Fighting my anger at the faint whisper of greed underlying that smile, I stared back at the caged warlock.
So he hadn’t been lying about that part. What had he been lying about?
“How much?” I said, turning back to the old woman.
She bowed so low, her forehead nearly brushed the length of my long dress down to the flat sandals I wore.
“I am a very poor woman, mistress witch,” she murmured in her own tongue. Her voice turned wheedling. “I do not ask for more than I am due... but this represents a big investment for me. For my sons, who work very hard...”
My voice grew a few shades colder. “Quote me a price and do not waste my time.”
“Six hundred dao.”
I turned to the man in the cage. “She says six hundred dao.”
He rolled his eyes. “She must really think ye an idiot.”
I gritted my teeth. “What would be fair? For a rude, coarse-spoken, naked, beat up warlock who’s too thick-headed to see I’m trying to help him?”
“Half that.” He gave me a faint smile. “Three-fifty at most.”
I turned to the woman. “Two-fifty.”
Her eyes widened to saucers. She sputtered at me in broken common tongue mixed with Regent’s. “Mistress! This one is a very powerful warlock... very, very powerful! He is very strong... his magics is even stronger! We tracked him for days and caught him only by the grace of our gods and the luck of our hands. We happened upon him asleep, or he surely would have overpowered us...”
“She’s lying,” he told me unnecessarily, given his last words. “About the days and days part anyway.” When I glanced at him that time, he was looking at the old woman in grudging admiration mixed with disgust. “She’s obviously done this before.”
I frowned, turning to the woman. I knew calling her a liar outright would probably cause her to flip out on me. Then it became of matter of saving face, not negotiation.
Therefore, I kept my accusations impersonal.
“I cannot know whether to trust the word of any stranger,” I reminded her. “You must realize this. You could tell me any story, and I would not know.”
“Five-fifty,” she said. “Five-fifty dao. This is fair...”
We argued awhile longer.
In the end, we settled on three-fifty, much like the warlock had said.
Of course, it didn’t occur to me until then that I didn’t have the dao on me in cash.
After the barest hesitation, I handed over a gold ring I wore instead, one my mother had given me. I knew I would probably regret it, especially if my mother ever found out, but the ring held little emotional attachment for me, truthfully. I had received it on my last birthday. It had been presented to me on a velvet cushion with much fanfare at court, but later, in her chambers, my mother threw it at me angrily, saying I would need something to sell when I disgraced the whole family and she was forced to kick me out of the palace.
She’d followed that with lower mutterings about how it might keep me from being a whore for a few weeks at least.
So yes, I was perfectly all right ridding myself of the thing.
Moreover, I got a perverse pleasure out of using it in service of a purpose my mother would have found utterly appalling.
I got nervous, however, when the woman took the ring off me, bit it, then vaulted up the stairs behind me.
“She’ll be back,” the warlock assured me. “She’ll bring it to the jeweler in the market, ask him what it’s worth.” He watched me curiously. “If that’s gold, ye know it’s worth a lot more than four hundred dao, do ye not?”
I didn’t answer, only folded my arms, tapping my foot as I watched the stairs.
But the warlock was right.
After the old woman had presumably shown my ring to the jeweler, she came back all smiles and nodding, with a large iron key in her hand and even clothes and a pair of beat-up leather boots for the naked warlock to wear.
She clutched my fingers a few times too, smiling wider.
The warlock laughed, at least until I glared at him.
Undaunted, he shrugged his thick shoulders. “Think of it as charity, huntress. You’ve probably fed her and her whole family for several months, at least.”
I scowled at him in response, but he only grinned back.
“If she didn’t think ye were soft-headed before, she definitely does now,” the warlock in the box taunted me cheerfully. “She ripped you off royally, she did.”
I shot him another glare. “Would you prefer to stay in the box?”
“I’m not staying in this box regardless, huntress. And when I said she ripped you off, I don’t mean only because of the ring.”
When I turned that time, lifting an eyebrow, he gave me a wry smile. Again, I was startled at how significantly a smile changed his face, making him appear both younger and more dangerous at the same time.
This smile, in particular, seemed to sharpen those black eyes.
“All ye had to do is wait, my lovely friend,” he added, that smile still ghosting his lips. “The drug they gave me to impede my magic is starting to wear off. I could have turned this box to kindling, had ye waited but another twenty minutes.”
I scowled, giving him another furious glare. “You might have mentioned that... friend. Before I handed her payment.”
“I wanted to see how much ye cared for me, huntress.”
My jaw hardened to stone. Before I could speak, he let out another of those deep laughs, gripping the iron bars as he grinned up at me.
“Only a jest, my beautiful magical friend,” he teased. Shrugging at my disbelieving stare, he went on in an equally casual voice. “I did not know it myself, truthfully... not when the bargaining started. But I can feel it wearing off now. I can feel the magic growing once more in my body, begging for release. Speaking of which...”
He nodded towards the old woman, his voice more contrite.
