Beggar Magic

by Burke, H. L.

  Though Leilani had only seen the inside of the Brightlys’ home, Zeb had informed her that all the Highmost quarters shared the same two bedroom and a sitting area layout. Their meals came from the shared kitchen with its army of cooks and porters. Even their baths were communal, a luxurious, heated affair where people often socialized.

  “What if a family has more children?” Leilani had asked, having noted that Highmost, even at the Country House, rarely shared bedrooms.

  “We just don’t . . . have more children, that is. I’ve never thought to ask why.”

  Leilani didn’t press the issue. Her mother always cautioned her about meddling in personal matters.

  Zeb’s artwork, watercolors filled with vibrant shades and swirling shapes which represented the Strains, decked her walls. Three bookshelves overflowed with volumes, many of which Zeb had loaned her over the last year. Purple curtains matched the coverlet of her bed and the dozen or so pillows. The plush carpets were starry sky blue. A mobile of silver stars twirled from the ceiling. Leilani loved Zeb’s room.

  Zeb sat on the bed, then stood and glanced out the window only to jump on her bed three times before collapsing cross legged into the cushions. No longer required to wear her Country House uniform, Zeb wore simple tunics and pantaloons in various colors, periwinkle today.

  She laid the folded parchment before her. “Oh, I wrinkled it. Would you fix that for me?”

  The Strains hummed like Mrs. Weaver when she busied herself in the kitchen, wielding her wooden spoon like an artist’s brush. The creases in Zeb’s document flattened and vanished.

  “Thank you. I want to keep it forever.” Zeb sighed and looked up at Leilani with sparkling eyes.

  “What's the letter?” Leilani asked.

  “My future!” Zeb unfolded it and held it forth.

  The paper bore a lot of letters in fancy, near indecipherable calligraphy. Zeb took it back before Leilani got further than, “To the honorable Miss Zebedy Brightly, graduate of Madame Clavia’s Academy for the Gifted . . .”

  “You're supposed to query all the manors, to see where there are openings, in case your first choice doesn’t want you. Well, I only want Research, but Mother said Research is the most competitive manor, and she made me send out multiple letters, one to each manor, even Civics.” Zeb’s nose wrinkled. “Anyway, letters went out and letters came back. Accepted Weather. Accepted Healing. Accepted Art, but no news from Research until this morning.” She waved her paper in the air.

  Leilani laughed. “Congratulations.”

  Zeb sprang off the bed and twirled around, waving the letter so fast the flapping page sounded like a bird taking off. Leilani stared at her exuberant friend, and her mouth twitched. The disappointment of her own rejection returned full force, but she forced her face to remain impassive. Zeb was happy now. Leilani couldn’t ruin that. The Strains droned in a minor key.

  Zeb stopped mid-spin and faced Leilani. Her lips quirked downward, and her brows came together. “The Strains say you are sad. Why are you sad?”

  Leilani shook her head. “It is nothing.”

  “No, Leilani, you don’t get sad over nothing. People call you names, you snap back. A dog could bite you, and you’d bite back, but you don’t get sad. If you are sad–and the Strains say you are, so don’t lie–there must be a reason.”

  Leilani cleared her throat, shuffled her feet, and murmured, “The Merchant Guild said no.”

  “But why?” Zeb dropped her precious letter and pulled Leilani into an awkward hug. Zeb’s chin poked her in the forehead. Still, Leilani preferred that to looking Zeb in the eye.

  When Zeb released her, Leilani concentrated on the carpet.

  “What will you do?” Zeb asked as she stooped down to retrieve her letter.

  Leilani shrugged. “There are other guilds, other trades. I don’t have to decide right away.”

  Zeb nodded, folded and unfolded the letter, and sat back down on the edge of her bed. “Leilani, there is . . . well . . . I assumed you would get your apprenticeship, but perhaps your misfortune is my fortune. Do you know about manor fellowships?”

  “Aye, that’s what you applied for, isn’t it? It’s like an apprenticeship but to a Highmost manor rather than a trade.”

