Beggar Magic

by Burke, H. L.

  Zeb’s shoulders slumped. “No, I’m not. You don’t mean that.”

  Leilani turned away. “I need to get my stuff.”

  Zeb did not follow Leilani and Goodly. Leilani made a point of not looking back until they reached the room.

  Leilani’s belongings easily fit into a small satchel. Goodly waited outside while she changed out of her uniform coat into the one Common outfit she’d brought with her, a plain gray frock and knee high boots.The majority of her messenger bag’s contents had been gifts from Zeb. She considered returning them, but she’d been through enough. Zeb owed her a few markstone sticks and light tubes.

  Leilani stuffed her clothes in on top of the miscellany. She exhaled long breaths through pursed lips, wishing the air could come out of her superheated ears as well. Losing her fellowship concerned Zeb more than the truth, than the Strains, than Leilani!

  In spite of her determination not to cry, she sniffled. She had nothing: no plans, no future. It had been foolish to tie her fate to a Highmost, to Zeb. Leilani might as well have anchored herself to a butterfly.

  Goodly knocked at the door. She shoved her hairbrush and box of pins into her pack and went out to meet him.

  They walked in silence to the gates. He looked up and down the darkened street. The circles of lamplight lay in both directions like a string of golden pearls. Mist drifted by the lamps, and the cold caused Leilani’s nose to run once more.

  “Do you have a place to stay in the Manor District?” he asked.

  Leilani shook her head. “My family is in the Trade District.”

  His frown deepened. “That is a long walk.” He reached up and unfastened his waist-length cloak. “Go to the Leisure District. Don't stop upon the way. Look for guards and keep to the lights. Gelia City is a different place at night. Other than my brethren, no good folk are about. The Cathedral will give you a cot. They are usually reserved for the homeless, but you will not be turned away.” He draped his cape over her shoulders. “I must return to my post now. Take care, Miss Leilani.”

  She watched him disappear into the manor then stepped forward into the cold, empty night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Leilani walked. She disappeared between the lights then grew into a giant when she stepped into their circles and her shadow lengthened.

  Presumably guards patrolled the districts, but she reached the first bridge having seen no one. Hearing a cough from a darkened alley, she quickened her pace.

  Her boots clicked over the stone surface of the bridge. She reached the other side and paused for breath. The smell of grass, more intense for the darkness and the chill, filled her nose. She tightened Goodly’s cloak about her. Finally, she'd reached the Leisure District. Sanctuary lay nearby.

  The Strains purred to her, finally recovered from the trauma in the tunnels. She drew on them for courage. Maybe she could still save them. Someone somewhere would listen. They had to. Vickers, perhaps, or even other Common. She would find someone who would listen, but not now. Now she just needed to get somewhere safe.

  The sound of footfalls rapping on the bridge behind her caused her to cringe. She glanced back. Three long shadows stretched like fingers towards her. Not guards, guards traveled in pairs.

  No good folk are about.

  The trees and hedges of the Leisure District lacked the illumination of the Manor District. Her feet crunched loudly on the gravel path, so she stepped off onto the grass.

  “Hey! You!”

  She ducked her head and pressed onward, as if she hadn’t heard.

  “You crossed our bridge. You must pay our toll.” The young voice had a rowdy tone. She ran, breaking through the hedge lining the path. Her cloak snagged on a twig, and she let it fall.

  “Get back here!” a second youth yelled.

  Branches cracked and snapped behind her, and someone grabbed her by the shoulder. He pulled her back. His fingers glowed with the Strains. She squinted as the light fell across her face. A teen, with a beard like bread mold on his pale face, grinned.

  “It’s a girl!” He chortled. His friends gathered around, a dark-eyed youth in a cap and a pock-marked, curly haired boy, scarcely Leilani’s age by his face. The pocked boy grabbed her chin. She wrenched away.

  “Let me go!” she squeaked. The Strains trilled shrilly. The capped youth snatched her bag. He dumped her possessions to the ground, pawing over them with blazing fingers. At least two of these boys were Highmost then. “Ah, clothes and books. Nothing valuable.”

