by Kaylin Lee
Eyes stinging, I shoved the mattress back in place and piled the quilts on top. My journal was upside down beside the bed, the spine out and the pages bent and crumpled on the floor. My pencil case was nowhere in sight. Had they actually stolen my pencils? I clenched my fist and pressed it to my mouth, uncertain whether I was furious, humiliated, or just desperately sad.
I searched the rest of the room. The mattress was back in place, but something still looked different. “What happened here?”
When I finally saw it, I couldn’t stand upright any longer.
I curled up in a ball on the bed and pulled the cold quilts over me as silent tears leaked silently from my eyes.
The looters had taken my pencils.
They’d taken my stipend envelope.
And they’d taken my entire pack.
~
I slept a scant hour or two. The moment the room began to brighten with dawn’s weak light, I crawled out of bed to splash cold water on my puffy face.
Moving with numb precision, I made the bed and took inventory of my things by placing them on the faded quilts. “One brown dress,” I mumbled, laying the dress flat on the bed. It had been in the washroom, behind the door. “One faithful red sweater.” I didn’t know what I would have done if they’d taken it. It had been hiding behind the washroom door with the brown dress. I pressed the covers of my journal together, but the bent pages in the middle puffed them apart again. “One journal. No pencils.” I paused and stripped off my nightgown, then laid it next to the dresses. “One nightgown.” I shivered as I stared blearily down at the sad collection of possessions, my eyes burning from lack of sleep and too many tears. One failed mission.
I’d have to give up. I’d stayed in the villa for two nights already, which meant I’d paid for five more. Then I’d have to go home to Asylia in defeat.
But without my pack, my victus, or my clothes, would I make it through the Badlands?
Professor Kristof was expecting me at the Wolf compound on the other side of the city in just a few hours, but without marks to hire transportation, there was no way I could meet him.
I was freezing. I pulled on my brown dress then tugged the red sweater over it and wrapped it tightly. A bulge in the right pocket of my sweater caught my attention. A flash of excitement fluttered in my chest. “Please, please, please …” I pulled a fold of paper marks from my pocket. “Yes!” I’d grabbed a few marks the previous morning and Professor Kristof had treated me to dinner, so I still had most of what I’d brought with me.
It wasn’t enough for a new pack, but it’d get me food for the day and, hopefully, a ride to the Wolf compound. Perhaps I could finagle my assistant’s stipend a few days early. Maybe I could even find information for my story today. I was teetering on the brink of failure, but I hadn’t fallen off the edge yet.
I tucked my nightgown and journal behind the washroom door, left my bedroom, and headed downstairs.
After the chaos of last night, the street outside the villa was oddly quiet but littered with broken glass and broken pieces of furniture the looters must had tossed from the other villas. Now I knew why the furniture in Opal’s villa was all damaged. Nothing nice would stay that way for long out here.
The sky was slate gray, but the small market was already open when I arrived. I spotted Astrid slumped by the fountain, shoulders hunched in her oversized sweater. My throat tightened. If I failed to do what I’d come to Draicia to do, I would fail Astrid and every child like her. I pressed my lips together. I hated the feeling of helplessness, but I couldn’t do the impossible. No one could!
So why did I feel so ashamed?
I stuck my hand in my pocket. I couldn’t save her, but I could buy her breakfast. It was better than nothing. “Astrid.”
Her head popped up. “I wasn’t sleeping.” She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”
“I need to get to the Wolf compound today.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes strayed to the stand that sold winterdrop rolls.
“How much does it cost to hire a … one of those things with the noisy rattle? To get from here to the Wolf compound?”
“They’re called demicoaches. Five marks, probably. Depends on if you want a new one.”
“Um …” I fingered the thin fold of marks. I only had five. “An old one. The older, the better.”
“You can get there for two marks. I’ll help you find one.”
“Then I suppose I’ll owe you breakfast for your help. Come on.”
