Beggar Magic

by Burke, H. L.

  She hummed along, coaxing the Strains around her knife. They nudged her in the same direction as Brick’s gentle leading, helping her to steady her hand and find the natural grain of the wood. Shavings piled in her lap.

  The tension between her shoulders melted away. She hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying so much. His breath warmed the back of her neck. Her movements slowed then stopped altogether. The cat remained only half done, but Brick didn't seem to care, and she certainly didn't. His chin rubbed against the top of her head, and her muscles turned to jelly against him.

  After several minutes, he withdrew his arms and stood. She gazed up at him. He tapped his wrist cuffs then pointed to the door with a grimace.

  “You have to go back to work?” she asked, disappointed, but proud she had understood him. He nodded. Standing, she passed him his knife and placed the unfinished statue on the table. “Maybe I can see you tomorrow? I want to see you.”

  He grinned, waved, and left, collecting his saber and pistol from a rack by the door.

  She lingered in the kitchen. She didn’t feel like going back to her quarters yet. Perhaps she’d see if the library was still roped off. Slipping into the empty hall, she addressed the Strains. “If only you talked to me the way you talked to Zeb. You could tell me what to do next. Of course, you don’t seem to know everything. If you did, couldn’t you just tell us who killed Cogg and what is causing the dead spots?”

  The Strains murmured musically, perhaps in answer. A strand of hair had worked its way out of her bun, so she tucked it behind her ear.

  “You do seem to tell Zeb things, and sometimes I swear you are guiding me. Perhaps you really don’t know the answers here, though.” She stopped and leaned against the wall, listening as the Strains filled the otherwise silent space. What did it mean that they couldn’t know? Could the force causing the dead spots be blinding the Strains? Or perhaps the Strains didn’t see the way people did at all. Perhaps they were blind even as Brick was deaf. After all, Brick functioned perfectly well without working ears. Why would the Strains need eyes?

  “Can you see me?” she whispered.

  As if in response, she heard shuffling, not the Strains, but the solid sound of soft shoes on tile floors. The Strains gave a quivering chirp then fell silent.

  Leilani bolted from the wall. Whoever approached would feel the dead spot. They’d be another witness. The footsteps grew closer, and she watched as a cloaked figure, wrapped from head to toe in bulky cloth, emerged from a side hall. He stood only feet away, his back was to her. He continued walking, and she gaped. Was he Wordless? How was he not reacting to the lack of Strains?

  As the man disappeared down the hall, the Strains returned. Her heart shuddered. She pursued the cloaked man, and when she drew near him the Strains died again.

  She kept close to the wall, though the man never looked behind him. He kept to darkened side halls. Reaching the gate to the tunnels, he stopped and drew a key from his cloak. He laid something on the ground, a glinting, silver cylinder, perhaps a foot high.

  Hiding in an alcove, she watched as he unlocked the gate, entered, and locked it again behind himself. A moment later the Strains flooded the area, chirping like caged birds suddenly free.

  Leilani swallowed. The man, whoever he was, held the answer, the missing piece.

  “Please be here when I get back,” she whispered.

  The Strains gave a plaintive wail, but Leilani ignored them, slipped a pin from her hair, and hurried to the gate.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As the lock fell open in her hand, the Strains danced around her with the hectic energy of a child pounding on a toy piano. Leilani hesitated. The shadowy candlelight from the hall only reached as far as the third step. Below that lay bottomless darkness. She wished she knew Zeb’s light tricks. She placed her hand on the wall and guided herself into the tunnel, closing her eyes to help them adjust.

  She opened her eyes at the bottom of the stairs, and it was as if they had remained shut.

  This won’t do.

  She glanced about. Behind her the light from the upper level beckoned. She fumbled about in her bag. Perhaps Zeb had included something useful in this hodgepodge. Her eye caught a glow, so faint she thought it imagined. Her fingers brushed over it and felt cool, solid glass. She drew out a small canister, the length of her longest finger. Inside bubbled a phosphorescent liquid. When her hand moved the tube, it grew brighter, allowing her a three step circle of light. Leilani started forward, shaking the light source every few feet to keep it shining.

