Beggar Magic

by Burke, H. L.

  Leilani cleared her throat “I think I can make that decision on my own, thank you.”

  “Well, Highmost tend to see Common aides as charity cases. They let us into their remarkable world, show us their toys and luxuries. If we aren't grateful, we don't last long, and maybe we shouldn't. We're sort of like pets to them, you see? And if we aren't properly obedient, well, Highmost can easily afford more tractable pets.”

  Leilani's face burned. “Zeb isn't like that. We're friends, not servant and employer and certainly not master and pet.”

  “You think so, and maybe she isn't that way now, but I've seen it happen over and over again.” They reached the door to the Observatory. “I'll leave you here. Think about what I said. ”

  “I already have.” Leilani allowed herself the dramatic flare of a head toss, even though it reminded her of something Keris would do. She broke into a run, eager to put some space between them

  Leilani caught up to Zeb in the hallway. Many other junior fellows filled the passage, but all headed in the opposite direction, towards the dining hall. Leilani’s stomach rumbled.

  Zeb pushed against the flow and into their room. Leilani had to reach out to stop the door from hitting her in the face. Zeb threw herself, face down, onto her bed.

  “He only snapped at you because he was embarrassed. You know that, right?” Leilani sat on her own bed and eased her messenger bag from her shoulder.

  “Why did you have to ask him about the amplifiers?” The pillows muffled Zeb’s voice, but Leilani still caught the frustration in her words. Leilani drew back. Did Zeb blame her?

  “Of course I asked. Weren’t you at all curious?”

  “Yes, I was curious, but I’m not stupid.” Zeb rolled onto her side to glare at Leilani.

  “That’s up for debate!” Leilani snapped. “We shouldn’t have gone in at all. Now he knows we listen at windows like gossiping merchants’ wives.”

  “You opened it.”

  “You peeked through.”

  The girls stared each other down for a moment before Zeb blinked. The young Highmost sat up, crossing her legs beneath her.

  “You don’t understand manor politics. My future depends on whether or not Fellow Brash trusts me. If he trusts me, I get projects. If I complete those tasks, he trusts me with more. We were off to such a good start.” She reached back and grabbed the top of her braid, squeezing until her hairline moved back from her eyebrows.

  Leilani flexed her toes inside her shoes. The emptiness in her stomach crept up her throat. “Are you hungry? We can still make the evening meal if we hurry.”

  “I have some crackers stashed for later. You can go ahead.” Zeb unplaited her braid and ran her fingers through her wavy hair, avoiding eye contact.

  Leilani ambled out the door, not wanting to eat among the Highmost without Zeb. She knew of two other aides who were Common, but most were underachieving Highmost, and none particularly good company. She knew the kitchen staff consisted of Common. She could wander down there and find something to eat.

  A flight of stairs and several twisting paths later, she sat at the edge of the sweltering, bustling, odorous kitchen. Like in most areas with a lot of folk, the Strains buzzed, hummed, and twittered as noisily as the people, perhaps talking among themselves. Though most of the food had already made its way to the dining hall, a red cheeked baker tossed her a roll and told her to help herself to a wheel of cheese.

  Using the Strains so she didn’t have to borrow a knife, she shaved off a few curls of hard, yellow goodness and munched away. The splash of water and clanking of dishes reminded her of home. The room smelled of chicken stock from the simmering pots of bones leftover from dinner. Her mother always boiled the bones after a meal and canned the broth in large, glass jars. She used the Strains to test and tighten the seals, a beggar magic skill Leilani doubted the Highmost would give a second thought.

  On the far side of the room, across from the tubs of water and bubbling kettles, lay a long, wooden table. The staff set two large pots and a stack of earthenware bowls upon this. A moment later, a troop of dark uniformed guards filed into the room and ladled themselves bowlfuls of chicken soup. They ate in silence, though occasionally fingers would flash. She hadn’t realized there were so many deaf folk in Gelia.

  She scanned them, finally finding the guard from earlier. He had his back to her, but she recognized the tangle of brown curls. She touched her own straight dark hair and wondered what his felt like. It looked soft and sleek, the color like polished, dark oak.

