Bound into the Blood
Page 31
Rush stiffened but said nothing. He was merely an apprentice, of no account before these proctors appointed by the Star Watch, even if he suspected they were quite lowly in their own ranks. At least he didn’t call us “Dusties.” Probably beneath his dignity.
“Rigolt,” he said, “Perhaps you could bring us all some refreshment. Gentlemen, please have a seat.”
The butler nodded and left.
The elder proctor turned to Rush. “Remind me of your name and rank,” he said.
“Rushalentar, sir, apprentice to Pittestapan.” He waited for the inevitable follow-up.
“You are, what, sixteen?” the junior proctor asked.
“No, sir, fifteen. I’ve been apprenticed for three years.”
“Since the death of your parents, isn’t it?” the elder proctor said. “But your uncle had no sister, is that correct?”
Rush kept his face expressionless. “I’m the son of my uncle’s brother, Torrtolapan.”
A look of horror crossed the junior proctor’s face. “Not in the same maternal line as Master Pittestapan?”
“No, sir. My mother was Arikinnam.”
The elder proctor commented to the younger one, “As I told you. She descends from Galivistam’s line. The Star Watch made an exception in this case, for the dignity of the guild.”
Since it would otherwise die out completely, Rush translated sardonically. The maternal lines that had traditionally contributed to Torch & Scroll were dissipated amongst remote cousins, as the main lines bred insufficient daughters to maintain the tie. His uncle was the last descendant of the final maternal line, his mother having had neither sisters nor daughters..
The Star Watch has no use for my mother’s line and, besides, as a male I can’t found a new line or continue the old one. All they did was postpone the demise of the guild for one more generation, as a courtesy to my uncle. As far as they’re concerned, it dies with him. After, what, fourteen generations? One of the oldest of all the guilds, if also the smallest.
His uncle’s entrance put a stop to this desultory questioning.
Rush rose, when the door opened, and so did the proctors, reluctantly. Pittestapan was dressed in his working robes, and stared down his nose at the strangers. Rush noted a new feebleness in his step and his stomach sank. He’s been ill again. His health is failing.
His uncle drew out the pause and then declared, “While it is always a pleasure to welcome proctors from the Star Watch, you have interrupted me in the middle of an experiment. What is it I can do for you?”
The younger proctor flushed but the elder held his ground. “We must all do our duty, Master Pittestapan.”
At his uncle’s nod, the man continued, “I am Garettanfin, and this is Briansesse. We were told that your apprentice was seen this morning buying a forbidden book. You know what happens when those who are not yet masters gain access to knowledge beyond their experience. Only masters, or those not of the craft may…”
“Who is it that so accuses him?” Pittestapan interrupted.
The two proctors looked at each other. “We may not reveal that, Master,” Garettanfin said. “Is it true?”
“Have you questioned the staff about the boy’s whereabouts?”
“The fellow who answered the door says he’s been here all day,” Garettanfin acknowledged.
“Well, then, you have your answer.”
The elder proctor pursed his lips sourly at the evasion, but refrained from pushing for more.
“If there is nothing else…” Pittestapan said.
Rigolt returned with Annix rigged out as a maid to carry the refreshment Rush had ordered. Briansesse looked at it longingly, but Garettanfin shook his head.
“Thank you for your time, Master.”
He gave Rush a hard look as Rigolt imperturbably escorted them out of the room, and Rush held his face still and nodded to him.
Rush, his uncle, and the housekeeper maintained their silence until they heard the outer door close, and then relaxed.
“We might as well enjoy ourselves, eh, Rush? I imagine you’re hungry.” His uncle snatched a roll from a basket without waiting for Annix to finish laying the contents of the tray out on the table.
When Rigolt came back in, Pittestapan told him, “Sorry to make your wife dress up unnecessarily, but who could tell how long they’d stay?”
“I find it impertinent of the Star Watch to interfere with our private matters, sir,” Rigolt said.
“You’d think they’d let the house die in peace, wouldn’t you? There must be someone who could use the library, I suppose. Can’t imagine what they would want the rest of this mausoleum for.”
“That’s not fair, uncle,” Rush said. “This was a fine guild.”
Pittestapan was working on his second roll and he waved it about in the air as he spoke. “It’s passed us by, nephew. The world. Look at all the work being done by the practical guilds. What have we to show for our fine research, eh? We’re little closer to the fundamental theories, and the practical guilds have no use for us.”
He buttered the roll and sprinkled it with cinnamon. “No, they’ll close the place for good after I’m gone. I’ve known that all my life.”
He looked over at his nephew. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, my boy. You’ll have to affiliate with some other guild once you pass your apprenticeship. They’ll never let you stay on—what would be the point, without a maternal line to keep the skills together?”
“You’ve done plenty for me, Uncle,” Rush said, “taking me in after your brother died. I’m very grateful, truly.”
“I know you are, boy. But remember, the other guilds will never accept someone from your mother’s line unless you get, um, creative about it.”
He refrained from expanding on the topic, but Rush was all too familiar with the minor wizards who made their livings in the poorer districts, unable to join the guild houses, not even the small chapters in remote towns much less in the capitol, because they would contaminate the maternal lines of the houses. If his uncle had had sisters to pass along the line, he would never have been allowed to apprentice to him, coming from a different line, a wild line.
His uncle patted his lips with a napkin and cleaned the crumbs off of his fingers. “Well, let’s see what you got. I’ve been wanting to add Truttelaran to the library for quite some time. Away with you now.”
Rush dashed off to the stable loft to retrieve his prize.
By the time the daylight was over and the worms in the street lights had woken up and begun to eat their fodder, their glows just beginning to shed a warm light, Rush was already in place, watching Nikelbeele’s shop door from the shadows of an alley across the street. He could smell the pungent aroma of the nearest lantern, but was well-shielded from its illumination.
