Liavek 2

by Will Shetterly

  Kaloo let the door slam on the rest.

  •

  Kaloo arrived at L'Fertti's house out of breath. She had resisted the temptation to run, but she had hurried despite the heat. Daril's last words echoed in her mind. "If you change your mind, tell him so." It was the only valid bit of advice she had given. Well, and Kaloo would, if what L'Fertti proposed were too distressing. She shut her eyes, pushing away the old tales of disgusting and terrifying spell casting.

  She knocked twice at the rickety door and then pushed in as his voice bade her. He was sitting at his splintery table, looking a bit surprised. "You've come early. Well, that's good."

  "What will you ask me to do?" she demanded breathlessly.

  "Nothing half so interesting as what you must be imagining," he replied with cynical amusement. "Sit down and stop fluttering. It's really very simple," he began. "Every day at about this time, we will stroll together through the Market for an hour or so. I will be acting like your aged uncle, and you will carry a basket for our little purchases. My appearance will be altered so that no one will know me."

  "What about mine?" Kaloo cut in anxiously.

  He looked at her with tolerant superiority. "My girl, a person could see you four times an hour and not remark on you. Perfect face for this work; very indistinguishable. Now, be quiet and listen. On one of our strolls, we will encounter Count Dashif. Not that we want him to notice us. He will be wearing some green-stoned earrings. When we are very close to him, I will work a small magic, causing the earrings to drop from his ears. You will retrieve them and run off into the crowd."

  At the name Dashif, Kaloo had frozen. "No," she said simply when L'Fertti stopped. She rose to go. His knuckly hand detained her.

  "Don't you wish to know your luck day and hour?"

  "It sounds to me like we'd find my death day and hour. All know Count Dashif's reputation. He gives me the shivers. What about the Farmer's Market Massacre?"

  "Rumors. There's no proof he was even there."

  "And that poor camel?"

  "Was just a camel. Besides, he won't have time to kill you. You snatch up the earrings and you're gone."

  "I can't outrun his pistols," Kaloo said. "Sorry. It's not worth that much to me."

  "Go on, then!" He gave her a disgusted push. "Look at you. I don't know why the idea crossed my mind. Now that I see you again. I realize that you lack the discipline to become a student of magic. No patience! No courage! Begone. I'd be crazy to accept you as a student."

  Kaloo was halfway to the door. "Student?" she asked the graying wood. She spun around. "You mean you'd teach me? You'd show me how to invest my magic after we discovered my luck time?"

  "I had been considering it."

  "For just this one task?" Business sense, ingrained by years with Daril, came to the fore. "You're offering to tutor me for just this one task?"

  L'Fertti hesitated fractionally. "After we do this one small task, we'd try you out on the training. I'd expect you to do small chores about the place here, cleaning up and whatnot, so I could keep your tuition low. But..." he hastily added at the look of dismay on Kaloo's face, "of course the first three lessons would be free. For helping me with the earrings."

  Kaloo wet her lips. "When would we start?"

  "As soon as we secured the earrings. A client of mine has seen them and longs to possess them, but the Count will not be parted from them. A simple matter."

  "No." She eyed him closely and made her counteroffer. "We start today, and each day I walk with you in the Market, I get a lesson. Who knows how long it might be before we get a glimpse of Dashif wearing those particular earrings? It's purely a matter of coincidence."

  L'Fertti frowned her down. "It is not! For a man to lose an earring is a random happening. For me to be following him, desiring his earrings, when he happens to lose both of them, that is magic. Don't you see? Coincidence is the Foundation of All Magic! That's your first lesson. Come, here's a basket. Let's take our stroll."

  Kaloo was a bit disappointed when his disguise consisted of a broad-brimmed hat and a stained brown cloak. She swallowed it when he told her archly, "And another thing. Always conserve your magic. Never waste a spell where a lie or a simple deception will suffice."

  But it was not on their first stroll, nor on their third, or even on the fifth that they met Dashif. Kaloo began to learn. She learned to wriggle the middle toes of her feet without the other toes budging. She learned patterns of breathing. Her hands grew steady as she tried to balance glass balls atop one another. She learned to look shy when Daril questioned her, and every other day to dump a little Worrynot into the fire.