  She longed to talk to him, as impossible as it might be. She watched the guards' silent communication. Zeb had said you could guess at some of it, if you watched, but their hands moved so quickly that it all blended together. Still, if she could speak both Rynaran and Gelian, she should be able to master their gestures. Of course, that would require a teacher.

  The guard set down his bowl and swung his leg up and over the bench, turning so rapidly Leilani didn’t have time to avert her eyes. He saw her; she could tell from the look of recognition that flooded his face. Stumbling to her feet, she ran from the kitchen.

  She diverted down the first side passage she found, intending to put as many twists and turns between her and him as possible.

  A few steps down the darkened hall, silence consumed her, and she froze. Her heart beat loudly. She could hear her own rapid breaths, but outside her body, nothing.

  No humming. No twittering. No music.

  “Strains?” she whispered, remembering how Zeb called to them. Her voice echoed in the quiet. Her skin crawled. So empty. So lonely. So . . . still. She whirled around and fled back into the main hall, colliding against the chest of the young guard. He put his hands on her shoulders, steadying the both of them, and smiled.

  The Strains welled to meet her, a tight, twanging noise like a musician tuning his fiddle. Cool relief swept through her chest. The guard raised his eyebrows and pulled his right hand back to wave. Well, that much she could understand.

  Embarrassed and flustered, she swallowed hard. He grinned, like an impudent child, and waved again. At a loss for what to do, she returned the gesture.

  He glanced about, motioned to the wall, and drew her closer to it. He touched a single brick, traced it with his fingers, then tapped his chest. He then pointed to her, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows.

  She held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t . . . I mean, I can’t . . . What do you want? Why are you always looking at me? Why don’t you . . .”

  The young man backed up a step, his mouth forming an “o.” A mix between a cough and a gasp, escaped him.

  She clenched her fists to stop her fingers from shaking. “Oh Strains. I’m shrieking, and you can’t understand a word of it. Am I going mad?”

  “Actually, he probably got the gist of it.” A calm, laughing voice startled her.

  A craggy faced man in a guard’s uniform stepped out of the bright kitchen into the shadowy, lantern lit hall.

  “Reading lips isn't an exact science, but since Brick's mother isn’t deaf, he has practice.”

  She glanced at the young man who nodded, his smile now sheepish.

  “Brick? That’s your name?” Leilani asked. “Oh, so that’s . . . I’m sorry. I’m Leilani. But I still don’t understand why you’ve been watching me. It’s unnerving.”

  “Well, Brick?” The older man raised his hands, palms up.

  Brick turned red, pointed to Leilani, and circled his face with his open hand, over his eyes and then down to a warm smile. The other guard laughed.

  “What did he say?” Leilani asked.

  “He’ll explain later. It isn’t my business. Brick, get back to the barracks.” The older guard used his fingers and arms to communicate even as he spoke. Brick bowed to her then marched off down the hall. Leilani bit her bottom lip, a mix between relief and regret stirring in her chest.

  “I’m Captain Goodly, commander of the Research Manor Guards. I am sorry Brick upset you. Tha
t wasn’t his intention.”

  She looked after Brick then back to Goodly. “You aren’t deaf.”

  His smile grew sad. “No, I'm Wordless. At one point, I was Highmost.”

  Her face went cold. “You’re Wordless as in . . . you’ve killed someone?”

  “Unfortunately, the Strains don’t judge motive. Many years ago, when I was a junior fellow in Industry, a highwayman put me in a position where my choices were death or defense. I chose defense. There were times in the days after that I regretted it. I lost my fellowship, my friends abandoned me, and the silence was deafening.”

  Leilani shifted her feet. “The Strains abandoned you? For protecting yourself? That seems so unfair.”

