Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5)

by D J Salisbury

  Tsai’dona and Lorel followed them inside. Viper handed each girl a few bronze beggars. “After these are gone, you’ll have to drink water.”

  “Or tea,” the innkeeper said.

  Lorel shrugged. “None of us drink all that much, kid.”

  Tsai’dona’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, but she simply shook her head and pocketed the coins.

  The common room was shabby and musty, but the tables were clean. Maybe it would be safe to eat here after all.

  “What smells so good?” Lorel asked in Nashidran. Finally she was getting smart. “When’s lunch?”

  Tsai’dona’s belly rumbled.

  Viper’s stomach answered, grumbling even louder, even though the room smelled awful. His face burned hotter than the boiling grease.

  “Dinner’s still cooking. Twice-cooked beef, boiled and fried in goose fat.” The innkeeper laughed and jingled the silver patrons. “Lunch is rabbit stew and fried greens. I’ll tell the wife to serve it up right now.”

  “Not more bunny stew.” Lorel slumped into a chair and moaned. “Kid, you can eat all my green crap.”

  Unknown greens fried in goose lard? He’d pass on than one, himself.

  ∞∞∞

  Lunch sat heavily in his stomach, but the inn’s fresh, brown bread made up for the greasy stew. Bliss by the slice, even better than fried grubs.

  Lorel held up one round, half-eaten slice. “What is this crap? It ain’t wheat.”

  “Oats and barley.” Novelty bread, in Zedista. He suspected it was poor man’s fare locally. Wheat didn’t grow well in artic climates.

  Tsai’dona tore off a bit of crust, tasted it, and made a face. “Any chance of getting rice around here?”

  “No rice!” Lorel soaked her bread in stew, stuffed it into her mouth, and snitched Tsai’dona’s slice.

  “Not this far north. It’s too cold for Duremen-Lor rice.” He dipped a sop of bread into the stew, which did cut down the broth’s slippery qualities.

  He’d need to walk all afternoon to digest all the grease – and gorgeous bread – but since he had shopping to do, he couldn’t complain.

  Noran was turning out to be a charming town.

  The store around the corner from the inn was a delight in so many ways. It sold reams of paper. It sold bottles of ink. And beautifully bound notebooks. And wooden pencils coated in bright paint.

  After a spirited discussion on prices with a pretty shopgirl, Viper bought a handful of each, a blue ribbon to replace Izzy’s ratty pink one, a large burlap bag to carry everything he planned to purchase that day, plus two dozen large white handkerchiefs.

  Both of his bodyguards stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  Lorel held up a square of white linen by one corner as if she were afraid it would bite her. “Why all them hankies, kid?”

  Tsai’dona frowned at him. “I thought you wanted to buy new clothes before we got locked up in the poorhouse.”

  “I’ll get there.” Neither of them understood the important things in life. In the dragon’s lair, he’d missed clean handkerchiefs almost as much as food.

  “We ain’t never gonna get nowhere if we stop at every shop along the way.” Lorel snatched up his bag of supplies, handed it to Tsai’dona, and grabbed Viper’s shoulder. “You ain’t buying one single book until we all got new duds.” She propelled him out onto the street.

  “Hey, that’s blackmail.”

  Tsai’dona shouldered the burlap bag and frowned at him. “It’s sensible. You enjoy shopping too much.”

  Actually, it was the haggling he enjoyed, but there was no point in mentioning it. By now they both knew the truth.

  A visit with a cobbler to order two pairs of new boots for each of them, and five clothing stores later – four of those were to find a tailor who agreed to sew trousers and jackets for someone as tall as Lorel – Viper was satisfied they’d have good clothing in a few days.

  For now they each had two sets of smallclothes, three pairs of socks, and one new, white linen shirt. His and Tsai’dona’s fit handsomely.

  Lorel wasn’t as lucky. Her shirttails barely tucked into her threadbare trousers. The cuffs fell only to mid-arm, scandalously short by Nashidran standards, but she simply rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Between her swords and the scars on her face and forearms, it was obvious she was a warrior. She got some dirty looks, which she didn’t seem to notice, but no one dared scold her.

