by J. S. Morin
When she opened the door, she found the young warlock waiting patiently, his hands clasped behind his back.
“What’ve you got back there?” Madlin asked.
Dan looked puzzled for a moment, then held his hands out in front of him, palms up. “Nothing. By the winds, you’re paranoid.”
“My father always said that was a lazy man’s word for cautious.”
“There’s caution, then there’s worrying about what your bodyguard has behind his back,” Dan said.
“Oh, so you’re my bodyguard now?” Madlin asked. “When did I hire you?”
“About the time we wandered into Kheshi territory armed, and you had promised me a sizable fortune in gold that you hadn’t delivered yet.”
“Does that mean I can leave my pistol behind? You’ll be there to defend my life and honor?”
“Do what you want with your honor, but I’m seeing you alive to Tinker’s Island if I have to burn Bouo to the ground to do it.”
Madlin checked that the pistol was loose in its holster. “Guess I’ll keep it on me then. Where are we headed?”
“Someplace that will play Crackle with trade bars,” Dan replied. “We’ll look around until we find one.”
“Might take a while. You willing to go dry that long?”
“This is the sort of festival where you can carry a tankard in the streets with no one blinking, but any respectable place won’t serve me one in the first place. I get thirsty, I’ll just send you in someplace to grab me a pint.”
Madlin looked down the hall in both directions. “You seen Jamile? I was guessing at which of you would come for me first.”
“She left with Tanner as soon as they dumped their bags.”
“Oh,” Madlin said. She hadn’t even been considered as a sightseeing companion, it seemed. Well, we already saw Bouo together once, she rationalized. It still stung to be brushed aside so easily after they had spent so much time together these past months. Perhaps too much time. Maybe she needed space.
Dan waved a hand in front of her face. “You in there? Come on, I said let’s go.”
“Of course. Lead on.”
Jamile laughed and twirled around as a troupe of dancers passed through the crowd, leaping and careening around the pedestrians. A green feathered bonnet graced her head, purchased as soon as she and Tanner had joined the throng in the streets. Her gait bounced in time with the beat of the music.
Tanner looked over and gave her a world-weary smile. “You getting your money’s worth out of that bonnet?”
Jamile hadn’t stopped smiling since they joined the revelers, and she turned it in Tanner’s direction. “I’ve never seen so many happy people in one place before.”
“Mad Tinker’s place must be a ship’s hold full of laughs,” Tanner said. He dodged out of the way of a drunken old man in a green shirt with feathers on the shoulders.
“It’s not a bad place, but no one would ever call it merry,” Jamile replied. “I think it’s that there’s no children, or at least no more than a handful.” To emphasize her point, Jamile found a girl of eight or nine years in the crowd, took her by the hands, and whirled about with her for two measures before releasing her back to her mother’s company.
“I guess.” Tanner passed a coin to a street vendor’s hand, and took a spit of chicken and red peppers in return. “I used to go in for this sort of thing when I was your age. I used to think it was easier talking to girls when I was drunk. Realized since then it is just as easy when they are.”
“Listen to you, the bitter old bachelor. You’d think you were fifty,” Jamile teased him. She slipped her arm around his and tried to pull him into a dance. Tanner held his spit of chicken aloft and away from her as he pulled free of Jamile’s grasp.
“Knock off—”
“Not ‘piss off?’” Jamile asked. “I hear that enough from you and Dan both.”
“Give a fella a bit of credit for trying, would ya? You’re still a girl. I’m not a complete clod. And yeah, that bit of color works well enough in both worlds, allowing for translation.”
“I’m a grown woman you know, and I’ve heard coarser language than you might imagine.”
Tanner gave her a skeptical eye up and down. “You’re shaped like a proper woman, but I can’t take you seriously as one in that hat. That thing’s ridiculous.”
“You always so serious?”
“It ain’t serious, it’s paranoid. Fun’s fun; I get it. But this place has cutpurses and worse, and I’ve had an enemy or three in my day.”
