by Juliet Kemp
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Cato said. “Nothing important.” She couldn’t tell from his tone whether or not he was telling the truth.
He flung himself down into the one armchair in the room, on top of the pile of clothes that already occupied it, and put his head back. “So. What can I do for you?”
There was nowhere for Reb to sit, unless she wanted to perch on the edge of Cato’s bed, which she most certainly did not, or to use his workstool, which, given that he hadn’t offered it, would be the height of rudeness. She wasn’t about to stoop to his level. She settled for pacing.
“I’ve come for two things, as it happens. Firstly – why the hell didn’t you tell me that Jonas was apprenticed to you?” she demanded.
Cato’s eyes narrowed. She could see the moment when he decided not to evade the question.
“Because it’s none of your business,” he said instead. “Like I said. This Group thing, if it’s about keeping Marek safe, then very well. But it’s not up to you who I apprentice, and I don’t see the need to tell you.”
“We should be keeping track of sorcerers,” Reb said through her teeth.
Cato shrugged. “I know about him, and I’m part of your precious Group, so we were keeping track of him.”
Reb ground her teeth together so hard that they squeaked. “And what am I to think, when I notice unidentified magic around the corner some day?”
“Is that what happened?” Cato asked. “Because I wouldn’t have said Jonas was up to using magic alone yet.”
“And yet there he is running around unsupervised,” Reb said.
Cato sighed. “I mean, he can’t do it half the time. In any case, he’s not stupid. He’s not going to go experimenting on his own.”
“And if he does?” Reb demanded.
“Then it’s my problem, not yours.”
“Until he disagrees with you, or he does something accidentally,” Reb said. “Then it becomes my problem too, and it’s only happenstance that I know there’s anything that could be a problem.”
They glared at one another. Cato opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I see your point,” he said, sounding like it cost him something to say it.
“And quite apart from knowing about it,” Reb said, “are you an appropriate person to be teaching him?”
She knew she’d mis-stepped as soon as she said it. Cato’s jaw clenched, and the air in the room felt suddenly thick.
“And who the hell are you to judge that?” he demanded. “If you want to work with me, if you want me to work with you, it’s time you bloody respected me. Stop looking down your nose because you think you’re better, or more moral, or whatever it is. I’m not the one who barely cast a charm for two years. If it comes right down to it, which of us do you think, really, is the better sorcerer right now?”
Reb’s anger blazed again, and she took a step towards Cato, who folded his arms and stared defiantly at her. Blood thumped in her ears, and she wondered what she had in her pockets, whether she could…
What the hell was she doing?
She closed her eyes for a second, took a step back, and made herself relax. When she opened her eyes again, Cato was looking very slightly sheepish, but she knew there was no way he would back down. Not when she’d been the first to escalate.
“That was over the line,” she said. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s not on me to judge whether you’re the right teacher for Jonas. That’s between you and him.”
Cato looked startled, then nodded. “Thank you. I…” His chin went up, just a little. “I overstepped too. I’m sorry.”
“Right,” Reb said. “Let’s go back a little. Can we agree that both of us should let the other know if we discover a new sorcerer, or take an apprentice? But that it’s not down to either of us to interfere with that.”
“That it’s not the business of the Group to interfere with that,” Cato said. “Let’s generalise.”
“Unless one or the other – teacher or apprentice – requests intervention, or unless something happens that would otherwise be the business of the Group,” Reb said. “Dangerous magic. Spirits. That kind of thing.”
“Fine,” Cato agreed. “I can live with that.” He folded his arms. “That’s not all, is it? You said, two things.”
“Marcia’s been speaking to the Teren Lord Lieutenant. She wants to meet with us.”
“The Lord Lieutenant does?” Cato’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Apparently so. She’s interested in the differences between Teren and Marek magic. Marcia told her the basics, but thought it might be of use for her to talk to an actual sorcerer.”
“Marcia got us into this?”