  Evening was darkening the sky by the time he’d selected One. Single. Book. He didn’t plan to forgive the girls for that indignity. He’d have been done an hour earlier if they’d let him buy three. The bullies.

  He’d like to sneak back to the bookshop on his own, but he didn’t dare go out without bodyguards in this town. Slavery was legal in Nashidra, and too many strangers were eyeing him speculatively.

  Kidnapping wasn’t legal, but as he knew from the people sold in Setoya, slavers weren’t too picky about where they found their merchandise.

  Tsai’dona knew it, too, from her own ordeal in Dureme-Lor. “The three of us must stay together.” She scowled at him as though she’d guessed his desire to escape them. “Individually, we’re targets. And killing some would-be slaver will get us into too much trouble.”

  Lorel snorted, but nodded.

  Praise the Thunderer, Tsai’dona brought it up before he had to. He hated looking weak and needy. Even if he was the shortest and weakest person in their group. He was the boss, lightning blast it.

  And being the boss, he led the way back to the wagon.

  Lorel thumped him on the top of his head. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

  “Of course I do.” If nothing else, he had his link to Kyri to fall back on. But he recognized the stationary shop down the way. “We’re almost there.”

  Lorel sighed ostentatiously.

  Tsai’dona sniggered and winked at him.

  Maybe he would forgive one of those girls. Eventually.

  When they turned the corner, Lorel smacked herself on the forehead. “You’d think I’d learn.”

  “After I guided you through two thousand miles of wilderness? I should hope so.”

  Tsai’dona laughed outright. “Only you could outsmart a city girl in the city.”

  “This ain’t no city,” Lorel grumbled. “Ain’t near big enough.”

  He couldn’t quarrel with that. Pretending he hadn’t heard her, he led the way into the inn’s courtyard.

  A crowd of people surrounded their wagon.

  Blast. Had the serdil cub gotten loose? Had Izzy hopped out the window? Had someone peeked inside and noticed Kyri? It would be hard to miss seeing a thirty-foot-long snake.

  He had to go rescue them.

  Lorel grabbed his shoulder and yanked him to a halt. “I knew the wagon would get noticed when that boy parked it outside the stable.”

  Tsai’dona nodded. “Not many wagons covered with bright blue, yellow-trimmed starfish.”

  “With inch-long spines all over them.” Lorel crossed her arms and glared at the little crowd. “That’s all that’s keeping them kids off the miswoven wagon.”

  Kids? What was she talking about?

  Oh, she was right. No one near the wagon looked older than ten or eleven. All but two tiny girls were taller than he was. Sandblast them.

  He glanced between his bodyguards. “Do we chase them off, or let the innkeeper do it?”

  Tsai’dona tapped her sword belt. “I’m pretty sure four of those children are the innkeeper’s grandkids.”

  “Why run them off?” Lorel uncrossed her arms and grinned down at him. “Why not put on a show for them?”

  “A show? What on Menajr are you talking about?”

  “You know. A magic show.”

  He backed away from her until he ran into the courtyard wall. “Did you get drunk while I was in the bookstore?”

  “No, Loom lint. I been thinking up a new way for you to make money.”

  He had hundreds of Crayl steel w
eapons in the wagon, worth a small fortune. He had dozens of jars of Hreshith-bone dust and shavings, worth a large fortune. He didn’t need a new way to make money.

  But he did need an excuse for traveling without calling attention to either treasure. And he needed a reason to travel in the gaudy wagon without revealing Kyri’s quest. Pretending to be a magician might do both.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think fast.” Tsai’dona gestured at the children. “You’ll never have an easier crowd to practice on.”

  Two older boys joined the little mob. They wouldn’t be easy, in any way. And they reminded him of the Zedisti gang who tortured him a couple of years ago. He didn’t want that kind of attention.

  Viper jammed his back against the cold stone wall. “But I don’t know anything about magicians’ shows.”

  Lorel snorted. “You never saw one whilst you was little? You never read them books you bought? You never talked to the fraying ghost about it?”