“Bouo is civilized. How much worse can we expect?”
“Imagine me or Dan, if we weren’t all friendly like.”
The smile faded from Jamile’s face. “Tanner, I never meant to pry, but are you in trouble here?”
The smile migrated onto Tanner’s face. “Naw, nothing like that. Just that me and some former associates used to operate a lucrative business in these parts, and it was the sort of operation that stepped on a few toes—I was gonna say once in a while, but it was pretty well close to daily, when we were thick in it.”
“You and Dan used to live here?”
“Not him. It was before his time. We had a Tezuan-trained sorceress, a former Acardian sergeant at arms, and a Takalish warrior scholar—all twinborn.”
Jamile raised an eyebrow. “Quite the coterie you had there.”
“Yeah, it was—if that means what I think it means.”
“A little group.”
“Yup, that it was,” Tanner said.
“So what happened? You met Dan and moved on to serve the great warlock?” Jamile teased.
“We had a crazy job planned, split up all over two worlds, keeping in touch through some half-cracked plan of switching messages back and forth between worlds.”
“Madlin does that,” Jamile noted.
“Well, that girl’s barely more than half-cracked herself. Anyway, we got all split up, a couple links in the chain got killed, and I never heard from any of them again.”
Jamile hooked her arm around Tanners and leaned against his shoulder as they walked. “That’s so sad. Have you tried looking for them?”
Tanner shook his head. “No. Not hard, at least. One I saw die right in front of me, terrible mistake made by a good friend of mine, but when you’re out in the dead of night with blades out, things like that can happen. Another I always suspected would go his own way. We weren’t exactly friends, but we understood each other enough that I didn’t expect a goodbye out of him. As for the sorceress ...”
Jamile waited as Tanner took a bite from his skewer. “What about her?”
“She either got what she wanted and never looked back, or died trying,” Tanner said with his mouth full.
“Were you two lovers?” Jamile asked. She could see the pain clearly etched on Tanner’s face: the tightness around the mouth, the slight furrowing of his brow.
“Naw. Don’t mistake me, I’d have taken her in a snap.” Tanner snapped his fingers. “She wasn’t too much older than Dan when I first met her, but by the time she grew up, she knew me for who I am. Even if she weren’t too young by a bucket of years, once a girl knows you, it’s too late.”
“That’s not very romantic. So you’re saying all romance dies when you get to know someone?”
“It’s fine after she already loves you. You got her then; she’s inclined to forgive a few things. Work as a coinblade beside someone for a few years, you’re a killer, first and last in their head.”
“If the killing is in a good cause, I could see her thinking the better of you for it, even if not every girl would.”
Tanner halted dead in his tracks, and Jamile jerked to a stop right along with him, since she was latched onto his arm. He looked down at her and waited until he had her eyes fixed on his before he spoke. “If it had been, yeah, she probably would have.” Tanner resumed walking and Jamile stumbled a step before she fell into stride with him. “Worked for the fella she ran off after.”
They
walked in silence for a long while after that. Jamile turned her attention to the revelry around them, rather than the man on her arm.
Madlin sipped a syrupy fruit drink so sweet it made her teeth ache. Across the table from her, hazy in the gloom of pipe smoke in the windowless gambling house, Dan took a long pull from an ale tankard. It had taken less effort than Madlin had expected to find a haven free of the boisterous festival cheer. Half a dozen tables were packed together with just enough room for the servers to navigate the jumble of chairs and bodies. Madlin had put her back to a wall, but Dan had foregone any such precaution.
The proprietor had balked twice before letting them in, firstly because they were both so young—Dan’s plan for tagging along with Madlin hadn’t accounted for her age being questioned—and secondly because children aren’t known for carrying much money. Once Madlin smoothed out the latter objection, the former dissolved readily.
