When she got back he was waiting for her, desk on his lap.
"Well?"
Without saying anything she pulled out the carry box and the candlestick, put them on the desk. He lifted the candlestick first, then unstrapped the box and laid the three roses—click, click, click—out on the wood and gently smoothed one petal with a fingertip. "Hmm," was all he said.
He lifted the desk off his lap and paced slowly around the room. "You returned Varik's climbing claws and equipment to him?"
She nodded. What is he thinking? I did what I said I would I did it. "Good. The Other Guild claims two of the Roses, since you are apprentice. We will accept the danger, if caught with them. The value of the third rose and the candlestick I will hold in trust for you till you are of age, since you have no safe place to keep them and don't want kin to know of your possession."
Yeah, Marte isn't going to know that I have money of my own, even if she pulls my toenails out. Then an awful thought struck her.
"Gospozhyn, will they be broken up?" That hurt, though she told herself that she didn't care.
Yarishk looked at her, his back to the window where she couldn't see his face. "Do you care?" he rumbled. He walked back to the desk, swept up one of the roses roughly, and she cried, "No, don't!" She closed her mouth, then said, more calmly, "I thought you were going to break it, Gospozhyn."
"Their value is more than what they're made of. Well keep them… perhaps even sell them back to Vaizal… if she thinks to ask. I suspect she will pay the 'reclamation' fee."
Megan breathed a relieved sigh. They were too beautiful to destroy.
"You think you're an accomplished little thief, then," Yarishk said. She blinked, puzzled. "Broke into one of the Prafetatla's manors and got away clean as a Goddess offering?"
She shook her head. I'm not, until he says I am.
"I have another assignment for you." He was packing the roses away and putting everything out of sight. "After you eat," he waved a hand at the reading alcove. "In there, out of the way, there is a file on a house I want you to report on, on Sto Bumaga Lane, Lake Quarter. Tell me what you mean to take and how you will get in."
"Yes, Gospozhyn," Megan said, though she wondered what could be worth stealing in the Lake Quarter.
The house was a hovel; a muddy, collapsing hole in the ground propped up with scavenged boards nailed over with other short bits here and mere to hold it all together. The door had finger-wide gaps stuffed with rags. One good storm and the mud and trash would shift and fill it.
Megan walked by once, to find it, then again. Steal from mem? The lane was a dead end street, blocked by a rotten wooden building that had fallen, garbage mounding it higher. A path had been beaten over it, around one end where it was lowest. Megan passed other homes dug out of the dirt.
This is where the unclean live, the h'Rokatski, the corpse handlers. The stink of dung and people and mud was almost overpowered by the smell of the nearby tannery. Someone was rendering down bones and fat, too. Megan put her hand over her nose and mourn, wanting to throw up. She found a niche in the crumbled building, where no one would see her easily, to watch the house.
A family of eight. Two men/women pairs, one man/man pair, two children, with one of the kids, sick. She watched. They were worse off than Megan was, ever. They begged for their living, one pair trying to tend house, hauling water from the lake three roads away. That one kid cried constantly but sounded sicker every day.
The first night she went back to her aunt's and lay on the pallet in the front room, not able to sleep. Though it had been cold she'd washed in the lake, but she couldn't wash the memory away. Gospozhyn wants me to say what I could steal from them. It's an assignment. There isn't anything to steal but the begging money. I'll tell him that and it will be all right. He wouldn't tell me to steal from them. I know him better.
"Do it," he said. Megan sat looking at him as he burned the report, just as he had the first time, sick to her stomach. She sat as if he'd turned into Marte and hit her. Then she got up and started for the door, still without saying anything.
"Apprentice, don't be rude."
She paused at the door. "No, Gospozhyn, my apology. I understand," she said tonelessly and left.
I have to. It's part of what's kept me and Rilla going. They're bad off. The kid'll die. They don't have enough money even six begging. I… I. She tried running, up and down the Stairs and through the Market until she was too winded to run any more, and it still wouldn't go away. She couldn't talk to Serkai. She couldn't talk to Rilla, not to anybody.
If she failed this, would Gospozhyn let her continue lessons to be a merchant? If she screwed up, would he stop teaching Rilla? If I can't learn, I'll be like them. I have to. I have to.
