Passages

by Passages (epub)

  “Fine,” she growled. “I’m Orlenda, that’s Robyn, an’ there’s six more of us, plus cousins. We protect our own. We don’t go looking for trouble, but we don’t run from it either, even if that trouble comes from the Watch. And we’re only out here as a favor to Codi.”

  Paddy gave a harsh snort. “If I’d known what Codi was up to, I wouldn’t be out here at all,” he stated, “but since I am here, we’re a big family too, an’ we’re not used to . . . outsiders showin’ an interest in any of us.”

  “We’re not either,” Robyn agreed mildly.

  They fell into an awkward silence. Finally, Paddy shifted. “So . . . your da . . .”

  “What about him?” Orlenda demanded.

  . . . Why’s he after my ma? Why’s he hangin’ around a Watchman’s widow? Aren’t there any widows around his own street that he can go after? Whys he messin’ with our family after we only just got over our da’s death an’ then our granther’s. Why does everythin’ have to change?

  Jus’ why?

  Robyn seemed to understand the conflict going on inside Paddy’s head. “Seems like they met at the Rose Fair last month and just got to talking,” he offered. “They’re both a bit lonely, I guess.”

  “He’s got us,” Orlenda interrupted.

  “You know it’s not the same thing, Orlie,” Robyn said gently.

  “I don’t see why not,” she muttered.

  “We’ve been talking about it for a while,” Robyn said to Paddy. “So that when our father finally does tell us about it, we’ll know what to say.”

  “He hasn’t?”

  Robyn shook his head.

  “Ma hasn’t either.”

  “Maybe that’s because there’s nothing to talk about,” Orlenda added.

  “Maybe,” Paddy allowed, then gave a frustrated grunt. “But everyone in the street thinks there is, an’ I can’t fight ’em all.”

  Orlenda scowled at him, then allowed herself a sour smile. “Me neither.”

  “So, since everyone thinks they know how it stands with our parents except us,” Robyn said, “we should at least figure out how it stands with us.”

  “So, how does it stand with us?” Paddy asked.

  Robyn shrugged. “Well, I guess we can agree that we love our father and you love your mother, right?”

  “Yeah . . .” Paddy answered suspiciously.

  “And we want them both to be happy, right?”

  “. . . Yeah . . .”

  “But . . . ?”

  Paddy made to answer then shrugged. “No buts, I guess.”

  “Great.” Codi straightened. “You can all talk to your folks tomorrow an’ tell ’em you’re all fine with becoming one big happy family. Now, c’mon.” He turned to go.

  “Wait, what?” Paddy and Orlenda demanded together.

  Codi raised both hands. “We’ve sorted out one piece of business tonight. You three aren’t gonna start fightin’ in the street. Now it’s time to see to the next piece of business, so let’s get goin’ before the Auklets finish up what you two told me they’re gettin’ up to every bright, moonlit night. All right?”

  Paddy, Robyn, and Orlenda glanced at each other, then, as one, they shrugged. “All right.”

  Robyn pointed. “The fastest way is to cut through the Clock and Crow’s back court. It tucks up against the Auklets’ place. We can hide behind their privy.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The four youths crept along the street, then slipped down a narrow alleyway beside the local tavern. Weaving through stacks of empty ale barrels, they reached a low stone wall a few moments later. One by one, they swarmed over it, then crowded behind the small wooden privy at the back of the Auklets’ garden.

  Paddy peered out. He could just see several figures, carrying bundles and hooded lanterns, coming and going through the cellar door, and he whistled silently as he saw the glint of fine metal in the moonlight.

  Codi elbowed him in the ribs. “Tol’ you they dressed too posh for their livin, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna arrest ’em now?”

  Paddy gave his friend an exasperated look. “There’s at least four of ’em,” he hissed back.

  “So, there’s four of us.”

  “No.” Paddy turned to Robyn and Olenda. “You figure they’ll be at it tomorrow night, too?” he whispered.

