A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1)

by Hemmings, Malcolm

  It was clear that Bea hadn’t expected the question, and she looked around the large kitchen, bewildered.

  “The Master has ice chests?” she asked. “I don’t see any...”

  “There are blocks of ice on the counter over there,” Elena pointed, “so you must have an ice chest.”

  “Master De Luca had Fabera many years ago.” The plump cook’s accent was less pronounced than his partner’s, which made him easier to understand. “She made friends with cook, and made ice chest as gift. It is passed down with kitchen ever since. Don’t tell Master De Luca though, he think we buy ice from the markets, always very grateful.” He grinned with a set of crooked teeth, dropped Elena a wink, and turned back to his work.

  Bea pursed her lips, but said nothing, merely gestured them through another door.

  “Down this hallway is one of the garzoni rooms, you’ll be seeing enough of them.” The woman had increased her pace, and Elena had to scurry to keep up with her.

  “Do the garzoni help the servants with cooking and cleaning then?” Elena asked as they passed through another set of doors, into yet another hallway. Bea stopped and peered at her.

  “Yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked, almost suspiciously.

  “Well, it...it was just a guess,” Elena stammered. Her Storm had supplied the hunch, and it took Elena a few moments to follow through its reasoning. “The garzoni will be working on various works of art, won’t they? Honing their crafts? It wouldn’t make sense to have one of them next to a noisy kitchen unless they were also expected to help there at times. Besides, in a studio this large, two chefs wouldn’t be able to handle all of the work.”

  “Hmm.” Bea raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. The tour continued on at a quick pace, past the baths, a sunroom, and balconies on the second floor that overlooked the adjacent streets. Even at the increased pace, each room gave Elena fodder for two or three more questions. At first Bea would offer some small bit of information on each room, but as the questions piled on she offered less and less comment, and her answers became more and more clipped.

  “She’s going to hate you by the end of this,” Ele whispered as they walked across the courtyard again as a shortcut to the other side of the studio.

  “What does it matter?” Elena hissed back. The courtyard had emptied by now, and she didn’t want Bea to overhear and cut her tour short. “I’m getting answers to my questions and I’ll never see her again after today. As soon as I get found out-”

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Elena. I’m afraid you’re not allowed to be back here.” Pietro appeared at the doorway Elena had first forced her way through, and her heart sank. Behind the marble secretary, her mother’s face was red, her eyes puffy and her mouth set in a grim, thin line. Elena rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, turning to shoot a guilty look towards Bea.

  “I suppose this is the end of your tour, my dear.” There wasn’t a hint of surprise on the woman’s face. “Now that the charade is over, tell me, what was it that made Pietro turn you down? What type of Storm has touched you?”

  She knew I was lying all along...but she still let me look around the studio. Elena’s eyes began to water. As small a gesture as it was, the fact that Bea would go to such trouble for her was touching, and made her feel even worse about the lie.

  “A Fabera,” she replied as she turned to leave, “I’m just a Fabera. Thank you for showing me around.”

  Pietro was silent as he escorted the Luccianos through the hallway, for which Elena was grateful. She struggled to blink the tears away before they reached the antechamber, but her vision was still a touch blurry by the time she reached the others that still waited.

  “Arturo, I will see you next,” Pietro said quietly to the sketching boy, and Elena and her mother left Studio De Luca unaccompanied. Elena stopped rubbing her wrist when the pair stepped out into the hot sun. She knew her mother would punish her severely for wandering off, whether that punishment was physical or emotional, and she didn’t want Joanna to get any ideas.

  “Elena and Ele! Wait for a moment!” Elena half turned at the call, but winced when she saw who it was. Arta hurried to catch up to them, the paintbrush still behind her ear. The colors from the setting sun played across her golden hair, making it look as if the paintbrush has splashed oranges and yellows and red into it. Joanna gave Elena a sharp glance when she turned, and Elena pretended she was looking back at the studio one last time. The last thing she needed was to give her mother another reason to punish her, and interacting with someone that Joanna couldn’t see or hear was a sure-fire way to provide such a reason.

