“Really? I’ve heard nothing but praise.”
“That’s in your world. This world—” he stabbed a finger toward the ground “—views us differently. They’re either jealous, afraid or spiteful.”
“What are they afraid of? You’re helping people.”
“They listen to the rumors and the wild stories of us selling kids as slaves, smuggling drugs, organizing prostitution and kids being forced to work for me,” he said in frustration. “It’s hard to reason with a frightened child.” He stepped toward the door, being careful not to crush anything under his feet.
I followed his example. Concentrating on where I walked, I bumped right into him. He had stopped. I met his intense gaze.
A thin ribbon of fear curled in my chest. “What?”
“You reasoned with a terrified kid. Saved him and the blanket of power.” Fisk gestured to the sleeping mats. “These people don’t trust anyone. Did you use magic on him? No…you don’t have any…”
I waited as he chased the logic. It didn’t take him long.
“How did you get in? Even the Master Magicians couldn’t break through the barrier.”
Again, I let him put the pieces together. It was sort of fun. With the way he tilted his head and his inward gaze, I imagined faint clicks echoing in his mind until he figured it out with one loud snap.
Fisk grabbed my shoulders. “Magic doesn’t work on you.” His eyes danced with excitement. “Like Valek. And you feel magic, too. That’s why you looked like you were fighting a strong wind. Holy snow cats is right!”
“Fisk, I—”
“That’s why you came.”
“You need—”
“Wow. The Council’s going to be thrilled. Why haven’t you told them?”
I sighed. “It’s complicated. Besides, they’ll know soon enough since both Masters are now informed. Can you keep it quiet for a while? I don’t want it to become public knowledge.”
A shrewd look slid across his face. “I can for a price.”
“Scoundrel. How much?”
He touched his chest as if I had offended him. “Not money. I may need your…special skills in the future to aid my Helper’s Guild members, and it would be comforting to know I can engage your services.”
Smooth. I guessed he was sixteen years old, but his obvious intelligence and experience from growing up on the streets made him appear older. With his long eyelashes, he was going to be popular with the girls if he wasn’t already.
“Agreed,” I said.
When we exited the building, two of his members appeared. Fisk assigned them the task of watching for the missing residents. During the discussion, I studied their faces. The kids seemed eager, serious and confident, but I wondered if they played or had fun. I examined the teapot in my hands. Fine cracks ran through the pattern of roses. Chips lined the handle and the lid was missing. Did the children in the Helper’s Guild feel loved?
He finished and the two hurried off. I worried they would be on their own tonight. I huffed, but not with humor, more like self-disgust. First time I ever wondered about them. Or cared, to be brutally honest. Fisk had mentioned this world versus my world. And I agreed.
My world didn’t include rancid bedding and filth. My world didn’t have children without homes and caring parents. My world included warmth, food and love. But our worlds did have one thing in common—bad people.
Quartz and I headed toward the Magician’s Keep in the northeast corner of the Citadel. The white marble walls reflected the sunlight and bounced traffic noise, creating echoes. I avoided the crowded market in the center of the Citadel. Instead I bypassed it to the south and cut through the Sitian government complex, which filled the southeast quarter.
The sight of the Master Magicians’ towers rising above the other buildings sent a wave of memories crashing over me. I waded through them, avoiding the awful ones and focusing on the pleasant ones from my five years as a student.
At the entrance to the Keep, the guard stopped me.
“Master Bloodgood wants to see you in his office,” he said.
“Please tell him I’ll be there after I settle Quartz into the stables.”
Along with the guards, at least one magician worked at the gate at all times for safety and to relay messages to the magicians inside.
“No. Now,” the guard said. “Your horse can find her way there without you.”
Annoyed, I snapped. “And get chewed out by the Stable Master? No thank you. Have someone take her or I will.”
After a bit of discussion, a stable hand appeared to escort Quartz. Satisfied, I crossed to the Keep’s administration building. Imposing marble steps led up to the main entrance. The rectangular-shaped structure consisted of offices and conference rooms for the managerial staff as well as offices for the Master Magicians.