  “Sort of. Since I’ve been accepted into Research Manor, I will live there now. I will also be assigned an aide.”

  Leilani frowned and said nothing.

  “An aide is an assistant of sorts. They have to be clever because they see to a fellow’s–that’s what I am now, a fellow–anyway, they see to a fellow’s schedule, help them write papers, do research, all sorts of tasks.

  “It’s an important job. Usually the aide is Highmost, but they don’t have to be. Anyway, there is no law. I checked a long time ago in case you changed your mind about the Merchant Guild. Father knows people in Civics–they’re the manor that oversees assignments.”

  Leilani swallowed. “Are you asking me to be your aide?”

  “Yes! I can’t imagine working with anyone else. Think how much fun we could have? In our own apartment? I have so many ideas for projects. Of course, for the first years of my fellowship, I'll be assisting a senior fellow, but either way, so much fun!”

  Leilani chewed her bottom lip. She loved Zeb like family, like a boisterous, exhausting little sister. Still, Zeb could be overwhelming. Did Leilani really want that every day from now on?

  “I don’t know, Zeb,” she said. “Wouldn’t you essentially be my boss? Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

  “It’s me, Leilani. When have I ever been bossy?”

  “Do you want an exact number? Do you have a counting frame?”

  Zeb frowned at her. “I’m not that bad. You always have a choice.”

  “'It’s easier to ride the current than to fight the tide,'” Leilani used one of her grandmother’s favorite expressions.

  Zeb stuck out her bottom lip, but in the same moment her face brightened. “Yes, but it has always been a fun ride.”

  Leilani laughed. “Yes.”

  “You don’t have to, I guess, but . . . if you don’t, once my fellowship starts, we’ll never see each other. Junior fellows rarely leave the manor. My mother always told me once you were in an apprenticeship and I in a fellowship, there simply wouldn’t be time for us to be friends. I swore I wouldn’t let that happen. You’re my best friend, Leilani.”

  Leilani avoided Zeb’s pleading eyes, trying to think logically about the matter. The Strains tickled her ears, a tinkling noise this time, like thousands of miniature bells.

  Zeb grinned. “The Strains think you should.”

  Leilani sniffed. “So you say.”

  Zeb shook her head until her hair covered her face then brushed it behind her ears. “I would never lie about the Strains. They’d throw a fit if I did.”

  The bells hit a crescendo, perhaps the loudest Leilani had ever heard them. Zeb’s smile nearly squeezed her eyes shut.

  Leilani had envied Zeb’s place at the Country House. This could be her chance, her only chance, to experience the Highmost world. Would she fit in? After all, she was Common, and as much as Zeb tried to sell it, an aide sounded a lot like a servant.

  The Strains grew louder, until the ringing almost became unbearable. If they wanted it so badly, it had to be for a reason.

  Leilani smiled. “All right, Zeb. Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter Seven

  Leilani tried not to gawk as she followed Zeb through new sections of the Manor District, but there was so much to look at. She'd only spent time at Weather before and had expected the other manors to look the same. Each manor, however, had a particular aesthetic. Civics Manor stood cold and stately with the lived-in sections hidden behind a facade of pillars and sweeping stairs.

  Art Manor opened up to the air with tall, stained glass windows back-lit by skylights so the colors shone outward. As she and Zeb passed it, she stopped to stare. Three abstract marble sculptures stood on the brick pathway leading up to the open
gate. Each resembled sea spray, cast up into the air then twisted into a form that was almost human but not quite.

  “What are those supposed to be?” she asked.

  “They’re called, ‘the Emergence of Creativity,’” Zeb answered.

  Leilani blinked at her.

  Zeb shrugged. “I don’t understand it either, but Art fellows like things that don’t make sense.”

  The Strains whistled, and Zeb grabbed Leilani’s hand. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

  Research stood between Art and Healing. Unlike the other manors, which at least pretended to be one large edifice, this manor looked as jumbled as the block cities Leilani had made with firewood scraps as a child. A dozen or so smaller structures of varying heights surrounded a rounded building with a domed roof. A long cylinder, as big as a tree and tipped with a glistening lens jutted from the cupola.