  “How did you do in there? You were gone for a long time, we were all hopeful!” Arta caught up with the threesome and walked by their side.

  “It turns out that Master De Luca is too good to accept just any Stormtouched,” Ele said bitterly. Elena stared at her feet, willing herself not to let the tears fall.

  “Oh no. Oh Elena and Ele I’m so sorry.”

  Elena winced. She wasn’t used to sympathy, and had no idea how to respond to the girl. Arta suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, leaving Elena and her mother to continue on their way.

  “This is as far as I can go,” the blonde girl said, “but try to find Arturo and I, later, okay? We’ll come back to this street and meet up. You need to talk to someone right now, and your mother doesn’t look too sympathetic!” The final thought was shouted as Elena and her mother continued walking.

  “She’s not! She models herself after the works of Dante!” Ele shouted back, and despite the tears in her eyes, Elena half-smiled.

  The walk to their lodgings was much less exciting than the walk to the studio had been. The city that had been full of wonders before now just seemed unfamiliar and frightening, the streets too crowded, the bustle overwhelming. Her looming punishment lingered in the back of her mind, and worry about her future occupied the forefront.

  “We will be returning to De Luca’s studio tomorrow morning,” her mother said, breaking the silence between them without looking at Elena, as if she was talking to herself. “I will demand to speak to someone other than that horrid stone boy, someone with some sense. Whoever heard of giving a living statue that amount of responsibility? He literally has a mind of marble, and he presumes to lecture me? The nerve!”

  Joanna continued ranting until they entered the small inn, and from the fiery spark in her eye Elena was sure that her mother was still ranting in her head.

  “I have reserved a room for the evening, and a porter should’ve brought my bags to it. Lucciano is the name.”

  “There is only a single bed in your room Miss Lucciano, and just a single meal was ordered for it,” the innkeeper said uncertainly, glancing at Elena as he held out the key.

  “And only a single bed and meal is needed.” Joanna snatched the key from him and turned, chin up, to march up the wooden stairs to the rooms above.

  “Had my daughter impressed the secretary enough, she would be sleeping in a garzoni’s bed tonight.” Joanna sniffed on her way up the stairs.

  So that’s to be my punishment then. Elena followed her mother up the stairs in silence. It was one of her mother’s favored expressions of displeasure, a nasty combination of ignoring her daughter while making biting comments as if to herself. It had hurt much more when Elena was a child of five of six years old, and had to learn to prepare herself food or go hungry.

  Of course, given the emotionally draining day she had already had, it would be effective enough. At least her mother hadn’t decided that something more inventive was in order. When they reached the room, Elena didn’t even bother glancing at the bed, instead casting her gaze around to find a suitable spot to lay out her cloak on the ground to sleep. It took an hour for the sun to set, plunging the sky outside of the window into darkness.

  “If she’s ignoring you, maybe you can leave to find Arturo and Arta again,” Ele suggested as Joanna moved around the room, lighting the lantern and the candles
on the bedside table. “She won’t forbid you from leaving.” Elena glanced through the window at the street below. The sun had set, but the streets were still almost as busy, with people moving by the light of lanterns that hung along the sides of every street.

  “I’m going out, Mother,” she said quietly, “I have to find something to eat. I have a little money.” Technically, since she had made the products the Luccianos had sold, she could make the case that all of her mother’s money was hers, but she had no desire to make Joanna even angrier. Her mother had settled into the bed with a book of poems, one she had read a thousand times but was evidently engrossing enough to keep her full attention.

  “Wish me well? Bid me be safe?” Elena asked quietly. Her mother turned a page.

  “You should take the key so she doesn’t lock you out,” Ele advised, but Elena left quietly without it. Sleeping in the hallway would be a small price to pay for the knowledge that her mother would stay in her room while Elena explored the city on her own.

