by Jean Lorrah
Somewhere nearby, her father was held captive, but she could not find him. Every time she tried to Read in the direction she was certain he had been taken, her head would fill with pain, and-
— she couldn’t Read!
Julia sat up in bed, sweating and shaking.
She had been carefully taught not to Read in her sleep, and that stricture held her powers inactive just long enough for icy panic to seize her gut as she realized she was awake and not Reading.
Then the cobwebs cleared, her powers returned, and in relief she Read outward from her room to the early-morning streets of Zendi, where a steady rain was falling.
It was cooler than yesterday morning, autumn asserting itself. Julia pulled a long-sleeved dress from her chest. She had grown since the last time she had worn it; it fell well above her ankles when she wrapped a belt around her waist and bloused the top. But then, she had also grown a bosom since it had last been cool in Zendi-well, at least the beginning of a female figure-so it was not unflattering to let the dress hang unbloused, the belt knotted loosely.
Quickly, she braided her hair and wound it neatly at the back of her head, observing without her usual pleasure that the damp air curled the wisps about her face, so that she looked good even when Dilys and Blanche appeared bedraggled.
Julia’s mind was not on vanity this morning, with the single exception of annoyance that the hem of her white dress would get dirty in the wet streets. Once she achieved the rank of Magister, her dress would be edged in black, no longer subject to every hint of grime.
Or if she had Adept power, she could keep her dress spotless, the way Aradia did-but today she could not even maintain that train of thought. She was still feeling sick at the notion of the powers she did have being taken away.
It was earlier than she usually got up, but in Lenardo and Aradia’s household there was always someone in the kitchen, always food ready. Today hot porridge was cooking, and baskets of fruit and wheels of cheese lined the center of the long table.
The household staff had already eaten breakfast. Julia sat down, and Cook served her a bowl of porridge worthy of an Adept. “You didn’t eat much supper last night, lass. That’ll warm you up,” she said, pouring milk over the cereal. “You want some fruit cut up on it?”
“No, thank you, Cook,” Julia replied. “I don’t think I can eat all of this. Could I please have some tea?”
“Of course, lass,” said the motherly woman who had run Lenardos kitchen since he had first come to Zendi. When she set the steaming mug in front of Julia, she paused to feel the girl’s forehead, asking, “Still not feeling up to the mark this morning, young mistress?”
Julia couldn’t help but smile at Cook’s assuming she could discover the state of Julia’s health by touching her brow, when the girl’s environment swarmed with Readers capable of studying her down to her individual cells.
But she understood that the woman was truly concerned, so she reassured her, “I am not ill, Cook. There are just… things on my mind.”
She sipped her tea, knowing Cook was bound to ask what those things were-anything that prevented her charges from appreciating her cooking was something she felt impelled to investigate.
Julia was saved from trying to explain by the appearance of Aradia. “My Lady!” Cook exclaimed. “Why are you up so early? You need rest, for the health of the babe you carry.”
Aradia shook her head. “The baby is fine, and so am I. There are simply things I must do today. Julia, I will need your help.”
Aradia did not ask why Julia was up before her; she obviously knew what was preying on both their minds. “I’ll warrant Master Clement didn’t sleep much either,” Julia commented, drawing a wan smile from Aradia.
Aradia looked pregnant this morning. It was not just that her figure had reached the stage at which even loose, flowing robes could not conceal her condition. Today she was paler than usual, and lack of sleep had put circles under her eyes and given a puffy look to her face.
“Julia,” Aradia began, “I can see that you are also disturbed by what we learned yesterday-what Portia did to Pyrrhus. ‘
“Yes,” Julia replied. “It gave me nightmares,” she admitted.
“I don’t wonder,” Aradia agreed. “I had some, too. But it does Pyrrhus no good for us to suffer bad dreams. And I am certain he would not welcome our pity.”
“That’s why he never told Wicket,” Julia realized.
“Or anyone else, until he decided to use his condition as a weapon to hurt Master Clement.”
