Shadow and Storm

by Juliet Kemp

In the hall, Marcia hesitated, looking down at herself. Her House tunic would send one message, if she went out in it; but right now, she didn’t think that she wanted to be Marcia, Fereno-Heir. Not that Warden Ilana didn’t know exactly who she was, but it was a matter of signals.

  And if she wanted to give Ilana another indication that she was keen to resolve this problem, she would do better to ask for a meeting, not just arrive on the doorstep of the Jewellers’ Guild demanding one. She went to the ironwood table in the hall, its delicate curlicues testament to the patient artistry of the Woodworkers’ Guild; ironwood was notoriously difficult to carve. Paper and pen waited on top, the old style of dip pen rather than the new model that Marcia preferred. Marcia wrote a quick note, sealed it with her personal ring rather than her House one, and handed it to the footman who was on duty in the Hall.

  “Get a messenger for this, please?”

  Upstairs, Griya was still in her room, tidying. She looked tense; everyone in the House would be picking up Madeleine’s mood. Marcia changed from House wear into a tunic and trousers in a light rose, with a leaf pattern embroidered around the edges, then went downstairs to her study to await Ilana’s reply. A footman intercepted her on her way down the stairs with a reply to her message. That was sufficiently fast that Warden Ilana must have been expecting the request. It said simply that if Marcia were free this morning, Ilana would be at her disposal.

  It was still a clear morning, with white puffs of cloud sailing high over the city, but Marcia was not in the mood to appreciate it. Walking down the Hill towards the Jewellers’ Guildhouse, she tried to rehearse her arguments, but everything kept jumbling together. She took a long, deep, breath. She knew what she was doing. She knew Ilana. She would just have to play it by ear; and she was more than competent to do so.

  She hoped.

  This time, she was shown straight in to Warden Ilana’s workroom: a well-appointed space with Ilana’s worktable by the large window, and two armchairs by the fireplace on the other side of the room. The floor was bare other than a large rug underneath the armchairs; jewellery work didn’t mix well with fine furnishings.

  Ilana wasn’t wearing their cloak, and their shirt and trousers were thick brown linen, with the marks of their profession across them, scars and stains from metalworking.

  “Please excuse my appearance,” Ilana said, as Marcia entered the room. “Today is a working day for me, you understand, but it seemed that you would prefer to meet now, informally, than to wait for a meeting room and fine clothes.”

  “Indeed,” Marcia said, doing her best to smile. Of course Ilana knew exactly why she was here.

  Ilana gestured for her to be seated, and took a kettle off the fire to pour an infusion into two cups. Greenleaf, from the smell of it. They sat down and looked inquiringly at Marcia. Ilana might know why Marcia was there, but she was going to make Marcia start the conversation.

  There was no point in beating around the bush. “I thought,” you said, “the Guilds wouldn’t move on their own yet.”

  Ilana sighed. “Well. The Lord Lieutenant’s speech was – not helpful. I was not there, of course, but from the telling of it, the Guilds were excluded entirely. They, we… did not take kindly to that.”

  Marcia hadn’t bitten her fingernails since childhood. She was not about to start again now.

  “But such a rapid response?” Marcia said.

  Ilana paused, choosing their words. “The problem with having raised the matter, beforehand, you understand, is that the Guilds have begun to… think more clearly, about what we can do. About whether the Houses are, to put it bluntly, needed.”

  “We have the trade relationships,” Marcia said. “We can pack ships efficiently in a way that the Guilds alone would struggle to do. We all do best when we work together, each to their own strengths.”

  Ilana shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps. But then, perhaps we could learn these House skills for ourselves, and deal directly with the Salinas.”

  “The Salinas have relationships with the Houses, and the Houses with the Guilds,” Marcia said. “That’s far more effective for all involved. The Salinas need to come and go rapidly; would you have them sit around and haggle with each Guild, one by one? Duplicate all of that effort?” By that argument, of course, the Houses too duplicated effort, thirteen of them working separately. Marcia wasn’t about to mention that. And there were more Guilds than there were Houses.