  She nodded. “They usually do, as long as the moon gives enough light.”

  “All right, then. I’ll talk to Hektor in the mornin’, an’ he’ll sort it out.”

  “Can I be there?” Codi asked, a martial gleam in his eye.

  Paddy shook his head but gave his friend a brief smile. “Sure. Why not, it was your tip.”

  “Great. No poop in your pocket tomorrow.”

  Paddy scowled. “The day you put poop in my pocket is the day you die, Vinny.”

  It took all three of them with their hands over his mouth to keep Codi from giving away their position.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next day, Paddy finished his shift and left the Watch House feeling, if not better, then at least not worse. The Auklets had been caught red-handed receiving stolen goods and had gone more or less quietly—at least until Codi had burst out laughing at them. But Hektor and the five other Watchmen he’d brought with him had subdued them easily enough. They’d given up their contacts immediately, and half a dozen other thieves and fences now sat in the Iron Street cells. Paddy had received a commendation, and Codi had received the satisfaction of seeing his enemies brought low. All in all, it had been a reasonably good day.

  Kassie met him at the door to their flat, jerking her head silently at the staircase that led to the roof. He took the steps two at a time and found his ma sitting in the shade of Kassie’s pigeon coops. He joined her, glancing down at the two mugs on the small box beside her.

  “I saw you coming all the way up the street,” she explained. “Stiff as an angry rooster.” She shook her head. “Nothin’ grows like gossip in a town garden.”

  “An no one drives it to market like a Watchman,” Paddy agreed. “ ’Cept this time it was more like draggin’ a dead horse up a flight of stairs to get a word outta anyone.” He glanced shyly at his mother. “Codi says I gotta ask you about it, ’cause everyone else thinks they know what’s what, so we should maybe actually know.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about it for a while now,” she admitted, then smiled. “I remember when you first showed an interest in Rosie. It was all I could do to keep your da from teasin’ you about it.”

  “I remember.” Paddy stared out at the city for a moment. “So, uh . . .” he began. “He’s uh . . . a glassmaker, huh?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, and he thought he’d managed it until his mother laughed.

  “Of all the things that you might have had trouble accepting, I should have known that would be it.”

  He frowned, embarrassed. “Well.” He stared out at the city again. “So . . . uh . . . do you . . . uh . . . you know . . . like him?”

  “I do.”

  “You gonna marry him?”

  She sputtered in her tea. “Padriec Dann, what makes you ask such a question?”

  Codi, he thought sourly. An’ here he is gettin’ me into trouble again.

  “Well, isn’t that what happens when you like someone?” he asked instead.

  “Sometimes, yes. Not always. Sometimes people just become friends again because it’s nice to have a good friend to talk to.”

  “But you do like him?”

  She sighed. “Yes, Paddy, I do.”

  “So, you might marry him, someday.”

  She sighed again. “I might. I don’t know.” She looked at him. “How do you feel about that?”

  He frowned. “I dunno,” h
e answered. “Better than I did before I talked to Robyn and Orlenda.”

  “Oh?” Her expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t too happy either. “And what have the three of you decided?” Her voice had picked up a tinge of mother-warning, which he couldn’t help but smile at.

  “That we all want you both to be happy,” he said. “Even if it means we gotta get along like a . . . you know . . . family like, sort of.”

  Her expression softened. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that.”

  He leaned against her, and she put her arm over his shoulder and drew him close.

  “Your hair’s gettin’ long,” she noted, tickling his ear with a lock of her own.

  “Maaa . . . I’m not five!”

  She chuckled. “No, you’re not. Still . . .” She brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “It needs cutting. I’ll grab the scissors later. An’ it looks like I need to find you another shirt, that one’s getting tight across the shoulders.”

  “Yeah, an’ my boots are too small,” he admitted.

  “You’re growing up so fast.”