  And he’d been sure she didn’t believe in ghosts. Maybe she didn’t. She was good at putting him on. And she was pulling a major swindle right now. “You know I did. It doesn’t mean I know anything about putting on a show.”

  “You know magic. Just show them some fraying magic stuff.”

  Tsai’dona giggled, but tried to change it into a cough. The traitor.

  “I’m a sorcerer, not a magician. There’s a big difference.” Not that she’d know. Or care. But he was a scientist, not a performer.

  “Quit whining and try, kid.” Lorel strolled toward the wagon. “Here, I’ll get you started.”

  She’d what? Oh, no. “Pine tree, wait!”

  His turybird didn’t believe in waiting any more than she believed in ghosts. “Ladies and gentlemen. Please move back from the wagon. Only a little way, sweetie,” she said to a tiny girl who’d begun to cry. “Viper the Victorious is about to begin his performance.”

  Viper the what? Begin to do what? He was so sunk in serdil pee. But he climbed up to the driver’s platform and faced his audience.

  A sea of little faces peered up at him. There must be a hundred children out there. Well, fifty. A quick count showed thirteen heads. A bunch of them must be hiding.

  How could he entertain them? An illusion would be a good start. And as Frederick said, lunars ago, showmanship was important. Blast. He was expected to chatter.

  What had Lorel said? “Ladies and gentlemen. Today I will show you–” Show them what? Not a dragon; scaring them wasn’t the purpose of this nonsense. Not a serdil or a bahtdor, either. “Show you a–”

  “Where’s your magic wand?” an older boy shouted. The brat must be all of fifteen. A year older than he was.

  Why had he agreed to this? “I’m not that kind of magician.”

  The crowd grumbled.

  No magic wand. No playing cards to trick them with. All he had was handkerchiefs. At least he had lots of those. Or rather, Lorel did. He held out his hand. “Assistant, bring me the magic bag.”

  The children gasped.

  Barely hiding a snarky grin, Lorel strolled forward and handed him their shopping bag. “Doing fine,” she whispered in Zedisti.

  “I hate you,” he whispered back.

  She turned her back to the crowd, snickered, and wandered away.

  “First, I shall remove the illusion that protects the magical bag from evil thieves.” Waving his hand theatrically, he created an illusion around the brown burlap bag, making it appear to be coppery velvet.

  The children squealed and applauded.

  Praise the Thunderer, he was doing something right.

  He opened the bag. His eyes got big. He squeezed the fabric opening tightly closed.

  The crowd hooted and giggled.

  How was he ever going to find anything in there? Socks, smallclothes, notebooks, and who-knew-what-else were crammed into the sack.

  The handkerchiefs came from the very first shop. They should be near the bottom. He gingerly opened the bag again and stuck one hand in.

  More giggles. As least these children were easily entertained.

  He knew something else to amuse them. Magicians traveling in Setoya used it all the time.

  Squeaking melodramatically, he yanked his hand out of the sack, at the same time willing an illusion of a huge furry paw grabbing his wrist.

  The children screamed.

  Lorel and Tsai’dona charged forward.

  Maybe a little too realistic. He jerked his head at his bodyguards and shouted, “Begone!” He thrust his hand and its attacking ‘paw’ deep into the sack, clear up to his shoulder.

  The crowd gasped.

  His fingers found the stack of handkerchiefs. Blast. Hankies might be anticlimactic. But he could fix that.

  He yanked the handkerchiefs out into the sunlight, held them high, and cast an illusion of a large dove over them.

  The throng cheered.

  More praise to the Thunderer. And he hadn’t even needed to chatter. Though he’d better start.

  “I do think it’s time for a more traditional type of magic, don’t you?”

  Half the crowd nodded, but the rest shook their heads and frowned. Too bad. They were stuck with whatever he could make up.

  He set the bag at his feet and held the ‘dove’ higher. “For this next trick, I’ll need–” Removing the illusion, he lowered his hand and lifted the top square of linen by one corner. “Oh, dear. What have we here?”

  “Hankies,” the smaller children shouted. The older brats muttered between themselves.

