The Sovereign thought for a moment. “And you say the Thaide Priest isn’t sure that it is the Phalorians?”
“No. He feels it could be the untrained beggar we have been looking for.”
The Sovereign rose with his goblet in one hand and walked away from the table. “Have you located that beggar?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you share his notions?”
“I’m considering that a possibility, your Worship, but I can’t fathom how the beggar would have the intelligence or skill to enter the city. Whatever the Phalorians are planning I feel they pose a bigger threat. Their attacks in Hannaw are increasing.”
The Sovereign turned, his green eyes glinting. “You are not considering the danger to citizens if this untrained Giftborn were to get upset, or angry or somehow unleash the strength that caused one of our Thaide, a strong magien in his own right, to expire before his time. A Phalorian will stick to his beliefs and training and sooner or later he will be caught. Even if he were to try and attack us, one Thaide, maybe two, would be able to subdue him but two have not been able to overpower this beggar.”
Essen drew a breath in, embarrassment spiraling within him. Kneeling, he lowered his head. “I apologize, your holiness. Please forgive my short-sightedness.”
The Sovereign gestured for him to stand. “What have the Elementyths revealed about the apple core? And what’s wrong with the gates?”
“They have only a timescale of when it was eaten, nothing else useful. The gates are not showing any signs of tampering but they are being inspected.”
“And what of the Ryim?”
“We have investigated all of the memories of the ones who survived that day except one. The memories of the beggar in question are old and unreliable. We have been unable to gain a reliable workable image.”
“Why except one?”
“The seer who lives in the Ryim. She knew the beggar well but her mind is difficult to sift through.”
“How did she become familiar with the beggar?”
“All the Ryim dwellers say she was looked after by the beggar’s elderly parents.”
The Sovereign took a mouthful of wine as he thought. “And what do you already know about this rogue Giftborn?”
“The beggar is female. No one is sure of her age, though it is guessed at around nineteen or twenty years.”
“So she is illegal?”
“Yes, Sovereign. She lived with her parents who also died that night. It seems she may have killed them. No siblings that we know of. Brown hair and eyes, and her coloring is brown, similar to the people of Ghathan. She is known for keeping herself unusually clean. They call her Nemma.”
Nine
Nemma tipped forty-five lorel into Calladene’s wide hands.
“Well done,” the big woman grinned. “Third floor bed and sup. Here’s the key to your room.”
Nemma took the flaky brown key and made her way to the stairs. Weariness hammered at her muscles and joints, but she resisted the urge to droop or lower her head. The foundhouse hummed with activity as young girls rushed about, heading to their sup room or meeting with their circle to share tales about their day. Tight groups of girls, loitering in the corridors of each floor Nemma passed, watched her go by. Nemma kept her eyes on them until they were out of sight.
The girls in the foundhouse were not much different from the children in the Ryim, except they tended to be cleaner and have more loyalty. The ones who could fight well recruited the others into their circles through beatings, ridicule and torture, and kept the abuse hidden from Madam Calladene, who claimed she would throw out any who displayed undesirable behavior. Nemma suspected she was greedy enough to turn a blind eye. The first few nights, Nemma had been drawn into no less than twelve fights. The circles took turns to fight new recruits so it was clear whom the girl belonged to once she was defeated. Unfortunately for the circle leaders, Nemma won the fights against them and their most prized champions. She fought wild and dirty, driven by the fear of being caught and the pain of her lost parents. The other foundlings were shocked by her fighting style but had not yet recognized the benefit of attacking her as a group. She stayed on the lookout in case they decided to catch her by surprise.
She dropped onto a sturdy bench in the small empty sup room on the third floor. Small dull paintings dotted the smooth mud-brown walls and small dusty windows let in the last of the evening light. Circle leaders could afford to eat on the fourth floor as they mostly took everything but the basic twenty lorel from rest of their circle. The other girls could not afford to sup any higher than the first or second floor. It had taken Nemma a while to get use to selling in Torak but she’d found it much easier once she familiarized herself with the market merchants. On her fourth night when she had only made the basic twenty lorel she’d been served a meal of watery green mush on the first floor and spent all night protecting her belongings in a small room with at least fifteen other girls. She still managed to lose a piece of jewellery to someone with a very light hand. Since then she always ensured she made enough to keep her on the third floor where she could get a room to herself.
A thin woman placed a bowl of steaming thick stew in front of her. Most of Calladene’s staff were thickset women who watched the girls, making sure the circles didn’t get too out of hand, but on the third floor a thin, pale woman always served sup.
“Thank you.” Nemma began spooning the stew into her mouth. It was filled with chucks of potatoes, vegetable and a fatty meat Nemma could not identify. It was bland but after a long day with no other food, a hot meal was satisfying. After a few mouthfuls, Nemma noticed the woman had not moved and stood watching her with an odd expression.
“You have manners,” the woman said. “What are you doing in a foundhouse if you’ve been taught manners?”
Nemma shrugged. “Mother always said it doesn’t take much to be pleasant.”
“You have parents?” asked the woman, puzzled.
Nemma crammed a spoon of stew into her mouth and got up.