  “That’s a telescope. The whole Observatory deck can turn to look at different celestial bodies.” Zeb’s eyes shone. “Look there.” She pointed to a towering structure with a scaffolding exoskeleton. “They’re rebuilding again. Research is always changing to accommodate new projects. We’ll be in the main building, under the Observatory. That's where all the apartments and most of the offices are.”

  They joined a short line of about twenty young people, most dressed similarly to Zeb, though a few still wore their colored robes, indicating which school they had graduated from. Zeb nodded to a blonde girl in purple.

  “Marce Regale,” she murmured. “Of course the show off is still wearing her robes. Regales are all about who they know, not what they can do. I bet her daddy got her the appointment. The trick with her is to be polite but guarded or else she’ll step on you on the way up the ladder. You should’ve seen her flirt with Vicky.”

  “Maybe they deserve each other,” Leilani said.

  Zeb’s cheeks flushed. “I haven’t seen him in a year. Maybe he’s matured. Either way, he was always too smart to buy into Marce’s act.”

  The Observatory's tall double doors opened, and the group filed forward. Leilani glanced down at her gray frock. Zeb had said they would assign her a uniform so there would be no point in wearing her best clothes. Maybe these folk were all fellows, not aides, but certainly none of them were Common.

  Leilani’s heart quailed. Had this been a mistake?

  Inside they found themselves in a vaulted hallway with checkerboard marble floors and dozens of bust-filled alcoves. A tall woman with short cropped hair wearing a frock coat and bustled skirt, all in severe black, waved them over.

  “Welcome, junior fellows. I am Mistress Straight and for the next six months, I shall be overseeing your health and well-being,” she said in a calm, cool voice. “Do not be deceived. I am not your friend, and if you cannot abide by the rules or handle your workload, I will be happy to show you the door. However, I am your protector. If you feel you are being treated unfairly or if you do not have the tools you need to thrive, I will give you a fair ear. Junior fellows are students, not servants, and you deserve respect and dignity.”

  Twenty-two heads nodded, even Leilani’s though she knew the speech did not apply to her.

  “Some of you have requested specific aides. The rest of you will have your aides assigned, and they will join you tonight after supper. Now, for your current assignments.”

  Mistress Straight snapped her fingers, and a young man in Common clothes stepped from an alcove. He carried a tall stack of papers.

  “I want to assure you all that we at Research take extreme care in assigning junior fellows to their senior fellow mentors. The decision takes into account your aptitudes, academic history, and even your personalities as determined by your exit interviews with previous teachers.

  “When my aide calls your name, step forward and receive your packet. On it will be detailed your senior fellow assignment, as well as your room number, maps, and other information you will require in your first days at Research. Once you have this, you may proceed to your individual apartments to freshen up. Your belongings should have been delivered ahead of you. You will be expected in the dining hall promptly at six. A bell will sound indicating ten minutes' warning. Directions to the dining hall are provided in your packet. Now, Revi, please read the names.”

  The Common man stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Vasily Able.”

  A young woman came forward. The aide bowed and handed her the paper. She looked it over, nodded, and continued down the passageway.

  “Zebedy Brightly.”

  “Come on,” Zeb said.

  Leilani followed her friend as she claimed her documents. Zeb took off after the last girl with determined strides.

  “Vye Devotes,” the aide continued calling out names.

  “I’ve toured this manor three times,” Zeb said. “The junior fellows’ quarters are this way.”

  Zebedy walked briskly, her head held high.

  Ahead the hallway met with another, and in the transecting space sat a circular bench underneath a chandelier. A young man in a dark leather uniform with silver bracers strode in a slow orbit about this, shifting his eyes from one passage to another. He had curly brown hair and alert gray eyes. His face had a boyish softness, and though a guard, he couldn’t be much older than her. He caught Leilani's gaze and smiled. She blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring.