“She asked me, and I said we’d do it.” She raised a hand as she saw Cato’s expression change. “I’ll do it, if you don’t want to. But I thought it was perhaps a matter for the Group, and that I should see if you wanted to be involved as well.”
“Fine. I suppose that’s reasonable. I appreciate the thought.” The last bit sounded slightly forced, but at least he was trying.
“Well? Do you?”
“Oh, why not.” He flapped a hand. “It might be interesting. The Lord Lieutenant, hey? Well, there we go.”
“She won’t be coming here,” Reb warned him.
“No, I would imagine she won’t,” Cato said drily. “Let me know where it is, and I’ll come. As long as it’s not Marekhill. I’ll come as far as the Square and no further.”
“I’ll send a message,” Reb said. She badly wanted to suggest that he dressed appropriately for the occasion, but that could surely only backfire.
“Well then,” she said, instead. “I’ll be leaving you to it, then.”
“I always so appreciate your little visits,” Cato said, closing his eyes. “Do feel free to see yourself out.”
But despite the drawl in his voice, as she went back down the stairs, it felt like the two of them might have taken a step towards a working relationship.
NINE
Tait stood on the damp boards by the river, where the barge had tied up, and wondered whether they were in Marek yet. The giant unloading-yard was full of carts and people, shifting sacks off barges and moving crates around. The edge of Marek proper was a clutter of buildings maybe half a mile off. But surely this yard must be managed by Marek, given that the nearest part of Teren that wasn’t swamp was eighty miles away. Did that mean it counted, or not? Was Tait safe yet?
“Out of the way,” a porter snapped at them, pushing a huge trolley that seemed to Tait to be vastly and dangerously overladen. They hastily stepped backwards out of her way, and narrowly avoided going straight into the swamp-water.
The troop had spent the last two days poling their barges along the marked channel through the swamps between Teren and Marek. Not that Tait themself had done any poling, after nearly falling in on their first turn. Not wanting to shirk, they had assured Captain Anna they would do better with practice, but she felt it would be quicker for the experienced folk just to get on with it. She’d reminded Tait that they were supposed to be ready to solve any problems that might require sorcery. Since no such problems had arisen – thankfully – it had all left Tait feeling somewhat surplus to requirements.
But it was fine, because now they were – nearly – in Marek, which had been the point of the whole damn exercise. And Bracken had been accurate in his timing: it was just on noon.
Tait would feel a lot safer, though, once in Marek proper. Looking up the river, Tait could see where it curved and hid itself behind the dense buildings. Beyond that rose what must, from the maps they’d seen, be Marekhill, where the nobles lived. Closer at hand, a wide road led off from the far side of the square towards the city. Smaller carts trundled down it after loading up from the barges and the large carts that had come in from Teren; Marek streets must be narrow.
“Sorcerer Tait.” Captain Anna came up to Tait, looking harassed.
“Captain Anna,” they said, bowing polit
ely.
“This is the formal end of our journey,” she said. “I have found you a trader who is taking the road back to Teren, although only as far as Hareth. I know we agreed to pay for your return, so I’ve added a little to your pay to cover transport from Hareth to Ameten…”
“Ah,” Tait interrupted. “In fact, I am intending to stay in Marek for a while.”
Captain Anna blinked at them. “Oh.” She looked down at the money-bag in her hand, obviously rethinking the matter of how much she’d put in there.
“But if my journey back was to be paid, I will save that money for when I do return,” Tait said, plucking the bag out of Captain Anna’s hand before she could recount it. It was only fair, really. That was the deal, after all. Not that Tait had ever intended to go back to Ameten, when they’d agreed the job, but it would have looked odd to admit that at the time. “Are you yourself going into Marek proper now? May I ride along with you?”
“We’re walking,” Captain Anna said, a little repressively.
Of course they were. Tait kept their smile on. “Then may I walk with you?”