  She even learned to enjoy their slow strolls through the Market. She had thought that she knew it as well as the back of her hand, but L'Fertti introduced her to the dry and dusty shops that wizards frequented, and the strange herbs that one might purchase in them. He told her peculiar uses for ordinary cooking spices, and taught her more than he realized with his snippets of gossip about the folk they passed. Kaloo absorbed it all. She pushed away the knowledge that her lessons would end with her snatching of the earrings, for she would never have the money to pay even the lowest tuition. Her fear of Dashif she pushed away as well. Magic had begun to seem a demanding but fascinating profession, until the day she caught a glimpse of a red linen cloak through the crowd.

  She experienced a change of heart, unnerving in its intensity. Her hands were sweaty, her stomach cold. Something about Dashif repelled and fascinated her, drawing her to him as it terrified her. "Anyone but him," she whispered to L'Fertti, who appeared not to hear. His fingers tightened on her arm and she felt herself propelled through a crowd that seemed to magically melt out of their way.

  Count Dashif was looking for someone. It was plain from his leisurely saunter and the way his eyes wandered over the milling people. His curly black hair was pushed back off his shoulders so the sun struck the dangling earrings and the vertical welts beneath his eyes. He paused to smile at fair-haired Selita of the rug booth, who went pale under her tan and vanished behind her wares. He gave an almost imperceptible shrug and strolled on.

  "I've heard four different stories of how his face was marked," L'Fertti confided to Kaloo softly.

  Kaloo was not interested in any of them. "He knows about us. L'Fertti, he's watching us. Let's get out of here!" Her frantic whisper had a hysterical edge.

  "Don't be stupid!" the wizard growled. His brief puzzlement was being replaced by amazement. "He's trolling for blonds! I never would have believed it of him."

  This cryptic remark was no comfort, and Kaloo nearly screamed as he maneuvered them ever closer to Dashif, until they were strolling along in his wake. She felt exposed, but the camouflage of the crowded market was effective. Dashif paid them no attention.

  Kaloo peered sideways at L'Fertti, wondering what the delay was. His lips were mumbling in his beard, and his free hand made small, furtive passes. Nothing happened. The old man's magic wasn't working. Her mouth went dry and sweat stung her eyes. Why didn't he give up and get them both out of here?

  But still they trailed along behind the whip-hand of His Scarlet Eminence. Kaloo began to feel she could not get her breath. Dizziness swept over her, and then a disorienting sense of being one with L'Fertti. She could sense the magic tingling in the hand that gripped her arm above her elbow. In the same instant, a jealous rage overtook her, and she wished Dashif every evil that could befall a man. Just as abruptly as her emotions had risen, they fell off.

  So did everything else. Women shrieked and men roared in outrage as L'Fertti's spell of unfastening succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. The green earrings slipped from Dashif's ears. His white silk blouse flared suddenly open, baring a hirsute chest. He paid this no mind as the belt that supported his flintlocks came unbuckled as well. All around them, horses' cinches were dangling, women were scrabbling after bracelets and necklaces sliding from their bodies, not to mention garments artfully fashioned and tied that were now so man
y rectangles of slipping cloth. A City Guard stood astounded in the ringing hail of his chain mail dropping away from him in a shower of links. A flock of chickens, their legs trussed for the market, found themselves free and added their escape to the general confusion. L'Fertti dropped Kaloo's arm, hissed, "Get them!" and vanished into the crowd. He looked rattled.

  Kaloo hesitated fractionally and then dove for the earrings. Her hand closed on one, and she sprang after the other that had landed to one side, nearly in an offering bowl of nuts for Rikiki. As she shot up, she almost struck foreheads with Dashif, who was struggling to fasten his belt while juggling his pistols. For an instant their eyes locked. Her heart jammed in her throat; the screams and curses of the crowd around her went unheard. Face to face, close enough to kiss or kill, they stood. His eyes held hers like a snake's hold a bird's. It took a long instant for her to realize he was as paralyzed by her visage as she was by his. Something...there was something there. She broke free of it at the same moment he did and sprang away, as much from his darting grip as to the other earring.

