by Juliet Kemp
The flicker was just a tiny one this time; Marcia and Reb, nose to nose, shouting at one another. Jonas snorted. Not like that was telling him anything he couldn’t have guessed already. If the two of them managed to spend more than a couple of hours together without arguing he’d be surprised. It couldn’t have been a useful flicker, then, this one? At least it suggested that Marcia wasn’t too badly shaken by her talk with Daril. He wished he knew what it was that had happened between those two – and Reb as well, from what she’d said to Marcia, back in Cato’s room. Magic, for certain, so maybe he already knew all he wanted to, except neither Marcia nor Daril was a sorcerer, so what on earth had they been playing at?
Jonas sighed. He’d let these people drag him into their problems, and it wasn’t getting him any further with his problem. Which was becoming fairly urgent.
He stared out across the rooftops towards the river and the docks on the other side of it, hidden now in the darkness. Very faintly, he thought he could hear the slap of wet rope against masts as the ships rocked gently on the water. It was getting urgent – but he’d been here for half a year. Why hadn’t he done anything about this before?
He forced himself to face the question, rather than letting himself turn away from it, the way he’d been turning away from the whole problem since he got here. Granted, he’d had no particular desire to meet a sorcerer. Though as it turned out, Reb was hardly the terrifying creature of magic he’d imagined she would be. Just an irritable woman who happened to create magic for a living rather than sail a ship. Or run messages. But – even if he’d been nervous about meeting a sorcerer, if this was as important to him as it had been to his mother, when she sent him here, would he have put it off?
Marek wasn’t his home. But he had to admit that he liked it here. He liked the friends he’d made – especially Asa and Tam, who’d taken to him and helped him out right from the start, never-no-mind that he wasn’t Mareker. His own people weren’t always that way with strangers. And even if they didn’t know about his flickers, the matter-of-fact way they were about magic meant that he didn’t feel as uncomfortable around them as he did around some of his own compatriots.
A sneaking thought crept into his head. Did he really want to go home? Did he really want to get rid of the flickers?
He shook his head, angry at himself all of a sudden. Of course he did. That was why he was here. That was the whole purpose behind this. Get rid of the flickers, go back to Salina, choose his first ship as an adult. That was what he was supposed to be doing. He was just feeling odd, right now, because it was the middle of the night, and he’d gotten himself tangled up in someone else’s problems. He needed to focus on his own goals.
He sighed again, and scrubbed at his face with his hand. It was far too late – he could already see the first glow of dawn on the horizon. He’d been hoping to get a decent morning’s work in tomorrow, but there was no way that would work out now. He had to sleep. Which meant it was time to get down off this roof, get over the bridge, and get back to his room. No point in spending any more time moping on rooftops.
But he really was out of cash now, which made tomorrow’s breakfast – or lunch, given the time – a problem. He brightened, as a thought struck him. He couldn’t avoid Kia now, and he’d agreed to tomorrow. So if he turned up at the embassy just before lunchtime, Kia would be bound to offer to feed him. If he was lucky he’d get in a message on the way; if not he could get a good afternoon’s work in with a decent meal under his belt. Too, it gave him an excuse to stay away from Reb’s and to let Marcia and Reb fret about Daril and Cato. For sure, he had to visit again, had to talk to Beckett, and see if they were going to give him a way of getting to Cato. But he could do that later, when it suited him. Stick to his own interests, his own goals, that was the thing. Avoid getting pulled into this Mareker nonsense.
He yawned widely enough that his jaw cracked, and started to slide down the roof, bent on home and his bed.
k k
House Leandra was almost entirely dark as Daril reached it. Only two lights were showing; a crack through the curtain of his own receiving room, where there would be a lamp burning to await his return, and the light which blazed at all hours from his father’s room in the opposite wing.
He had left the others carousing. Doubtless they would be at it well past sunrise. For himself, he was finding those evenings increasingly dull, although it wouldn’t pay to reveal that just now. And he was exhausted, after the last few days. All he wanted was to get himself to bed and sleep.