  Chapter VI

  The Soul of the Soulless

  The streets of Milia had cooled from a scorching heat to a pleasant warmth by the time Elena and Ele emerged from the inn. Lanterns on tall poles lit the town in a soft glow, and the insects that buzzed around them filled the air with a steady drone. The crowds were much less overwhelming now that they had thinned, although there were still men and women passing to and fro.

  “Should we go back to the Street of Yellow Artisans and see if we can find Arturo and Arta right away?” Ele asked, putting his hands in his pockets and glancing around him, “or do you want to wander the city beforehand?” Elena realized with a start that she could do just that. As long as her mother was upstairs sulking in the inn’s room, she was free to do anything she wanted.

  “Why are you standing there, smiling like a fool?” Ele asked, but his half-smile told her he was teasing.

  “I’m not sure, really,” Elena admitted, “Milia seemed so hostile on the way back but now it seems...safer. Inviting, almost.”

  “Beg pardon miss?” Nearby where the two of them stood, a tall man with a long black beard looked up from the bag he was tying.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking to...I was just...” Elena stammered.

  “Ah, no worry miss. My sister’s a Stormtouched, an’ she talks to herself almost constantly,” the man said with a wink. “New to the city are you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “You can always tell the new ones, they’re the only ones worried about outin’ themselves as Stormtouched. After a while you’ll realize, Milia doesn’t mind your lot.” He swung the bag onto his back and smiled genially, “you’ve nothing to be worried about.”

  Elena’s eyes felt puffy from the tears that had fallen earlier in the evening, but she smiled as she watched the man walk down the street, whistling to himself. “I think I like this city.”

  “Emotionally unstable,” Ele proclaimed. “That’s what you are. One minute you’re crying, the next you’re grinning. A body doesn’t know what to expect next.”

  Elena smiled wider and punched towards him, and he stuck out his tongue as her fist passed through him.

  “Next I want something to eat,” Elena indicated the direction they had come from, “if we find a pub on the Street of Yellow Artisans, we can look for Arturo and Arta there after we eat.”

  ***

  The street had been beautiful in the daytime, and the sun’s setting didn’t mar its beauty. A few of the shops were closed for the evening, but most of them still threw light from their windows out onto the path. At the end of the street, Studio De Luca shone with lights from its large windows. It hurt just a bit, seeing the beautiful building so soon after she had been rejected from it, but it would hopefully be worth it to meet Arturo and Arta.

  Elena had read as many books and accounts of Milia as she could get her hands on, but as her stomach growled she realized that she didn’t have any idea what sort of city food she would like to try. Luckily for her, she only had to walk by a few shops before she encountered Stone Hand’s Pub, a small little tavern between a supply store and a shop full of trinkets.

  It was a pleasant surprise to step into the clean, well-lit little pub. Both of the taverns in Carpi were dim, loud, and cramped, and she had rushed to leave as soon as she could. Stone Hand’s was small, but the high ceilings and sparse furnishings made it feel cozy rather than constricted. The short wooden tables and benches around the room were made of a red wood that made the whole room feel warmer, and behind the bar a very fat woman with a very friendly smile gave her a wave.

  “Halloo dearie! New to the Stone Hand?” the fat woman asked, “just take a seat anywhere, there’s plenty of room. You’ll be wanting some food and some drink? Twenty florins, and I’ll bring them to your table.” Elena opened her mouth to respond to the woman’s questions, but she had already bustled into a room behind the bar, leaving Elena a little off-balance.

  “What if you hadn’t wanted food and drink?” Ele chuckled, “that’s a rather underhanded tactic.”

  “I sort of like it,” Elena glanced around them. Although there were a fair amount of people in the pub, it was almost quiet, only the low murmur of friendly joking and conversation could be heard. “It feels...comfortable.”

  “A little too warm, but not bad. Shall we sit in the corner over there, so we can see if Arturo and Arta come in to eat?” Trained by a lifetime of pretending she couldn’t see him, Elena didn’t respond at all, but she made her way to the small table in the corner, sitting on the end so that Ele could sit by the wall and no one would unknowingly sit on him.