She climbed to the rock spur by the waterfall, staring down into the thunder of the falls as they spouted out of the gates and down to the Brezhan, wanting to go away down the river, to be anywhere but there, to have any decision but that. She delayed, and delayed until her Gospozhyn called her in, the last day before Hand'send.
"Well?" His face was stern. "You were quick enough with the other."
Megan felt her face and hands go light and numb. She opened her mouth to try and explain, but all that came out was, "I can't."
"Eh? Your report was clear enough. The assignment is simple." He raised a lip in a sneer. "Aren't you good enough?"
She clenched her fists. "I w… won't."
He pursed his lips and, narrowing his eyes at her, asked softly, "Even if it means losing something you've gained?" She nodded, eyes clenched shut against what was coming. Suddenly, she was afraid of him, too. This wasn't him. She opened her eyes and stared at him, getting cold inside; cold and hard where no one would touch her.
She swallowed. "They're too poor. I don't need their money—they need their money. It doesn't make sense. It's not worth it. We don't need to steal from people poorer than we are.
"If I can steal from Prafetatla it's worth it. This is wrong! Set me on somebody worth it." She clipped off the torrent of words, shaking.
"Well, well," he said coldly. "An ethical thief."
She looked down at her open hands. She wasn't clenching her fists any longer because there was nothing left to fight. But she knew she could steal from very rich people—in some other city, she thought bitterly, and got up to go.
"No, Megan, come with me." He rose, Sashi at his heels. 7s this important enough for him to kick me out himself? She pulled away from the hand he would have put on her shoulder.
He didn't turn to the outside corridor but the inside one. "Come along." Megan followed him numbly.
He tapped on Nal-Gospozhyn Zeyvoydna, the Guild healer's door, and Megan starting to wonder what was going on. Yarishk wasn't smiling but…
That was what I thought he was like—nice. He's not.
"In, go on." He waved her in and followed. "Hello, Zeyvoydna, as I warned you earlier, here we are."
"Sit down, on that stool, there," he said to her. This time Megan didn't pull away, puzzled. "Take your shirt off, Megan."
"Gospoz—"
"Shush, child." He turned to Zeyvoydna who was laying out a tattooing needle, swabbing at Megan's shoulder with a bit of lint soaked in alcohol. "I will witness." He smiled. "One—discreet—Journeyman's tattoo." He winked at Megan, who was clutching the table not to slide onto the floor, mouth hanging open.
"An ethical thief, indeed," he said.
Chapter Fifteen
"Rilla, psst, Rilla wake up!" Megan jumped back as Rilla, waking up, struck out.
"Huh? What? Wh… oh, sorry." She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "What's going on?"
Megan pulled her tunic off, proudly displaying the small, open-spiral double diamond tattooed onto her shoulder. It was bright, sore around the edges.
"That's pretty. Where did you get the money?" Rilla lay down again pulling the blanket up because the room was cold.
"I didn't. It's a mark from the Other Guild." Megan grinned. "I
made Journeyman!"
"What?" Rilla's whisper threatened to spiral up into a shriek but she clapped a hand to her mouth, glancing at the door of Marte's room, dreading to see light around its edges. "What?" she repeated more quietly.
Megan poked her in the ribs. "You heard. I made Journeyman, lie down before you catch a chill. Do you mind if I slide in with you? My bed's cold."
"I don't mind. Journeyman. Like Varik was. Eula will just bite her tongue if you tell her."
Megan wiggled in beside Rilla. "I don't think I will. Besides, am I going to go around shouting, 'I just made Journeyman in the THIEVES GUILD?'"
Rilla snickered. "No, ow, you're cold. Can I put my head on your shoulder?"
"Sure, Rillan, as long as it's the other shoulder. Go back to sleep, I'll tell you all about it in the morning."
They both froze when the wallbed in the other room creaked, relaxed when no other sounds came. "All right," Rilla whispered, then yawned into Megan's neck. "Sleep you sound."
"And you."
Hand'send morning. Megan was just grinding one of the last dried onions for stew when Rilla came home with the bread and milk and a marrow bone. "I couldn't get more than that," she said.
"We’ll make do. Someone just ordered something from Marte."
