“Old fool,” Jerome muttered under his breath at the closed door.
He considered leaving. His workday was technically over, and despite Hardwick’s order, no one was likely to visit the office at this time. No one would expect Hardwick to be here. He didn't think the councilor would object to his leaving; he clearly wanted to conduct his interview in privacy. But Jerome was curious. More than curious. He had felt something, some kind of emanation from the two women. Power? Maybe. Whatever it was, he had to investigate. If it was power, and it could be shared, he resolved to get his share.
There were many ways, after all, to get ahead in the world, and Jerome intended to grasp every one that came his way. He determined to occupy Hardwick’s position one day—and to use it as a stepping-stone to rise even higher.
The way would not be easy; it hadn’t been. He’d thought to advance himself by marrying Hardwick’s daughter, Genevieve, until that time four years ago when, against all reason, she’d rejected him in favor of Matthew Wirth, whose greatest ambition was to take over his father’s funeral parlor some day. The failure to win Genevieve had been a setback, but these wonder workers offered him a new and different type of opportunity.
He’d stay to see what happened in Hardwick’s office. To occupy the time, here were their valises, begging to be searched. They might disclose some of the women’s secrets and might tell him more than the women would reveal to his employer.
Kyla arranged her full skirt around the narrow chair, making sure the skirt covered even the tips of her shoes. Council Master Hardwick eased himself into the leather-upholstered chair behind his desk and leaned back, hands folded over his substantial paunch. He regarded his two guests through eyes narrowed to slits. Kyla had no doubt that this silent scrutiny was intended to intimidate them.
She met the man’s gaze and waited, determined to force him to speak first. She sat up straight and prim; she’d flirted with Jerome in an effort to draw him out and uncover what lay beneath that veneer of exaggerated civility, but she’d give the Council Master no grounds for any charge of impropriety. Jerome had puzzled her; Hardwick’s type she recognized immediately. She’d encountered his like in towns throughout North Woods Province—petty officials intoxicated with the weight of their own authority, always alert for new ways to demonstrate their importance and build their power base.
She wished she’d had a chance to say a few words to Marta in private. She’d have to trust her friend to follow her lead. Marta was usually good about that; her lie to Jerome had taken Kyla aback. Probably Marta had also been puzzled by Jerome, and had reacted accordingly.
The Council Master cleared his throat. “So you deny being the wonder workers who have caused such a stir throughout North Woods,” he said, losing the contest by speaking first.
“We certainly deny being wonder workers,” Kyla answered. “We do not deny that some have called us such.”
He straightened, shifting his clasped hands clasped to his desktop. His eyes glittered. “You admit to being frauds?”
“Not at all. We've never claimed to work wonders. We will seek honest employment while we stay here in Carey. We mean to disturb no one.”
“What sort of employment?” he asked, frowning.
“We are seamstresses.”
The scowl deepened. “Seamstresses? I don’t know as there’s work to be had in that field. In any case, you’ll need an occupational license from the council. And you’ll certainly need a license to do any magic shows.”
“I've told you,” Kyla said, “We are neither magicians nor sorcerers; we put on no public displays of thaumaturgy.” That was a word she’d learned from her study of her father’s books. She liked to use it to impress people like this pompous councilor.
“Then why have you come here?” the councilor demanded, his face reddening. “How did you acquire your reputation?”
“We come to restore that which was taken from the land many decades ago. We come to share gifts from the Power-Giver with those who are receptive. It's a private matter of no concern to public officials.”
“Ah-ha!” Councilor Hardwick’s eyes bulged. “So you say. Sounds to me like you plan to introduce a false religion. We don’t need that. Fact is, we’ve got laws against it.”
“We will introduce no religion nor will we break any just law,” Kyla said firmly. “We ask only to be allowed to live peaceably among you for a time.”
“What you’re saying, lady, doesn’t jibe with the accounts we’ve heard here of all the trouble you stirred up in North Woods.”
