Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5) Page 14

  Unable to feel anything below his knees, he nudged Poppy with his thighs. Surely his padded boot had washed away. He didn’t look down to see. That embarrassment could wait until later. “Let’s get somewhere dry, earth children.”

  The horses leaned into the harness and refused to slow down until they were safely on the wide stone platform.

  They finally stopped.

  Viper stayed on the mare’s back, too tired to move. But he needed to take care of his team. Using his trembling hands, he tried to squeeze some of the water out of her fur.

  How odd. His fingers were blue. And he couldn’t feel them, either.

  Suddenly Lorel was at his side, shaking her head. “Stop it. I’ll wipe down the nags.”

  He blinked at her through the fog inside his mind. “Wipe them?”

  “With rags.” She shrugged. Water dripped from her tangled ringlets onto her sodden coat. “We got lots and lots and lots of rags.”

  Maybe insisting on saving all of their worn-out, torn-up clothing had been excessive.

  She patted his knee, hustled back to the wagon’s platform, and lifted the door.

  Bess pushed a handful of rags into her hands. “Wasn’t that exciting?”

  “Yeah, right.” Lorel snorted and clambered down from the driver’s bench. “You go get some dry clothes on before you freeze.”

  Well, he had to get down sooner or later. Viper nodded and slid off the mare’s back.

  He leaned against Poppy’s leg for a moment, letting her support him and savoring her warm, wet fur. His muscles were limper than overcooked noodles. He still couldn’t feel his hands or foot.

  Honestly, he didn’t want to move. He hated gimping along on his ankle stump. Though at the moment he wouldn’t feel the pain. And nobody but Lorel and Bess would see him.

  Besides, he couldn’t stay here much longer. Lorel would come back and carry him. He lifted his chin and limped along the landing.

  Lorel lifted him up to the driver’s platform and turned his padded boot right way around. “Amazing you’re still wearing this thing.”

  Beyond amazing. It should be halfway to Feda by now.

  Cold wind cut through his coat. He lifted the wagon door and tumbled inside.

  “Ho, let’s move along, nags.” Lorel grinned over her shoulder when he reopened the door. “Don’t be complaining, kid. I’ll dry them as we go.”

  The wagon started with a trembling jolt. The door slammed down.

  Bess handed him a scratchy white towel. “I’ll give you some privacy to change.” She crawled under the door and sat beside Lorel. Who was not out there drying the horses. The slacker.

  Poppy had seemed warm. Maybe they’d both dry out before they took ill.

  He wiped at his face and hair while inspecting his home for damage.

  There was a small puddle of water that looked mostly wiped up, but otherwise the wagon’s interior was intact. He glanced at Lorel’s cornhusk doll, safe and dry in its webbed shelf near her bed. Izzy peered down at him from his own bunk. The sandblasted serdil cub, also up on his bed instead of on Lorel’s, appeared to have slept through the ruckus, snuggled within Kyri’s coils.

  Finally he steeled himself to face his mentor.

  The serpent lifted its head from his bunk. “The hatchling prevailed.”

  That was it? No advice on what he should have done? No, there never was. On how to do it better? It always thought he could improve.

  He stripped off his dripping red coat and formerly-blue jacket (it was now a sad, purplish color) and hung both on empty hooks beside the door. Good thing he’d sold several swords in the last three ports. He’d have skinned the girls if they’d hung wet clothing near his Crayl steel swords, but he was too tired to move any farther.

  New, reddish puddles stained the floor.

  He’d clean them up as soon as he dressed. “I expected you to scold me.”

  “This one shall accommodate. If the hatchling does not assume exsiccated apparel, it will become incapacitated.”

  He laughed and dropped the towel on the new puddles. Shivering, he stripped off his now-rosy shirt, down to his now-pink small clothes, emptying pockets as he went. He threw his wet clothes over the cold stove and turned his boots upside down in the nook beside it. “I meant because I reacted too slowly.”

  “The hatchling’s reaction was sufficiently opportune.” Kyri uncurled, allowing its bulk to cover more of the upper bunk, but somehow managing not to disturb Izzy or the serdil. “The hatchling is unnecessarily critical of itself. The hatchling progresses with acceptable regularity. Its reactions shall accelerate with reiteration.”