The seller of books and other rare treasures stood outside his shop door and turned the lock. Rush felt his application of MONITOR to both door and shop windows, and he tensed in anticipation. The elderly man always took the same way home, and he’d pass right by him.
When Nikelbeele approached the alley-mouth, Rush dropped the BEND that had helped divert the light around him and spoke softly. “Nikel, it’s me. Lean over and tie a shoe, or something.”
Without the least flicker of surprise, Nikelbeele knelt down with a puff for his stout belly and busied himself with a shoe tie. “Did they catch you, then?” he muttered, out of the side of his mouth.
“Not this time,” Rush said quietly. “What happened? Do you know who ratted on me?”
“I didn’t see it, boy. None of the regulars would do it, but there were a couple of new faces about.”
“Tell me. I can’t let it happen again.”
Nikel glanced sideways, discreetly. “Not going to do something stupid, you? That’s no way to treat your uncle.”
“Nah, I just want to know who, so I can give them the slip next time.”
Rush crouched down in the shadows alongside the old man. “You know me. The mor
e I can find out, the better I like it, and the safer we’ll be, Uncle Pitt and me.”
“Aye.” Nikelbeele paused, and then made his decision.
“There was a young fellow, older than you. Wore lenses, he did, and a blue cap. Don’t know ’im, today’s the first I saw ’im.”
Rush nodded.
“And then the girls were there.”
“What girls?” Rush asked. The light worms were glowing more brightly, and he edged back further into the shadows.
“They’re new, too, last couple o’ days. Two of ’em. Don’t look too good. Maybe they wanted the reward.”
“But how would they know to report me?” Rush asked.
“Don’t take much—ya hardly look old enough to be legal.” He watched Rush’s shoulders sag with amusement. “Don’t worry, boy, time will fix that, soon enough.”
He straightened up and Rush stood up in the shadows to match. “The proctors came by right after you left and asked about you, by name, they did. I can’t tell you who told ’em. Might a been someone else.”
“Thanks, Nikel, I ’ppreciate it.”
Before Nikelbeele could finish smoothing down his vest to continue on his way, Rush popped out with, “Oh, I forgot to ask. Any luck finding Godegroven? Not the Reflections on Trees, but the Natural Balance?”
“And who wants to know, your uncle or you?”
Rush hung his head, but the book-seller chuckled. “I’ve got a line out. I’ll let ya know if I can get a hold of it. Meanwhile, you stay out of trouble, boy, or you won’t get to read much of anything else.”
He walked slowly on down the street, the echo of his low laugh traveling back to Rush’s ear.
He’s right—mustn’t get distracted. If I can’t find out what happened today, I’ll never be able to come back here safely, not for three years, anyway, and Nikel’s the best, this side of the river.
He re-assumed the BEND. It wouldn’t stand up to full light, but it helped the shadows cover him. He slipped carefully onto the walkway in front of the buildings, dodging both the pools of lantern light and the handful of pedestrians, and hugged the front of the darkened buildings where he could. The smells and dirt up close to the walls kept most passersby further away. This wasn’t a street for meat and drink, and the shops were closed or closing by now.
It makes sense that it’s someone new who turned me in. But who would know my name that’s a stranger to Nikel?
He crossed over to the opposite side, a block below Nikelbeele’s shop, just another shadow moving in the dimly lit street. Before him a man ambled loosely. Rush wanted to pass him, but his steps were too unpredictable, and he reeked of ale and other, less recognizable odors. He stopped dead unexpectedly at the entry to an alley, and Rush only just managed not to run into him.
The drunk took a few steps in and fumbled with his trousers. Rush was about to walk on by when he heard him exclaim, “Oh-ho, whadda we have here?”
There was a frightened inhalation, and the man continued, “Hiya, sweeties, it’s your lucky day. The both o’ ya.”
Rush followed after, silently, and saw two girls getting up from their hiding place behind a stack of empty boxes. The older one had a knife and was holding it in front of her. The steel flickered nervously in the light from the street lantern out beyond the alley’s end. The younger girl crouched at her feet and groped for a weapon. Their faces were smudged, and their clothes filthy, but they didn’t cower at the threat or waste their breath pleading.
He reached down himself to pick up a stone, and he thought the older girl could see him, through the BEND, but her eyes went back immediately to the drunk who advanced obliviously in their direction, his arms outstretched.
“Come to Papa,” he said, beckoning with one arm. “Lesh have some fun.”
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About the Author
Karen Myers is the author of the best-selling novel To Carry the Horn, the first entry in the series The Hounds of Annwn, a contemporary Wild Hunt fantasy set in a fae otherworld version of the Virginia Piedmont. She is currently working on a new fantasy series, The Affinities of Magic, following a young wizard who launches an industrial revolution of magic. More information is available at Perkunas Press.
A graduate of Yale University from Kansas City, Karen has lived with her husband, David Zincavage, in Connecticut, New York, Chicago, California, and more recently in the lovely foxhunting country of Virginia where they followed the activities of the Blue Ridge Hunt, the Old Dominion Hounds, the Ashland Bassets, and the Wolver Beagles.
Karen writes, photographs, and fiddles from her log cabin in the Allegheny mountains of central Pennsylvania. She can be reached at
KarenMyers@HollowLands.com.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ALSO BY KAREN MYERS
SHORT TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
GUIDE TO NAMES AND PRONUNCIATIONS
IF YOU LIKE THIS BOOK…
ALSO BY KAREN MYERS
EXCERPT FROM STRUCTURES OF EARTH
ABOUT THE AUTHOR