  “Indeed, I do not downplay the work of the Houses,” Ilana said. “But these positive relationships are mutual. Without the Guilds, the Houses have little to trade. Teren produce. Some food from Exuria. So if the Houses wish to ignore the Guilds, and to turn instead to Teren… Well. Perhaps the Guilds feel that the Houses should realise what they stand to lose, if they ignore the dissatisfaction of the Guilds.”

  “The Houses don’t wish to turn to Teren,” Marcia said. She wished she could say that they didn’t wish to ignore the dissatisfaction of the Guilds.

  “We did not hear any great clamour against the Lieutenant’s speech,” Ilana said.

  “No, because…” Marcia stopped, frustrated. “Marek is still part of Teren, isn’t it?”

  Ilana pursed their lips, and didn’t say anything. Marcia stared at them. Both of them heard what wasn’t being said.

  “The Houses are not about to share power with the Guilds,” Ilana said. “We both know that.”

  “I am trying…” Marcia started, frustrated beyond bearing, then stopped, and winced.

  “You are trying,” Ilana said, voice calm. “And not succeeding. We both know how little the other Houses are interested. And – I apologise for being blunt – but you are Heir, not Head. You cannot even carry your own House’s vote by yourself.”

  Marcia didn’t say anything. There was nothing there she could deny. She felt sick, and the smell coming off the greenleaf infusion wasn’t helping. Carefully, she set the little cup down.

  “If the Houses wish to make their allegiances clear, then they can do so,” Ilana said. Their shoulders had gone back, and they set down their own cup. “Until then – the Guilds’ allegiance is to Marek. Not to Teren, and not to the Houses. We are the engine of Marek’s prosperity, and we are no longer prepared to sit at the foot of the table and accept scraps.” Ilana’s normally calm voice had an undercurrent of anger.

  “I see,” Marcia said. This wasn’t just going to blow over, was it? There wasn’t anything she could say, any perfect words, to resolve this situation. All her careful planning, all her thoughts about how to move gradually, slowly, encouraging both Guilds and Houses towards a more equal future… all so much scrap.

  “I say this informally, you understand, in the light of our strong working relationship,” Ilana said, leaning forwards just a little. “Which I would be very sorry to lose. We would far rather continue to work together. We would welcome any positive approach from the Houses. Informal,” they made a small gesture between themself and Marcia, “or, in due course, formal.”

  Marcia seized onto that tiny hope. Could she, Marcia, manage to broker a peace between Guilds and Houses now? Because either someone did that right now, or Marek was going to suffer for it. Ilana gave no indication that the Guilds were about to back down. And Marcia knew all too well how stubborn the Houses could be. Of course, it was in Ilana’s interest not to indicate that the Guilds might back down… but when it came down to it, Ilana was right. The Houses had the most to lose.

  “Formal, or informal,” she said, almost at random. “So if I were wearing House-formal now… ?”

  “Then I would be putting this in much more circuitous, perhaps more politic, terms,” Ilana said. Marcia’s eyebrows went up. That news-sheet had been neither circuitous nor politic. “But the message would be the same. The Houses must make decisions about their own allegiances.”

  If it came right down to it, if neither Houses nor Guilds would back down, the Guilds would win, in the end. Eventually. But it would come at a cost to everyone. Houses, Guilds, the
rest of Marek. All the people that Cato kept telling her about. Reb’s neighbours. Those in the squats.

  The Houses wouldn’t back down unless someone made them. But if the Guilds were acting together, it would take only two House votes to make the changes they wanted. What would the cost be, if she brokered that? To Marek? To her House? What was the risk of the other Houses going against the outcome of the vote, if it was that close? The Houses acting against a Council vote would be even worse than the current situation.

  And where could she get a second vote? Never mind a second vote – her chances of convincing Madeleine about Fereno’s vote were slim, when the Guilds were acting this way.

  But if she didn’t try… what then?

  Marcia swallowed. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She took a long breath, and rose from her chair.