  “So I’ve got to practice a lot more.” He pulled a thick sweater over his linen tunic and reached for new wool trousers.

  “The hatchling must not practice within this city.” Kyri stretched out, encircled his torso, and hauled him up to the upper bunk, all without awakening the wretched cub.

  Could it have willed the little monster asleep? What a delightful thought.

  “The hatchling must hearken.” It squeezed his chest sternly. “None may speculate the hatchling exploits magic. No matter how cherished the associate, or how desperate the situation, the hatchling must not manipulate ethereal power. The hatchling must not confess to magic or to any training therein.”

  Now that was scary advice. It was the first time it had ever told him not to use magic. It normally pestered him to practice more.

  He leaned into the warm coils and peered at the swinging serpentine head. “You feel it clearly? There’s more trouble here than I thought.”

  “The source of the evil is nigh, sufficiently proximate to disconcert this one.” The serpent touched its snout to his wet hair. “The evil consumes all power. No extemporaneous magic lingers in this metropolis. All indigenous power is immobilized or perverted. Remember, and beware. The hatchling must avoid all magic whatsoever.”

  That bad. He hadn’t expected to run into trouble this soon. “I understand. How much danger have I put us in?”

  “Less than by permitting the conveyance to inundate. This one detests frigid water.” Kyri lifted its head, and its eyes became unfocused. It nodded decisively. “There is prodigious magical activity within the ocean, which may disguise all other traces. The hatchling may as yet be undetected. Employ extreme caution until it has departed the seawall. Upon that juncture, the hatchling must forswear all magic except the Masking Veil. The hatchling must persistently and stringently shield its awareness.” It released him from its coils.

  He slid down from the bunk. “I understand.” He pulled on his trousers and spare boots, tugged his dragon-gifted belt from his wet pants, and started to thread it though his belt loops.

  “The hatchling must secrete all magical resources within the wagon.” It peered at his dragon-egg-lining pouch. “The dragon’s defenses may be insufficient under intimate scrutiny. This one shall further shield their influence and provide protection.”

  He hesitated, but if anyone could keep his treasures safe, it was Kyri. He took his money out of the pouch and tucked the coins into various pockets before handing the purse and its belt up to his bunk.

  The serpent used its tail to nudge them over its coils, to the center of its spiraled body.

  “What about the scimitar and the seahorn? Should we leave them here?” Tsai’dona would be furious if they did. Or relieved.

  Kyri paused, staring at the seahorn, flute, and broadsword hanging on the wall, but shook its head. “The Weapons are not yet activated. This one opines they will be indiscernible.”

  Praise the Thunderer. He still couldn’t figure out if Tsai’dona loved her weapon or hated it. She’d glared at it constantly while they were traveling along the coast.

  He was woolgathering. It was time to find out what trouble Lorel had found. He pulled on his spare jacket and swung his serdil cloak over his shoulders.

  The floor rocked under him and the wheels creaked.

  “I hope we hit gravel,” he m
uttered. “Their hooves must be soggy by now.” He climbed up to peek out the door.

  “The earth children are content to meander in the sunlight.” Kyri curled tightly on the upper bunk and closed its eyes.

  How on Menajr would it know? But it always knew more than it let on. He should be happy it decided to enlighten him. “I’m sure they are.”

  He crawled under the door and squeezed between Lorel and Bess.

  “You still gonna ride, kid?” Lorel glanced sideways at him.

  Now what had he done? He hated it when she went all coy on him.

  “No, I’m going to sit here and keep an eye on the water.” He leaned around Bess and looked down the seawall cliff. And wished he hadn’t. The tops of the waves hungered and grasped only yards below their ledge.

  “Should get better from here.” She pointed ahead. “See, we’re going uphill.”

  “Praise the Thunderer.” He wrapped his cloak tighter, leaned back, and closed his eyes for an instant.

  ∞∞∞

  “Wake up, kid.” Lorel shook his wrist gently. “We’re almost to the gate.”

  “I’m not asleep.” But his whole body was leaning on her warm arm. He straightened and looked around.