Julia nodded. “That was mean. But I can see why Pyrrhus blames Master Clement, too-if he can’t Read, how can he know that Master Clement really didn’t know what Portia was doing?”
Aradia nodded. “We have established that we cannot restore Pyrrhus’ Reading,” she said. “It does no one any good to feel guilty-especially you and I, who had no hand in what happened to him.”
“Guilty?” Julia asked. Then she realized, “Yes. We feel guilty for being able to Read when Pyrrhus can’t-and that doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No. It just allows us to sit here and do nothing.”
“But what can we do?” Julia asked.
“I need your help to find out. Pyrrhus must have skills-he has survived for the past five years. Wicket said Pyrrhus saved his life, and that they had some plan in mind-something they are doing together. I would like you to find Wicket this morning. I think he will talk to you more readily than to me. Find out their plan-perhaps we can help them achieve it. Find out their skills. Perhaps we can offer them work.”
Julia considered telling Aradia what she had Read from Wicket at the award ceremony. His plan with Pyrrhus might have included picking pockets in the crowded marketplace. But since she had no proof of dishonest intentions, she decided not to reveal her own breach of a Reader’s courtesy, if not the Code itself.
“Pyrrhus should not awaken until late this afternoon,” Aradia continued. “I have the feeling that his first inclination will be to put on his clothes and his sword and leave Zendi as fast as he possibily can.”
Wicket obviously suspected the same, for Julia found him at the hospital, still at Pyrrhus’ bedside. The ex-Reader was the only patient left in the four-bed ward.
“Did you stay here all night?” Julia asked Wicket.
“Didn’t have anyplace else to go, did I?”
It was obvious he had slept even less than she and Aradia, for his eyes were red and ringed with deep circles. He also needed a shave.
“If Pyrrhus wakes and finds you looking like that,” said Julia, “he will leave without you.”
Wicket’s eyes widened. “You’re not supposed to-”
“I didn’t Read you,” she assured him. “It’s obvious Pyrrhus doesn’t want pity, but the minute he sees you he’ll know you cried for him all night.”
“Couldn’t help it,” said Wicket. “I mean, I knew he’d been hurt-you don’t get a spiky shell like his unless life’s been pretty bad to you. But I never guessed-” He blinked back new tears, then looked over at Pyrrhus. “Can he hear us? I mean-can you tell when he’s going to wake up?”
“Aradia says not until late this afternoon. It’s safe for you to leave him, Wicket. He’s not going to run away. “
The man stood. “Yeah. Need a bath and a shave. Besides, he can’t leave without me.”
“Why not?” Julia asked.
“Got all our money, haven’t I?” Wicket replied with a hint of his earlier cheerfulness. It increased, as if he were donning armor piece by piece, until he was as she had seen him yesterday: charming, friendly, forgettable. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t let Pyrrhus see how I really feel.”
“Let’s go out into the courtyard,” said Julia. “The rain’s stopped. If you’ll tell me something about Pyrrhus and yourself, maybe we can help you.”
“Dunno how,” Wicket said skeptically, but he followed her out to the hospital courtyard, where they sat on a stone bench that had already
dried in the morning sun.
It was turning into a pleasant day. Recalling that she had promised to go with Galerio to the horse market that afternoon, Julia was glad the weather had cleared. Or perhaps the weather controllers had cleared it.
She considered what to ask Wicket, and decided on the least suspicious of her questions: “What kind of work do you do?”
“Odd jobs, mostly. Farm work, you know.”
Julia reached over and turned his right hand palm up. It was an agile hand, not soft, but certainly not the calloused hand of a workman. “Wicket, there’s never any use lying to a Reader, even if to preserve your privacy she is not Reading your thoughts.” She took his hand between both of hers, finding small calluses on several fingers and a place on the palm that he would use to apply pressure to the end of some tool, perhaps an awl.
“You work with your hands,” she told him, “with tools or instruments. Harnessmaker, maybe, or jeweler.
Weaponsmaker, possibly.”
Wicket’s bright brown eyes widened. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Thirteen.’
“How could you know all that, with so little experience of life?”