“We did not stir up trouble,” Kyla said. “Trouble arose when people tried to take our gifts by force or to persecute those who received them.” Greedy people like you, she refrained from adding.
“Show me these gifts,” he said, fairly twitching with eagerness.
“They are not things to be shown.”
“You!” he shouted suddenly at Marta. “You’ve let your friend do all the talking. What do you say? What are these ‘gifts’ and why can’t I see a demonstration of them?”
“My friend told you they can’t be shown off,” Marta said calmly. “We can only give them to persons fit to receive them.”
Councilor Hardwick rose and pressed his palms against his desk. Leaning forward he roared, “And I’m not fit?” He glared at them both.
Kyla said nothing, nor did Marta.
Calming, the councilor resumed his seat and. “It may be that I’m misunderstanding you,” he said softly. “I’m a reasonable man. You seem to be reasonable young women. We should be able to reach an agreement. If you will simply give me a demonstration of what it is you do, I’m sure we can work this out.”
“I have told you we do not give demonstrations,” Kyla said. “We have broken no laws, nor have we caused trouble. There is nothing to work out.”
The muscles of his face tightened, but the councilor maintained his soft tone. “I’m afraid there is. On the strength of the reports from North Woods, I have the authority to detain you or to send you back there. But I am willing to let you convince me that you intend no harm.”
His features relaxed into a softer expression. He leaned forward and spoke in a low, confidential tone. “I have a daughter, my only child. Genevieve is twenty-five and has been married for four years, but she is childless, to her great sorrow and to mine and my wife’s. If you could enable her to conceive, I would pay you anything you ask, as well as grant you a license to work your wonders freely here in Carey.”
“Our gifts are not for sale,” Kyla said. “They are given freely. I would gladly help your daughter if I could. Unfortunately, neither Marta nor I have the ability to cure barrenness.”
“What of this so-called Power-Giver of yours? Could he do it?”
Kyla chose her words carefully. “The Power-Giver acts only through those who receive his gifts. The gifts differ from person to person. It be that we may find someone who can receive that particular gift, but as we have no way of knowing, we can promise nothing.”
“Who is this Power-Giver, who grants power in such an arbitrary manner?”
“He is beyond your understanding,” Kyla said imprudently, unwilling to try to explain Alair.
“Oh, is he?” The hard, angry lines returned to his face. “Could it be that he doesn’t exist and you have no power but are charlatans, as I’ve suspected?”
“We’re no charlatans,” Marta snapped, breaking her long silence.
The councilor rose and came around the desk to position himself close to his guests. “Then show me what you—or this Power-Giver of yours—can do.”
Kyla caught Marta’s inquiring glance and shook her head. Any display of power would only whet his appetite for more and make him more insistent that they heal his daughter, which, as she had explained truthfully, they had no power to do. “I’m sorry, Councilor. We can’t do what you ask.”
“For some reason, I think you can but won’t. I suspect you’ll change your tune after you’ve sat awhile in
the Carey Guardhouse.” He strode to the door. “Jerome!” he bellowed. “Get in here.”
The secretary appeared at once. He seemed unsurprised by the turn of events.
“By the authority vested in me by the council,” Council Master Hardwick declared, “I am placing these women under arrest and remanding them to the guardhouse.”
“On what grounds?” Kyla asked.
“It is my responsibility to protect this city from the kinds of trouble you’ve caused elsewhere. By locking you up, I fulfill my pledge to safeguard the city against evil.”
Marta jumped to her feet. “We aren’t evil,” she cried, her fists clenched.
“Be calm, Marta,” Kyla said. “It’s best not to resist. These gentlemen well know we’ve done no wrong.”
“We’re making sure you can’t do any,” Hardwick snapped. “Come, Jerome. Let’s take these pretty witches to the guardhouse.”
“What of our valises?” Kyla pointed to the cloth bags lying on the floor of the outer office. They’d been moved from the spot where the secretary had originally placed them. He’d probably gone through them. She suspected they’d never see again the copper coins they’d intended to exchange.