  He’d show them. He created an illusion of a handkerchief hanging in midair – no wonder Trevor hated illusions – and pretended to tie one corner to the next square while actually tying two real handkerchiefs together.

  The older kids shut up and watched.

  As quickly as he could with fingers shaking harder than quicksand during an Alignment, Viper tied the cattycorners of six handkerchiefs into a rope.

  “Now, what have we here?”

  “Hankies,” the smallest children shouted. The older kids crossed their arms and watched.

  “What kind of hankies?” He stretched the linen rope as wide as he could. Most of it draped into his lap and over his knees.

  “White hankies,” the smaller children shouted.

  The response was boring, but it gave him an idea. “Are you sure they’re white?”

  The little children frowned. The older kids started to grin.

  Blast. This must be an old trick. But it would do for now.

  Viper willed an illusion of flowers on every square, a different blossom on each.

  The older children’s eyes got big. The smaller kids clapped and squealed.

  What was interesting about flowers?

  He paused and examined his handiwork. The illusions didn’t look like print. Real flowers appeared to be growing out of the cloth.

  That was getting carried away. He dropped one end of his linen rope and waved one hand.

  The hankies turned blue. All of them. And the flowers got bigger.

  All of the children cheered.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t what he’d planned at all. But it would do. He stuffed the linen into the bag.

  The side of his hand caught on something inside. Pain stabbed up his arm. What was in there? Nothing sharp that he remembered. Just notebooks and pens and pins to fasten their clothing.

  He yanked his hand back out. Skin tore, blood flowed. Lavender mist floated around his fingers.

  The crowd went silent.

  Surely they couldn’t see the blood magic? Of course not, sandcrab. They saw blood.

  But one problem at a time. He glared at his hand – and the blood mist – until the magic dissipated.

  He made a face at the children staring at him. “The guardian must be hungry today. Anyone want to get fed to him?”

  Nervous giggles answered him.

  Hey, that question had been a hit for the magicians in Setoya. He must be dealing with a more d
elicate crowd. “I suppose I’ll have to buy a chicken to feed it.” Or rather, to feed Lorel’s wretched serdil cub. Feeding his mythical guardian would be a good cover.

  He licked blood off his hand before it dripped on his new shirt.

  The children’s eyes grew round again. Delicate didn’t begin to describe these kids. Sheltered was too weak. Never mind. Preparing them for real life wasn’t his problem.

  Entertaining them was.

  Blast, there were a bunch of grownups out there, too. How could he amuse adults?

  Most of the grownups wore a hat of some sort. The old hat trick made his tribe’s warriors laugh, though he’d never understood why. It ought to work here. “Will anyone lend me a hat?”

  Every hat wearer stepped back. The cowards.

  He held up his empty hands. “No fire, no eggs, no messy stuff.”

  A tall, white-haired man with an aura radiating orange and streaks of silvery magic marched through the courtyard gate. A sorcerer! Finally he’d get some help with Kyri’s quest.

  But first he had to get through this performance.

  An elderly gentleman stepped forward, lifted his beige wool cap from his bald head, and handed it up.

  Blast. He’d expected a hard-sided hat. He forced himself to smile at the man while turning the cap in his hands.

  Honestly, what difference did the shape make? He was only going to pull an illusion out of it. But what should he show them? These people were too fearful for a snake or a weasel. What wouldn’t frighten them?

  A stuffed animal. He’d pretend to pull Izzy from the hat’s depths.

  “Look here now.” He showed the empty cap to the crowd. “You all know this hat. Nothing inside it, right?”

  “Just lice,” the oldest brat shouted.

  The bald man shouted back, “There are not!”

  “There are, too!” the little ones yelled.

  Exactly what he needed, bugs crawling up his arm. Viper swallowed hard, whispered the bug-be-gone chant, and held the cap out in front of him. “Behold!”

  The children stopped their bickering and stared at him.

  He reached into the cap – creating an illusion of his arm reaching in up to his elbow – and pulled out an illusion of Izzy.

  The crowd gasped and applauded.

  The leather prairie dog’s paws paddled in the air. Its thread-covered middle wiggled like a snake.