"Rilla? She's drunk again, right?" From the almshouse next door, voices were raised, arguing. Her feet, in their worn boots, were cold and wet. "It may be too late to get into the 'Prentice Hall, the gates are probably—" In the distance the garrison drum boomed, faint and echoing this far down in the city. "There, they'll be locked. Gospozhyn will have gone home."
"Won't Master Zyatki let us in?"
"He might."
"She's not drunk enough and I don't have any money for more wine or wadiki." Rilla slid down the remnants of an old, torn awning that crackled frozenly.
"Okay." Megan could have cried, her hopes of getting dry and warm going as cold as her feet.
They stopped under a torch bracket by Eksoticum, one of the unlicensed naZak whorehouses and taverns on this part of the Stairs. Rilla changed the one mitten she wore from one hand to the other, tucking the other in the armpit. "I lost one and now isn't the time to tell mam about it," she said when Megan looked.
"Yeah, don't give her an excuse."
Rilla looked down at their shadows, flickering against the snow. "She doesn't need excuses," she whispered.
Megan closed her mouth, her lips thinning. "She usually doesn't take out her hangover on you, but you can never trust it," Rilla continued.
"Rilla…"
"You didn't know. You just never knew how bad it gets." Rilla wiped her eyes clear of the snow that started falling around them, looking at the tall muffled forms of naZak passing by. "Now you do."
Megan stood in the torchlight that was dimming in the snow, the torch hissing as it bled hot pinetar. The world was shrinking around her, the dark pressing in. She shook her head stubbornly. The world isn't this horrible. I know better.
"Come on, I'll see if we can get into the Hall." Megan took a deep breath. "If worst comes to worst, I can try to pick the lock," she said, feeling in her belt for the finger-long bit of twisted wire she'd copied from Varik. "If I'm not good at it, yet, I guess I will be." She flung an arm around Rilla's shoulders. "We need to get more money somewhere, for the wine."
"Yeah," Rilla said, a little muffledly. "It’ll be easier with you around, Meg."
"Sure, coz. And spring is almost here. Come on, my feet are turning into solid cobblestones on the ends of my legs." They started across the City, back to the River Guild.
"Oh, piss!" Megan swore as the third snowball she'd thrown up at the window burst with a muffled thump, bringing no response from Tikhiy. The sprays of snow shone against the shutters and stone wall. She stamped her feet, blowing on her hands. Rilla shivered.
"Meg, it's getting cold real fast and you've tried three times. Can you try the door? Please?"
The snow was slushy during the day and when the sun went down at night it froze into sharp ridges and hollows that during the coldest part of the night could cut through worn felt or thin leather. Megan's boots had started out soaked, now they crackled and she couldn't feel her toes.
"All right." She blew through the wool of her mittens again, feeling the damp warmth of her breath cool much too fast.
The smaller doors had leather and wood latches, and she knew the sequences would have been changed since Marte took her out of the Apprentice Hall, but she tried them anyway. Only the main door had a wood and metal latch with a key, that Master Zyatki kept once the Hall was locked for the night. She longed to have the manrauq to lift the key from its peg in his office, between the door and the stairs. Even if she'd had as much manrauq as her mother, she would only have been able to pull it loose to clatter onto the stone floor.
The latch was the beard of an ornately carved demon's head surrounded by oak-leaves, painted here and there with copper paint. The copper was covered with frost, as was the demon's keyhole mouth, and Megan was careful not to touch the metal with her bare fingers as she pulled the bit of wire out of her coat where she'd kept it warm.
"Pray the Watch doesn't come," she said to Rilla. "We can't douse the torches."
"Okay." Rilla's teeth were chattering, whether from cold or fear, Megan didn't know. "We can't go back now. If she isn't drunk enough, she'll beat us for being so late."
"Yeah." Megan threaded the wire into the keyhole, following the worn spot on the left. "Shut up for a bit." She felt as if there were a hundred eyes watching her, waiting till the door opened before crying THIEF! She swallowed, reminding herself that it was dark, and late, and Rilla was watching out for her.
