by Juliet Kemp
“Yes,” he said, finally.
“Right. So. Urso didn’t tell you. I didn’t know until today. That leaves Beckett… ?”
Jonas shook his head. “I haven’t seen Beckett since…” He tried out and rejected a number of ways of referring to that awful day. “Since Mid-Year.” He regretted, as soon as he’d said it, using the Marek name and not the Salinas one. For Salinas, it was New-Year. And he was still Salinas.
“Right. So that means it was Cato,” Reb said. “Unless there’s another sorcerer kicking around Marek, in which case I really do need to know, Jonas.” She sounded suddenly serious.
“It was Cato,” Jonas said. “Before – things happened. It was him told Urso to include me in that – thing, and he got me to agree to drop it.”
Reb nodded as if he were confirming something she’d already suspected.
“So. If you’re a sorcerer, then you need to be learning what to do with your abilities.”
“Why?” Jonas said, a little belligerently. Where did Reb get off, thinking that she could make decisions on his behalf like that? Even if he was, in fact, already learning what to do with his abilities. In theory, anyway. He remembered those pigeons, and Cato sitting covered in feathers, and his lips twitched slightly.
“Why? Because otherwise sooner or later you’ll make something happen by accident, that’s why. Which is bad news. You need to control your abilities, not just let them leak out willy-nilly.” She nodded slightly. “So, I suppose we could start off a couple of times a week, perhaps.”
“Could start off with what?” Jonas demanded.
Reb frowned. “With, well, it’s an apprenticeship, I suppose, although we don’t do it the way the Guilds do. But you need someone to learn from, like the Guild apprentices do.”
“You want me to learn with you?”
“Well, yes.” Reb was beginning to look slightly annoyed. “I told you, it’s important that you learn how to use your abilities. I’m just sorry I didn’t spot them before. I really wasn’t… well, anyway.”
“I’m learning with Cato,” Jonas said, before she could go on any further. He hadn’t meant to admit that, if he could avoid it, but he had to stop this. “I’m apprenticed to Cato.”
Reb’s look of shock was almost comical. “To Cato?”
“Yes. He said – after the embassy, he said he could help me.” With his flickers, mostly, but he wasn’t going to mention those to Reb.
“You’re apprenticed to Cato?” Reb asked, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yes,” Jonas said impatiently. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, he’s hardly reliable, is he?” Reb said, sitting back. She looked annoyed. “He does what he wants, when he wants, and damn anyone else around him. Honestly, Jonas, I can’t think you’re likely to be well-served by learning anything from Cato. You’d be much better off – I don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but I promise I’d be a better teacher than Cato.”
She sounded as though she expected Jonas just to fall in with whatever she was suggesting, and it infuriated him.
“I am quite happy learning from Cato,” he said, letting a bit of his mother’s shipboard voice slip in, the one she used when someone wasn’t pulling their weight. “I have accepted apprenticeship with him. I do not intend to renege on that commitment.”
Reb shook her head. “I’m sure Cato won’t mind. I mean, he’s never accepted any other responsibility since he came into his own abilities.”
“And yet, he has accepted this one,” Jonas said. Fine, Cato might not be the most responsible individual Jonas had ever met. But he’d told Jonas that he would help, and he had been helping. In his own way. In any case, Jonas wasn’t sure he’d get on much better with Reb. She had a tendency to think that things should go just as she said. So did Cato, but Cato was more amenable to being argued with. Jonas could shout at Cato. He didn’t think he could shout at Reb.
“Jonas, I don’t want to be impolite, but I really think…”
“You appear not to be listening,” Jonas said. He stood up. He was fed up with this. “I am a sorcerer.” His legs shook slightly, as he said it out loud. A Salinas sorcerer? It wasn’t forever. He was just finding things out. “I do indeed intend to learn to control my abilities.” That was even true. Controlling them was the whole point. Once he could control them, he could maybe control his flickers too, and then he would be safe on board ship. “And I will learn from Cato. With whom I am already apprenticed. Now, if you will excuse me, I also have a living to make.”