  The seawall cliff was gone. Gray, weather-beaten buildings surrounded them. Gulls screamed and swooped above cobblestone streets.

  Not far ahead was a large bronze gate with half-open doors. A few droopy people shuffled past the soldiers guarding it.

  “Blast. I’d’ve sworn I wasn’t asleep.”

  Bess patted his hand. “Don’t fret, dearie. You looked frostbit with weariness.”

  Tsai’dona reined her mare closer to the team. “Oh, he’s finally awake.”

  Heat rushed into his face.

  “Soon as you settled down, you crapped out.” Lorel thumped him on the shoulder with one sharp knuckle. “You always get worn out after you do magic stuff.”

  “I’ve sworn off all magic while we’re in Shi.” He jerked his thumb toward the wagon. “Kyri says there’s something here that eats magic, and we don’t want it to know about me. We mustn’t even talk about it.”

  Lorel shrugged and readjusted her sword belt. “We’ll manage, kid.” She shook the reins and guided the team to the gate.

  An official, a sergeant by the cut of his red-and-black uniform, scowled at the wagon. “On Altrada’s bones, what’s with the starfish decorations?”

  Praise the Thunderer, the blasted stars had dried out and stopped wiggling. Yellow-edged blue starfish were hard enough to explain.

  But he’d had plenty of time since Noran to come up with an almost-reasonable excuse. “I’m a magician.” Poor Trevor must be rolling in his – well, not his grave, since Viper hadn’t had time to bury him. Maybe the old sorcerer’s ghost was storming around the Lab and pulling his hair.

  The sergeant scratched under his cap. “And what’s starfish to do with magic?”

  “I want my audience to remember the stars while I’m entertaining them.” He was rather proud of his new motto.

  Lorel snorted.

  Tsai’dona rolled her eyes.

  Bess patted his hand. “It’s a clever idea, pet, but you need to work on a better slogan.”

  “Hey, I think it’s perfect!”

  The corners of the sergeant’s mouth twitched. “I see. Anything items to declare?”

  Only a wagon filled with illegal weapons, a magical snake, and a serdil cub. And he’d happily give away the blasted cub. “No, sir.”

  The sergeant stared at him. Pale blue eyes skewered him.

  He forced himself to breath normally. Looking guilty would make the sergeant curious. Or would land them all in jail.

  If the man decided to look inside the wagon, he’d have to create an illusion to hide everything. Kyri would not be happy.

  Getting murdered by terrified guards would push the serpent off the Deathsinger’s cliff. Worry about the Mindbender later. He prepared the spell, but held off casting it.

  The sergeant tilted his head. “How old are you?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “Fourteen.”

  Pale eyes turned to Lorel and Tsai’dona. “And you?”

  Lorel shrugged. Praise the Thunderer, his turybird wasn’t the least concerned. “Fifteen, almost sixteen.”

  “Seventeen.” Tsai’dona just looked confused.

  Those blue eyes gazed at Bess.

  She glared right back. “Don’t you even ask.”

  The sergeant laughed. “Fair enough. Taxes on a magician’s wagon, three swords, three horses, and three – Who’s in charge here?”

  Viper tapped his own chest.

  “And four adults is twenty-four nobles, seven patrons.”

  Impressive. He wasn’t sure he could add all those numbers up in his head so quickly, assuming he’d known the prices. He pulled twenty-five nobles out of his cloak pockets and, leaning across Lorel’s spraddled legs, handed them over.

  “Very good, sir.” The sergeant passed the money to a clerk, who wrote several notes. “Here’s your receipt. Kindly move on.”

  No change, though he was owed three patrons. Should he complain? Would it be suspicious if he didn’t?

  The clerk jumped to his feet and handed three coins and three bronze tags on wires up to Lorel. From the cow-eyed look on his face, he was absolutely smitten.

  Tsai’dona snickered.

  Lorel accepted the money, winked at the boy, and dropped the patrons in Viper’s lap.

  Coins rolled off his legs, and started to fall into the street. He hastily snatched them up and shoved them into a jacket pocket. Trust his turybird to make him look foolish.

  She twitched the reins. The roans ambled forward.

  The guards standing by the gate grinned and waved them through. “Beware the curfew,” the youngest called. “No one’s allowed on the street after midnight.”