She had two of the weights shifted and the third one refused to move. Sudden sweat trailed down her back and she felt it cool in the breeze that stuck icy fingers up her sleeves. She wanted to shiver, but if her hands shook she'd lose the tumbler. There was nowhere else for them to go this late. She considered trying to huddle with Rilla in one of the burned-out buildings and dismissed the idea. Even if it weren't the time of year for graukalm, the grievous-wind off the steppe, they'd still probably freeze to death. Would the Sysbaet take us in? No, because we have a home and an adult relative… piss on this lock … It clicked as the tumbler moved and she eased the bolt back. The door squeaked open a fraction, letting out a draft of warm, and someone said:
"Very well done, Whitlock. I trust there is some good reason for such a skill to be practiced this late?" Master Zyatki stood, with a very neutral expression on his face, leaning one shoulder against the inside lintel of the door, arms crossed.
Megan and Rilla stood frozen for a long moment. "Master… ah… yes… well… there is," Megan stammered, floundering for some plausible reason. Before she could think of anything, he frowned.
"You're both so cold you're blue! In, in, explain in my office next the fire." He shooed them in, and shut the main gate behind them with a boom, locking it again with the key. He herded the two into his office, supervised them sweeping snow off their shoulders and legs, pulling stiff boots and socks off, and had them next to the brazier warming their hands on mugs of chai all before Megan could think of anything.
Rilla clung to her cousin, silent. Master Zyatki had met her once or twice before but she didn't know him well. Megan, in the familiar office that smelled of chalk, paper and damp wool mittens, sipped at her chai and felt sudden tears welling that she hid by blowing her nose in her kerchief. He's being so nice when he could be yelling at us. What was she to say? That they hadn't gone home because their kin would beat them? It was private. It was something that kin didn't do, and if some did, well, it was their shame. "Well?" he said, looked at Megan. One of the Hall ferrets rolled on his lap, chewing at his fingers.
"Mastery Zyatki, there… well, it's… uhm… like this… I… we…"
He cut her stammer off. "How old are you, Whitlock. Eleven?" She nodded. "Certainly old enough to give a straightforward answer to a question."
She blushed, looking down at her chai, wanting to melt into the floor like the puddles dribbling off her boots that stood by the door. She cleared her throat. "Master Zyatki, we had to come in to the Hall because my aunt, Rilla's mother, is… uhm… indisposed." She couldn't think of any other polite way of saying it. He looked a bit alarmed.
"Indisposed? Is she ill? Then why… ?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
Rilla blurted out, "Teik, she's drunk."
For a moment after the only sound in the office was the ferret, scrambling under some papers on the desk, and the crumbly sound of coals settling in the brazier.
"She's not at the passing out stage yet and we can't go home until then… we can't," Rilla plunged on. For a moment Megan had a wild hope that he might actually help them, get them out of Marte's hands as she saw anger flicker across his face, but then the hope withered. The only thing in his face was understanding and a shadow of helplessness.
"You can spend the night, you two." He sighed, looking older, rubbed his eyes. "This doesn't mean I can give you free room and board. The Guild isn't the Sysbaet."
"No, Master Zyatki, I know." Megan looked down at her chai, feeling Rilla leaning on her other side. He can only do what he's allowed to, by law. She didn't know what
she was feeling… grateful that she was warm, that they had a place to stay, at least tonight. Angry, but she didn't know at whom. It was more man anger that she felt toward Marte, it was bigger than that, older. Nothing's fair. No matter how hard you try, something or someone kicks you in the teeth when you fall if you're poor.
"I know the way up to the rooms, Master." She put her cup down, trying to smile thank you at him.
"I'll have Lida show you up. You're officially guests." He patted them both on the shoulder, turning them toward the door of his office. I know you're helping but that just makes me feel more like a stranger here, in my own Guild. She fingered the picklock in her belt. Crying hasn't helped me, or being nice. Nothing's fair. Make them give you what you need. She held her head up as she followed Lida up the stairs.
"Good night, you two," he said from below.