He swept out of the room past Reb before she could stop him or he could regret what he was saying. Then spent the rest of the early evening, on into the dark, running messages as fast as he could, from one side of the city to the other, up Marekhill and back down again, trying to use physical exertion to drown out the voice suggesting that Reb might have a point about Cato. Cato had been helping him. They were getting somewhere. It would all be fine.
FIVE
Smoke rose from the chimneys at the side of the bathhouse, signalling the hot water to be found inside, heated by an under-floor hypocaust system. The late-afternoon sun bounced off the smoke, echoing the clouds higher in the sky. Marcia was deliberately early, so she could soak and steam and clean herself a little before she had to talk to Nisha. She and Nisha had been friends since they’d attended little-school together, and then shared a tutor as teenagers. Nisha had disapproved of Marcia’s teenage dalliance with Daril b’Leandra, but she hadn’t said anything when it fell apart, nor asked about the bits that Marcia wasn’t willing to talk about it; just let Marcia cry on her shoulder, and rebuilt their friendship as though it had never come under strain. Nisha had a justified reputation as being one for parties, pejo, and late nights, and she had a sarcastic tongue; but she was also sharp, thoughtful, and far more politically astute than she was generally given credit for. To Marcia’s embarrassment, she herself had only fully realised that recently. If Marcia was going to make any of her ideas work, Nisha’s support would be invaluable.
Marcia handed coins to the attendant at the door for her bath and a towel; changed, gave her clothes to another attendant, and hung the token she received around her neck. She scrubbed herself briskly under the cold showers, then moved through the steam-room for a couple of minutes, into the cold plunge-pool, and back into the steam room before another plunge. The sweat pouring off her and the shock of the cold water helped clear her mind, set her up for the intended discussion.
She moved to the smaller of the two warm pools, the grey tiles of the corridor smooth under her feet, and allowed herself to relax into the water. She stared up at the geometric patterns on the tiled walls – imported from the Crescent Alliance, the trader part of her mind remembered, not that House Fereno had been involved in that deal – and tried to run it all through in her mind.
The problem that Daril had made use of, earlier in the year, had been two-fold. Part of it was about – well, part of it was about the fact that he himself had not been named Heir, due to his long-running feud with his father. But he’d gained interest from others of the younger generation in Marekhill for two reasons. The first was that, at one time, a Head of House was obliged to retire after twenty-five years, meaning that Heirs tended to take over some time in their twenties. When the Guilds had been admitted to the Council, the cost of the votes from certain Houses had been the lifting of that restriction; which meant that the current crop of Heads could stay as long as they liked. They were taking full advantage of it; none of them seemed to have the slightest interest in handing over any time soon.
So the Heirs were annoyed, and kicking their heels. Those who were of a House but not Heirs had even less to do. Notionally, one could now join a Guild, but the Guilds, in practice, refused candidates with a tie to a House. The more distant cousins of a House, like Daril’s co-conspirator Urso, could operate as a merchant or sole trader if they were prepared to accept mild social opprobrium, but for siblings and first cousins that was frown
ed upon.
And there were more of those than once there had been; more children surviving to adulthood, to be blunt about it. It was no longer the done thing for a younger sibling or cousin or two to go to Teren, to the court there, as Marek came to consider itself more independent, more cosmopolitan, more interesting, than Teren; and similarly, Teren agents rather than younger House members now routinely managed the Houses’ Teren estates. Marcia had never even been to Fereno’s estate.
All of which meant that there were a collection of Heirs and not-Heirs of roughly Daril and Marcia’s age who would have been happy to support Daril’s coup if they thought there was some scope for their own advancement in it. That alone suggested that there was an alarming instability, a weakness, in the system. Where Daril had failed, someone else might succeed.