  Leilani wondered how Zeb used the Strains for finding her way out of the garden maze. Was it a Highmost trick or something she could learn? Whatever it was, it hadn’t prevented Zeb from getting lost on multiple occasions.

  She came to the first fork. The path broke into three tunnels before her.

  “So Strains, which way did he go?”

  The Strains whistled.

  “Well, I can guess, or turn back or . . .” She knelt down and examined the floor, tracing it with the Strains for even the slightest markings in the dust. The first two branches hadn't been disturbed, but the Strains dipped into slight divots in the third, increasing the depth of the marks so they were easily visible for Leilani. She smiled.

  Sometimes beggar magic simply meant Common sense.

  She shuffled her feet as she walked, hoping to leave tracks she could follow back. The vague stories haunted her, tales of folk becoming lost and wandering until starvation and madness took them. She wasn’t supposed to be in this place. No one would look for her here. She had to be able to find her way out.

  Several turns and forks and appeals to the Strains later, the tunnel dead-ended in front of a hole in the floor. She stopped. The opening had a smooth brick casing, like a well, and a rusty metal ladder stuck out of it. Where could it go? Nothing lay beneath the tunnels.

  She hid her light canister in her cloak and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The man couldn’t be traveling blind, and she couldn’t be far behind him. Perhaps . . . She leaned over the edge. Yes, a weak illumination warmed the bottom of the ladder. Placing her light source in her pocket, she descended. The pitted metal of the ladder caught on her skin.

  The last several steps hung in mid-air, stopping two or three feet from the ground. She paused to listen. Below her lay a packed earth floor, bathed in faint light. She took a deep breath, prayed the man wouldn’t be waiting for her, and dropped the last few feet. She landed in a crouch.

  Finding herself facing a rounded brick wall, she turned as she stood and gazed into a forest of smooth, stone columns. Shadows lay like dark stripes upon the floor, and she stepped into one of these to shield herself. A clicking, hissing sound filled the air. Not the Strains, but something mechanical. She could make out the far wall, and estimated the room to be about the size of the library in the manor above. In the center lay an open space, and there stood the hooded man, light emanating from a lantern in his hand. Around him stood four man-high cylinders with multiple funnels sticking out of the sides. Dials whirred next to what appeared to be a shut off or pressure release valve.

  She moved closer. Were they steam boilers? Storage tanks? Three columns away, she paused. The Strains whispered thinly, not quite gone but dying . . . and suffering. They emitted a constant, wordless wail, like a grease-less wheel grinding down a rusty track, growing fainter in the distance.

  Her jaw clenched, and her fingers tightened into fists. It's sucking the life from them. They need to break free.

  The funnel extensions aimed upward, towards the manor above. Could they be drawing the Strains over such a distance? Causing the dead spots?

  She shoved back her urge to rush forward and dismantle the machines. Who knew what the stranger would do if he caught her?

  He removed a canister, about the size of a wine bottle, and attached it to a rubber hose coming off one of the larger cylinders. Leilani needed to bring someone here, to show them, to stop him. She backe
d away, but before she could hide behind the next column, he looked up.

  The man's body stiffened. His hood hid his eyes, but she knew he had seen her. He pulled the canister from the hose and flung it at her as she turned to run. The bottle impacted against the floor several columns away, and a cracking sound, like a giant swinging a whip, exploded around her. A wave of cacophonous sound knocked Leilani from her feet. Her vision swam, and her ears rang.

  The Strains screamed.

  A dozen agonized voices, each with a different tone, overwhelmed her then dissipated. Aching silence grabbed at her, and in spite of her pain and disorientation, she forced herself to her feet.

  She clambered up the ladder and pulled her body into the darkened tunnel. She fished her light source from her pocket.

  Follow the steps. Fast. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Don’t think.

  Her chest rose and fell painfully, and her legs shook, but she pushed onward, as fast as her legs could carry her. The tunnels seemed to stretch on even longer than they had on her way down. She gulped in breaths.