“I can get that ring back for ye, if ye like. I appreciate the gesture... I do. But I also don’t like to see ye lose so much on my behalf. And it’s no trouble at all to retrieve it. I wouldn’t mind a bit of payback of my own.”
“On an old woman?” I gave him a sideways look, quirking an eyebrow.
He grinned wider. “She’s tougher than she looks. I’m pretty sure she’s the one as clocked me last night with the iron. Her and one of her boys after her.”
Lost somewhere between amusement, disbelief, apprehension and possibly even fear of him––along with an unnamed excitement I still hadn’t wholly acknowledged in my forward mind––I found I didn’t care about the ring at all.
I believed him.
Whatever he was, he definitely wasn’t a white warlock.
That meant he had to be something else.
The possibility both terrified me and brought up a fevered excitement I could scarcely control. Whatever he was, he’d said I was like him. He said I wielded the same kind of magic he did, and that it was different from the magic used at the palace or in my school.
Of course, to even think such a thing was pure delusion. There was no “white” magic, any more than there was “red” magic.
There was just... magic.
Moreover, the warlock could very well be a violent criminal, which would account for his odd behavior as much as any fictional “red magic” might do. I’d learned in school that warlocks and witches went bad from time to time. It was even said that was how the ravagers first came to be, as pets of a dark magician who’d turned the full-force of his hatred onto humanity.
It was only a myth, of course; the real truth was no longer known.
Since we’d lost contact with the other districts, there was no way to ask them, either.
More to the point, nothing in this strange warlock’s words, demeanor or current situation gave me any reason to trust a single word he’d said to me. I knew nothing about him. None of his words about red magic or slavery were things I’d heard spoken of before, or even whispered about as rumor
or myth or anything else. Everything he’d said to me could be entirely fabricated, either a product of calculated falsehood or a lunatic’s wild imaginings.
Yet, I couldn’t shake that feeling of excitement, despite those things.
I watched the old woman approach the box warily, key in hand.
Fear trembled her hand, and I caught that fear coming off her like a scent as I stood just behind her. Before she could insert the notched key in the groove, I saw the dark eyes of the man in the cage flash a spark of scarlet at their core.
For the first time, it struck me what the dock-dwellers had done to him. They’d drugged him, hurt him, stripped him naked, imprisoned him.
Whatever his seeming jokes, he might truly have his own feelings about those things.
“Give me the key.” I held out a hand to the woman, my voice impatient. “You may go. Leave the clothes and the boots and go. And do not come near either of us or call attention if you see us climb those stairs. Pretend you have never seen either of us before.”
The woman looked at me, gratitude filling her rheumy brown eyes.
“Yes, mistress. Of course. Our deal is complete.”
She handed me the key with one gnarled hand, that gratitude still coming off her in a cloud. Picking the clothes and the boots up off the dock, she placed them on the top of the crate.
Then she took my hand again, holding it to her forehead in respect, but only for a few seconds. Seemingly the instant she let my fingers go, she turned and vaulted up the mossy wooden stairs, moving so quickly I found myself watching her in fascination. She clutched my mother’s gold ring in one hand, her dark, skirted legs moving in a blur.
Only after she’d disappeared did I look back at my warlock.
I saw a flicker of disappointment reach his expression after he watched her vanish, right before he looked away from the stairs, giving me a reproachful look.
“Spoil-sport,” he said, grunting.
That time, it was me who snorted a laugh.
I couldn’t help myself.
Chapter 4
DONAL
HE INSISTED FIRST that I fetch him water for washing. He stood naked outside the crate while he waited for me to return, which I did with a bucket and soap, both purchased off one of the stalls in the market above to avoid using the filthy river water.
I’d scarcely remembered I was supposed to be at school by then.
I stood with my back to him as he washed himself, ignoring his periodic jabs at me for my pretended modesty after I’d “already seen every inch of him,” as he put it.
Hearing the double meaning in his words, I pretended I hadn’t.
When he was finally washed and clothed and using his fingers to wring out and comb the excess water from his long hair, he announced he needed food.
“Do ye have a place?” He quirked an eyebrow at me, straightening to his full height. “A place we can talk, that is. We can bring food there, unless ye have some already.”
His dark eyes shone down at me, that light still in their depths but significantly more alarming now that he stood over my by almost two heads.
I’d already considered where I might take him.
I couldn’t really come up with a good solution, however, and knew almost nothing about the city apart from my few corners of it. It had occurred to me already that he might simply disappear once he had his freedom, so I was anxious to keep him around long enough for him to tell me something about what he’d ranted about from inside that crate.
After a few seconds more of thinking, I was forced to shake my head.
“Not a good place,” I admitted.
He nodded, plucking a piece of twine from the top of the crate.
“I might have an idea.” He gave me a shrewd look. “I’ve never been on this side of the river before, but I was told of a few places I might hide, assuming I made it here.” Frowning faintly, he looked over my dress, noting the thin slippers I wore with obvious disapproval. “You’re not dressed well for it, but I think we can manage. Do ye mind terribly, following my lead? I know you’ve no reason to believe me or trust me, but I promise to keep ye safe.”