“They’ll remain here for safekeeping while you’re in custody,” Hardwick said.
“They contain nothing of value—only our clothes and a few books,” Marta reached toward them.
Hardwick grabbed her and pulled her back, while Jerome took firm hold of Kyla’s arm. Kyla held her breath, afraid Marta would lash out with her power. But her friend reined in her temper and allowed Hardwick to pull her out of the office.
They weren’t taken far. The building housing the offices of the City Peacekeepers and a row of cells for their prisoners was only a few doors down from the City Hall. As in many cities, the municipal buildings were all clumped together in the center of town. As soon as the women were shoved into their offices, peacekeepers hurried to take charge of the prisoners.
Though technically peacekeepers are not affiliated with or subservient to local government but owe their allegiance to the national Ministry of Justice, in reality the officers were generally local recruits who cooperated closely with town councils. That was clearly the case here in Carey. The Peacekeeper Captain came out of his office, and as Kyla was dragged off along with Marta, she heard Hardwick boast of keeping Carey free of trouble.
The cell was cold and dark and foul smelling. Marta groped her way to a hard, bare cot and sat gingerly on its edge. “Here we go again.” She sighed. “What do we do now? Can we use our Power to break out?”
“Not unless we want to give up on Carey. We’d have to leave, or they’d round us up and accuse us of every crime they can invent—maybe even stone us.”
“They probably will anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time. We can defend ourselves.”
“I’d prefer not to have to. I can’t help feeling we’re where we’re supposed to be.”
“You mean in this stinking cell?”
“I meant in Carey.” Kyla gave a rueful laugh. “But maybe here too.”
“Do you think we could at least have a little light?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. They’ve left us alone.”
Marta summoned her power and willed a small globe of light to appear in her hand. By its glow she examined the filthy cell and the flea-ridden blankets on the cots. “Not the place I’d have chosen to spend the night,” she said with a sniff.
“We’ve been in worse.” Kyla was maddeningly cheerful.
Struck by sudden suspicion, Marta stood and confronted her friend. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Kyla shook her head. “I don’t know anything, but I felt the stirrings of power in that Jerome. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, but not in a good way. He gave me chills.”
“Still, it’s surely a good omen that the first person we met is one with the ability to receive power. I have a feeling things are going to get interesting very quickly.”
“Too interesting, most likely. I don’t want to gift someone like that.” Marta ran her hand over the repellent cot and shuddered with revulsion. “I don’t know if I can stand to lie on this filth, but I suppose we ought to get some sleep. Tomorrow may be a busy day.”
CHAPTER THREE
HIDE AND SEEK
Ed lay face down on his cot, trembling, soaking the pillow with his tears.
“Hey, look, there he is!” A young girl’s voice intruded on his despair. “Hey, Eddie, Miss Abigail’s looking all over for you.”
“Yeah, you’re really in trouble, Eddie. What'sa matter? You crying?”
He recognized the voices: the Farley sisters. If he didn’t move, maybe the little snoops would go away.
“He knows he’s in trouble, that’s why, isn’t it, Eddie? You never came back from the errand Miss Abigail sent you on, and she’s real mad.”
He put his pillow over his head, clutched it tight around his ears, but he couldn’t shut out the voices.
The girls giggled. One, he thought it was Nora, said, “Simple Eddie thinks he can hide. Thinks we can’t see him under that pillow.”
“Shh,” said her sister. “You’re not to call him that. Miss Abigail’ll punish you if she hears you.”
“Well, she didn’t hear me, and he is simple, and anyway, she won’t care now. She’ll prob’ly call him that herself.”
He couldn’t stand it. He sat up, hurled the pillow at them, jumped from the bed, and ran toward them, flapping his arms wildly to chase them off.
They screamed and ran toward the school, yelling, “Help! Help, Miss Abigail! Eddie’s gone crazy. He’s after us. Help!”