  The sound of dying Strains, so loud and visceral, ached in her ears. She wanted to hear their music again, to cleanse their keening from her mind. Tears blinded her.

  She had always known the Strains lived. Living things could suffer. Living things could die. Worse, though, they had been turned into weapons. If that blast had landed closer, Leilani had no doubt she would’ve been injured or killed. Those Strains had been forced to violate their very nature, and it had destroyed them.

  She dared not glance behind her. Up ahead torchlight flared, beckoning. She made the stairs and climbed them on all fours. Reaching the closed gate, she collapsed to her knees, her light hitting the floor. She pushed against the gate.

  It was locked. Her eyes adjusted. On the other side, holding lanterns, stood Captain Goodly and Mistress Straight. Behind them cowered Brash’s aide, Kasan Morgan.

  “Well,” Mistress Straight said coldly. “You’d better have a good reason for being in there.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leilani trembled as Goodly drew the key from his pocket and opened the gate. The shrieks of the dying Strains tainted the music of the living. They danced in her head like demons in a nightmare. Unable to bear the memory a moment longer, she burst into tears.

  “Crying won’t help you,” Straight snapped. “When Mr. Morgan told me he’d found the tunnel doors unlocked, I had hoped it was a simple oversight, but when Goodly discovered the lock had been picked . . .” Leilani raised her face and Straight stiffened. “You are an aide, not a burglar. Where did you learn to pick locks?”

  Leilani gasped for breath. She had to tell them about the man, the Strains, everything! She didn’t know where to start.

  “Leilani!” Zeb rushed to them. “When you didn’t come back, I got worried. Thank the Strains.” She glanced at Goodly and Straight. “What’s going on?”

  “Miss Brightly, your aide took an unauthorized tour of a restricted area. Did you know anything about it?”

  Zeb started to shake her head then stopped. Her mouth opened and closed, and for a moment Leilani thought she would blurt out everything. Then Zeb said, “I didn’t know she was in the tunnels.”

  Leilani’s pulse throbbed in her ears and throat. The Strains called to her, but she couldn’t get a grasp on them. They were discordant, jarring, distant. She wanted to draw them closer and listen to them, but the memory of their dying brethren kept her from reaching out.

  “Why were you in the tunnels?” Goodly stepped forward and pulled Leilani from her knees. Her legs shook, but he kept both hands on her shoulders. She leaned into him and managed not to fall.

  “There’s a man in the tunnels. I followed him.” She gulped air. “He’s killing the Strains.”

  Zeb went white, but the other faces ranged from confused to enraged. Goodly looked to Straight who scowled.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Killing the Strains? Impossible. You can hear them all about us. If you are going to lie, girl, do it intelligently. What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing . . . I . . . Zeb?”

  Her friend’s mouth clamped shut.

  “Maybe she killed Cogg and that’s why she’s slinking around,” Kasan piped up. All eyes turned towards the usually timid aide.

  Straight’s eyebrows shot up then pinched together. “She wasn’t Strain tested.”

  “You said she had an alibi, Mistress.” Goodly’s fingers tightened into Leilani's shoulder, not painfully but firmly enough that she pulled herself out of her slouch.

  “I haven’t had a chance to verify that. Show us, girl. Use the Strains.”

  Leilani’s head swam, and the world went gray around the edges. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Goodly squeezed harder.

  Use the Strains? Now?

  She tried to sing to them, but could only wheeze.

  Pull yourself together. You can do this.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the light vial floated up from the ground, and hovered before her eyes.

  Mistress Straight nodded. Leilani swallowed her shock, reached for, and grabbed the light, her breath still ragged.

  Straight sniffed. “Well, you may be a liar, but at least you aren’t a murderer. Miss Brightly, your choice of aides was poor, but Fellow Brash thinks highly of you and I of him. For his sake, I will take you at your word. If you had nothing to do with this, dismiss your aide and return to your room. A new aide will be assigned to you in the morning.”