  Lorel nodded regally and drove the wagon past the heavy armored doors. “This is weird,” she whispered. “This’s a war gate, and there’s a wall as far as I can see, but they let us through without even looking hard at us.”

  Praise the Thunderer. But who would take a starfish-coated magician’s wagon seriously?

  Maybe she didn’t look guilty because she didn’t know the laws. But the “no weapons or else” decree was severely enforced in Zedista and she knew it, given all the lunars they’d spent sneaking her swords into the forest for a few hours practice.

  “It’s festival time.” Bess waved at the gray houses nearest the gate. “They expect merchants and entertainers like us.”

  Lorel frowned. “I don’t see no others.”

  “We’re in the wrong part of town.” Hoping to see ahead, he stood up on the bench. “Let’s go to the middle of the city and find an inn. We can conduct a little business and poke around for a few days.”

  “Sorta make it look like we came in for the festival, eh?” Lorel grinned and shook the reins. “Maybe I can find me a real horse.”

  Poppy nickered. The wagon jolted.

  “Stop insulting my horses, will you?” He sat down before he fell over and glared at her.

  “Your horses, now, are they?” Lorel’s snort turned into a belly laugh. “You can’t even brush them down by yourself.”

  “No short jokes, pine tree,” he growled.

  Bess eased the tags out of his hand. “You and Tsai need to attach these to your swords. They show you brought them in legally and paid the tax.” She handed one tag down to Tsai’dona and two across him to Lorel.

  Both girls huffed, but affixed the wires to their scabbards.

  “Look at it this way.” He tapped the tag beside Lorel’s honor sword and set it swinging. “We can save them as mementos of where we’ve been. Rocks in Kresh, sword lessons in Dureme-Lor, a serdil cub from the Dragon-Eye Mountains, and tax tags in Shi.”

  Tsai’dona groaned. Bess chuckled.

  The team clattered over chipped cobblestones.

  They were entering a rougher
part of town. A smelly part of town.

  Lorel snickered, shook the reins, and pointed ahead. “There’s an inn. The Tanner’s Sister, if I read the picture board right. Can we stop there?”

  Tsai’dona rode closer and examined the inn. “Looks fine to me.”

  “Right on the edge of the tannery district?” He wrinkled his nose. “It’ll stink, but it should be cheap. I’ve got to teach you how to read in Nashidran. The sign says the Tanner’s Mistress.”

  Tsai’dona shrugged. “Cheap is fine with me, as long as it’s dry. And on dry land.”

  Bess laughed. “I’m asking for clean. Or at least, no fleas.”

  The wagon’s door lifted a scant inch. “This assembly must not linger in this vicinity,” Kyri hissed.

  Lorel turned and frowned at it. “Why not, toad? It looks like a decent place.”

  “The anchor shall scrutinize the locale.”

  Bess frowned, looked around, gasped, and wiggled backward. “I don’t see that. I can’t ever tell Jessie!”

  “I see leather hanging out.” Lorel glanced around and shrugged. “So what? I can sell my serdil pelts here.”

  “Some of it is bahtdor hide.” Viper peered into a stall. “I wonder how it got here. The tribes won’t sell it. Oh, Thunderer, look at that!”

  Tsai’dona’s face turned green. “Bog swallow it.”

  Lorel pointed, but jerked back her hand. “It looks like people hide.”

  “The anchor is correct. Copious hominid epidermises were desecrated. The quest companions must abandon this vicinity.” The door slammed shut.

  Lorel shook the reins and guided the team away from the Tanner’s Mistress. She sat in silence for several minutes. “What kind of man skins folk and sells their hides?”

  Like he was supposed to know? Unfortunately, he did. It was how most Setoyans thought. “A man who believes people are merely another kind of animal.”

  “Slavers think that way.” Tsai’dona guided her mare closer to the wagon.

  Bess groaned.

  “Weaver crush this town!” Lorel slammed her fist against her knee. “Shuttle crash and–”

  “Hush, turybird.” He glanced around and prayed no one heard her. “Listen to me. This is why we’re here. We’ve got to learn the truth about this city, and try to find the source. Without getting caught ourselves.”