by Mary Corran
Was it possible that the Oracle could know what she had done? Could it have foreseen it? For a moment she felt as if the Fates in which she did not believe were watching her, laughing at her discomfiture. Asher quashed the thought, furious with herself for even considering such nonsense. What about a more real hazard, Avorian’s diviner? Asher had never really understood how divination worked, could not quite believe it, but from what she had heard she gathered such people could see patterns in matters relating to good or ill fortune, such as health, or gold, or the weather. Avorian’s man was rumoured to be remarkable, capable of seeing anything that might affect the prosperity or other fortunes of his master. Had she and the others left an imprint in the warehouse for him to find? But there was no one she could ask, and she let her eyes fall to the ships at anchor in the cauldron of deep water.
They passed the pier dividing Cloth Quay from Spice Quay, and were making for shallower waters; she shifted, rocking the boat, and instantly felt Club’s knife at her side.
‘Stay still. We overturn and I’ll spit you. Understand?’ he hissed.
‘Yes.’ She wondered what had happened to the two watchmen who were not in on the robbery. Had he killed them?
They were drawing near the long pier that marked the beginning of shallower water, the depth only a dozen feet at low tide. Already she could smell the powerful stench of fish, for the fish market lay on ground just behind the quay.
‘Get ready. You’re getting out here.’ Stern leaned forward and was speaking in a low voice which carried less than a whisper.
‘Here? But — ’
‘If the guard catches you, just remember: one word from me and it’ll be worse than a two-day in the cells.’ He let the warning sink in. ‘You say where you’ve been tonight, and you’re dead.’ As if it were necessary, Club brandished the knife.
‘All right.’ She had no choice. ‘But I’ll not do this again. Just leave me alone in future!’
‘Keep your voice down!’
They drew alongside the pier; Bull shipped his oars, and Hare hung on to a rope looped round the end, keeping the boat steady. Asher got up cautiously and made her way forward, clinging on to the edge of the wooden structure. Bull grinned as she reached for a foothold, his hand snaking out and grasping her ankle.
‘I know where you live, pretty lady. I’ll see you again.’
‘Not by my choice.’ Asher kicked out, wrenching her ankle free as she pulled herself up and on to the pier. The boat rocked from the force of her movement, and she heard Bull cursing as he tried to settle it. As she lay flat on her stomach, she hissed down: ‘Never again. Do you hear me, Stern?’
He only stared and shook his head. Hare let go the rope, and the boat was already drifting away. It would be too dangerous to call after them.
Where do I go from here?
She judged it to be an hour or so after midnight; far too late for any excuse she could invent to pass muster if she were caught by the guard, and the hostel was too far away to reach without passing at least one patrol. She lay flat, staring inland, the open fish market with the public weigh-beam at its centre offering no hiding place; to the right lay the stews of the old quarter. It would be neither safe nor practical to hope for shelter there. With so many ships in port, they would be doing good business, but she had no desire to offer her services; her brief marriage had bequeathed her a poor opinion of the act of sex. There was Carob’s, but it was some distance away, and it might be hard to rouse Carob or Cass so late.
Mylla — her cousin’s house is near here ...
That was more promising. The cousin’s doubtful profession should mean he was amenable to receiving visitors, no matter how late the hour. Cautiously, she peered in each direction, watching for the guard; they patrolled the old quarter less rigorously than the centre, but it would not do to be careless. But there was no one in sight, although she could hear voices and music coming from her right, where the shabby, close-set houses of the stews were still lit up.
She rose to a crouch, then made her way to the quay, pausing again; the smell of fish was overpowering, although the market had been sluiced down with salt water, and her feet slipped on cobbles covered with fish-scales and the occasional tail. She crossed safely to the far side and stood in the shadow of a doorway, listening; no one called out to her.