I nodded, strangely relieved, even though what he’d said was true.
I did have no reason to believe him or trust him.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Really, I’d rather if you led the way. I assume you would know more about what is dangerous for you and what isn’t. Whereas I have no idea.”
He paused in the middle of tying back his hair with the twine, looking at me with another flicker of surprise. After a pause, his voice turned gruff.
“Thank ye for that, huntress. It’s kind of ye.”
Hearing the sincerity there, along with real feeling, I felt my face warm.
“I only asked for you do the work,” I reminded him. “It’s hardly a real favor.” Motioning towards the stairs when he continued to aim that assessing stare at me, I made my voice more insistent. “Lead the way. Please. I fear we are pushing our fortunes by staying here too long. And I will perhaps be missed by now, too.”
He finally broke the stare, nodding thoughtfully. “Agreed.”
He didn’t look at me again until we reached the market above.
I couldn’t help looking at him, though.
He looked so different with his dark brown hair wetted and tied back, and no longer fully plastered with mud. His complexion remained dark, almost swarthy, but strong features emerged without the mud and slime from the river. Full lips, also darker than most of those I’d seen in the city or in my school. White teeth, strong cheekbones and jaw, dark eyebrows on a well-defined forehead. His eyes remained his most prominent feature, however: near-black with that strange inner light. They carried an intensity I found myself looking at again and again.
I’d never seen a warlock who looked like him before.
I’d never seen anyone who looked like him.
Which begged the question yet again––why had I known with such surety what he was, within mere seconds of seeing him?
I tore my eyes off him finally when I felt him noticing my stare.
Somehow it didn’t surprise me to learn, when he’d said “food,” what he really meant was “meat.” He bought all of it cooked or ready to eat, including four or five skewers each of lamb and chicken, two whole grilled fish, a heavy-looking package of raw oysters and another package filled with grilled steak.
I thought he was finished then, but he stopped at yet another table and bought a roast of some kind next, what smelled like pig. It had been cooked so soft it was falling apart as the butcher wrapped it around the bone.
He also bought limes. And lemons. And sauces.
Red sauces. Green Sauces. One that was a burnt amber color and heavy like mustard or curry. He plucked another from a case that was brown with shreds of green leaves. Yet another was so dark it appeared almost black.
None of them were familiar to me, but they all smelled wonderful.
He used my pocket money for everything he bought, but I didn’t mind, and I didn’t argue.
Truthfully, his utter matter-of-factness in purchasing his “lunch” caused me to follow him around the market in fascination, drawn to his sureness and the unapologetic strength of his preferences. He didn’t eat any of it in the moments after he bought it, but I found myself looking forward to watching him eat it.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I wondered what was wrong with me that I would even think such a thing.
That didn’t stop me wondering fleetingly if he’d let me taste some of it, however.
I wondered if I dared. Thinking about the trouble I would be in from this day already, I decided I did dare and to hell with the consequences.
He was walking us in a straight line through the middle of the market as that last thought reached me. Rather than following the wider path of the center aisle––the only one I ventured to follow in my daily walks––he bisected it neatly, aiming our feet towards a different part of the
city altogether.
I exhaled in relief when I saw the direction he led us.
I couldn’t imagine having to explain to one of my teachers or one of the Regent’s Guard what I was doing with this dark, dangerous-looking stranger, whether they recognized him as a warlock or not. The fact that he led us neither towards the monastery nor in the direction of the palace strongly decreased the likelihood that I would see anyone I knew.
Few living in the palace or the monastery ventured far from either.
When I realized my new warlock friend had finished buying food for himself and intended us to leave the market altogether, however, I caught hold of his arm.
He halted at once, looking down at me.
“I’d like to get something, too,” I admitted, meeting his dark gaze. “Do you have a suggestion? I have some money left, if you are finished buying for yourself.”
He blinked down at me, his expression bewildered.
Then his eyes flashed with a brighter light, right before he threw back his dark head and laughed. Like before, something about that laugh, deep-throated yet containing real joy, reached deep inside me, making my toes curl inside the flat slippers I wore. His heavy voice, or perhaps the laugh itself, also made my stomach do a small flip.
Recovering himself, he motioned towards the parcels he held in both arms.
“Did ye really think me so hungry?” Still grinning at me, he let his voice grow teasing. “Or do ye merely think me so mean-hearted and greedy, I wouldn’t buy for the both of us? With your money no less?”
Stumped by that, I released his arm, flushing.
Still smiling, he held out the same arm and elbow to me, offering for me to take it again. His smile was openly friendly, for the first time since I’d laid eyes on him in that box.
“Come, huntress,” he said, looking me over with a slightly more heated smile. “Clearly I have much to teach ye about what it means to be a bearer of red magic... as well as basic manners, if ye think it’s ever all right for a red warlock to feed himself without feeding his kin.”
Red Magic: an Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 6 (The Othala Witch Collection) Page 4