  “Yeah, lucky stupid me,” he groused, and she tweaked his ear.

  “Language.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence, then Paddy glanced over at her. “Ma?”

  “Hm?”

  “How come things gotta change so much?”

  She smiled softly. “Because that’s the way of the world, lovey,” she answered. “Good and bad. All we can do is enjoy the good and hold on to each other through the bad. But not everything changes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like my love for my youngest baby boy,” she said, squeezing him tight. “You were so adorable when you were born, all pink and round, and sweet-smellin’ like a little sticky bun! I couldn’t get enough of your little tiny toes and your little button nose.” She tickled him, and he twisted out of reach.

  “Ma!”

  “What? Still mad that you’re growing up too fast?”

  “I . . . guess not.”

  “Well, all right, then.” She pulled him close again. “I’ll make you a promise right now,” she said. “Whatever happens, whether you grow up to marry Rosie one day or I decide to marry Ren Jessen, we can always come up here and talk it through. No matter what changes we face along the way, the more things change, the more that never will. Deal?”

  He leaned his head against her shoulder. “Deal.”

  He squirmed, and she glanced over at him. “What?”

  “Nothin’. Jus’ a stone in my pocket that’s diggin’ into my hip.”

  She laughed. “See, not everything changes, does it?”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  They sat and watched the sun set, turning the streets of Haven a magical pink, then orange, then purple, before heading back downstairs together.

  The Choice Makes the Chosen

  Stephanie Shaver

  Herald Wil loved being back in Haven, back in his quarters in the Herald’s Wing. He’d gotten so used to singing his daughter Ivy to sleep in a Waystation that a real bed felt like a luxury.

  But no matter how safe or comfortable he felt, the unease always came back. He could not escape the sense that this was all on borrowed time.

  Just enjoy it, he told himself as he crouched by her bedside. Enjoy this moment.

  “What do you want to sing?” he asked.

  “Mm.” She rolled over and yawned. “The goat song?”

  “Haven’t done that one in a long time, liebshahl,” he said, using his father’s word for beloved daughter. “Remind me how it goes.”

  “Goat goat goat, go-o-o-oat.”

  “No-o-o.” He tickled her until she giggled.

  And then she obliged, in her sweet, high child’s voice.

  Oh, pure white blooms

  The perfume of hope!

  Pray you aren’t

  Eaten by goats!

  It had been a favorite of her mother, too. Wil hadn’t failed to notice that Ivy had inherited Lelia’s perfect pitch and quite possibly the beginnings of her vocal range. Hearing in his daughter the ghost of the Bard he’d loved made him smile—but his heart twinged.

  He sang along, the words rumbling in his off-key baritone. Then he gave her a kiss, a last sip of water, and stood to leave.

  He heard her whisper, “Are you going back to find the lady who made the bad stuff?”

  Wil turned to look back at her, the light framing his ghost-white hair. “I am.”

  “Be safe,” she said, rolling over.

  “I will.”

  In the outer room, the Bard Amelie—Lelia’s last protégé—sprawled on a couch, reading.

  She glanced up from her book with a smirk. “Nice Whites.”

  He looked down at his grubby clothes. All the joints had patches, and the whole ensemble looked as though it had been handed down multiple generations. She’d found him the set of rags, he knew not where. He was afraid to ask.

  “They’ve seen better days,” he said.

  “I wish you’d let me come,” she said, a little more serious.

  “But you’re watching Ivy,” he said, innocently.

  She shot him a sour look. “Arrangements could be made. You know Maresa always has an open invitation. Or we could put her in the stables. Aubryn would gladly watch her.”

  Wil smiled. The unpaired Companion Aubryn had been a good nanny to Ivy while he rode Circuit, and sometimes he still watched her during the day; but now that they’d all returned to Haven, she’d been under pressure by the Groveborn Stallion to Choose again. She had resisted so far, but he no longer had much faith in Aubryn remaining a reliable part of his entourage.