The old quarter was a maze of winding alleys and stepped lanes, impenetrable to those not born to the city. Using the river as her guide, Asher kept south, taking the nearest passage pointing inland, and began to climb as the ground rose steeply ahead. She was lost almost instantly, but carried on, moving by instinct, keeping to the shadows from habit, although they were no safer than the open streets. Once, she heard the clicking of paws on one of the rare cobbled passages and froze, backing against a wall; but although the hound and its grey masters passed within sight of her, it did not scent her presence. For once, she blessed the overpowering stench of the clogged gutters and moved on as soon as it was safe again.
Just when she was ready to despair, she turned into an alley that looked familiar. Surely the house with the square shutters was Mylla’s? The cluster of thin houses was dark, but the skies had cleared and Asher thought she could make out other familiar details.
Try or die, they said. A dog began to bark as she crossed the muddy street, and her heart leaped; but the noise was coming from inside one of the houses, and she relaxed again.
Tentatively, she knocked on the front door. The house was narrow and looked dilapidated from the outside, paint peeling off in strips and the shutters hanging crookedly from the windows of the upper floor. It seemed deserted, devoid of life, and Asher was startled to hear footsteps in response to her feeble knock.
A small panel in the door opened, and an eye peered out.
‘Who’s there?’
Asher stepped back so as to be visible. ‘I’m a friend of Mylla’s. I need shelter,’ she whispered softly.
‘What’s your name?’ The voice sounded understandably suspicious.
‘Asher.’
The eye disappeared and the panel was closed. Shortly after came the sounds of bolts being drawn back, and the door opened to admit her.
‘I thought I recognized you.’ The young man who let her in stood aside for her to pass. He was a male version of Mylura, tall and thin, with the same heavy eyebrows and arrangement of features.
‘Is she here? I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Asher said incoherently.
‘It’s no trouble. I was waiting for a friend.’ Jan winked. ‘She’s upstairs. First door on your right. Go on up.’
Taking this as a hint to get out of the way, Asher complied, climbing the stairs on legs grown suddenly leaden. Before she had reached the top, a door opened, and Mylla herself appeared on the landing, holding a candle in her hand.
‘Asher?’ She took a step forwards. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was not unfriendly, only puzzled.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Come in.’ As if she sensed her friend’s weariness, Mylura asked no more questions. She pulled Asher into her room and shut the door. ‘Jan’s got a customer coming, and he won’t want them to know there’s a stranger in the house,’ she explained. ‘A small matter of some scent, he tells me.’
Asher collapsed on to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room not covered with either clothes or some other object. The room was chaotic in the extreme, as if Mylura never bothered to put anything away. Quantities of small gilded boxes vied with scarves of all colours. A pier-glass festooned with silver chains hung on one wall, and several bolts of bright-patterned cloth leaned against another.
‘Jan uses this as a store-room when I’m not here,’ Mylura observed. ‘Now, sit there and tell me what’s been happening, and what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night.’
Gathering her wits, Asher complied; Mylura listened wide-eyed as she described the robbery, interrupting only twice for further information.
‘At least you g
ot here without being caught,’ she said practically, when Asher had finished. ‘But how you can stop it happening again, I don’t know!’
Asher yawned wearily. ‘I don’t know either. Perhaps I should leave Venture and start again somewhere else.’
‘It wouldn’t be easy, especially to get papers.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘And we need you here.’
‘Do you know,’ Asher said shakily, surprising herself with the vehemence of her sentiments, ‘I don’t think I can bear this! I came here to get away from — ’ She caught herself up just in time, drawing in a shuddering breath; now she was safe, she realized how sure she had been that Club and Bull would kill her. ‘Why can’t people leave me alone? All I want is to help Essa and Carob in return for their being so good to me.’
‘But other people aren’t like you, Asher.’ Mylla’s response was unexpectedly sad. ‘You want a solitary existence, without ties, owing nothing to anyone. I don’t mean,’ she added hastily, ‘that you’ve no friends, or anything like that. Only that you isolate yourself for some reason you don’t talk about. You never ask for help, almost as if you feel you don’t deserve to be treated like anyone else. I sometimes think that though you do care about the work we do in Venture, and the slave runs, you do more than your share because you think you ought to, not because you want to.’