A feeling of being home touched me for a brief moment. As I navigated the well-known hallways, I encountered pools of magic. A few graduates from the Keep’s program worked in various positions in administration. The random touch of power sent chills along my skin. I remembered Janco’s nickname for the place. Creepy Keepy.
“Come in,” First Magician Bain Bloodgood called through his office door.
I entered and smiled. As usual, clutter filled the room. Heaps of books strained the shelves. Odd devices and half-completed experiments littered his worktable. Piles of paper threatened to spill onto his desk. The messy office matched his wild gray hair, and the long navy robe reminded me of all the times I had sat opposite him, discussing Sitian history with him. His face would all but glow with pride when I had remembered an arcane bit of knowledge he had taught me.
I approached his desk. He glanced up from the book spread open before him. A stranger met my gaze. His appraisal lacked kindness or curiosity. The wrinkles around his mouth deepened with his annoyed frown. Dark smudges stood out against the pale, paper-thin skin clinging to his face.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” he demanded.
Taken aback, I scrambled for a reply. “I told Irys—”
“She told me your pathetic excuses. What I want to know is why you kept such a valuable skill secret from us when you had created such a crisis in Sitia?”
“Crisis?”
“The crisis due to your sacrifice. Giving up your magic has ground communications to a halt. It’s as if we have all gone suddenly deaf. Your glass messengers were vital to commerce and to my network of magicians. The Council doesn’t even want to hear your name.”
The ground dissolved under my feet. I groped for the chair, afraid I would fall. “But what about now? I saved a boy today and protected the power source.”
Bain’s anger deflated a bit. “You did an excellent job today. Once the boy is recovered, he will be enrolled in the Keep to learn how to control his magic. However, even saving the boy’s life won’t be enough to sway the Council’s opinion.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid if I inform the Council about your immunity now, they’ll be afraid.”
Confused, I gripped the armchair. “Why?”
“The whole nasty business with Akako has them on edge. So much that I had to assign every Councilor a magician to protect them. A magician would not be able to stop you.”
“That’s extreme. I wouldn’t—”
“I know, but as I said, they’re not acting rational. Wait a while, Opal,” Bain said. “I will tell the Council when they’re ready. I’m hopeful everyone will relax soon. With Councilor Moon returning to the sessions this week, I’m sure it won’t be long. For now, Irys and I will keep you busy.”
Bain stood and walked around his desk. My head spun as if I was falling from a great height. Before I could reply, his arm settled on my shoulders and he guided me to the hallway.
“You look exhausted, child. You’re welcome to stay in the Keep’s guest quarters as long as you like. Get some sleep.” Bain closed the door.
I mulled over our conversation. Was I supposed to hang around the Keep waiting f
or Bain or Irys to give me something to do? Working for the Council didn’t appeal to me, but I would help the Master Magicians.
However, I wasn’t going to remain idle. Finn was a magician. And I suspected he had been Keep trained. I would use my time here to learn more about him.
It wasn’t until I stood in the formal garden in the middle of the Keep’s campus that I realized I had wandered without a destination in mind. The apprentice wings bookended me and the Fire Memorial glinted with reds and yellows in the afternoon sunlight. Having no desire to reminisce about the past, I averted my gaze from the statue.
Magic collected in parts of the campus like stationary clouds of dust. Without warning, I would walk into one, stumbling on the sudden thickness of the air. A feeling of unease crept through my bones as if these pools of magic waited to ambush me. Janco nailed it. Creepy Keepy.
Shaking off my disquiet, I pondered my present situation. I could return home and smooth the relationship with my mother. Or I could travel to the coast and stay with Kade. Or I could return to Fulgor to work in my factory and be close to my friends. And visit Devlen? I refused to answer that question. I also could stay here a few days and ask around. Perhaps Finn had come through the Citadel on his way to sell my blood. It was more appealing than waiting for an assignment from Bain.