  “I thought so at first, but after some time, I realized it is their protection against misuse. Imagine the havoc the Highmost could unleash if they could use the Strains for violence? Cutting off any who would take a life prevents the Strains from becoming a weapon. Death is death to them, no matter the reasons.” He smiled, his old eyes shining. “Besides, there was a reason for it. I found the guard, and they made me one of their own. Brick's grandfather was my mentor. He taught me to sign and helped me find my way and my purpose. The deaf are often overlooked by Highmost and Common alike. I can provide them a voice in the manors.

  “The Strains are not everything, Miss Leilani. According to the Holy Scripts, they are but the servants and messengers of a greater power. I never sought communion with such until the lack of Strains drove me to it. Those like Brick taught me how.”

  Leilani rubbed her chin. She had heard the scripts read on Holy Days, telling of the Maker who sent the Strains to aid His creations, but He was a distant figure. The Strains were real and immediate, the Maker intangible and incomprehensible. She rarely gave thought to the Maker, but the Strains she adored.

  “Thank you for helping me with Brick,” she said. “Would you apologize for me? I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

  He bowed. “I will. Good night then, Miss Leilani.”

  Leilani walked back towards her room, avoiding the hall where she had encountered the dead spot.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zeb didn’t return until late, carrying an armful of books. She stayed up until long after Leilani wished to fall asleep, reading and taking notes. Leilani drifted off to the scratching of Zeb’s markstone stick on the paper.

  At breakfast Zeb had dark circles under her eyes. Her fingers twitched, and she smiled as she ate.

  “After you left, I went to the library and found Fellow Brash. He assigned me these books, said it would keep me busy for the next week, and then I’d be ready for a new project. I can’t wait to tell him I finished in one night!”

  Leilani raised her eyebrows. “Did you even sleep?”

  “Yes, a little, enough anyway.”

  Leilani opened her mouth to chide her friend, but thought better of it and took a bite of muffin instead.

  Zeb took coffee rather than her usual milk with breakfast. The fragrance drifted towards Leilani and made her eyes open wider. Zeb took a sip, asked the girl to her left to pass the sugar, then spooned three large scoops into the dark liquid. She sloshed it around, the spoon on the china sounding like a ringing bell. She took a drink then winced. “Too hot. Can I have some of your milk? Just a splash to cool it down.”

  Leilani passed her the cup. Part of her wanted to tell Zeb what Brash had said about “betters.” Zeb had always been quick to defend Leilani against that sort of snobbery, and probably would even if it was from Brash. However, Brash was, for better or worse, Zeb's superior. It would be unwise to cause a rift there. He'd show his true colors eventually. “So you and Fellow Brash are friends again?” she asked.

  Zeb nodded and slurped on her coffee. “Yes.” She dropped her voice. “He told me Cogg has never liked him, and he doesn’t particularly trust Cogg. The man is all about influence. He wants to hold the Highmost Seat, and he’s pushing Brash on projects so he can use the results to make his case in the next election. Can you imagine? I don’t know why Brash puts up with it. He’s one of the most promising fellows. Research can’t afford to lose him to, say, Industry or Healing.” Zeb stood. “I don’t need your help today. Brash wanted to talk about the books, and I would rather it be one on one. We’ll be busy until this afternoon. You should explore a bit.”

  Leilani scraped the last bite of her porridge from her bowl. “If that’s what you want, I suppose I will see you after lunch.”

  A free day, even a half day, was unheard of in Common circles. Other than Holy Days and festivals, work came first. With Zeb not needing, or at least not wanting, her, Leilani couldn’t decide what to do.

  She paced along the outside of the Observatory, enjoying the sunshine. The air had a crisp chill to it. Soon the Gelian canals would freeze over and snow would fall. She wrapped her cloak close. Ahead lay the long, rectangular barracks. The gate swung open, and Brick emerged, wearing a plain brown tunic and leggings instead of his uniform. He didn’t look towards her but turned onto the path leading to the main road. His arms swung easily at his sides, and his steps had energy, like each one had a purpose, but also a pleasure.

  Her mouth quirked. She would show him he wasn’t the only one who could play spy. Casting her hood over her brow, she followed after him. She imagined glaring at him when he realized he was being watched then stomping away, her point made.