“No, I don’t,” she said, mouth full.
She rushed out of the sup room, cursing inwardly. Children in foundhouses had no home, no manners and no family. She had to be careful not to draw attention to herself.
She locked her room door and flopped onto the worn bed that smelled of rotting wood. The third floor rooms were decent enough. One small window, smooth brown walls, a bed and one lantern, all in reasonable condition.
What she really missed were the sleeping pillows of her room at home, Mother’s delicious sourmint soup and Father’s ludicrous storm-time tales. Even Aunt Gabby’s insane ranting would be welcome. Nemma chuckled, remembering the playful exchanges between Gabby and Father while Mother rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh herself. After a few moments she scratched away the tickle of tears on her face. Since arriving in the city, life felt like an extended nightmare. When she was out among the hustle of the market watching the behavior of citizens or listening to merchants trying to sell their newest items, she could almost forget her old life and drown herself in the overload of new faces, smells and sounds but at night, memories of her family came to haunt her. Good ones at first, then they all led to her final images of her parents and Aunt Gabby, accompanied with worrying thoughts of what had become of the old woman. After that the horrible images kept coming: the burned body of the dead Thaide, his deformed accomplice begging for his life, the gnarled dead forest at the hands of the magiens looking for her and the beggars snapped up in the air like dolls. They did not stop spinning in her mind, even when she slept. If that was the kind of destruction the Gift caused, why do they pretend it is joyous and honorable?
Nemma rolled onto her back, forcing the memories out of her mind and focusing on what she could do to locate Carrick. She hadn’t been able to find out anything about him. None of the citizens concerned themselves with enquiring about the Thaide and doing so would draw attention. She could attempt questioning one of the gray-robed platform pe
ople but ensuring that she made enough money to have a private room kept her busy most of the day.
She grabbed her carrysack. There was only one crafted item left. Shards of glass, small chunks of stone and broken gems clattered about in the bottom with the poa stones and what was left of the wadding for her flow. She had been amazed at how much the merchants had been willing to pay for her items, even the ones that had marks and scuffs on them. Now she realized why she’d been able to get some of them at good prices in the Ryim. More money had passed through the coin purse she’d been given by Madam Calladene than she had seen in her entire life. And still it hadn’t been possible to keep any, since she had nowhere to hide them. She had stored two lorel in the inside pocket of the new tunic she had purchased on her second day selling, and two in the bottom of her carrysack. But any more than that and she would risk being caught. The punishment Calladene enforced for withholding a small amount of money was the removal of some fingers and the more serious the amount, the larger the appendage.
Nemma woke a short while before daybreak. After packing up her carrysack and making use of the baths on the same floor, she headed down the crumbling stairs listening for any signs of life. Calladene’s staff stood leaning against the walls of the corridors she past, their heads dropped over their folded arms. Nemma preferred to start the day before any of the other girls so they could not trail her, as they had started to do at one point.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you out till daybreak,” Calladene said, as Nemma handed her the room key.
“Why not?”
“Instructions from the Charter Sect. They want all my girls to be assessed before they leave.”
“Assessed?”
“Yes, for the Gift. They’re a bit early in the cycle but it makes no difference to me, hopefully they will not take all of my best girls.”
“Yes, hopefully,” Nemma agreed, thinking quickly. “But what about my sale?”
“You have a sale this early?”
“Well, it’s on the other side of the city.” Nemma glanced down the corridor and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s a really big sale, Madame, do you suppose you can allow me to slip out?”
“Sorry, my dear, but I can’t disobey the Thaide,” Calladine said, shaking her head. “The Sovereign’s Justice isn’t something I wish to experience.”
“I can be there and back before they’re even finished with their assessment,” Nemma pleaded, her face crumpled. “Please, Madame, it’s a lot of money.”
“No,” Calladene said at once, but her eyes sparkled. After a moment she asked. “How much?”
“One hundred and ninety lorel,” Nemma said.
Calladene’s jaw slackened in surprise. She chewed the inside of her mouth, thinking hard.
“Please. You know the kind of pieces I sell and this is guaranteed. It’s a present for someone important. He said if I miss the sale, he won’t rearrange another time and he’s the highest buyer I have.”
Calladene glanced down the corridor. “I will… allow you to go to your sale,” she said in a hushed but stern voice. “But be sure to come straight back so you can be assessed before they leave. It will take them half the morning most likely.” She led Nemma to the front door. “And stay behind the other foundhouses on your way. The Thaide will be coming by the front. If you get caught, I will deny knowledge of you.”
Nemma nodded and slid out the door before she could utter another word.
A pink-peach glimmer in the eastern sky chased the diamond stars to the west. The wind seemed to be holding its breath, but the icy air seeped through Nemma’s tunic and pinched her skin, sending chills over her body. The silence of the city in the morning disturbed her. No birds sang to rejoice the arriving day, no insects clicked or buzzed and there was no distant rush of water from the brook. Nemma shook off the uneasy feeling and ran along a crooked, cracked path behind the other foundhouses, stumpy, ruined, yellowing buildings that needed dire attention. Many of them seemed asleep, with dark windows, but Nemma knew that the city’s vicious young rose from their slumber as she passed, her hurried footsteps echoing against the walls and into the sky.