  Zeb stumbled back as if struck. “But she didn't hurt anybody. You saw her use the Strains . . .”

  “The manors are held together by rules, Miss Brightly.” Straight's cold eyes flickered. “If your aide has no respect for such things, it makes me doubt your commitment to the manors. You remember that I oversee all junior fellowships? Do you wish your appointment to be revoked?”

  “No, Mistress Straight,” Zeb said, her voice cracking. “But . . . even Brash has felt the dead spots. He can vouch for her, for us! Please, let me see Brash. He can clear this all up.”

  “I will not involve Fellow Brash in this foolishness. You will be lucky if he still considers you worthy of studying beneath him after tonight.”

  Goodly touched Straight's shoulder. “Mistress, it will only take about an hour to investigate the tunnels. If there is some truth to what the girls say about the Strains–“

  “Of all the people here, Captain, you are the least qualified to discuss the Strains.” Straight turned her nose up at Goodly.

  The captain's face turned red, and Leilani longed to slap Straight on his behalf.

  Straight focused on Zeb once more. “As for you, you have a choice. You can send your aide out of this manor or you can go with her, carrying a permanent mark on your record.”

  Zeb quivered and shook and opened and shut her mouth like a fish gasping for water.

  “Well?” Straight tapped her foot.

  Leilani stared into Zeb’s watery eyes.

  Zeb dropped her gaze. “Leilani . . . you . . . you can’t be my aide any more.”

  An icicle plunged through Leilani’s heart.

  Straight waved her hand at the captain. “Captain Goodly, escort this girl to collect her belongings then see her out of the manor. Mr. Morgan, thank you for alerting us to the breach. I will make sure Fellow Brash knows of your initiative.”

  Straight and Kasan disappeared down the hall.

  “Come,” Goodly said. “Let’s go get your things.”

  Goodly hung back a few steps, perhaps so that Leilani could unashamedly cry as they walked. Zeb caught up to her.

  “I didn’t want to do that, but if she questioned my involvement, I could lose my fellowship. What were you thinking?” Zeb hissed.

  “Why didn’t you tell her about the dead spots?” Leilani snarled through gritted teeth.

  Zeb’s mouth dropped open. “Because I swore to let Brash take care of it. I promised. You should’ve waited.”

 
“Someone’s killing the Strains, and you’re doing nothing. If you had backed my story, they might have caught him, you coward.” She shoved Zeb. “How could you stay silent?”

  Zeb grabbed her arm. “I lied for you. I fooled the Strains test for you. You made me have to lie, Leilani.” She shook Leilani, her face reddening.

  Leilani had wondered if Zeb had been behind the floating vial. “I could’ve done it myself. I didn't need you.”

  “Yes, you do. I wanted this to be perfect. It has all fallen apart because you won't listen. Why won't you listen?” Zeb trembled like a drenched kitten. “You never believe me. You think I’m silly and weak, but I’m not. I know how manor politics works. I know how to trust. Brash said he would handle it. Why couldn’t you take our word? No, instead, you are off gallivanting with dumb as a Brick.”

  Leilani shoved Zeb as hard as she could. The taller girl wobbled and fell onto her rump. She stared up at Leilani. Leilani blinked back at her, too angry to speak.

  Zeb shrieked, and the Strains grabbed Leilani by the hair and tugged until the skin of her scalp raised off her skull. Leilani screamed and kicked out at Zeb.

  The Strains clashed like cymbals, setting her off balance, and she covered her ears.

  Zeb buried her face in her knees. “They don't like this. This is so wrong. Leilani, I know you can't understand them, but me, you have to. . .”

  “Shut up!” Leilani shrieked. “I understand them better than you. I'm not the one letting them die!”

  Goodly pushed his way between them. Zeb stood, rubbing her lower back, her eyes teary. Leilani’s eyes stung, but she forced a glare. She’d cried enough for one day.

  “Why are we even friends?” Leilani reached up and claimed the hair pins dangling from her uncoiled bun. “You are the most shallow, self-centered baby I have ever met.”