“I fold,” Madlin muttered. It didn’t matter whether any of the other players heard her, once she threw her cards away. The table held ten players, and pure chance would hold that she’d only hold the best cards one hand in ten. She hadn’t counted, but it seemed like far longer than that. As play passed to her left, two more players folded, another called the bet, a fold, a fold, then it came to Dan.
“I raise,” Dan said. He had a sloppy, drunken grin plastered over his face, and he kept his tankard in hand instead of his cards. With his free hand, he shoved five trade bars into the middle of the table.
There was a grumbling around the table. Madlin could only guess at the sort of scum they were gambling with, who kept to darkened card halls but had coin enough to pile it high like fortress walls in front of them.
At least one, she had gathered, was a local syndicate lieutenant, and another was one of his underlings. The gentleman in the Acardian suit coat was a diplomat who probably shouldn’t have been seen in such company. The Takalishman to Dan’s left hadn’t said a word not directly related to the game, and the steel in his eyes kept her gaze from lingering on him. Another pair stank of brine and salt, and had taken seats flanking her. By their weathered skin she guessed they were sailors. By their belt knives and flintlock pistols, she suspected they weren’t the friendly sort. A hulking, fair-skinned southern Kheshi had managed to say even less than the Takalishman, despite chattering non-stop. He spoke of weather and women, and bold deeds he was clearly exaggerating beyond credulity. Despite a good run of cards, his pile grew slowly as he drank his winnings as fast as they arrived. The last member at the table, the only one still in the hand with Dan, was a local with hair so thick with grease it seeped into his words. A mongrel if ever northern Khesh could claim one, he appeared to be a mix of Feru and Takalish, but had pale blue eyes. His name was Zinn.
“Who let this little rotter in with us?” Zinn complained, studying his cards. “Kids ain’t got no business playin’ cards.”
“You’re just sore you’re gonna lose your shirt money,” Dan replied, grinning like an idiot.
Zinn’s brow knit and he glanced up from his hand.
“That not it?” Dan asked. “I was assuming you were playing to be able to afford something better than that used handkerchief with sleeves you’re wearing.”
“Swallow a knife, you little runt.”
“Didn’t bring one,” Dan replied, nonplussed by the threat. “I’m completely unarmed.” Still holding his tankard, Dan threw his other arm over the back of his chair.
Madlin felt a chill in the pit of her stomach as she heard the goad dig in, plain as if Dan had poked Zinn in the chest.
“What, you think your sister with her fancy pistol’s gonna hide you under her skirts?” Zinn said, his voice rising a hair.
“I’m not—” Madlin stopped herself as she drew attention from all around the table. She wasn’t eager to test out Dan’s protection while he was inebriated. She let the multiple inaccuracies in Zinn’s retort pass uncorrected.
“Why don’t you quit yapping like a fishmonger and call my bet,” Dan said.
“You’re trying to run me off this one, ain’t ya? You ain’t got half the hand you’d like me to think, huh?” Zinn asked.
Madlin put a hand to the grip of her revolver and made sure it was loose and that it wouldn’t hit the underside of the table if she tried to draw it in haste.
“Price to find out’s right there on the table.” Dan craned his neck to better see across the table. “Oh, looks like that would clean you right out. You could probably sell that paring knife at your belt for enough to eat tonight. I’d feel bad starving you on a festival day.”
“No one can be this much of a prat with a winning hand. I call.” Zinn slapped his hand on the table, showing a flush to the queen.
“Oh, now I see how you had such a tough decision. You had your head up your arse,” Dan replied. He tossed his own cards down to reveal two aces, matching the two from among the common cards.
“You little—” Zinn began.
“Hey now!” The huge southern Kheshi stood and reached for the discarded cards. He flipped them by the handful, over the vocal protests from the other players. The dismay over the breach of Crackle protocol faded into a different sort of fury when the cards were shown. “I threw down the ace of swords. Where did you get a second one?”
All eyes turned to Dan, who just sighed. “Your eyes are going, friend. Might not fit your proud warrior image, but you should look into a pair of spectacles. That’s no ace.”