He chased them only far enough to be sure they were gone, and turned back to his cabin. In it, he felt like a trapped rat. Miss Abigail was angry, the girls said. Of course, she would be. Even angrier, when they ran yelling to her that he’d scared them off. For sure she’d send him to the workhouse now.
If only she’d just give him a good beating like his pa used to. He could stand that. He couldn’t stand being sent away. But Miss Abigail didn’t believe in beatings.
He couldn’t face her, tell her what he’d done, how he’d lost Councilor Hardwick’s letter. Those boys might have tossed it away when they saw it wasn’t a love letter.
Love letter! Who would write him a love letter?
He grabbed his jacket and put it on over his torn shirt, though the day was warm. He’d go back to town and look for the letter. Miss Leah should have the horses back in the barn by now. He could take one, go quickly, and be back with the note by suppertime. If he found it, maybe Miss Abigail would forgive him and not send him away. He’d have to hurry, before she came looking for him.
He stepped from the cabin and looked toward the school. Too late! Miss Abigail was heading his way, the Farley sisters dancing beside her.
She might not have seen him. He darted around the cabin and raced toward the creek that marked the edge of the school property. There was no way to get to the barn without Miss Abigail seeing him. He’d have to walk to town.
He tried to jump over the creek, but it was too wide. With a huge splash, he landed in the middle. Arms flailing, he struggled to the far bank through the nearly waste deep water and climbed out, dripping. He could hear Miss Abigail calling him. “Edwin! Edwin, where are you?”
He dashed to a clump of willows, hoping they’d hide him, but they didn’t offer enough cover, so he ran on across a field, jumped a fence, and tore through a flowerbed in someone’s back yard. From a house someone yelled at him. He kept running. Looking behind to see if anyone was following, he ran into a pair of heavy work trousers hanging on a clothesline, tore the trousers from the line rather than stop to untangle himself, and raced on with the trousers hung around his neck.
Angry shouts behind him drove him to hurdle a hedge. The trousers caught on a branch, unbalancing him. He toppled into a vegetable garden on the other side of the hedge, got up covered with dirt, ran on. A dog charged
him, barking furiously. Terrified, Ed ran for a tree and swung up into its branches with the dog snarling and lunging at his legs.
A screen door slammed. “What’s the matter, Bowser?” someone shouted. Footsteps pounded toward him.
He was trapped.
No. A big branch overhung a fence. If he could squirm along it, he could drop down on the other side of the fence, where the dog couldn’t get him. He eased onto the branch, wormed along it.
A man came up under the tree, saw him. “What you doing there, boy? Get out of that tree!”
Ed kept moving. The branch dipped beneath his weight; the man grabbed for his feet. “Get down from there, I say, thief!”
The man had hold of his shoe. Eddie pulled his foot out of the shoe, scrambled a bit farther, and dove over the fence.
He fell hard. Pain lanced through his shoulder. Never mind, he had to get away. He pulled himself to his feet and ran lopsidedly, sobbing for breath, holding his arm to ease the pain in his shoulder. After charging through one more back yard, he crossed a lane. A deep ditch clogged with weeds ran alongside it. Only a trickle of water seeped along the bottom. He had to rest; he couldn’t run any farther.
He jumped into the ditch, hunkered down, and flattened himself among the weeds. The ditch water was stagnant and rank. He shivered in his wet clothing. His shoulder ached, but he could move his arm and hand. The weeds in which he crouched had barbs that scratched his face and hands, adding to his misery. But it would be dark soon. If he could hide here until after dark, he could probably get away and get back to town without being seen.
Abigail groaned to see Edwin climb out of the creek soaking wet, dodge through the willows, and dash madly across the field beyond it. He had to hear her calling him. Why did he keep running? She was horrified to see him climb a fence into someone’s backyard.
“He can really run, can’t he?” Nora Farley said.
“Want us to chase him, Miss Abigail?” Beth Farley leaned forward, ready to speed after him.
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 3