The encounter with Marcia had been unexpected. His aim for the evening had been the same as for the last couple of years – circulate, put a few rumours into play, very gently suggest that the status quo could use a shake-up. Nothing overt enough to give anyone reason to suspect his true aims. Just nudges, moving people’s thinking enough that they would be more prepared to support him when the time came. It wasn’t even hard; his generation were disillusioned and everyone knew it. He’d even had one or two people he’d not spoken to before approach him to sound him out further.
He wasn’t about to share his main plans, but having the offspring of the Houses behind him would be useful for consolidation, and to cut away the ground under the feet of the Council, if that was even necessary after the cityangel did its thing. Once they’d sorted out the current problem with that, of course.
Crossing the front courtyard, he frowned. Why had Marcia come to speak to him, for the first time in ten years? Well, obviously she suspected he knew where Cato was – but why? And why so quickly? Surely Marcia Fereno-Heir wasn’t in the regular habit of poking around the squats. He knew she still met with Cato, but as far as he knew, she didn’t visit his room to do so, and Cato hadn’t seemed to think they were due to meet up. He’d shrugged off the notion of any commitments he would be missing by accompanying Daril. Though Cato wasn’t always reliable, it was true.
Daril wondered, briefly, if she knew something of the other thing. But that was surely impossible. According to Urso, now the cityangel was missing it was obvious to even a half-competent sorcerer that something was wrong, but Marcia couldn’t even turn a charm.
And it wasn’t like there were many sorcerers around any more. Cato. Urso, but no one else knew about that. There was that sorcerer down in the Old Market – but no, that was absurd. Marcia would never deal with a sorcerer, and risk the accusation of breaking the Council’s laws, especially not now she was Heir. No. It must just be that she was after her brother, and somehow she’d jumped to the conclusion that Daril was involved. He scowled. He knew it had been foolish to go down there himself, but Cato hadn’t been prepared to budge, and Daril had convinced himself he could get away with it without being recognised. Foolish.
He could have – should have, really – continued just to deny it. But it had been so tempting, and seeing her react and try not to – surely it had been worth it. He smiled, fiercely, as he climbed the steps. She couldn’t prove a thing, after all.
The big front door, gilded with the Leandra crest, swung open, and his valet, Roberts, bowed him inside. Daril heard the door bar sliding into place before the man came to help Daril remove his coat.
“I’ll undress myself,” Daril said, moving towards the stairs. “Go to bed.”
The wall-lights were mostly out, the stairs and corridors dark with little islands of flickering light at intervals. Daril barely needed any light at all, though, not here where he’d spent his entire life. His footsteps fell softly on the thick rugs along the centre of the corridor, until he came to his door, a wall-light glowing next to it.
Inside there was warmth from the fire, a couple of candles lit and halfway down their length; and a short, thin, scruffy man slumped in the best armchair by the fire.
“Enjoy your party?” Cato asked.
His cropped hair was a touch less dark than his sister’s, the red showing in the reflected firelight, and it clearly saw a comb less often. Cato had, though, taken well to the bathtubs availabl
e at the Leandra house. The bags under his eyes were no less prominent in his pale face for his current luxurious living; he’d evidently been semi-nocturnal for too long now. He had a glass in his hand, and the decanter on the side was half-empty.
“What are you doing here?” Daril demanded. Gods. He didn’t want to deal with bloody Cato at this hour.
Cato shrugged hugely. “Bored. Tell me gossip. There must be gossip, there always is at these things. Marcia still keeps me up-to-date…” He stopped. Daril could have sworn that he didn’t move, didn’t change his expression, but Cato’s eyebrows went up. “You saw Marcia? No, not just saw her. You talked to Marcia?”
“She talked to me,” Daril said, and immediately regretted admitting it. Too late now. Cato would know how unusual it was for Marcia to speak to him. “Curiously enough, she was looking for you.”