  “I thank you for your time, Warden Ilana,” she said formally, with a fractional bow. “And for receiving me in this thoughtful manner, allowing us to have such a frank exchange of opinions.” She meant it, mostly, although she saw Ilana’s smile twist, just a little, at the edge of sarcasm that Marcia couldn’t quite keep out of her voice. “I will… do my best, to help the Houses and the Guilds resolve this calmly, and quickly.”

  “I look forward to speaking again,” Ilana said.

  Marcia walked out of the Guild and into the sunshine without seeing any of the beautiful decor of the Jewellers’ Hall.

  What the hell was she going to do next?

  SIXTEEN

  Cato had the vague intention, the morning after Tait’s arrival, of showing Tait straight away how to set up a ward. It sounded like protection should be high up their agenda. Not that he had any idea how to go about teaching that. Jonas wasn’t anywhere close to that stage, so he hadn’t thought about it. Maybe Tait wouldn’t be capable of it yet either; although maybe their experience with Teren magic would help. Wouldn’t it?

  Ugh; maybe Beckett made a good point when they suggested that one apprentice was enough to be going on with. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and wished, quite fervently, that he’d made notes when he was sixteen and learning magic by himself in his room. He remembered the doggedness of trying things, over and again. He remembered ploughing through every book he could get his hands on. Some of his less savoury work contacts, people he still did jobs for from time to time, or who did jobs for him, dated from when he was trying to find ways to teach himself magic that didn’t involve apprenticing. No one reputable – sorcerer or otherwise – had been willing to help the teenage scion of House Fereno.

  Once he’d been disowned, that had stopped being a problem; but by then he’d been too convinced of his own ability to submit to an apprenticeship. And too much in need of cash, come to that. He’d learnt things from other sorcerers over the years, one way and another. He’d certainly learnt a lot from catastrophically screwing up. But he didn’t have much experience of direct teaching as a student, and now he had to work it out as a teacher.

  Well. He had plenty of time for Jonas, given how long it was taking Jonas to get past whatever weird hangups he had about magic. As for Tait; well, if Cato had managed, surely Tait could too. They would have an actual sorcerer to copy, standing right in front of them; surely it would be easier than making everything up from scratch.

  He rubbed at his eyes, and considered the wisdom of getting up and having something to eat. And an infusion. Something stimulating.

  There was a cautious knock on his door, and he sat up. The wards hadn’t so much as shivered, which meant it had to be Marcia, Jonas, or Tait. He hadn’t heard anyone on the stairs, so it wasn’t Jonas, who was amazingly loud when walking for someone who could climb the way he did; and no one was swearing through the door at him yet, so it wasn’t Marcia.

  Tait. He concentrated and waved a hand, and the door swung open. Tait stood there, blinking at him, and still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, even more rumpled now.

  “Come on in.”

  Cato observed with satisfaction that Tait’s gaze fell to his bare chest before coming back up to his face. Tait looked a little pink. Cato and Marcia were both naturally flat-chested, which was a slight annoyance to Marcia and a major relief to Cato. That, together with the apothecary’s medicine he took weekly, meant that he hadn’t needed any of the more complicated options that some folk used to alter their bodies. He’d tried, once, to use magic, and only succeeded in once again proving that magic couldn’t permanently affect matter. Still. He was happy enough with his body; and no one else who’d encountered it close-up seemed to have any issues with it either.

  “Good morning,” Tait said, and shifted their weight from foot to foot, looking anxious. “Is there… anywhere to wash, here?”

  Something clicked over in Cato’s brain, and he realised why Tait was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Polite manners would have him find a circuitous way to assess whether he was correct, but polite manners could go jump.

  “Do you have any other clean clothes?” Cato asked.

  Tait’s jaw clenched, then they took a deep breath and put their chin up. “No. I didn’t come away with much, and the journey across the mountains was hard on what I did have. I was going to make arrangements at the inn, but…”

  “Does what’s in your bag need cleaning, or turning into rags?” Cato asked.

  “Cleaning,” Tait said. Their cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

  “Right,” Cato said. “Well then. How about the first order of the day is, we visit the baths. My treat.” The warding-lesson could wait, if Cato stuck with Tait to keep an eye on them.