She shot to her feet. “It’s really the least you could do.”
Two marks bought her a plate of winterdrop rolls. One mark bought me a hot cup of coffee and another kind smile from the quiet vendor.
I sat beside her and sipped my coffee slowly, counting on the hot liquid to fill my belly for the long, uncertain day to come.
When she finished her winterdrop rolls and licked every last crumb from her cheeks and fingers, I returned the plate and pulled Astrid up from her languid, satisfied pose in her chair. “Help me find a demicoach. Then you can sleep.”
“Fine, fine. You’re very demanding. Has anyone ever told you that?” She led me down a side street from the square and stopped on a slightly wider street where a line of rough-looking men on rusty, two-wheeled demicoaches waited.
The riders eyed us hungrily. Astrid sidled closer to me and studied the demicoaches for a moment without speaking. Then she grabbed my arm and dragged me to a portly man with a thick, greasy beard. He was astride a decrepit demicoach that looked like it could barely support his weight, let alone both of ours.
The man rubbed his beard. “Twenty marks. Anywhere in the city.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ignore him.” She reached out and whacked his leg. I tensed, but instead of rebuking her, he laughed and moved his leg backward. She bent and inspected the demicoach’s corroded undercarriage, giving it a few solid taps.
“Not so hard,” he grumbled. “Be gentle with the poor beast.”
Astrid huffed and straightened. “This one should be safe enough.” She met the bearded rider’s gaze with a hard glare. “One mark to the Wolf compound.”
“What? One— That’s—” The man sputtered, looking between the two of us. “I can’t possibly—”
Astrid raised one eyebrow.
The rider crossed his pudgy arms. “Two marks.”
“Fine.” Astrid elbowed me. “Go ahead. Get on.”
I looked between the two of them. “I don’t …” This was a terrible idea. Terrible! Was I really going to spend my last two marks on a ride to my death? “How does this contraption even work? And what did you mean, safe enough?”
“The riders buy magic from the clan mages to power the wheels, but the older demicoaches don’t hold the magic very well.” Astrid gestured to the other riders, who were watching our exchange with amusement. “You have to check to make sure the fuel compartment is stable. A few taps will do. Make sure it sounds good.”
How scientific. “What happens if it doesn’t … um … sound good?”
The rider smiled widely, his eyes crinkling above his beard. His hands mimed an explosion. “Kaboom.”
I wrapped my sweater a little tighter.
Astrid nudged me closer to the demicoach. “Don’t worry. I checked, remember? This one’s stable. And if it blows up, it won’t hurt that much. Just be sure to get out of the street quickly. You’ll be fine.”
Probably. There it was again—the unspoken qualifier that lingered awkwardly in the air at the end of a sentence. These Draicians had an interesting way of providing reassurance.
I forced my leg over the back of the demicoach and grabbed the rider’s jacket.
The rider kicked off the curb and leaned forward. “Hold on tight.”
The demicoach lurched forward, and I tightened my grip on his jacket. We sped down the street, the wind whipping overhead, the air ice-cold on my cheeks. My skirt flew backward.
Our speed picked up as he turned onto a wider, busier street
and darted between fomecoaches. I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended I was riding on an Asylian trolley, on my way to drink coffee and discuss romance with Mage Fortis, rather than taking a one-way ride to a criminal compound and risking a mid-journey explosion at any moment. I’d never again complain about the trolley being too fast.
I only hoped I found something in this desperate visit to the Wolf compound. Because if I failed this morning, I had nothing left to try. The whole journey would have been in vain, and I’d have no way to make it back home.
Chapter 18
We rode for several minutes before passing through a checkpoint, where several armed guards and mages inspected the demicoach before waving us through.
The population was far denser here. Down some streets, the piled-up shacks towered crookedly into the sky, so high up the low, gray clouds that hung over the city obscured their tops.
I tapped the rider’s shoulder. “Where are we?”
The rider shot a surprised glance at me over his shoulder. “Wolf territory.”