Daril had been in it for himself, but his point was sound: the Houses represented themselves, the Guilds got little or no say in anything meaningful, and a generation was being lost to pointless dissipation. The Guilds had realised that power was moving away from them, not towards them. What happened when they decided to act?
Marcia’s eyes narrowed as she lay back in the warm water and stared upwards. Marekers might not go to the Teren capital any more. But why should they not be going to the Crescent Alliance, or to Exuria, like the occasional independent trader did, taking a cabin on a Salinas ship? Would the Salinas accept that? It would give the Houses more information than relying on their local agents; with, of course, the risk of antagonising those local agents by looking like they were being checked upon.
Or was that just a sticking-plaster over a vulnerability, rather than a true fix?
“Marcia!”
Nisha slipped into the water beside her, dark hair plaited at the nape of her neck to corral it.
“How are you, darling? How’s your secret romance?”
“There’s no secret romance,” Marcia said, awkwardly.
Reb wasn’t exactly a secret. But neither were they rushing to share their relationship with the world. Marcia certainly wasn’t about to mention it to Madeleine, for example. And she hadn’t – yet – introduced Reb to her friends. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed. Not at all. But it was true that there was a little discomfort in Fereno-Heir being involved with a sorcerer, when the Houses were forbidden to engage with magic. Not that Marcia engaged with magic. Reb did nothing on her behalf, and though she had once been present when Reb was performing sorcery, that had been an extreme case, not something that was likely to happen again.
Still. Marcia wasn’t quite sure how she would pass the matter off, and she thought perhaps it would be better not to try that particular boat-race until she and Reb had been together a little longer.
“I don’t believe you, darling,” Nisha said. “You’re clearly getting laid. I am just deeply curious who the lucky individual is. But,” she gave a dramatic sigh, “if you don’t want to share, I won’t push you.” This was an absolute lie, but Marcia let it slide.
“I’ll order tea,” Marcia said firmly, gesturing over the bathhouse servant who waited at the side of the room.
“Lovely,” Nisha said, leaning back in the water with a sigh once the man had returned with a pot of tea and two cups. Sun fell across her face in patches, broken by the shadows cast by the patterned leading of the domed skylight. “I needed this. It’s been a busy week, card parties and what-all.” She rolled her eyes. “All the important things, you know?”
Which was the ideal opening for Marcia to talk to her about her political ideas, half-formed though they might be. Nisha listened throughout with a half-raised eyebrow.
“You want me to swan off to the Crescent cities? Well, I suppose it would be more interesting than losing at dice and drinking too much; though doubtless there’s that over there too. What would be the point of it, though, darling? Are you seriously suggesting that I’m going to come back and give my esteemed uncle a selection of new trading suggestions, and that he’ll have the first idea of taking me seriously?” She shrugged a shoulder, but the bitterness in her tone was palpable. “Anyway, to be honest, I think you’re rather missing the point. As did Daril, when he was flailing around preaching sedition before Mid-Year.” She rolled her eyes. “I notice that since Gavin finally confirmed him, he’s gone very quiet.”
Marcia chose not to comment on any of that. Only a very few people knew what Daril had, in the end, attempted at Mid-Year, and Nisha wasn’t among them.
“What point am I missing?” she asked instead.
“Houses, Guilds, whatever. It’s all top-heavy, darling. All of us pissing around on our own side of the river, the Heads trying to keep their toys to themselves, the Guilds huffing and puffing about what they’re being excluded from. What about the rest of the city? There’s more of them than there is of us, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Marcia sat up, splashing Nisha, who frowned at her.
“You think we should be representing – what, the squats?”
“The squats, by all means, but I was thinking of everyone who lives around the Old Market, and come to that, half of those on this side of the river who are neither apprenticed nor beholden to a House.”
“Nisha. Where in the hell are you getting this from?”
“I read a rather interesting pamphlet,” Nisha said, carelessly.
“Maybe that is what we should be doing,” Marcia said, slowly. “Maybe… we should be making more of an attempt to talk to the rest of Marek. People like you should be.”
