Spurned

by R. Moses

  Chapter Seven

  She told him everything just like she did Naomi. As she went on, more and more drifted off to bed or to more private entertainments. They were left alone at the bonfire by the time she finished.

  Icari said, “Incredible.” He looked into her eyes, his face still. “I think we made a mistake.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Opening that seal for Hither.”

  Her heart cramped and she looked away. She whispered, “I think you are right. I don't know much about magic, but I do know those things are sealed for a reason.” She made herself turn back to him, to face their mutual shame. “Why do you think he wanted the seal broken?”

  “There could be a dozen reasons, some noble and some wicked. Truly I cannot guess.”

  “Give me a noble reason.”

  “Those seals are often opened to banish the evil to the mists so that it will not taint the part of the world we live in.”

  “Oh. What's a wicked reason?”

  “To harness the loosed power for your own dark magics. Whatever was sealed in that manor was very old and very powerful.” Doubt had crept into his voice. “I wish I knew. When I agreed to the task, I had reservations, but it was like I could not refuse him. He just...kept staring at me. And now I have more worries than ever that what we did was wrong.” He glanced around and leaned so close to her that his breath tickled her ear. He murmured, “I think Hither is a dark mage and he plans on using the evil released for some terrible thing.”

  She blinked and whispered back, “But why would a mage run a carnival? Even the dark mages were forgiven the nature of their magics years ago at the conclave. The King needs dark and light both to defeat the creeping mists from taking over the safe lands. Wouldn't he work for the King instead of this?” She swept her hand around at the tired paint and faded tents, the clumps of horse manure, the drifting piles of litter.

  “He's here for the same reason most of us are. To hide in plain sight. If he is a fugitive from the Mage's Council, they would never look for him at some grimy carnival. He can travel anywhere he pleases in the kingdom without scrutiny, doing evil. There are several renegade mages the King has not forgiven for their past crimes. Tastre, Fynaggen, the Dulanti brothers...”

  She shivered. She had just been thinking about that, hiding yourself in plain sight...And all those names brought up terrible stories.

  She whispered, “I don't know what is going on with Hither, and I don't think we ought to talk about it here.”

  He nodded.

  She continued, “We can't fix the seal now that we broke it. But we can free the unicorn's spirit from the manor.” She amended, “Well, we can try, at least.”

  Icari hesitated, his long fingers twirling around a lavender scarf. He said, “Yes. Let us do it. Day after tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good. Got any ideas on how to free a unicorn spirit?”

  He forced a laugh, the dying flames reflected in his eyes. “I am afraid not.”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “You're my closest friend, you know that, right?”

  He smiled, his eyes sad, then hesitated. He glanced away. “I know. You are my closest friend as well.”

  She noticed how his shoulders were slumped and he was blinking. He must be exhausted. She gave him a grateful peck on his cheek. “Good night. I've got to get Naomi and Lyla some grub.”

  He touched where she had kissed him. “Good night.”

  She stood up and dropped off her dishes at the washing tables, saying a quick hello to the roadie elbow deep in greasy suds. She got a terse nod in reply. She grabbed two more bowls of grub. It was a bit awkward balancing them as she tip-toed through camp, but she managed without spilling a drop. She backed into their tent, hoping the stew was not cold.

  She turned and saw a small candle was lit. Naomi was trying to comb out Lyla's hair, a hopeless look on her face. She was gossiping at a rapid clip. “-and everyone thinks he really likes men, but no one can prove it. And the snake charmer lady is creepy. Don't talk to her unless you have to.”

  Lyla was wearing a new, clean cotton tunic, likely borrowed from Kara's meager clothes. The rest of her was clean as well-except for the hair, of course.

  Naomi cursed a vicious stream under her breath and set the brush aside. “We're going to have to cut it. Later. I'm starving.”

  Kara passed out the bowls and stretched out on her blanket. Despite all the sleep earlier, she was bone-tired again.

  Lyla sniffed the stew and picked out the rabbit chunks. Naomi gave her an incredulous look. “You're not going to eat the meat?”

  “I do not eat the flesh of dead animals.”

  Kara chuckled right before she yawned. She finished her yawn and said, “You make it sound so awful. Rabbit's good. A little stringy, but good.”

  Lyla inclined her head gracefully. “To each her own. I do not enjoy the taste of burnt animal corpse.”

  Naomi snapped, “Well, your highness, can I have that rabbit?” She thrust her bowl toward Lyla. “You never know when food gets slim on the road. Wait until we are on two-bowls-a-day rations. Rabbit will look pretty good.”

  Kara shot Naomi a dirty look as Lyla picked her rabbit out with careful fingers and dropped it into the proffered bowl. They finished eating in an uncomfortable silence as Kara drifted off to sleep again.

  ...

