah smiled as her friend performed ten perfect handstand push-ups, counting each one off as he went. Although she knew her friend could easily do a hundred such pushups, the crowd was awed by his perfect combination of strength and balance. Some were muttering about his performance earlier that day in the Pit.

  On the last pushup, a single red ball dropped out of his leather bag. Holding himself on the box in a one-handed handstand, he caught the red ball with his right as it fell toward the dusty ground.

  The crowd gasped, then cheered. Even the shopkeeper laughed along with them.

  Parker flipped off the box onto the ground and gave a bow for the crowd. Reaching into the bag he drew out two more balls and started a simple juggling routine as he stepped back onto the crate.

  Hannah took a moment to get lost in his routine, even though she knew it by heart. As the crowd gasped and laughed, she could picture each of his moves in her mind’s eye. She knew that her friend’s role in their partnership was the hardest, but hers was by far the most dangerous.

  Convinced that the market goers were thoroughly entranced, Hannah got to work. She wove through the intoxicated crowd bumping into bodies as she went.

  Most ignored her tiny frame. She was just another body pressing against them, trying to get a better view of the show. But just as they ignored her, they were also unaware of her hands reaching into coat pockets and handbags.

  Parker’s clowning grabbed at their attention as Hannah grabbed for their purse strings. She worked quickly, and by the time Hannah got to the opposite side of the bazaar, she'd filled the pockets of her cloak with whatever items of value she could lift.

  ****

  Ezekiel leaned against a pillar on the backside of the bazaar. If his face weren’t veiled by the low-hanging hood, one might have seen the smile spreading across his face and his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  The young man was causing a raucous in the small square—everyone turning in his direction to watch the common-man’s court jester. But the old man’s eyes weren’t on him.

  Ezekiel’s eyes were locked on the girl.

  Smart, he thought. Both of them.

  She wore a thick wool cap on her head, but Ezekiel could see the bruising around her eyes and cheeks. Yesterday hadn’t broken her—she was obviously stronger than that. She sat on the edge of a flower sack, watching her partner’s perfect setup.

  The sound of the crowd rose and fell with anticipation as the young man did amazing feats with a set of red juggling balls. He’d pass a can when he was finished, the old man had seen it many times before. Street performers like this would make more than a simple panhandler, but not enough to live on. But the old man knew that performance art was not their primary game.

  He watched as the girl weaved through the crowd. Her hands moved deftly; the old man observed her draw secretly from each of her
marks. No one so much as stirred as she picked their pockets. She was wandering in his direction and had nearly broken through the crowd when something went wrong.

  “Pardon me,” he heard her say as she knocked into one last mark on the edge of the circle—an overweight shopkeeper of some sort wearing brightly colored clothing, obviously not a resident of the Boulevard.

  The young lady slipped her hand into the pocket of the man’s coat. In a flash, he reached out and snatched her forearm.

  Ezekiel watched the young thief’s cheeks turn white.

  The shopkeeper opened his mouth wide, but before he could say a word, Ezekiel waved his hand in their direction. He spoke a word of power, and his eyes glowed red in the shadow of his cloak. The man in the crowd froze, mouth open. His eyes held a blank expression like he was sleepwalking.

  Ezekiel spoke another word, and the well-dressed man released the girl and turned his attention back toward the juggler on the wooden crate.

  The girl slipped away but made sure to grab a ring from the man’s hand first. Why waste a good opportunity? She disappeared into the crowd without a glance back.

  She’s determined, the old man thought. A little rough around the edges maybe, but perhaps you need some grit if you are going to succeed.

  ****

  Parker stretched out his long legs with his back against a large oak tree at the edge of Capitol Park. He leaned forward and turned to find the damned bark that was stabbing him in the back. He found it, ripped it off with his fingers and tossed it off to the side before turning back and resting against the tree once again.

  “Ahh, much better,” he agreed.

  An expanse of green grass spread out before him terminating at the steps of the Capitol building. The sandstone building itself was a large stately looking structure sitting on a rise, its pinnacle just a little lower than the Academy tower.

  He had heard that it took a hundred magicians a month to build the place, and two died in the process. But lies and exaggerations flowed through Arcadia like water in the River Wren.

  Capitol Park was a gem in their city. Precious resources—magical and mundane—had gone into its creation. It was the most beautiful area within the walls.

  Public works like this were done every few years. Nothing like a show of magnanimity to keep the common folk satisfied. It allowed the Governor and Chancellor to focus the rest of the time for the projects that advanced their own purposes.

  The lawn had become a primary gathering point for people of all classes and from all neighborhoods. It was patrolled by the Governor's Guard, a group of soldiers in pristine uniform, who were more of an accessory to the Governor than anything.

  Parker watched a group of mothers from the noble class sit and talk as their kids played in the grass. Several students from the Academy—with their fancy clothes and stacks of books—took up a stone table not far off.

  He noticed a crowd was beginning to gather around Old Jedidiah, the town's prophet.

