by Jean Lorrah
“The dream drug?” Wicket shuddered. “Yes-Pyrrhus said they were going to use it on him. No wonder he ran away. That stuff is worse than poison.”
“Yes-but they didn’t use the addictive part. It was an extract that destroyed the will and allowed the Readers present at the marriage to mold the minds of the bride and groom. Back when they failed only real Dark Moon Readers, who honestly didn’t have the ability to reach the upper ranks, the drug was intended as a kindness, to make them fall in love with one another. But when Portia and the Council of Masters were failing Magisters and even Masters, they also used the drug to reduce their powers.”
“Then why-?”
“What was done to Pyrrhus? Even with reduced powers, a Reader is a Reader. Wicket, I’m telling you what facts we know, but all the people who can explain why are dead.”
“I’m glad Pyrrhus had a hand in killing Portia,” said Wicket.
“I’m glad I did, too,” Julia agreed.
They parted then, Wicket to the bathhouse, Julia to tell Aradia what she had learned, and then take her daily lesson with Master Clement. She found him in his study, reading scrolls brought from Portia’s Academy in Tiberium.
“Read with me, Julia,” he instructed. He meant the way he was reading-by Reading.
The scrolls remained in their racks, while Master Clement scanned through the writing on them in search of any reference to Pyrrhus. It was much faster than lifting each one down, unrolling it, and scanning the pages by eye.
But Master Clement had been at it all morning, and had not found what he was looking for.
“Would Portia write down such a terrible thing?” Julia asked.
“Perhaps not,” Master Clement agreed. “But I have to search. I have to know-”
— if there are others,” Julia completed the thought. “If there are, I doubt that they’re alive. I think I would kill myself if it happened to me.”
“Julia!” exclaimed the Master of Masters. “You must not think such a thing. Pyrrhus was right to salvage what he could of his life. Child, I have seen Readers lose their powers before.”
“What?’ She was horrified.
“It is rare, but it can happen from a head injury, a disease, or an apoplexy, if it damages that area of the brain. Thus Portia knew exactly which nerves she could destroy, and leave Pyrrhus otherwise undamaged. With the help of Adept Healers,” he added, “we can now heal such injuries when they come from natural causes. Nature does not burn out an entire section of nervous tissue.”
They returned to Portia’s many years of records, which had never been placed in proper order after transport to Zendi. After the earthquake that had literally toppled the Aventine Empire, the scrolls had been plucked from the shambles, brought here, and left until the day someone would have the time to catalogue them. So far, no one had. They found records from forty years ago next to records from the last days of Portia’s tenure, her personal commentaries on her students beside technical studies of Reading techniques.
Suddenly Master Clement plucked an old, yellowed scroll from the rack and handed it to Julia. “Read that.”
She held it, feeling in its faded, dusty contours the keen excitement of a young woman, enthusiastic, idealistic, proud of her accomplishments, and eager to use her newly acquired power for good.
“Portia?” Julia asked incredulously. It was unrecognizable as the evil old woman Julia had known.
“Portia as I first knew her, when I was just testing for the rank of Magister. Take that one with you, Julia; Read it at your leisure. Perhaps we can trace how the fine young woman who became the youngest Master of Masters in all our history turned into a manipulative, power-mad woman capable of crippling Readers to cover her corruption.”
When Julia met Galerio and his friends at noon, she did not really have the horse market on her mind.
She kept her promise, however, and the group of young people left Zendi by Southgate, walking toward the large open area set aside for fairs and celebrations, and the horse market once each month.
It had turned into a lovely sunny day, the ground just damp enough to keep the dust down, the air just cool enough to be pleasant. Dilys and Piccolo never got as far as the market; holding hands, they wandered off the road toward a small woodland.
When they reached the market, Giorgio headed straight for the food vendors, while Blanche and Diana went off toward the booths where trinkets were sold to bored wives, daughters, and children with no interest in the horses. That left Mosca and Antonius with Julia and Galerio, drifting through the crowds to examine the horses in the various roped-off areas.