It was too close to the truth for comfort. ‘And what about you?’ Asher retorted, flushing. ‘What about the risks you take?’
Mylura shook her head. ‘It’s not the same; that’s just in my nature, but not in yours. And I’m bound to Jan, as well as to you, and Essa, and Margit, and the others. I chose to live this way, but if I change my mind and want to settle down and marry in due course, I will.’ She blushed. ‘But you — I don’t know how to explain it, but you shut us all out; you only live in the city, a temporary base from necessity, but it’s my home. I don’t know about the past — you never talk about it, and I won’t ask — but you might remember we’re your friends. You can deal with your demons your own way, but you might let us help sometimes.’
This appeal, coming from the carefree Mylura, was almost too much for Asher. She trembled, struggling for composure, feeling brittle and hopeless. ‘I thought here, in Venture, at least my life would be mine, under my control,’ she said dully. ‘But where’s my freedom if a man like Stern can tell me what to do, if everything I do is dictated or constrained by other people?’ She thought again of Mallory, of the difference his presence made to her, of the malignity of the Fates in which she did not believe. ‘Isn’t it possible to be free?’ she asked despairingly.
‘Asher.’ Mylura came to sit beside her, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Come on, it’s late, and you should get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.’
‘All right.’ She was too tired to think clearly. ‘And thanks, Mylla.’
‘No trouble.’ Mylura searched through a pile of garments and unearthed a night-gown. ‘Here. Take this. The bed’s wide enough for three, so get in and go to sleep. I’m just going to have a word with Jan.’ She slipped from the room, leaving Asher to undress in privacy.
Why was everything happening now? Her hard-won peace was shattered; neither past nor present offered any hope of consolation. She felt as if she no longer belonged to herself, that she was being pulled in too many directions, none of them of her own choosing. Someone or something would not let her be, would not let her forget the past nor what and who she was.
No. Not again. Never again. Determination surged up in a last rush of energy; she would shape her own life, no matter what the odds.
Asher lay down and pulled up the blanket, shutting her eyes against the light and clutter of the room, too tired for further thought.
In an instant, she was asleep; and this time it was without dreams.
Chapter Four
‘But I should be first — I’m the eldest!’ The words were more weary protest than complaint.
‘You’re only a girl!’
‘Perhaps,’ Oramen broke in, shooting Mallory a distinctly malicious glance, ‘your uncle should be the one to decide.’
Three pairs of eyes swivelled towards him in appeal: grey, vivid blue, and hazel; Mallory just managed not to laugh. Crisa, his ten-year-old niece, her father in miniature, looked anxious; eight-year-old Kirin, broad-faced, said to resemble Mallory himself, entirely confident of his claim; Lake, who was only five and already very like his mother, worried. Honora cast up her eyes, and the old nurse shook her head at Crisa, who refused to notice.
‘Of course it should be Crisa,’ he said decidedly. A memory of Callith and Perron in just such a situation assailed him; the injustice had struck him then as it did now. ‘There has to be some advantage in age!’ He smiled at Crisa, and saw that instead of looking smug she seemed pleased, and even a little startled at his championship.
‘Come then, child.’ Oramen patted the chair beside her own. Crisa sat down obediently. ‘Now make your marks then we shall look up your fortune in the Book of Fate.’ The girl took up the quill and began to scratch crosses on a blank sheet of paper.
‘Thank you, brother,’ Honora said softly, giving him a quick smile. ‘It is the same every fair day, but Kirin is a little spoiled and very determined.’
This was one of the few times Mallory had ventured into the nursery, and the first by official invitation from his niece and nephews. He had almost forgotten city tradition, whereby on the day of the Foundation Fair everyone consulted a fortune-teller to see what lay in store during the year ahead. Oramen, by her own admission, was not particularly gifted in that direction, her talents being orientated more towards forecasting the fortunes of the weather and the tides, which was why she used an Oraculum for divination.