Madlin had looked away along with everyone else, and when she looked back, the card trapped under the Kheshi’s meaty finger was the two of swords, not the ace.
“How did you—”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dan replied. “You just spat in my eye by calling me a cheater to cover your bad memory and fading eyes, old man.” He reached out and pulled the pot into his stack of coins and trade bars.
The Kheshi looked around the table. “You saw it, all of you! This little imp is a sorcerer.”
“Am not,” Dan replied indignantly. He tried to maintain a look of offended pique, but a grin fought its way back to the fore.
The Kheshi shouted something in a language Madlin didn’t recognize and leaped across the table. Coin, cards, and scoundrels all scattered in the Kheshi’s wake. A simmering hatred brewed among gamblers of a certain ilk. The suspicion that everyone was out to cheat them bubbled just below the surface, and came to a boil the instant proof was offered. The whole room erupted in chaos as offended gamblers took out their frustrations on the accused cheat—whoever they guessed it was, once the room had devolved into a general melee. Other, more opportunistic sorts scrambled for the scattered coins and sought the nearest exit.
Madlin drew her revolver and pressed herself as flat against the wall as she could, abandoning her chair as an untenable position. A young woman might have made a tempting target of opportunity, but most Kheshis were peculiar about honor when it came to women. She might be carried off as a prize at the end, but unless she waded in among the brawl, she didn’t expect anyone to come after her. The gun helped on that account.
When Dan was buried under a muscled brute three times his heft, Madlin worried for his safety. Her glances around the room strayed often to the door, looking for an opening to bolt. When no one seemed likely to clear a path for her, she waited and watched the combat. Men fell upon one another with tankards, fists, and the occasional knife. She didn’t see anyone with a firearm drawn besides herself. Two of the serving girls were pressed against the far wall of the card room, using their drink platters as shields.
As she watched the action, she saw the serving girls edging around the periphery of the room. Someone had taken them in tow and was sneaking them clear. Dan! Madlin hadn’t been able to keep track of him, and had assumed he was still on the ground somewhere in the worst of the rumble. He had the hood of his cloak up, but by his build and manner, she knew it had to be him.
As Dan reached the door and ushered the two relieved serving girls thr
ough—Madlin’s ire rose as he swatted one on the backside to urge her into the front room—he looked over to her. “Time to go!”
Madlin gestured to the clutter of tables, chairs, and angry, drunken gamblers littering her path. She was startled as they slid out of her way, and in her fright almost believed that she had somehow done it. But Dan beckoned to her with the path cleared, and she rushed though the parted furniture and out the door.
“Thanks,” Madlin said, short on breath after finding she’d been holding it as she cowered against the wall. “What possessed your pox-rotted mind to start a fight?”
Dan opened his mouth, then closed it and raised a finger. “Just a moment. Almost forgot something: Don’t start something and leave it unfinished.” Dan pulled the door to the card room closed, but just before it latched, a tiny spark flew from his finger.
Click. The door shut. From within the room Madlin heard a sound that few from Tellurak would know: the ignition of a gas burner, or at least something that sounded like one. There were screams from within.
Madlin was aghast. “What did you just do?”
“Two reasons for everything,” Dan said, mimicking the cadence of a professor’s lecture. “First, I won.” Dan hefted a sack slung over his shoulder beneath his cloak. “Second, I showed you how dangerous magic can be. You sure you want to learn magic that will make you scream like that if you misstep?”
Madlin gave a tight nod. She wasn’t sure, but neither was she about to spoil her hopes of saving her foot.
“Let’s get out of here. Takes a lot to rile the constables in this lawless town, but this should do it.”
Dan took Madlin by the hand and led her out into the streets.
Chipmunk awoke in a darkened cabin, alone. She was aboard the Jennai, still parked on the valley floor, undergoing repairs. The quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, isolating her from the world outside. She could hear her breath quickening as she prepared to put Dan’s advice into practice.