“As if your mother and my father, or any of the rest of them, would have the slightest bit of interest. And in any case, what is this ‘we’? You must be joking, darling, if you think that I’m going to go plunging through the squats talking to messengers and shop-girls.”
Marcia bit back a flare of irritation.
“It would be interesting,” she said. “The squats aren’t that bad, anyway.”
“Ah yes, you would know, wouldn’t you? What with your fascinating brother,” Nisha said. “Magical, bad, and dangerous to know.”
Marcia knew fine well that Nisha hadn’t seen Cato for a decade, but the tone hit her on the raw anyway. She bit her tongue, hard, and tried again.
“You were complaining that you’ve nothing to do and no political power. This could solve both. You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I’m criticising your ideas, darling, not proposing my own,” Nisha said. “In any case. If I thought it was political power you were talking about, I might be interested. But as far as I can tell you’re not talking about anything of the sort. You’re talking about a position with no power at all, but where people will be expecting you to produce something from nothing. Because make no mistake, darling, if I were to go round Marek collecting grievances and requests, it would be me that would be thought of badly when my father and your mother and all the other Heads refused to consider the matter for a moment. Which is precisely what they would do.”
“We need to demonstrate that it does matter,” Marcia said.
“But why does it?” Nisha demanded. “Natural justice, yes, fine, but if you think natural justice is going to move the stony hearts of the collective Heads, you are deluded. They will say – and there is truth to it – that the system we have has worked thus far, that Marek prospers, that they themselves prosper, and that anyone who does not should ask the cityangel to better their luck, not come whining to the Council.” She shrugged. “If you can give me a single reason that will convince one of them to take the matter seriously, then talk to me again then. Until then – I wish you luck of your quest, darling, but I will stick to card-parties and walking out.”
“Well, what, then?” Marcia demanded. “What should I be doing, if it’s not that?”
“You want me to come up with ideas for you?”
“I want you to come up with ideas with me,” Marcia said.
At her tone, Nisha rolled over slightly in the water and looked at her hard. “You’re serious,” she said, flatly.
>
“Of course I’m serious. What the hell did you think all this was about?”
“I don’t know,” Nisha said, thoughtfully. “I suppose I thought you were flailing much the same way as Daril was. Like when you were a teenager and parroted everything he said.”
“That was a long time ago,” Marcia said through her teeth.
Nisha smirked, evidently pleased that the barb had hit home.
Marcia took a long breath. “You said some things to me, as well. I concluded that you were right. What you said about Aden, too, and the Broderers Guild. He can’t be the only one.”
Nisha’s expression had sobered again, and there was something like surprise in her eyes. “He’s not the only one,” she agreed. “Look. Marcia. Are you serious about this?”
“About trying to broaden the Council, and about trying to find a better way of running things? Absolutely.” She hesitated. “Trying to include the squats, though…”
“Oh, never mind that,” Nisha said, waving a hand. “I mean, it was an interesting pamphlet, and it’s not wrong, but one revolution at a time, darling. The Guilds, now, that is reasonable. Well. If you’re serious… I’ll speak to Aden.” She sounded suddenly energised. Aden was another of Nisha and Marcia’s group, though Marcia was less close to him than she was to Nisha. Marcia wouldn’t have thought to involve him, but if Nisha thought it was a good idea… “Tomorrow, perhaps, we could meet? Morning tea, maybe. Petrior’s has very discreet private rooms. I’ll message you.” She tilted her head slightly. “Convincing the Heads, though. I meant it. You’re the closest to being able to solve that. You need to think it through.”
She wasn’t wrong. They agreed to meet at Petrior’s, and moved on to other things – Nisha loved to gossip, and Marcia could always stand to know what was going on socially; it often came in handy politically – but the question churned at the back of her mind all the way through their leisurely tea and soak, and as she walked up the Hill back to House Fereno afterwards.
How could she convince the self-concerned Heads of the need for change?