Feeling better, I stopped by the guest room manager’s office to secure a room. My possessions had already been delivered. He handed me a key. Then I checked on Quartz. She grazed in the small pasture located along the back wall of the Keep, looking healthy and content. She trotted over and nuzzled me.
The Keep’s glass shop was to the east of the pasture. Mara was the shop’s manager. Light gray clouds puffed from the kiln’s chimney. The hot sweet smell of burning white coal filled the air, and a faint hum reached me. In the past, the scent alone would have drawn me in.
Instead, I passed the shop and found the Weapons Master drilling first-year students in self-defense. They worked in the training yard next to the armory, sweating in the warm sun.
A wide smile spread across Captain Marrok’s face. “Opal! Good to see you.” He shook my hand. “When did you get back?”
“This morning.”
“Have you been keeping up with your training?” he asked.
I laughed. The seasoned soldier didn’t waste time on pleasantries. His reputation as the best Weapons Master in years had been well earned. His gray hair bristled from his scalp, matching the short commands he shouted to the students. Long ropes of muscle covered his arms and his roughened hands sported a spider’s web of scars.
“I’m keeping fit,” I said. If he counted Valek’s special training, then I was in good shape.
“Yeah? Care to prove it to me?”
“Not today, I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep last night.”
“Tomorrow then. Right after breakfast.”
“Yes, sir!”
With a mock salute, he returned to work, encouraging students and demonstrating moves. I stayed by the fence until the session ended. Students gathered practice swords and milled about.
Deep down, I recognized my procrastination. Why was I avoiding the glass shop? I had designed it. I had ordered all the equipment. I had helped get the kiln running. A lot of memories resided in there. The answer to my question snapped in my mind. I worried those recollections would ambush me and I wasn’t strong enough to fight my way through them.
Utter nonsense. Determined, I walked toward the building, focusing on the good times, remembering when Piecov had spilled a wheelbarrow full of lime, coating everything with white powder.
“Um. Excuse me,” a boy called from behind me.
I turned. One of the first-year students hustled closer. He skidded to a stop about an arm’s length away. Uncertainty filled his gaze. I guessed his age to be around fourteen.
“Are you Opal Cowan?” he asked. His voice cracked midsentence.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
Sudden resolve hardened his features. His hand dipped into his pocket, and the distinctive snick of a switchblade sounded. “Yes. You can die!”
18
I STEPPED BACK, KEEPING MY HANDS IN SIGHT AS THE student advanced. He held the switchblade in front of him, signaling his unfamiliarity with the weapon. When he stabbed it toward my neck, I blocked his arm so the blade missed. Then I grabbed his wrist with both my hands while turning to the side, yanking him off balance. Now I had control of his weapon and his arm. Basic knife defense.
Finding a point on his wrist, I applied a little pressure. He yelped and the switchblade dropped to the ground. I pulled his thumb back and he went down on his knees in pain.
“Why did you attack me?” I asked him.
No answer. However, a strong bubble of magic bloomed from him, pushing me. Expecting this attack, I leaned into the power. He sent another robust swell before stopping. Impressive.
“You’re out of options, Puppy Dog. Talk to me.” I suppressed a groan. I couldn’t believe I just quoted Janco.
Silence.
I increased the tension in his hand. “Hard to finish class assignments with a broken thumb. Last time. Why?”
Pure hatred beamed from his blue eyes. His cheekbones reminded me of another regal face, which had sneered at me in disdain and contempt through most of my years at the Keep. Understanding dawned. I scooped up his weapon, then pushed Pazia Cloud Mist’s little brother away from me. He sprawled on the ground for a mere second before hopping to his feet. Ah, youth.
I stood in a fighting stance, holding the knife close to my body, while keeping my free arm extended in front. “Didn’t Captain Marrok teach you not to attack with a weapon until you learned how to fight with it? ’Cause now you’re unarmed and I’m not.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “You ruined my family.”
“How?”