  An older guard marched up the hall from the right. The younger turned to face him, sheathing his blade. Leilani watched in bewilderment as the men’s fingers flashed through various strange motions. The older man pointed down the way he’d came, then to the younger man, then tilted his head to the side with his hand against his cheek. The younger man nodded, saluted, and left his post. His replacement began his circuit as Leilani and Zeb passed.

  “What was that, with their hands?” Leilani asked.

  Zeb shrugged. “Many manor guards are deaf. That’s how they talk. Some of it you can guess the meaning of, if you try.”

  Leilani's brows furrowed. “Deaf?”

  “Yes.” Zeb nodded. “Father says it makes sense because the Strains can leave you if you have to kill, even in the line of duty. Occasionally the guards have to use force, and Civics found years ago that guards were skittish when it came to risking the loss of the Strains to stop a robbery or quell a riot. Fortunately, that sort of thing doesn't happen very often nowadays, but anyway, they still like to hire guards with little to no attachment to the Strains.”

  “I've met guards before, and I don't think any of them were deaf,” Leilani said. “I've never even heard of a deaf guard.”

  “It's a manor thing.” Zeb shrugged. “Even in the manors it is only a small percentage of the guards.”

  Leilani glanced at the retreating figure of the young guard. Silence, forever silence, no voices, no music, no Strains. And yet the guard’s eyes had sparkled. What would it be like to never hear the Strains? Her thinking slowed her pace, and Zeb outdistanced her.

  Zeb glanced back. “Catch up, Leilani.” She stepped forward, and her entire frame crumpled. Her shoulders slumped, her legs gave out, and she sat down with a whimper. Half rolling, half crawling, she scrambled back towards Leilani. Her eyes widened.

  “What is it?” Leilani asked. “You didn't forget to eat breakfast again, did you? Are you going to pass out?” She knelt next to her friend and touched her forehead. She didn't feel cold or sweaty.

  Zeb pulled herself up, closed her eyes, and breathed. “Please be there, please . . .” She exhaled and opened her eyes. “I couldn’t hear them for a moment. They’re back now.”

  “Them? The Strains?”

  Zeb’s head bobbed up and down. “I have never not heard them.”

  Leilani offered her friend a hand up. Zebedy clung to her. Together they edged forward with small, hesitant steps. Zeb paused after each and tilted her head this way and that. Leilani listened. The Strains hummed in their quiet, ever present way. They did seem subdued today. Perhaps that was what Zeb meant.

  Then the
girls stepped into absolute silence. Zeb’s fingers sank into Leilani’s arm. Leilani’s jaw dropped.

  Sometimes the Strains were subtle, like the hiss of sand slipping through an hourglass. They would fade into the background and wait to be called. They could be overlooked and ignored, but they were never silent.

  Except that day at Weather Manor.

  Leilani had almost forgotten that horrible experience, but there had been a moment, a split second without the Strains. Now the silence endured, and it wasn't just Leilani who noticed. Zeb felt it too.

  Zeb’s whole body trembled. Chills shot up and down Leilani’s spine. No Strains. She whistled, waiting for them to harmonize. Nothing.

  “Please come back,” Zeb whispered. Her face had grown pale. Afraid her friend was about to swoon, Leilani pushed her onward. A few steps and the music swelled to meet them. Zeb closed her eyes, and the color returned to her cheeks.

  Leilani released her friend and returned to the void, the dead spot. The air felt thin. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine herself in a tomb, trapped with the dead. She forced her eyes open, rubbing her suddenly goose-bump covered arms. She hopped in and out and walked through. The first time it measured three paces across, the second two, the third one, and the fourth time she couldn’t find it at all.

  Leilani bit her bottom lip. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to stay here.” Zeb took off at a run, down to the end of the hall and up a short staircase. A series of doors awaited. Zeb matched the number, 32, on her paper to the door, and pushed her way in. “Should we tell someone?” She sat on one of the two twin beds and drew her knees against her chest.

  “Tell them what? That for a moment we couldn’t hear the Strains? We can’t show them where. The dead spot only lasted for a minute.”

  Zeb frowned. “It isn’t natural. I don’t like it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next day Zebedy wouldn’t talk about the dead spot.