  “That’s all right.” Mold-beard leaned towards her face. “Perhaps she can find other ways to pay.”

  Leilani stiffened, her mind racing. The Strains would not kill, even for her, but her fight with Zeb had shown other ways to use them defensively. “Get him off me,” she said.

  The Strains grabbed Moldy by the ears and yanked him back. Leilani threw her foot into his groin and broke away. Pocked tackled her, driving his knee into her back. The Strains clashed like breaking glass.

  If they kill you, they’ll lose the Strains. They won’t kill you, Leilani told herself, even as she realized that death was not what she feared from these particular attackers. No, what she feared was far worse.

  “Ah, now you really owe me.” Moldy stepped over her. Flames crackled at his fingertips.

  A bang echoed through the garden. Moldy cried out and clutched his arm. The smell of blood and smoke burned Leilani’s nostrils. Moldy’s light went out, and Pocked leaped up. Still winded, Leilani scrambled to her feet as a figure stepped out of the darkness, smoking pistol leveled at Moldy. Capped’s hands flared to reveal a scowling Brick. Leilani’s heart leaped.

  Capped pointed at him. “Jump him before he can reload!”

  He rushed Brick, but the guard side-stepped and brought the handle of his gun down with a crack on Capped’s head. The boy fell with a groan. Brick stuck his pistol back in his belt and drew his saber. Moldy growled and raised his hand. A wave of Strains sang forth, forcing Leilani to the ground. It bounced back from Brick, repelled by his Strain-proof cuffs. Capped struggled to his feet, only to have Brick kick him into the shrubbery. He lay still.

  Pocked and Moldy took off running. Brick sheathed his blade. Leilani picked herself up and embraced him. He patted her back, his face pressed into her hair. With the Highmost thugs gone, darkness surrounded them, but his warmth calmed Leilani's pounding heart.

  Brick drew a light tube, identical to the one Leilani had used in the tunnels, out of his pocket and shook it to life. He helped her gather up her belongings, including Goodly’s cloak, and motioned with his chin and thumb back towards the bridge.

  “I’m going to the Cathedral,” she explained.

  He repeated the movements. She shrugged and nodded. He slipped an arm about her waist, pulling her close to him as they walked. They crossed the bridge back into the Manor District.

  Weariness trickled like water through her muscles, pooling in her feet. It became difficult to raise them. Brick took a side path, around Civics Manor. A line of narrow, three story buildings, servants' quarters maybe, stood before her. A group of Common folk sat around a fire-pit in the yard. One, an older man, looked up when they approached. He crowed with laughter and slapped his thigh.

  “Look, Brick’s brought a lady friend home. Good going, boy. I told you the uniform would work.”

  Brick waved and drew Leilani to a red painted door on the first story. He knocked. A woman with gray streaked dark curls and Brick’s eyes opened the door. She raised her eyebrows.

  “Brick, aren’t you supposed to be on duty tonight?” The woman signed as she talked, but Leilani was too weary to catch the movements. The woman pulled them into her one-room home.

  A rocking chair sat in front of a pot bellied stove. On top of a wooden table in the center of the room, an oil lamp cast a golden glow over a basket of yarn and a half knitted sweater. There was a basin in a corner with a long-handled pump below a shelf stacked with earthenware dishes. A bouquet of dried flowers hung from
the ceiling.

  A curtain hid the back end of the apartment, probably concealing her sleeping quarters. There were few possessions, even by Common standards, but the sparseness immediately drew Leilani’s eye to a shelf filled with wooden figurines. An elegant swan made of pale wood stood beside a tumbling bear-cub. A pair of horses pranced behind a row of ducklings, and a young girl sat gazing up at a chicken perched upon her head. All looked as if they could spring to life at any moment.

  Brick released her so he could work his fingers. Drawn to the statuettes, she listened absently to the spoken half of the conversation, as the woman continued to speak and sign simultaneously.

  “Oh, that’s her . . . Is she all right? . . . they tried to do what? Are you all right? . . . You shot . . . no, nevermind, I don’t want to know . . . she can stay here tonight. Go ask Mrs. Fiest to lend us her spare cot.”

  The door opened and closed.