“Of course,” she said. “We will leave in half an hour.”
Half an hour more to wonder whether they were yet under the protection of the cityangel. Still. It would look peculiar not to wait, having asked. Tait nodded politely, and found a bale to sit on.
Porters irritably moved them off that bale and various others a couple of times more before Captain Anna indicated it was time to go. The soldiers who weren’t heading off to Teren formed up slightly raggedly, and Tait tagged on behind them as they walked along the side of the well-tended road towards the city proper.
The buildings on each side of the road grew denser as they went. Tait was paying so much attention to looking for some kind of indication that they were coming under the cityangel’s power – a tingle? A figure appearing to bar Tait’s way on the grounds that they were being chased? A fork of lightning? – that it was almost a surprise when they came to a halt in another large square. This one was obviously a market, and some of the carts were unloading here. People with hand-carts were haggling at various stalls. Unlit torches hung above the shops around the edge of the square, behind the stalls and barrows. The place was noisy, it smelt slightly of raw meat and rotting vegetables, and it was very definitely in Marek. Tait had made it.
“Well, here we are,” Captain Anna said briskly. “We go now to the barracks, and I will report to House Fereno. Do you know Marek at all?”
Tait shook their head. Captain Anna looked like she was refraining from rolling her eyes.
“Well. If you wish somewhere free to stay, there are the squats.” She gestured at a dense block of housing, built to three or four storeys, that rose into the sky a little way from the market. “I would recommend the areas nearest the river. If you prefer an inn, go over New Bridge here,” she pointed at the bridge that rose from the middle of one end of the market square, “and, well, look for signs. That area is safe enough.”
“The White Horse is good,” Bracken put in over her shoulder. “Cheap. Clean. Good stew.”
“Where is it?” Tait asked.
“Over the bridge, third left, second right,” Bracken said.
“Thank you,” Tait said. They had enough in that bag Captain Anna had handed over to pay for an inn room, rather than try to negotiate the squats. They’d heard of Marek’s squats, and it sounded like an excellent idea which doubtless had a hugely complicated social context that Tait didn’t feel up to wrangling right now.
Tait bid Captain Anna and Bracken and the rest goodbye, and they all disappeared off, presumably in the direction of the barracks. Tait shouldered their bag again, and set off to find the White Horse.
Bracken’s instructions were excellent; the White Horse was easy to find with its very lifelike painted sign, the floor of the main taproom was clean and spread with fresh straw and herbs, and the landlady was friendly enough. Tait arranged a room – they would have to find something cheaper eventually, but it would do for a few nights, and maybe after that Tait would have some clue of what to do next – and ordered dinner for later, then closed the door of the room with a sigh of relief and collapsed backwards onto the bed. The beautiful, soft, comfortable bed. They kept their feet on the floor. Wouldn’t do to get the counterpane – the lovely comfortable counterpane that smelt of soap – dirty, and Tait couldn’t face taking their boots off just yet.
They stared up at the ceiling, revelling in the peace and solitude and reflecting that Bracken’s standards for an inn were higher than Tait might have expected, and realised that they had no idea what to do next. Somehow, all of their planning had only gone as far as reaching Marek.
How certain was it that the demon the Academy would have sent after them couldn’t get at them here? Tait chewed at the inside of their cheek. Moderately certain. They thought. Everything they had read about Marek’s strange magical situation suggested that the cityangel would think very poorly of an interloper on its turf; but everything Tait had read about Marek’s magical situation was written by non-Marek visitors. Who might have totally misunderstood everything, for all they knew. No one at the Academy of the Court had wanted to discuss Marek; they all dismissed it as a weird little oddity that wasn’t worth bothering about.
Maybe the cityangel would keep the demon out, but would solve the problem by merrily handing over Tait to it. It wasn’t like Tait belonged here, after all.
Really, the only reason Tait had come to Marek was because there was a possibility that here might be safe, whereas Teren very definitely wasn’t. The Academy of the Court didn’t take kindly to people running away from it.