They passed straight by the young colts and heavy draft animals, and went on to where riding horses were being shown.
Galerio gravitated toward a large ring displaying five magnificent animals, sleek and slender, so built for speed that they almost appeared to be running when they were standing still.
Julia also admired them, but when Galerio asked, “What would a horse like that cost?” she was amazed to Read that he truly wanted one.
“Those are racing horses,” she said. “Galerio, you can’t afford one of those, and if you could it’s not the kind of horse you need.”
“What makes you an expert on what I need?” he demanded.
“You need a reliable riding horse,” Julia replied. “One that can carry you for many miles at a reasonable pace. A horse with enough spirit to be fun to ride, but not too much for an inexperienced rider.”
“Inexperienced-!”
“Galerio, you’re a city boy. Have you ever been on a horse?” she suddenly asked.
“Of course I have!” he replied indignantly. “If this is the way you’re going to help, I’m sorry I brought you along!”
Julia bit back a retort that she didn’t need anyone to “bring” her, and had come as a favor to him. “All right,” she said. “What would you do with a horse like one of those?”
“Um-race it, I guess. Win money.”
“But you’d have to do more than just stable a racehorse. It has to be run every day. And the rider-”
“All right,” said Galerio with a sigh, “I can’t afford the horse, or a trainer, and I don’t have the experience to race it myself. So a horse like that will have to wait till I get rich.”
“You’ll not get rich associating with friends like these!”
Julia and Galerio turned, Julia automatically Reading. “Wicket! What are you doing at the horse market?”
“I might ask you the same question,” said Wicket, who was holding Mosca and Antonius by the arms, one with each hand. Surprisingly, despite squirming and kicking, neither boy seemed able to escape Wicket’s grip. ‘ Associating with pickpockets is not what I’d expect from the daughter of the Lord of the Land.”
“Mosca! Antonius!” Galerio flashed. “Is it true?”
“No, of course not,” Mosca said sullenly, but his light eyes shifted, showing anyone who was watching that he lied.
“But you received money enough yesterday to live well for half a year!” Julia exclaimed. “Why-?”
“Gambling,” said Galerio angrily. “I told you Capero’s gang would cheat you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, well-gotta pay what I owe them,” said Mosca.
“You got into debt?” Julia asked. “And you too, Antonius?”
The younger boy mutely hung his head.
“I get it,” said Wicket. “The gamblers cheated these kids out of their reward and then gave them a chance to get it back-only they lost twice the sum. Right, boys?”
Mosca refused to reply, but Antonius nodded glumly.
“Fools!” said Galerio. “When are you going to learn not to gamble with Capero and his thugs?”
“I’ll have him run out of town,” said Julia.
“Oh, good lesson,” said Wicket. “Teach these kids that if they have friends in high places they can be as foolish as they please, ‘cause you’ll bail em out!”
Stung, Julia demanded, “Then what woul
d you suggest?”
“If you can’t teach ‘em to be sensible-a lesson I’ve always had trouble with meself-teach em to solve their own problems, not expect someone else to,” Wicket told her.
“That’s what we were doing!” Mosca protested.
“And how long do you think it would have been before a Reader caught you?” Julia asked. “Wicket’s not a Reader, and he caught you before you’d been at it long enough to-How much did you steal?”
“Nothing,” Mosca said tartly. “Your friend here grabbed us before we got anything.”
Although Mosca was braced for use of his small Adept talent, Julia was sure he was lying.
Wicket confirmed her suspicion by shoving Mosca forward as he let go of him. While the boy was off-balance, Wicket’s hand moved so rapidly that Julia did not see how it happened, but Wicket was dangling a small leather money pouch from his outstretched fingers.
Wicket set Antonius on his feet more gently, and held out his hand, palm up. With a shrug, Antonius produced a ruby pendant and a lace-trimmed silk kerchief.