  “Maybe someday. Not tonight,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

  His Companion waited for him outside the entrance to the Herald’s Wing, already saddled by some unknown Trainee. As soon as he got within reach, Wil Mindspoke and Vehs answered.

  :Chosen.:

  Hearing him again sent a crash of relief through Wil that threatened to bring him to his knees, even now. That one-word greeting seemed to say: I can still hear you, you’re still my Chosen, it’s going to be okay, all at once.

  The sun hadn’t set yet. Down in the city, workers would be starting dinner. By the time Vehs got him to where they were headed, meals would be complete, and the time would be right for Wil to start asking around.

  :Are we heading back to the Lane?: Vehs asked as Wil swung into the saddle.

  :Yes,: Wil said.

  Back to Little Pudding Lane.

  Back to looking for the poison that had stripped Wil of his Gifts, and the hunt for the woman who had made it.

  * * *

  * * *

  He’d returned to Haven looking like he’d stepped out of legend: white-haired, stormy-eyed, rumored to be haunted. The last wasn’t true, though he had survived two poisonings and put down an insurrection. He’d done it all while riding Circuit with his very young daughter at his side. The only thing he’d failed at was catching the woman behind the uprising: Lady Androa Baireschild, who went by the nomme de guerre of Madra and who commanded a monstrous construct she called Lord Dark.

  But Madra had succeeded in her own ways; she’d stripped him of his Gifts of Foresight and Mindspeech. And while he could still speak with his Companion, it was only when they were in physical contact—paltry crumbs compared to the rich feast of conversation he had once enjoyed with his best friend.

  To his surprise, Talia, the Queen’s Own, had come to talk to him about his missing Gifts just days after his return.

  “A similar thing happened to me once,” she’d said as Ivy played in Companion’s Field with Talia’s son and Aubryn. “Temporary, not permanent like yours.”

  “I remember from Myste’s report. Some mushroom Ancar’s agents slipped into your
food?”

  “Yes, goatsfoot.” She shuddered a little. “Afterward, Selenay and I talked, and we asked the Healing Circle to investigate whether there were other substances like that. . . .” Her brow had furrowed. “They assigned a very talented botanist named Yelyza to research it. Unfortunately, her genius came with . . . complications.”

  “What kind?”

  “Dipping into her cupboard a little too often. Pickling her brain with her own tinctures. They say the dose makes the poison, and she knew exactly how much to take.” Talia looked sad. “She’d sunk deep into debt, eventually moving into a tenement somewhere—she kept apart from the Circle. She said because she preferred living in the Lane, but . . . we talked a few times, and I knew she felt shame for how low she’d sunk. She just couldn’t escape the gravity of her own flaws.”

  “Do we have her research?”

  Talia shook her head. “It’s been three years. No one’s heard from her. It wasn’t wholly unexpected when she disappeared. I don’t get the sense anyone looked too hard for her. But now I have reason to believe foul play may have been involved.”

  “Why didn’t the Circle try to help her?”

  Talia took a deep breath. “That’s the problem. They did. They assigned a Mindhealer, in fact. Can you guess who?”

  Wil grimaced. “It was Madra, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so. Of course at the time, no one knew she was a traitor to the Crown. Tell me, do you remember Carris?”

  “Of course.” Wil had caught a couple of Madra’s conspirators, Carris being one of them.

  “Her capture has proved useful. We put her under Truth Spell, and she’s verified some of what I suspected. Madra exploited Yelyza, and rather than curing her, encouraged her depravity. But Carris had two things to say about Yelyza. First, she wasn’t part of Madra’s conspiracies.”

  “No?”

  “No. And second, Madra never got Yelyza’s research notes. She got the end product but not the method of manufacture. And it vexed her.”

  “So what happened to Yelyza?”

  “I still don’t know,” Talia said. “Neither did Carris. I mean—she could be somewhere in Haven? With her research.”