“People really lived so high up?”
He shrugged, this time keeping his focus forward as he wove between fomecoaches at a breakneck pace. “It’s not so bad. The Wolves run the city, so it’s safer if you stay in their territory. And sometimes they send their mages to install plumbing for free.”
I held my breath as he accelerated between two enormous fomewagons. “Why do they build so high?”
“Everyone else wants to live here. It’s the only way to make space. They build new levels every day.”
We reached the long, stone wall of the Wolf compound, and the driver jerked to a stop in front of a well-guarded gate. “Twenty marks,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
We’d made it without exploding. Too relieved to be mad at his second attempt to overcharge me, I clambered awkwardly off the demicoach and put my precious last marks in his grubby hand. “Two marks,” I retorted, “like we agreed.” I hobbled away quickly before he could argue, my legs stiff from the ride.
Professor Kristof stood just beside the gate, wearing the same threadbare suit I’d seen him in yesterday. Perhaps I didn’t have to feel quite so bad that I was repeating my brown dress.
“Good morning, Kata,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Glad you made it safely.”
I shook my head as I approached him on shaky legs. “Good morning, Professor. I hope I’m not late.”
“I only just arrived.” He nodded toward the gate. “We’ll enter and set up the library. The Wolves will join us when they … ah … deem fit.”
Despite my nerves, I had to hide a smile. “Very well. Just tell me what you’d like me to do.”
I took a deep breath and followed Professor Kristof through the gates of the Wolf compound.
The compound was vast and intimidating. Armed guards were everywhere—watching, patrolling, training. I counted at least two dozen huge, stone villas. The space between them was a mix of empty, open squares and fleets of powerful-looking, black fomecoaches that each looked sturdy enough to plow straight through a mountain—nothing like the stylish, colorful fomecoaches of Asylia.
One villa was clearly the largest, and Professor Kristof guided me toward it under the sentries’ watchful gazes. Beside it, a crew of heavily-muscled workers loaded crates onto fomecoaches from a smaller villa that connected to a large warehouse. I forced myself to look away from the workers, but I sensed their brusque, efficient movements as we passed them and approached the entrance to the largest villa.
If the Wolves were behind aurae, as Lucien had essentially confirmed in the Badlands, they probably wouldn’t move it so openly, but I had to wonder if that villa and the warehouse attached to it would be the best place to investigate.
A woman about Opal’s age in a tailored gray dress and pointy-toed boots met us in the unadorned courtyard in front of the villa. Her hair was soft and wavy, but her eyes were hard as flint. “This way, Professor.” She scrutinized me with a speculative eye. “And who is this?”
“My assistant.” Professor Kristof’s voice held a slight edge. “She stays with me.”
The woman—a fellow employee, I supposed, from his lack of deference—smiled thinly. “Of course she does.”
We entered the villa. The central staircase was in shadows, lit by dim luminous lamps spaced along the walls. The woman’s hard-soled shoes echoed in the quiet building. She led us to a large room filled with polished, wooden tables and several leather sofas. Black curtains covered the windows. Small luminous lamps on the dozen or so tables provided the room’s only light.
“I’ll inform the Praetor that you’ve arrived.” She exited without waiting for a reply.
My heart was pounding. I’d done it. I was deep in the center of the Wolf compound, making contact with real members of the Wolf clan, the first reporter in the Herald’s history to do such a thing. I hovered near Professor Kristof as he hefted a large satchel onto the nearest surface and removed several thick books. “What would you like me to do?” Fear made my voice shake audibly.
He frowned down at the books without touching them, and I realized he was avoiding my eyes. “Have you changed your mind?” His voice was so quiet I barely heard him.
I glanced over my shoulder. No one had entered the room, but perhaps they would at any moment. “No,” I whispered. “I want to be here.”