“Wicket… didn’t you know it at thirteen?”
“Well, yeah-but I didn’t grow up in an Academy, did I?”
“Neither did I,” Julia told him.
“Oh, right,” he said. “You’re a savage. You’d’ve grown up hiding the feet that you could Read-or you wouldn’t’ve grown up at all.” He shrugged. “I’m a locksmith. Lost me trade when all the Adepts flooded into the Aventine lands-a lock’s not much use, is it, when there’s all these folk around can open it with one twist of their minds.”
“And what have you been doing since?” Julia asked, quelling the suspicion that Wicket had picked far more locks than he had ever installed.
“Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Pyrrhus and I do mostly bodyguarding.”
“Bodyguarding?” she asked increduously.
“You haven’t seen Pyrrhus in action,” Wicket explained. “Best swordsman I’ve ever seen, and he can shoot an arrow, throw a knife, a spear-a rock, if that’s all that’s handy-and never miss. An’ I guess I just come along as part of the package,” he added with a shrug.
Julia guessed that Wicket had other talents he wasn’t mentioning. “How did you two meet?” she asked.
“He saved my life.”
“How?” Julia asked when she realized he intended to stop there.
He peered at her again, those guileless brown eyes suddenly shrewd. “How come you get to ask all the questions?”
“What do you want to know?” Julia replied.
“Did you know Portia?”
“Yes, I knew her-and yes, she is really dead. There can be no mistake about it. I was in the rapport that killed her, too, Wicket-and my Reading powers were unimpaired.”
“I want to know about her anyway,” said Wicket. “Will you tell me, if I tell you about Pyrrhus and me?”
“Ill tell you what I know,” Julia agreed. “But first tell me how Pyrrhus came to save your life.”
“It was after the fall of the Empire,” said Wicket. “As I said, I’d pretty much lost me trade, so I took whatever work I could get. There was this rich lady, a senator’s widow, who wanted a cask of jewels transported to her country villa. She thought it’d be safer than in the city. I took on the task.”
“A senator’s widow trusted you with her jewels?”
“Why not?” Wicket asked with a look of insulted innocence. “I’d worked for her husband, installed the locks in their homes. I warned her, with all the Adepts spillin’ down into Tiberium, those locks weren’t safe anymore.”
“I see,” said Julia. You frightened her into letting you take her jewels. “But why hire you instead of armed guards?”
Wicket might not be a Reader, but Julia was sure he knew she was interpreting what he said through her experiences as a child in the streets of Zendi.
“A coupla minor Adepts could take out armed guards, and what were they armed for if they weren’t carryin’ somethin’ valuable? So it was safer for one person, lookin’ not worth robbin’,‘t’smuggle the jewels over the roads.
“Only an hour outside the city gates, I was set upon by brigands,” Wicket continued. “Dunno how they guessed I was carryin’ a treasure-nless one of em was a Reader. Disguised as city guardsmen, they were, chargin’ me with theft. They took and tied me to a tree, and broke open the casket. And then they started torturin’ me.”
“Torturing you?” Julia asked. “Why?”
” ‘Cause when they smashed it open, the casket had just a layer of gold an’ jewels across the top, y’see.
The rest was filled with rocks. The minute I saw that, I realized the lady was testing me, as it were-an’
after all, I couldn’t blame her, now could I?”
“Oh, no,” Julia agreed, “you couldn’t blame her.”
“But the thieves insisted I’d stolen the rest of the jewels and hid em, and they were gonna make me tell
‘em where. I kept askin’ ‘era to take me back to the city to ask the lady ‘erself-that’s how I knew they weren’t really city guards.
“Finally,” Wicket continued, “the head torturer took ‘is dagger, and threatened to put my eyes out if I didn’t tell. But I couldn’t tell, because I hadn’t stolen any jewels. He didn’t believe me-but I believed him.”
Wicket was sweating at the memory. “I thought his ugly face was the last thing I’d ever see. But then all of a sudden he fell-with an arrow stickin’ out of his back!”
“Pyrrhus,” said Julia.