  Brick left Research and strode along the busy road. When they came to the Art Manor, he took the path through the gate, gazing up at the abstract creations that lined the way.

  From her trip there, interviewing junior fellows with Zeb, Leilani knew that the lower floor of the Art Manor was open to the public. Various artists displayed their work here, even Common craftsmen. Art encompassed a large variety of disciplines, from painting and sculpture to weaving and embroidery. Leilani tailed Brick into the building, past paintings and tapestries.

  Brick strolled among the masterpieces. Every so often he stopped and stared. She paused in her pursuit. She hadn’t expected him to come here, just to sight-see among the paintings.

  He settled on a bench in front of a marble carving of a leaping stag. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes traveling up and down the artwork.

  Leilani wished she could ask him what he was thinking. Perhaps she should leave. Following him had been a foolish idea.

  The Strains murmured in her ear, a wordless whisper, gentle and soothing. The sound relaxed her, and she sighed. She moved one foot forward, towards him, then back again. No, she should go. Spying on him was silly, not clever.

  Without warning, Brick looked up. He smiled and waved. She blushed and pushed her hood away from her face. Obviously the disguise was inadequate. He patted the empty spot on the bench beside him. She shuffled over and took a seat.

  “Hi. Brick, right?”

  His eyes stayed intently on her lips as she spoke. He nodded.

  She glanced at the statue. The creature did look lifelike, though the color of the white stone made the beast resemble a ghost, a frozen phantom of a deer rather than a living creature.

  Brick stood. He ran his fingers along the statue’s back in a sweeping motion. He offered Leilani his hand. She took it and stood. He led her around the piece in a slow circuit, pointing at details: the delicate lines on the stag’s hooves; the flare of its nostrils. His movements traced the creature but rarely touched it. There was an elegance to his appreciation, like the marble itself.

  “You really like it, don’t you?” she asked.

  He nodded. He circled his face with his palm, a warm smile on his face. The same signal he’d made towards her the day before. He pointed to the statue. Leilani duplicated his gesture, her hand going from her eyes to her smile.

  Something he saw that made him smile . . .

  She blushed.

  “Beautiful?” she asked. His smile broadened, and he nodded again.

  Leilani dropped her eyes. No one, outside her family, had ever called her
beautiful before. It just wasn’t how she thought of herself. She was practical, strong, feisty . . . beautiful, though, that word belonged to her mother or Keris, Zeb even, but not Leilani. Maybe she had misunderstood. His eyes twinkled at her, and she smiled at him.

  He had an expressive face, easy to read and ever changing. His whole presence radiated cheer and ease, and the feelings seeped into her own bones.

  The Strains caught the mood and whistled like nesting robins.

  “I wish I knew your language,” she said.

  He still held her hand as they walked to the next display, this one a tapestry with a pastoral scene. His fingers felt warm and safe. She liked it. He glanced at her; realizing he had been looking away when she spoke the first time, she repeated the phrase.

  One corner of his mouth quirked. He rubbed his stomach then raised his eyebrows and pointed to her belly. Confused, she mimicked him. The gesture stirred a memory.

  “Oh, am I hungry?”

  He smiled and nodded.

  She hesitated. Not particularly, but if he was, she could eat. Not confident that she could express an idea more complicated than yes or no, she rubbed her stomach and bobbed her head, “Yes.”

  They exited the Art Manor and walked along the main road together. Leilani blushed when they passed other folk, for Brick still clasped her hand. No one gave them a second look, however, and soon she held her head up, beaming at his public affection.

  In the side street between Art and Civics lay a small group of shops, including several cart vendors selling foodstuffs. Brick waved his hand at the line of them. When Leilani didn’t move, he motioned again.

  “Oh!” She pointed to a cart serving paper bags of fried fish and thinly sliced potatoes. Brick grinned and gave her a thumbs up. He left to make the purchase, and she found a bench to sit on.

  Her heart fluttered like a moth against her rib cage. What was happening? What was going to happen? She watched him with inexplicable fascination. His every movement, every change of expression, sent a quiver through her. She felt hot and cold and breathless and happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so happy.