"Sleep you sound, Master Zyatki," she said. Rilla took her hand.
Chapter Fourteen
Varik looked up from an accounting book at the Greeters desk as Megan tapped on the door frame. "Megan, yes Yarishk isn’t back from a meeting yet, but you’re to go on in to wait."
"Thanks, Yolculvik."
He winked at her. "Examinations and reports are always hard to take, 'prentice. I remember."
Megan nodded and went past him down the hall to Gospozhyn's office. She didn’t want to hear the report her masters had made, but it was the half-year.
She and Rilla hadn't had to take refuge in the Apprentice Hall more than once since the winter, and that time they'd managed to get Tikhiy to let them in and spent the night secretly, giggly and crowded in her wallbed.
Marte had sobered p more as the days started getting longer which in one sense was better because the money stopped disappearing and in others worse since she began paying more attention to what they were doing. Megan was glad, though, that they hadn't had to practice picking Marte's pocket for food money every time a customer paid her.
Rilla was taking more classes, clandestinely, and was a good unofficial apprentice, Gospozhyn said. Megan opened the office door and settled down on a cushion, looking around the room.
He needs to let someone in to clean up, she thought. But he never thinks of it. Rather than sitting and fretting, she got up and started hunting out all the old chai cups and piling them by the door for someone to take downstairs, and added more water and chai to the samovar hissing to itself in the corner. Then she gathered the papers where they had fallen out of piles, re-piled, exposing more of the mismatching colors of the thick rugs. He could get rugs and wall hangings that matched if he really wanted to, cushions too. Olnykova laughs and says he pretends to have no taste. She straightened the shade on the kraumak, gathered up three mittens, a scarf, one green sock and a headband. The next piece of clothing she picked up gave her a bit of a pause; someone's pink loincloth. She shrugged and added it to the pile. None of my business.
The knitted blanket for the nights he worked late and decided to sleep there was folded and put in its cupboard. Why is it, Megan wondered, that most of everyone's life is cleaning up messes? She went back to her cushion to wait, which she wasn't very good at, fidgeted a bit, then went and got a book from his shelf—the only thing he kept immaculate in the whole room.
She was puzzling over a translation—is that "evaluation" or "enigma"?—when she heard Sashi's claws clicking on the tile outside. The dog's nose poked the door open and she panted over and flopped down, her head on Megan's lap, burrowing under the book. Gospozhyn came in behind her, saying over his shoulder, "If the negotiations are stalled, then we'll stop talking takeback mortgage and discuss post-closing adjustments." He stopped in the door. "If all that fails we can move to part payment in escrow. You worry too much, 'Dela… Oh, and about the new City tariff, we can't lobby for anything at the moment, Mikail—" He broke off, realizing that rather than finishing up he was continuing the discussion. "I'll talk later, over dinner perhaps? Goddess guard."
She heard Nal-Gospozhyn Tydela's muffled good-bye receding down the corridor. Megan got up as Yarishk came in, earning a whine from Sashi as her lap disappeared.
"Well, you're on time and I'm late. My apologies, Apprentice."
"Certainly, Gospozhyn."
"Well…" He looked around the room. "Bored? Ah, me, the silent reproach of someone tidier." He smiled at her. "Thank you." She nodded, half smiling, not wanting to say anything.
He sat down, pulled the lapdesk onto his crossed legs, and unearthed two folders as Megan settled down. In the silence, while Yarishk looked through the reports, Sashi lay down next her master with a contented grunt. "Megan, have a cup, if you like. I'll be a moment or two longer."
She poured herself chai and one for him, then sat down again while he stared into space over his steepled fingers. This office was one of the safest places in the world, Megan thought. When everything else went down, the Guild held steady. They have enough money to weather storms. He touched a finger to his cup, so she was free to drink hers. Manners. Good manners. He noticed, even when he was thinking about something eke. I'm going to be like that someday.
"Megan."
"Yessir." She looked up from her cup, glad the waiting was over.
"I only have one question for my examination."
"Yessir." She twisted her hands together behind her back.