"That's good." Rilla put the bread away in the box and began rinsing out the milk jug. "Where is she?"
'Not up yet. I think she wants to take advantage that it's Hand send and nurse her head… oh, there.' From the inner room faint rustlings got louder. A bang as the wallbed door was flung back, a staggering step or two, then retching noises. "I hope she didn't miss the bucket."
"Yeah." Rilla poured chai for her mother, thinned it down with milk. She set it down on the table, turned to the wall of glass vials, picked one and shook the creamy-colored powder into a measuring spoon. She set it next a cup of water near the chai. "She has to make some more pain-soother; she's almost out."
Megan shrugged. "We can go get willow twigs together. There's at least one tree in an alley that I know hasn't been scavenged bare."
"Okay." The inner door creaked open and Marte stumbled out to slump on her pillow. She picked up the chai cup with both shaking hands.
" 'morning."
"Goddess morning," Megan and Rilla answered automatically. Marte stirred the pain-soother into the water and drank it down fast, grimacing. Megan sliced the bread and slathered the pieces generously from the fat jar. Marte had felt rich a Hand ago and bought bacon and some beef so the drippings were good.
"Good God, no, I wont eat that." Marte ran a hand through her hair, shuddering. "I'll eat later." They sat together, Megan and Rilla eating, Marte sitting with her forehead held in her hand, staring into the dregs of her chai. When she put her cup down sharply, both children flinched though they tried not to. Marte looked at the bruise on Rilla's face. "Hit someone, did I, last night? Humph, well." Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"
Megan cut in. "Nothing, Aunt."
Marte looked at her, shifting her attention and foul mood to her niece. "That's a lie, brat. I only hit you when you deserve it."
Megan pressed her lips together, not saying anything.
"And don't give me any of your dumb insolence!" She slammed a fist on the table and winced, holding her head. "I don't need that shit from a twelve-year-old." She sat a while longer, pushed up from the table and wobbled out the door, heading for the tap to rinse her head.
Rilla looked at Megan, who started clearing the table. "Right, let's go."
When they came back later carrying the bundle of willow twigs between them, Marte was back, her hair braided, measuring from the piles of crushed herbs on the table in front of her, face still pinched with pain and irritation. She flickered a look at them as they came in, jerked her head at the corner by the door. "There."
"Yes, mam."
They tiptoed around and spooned themselves some stew. Megan looked for the heel of bread but it was gone. In silence, not wanting to disturb Marte, they sat at the opposite corner of the table to eat. That was like many evenings, though. They'd sit and the only sounds would be the clink and clatter of spoons or bowls, muted; kept to a minimum so as not to irritate Marte. Tonight the sound from her end of the table was a steady grinding as she turned dried Bluehood into power with the mortar and pestle. The still in the back room smelled sweet and sticky, like almost burned sugar. "Rilla, fetch me the Halyabore and the Colshchizn seeds."
"Yes, mam."
Megan gathered up the empty bowls and filled them with water to soak, her back to the room.
"I want you to go to First Quarter with this," Marte said. "It's to go to the cook at Windwood Manor." The crackle of brown paper as Rilla tucked the packet into her belt.
"All right."
Megan rinsed the picks. "You'll be getting silver for this," Marte said. Megan stopped scrubbing for a second. Silver for herbs? To a cook? "It's been bargained already," Marte continued.
"Okay." A bang as the door closed behind Rilla. Megan wrung out the cloth and hung it on its hook, turned around just in time to see Marte set down a flask of wine next to her as she settled back down to the table. Oh, shit. Marte didn't usually drink on top of a hangover. I have to get out of here.
"Come sit here," Marte said, a little uncomfortably, nodding at a spot near her elbow. Megan hesitated but pulled her cushion around and sat down.
"You're almost old enough to talk sense to," the woman continued. "Never could understand kids anyway." She used the spatula to scrape the pestle into a small glass jar, carefully using a squirrel's hair brush to gather up the last crumbs. Maybe if I talked to her, shell be nice. Maybe I just never knew how to talk to her. She can't be all bad. "What's that for?" Megan asked, pointing.
"Don't touch!" Marte flared, blocking her finger. "It's dangerous and can seep through your skin! Bluehood, you know." She seemed surprised when Megan nodded, then more enthusiastic. "Wolfbane it's called, or love poison," she continued, capped the jar, and sealed it with a pouring of wax. "For liniment, or to induce sweating and… other things."