“Give them to me,” said Julia. “The auction pavilion has a place where lost articles may be turned in.”
“Except for the kerchief,” Wicket said, “these are not items usually lost. You would be questioned, Julia. I saw where these came from. Let me just put them back.”
“Now who’s suggesting that someone else solve the problem?” Julia asked.
“Ah, but it’s clear you’ve already learned that lesson, and who am I to lose a chance to do a favor for the daughter of the Lord of the Land?”
Still in possession of the stolen items, Wicket disappeared into the milling crowd.
“Interesting friends you have, Julia,” said Galerio.
“Extremely interesting,” Julia agreed, Reading after Wicket. His head was full of that nonsense he used to mask his thoughts from Readers as he slipped through the crowd, brushing against a woman watching her husband bargain for a pair of carriage horses. Wicket tucked the lace kerchief through her sash as he jostled her, murmuring an apology as he stumbled away.
A young, very pretty woman was buying an orange from a vendor when Wicket came up behind her, jogged her elbow, and caused her to drop the coin she was holding out.
“Oh, sorry!” Wicket said, stooping as the girl did, managing to kick the coin aside, stumble in front of her as she reached for it, push her enough off-balance that in her bent-over position she had to fling her arms out to keep from falling over, and at that moment fling the pendant over her shoulder from behind, so it fell right in front of her as if the chain had broken just then instead of when Antonius had pulled it loose.
“My ruby!” the girl gasped. “You fool-you almost made me lose my ruby!” But by the time she gained her feet and turned to vent her anger on Wicket, he was nowhere in sight.
Odd. At the moment Wicket had slipped the pendant over the girl’s shoulder, his mental litany of nonsense had halted until he slipped away. Julia paid closer attention as he stalked the man from whom Mosca had filched the pouch of coins.
The still-unwitting victim was a tall man with curly brown hair, dressed to be admired by the women at the horse market. He wore tight britches that showed the hard muscles of his legs, fine polished leather riding boots, a green silk shirt open in front down to where his deep-veed tabard covered it, and a wide leather belt.
At the moment he was pretending to consider a fine chestnut mare parading in one of the rings, but his attention was actually on two women who were bored with horses and having a much better time considering him. Julia was amused to see him turn his handsome profile to them, and then shift his weight so the muscles in his legs rippled-all in a pretense of getting a better look at the horses.
Wicket slipped up behind the man, and Julia turned her attention to Reading the reverse-pickpocket.
Wicket noted where his attention lay, came up on the other side of the man from the women, and waited.
It wasn’t long before the women decided to try to attract the attention of the man they thought had not noticed them. They giggled.
The tall man turned, lazily, as if it were the first time he had realized they were there. When he saw them, he gave an appreciative smile-and while his attention was thus distracted, Wicket slipped his hand over the man’s shoulder and dropped the money pouch.
It slid inside his shirt collar, down his bare skin, and lodged inside his shirt, where the belt held the tabard against it-a most unlikely trajectory.
Feeling the movement, the man grasped for the pouch, thinking he was being robbed. Relief flooded his mind as he found his money where he expected it to be.
Julia’s mind, however, was flooded with surprise.
For not only had Wicket’s litany of mental oddments cut off when he dropped the money pouch-in that moment he had become blank to Julia’s deliberate attempt to Read him!
Aradia’s morning was filled with her usual duties. Since she had learned to Read, most of her reports came over the Path of the Dark Moon. Huge as the Savage Empire now was, it was possible with Readers to relay a message from one end to the other within half an hour.
In the lands Aradia was responsible for, little was happening except for cleanup of the chaos created by the mysterious whirlwinds, and healing of those who had been injured. Readers and Watchers were spending days and nights trying to trace the source of Adept power necessary to cause such winds, but to no avail.
To add insult to injury, this morning just after sunrise a freak hailstorm had destroyed acres of apples just ripe for picking, in the lands between here and Lilith’s. No Reader had noticed the storm coming, and no weather controllers had been on the scene. By the time they reached the orchards, the storm was over, the damage done.