  “I can pay my way,” Tait said, looking mutinous.

  “No doubt,” Cato said. “But I said I’d help you out, and I would appreciate it if you’d let that include helping you settle into Marek. Which I imagine will be easier if you feel you and your clothes are clean.” He shrugged, offhand. “You’d be doing me a favour, any rate. I prefer company for the baths.”

  The last was a total lie, but apparently Tait believed it, because the crease between their eyebrows flattened out, and they smiled, just slightly. Cato felt the smile like a personal victory.

  “They wash clothes, there, too?”

  “Can do,” Cato said. “You’ll have to leave them there long enough to dry, so you’re welcome to borrow something of mine to walk back here in. Won’t quite fit,” Tait had a good few inches of height on Cato, “but it’ll keep you decent.” He bit back on the instinct to say that’d be a shame; he didn’t want to be making a pass at Tait first thing in the morning. Or at any time when they were so obviously not feeling comfortable.

  Which was another good reason to make sure Tait did feel comfortable.

  The baths for the squats were a street or two away from where Cato lived, closer to the river than his room was. The baths were right in the middle of the squats area, and used by everyone; there was a semi-official truce in place there, both to deal with grudges, and so that the less law-abiding squat-dwellers didn’t harass the more law-abiding. Cato explained a little of this as they walked over.

  “Less law-abiding,” Tait said. They didn’t look surprised.

  Cato shrugged. “I’d say, don’t wander round here on your own if you don’t know where you’re going, but you’ve been seen with me now so you’re probably fine.” He thought about it. “But maybe still don’t wander round on your own if you don’t know where you’re going.”

  Tait pursed their lips. “I can cope well enough with Ameten. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” They glanced at Cato. “You choose to live in the less law-abiding area, then?”

  “Well,” Cato said, shrugging a shoulder. “I have been described as having a flexible morality. Personally I think that the flexibility of my morality is less relevant than some of my other flexibilities,” ha, Tait was blushing again, excellent, “but I suppose it’s true enough. I am motivated largely by whether or not someone will pay me.”

  And earlier this year that had led him into slight
ly darker waters than, it turned out, he really wanted to swim, but he wasn’t about to tell Tait about that. Cato wasn’t normally embarrassed by anything he did, more or less as a point of principle, but on this particular occasion… Well, it had all worked out fine in the end.

  “Right,” Tait said, looking uncomfortable.

  “But in fact at present I’m mostly on the legit side of things,” Cato surprised himself by saying. It was true enough, though he hadn’t previously thought about it in those terms. Mostly true. Semi-legit, at least. “What with one thing and another.”

  Tait glanced over at him, and Cato saw their eyes narrow slightly. Cato had the unfamiliar experience of someone assessing him, and possibly even seeing through him. Marcia could, sometimes, but all too often she just saw her sibling, not Cato in his entirety.

  He tried to tell himself that his heart wasn’t beating a little faster because of it.

  Tait looked away again. “Well. I suppose I will hope that my guide to Marek and its magic won’t be taken away by the Guard any time soon.”

  “Hah. The Guard don’t make it into the squats,” Cato scoffed. “And nor would they touch a sorcerer. But I take your point.”

  They reached the baths, and Cato paid the penny each for entry and a towel. He led Tait along the sunken path at the side of the big main room, to the changing cubicles and the counter where Tait could hand over their clothes.

  “To wash, please,” Cato said to the attendant. “And these as well.” He gave the attendant the small bundle of Tait’s other clothes.

  “Need another penny for that lot,” the attendant said, sourly. Cato sighed and paid it.

  Tait looked uncomfortable as they went back through to the main room, wrapped in a towel. Were they body-conscious? Come to that, Cato didn’t know anything about the way that people did these things in Teren.

  “I can pay you back,” Tait said, abruptly, stopping at the side of the room.

  Ah, the money. “Not to worry,” Cato said. “As I said before, I’m more than happy to assist a visitor. It all balances out in the end, I find.” And favours networks were worth a great deal more than a penny here and there. “Come on. Steam room is this way.”