“Pyrrhus,” Wicket agreed with a nod. Then, a look of shocked awareness crossed his face. “By the gods, now I know why he saved me. It was that they were going to put my eyes out.”
Wicket covered his face with his hands for a moment, then drew a shuddering breath and let them fall again, gathering control. “Afore they could run, four more arrows took the rest of em, and then Pyrrhus came out of the forest.
“Y’understand, I still didn’t know if I was gonna be killed. It was only one man, but he’d taken out five.
He pocketed the jewels that were there, and then came over to me. You’ve seen how cold his eyes can be. I thought sure I was in for more torture-but he just asked me, ‘Will you go back to the lady with me, and the surviving treasure? Or were you lying?’
“I told him I wasn’t lying. We went back to the lady, told her what had happened-and almost got arrested.
“Turned out her maid had-uh, tried to protect her, she claimed. ‘Twas Pyrrhus figured that out, too-saved me again, from prison or worse.
“The lady apologized all over the place for accusing me, gave me a reward for my trouble, gave Pyrrhus a reward for saving my life and the jewels I had been carrying, and then she hired the two of us to take the treasure to her estate.”
“And you did it?”
Again the look of offended innocence. “Of course we did! D’you think we’d rob a widow?”
No-widows and orphans were considered out of bounds by the thieves and cheats I grew up among, too, Julia conceded. But what she said aloud was, “You and Pyrrhus have been together ever since.”
“Yes.”
“And you never found out anything about his background?”
“He was never very communicative on the subject.” Wicket sighed. “Obviously he was used to schedules and discipline, and he talks educated. I figured younger son of a wealthy family, sent into the military. I always assumed he was a deserter from the army-lot of those, you know, after the Battle of the Bog.”
“Battle of the-?” Julia giggled. “Oh, it was funny,” she said, “when we created that quicksand to trap the Aventine army.”
“Yeah, but not to them,” said Wicket. “You defeat people in battle, outnumber them, outfight them-what’s left will hang together, ready to fight again to the last breath. But you make fools of ‘em, you get a whole army vowing vengeance. B
ut there’s no more unity, ‘cause they don’t trust officers that let them be made fools of.”
“And Pyrrhus is obviously a man who will not be taken for a fool,” Julia observed. “Your reasoning was sound; there was no way to guess he had been a Reader.”
“Had been.” Wicket shook his head. “No-won’t think about that. It’s your turn. Tell me about Portia.”
“She was Master of Masters among Readers for many years,” Julia said. “Master Clement says that for a long time she did her job well and honestly, but in the last years of her life she became corrupt. Perhaps we’ll never know why-we’re still finding out what she did.”
“What she did to Pyrrhus,” said Wicket. “Did she do that to any other Readers who found out about her?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of-and I think I would have, Wicket. I’ve been pretty much in the center of verything here in Zendi, and I was in Tiberium when it fell. Portia usually arranged to have her enemies killed, but it didn’t always work. She exiled my father to the Savage Lands, figuring he couldn’t help revealing himself as a Reader, and he’d get killed.”
“Your father?”
“Lenardo-Lord Reader of the Savage Empire. Aradia is his wife.”
“But she’s not your mother.”
“She’s getting to feel like my mother a lot of the time,” Julia admitted.
“Go on about Portia.”
“From her position as Master of Masters, she used Readers to spy on people, influence political decisions, business transactions. At the peak of her power, she had far more influence over what happened in the Aventine Empire than the Emperor.
“You probably know that a few Adepts survived inside the Aventine Empire, even when it was death to be discovered. Portia had at least one under her control, and there may have been more. As she grew older she acquired more and more power. But the Master of Masters isn’t supposed to have that kind of power, so she had to cover up even more. That meant getting rid of Readers who found out.
“Her favorite method for putting such Readers where they could not harm her was what she originally planned for Pyrrhus: rig tests so that they failed, and then put them on the Path of the Dark Moon. That meant marrying them off to other failed Readers-but the ceremonial wine was drugged with a derivative of white lotus.”