Cato’s eyes narrowed. “You told her, didn’t you? Well. That wasn’t such a great idea.”
“Told her what?” Angels, Cato was too sharp. He needed to back out of this conversation.
“Told her you knew where I was. Bad idea. She’s like a little snapper when she gets hold of an idea.” He made a gesture with his hand, reminiscent of the famously tenacious semi-carnivorous fish.
Daril tried not to react. Cato had done this when Daril had come to the squats, too – realised more than Daril meant him to, from only a few words. He’d accused Cato of being able to see into his head, and Cato had nearly laughed himself sick before assuring Daril that he was just terribly, terribly obvious.
Which wasn’t true. Daril knew it wasn’t true. Cato was must just be very observant. Perhaps it had something to do with his work with spirits, and his ability to communicate with them.
Cato was at his most annoying when he was right. Although, Daril reflected darkly, he was moderately annoying all of the time. It was deeply frustrating that they’d needed him at all, and in such a hurry that Daril hadn’t been able to think things through as well as he would have liked.
Cato was shaking his head. “You really should have made me your offer up front, without all the cloak and dagger stuff,” Cato said. “Then I could have settled Marcia myself.”
Daril shrugged. “Couldn’t be sure what you’d say. And we were in a hurry.” And once they’d come to their agreement, he really hadn’t wanted to leave Cato running around loose in the squats for any time at all.
“Anyway, I thought you said you had no commitments? No one would be missing you?”
Cato shrugged. “I didn’t. She must just have come visiting.”
“In the squats?” Daril demanded, incredulous.
Cato smirked. “Just because you’re too precious doesn’t mean Marcia is.
She would have been, ten years ago. The last time Daril and Marcia had had anything to do with each other.
“Why wouldn’t you get involved, back when – when I knew Marcia?” Daril asked abruptly, turning round.
Marcia had tried to recruit Cato – Daril had asked her to, after she told him that Cato was experimenting with sorcery, and had the ability for it – and Cato had turned her down. Marcia hadn’t been able to tell Daril why, either, just shrugged and said he wouldn’t, and to leave her alone about it.
Cato slouched back in his chair and looked at her. “Back when you were demon-raising, you mean?”
“You wouldn’t then. Now you are. Why?”
Cato shrugged a shoulder. “I was a moralistic child, at the time.” He grinned, mockingly. “Obviously, it wore off. Though in that instance, given how it turned out, it was probably just as well for me. Also, this time, you offered me money. Cold hard cash will get you a long way.”
Daril squinted across the room at him. It sounded a little too pat, a little too offhand. Then again – ten years ago Cato had been living in House Fereno, acknowledged scion of the House. Now he was living in a grubby squat over the river. It wasn’t so unreasonable that his motivations – and his opinions on life – had changed. Was it?
“I suppose things change in ten years,” he said, giving up. “But you just said – you still see Marcia?”
Cato looked cautious. “Occasionally. We have a drink together, she complains about our – about family things.” The hesitation was only barely noticeable. Cato had a sore spot around Madeleine Fereno-Head, then. Interesting, for someone who was so enthusiastic about claiming that he preferred life outside of the Houses.
“She had a Salinas lad with her,” Daril said. “Any idea who that might be?”
Cato shrugged. “Never heard her talk about a Salina. Just someone she picked up, I guess. Was he pretty? Her taste is… erratic.”
He smirked, and Daril clenched his fists, fighting the impulse to punch him.
“Maybe you’re right, but there was something about him… Oh, never mind.”
He walked impatiently over to the window. Outside, the few lights in a pre-dawn Marek twinkled away down the hill, down towards where he could see the faint outline of the Old Bridge. For a moment he could almost hear the river slopping against its piers, before he shook his head again.
“Well. Was there a reason you were waiting for me, or did you just want to annoy me?” he asked, turning back to Cato.
“Well, there was the gossip. But mostly just to annoy you,” Cato said. “Prisoners have few other entertainments, after all.”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Daril said impatiently. “You’re here of your own free will.”