If Tait had stood up to the Academy in the first place, instead of doing what they were told despite their increasing reservations, the Academy wouldn’t have been able to raise a demon that could recognise Tait, and they’d be safe. Except that Tait hadn’t stood up to the Academy in the first place because they’d been in fear of their life. And now they were still in fear of their life, so hadn’t that worked out well – except on the other hand, they were in Marek now, and still alive, so maybe they were winning. Sort of.
None of which answered the question: what now? In an ideal world, Tait could practise magic again, could learn Marek-style magic, safe in the knowledge that the cityangel would defend them. But that would require finding out a bit more about the whole setup, and the problem there was to do it without letting on to anyone who might be interested that Tait was here. Marek was, after all, notionally still part of Teren. Tait might be safe from the demon here, but that didn’t mean they were safe from the Academy sorcerer who would be binding the demon. Or from anyone else who might report back to the Academy. Tait wasn’t stupid enough to think that Teren didn’t have spies here. What they didn’t know was which part of the Ameten Court those spies might report back to.
Thinking about it, coming to the White Horse might have been a bad idea. Bracken had suggested it, and Bracken knew what Tait was, even if not exactly who Tait was. Tait had smiled and oo-ed through the stories they’d heard at the occasional village tavern of the sorcerer who had raised a demon and run away from Ameten. Untrue stories, but it made sense that that was what was being spread. Thankfully Tait hadn’t been described at all – Tait was a lot less impressive than the story-sorcerer – but they were still surprised that no one had even raised an eyebrow. Maybe none of them thought it was likely that a sorcerer on the run would take a job that meant two weeks of trudging up and down bloody mountains, and the risk of needing to use magic if the occasion arose.
The occasion had arisen, and Tait had dealt with it; but there was magic that blood wasn’t enough for, or that Tait didn’t have enough blood for, and then what would they have done? It had been a stupid bloody risk, not just of themself, but of Captain Anna and Bracken and all the rest of them. But. Tait had got away with it, so maybe best just to put that away and not think about it again. Perhaps nearly bleeding out for their trouble was pen
ance enough.
Tait’s next step had to be talking to a sorcerer, and the only reasonable way of doing that was to ask the landlady where to find one, which in turn meant leaving a trail half a mile wide if anyone was looking for them in Marek. Still. Not a lot else to be done.
Tait really wished there had been more options, over the last few weeks. Or before they even got into this hideous mess.
Well then. Dinner, an ewer and soap to scrub themself down a little, asking after sorcerers, a good night’s sleep; and then in the morning, they would go find the sorcerers. And just maybe, it would all still work out.
k k
Marcia was in the library going over her personal accounts – she’d ripped her formal tunic, and she hadn’t expected to replace it for a while, which meant moving some money around – when one of the servants appeared around the door.
“A Captain Anna Barcola to see you, please.”
Marcia closed the account-book. “Excellent. Show her in here, if you could? And send in an infusion tray, with something from the kitchen, and a decanter of brandy.”
Hopefully this expedition had been less hazardous to the health than the last one, but the woman would doubtless nevertheless appreciate something pleasant. The last time Marcia had heard from her was a messenger sent back before they went up into the mountains, confirming that all was well; after that, no one they’d encountered would have had a significant chance of returning to Marek before them. The captain had been unconvinced that messenger birds would survive the trip, and didn’t want the inconvenience of carrying them in order to find out. It would be useful, though… maybe another time, if this trip had been successful.
The captain was shown in, and Marcia exhaled in relief as she saw the woman’s smile. She was in neat, tidy, uniform, too; she must have stopped at the barracks to change. Unlike the last time, where she’d arrived late, stained and travel-weary, rushing to tell Marcia bad news.
“Fereno-Heir,” she said, with a brisk half-bow, like a bird bobbing. “I am pleased to report a very successful trip.”