  Kara stood in the thick of the carnival crowd, her pasteboard white mask on. She was clapping and hooting, dressed in a loose white cotton tunic and brown cotton pants. Her shoes were cloth as well so her steps would be soft and unheard. Her black hair was braided and twisted up on her head. She looked like any farmer's daughter out for a night of fun at the traveling shows.

  Her carefully banal outfit hid a second shirt sewn with half a dozen secret pockets and a small knife.

  She was finishing up the first part of her work day as a plant. Plants clapped and shouted when the performers began their show to draw a crowd. If one person saw another person standing there making a lot of noise, they would usually stop too.

  It never failed to make her think of sheep. Behind her, one of the stilt walkers moved slowly through the sea of masks and costumes. The air smelled of spilled ale and fried bread, and the constant roar of the lions masked the chatter of the monkey act a few tents down. Despite the heat and overwhelming stink of so many bodies pressed together, there was something magical about the carnival, some dark mystery she thought she might never solve. She was beginning to understand why so few left the carnival. They just stayed on and on, part of a family of miscreants that hoped some of the magic would rub off on them.

  She slipped away from the lion tamer's show as the day faded to twilight. Now her real work would begin. She had to steal at least two coin purses a night to 'earn her keep' as Malone put it. Any purses stolen past the minimum two she split with the carnival's coffers fifty-fifty.

  She suppressed her nightly guilt as she crept up on her first mark. 'Marks' were men that the ticket booth operators had brushed with chalk, usually on their shoulder, as they patted their backs and told them to enjoy the carnival. The 'mark' of chalk mean this person had a full coin purse.

  A coin purse she needed to steal with small hands and deft motions.

  The mark she had spotted had his neck craned as he watched the fire jugglers throw their flaming batons high in the air. He was wearing a plain shirt and homespun pants, topped off with muddy boots. His skin was ruddy and his fingers thick.

  She knew he was a farmer who worked hard from sunup to sundown to feed his family and enjoy rare treats like a carnival show.

  Guilt made her hesitate. She hated stealing, but she especially hated stealing from laborers. They had so little, while the merchants and Lords had so much...

  She argued with herself as she brushed closer to him. You don't know he is a good man. He might beat his wife and children. He might steal himself. He might covet his brother's wife. Just because he has an honest looking face means nothing.


  She could not do it. She blended back into the crowd, thinking to get him later, after most of his coin was spent anyways. This area was a wealthy one, between two large villages. She was sure to find some merchants or minor Lords wandering about.

  She drifted over to the belly dancers act next, where there would be some very distracted men. She went behind the ale tent and watched the men watching the dancers.

  Hunger, raw and dirty, was what she saw more than anything. They were staring at the bare middles of the dancers as if their lives depended on staying focused on that one thing. It was against the King's Law for a woman to bare her middle-except in traveling shows. The King had a great fondness for traveling shows, whether they be carnival or circus or minstrel in nature. He gave them a profound amount of moral leeway as a result of his admiration. Rumor had it he had angered the Holy Church and many great Lords with his support of such low entertainments.

  She spotted her next mark, a very well-dressed man. He was wearing new leather boots and a finely woven vest over a linen shirt. His attention was riveted on the stage. He raised his right arm to bite a sugared apple on a stick. She caught a glimpse of his coin purse tied to his left hip before his arm and shirt hem lowered.

  She smiled and moved forward. She had to be quick. There was no good reason for a young woman to linger by the dancing women and ale tents. She would draw attention quickly if spotted...

  She stopped breathing as her fingers closed around the firm purse. Her knife flashed and the purse disappeared under her shirt. She turned to dart behind the ale tent, already plotting her next move. Maybe she should cruise by the acrobat's act next...

  She crashed right into a barrel of a chest. Huge hands grabbed her small arms and shoved her against a stack of crates. The splinters dug in her skin as she looked up and up, at one of the biggest men she had ever seen. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall.

  He sneered at her, his brown beard bristling. He hissed, “Picking my business partner's purse, are you?” His breath was overwhelming, stinking of fried onions and sharp mustard.

  He released one of her arms and made a crude grab under her shirt, pinching her nipple hard. She tried to twist away, a deep-seated fear taking root.

  This man did not just want the coin purse back. Why else shove her in shadows and fondle her instead of calling for the King's Guard, who roamed the carnival freely?

  She gathered her courage and tried to surprise him by saying loudly, “I am no thief, sir. Why would you drag an innocent lady behind a tent-”

  His other hand clamped over her mouth, which was what she had hoped he would do. He started to press his bulk against her, pinching her shoulder blades painfully against the crates.

  Both her arms were free now. Lightning quick, she wriggled free from his crushing chest, digging her elbow under his rib as she whipped out her tiny knife. She jabbed him between the fingers. He bellowed and stumbled back, and she felt nothing but contempt for him. Some were so quick to mete out pain...

  But so adverse to receiving it themselves.