“Ah, but if I wasn’t here of my own free will, I’d be here without it,” Cato said lightly. “Which by my reckoning makes me a prisoner.”
He untangled himself from the chair, and walked to the door before Daril could marshal any argument.
“Goodnight.”
Daril stared at the door for a moment after Cato had closed it, then shook his head. It was late. Time to sleep.
But nevertheless he stayed at the window, staring down across sleeping Marek. He was so close. It was so nearly his. Cato was probably right. Telling Marcia had been unnecessary, at best. But then, what could she do? There was hardly time now for her to interfere before everything came together.
He could still wish that they hadn’t had to involve Cato. He could wish, come to that, that he had sorcerous ability of his own; but they’d been certain that Urso had enough to expel the cityangel. And he had been able to. Daril had felt the charge as it happened.
The problem had come when Urso tried to summon a replacement. Urso had been certain that the hole in itself would be enough to draw a spirit of some kind to fill it. They hadn’t, truly, much cared what; as long as they could bargain with it, and enforce their terms. The terms the old one hadn’t been prepared to agree to.
But apparently the absence alone wasn’t enough; and Urso didn’t know enough about spirits to call one, to fix the problem that way. Nothing came. Finally, Urso, gasping and on his knees, had had to stop. He’d only just managed to tie the power off before he passed out. He’d been in bed for a straight day afterwards, incoherent, shaking and sweating. Once he had come round properly, he had been very clear that they needed to fix this, as soon as possible. Marek’s magic relied on the cityangel; and in any case, without the cityangel’s magic, none of the rest of their plans would work.
Daril’s teeth clenched. It was all infuriating. But they just had to fix this, and then all could carry on as he had planned.
Thus, Cato. Who was good, and experienced with spirits, and still alive, unlike any other Marek sorcerer but one. Once Daril had found him in that ghastly slum and explained the situation, he had been most co-operative. In exchange, admittedly, for a serious amount of cash. Cato was confident he could find a suitable spirit for their purposes; had even summoned one on the spot to demonstrate his ability, which – Daril shuddered slightly in recollection – he hadn’t been wholly prepared for.
They would fix this little hiccup, and then carry on with the plan. And all those old Heads of House, sitting on their arses in the Chamber long past the
ir appointed time, would be upended.
Which took him back to Marcia. He bit his thumbnail. Could that just be coincidence? Just her concern for her reprobate brother, and the ability to ask a question or two in that ghastly pub?
Throwing up his hands, he pushed himself away from the window. It was late. He could not possibly be thinking clearly any more. Sleep, and tomorrow they would fix this little cityangel problem, and all would be back on track. It would.
SEVEN
Marcia woke up the next morning with a single clear idea. She had to rescue Cato.
They’d found that hair in his room. Daril had been seen there. He had said, last night, that he knew where Cato was. Therefore, the obvious conclusion was that Daril had taken Cato away, quite possibly by force; and from that it followed that Marcia must retrieve him.
Of course, what she didn’t know was what the hell Daril was up to. That thing Nisha had said, about everyone sitting and waiting for their parents to let them in… It was true, that was the worst thing, and it was something their parents, this generation, had done to them. They’d taken their seats at the traditional time, and then changed everything around to keep themselves in power. The way Madeleine was behaving to her… and even so, she was better off than most of her peers, because she did at least nominally have some power.
But why was Daril talking about it? As far as anyone could tell he’d given up on ever becoming Heir to his own House years ago. Had that changed? Was he trying to stir up dissatisfaction? And what did he hope to get out of it if so? He wasn’t even Heir; if it all changed back again it made no odds to him. Unless Nisha’s other bit of gossip, about Gavin changing his mind, was true. But even then, stirring up trouble would hardly endear Daril to his father.
She remembered, almost against her will, a time back when she was sixteen, waiting for Daril in a teashop. He’d been late, and when he had finally arrived, he had been coldly furious in a way she’d never seen him before. She remembered jumping up anxiously to greet him.