The professor lifted his gaze and studied me for a moment before pulling a thick folder out of his satchel. “Just thought I’d check.” He removed several papers and handed them to me. “We must wait and see who attends this session,” he said, his voice rising to a normal volume. “I’ll direct you when they arrive. Depending on who it is, and on their … state, we’ll adjust accordingly. But my plan is for you to take the most advanced students through a lesson on early Western literature.”
Their state? I supposed I’d find out what that meant soon enough. I flipped through the papers he’d handed me. “That’s fine. I’ve read all of these books, some more than once. Translations, of course.” I frowned. “I never studied the Western languages. Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all. Few ever did, even at the university.”
We were quiet for a moment, and I strained my ears but heard no sign of anyone approaching our room.
“We might as well sit.” The professor pulled out a chair and sat down slowly.
I joined him at the table. “Do you know any Western languages?”
He shuffled the papers in front of them and sighed. “No. My specialty was ancient Kireth history.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Really? You speak ancient Kireth?”
He chuckled. “Not really. I can’t get my mouth to make the proper sounds. But I can read and write it well enough.”
“Wow. That’s … I’ve never heard of anyone studying ancient Kireth.” In Asylia, the very idea of a university education was mocked as a frivolous Western tradition, disconnected as it seemed to the commerce that kept our city alive. But without the deliberate study of such subjects, how else could the memory of an ancient language like Kireth be sustained?
Professor Kristof shrugged. “It seems esoteric now, especially here, where Draicians think of nothing but survival. But the Kireth invasion changed our continent a thousand years ago. Mages and their magic are now an integral part of every city on the continent of Theros. It seemed to me we would be shortsighted to neglect the study of Kireth culture while simultaneously depending on the Kireth descendants so completely.”
I nodded. It made sense. “But how do you think—”
“What do we have here?” The slurred male voice from the doorway behind me sent a chill up my spine.
Professor Kristof rose quickly, and I followed suit and turned around.
A young man in a crisp, black suit stood just inside the room. His skin was bronze like Lucien’s, but his cheeks were flushed. His black hair fell sloppily over his forehead. His broad shoulders stretched the fine fabric of his rumpled suit. He leaned against the door
frame and ogled me, his lips twisted in a faint smile. “Well? I’m waiting, O Learned One.”
“This is my new assistant, Miss Kata,” Professor Kristof replied. “She’ll be working with the most advanced students.”
The young man straightened and ran his hands over his suit in a vain attempt to smooth the wrinkles out. “I’m pretty advanced, aren’t I?”
“You’re … ah … coming along, Felix.”
“Just because I don’t—”
Three more inebriated young men barreled past the first man and entered the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Hey! It's him! Professor!” The tallest man crowed happily as he stumbled over and wrapped one arm around the professor’s stiff shoulders. “What are we learning today? I’ve been studying. I swear it. You’ll be proud.”
The other two men laughed uproariously. “Studying the bottom of his cup,” said the next-tallest one, with shoulder-length hair. His slow, delighted grin when he caught sight of me was almost comical. “Well, hello,” he said, swaying slightly. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and widened his eyes to get a better look. “Professor, you know I’ve always found Western literature fascinating. I just need a bit of … intimate tutoring to progress.”
Professor Kristof cleared his throat. “Miss Kata will tutor the advanced—”
“Out of my way, idiots.” The four intoxicated young men stumbled hastily as a beautiful girl with wavy, black hair and perfect, pale skin entered the room. She wore a black mage-craft dress that hugged her curves and sent off showers of golden, magical sparkles into the air with every step. Her towering, spiked boot heels clicked loudly on the room’s polished wooden floor. Her disinterested gaze flicked over me, and she turned to Professor Kristof. “Good morning, Professor.” She held out a thick stack of papers covered with neat, elegant writing. “An exposition on the Western schools of literature.” She smirked. “Organized chronologically from the Warring States Age through the Second Age of Peace.”
The professor took it from her, his expression bemused. “Well, thank you, Chloe. But you didn’t have to—”