He sputtered. With his face reddening, he charged me. I sidestepped and tripped him as he lunged past. He slid into a bush. Once he regained his feet, he wheeled around and rushed. I faked a dodge, tricking him to veer left where I clotheslined him. He fell onto his back. But this time I followed him down, pressing my forearm on his windpipe. Struggling, he tried to push me away. I intensified the pressure, pinching off his air.
All color drained from his face. Panic and fear replaced his anger.
When he stilled, I eased up and said, “While this is fun, I have more important things to do. So listen up, Puppy Dog. Your family is not ruined. Last time I checked, everyone was healthy, wealthy and schmoozing with the political elite. Pazia and I are both responsible for what happened to her. We worked it out and are friends.
“Obviously, you’re not happy with our arrangement. You can ambush and attack me again, except the next time I will hurt you. Or you can learn how to fight, and then challenge me to a match with a referee, witnesses…the works.” I stood and extended my hand, offering to help him up.
He rubbed his neck, staring at me. “You’d honor a challenge?”
“Yes.”
“What if I challenged you now?”
“Then my opinion of your stupidity would be supported. Otherwise, I’d agree to the match. It’s a guaranteed win for me.”
A balloon of his magic spread over me. It popped. “Do you have a null shield around you?”
“I’m not inclined to tell you, Puppy Dog.” Keeping my immunity a secret wasn’t going to last long at the Keep.
Ignoring my hand, he sprang to his feet. He straightened and puffed out his chest. “My name is Walker Vasko Cloud Mist the Second. Expect my challenge.”
“Aww… You’re cute when you’re trying to be haughty, Puppy Dog. I look forward to our match. In the meantime, don’t flash this around until you know how to use it.” I tossed him his switchblade, gave him a jaunty wave and continued toward the glass shop.
His challenge didn’t concern me too much, but I wondered if Pazia’s father, Vasko, was Finn’s client. As one of the richest men in Sitia, he had plenty of gold. As for t
he hate, he never gave me an indication when I had met him. He had even offered to support me with the production of my glass messengers. But the friendliness could have been an act, and he really believed I was fully responsible for his daughter’s situation.
I considered Pazia. We had become friends despite everything. And unlike Devlen and me, she retained a small bit of her magic. It had been a blow for her to go from potential master-level to basically a one-trick magician.
Adding research into the Vasko family to my to-do list, I entered the glass shop; the heat from the kiln wrapped me in warmth. I hadn’t even broken a sweat fighting Puppy Dog. Standing near the door, I scanned the room as the roar from the kilns vibrated through my boots. Kilns? Mara had added another one along with two more annealing ovens. I toured the shop, searching for more additions. She had designed a water system and installed a drying rack to evaporate the water inside of the blowpipes.
Students worked at gaffer benches, turning molten glass slugs into a variety of items. A few acknowledged me, but the others concentrated on their tasks. One of the new first-year students dipped a long thin rod—a pontil iron—into the kiln’s cauldron. Squinting into the bright orange light, she rushed the gather, dripping hot glass onto the lip of the cauldron and down onto the floor. The long strings hardened and broke, making a mess. Plus the lip was now sticky. Mara would be upset by the sloppy effort.
I helped the newbie clean up and demonstrated the proper way to gather. “You need to dip into the liquid glass, like this.” I opened the kiln’s door a crack, sliding the iron over the lip. Raising my end up, I pushed the tip into the mixture and spun the rod with my fingers as if wrapping thread around a spool. “Then you push forward and pull up, but keep the rod spinning. See how it sticks like taffy?” I drew the slug from the hot kiln and closed the door with my hip. The molten glass flickered with an orange heartbeat.
I kept the iron parallel with the floor, spinning it. “Big angles mean big trouble. See what happens when I hold the end up? The glass coats the iron and there is nothing hanging off the end to work with. And when I tip it down…” Glass bulged, and would have dropped to the floor if I kept that angle. “Even if you do keep it level, if you don’t keep spinning the rod…” I stopped and the glass dripped.
(Glass #3) Spy Glass Page 21