  Her luck saved her. He was hampered by his loosened clothing. She had long grown used to dealing with hers. Just as her hand would have landed on the earring, however, a small brown chipmunk shot out of nowhere and snatched up the shining thing. Then it was gone, scampering up a post to spring onto the roof of a stall and disappear. She caught a glimpse of its brown body as it leaped to the next stall. She heard the Count's roar: "Stop that girl!" But most of the crowd was too busy refastening clothing or jewelry to obey, and the rest could not decide which girl he wanted caught. Kaloo writhed away, slipped down an alley between stalls, and was gone, her long legs stretched in a flat run. In one fist she gripped the earring.

  •

  "A chipmunk ate it?" L'Fertti glared at her suspiciously.

  "Yes!" Kaloo was in no mood to be doubted. After eluding Count Dashif, she had taken a long, circuitous route to L'Fertti 's house. Events had been falling into place in her mind. She felt angry and bold. "What's the matter? Is it the wrong one?"

  She regretted the remark when his strong fingers closed tightly around her wrist. "If you have it, wench, you'd better turn it over to me now. If you've figured out what it is, then you know that you're close enough for me to use it."

  "I don't have it!" she hissed, angry at the tears of pain that started in her eyes.

  "Let's hope not'" He glared a moment longer, then dropped her wrist.

  "You knew my luck time all along. You used me!" Kaloo flared at him, her anger so fierce she trembled in its grip.

  "No, I did not!" the old man denied it. "I was as surprised as you when it happened. I had heard it was possible; rumor has it that the Gold priests were linked in just such a fashion, sharing their moments of luck. Evidently, we share the hour, but not the day. Today was your day. Your luck came and I accidentally tapped it, increasing two-fold the power of my little spell. A spell already made strong by my proximity to my invested object."

  "It all just happened to benefit you, by coincidence," Kaloo said snidely.

  L'Fertti looked at her with sudden speculation. "A bizarre chain of circumstances, and a fortuitous coincidence. Your magic will be very strong, once it's trained." He gave her a piercing look. Kaloo dropped her eyes before it. She knew that gleam from a thousand trips to the market. Daril had explained it to her. "When anyone looks at you like that," she had said, "it means you have something they want. Be cagey, then. It almost always means there's a profit to be turned." So Kaloo watched him through her lashes.

  L'Fertti was suddenly sounding like her teacher again. "At that moment of magic you felt, did you have any recollection of your own birth? It's not uncommon. Some have even reported that during their first attempts at investiture, they were distracted by sharing the emotions their mothers felt at their births. What did you sense?"

  "I...nothing." She shut her mouth with a snap. Whatever he was fishing for, he wasn't going to get it for free. Kaloo felt strangely possessive of those few shared moments. So her mother had hated Dashif. It was not an uncommon emotion in Liavek. And it was none of L'Fertti's business.

  "I see. Well. Perhaps with more training. It was not as if you were actually attempting the magic this time." If he was disappointed, he covered it well. She watched him absently snap the earring back into his right ear. "You didn't happen to pick up any other jewelry, did you? There was a good bit of it lying about in the street when we were through."

  "I'm not a thief!" Her words were sharp, but she felt a tingle down her spine. "We," he had said. It had been her luck, too, that had wrought that magnificent mess. Hers as much as his. But now her lessons were over. A thoughtful frown creased her forehead, and then she suddenly had to scowl blackly to keep the grin from her face. So that's what the wiley old codger was after—the use of her magic! She'd let him have it, of course. On her terms. She glanced up to find him watching her closely.

  "Headache?" he asked solicitously. "Why don't you brew us some tea to ease it? We'll celebrate together. I'd still call our day a partial success, wouldn't you?"

  "I suppose." Kaloo sighed. "At least you got one earring back. I'm sorry about the other one. And I'm afraid I don't much feel like celebrating. Maybe I'd better be going home."

  "Now?" L'Fertti near yelped, then hastily cleared his throat. "You haven't had any tea yet! I can't send you off home with a headache. You sit still now, I'll make the tea. Don't go away!" He scuttled over to the kettle, smiling anxiously at her as he clattered for cups and herbs. Kaloo leaned her face into her hands, trying desperately to erase a grin.