  Jedidiah had become a popular figure in Arcadia a few years previous. He came into the town from outside. The man wore rags and lived on a diet that even the poorest would turn their noses up at. It was said that he spent decades wandering in the wilderness.

  Some claimed he was raised by animals.

  The Prophet—Jedidiah’s title—had no home, as far as anyone knew. Rather, he took up dwelling with his followers, moving from place to place. But during the days, he spent his time in Capitol Park. The inner circle, standing closest to Jedidiah, was made up of his followers.

  A multitude always gathered on the outside—many who just wanted to hear the Prophet's words of the day, and others who had come to heckle, tossing insults at him and his disciples. But ridicule only fueled the flame of his preaching.

  From the opposite end of the lawn, Hannah limped toward Parker. He had known that she was hurt, but seeing her walk from a distance made him realize just how badly the Hunters had abused her.

  His lips pressed together as he cursed them, the Governor, and his city. Parker wanted the Prophet’s words to be true, to be real. The hope that someday there could be a different way of living in Arcadia, ushered in by the one that the people referred to as The Founder, was the dream that inspired thousands.

  The man who had laid the foundation for the city would come again and bring justice on his shoulders. But it was hard for Parker to keep the dream alive when the world around him was shit. Well, mostly shit. He got to spend his days with Hannah after all.

  But seeing her in pain made believing in a better world even harder.

  "How’d it go?" Parker asked, being sure not to show his concern. Hannah was strong. She wanted none of his pity or anyone else's.

  She dropped onto the grass and spread her cloak out between them. She emptied the contents of her pockets.

  There was a pile of coins and a few bills, a small magitech lantern that had a little juice left, and a bunch of other trinkets that might be of some value. Maybe they could hawk it back in the Boulevard. The thing about being a pickpocket is that you never really know what you're going to find, you just take what you can grab, and never get caught.

  That's rule number one. Probably rules two, three and five if he were being honest.

  "Went all right," Hannah said. "Your little trick with the bread cart worked well. The crowd ate it up. Something strange happened, though. Just as I was breaking out of the crowd, I was going for a bulge in some guy's pocket."

  "Whoa, we're there to steal stuff. Reach for bulges on your own time," Parker said with a wink.

  "Screw you," Hannah returned the smile.

  She never minded his jokes, so he was always sure to dish them out.

  Hannah continued with her story, "I reached into his pocket, and he grabbed me. Based on how he was dressed, I bet he’s been picked clean before. Should have just skipped him. Anyway, I freaked. I mean, I thought he was gonna call for the guards. And with this still stuck on tight...”

  She pointed to her forehead. Even though Parker couldn’t see the Hunter’s tag, he knew it was there. He shuddered to think of what would happen if the guards saw it.

  Parker furrowed his brow. “What’d you do?”

  "I… I… didn't do anything. This guy was big. My hand was in his pocket, he had me by the forearm, and then… just out of the blue… he let me go and turned back to your show."

  Parker smiled. “I am a pretty good juggler.” Parker pulled a stick out of the grass and rolled it between his fingers. "Or he must've seen how much of a badass you are."

  Hannah laid back on the grass and stretched her arms out to the sides. "Yeah. I'm pretty much a badass." She looked over at his left eye, which was swollen over from his fifteen minutes of fame in the Pit. “How’s your face?”

  “Beautiful. Yours?”

  “The same,” she said.

  “Who knows, maybe the Matriarch and the Patriarch were smiling down on you,” he said, hoping to get a rise.

  It worked.

  She punched him hard in the shoulder. “If the Bitch and the Bastard exist, they don’t give a shit about folks like us. I gave up on fairy tales after my mom died.”

  Parker rubbed his arm and looked over at Old Jed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We don’t need them. And besides, with my stunning good looks and charm in front of a crowd and your spindly little pickpocket fingers, we make our own magic.”

  She leaned back over and punched his arm again. He made an effort to exaggerate how he was rubbing the pain away.

  “They aren’t spindly, they’re dainty. And I wouldn’t bet on your looks. Maybe the crowds come to see the douche nugget from the Bitch’s Boulevard make a fool of himself.”

  He smiled. “You know me. I’ll gladly play the fool if it means we can eat.”

  The two lounged in the sun, their heads nearly touching. It was one of the rituals, to divide the wealth and then just spend some time watching the world go by. Other than his mother, she was all Parker had, and when they wer
e together on the lawn, it was a little taste of what the Founder, if he were real, would bring back to Arcadia.

  ****

  Ezekiel sat on the steps of the Capitol. A sandwich from Morrissey’s wrapped in brown paper was clenched in his fist. Much had changed since he had left Arcadia. Many things that once were part of his native city were now gone, and strange things took their place. But Morrissey’s, the first restaurant in the newborn city remained. It was almost exactly like it was four decades earlier. A mix of nostalgia and longing washed over the old man as he ate, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time for pity.

  He was back in Arcadia to get shit done.