Daybreak had almost arrived when Nemma reached Torak market. It sat on the edge of the fourth quarter, which housed some of the poorest buildings and homes in the city. Merchants were already present, setting up stalls or large tables that would soon clutter the entire area, and negotiating new deals with their neighbors. The stalls had amazed Nemma when she had first encountered the market. Hard gray bars were slotted together into a small frame that material was thrown over, making a tidy hut big enough for one or two merchants.
Nemma stood catching her breath, wondering what to do. The foundhouse had been the perfect place for her to stay without drawing too much attention to herself but she would not be able to return. Calladene was unlikely to admit to the Thaide that she had allowed Nemma to leave but she would certainly remember the promised sale, and would want compensation for having to lie. She would make Nemma’s stay miserable unless she paid her in full, but there was no more jewelery left to bring in that kind of money. The other girls brought and sold goods or exchanged a variety of services for money, but Nemma did not have the contacts or interest to do that. Since Calladene’s house was the only one that solely accepted girls, the other foundhouses were not an option.
As the sun climbed among the clouds, citizens soon swarmed the entire area, attaching themselves to various stalls and extracting goods in exchange for coins. The merchants smiled throughout every sale, bolstering egos and helping to point out further purchases that would be of benefit. Nemma blended as much as she could into the crowds, trying to listen out for anything that might help her find Carrick and turning away every time a Thaide walked through the market.
By sun-arc, she had learned that the Thaide had been tightening security around the city and citizens found it annoying and inconvenient, but none seemed to know reason for it. A few conversations she’d overheard had mentioned a library that listed information about what may be going on, but it had been difficult to find out more about it without directly asking.
She squeezed through the crowds to a bread merchant near the east side of the market and bought a chunk of grilled seeded bread and greasy cheese. The market was now a babble of voices and a blur of offensive fumes masked by sweet and savory perfumes and soaps. It was impossible to pinpoint any one conversation so Nemma stood at the edge of the market chewing her food and watching a red-lipped woman argue with a pretty, tall girl about a pair of white gloves while the merchant grinned and dabbed sweat from his brow. At first people in the city seemed so different from beggars but now it felt all the same, crowds of people only interested in what they could get.
A crowd of female foundlings slammed into her from all directions, grabbing parts of her body and holding down her arms. Nemma’s food caught in her throat, and she choked, struggling to twist out of their grip, but their arms wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. They moved as one, dragging her away from the market kicking up a cloud of dust as they went. Nemma tried to prize them off her but she was unable to move her arms and the solid pressure made it difficult for her to grab any of them. She relaxed all her weight onto them, forcing them to work harder to drag her, and then kicked at the ankles and knees of the girls in front causing them to lose balance. She pushed all of her weight forward. The bundle of girls cried out as they all fell, losing their hold on Nemma. She rolled herself out of grasping hands, kicking as she went, and broke into a run. Still choking, she headed towards a gap in the buildings in front of her.
She turned onto a small path behind a block of merchant factories and almost skidded to a stop. Two foundling girls leaned up against the wall behind a factory but both sprung to their feet as soon as she turned the corner, blocking her way. One of them had black hair that had been chopped to her chin and a face that stayed in a permanent scowl, while the other’s was rosy and cheerful.
“Seems as tho
ugh you’ve escaped her circle,” said the cheerful looking one. “Not surprising, really.”
“Shut up,” said the other girl, turning her scowl on her.
The cheerful one ignored her.
Nemma recognized the black-haired girl as a circle leader from the foundhouse. They had fought a few times before.
“What do you want?” Nemma asked.
“The one hundred and ninety lorel sale you promised Calladene,” said the rosy girl.
Nemma almost snorted with disbelief. “She hired you to find me?”
The girl shrugged. “It’s a lot of money.”
“Just pass it over and you won’t get hurt,” said the scowling girl.
At that moment, the foundling girls Nemma had escaped skidded around the corner.
“Looks like things just evened up a bit,” smiled the rosy girl, leaning back against the wall, one foot up, playing with her wavy golden hair. The scowler relaxed a little.
The girls fanned out around her, their eyes hard with anger. Nemma readied her stance. She had fought groups before and lost, but not without causing damage.
“Stand down,” called the rosy-faced girl. The girls looked at her in surprise and glanced at the scowling girl, unsure.
“What?” said the short-haired girl. “No, attack her and search her.”
The girls edged forward and Nemma shifted, pivoting on the spot.
“Stand down,” hissed the rosy-faced girl, pushing herself upright from the wall. “She’s escaped you once. Do you really think you’ll overcome her?”
“There are nine of us, Chesna,” the short-haired girl said.
“Calladene doesn’t want her item damaged.”
“So? At least we can bring it in if we fight her together.”
Chesna turned to the girl, a hard glint in her eye. “And if we don’t, how will you explain it? I won’t lose this opportunity because of you. We made an agreement, Pia.”
Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1) Page 12