  "To my apprentice!" L'Fertti suggested the toast a few moments later as he poured steaming yhinroot tea into two cracked mugs.

  But Kaloo only lifted a doleful face to his toast. "Not anymore," she reminded him. "I haven't a coin to go on with my lessons. Besides, I know my luck time. That's all I really wanted. After today, I know that investing my luck would probably just get me into trouble. You were right, L'Fertti. I was never cut out to study magic."

  "No! I was wrong!" He spoke urgently. "You have a great future in magic. A marvelous future. Kaloo, you mustn't be discouraged now. You're my apprentice. For free."

  She shook her head sadly, staring into her tea.

  "Why not?" he asked coaxingly. He reached across the table to pat her hand. Tears brimmed the dark eyes she turned up to him.

  "I'm afraid," she said simply. "I've heard stories about...things one must do to be an apprentice. You might ask me to...do something..." She let her voice trail off childishly.

  "Oh, never!" He denied it warmly, squeezing her small, lax hand. "You'd never have to do anything that upset you. I promise. Why, you'd have as much say in what we did with our luck as I did."

  "Do you mean that?" The relief in Kaloo's voice was pathetic.

  "On my luck! I swear it!" he vowed fervently and hastily.

  Kaloo's face changed. She leaned back in her chair, casually brushing the dark curls from her face. She smiled at him easily as she lifted her mug of tea. "Then let's drink to your partner!" she amended the toast, and felt a small satisfaction as he choked. "You still owe me a day's lesson," she reminded him curtly.

  He nodded a brusque agreement to her deal. "I'll make it short," he snapped. "Ponder this and be humbled. Is magic our manipulation of coincidence, or is coincidence the magic manipulating us, for its own secret ends?"

  "Short, but pithy!" Kaloo refused to be daunted. She set down her mug and gave him a smile. "I have to go. Yesterday Daril grumbled that delivering groceries isn't the only thing that Roen's slow about."

  He stared blankly at her before he said, "Go, then. But come back tomorrow."

  •

  L'Fertti watched the narrow smile tip over her thin face, and then she was gone, slamming his door behind her. He eased back in his chair and let his own smile break out. She might be merchant raised, but he was fishmonger bred. Always let the customer walk away thinking she's driven a hard bargain, he reminded h
imself. Never let one know she's taken just what you wanted to sell her, at your price. Kaloo should have guessed that their moment of magical unity flowed both ways. He knew as much as she did; perhaps more. He wasn't an idealistic adolescent, who could look bare truth in the face, then deny it to herself. Maybe his luck was still riding around in a chipmunk's cheek, but he had Dashif's daughter in the palm of his hand.

  "Bound Things" by Will Shetterly

  ONE SUNNY AFTERNOON in Buds, three wizards sat in a quiet room. The youngest, a small man with grim features, said, "You can handle this alone?"

  The eldest was a very dark, very handsome man whose black goatee hung midway down his chest. He smiled and said, "Of course. After you do your part."

  "There must be a reason," the youngest insisted, "why he is called The Magician."

  The tallest, a woman who might have been a sister to the younger man, said, "Yes. Because he is vain. Because they do not know what magicians are in this uncivilized place. Because he is the most powerful of the village witches who live on that gaudy lane they call Wizard's Row."

  The eldest laughed. "Don't underestimate him. Would we be here in Liavek, if he was weak?"

  "Then why does he hide his name?"

  The youngest said, "To keep us from gaining power over him?"

  The woman sneered, then laughed. "If so, Liavekans are all superstitious savages! Do other magicians in Liavek hide their names or their parentage?"

  "No," the eldest answered. "They are like most sorcerers. They only conceal their birthdays and the vessels of their power." Frowning, the woman said, "Then why does The Magician hide his name?"

  "He does not," the eldest answered. "It is said his name is Trav."

  "Trav?" the young man asked. "As in trav?" He almost barked the word; it meant "spider" in Tichenese. "Or traav?" Drawling its syllables, it meant "lefty" in Zhir. "Which hand does he favor?"