‘See, Crisa,’ Oramen’s voice was saying. ‘Here it is. You will have more luck than you expect.’
The girl’s narrow face lit up with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Oramen, thank you very much.’
The seeress laughed. ‘All right, Kirin, your turn next.’
The boy, who had barely succeeded in containing his impatience, was already standing behind his sister, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘Get off, Crisa. You’ve had your turn,’ he complained crossly. The girl slipped from the chair and went across to her mother, who placed a hand on her head.
That too is in her favour, that she doesn’t leave the children entirely to the care of their nurses. Mallory wondered if some prejudice had led him to misread her, and, catching her eyes upon himself, saw she too was thinking the same.
‘This is yours, Kirin: Make yourself contented with your present fortune. And no, you may not try again. It’s Lake’s turn.’
‘But he won’t mind, Oramen. Please?’
The seeress gave him a gentle push. ‘Be off with you. Come, Lake.’
Scowling, Kirin kicked the leg of the table as his small brother took his place at Oramen’s side. ‘It’s not fair,’ he muttered to his uncle. ‘If I’d gone first, I’d have been lucky too.’
‘Don’t sulk, my son, it suggests a weak nature. Think what the Oraculum said, and remember it,’ Honora advised, sounding sterner than she looked.
Kirin made a face at Crisa, then perked up. ‘What about my uncle? Won’t he consult Oramen too?’
‘Of course he will!’
Mallory, recognizing the inevitable, bowed in her direction with heavy irony. Lake slipped from the chair, beaming contentedly.
‘Well, Councillor?’ the seeress challenged, inclining her head, her eyebrows highly arched. ‘Will you take your turn?’
‘How could I refuse?’ He grinned and sat down, making the required four lines of crosses at random. Oramen counted the marks, then consulted the tables for a match, flipping through the pages of the Oraculum with a practised hand.
‘What is it?’ Mallory asked, for the seeress was frowning slightly, looking puzzled. ‘Is the news bad?’
‘No.’ She closed the boo
k, pulling herself together. ‘You may recover what was stolen. A useful prophecy, I think.’
‘Indeed.’ He pondered the words a moment, pleased they should be so appropriate to his mood; he had woken that morning to a sense of perfectly irrational optimism which the day had so far fostered. ‘Thank you, Oramen.’
‘Do you intend to go into the town this morning, brother?’ Honora asked as he stood up.
‘I thought I might. Is there something I can get for you?’
She made a signal to the nurse, who gathered the children and took them away to wash their hands, still sticky with honey from the morning meal. When they were gone, she went on softly: ‘It is only on this day, Kelham used to bring them fairings, just small gifts. I thought — if you would — ’
‘Of course I will, Honora.’ He was touched, both by the admission and by her trust. ‘I should be glad to.’
She smiled sadly. ‘You may think he was an over-indulgent father, but he said he had been so happy when he was young, at Kepesake, he wanted his own children to have the same glad memories.’
‘He would have been proud of you, sister, for what you are doing.’ For a moment they were united in understanding, before a movement from Oramen broke the accord.
‘Have a pleasant fair, brother.’ Her cheeks rather flushed, Honora gave him a smile and quitted the nursery.
‘And you, Oramen? Will you visit the town?’ Mallory asked politely. The seeress shook her head.
‘I have more work to do; the tides are always capricious, as you know, with two moons to pull them this way and that, and my calculations are not complete. But I think you will have an interesting morning.’
‘Is that, too, a prophecy?’ He meant it as a joke and was surprised when Oramen hesitated, then nodded her head with slow deliberation.
*
The streets were already crowded, and it took Asher and Mylura longer to reach the hostel than they had expected. Essa and Margit were seated at one of the long tables as they entered the common room; most of the other women were also sitting about, enjoying the laziness of a rare holiday and the chance to wear their smartest finery.