  She focused on one of the carvings. A wooden girl, captured mid-stride, her arms swinging at her sides. Something stirred in her head. It was like looking in a tiny wooden mirror.

  “He brought that home yesterday. Apparently you’ve been on his mind a good deal of late.”

  Leilani jumped at the woman’s voice in her ear then blushed.

  “My name is Flory Webber. I’m Brick’s mother.” Flory took the statue down and handed it to Leilani.

  Leilani stroked the polished wood. She could see the individual strands of her hair and each tiny finger. “He made me look so pretty. Are all of these his?”

  “Yes, he’s always been gifted. He almost joined Art Manor. They take a certain amount of Common artisans every year, but for a deaf man to be accepted is unheard of. I was so proud.”

  Leilani glanced at her. “Why didn’t he go?”

  Florly lowered her eyes. “His father died unexpectedly. The manor position offered room and board, but nothing extra, and the guard’s salary included a home for immediate family. He wanted to make sure I was cared for. I take in laundry or mending from time to time, but it isn’t much. At seventeen, he should be starting his own family, not stuck looking after me.”

  Leilani cleared her throat. “I doubt he thinks of himself as stuck. He seems happy.”

  Flory smiled. “Oh, he is irrepressible. I couldn’t ask for a better son.”

  The door behind them opened with a whoosh of frigid air. Brick shoved in a long, folding cot. Flory pointed to the floor at her feet. He set it down.

  “I’ll get some blankets. You both must be exhausted.”

  Flory spread several threadbare quilts over the cot and offered Leilani some brown bread. As she ate, the girl heard the faint tolling of the Weather Manor clock tower.

  “Goodness, midnight already. Brick, you can’t walk back so late.” Leilani watched Flory walk her fingers up her arm, shaking her head. She tilted her head to the side, closed her eyes, then opened them and pointed to the curtain area. “You’ll sleep here.”

  Brick and his mother disappeared behind the divider.

  Leilani slipped off her boots and flexed her toes. Though she had a nightgown, it seemed inappropriate to undress with only a thin wall of cloth between her and Brick.

  Able to think for the first time that night, she wondered if Goodly had sent him. The captain must have at least told Brick of what had happened, though perhaps rumor had made its way through other conduits. Kasan struck her as a gossip, the meddling little sneak. Had Brash been behind Kasan’s snitching? The fellow hadn’t been there, but Kasan didn’t breathe without Brash’s approval.

  Leilani didn’t trust Brash. She didn’t like his manner with Zeb. Now that Leilani couldn’t protect her, who knew what he might try? Zeb needed her.

  But Zeb wasn’t her friend any more, so that didn’t really matter.

  Leilani tucked herself in, staring at the low light of the oil lamp.

  What will Mother and Father say when I come home? I failed. They probably won't say anything, pretend it never happened . . . oh, but what will they think?

  Her spine arched off the taut canvas of the cot. She turned to her side and her hipbone rubbed. She groaned. She put one quilt beneath and one above herself. Marginally better.

  The Strains droned, their music twisting in time with the flickering flame. She coaxed faces into the smoke, trying to use the Strains like before. Still, the memory of their screams haunted her, jarring her out of concentration. She shuddered.

  Sliding off the cot, she huddled in her blanket. No Zeb. No future. No plan. What now? What next? She combed through her hair with her fingers. Her scalp ached where Zeb had pulled her hair. Stupid Zeb. Stupid Highmost.

  The floorboards creaked. Brick strode around the curtain, his leather uniform removed to reveal a gray linen shirt, untucked and loose about his hips and gray leggings. He tilted his head, hand against his cheek, then shook his head ‘no.’

  She smiled. “Can’t sleep?”

  He nodded.

  “Me either. I learned this.” She walked her fingers up her arm. “Go or walk, right?”

  He laughed and gave her a thumbs up.

  “Was your father deaf?”

  He held up a finger, drew a line across his upper lip then rocked his arms as if holding a baby.

  “Father?” She carefully made the same motion.

  With his finger, he drew a line from his ear to his mouth.

  “Deaf?”

  He grinned.