  Although that’s not a problem, anymore, she realized with a start. Arturo and Arta can see him. And Arta is an Echo too.

  “It’s going to be hard to adjust to this,” she murmured, “being able to talk to you in public, having other people see you.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Ele leaned back against the wall and eyed the rest of the room. “I hated being invisible, but now that I know some people can see me, I feel like I should be on my best behavior.”

  The fat woman made her way towards their table with a large tankard and a hot pie, which she set down in front of Elena with zeal. When she leaned back on her heels, hands on her hips, Elena bit her lip.

  Is there something I’m supposed to do? Do I have to pay her now, or is she waiting for some kind of Milian custom?

  “Normally I make people come up to the bar to get their food, but you seem in need of some mothering,” the woman chuckled, “you remind me of my first visit to Milia, skinny as a twig and scared of shadows. Tuck in now, put some meat on your bones.”

  “Thank you.” Elena blushed and ducked her head. Her own mother was perfectly competent at mothering her, but it would’ve been rude to contradict the pubkeeper who was being so nice.

  The pie was savory and meaty, with a smoky flavor that almost drowned all of the others. The drink some kind of ale which was too warm for the slightly over-warm room, but it slaked her thirst and that was enough. She was so lost in her meal that she didn’t notice the new presence by the table until Ele cleared his throat.

  Elena glanced up from her meal to find a woman with green eyes standing just a few feet away, holding a pie and a tankard of her own. She wore a black metal mask that marked her as a Rhetor, and that fact startled Elena so badly that it took her a few moments to recognize her; it was the woman from earlier, the one who had winked at Ele. A strand of blonde hair had fallen across her face, but she waited patiently as one might wait to be introduced.

  “She’s not allowed to communicate unless spoken to, not even by signs.” Elena hadn’t noticed the Rhetorguard standing a pace or so away until he spoke. The black metal armor plating seemed to soak in the warm light of the room, contrasting with the thin silver design that matched the Rhetor’s mask. He was large, though Elena couldn’t tell if it was muscle or bulky armor that gave that impression. His neat goatee and heavy eyebrows lent
to the effect of presence and size, which made his friendly smile seem almost out of place. “I believe she wants to join you at your table, if you have no objections.”

  “Of course you can join us,” Ele said quickly. Elena shot him a glare. A pair of green eyes was all well and good, and she couldn’t stop him from being attracted to whomever he pleased, but to invite a Rhetor to eat with them was pushing that crush a little too far.

  The woman’s eyes wrinkled in the corners, her smile hidden by the mask, but she didn’t move to join them, instead glancing back at her Rhetorguard.

  Of course...he’s not Stormtouched, so he can’t see Ele, Elena realized she was in an awkward place. The woman had heard Ele, so she could hardly tell the Rhetorguard ‘no’.

  “By all means,” Elena motioned to a seat across from them, and the Rhetor put her food down and sat primly.

  “Mighty kind of you. I have to say I’m probably just as glad of the company as she is,” the guard said, settling in the seat next to her. “Staying by her side is a part of the job, always has been, but I didn’t realize when I started how many people would see me as a pariah as well, just by association. My name is Rolf, it’s good to make your acquaintance.”

  Elena was cowed by the Rhetor’s presence, but she had so many questions she didn’t know where she would even start. How could he be comfortable being so close to a Rhetor, day in and day out? How did she eat without taking the mask off? Did it bother her to be talked about as if she wasn’t there? If the woman was offended at being called a pariah she didn’t show it, meekly turning her head to expose the back of her neck to him as he fumbled at a string that hung around his neck.

  “Ask what her name is,” Ele instructed, and Elena sighed.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rolf,” she said, “and what is the name of your...companion?”

  “I’m afraid there’s no way for us to know that,” Rolf said, “she can’t tell us about her family or her name, that’d involve communication.”