"Like Beautiful Lady," Megan said, and got another surprised look from her aunt. "I read it somewhere."
"Yes." Marte uncorked the wine flask expertly and raised it, paused and set it on the table, looking thoughtful. "Get a couple of cups, will you?" She packed away the tools, and the herbs. "Go ahead and pour, brat."
She's being nice. Not syrupy like she usually is. What's going on? Megan felt nervous, fluttery as if a bear had walked up to her and licked her face rather than tearing her head off. "Drink up, brother's daughter. Drink with your old aunt."
The wine was sour red but warming. Megan puckered her face as Marte drained her cup. "Good for hangovers," the woman said, and poured herself another. "You know, when you look like that, kid, you look less like your bitch mother."
"My mama wa—" Megan ducked as Marte raised a hand, waving her silent.
"No, don't say it, and I won't have to belt you." She burped gently. "No, you look more like my little brother when you're not crossing me." She drank the second cup down. "When you look at me like that… like him. Only thing in the world worth shit. My brother. Never did listen to me, and damn lucky apprenticed already. I only had the best of intentions after the rest of the family… Family was just us two."
Papa told me about Great-Gran Diezhdi, Grandmamma and Grandpapa and Grandpa. They were a trey that had four children, Aunt Beda and Uncle Noltzha along with Papa and Aunt Marte. All but Lixand and Marte had died in The Great Fire. She sipped the wine and listened. Marte was crying, stony-faced as she drank. "Li'l brother… Start the family again, my Solntze died, too…" She drank a third cup, put her head down on the table. Megan, sipping at her wine, reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Lixand, shit, why'd you die on me, brother? You too? You too?" Marte snapped up a hand and caught Megan's in a crushing grip, lifted her head and glared. Megan pulled back but couldn't get away. "Family… 'n he had to marry her! Out-city trash de
spised me from the start…"
' Have another drink, Aunt," Megan said frantically, knowing she couldn't pull away. "For Papa's memory."
Marte stared at her for a long minute, still. "Yeah. I need something stronger than this shit." She got up and got a small glass bottle, the size of her palm. "Brewed this myself. Something really good, something Zingas pay in gold for. Nah, you don't get. It's powerful stuff? green like Saekrberk… Wormwood."
As far as Megan saw it was green as poison, thick and oily as Marte poured it, the smell of bitter licorice faint. She set a jug of water on the table and mixed the wormwood oil with it, watched it turn milky. She drank the cup down, shuddered and grabbed the water jug, drank straight water. Then she mixed another. "To… my… li-tt-Ie brother!" she enunciated carefully and drank. Megan drank a sip of wine too, not quite daring to say anything. A few minutes they sat in silence. Marte drank a second cup. After a while she started smiling, a slow, blissful smile.
She looked around, her movements slowing, shook her head. "One… more 'n I'm here fr''t'e night. Don' help!" She set her palms flat on the table, levered herself upright and grabbed the bottle of wormwood oil, the water jug and the cup hooked on her thumb, already staggering as she went into the back room to the wallbed, bumping gently against the door frame twice before she made it through.
Megan sat, shaking, the wine left in her cup splashing on her hands. She watched Marte close the door behind her, muffling the hissing of the still.
Marte didn't get that drunk that night, or if she did, didn't come out of the room to vent it on them. Rilla came back with the silver and locked it away in the box.
Next day, Marte didn't say two words to either of them and they stayed out of the house. Megan lingered very late with Tikhiy after they finished studying, and they talked about Serkai and Ivar and Master Zyatki and his wife's new baby girl.
Rilla and Megan haunted the edges of Marte's house, feeling the storm brewing though there was nothing they could do. Marte made herself the pain-soother, then didn't get drunk at all for two Hands.
Megan came back from the Hall after studying ship types with Tikhiy and Yegor, and she and Rilla carried water for the laundry next day. They borrowed three buckets from the neighbors so they could both carry and make half as many trips. Carrying the heavy swinging buckets on the yokes they'd improvised without spilling was tricky, and they made a contest of measuring who got back with more water.
Shadow's Daughter Page 24