Was the hailstorm a part of a pattern which included the whirlwinds? Or was it an independent freak of nature? Aradia sent a message to Lilith, who had no Reading powers, wishing she could talk to her friend.
The reply came back, relayed by Readers, but although Aradia was pleased to hear that everything was well with Lilith and her son, it was not the same as being together. It was the first time in her life that she did not have another strong Adept at her side in time of trouble: her father, Wulfston, or Lilith had always been there when enemies threatened.
Now her father was dead, and Wulfston was far away.
In a few weeks, Lilith would come to be with Aradia for the final days of her pregnancy and her confinement. Each day Aradia looked forward more to that event. Readers could be good friends-she felt great joy at her deepening rapport with Julia-and they had their own strengths and skills. But Reading skills were not what Aradia had relied on all her life. When the world was pulling mysterious tricks, she longed for the strength of a fellow Lord Adept.
Especially as her own powers waned.
At midmorning Julia came to report what she had found out about Pyrrhus and Wicket. They worked as hired bodyguards, of all things.
Lords Adept didn’t need bodyguards. The standing army in the Savage Empire was very small, and neither man, Wicket especially, seemed the type to be happy in the military.
What, then, could she offer them? Posts in her household? Household guards led boring lives most of the time, completely unsuited to either man’s quick mind. She didn’t really need more retainers, and both would recognize immediately that such an offer came from sympathy, not need.
Had Wicket told Julia the whole truth? Aradia doubted it. She decided to send out an inquiry to Tiberium via the Path of the Dark Moon.
A reply came back before noon: Pyrrhus and Wicket were indeed bodyguards and mercenaries, of excellent repute. They had even hired out several times to the new government of the city, helping to clean out gamblers and drug dealers who continued to prey on their citizens despite all that the combination of Readers and Adepts could do.
Before four years ago, Pyrrhus had been unheard of; he had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. His knowledge of the underworld suggested that
he probably had criminal connections (Aradia laughed to herself, and had to break the connection for a moment before she let slip where Pyrrhus had really learned about corruption), but since he had teamed with Wicket there was no indication that he had been anything but scrupulously faithful to contracts he had made.
Wicket had at one time been a petty thief, pickpocket, breaker of locks-not very secure occupations in a city full of Readers. Some years before the fall of Tiberium he had apparently decided to turn his skill at picking locks to designing them, and had developed a modest business that might have expanded into a success, as his locks were impervious to the skills of common thieves.
But, as he had told Julia, the fall of Tiberium had ended his value as a locksmith. He had started hiring out as a protector of valuables, but with little success until he had teamed with Pyrrhus.
If they were doing so well, I wonder why Pyrrhus ana Wicket left Tiberium?
But Aradia decided not to question Zendi’s good fortune. Although the city was smaller than the Aventine capital, it had its share of criminals, most of whom had enough Adept power to manipulate ordinary citizens.
Unable to root out all of the criminal element even with Adepts and Readers combining their talents, Lenardo and Aradia had discussed putting together a full-time force of minor Adepts and Dark Moon Readers to police the city.
The problem was finding people who understood the criminal mind but could also be trusted. Their attempts using honest citizens had failed abysmally; it required a certain devious way of thinking to outsmart experienced criminals, a mind-set completely foreign to an Academy-trained Reader or the average healer, fire talent, or weather controller.
But now Pyrrhus and Wicket had practically fallen into their laps! From the reports she had received, they would be the perfect nucleus for the police force she envisioned. If she could only persuade them to accept the challenge.
Her morning duties finished, Aradia ate her midday meal and, having lost sleep the previous night, decided to lie down for an hour before going back to the hospital. Were Pyrrhus any ordinary patient, she would expect him to sleep almost until sunset. But he had wakened prematurely yesterday, and she expected that he would fight off sleep again today at the first moment his body was strong enough to do so.