"Tell me the difference between a Guild captain and a freelance captain."
She blinked, startled because it seemed an easy question. Then she realized that it was straight out of advanced lessons.
"A Guild captain is subject to Guild controls. That means that while prices are controlled, the quality of goods is controlled on Guild ships. It also protects those dealing with the Guild because if there is a problem, they can appeal to the Guild, even if the town, or city's courts cannot or will not deal with the dispute." He nodded, but didn't say anything so she went on.
"The UnGuilded deal in things that Guild captains won't touch, things on the edge of legal. Also, the merchants dealing through the Guilded are guaranteed either delivery, explanation, or compensation." She stopped, sipped nervously at her chai. That was a bit disorganized. I'll have to do better next time.
"Good enough," he said. "Your report from the River Guild is very good, though your attention to mathematics should be more careful. Your accounting skills are adequate but not the best."
"Yes, Gospozhyn."
"Since you seem to be approaching fluency in Zak dialects and Enchian and are adequate in Thanish and Rand, I suggest you expand your language studies to include at least the theory of Arkan."
"Gospozhyn." Megan interrupted him.
"Yes, child."
She put her cup down. "Isn't the Arkan Empire a little far away to worry about being able to speak to them?"
He nodded again, thoughtfully. "Many people think so, but it never hurts to know something of the Empire, since it dominates the Mitvald Sea and the land north almost to the ice. You will likely have to deal with them at some point if you trade through Brahvniki."
"I understand. If I study Arkan, could I pick Lakan or Schvait or Yeoli for the next language after?"
"You may. Well see how your new courses settle first." He sipped his cooling chai, grimaced and put the cup on the floor for Sashi. "Your courses in history, geography and cartography are acceptable, though you seem to be shirking politics." He looked at her sternly.
"If they're all like the Nest, I don't want to know about them," Megan said stubbornly. "Gospozhyn."
"Well, they aren't. If you don't have a grounding in your own culture, you have nothing to properly compare once other systems are introduced to you. Which they will be, shortly."
"Yes, Gospozhyn." She felt her face get red, ducked to sip more chai. Sashi, finished with Yarishk's cup, ambled over to poke a hopeful nose into Megan's hand. The girl petted her then pushed her away.
"The more practical aspects of river trading well deal with when you're sixteen and we'll be able to send you on various ships to le
arn that trade, since you seem to lean toward owner/captain, though…" He held up a finger. "Not all merchants are lucky enough to gain more than shareholder status, mind."
He picked up the other file, flipped through it, then thoughtfully tapped one corner on the desk. 'The report from your other Masters…" He smiled. "Master Zyatki mentioned that he caught you practicing—"
"I had to, that time!' Megan subsided abruptly at his raised hand.
"So he gave me to understand. You are progressing very rapidly due to the extra work you do. I will admit, you were right there." She nodded, but that was all. He raised an eyebrow at that, flipped the folder closed. "An examination is due then, for that," he said. Megan sat up abruptly, startled.
"I want you to pick the hardest target in the City that you think you could successfully get into and out of. I want a full and detailed report on how it would be done and the specific thing you mean to steal."
Megan blinked at him and didn't stop Sashi from lapping in her chai cup. This was the bluntest he'd ever stated an assignment for the Other Guild. He tilted his head at her and she shook herself. Of course, he just wants the report.
"Here, you, get out of there!" She turned her attention to the dog, snatching the now-empty cup away.
"You understand, Megan?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Gospozhyn."
"I want to have that report in one Hand."
"Yes, Gospozhyn."
He smiled. "Other than that, so far, your marks are good enough, for all that you are doing. If you dropped one scholastic, I think I could have rated you top marks."
She smiled back, shaking her head a little abstractly, her mind all ready on the assignment.
"Kievir Vaizal?" Yarishk said a Hand later. "Her golden roses, she commissioned from the Karoshayie?" He looked at Megan over the paper he held. "Don't you think that's a bit ambitious?"
She shook her head. "No, Gospozhyn."
"She's involved with the Talistsa mines, no?"
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