  She grimaced and rubbed her forehead. “Well, that’s two more. If I keep up at this rate, by the time I’m thirty, we’ll be able to hold a decent conversation.”

  His mouth twisted, and he tilted his head. She realized she’d turned her face away, and he hadn’t gotten any of what she said. Probably for the best.

  She angled herself back towards him. “So he was deaf. But not your mother, obviously? I wonder how . . .” She bit her bottom lip and pulled the quilt closer to her neck.

  Brick sat beside her and touched the back of her hand.

  “It would be hard,” she whispered. His brow furrowed. She pointed to him then touched her chest. “Hard. Difficult.”

  He shook his head, stroked her cheek, and guided her hand to rest over his heart. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his pulse. Though she could not hear it with her ears, each beat throbbed through her palm, up her arm. Her breathing synced with his. A contented sigh escaped her lips.

  The Strains mixed with the crackling of the fire, a haunting, soothing melody of panpipes and summer breeze, perhaps the loveliest she'd ever heard them.

  She opened her eyes and found him gazing back at her. He smiled a warm, slight smile, not his usual boisterous grin, but one that seemed to regret the words he couldn’t say. His fingers squeezed her wrist, gentle but strong. His gray eyes gleamed.

  I know you. You aren’t just a man. You’re a man who would give up a dream for a loved one. Who thinks I can do things even I doubt and who guides me with his hands while I learn. Your eyes light up when they see me. You risked your life to protect me. You’ve lived your whole life in silence, but I’ve never seen you afraid. You’re brave and wonderful, and I do know you.

  You’re Brick, and I love you. Oh, how do I say any of that?

  She swallowed, her mouth twisting. How could she mime love? What motions could possibly convey what she felt? Perhaps he could read her lips. Her lips . . . Realizing what she wanted to do, she leaned closer to him and touched his mouth with her fingertips. He gazed at her, his pupils widening. She closed her eyes, lifted her face to his, and waited.

  Her breath lingered in her lungs, her lips tight together lest it escape. A few seconds passed. Had he not understood? Did he not want to? She let her air go and opened her eyes. He smiled and moved forward, pressing his mouth into hers. His eyes captured her. His arms encircled and drew her closer. Her whole world faded into warmth.

  She slid onto his lap, one hand against his chest, one arm around his neck. They parted. She exhaled. While her mouth was still agape, he came
for her again. Her fingers grabbed his unruly curls and tightened.

  After a long moment he withdrew. His eyes twinkled. She blushed. He brought his right hand to his chest and drew a slow circle with his thumb then touched her face. Somehow she knew immediately what this meant.

  “I love you too,” she said.

  His smile widened. He nodded. They sat, hand and hand. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he eased himself down beside her. Sheltered together in the quilt like two chicks in a nest, they slept.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Some time in the early morning, Leilani felt Brick lift her back onto the cot and tuck the quilt about her body. She reached out to pull him back but missed. Her eyes stayed shut, and she sank into dreams.

  Leilani woke to the gray light pouring through the room’s only window onto her face. She heard the scraping of a wooden spoon against a pot, a sound so familiar that for a moment she imagined she was home. Her arm flopped over the edge of her cot, and it all came flooding back to her.

  The screaming Strains, the fight with Zeb, Brick . . .

  She glanced around the room. Flory stood by the stove. The curtain had been pushed back, revealing an ancient bronze day bed with a pull out mattress stowed beneath it.

  Flory turned. “Good morning. Brick went to find the milk cart. I like milk with my tea.” A kettle sang out as if in response.

  “So do I.” Leilani stood. The floors chilled her toes, so she sat back down and replaced her boots.

  Someone rapped at the door.

  “Would you get that, Miss Leilani?” Flory poured the kettle’s contents through a metal strainer sitting over a chipped china teapot. “Brick probably forgot his key again.”

  Leilani’s face warmed at the mention of his name. She wondered how much Flory knew.

  Leilani forced herself to walk to the door, rather than rush it like a child eager to unwrap a present. She opened it, and her hands dropped to her sides.

  Zeb stared back, her eyes puffy above purple half circles. She smiled, then frowned, then smiled again.