Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1) Page 7

  He perched on the tabletop and stared at the fire. Weird, that fire. It didn’t seem to consume the wood hardly at all; it seemed to burn all by itself. Must be one of Trevor’s tricks.

  Trevor’s tricks. The dried leaves. Herbs. That was what his stew needed.

  He jumped down from the table and sniffed at each of the porcelain crocks. The first jar smelled too bitter. The second merely smelled like leaves.

  The third crock smelled just like the second. So did the fourth.

  He yanked the lids off the next three containers. In the seventh jar he found leaves that smelled a little like the herbs his mother favored.

  Triumphant, he dumped a handful of leaves into the stew pot and nudged them under the surface with the knife. When his concoction began to boil, he moved the pot halfway off the fire to simmer, just like Mama always did.

  Content his job was done, he went upstairs to place his clothes in the wall. He didn’t want Trevor to complain he was uncivilized or that he needed lessons in becoming a gentleman. Who in sanity wanted to be a gentleman?

  For that matter, what was a gentleman? A gang member? Jorjan called his followers gentlemen. That couldn’t be what Trevor meant.

  But who knew what Trevor ever meant. Even when he knew the words, the old man rarely made sense.

  Still, he’d promised to do his share. What work should he do now? Oh, yeah. Sweep up the dust.

  He found a broom and some rags in a cabinet by the backdoor and set to work.

  Several hours later, Viper dozed in the newly cleaned parlor. It had taken all afternoon, but he’d managed to eliminate the dust without choking himself. He felt he sorely deserved a nap.

  A tap on his shoulder sent him leaping across the room.

  “Don’t jump so, child.” Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You act as though you are in a perpetual state of siege.”

  “How did you get in here without me hearing you?” Viper rubbed his eyes and forced himself to stand up straight. “I was listening for you.”

  “I imagine you fell asleep.” Trevor sniffed the air like a bahtdor scenting blood. “Is dinner ready?”

  The stew still didn’t smell quite right. And it smelled burnt.

  His stomach squirmed from the stench. But he couldn’t let on. He’d said he knew how to cook, and he did. Sort of.

  Viper grabbed a mug and ladled their dinner into deep bowls.

  Trevor watched without comment, although he did give the cider bottle a suspicious shake.

  Viper carried the stew bowls to the table and dribbled cider into glass cups. When he started to cut the loaf of bread with the knife he’d used earlier to stir the stew, Trevor stopped him.

  “Allow me,” the old man said gravely, and went to the counter for a clean knife.

  No matter how hard he tried, Viper could not get his spoon up to his mouth. He leaned back in his chair to avoid breathing in fumes. He picked up his bread, nibbled at the crust, and cursed himself as a failure. He should have admitted he didn’t know how to cook.

  How could Trevor eat that vile mess?

  Trevor looked up at him as if he’d heard the thought. “It’s not very good, is it?”

  “It’s horrible. I am unworthy of your trust. You should beat me until I can’t stand up.”

  “Better yet, I should make you eat it.”

  Viper groaned.

  “Eat your bread.” Trevor ate one more bite of stew before pushing his bowl away. “Tonight I shall write a list of foods for you to buy tomorrow morning. I’ll teach you each of the words, how to read them, and what each item looks and smells like. That will be your first lesson in reading the Zedisti language.”

  Viper nodded. He deserved far worse than a reading lesson. He deserved to starve for a week, trapped in his room with the window nailed shut. Or worse, with the window nailed open and the horrid girls looking down and laughing at him. He deserved to lose his new outlander name.

  “There’s a shovel outside the backdoor.” Trevor eased out of his chair and trudged to the hallway door. “Dig a hole against the back wall and bury that disaster. Be sure the grave is deep enough it can’t come back to haunt us.”

  Not even a Kerovi demon’s deepest dungeon would be deep enough. The stew’s stench could stun the dead.

  His eyes and nose swelled shut, clenched tighter than a hungry ghoul’s grasp, long before he got the stewpot out the backdoor.

  Chapter 8.

  What a fraying stupid New Year’s Night party.

  Lorel slipped away from her family, keeping her head low as she dodged through the merrymakers crowding Market Square. Noodle brains outfitted in paper-clay Shuttles jogged back and forth, pretending to weave fate, but knocking down unwary people with every turn. Costumed Weavers towed gilt-covered Looms in carts that usually hauled carrots. Drunks chased laughing girls who’d end up preggers by spring.

  What a bunch of losers.

  She glanced back to make sure she was out of her brothers’ sight. They’d rat her out for sure, if they caught her getting away. Why Dad thought they should stick together was beyond her.

  Cool air slid up her sleeves. Delicious shivers ran down her spine.

  Her gray wool shirt kept her warm enough. Why Mom thought she should wear a heavy jacket on a first-rate night like this was beyond her, too.

  Too bad Faye had some fancy party to go to. One where normal people weren’t allowed. It might’ve been fun to play bodyguard at a gentry party.

  So, what trouble could she– What entertainment could she find? She wasn’t out looking for trouble. Really. If she told herself that enough times, she’d be able to say it to her father with a straight face.

  Not that he’d believe her. He didn’t believe her even when she told the full truth. Of course, bragging when she’d beaten up four of Jorjan’s gang mightta been too much for him. Even if there was five, if you counted the little one that only watched. Should’ve kept her mouth shut. Would’ve, if Mom hadn’t fussed over the bruises.

  She grinned. Jorjan’s gang had lots more bruises once she was done with them. Hound and Wolf and Squirrel and Blizzard still looked away when she walked past.

  Using wizard names proved just how stupid they were. Especially a power name like Blizzard. Some old wizard would zap him someday, turn him into a toad. Everybody knew wizards were downright crazy.

  Jorjan was really warped, but he was too smart to use a wizard name. Or too vain to hide his own.

  One good thing about that toad was he liked to fight almost as much as she did. As long as he was winning. Best thing about Jorjan was he didn’t rat on people he fought with no more. Rumor had it his father called him a coward and near to beat him to death last time he ratted on someone. He was supposed to do the thrashing, she guessed.

  Hey, wasn’t that Wolf sneaking down Little Butcher Alley? Was the rat hiding from her? No, he didn’t look back, so he hadn’t seen her.

  This might be fun.

  Lorel stalked behind Wolf, silent as a breeze. Yeah, right. But nobody’d notice her footsteps above the racket of the crowds. She needed the practice, since she hadn’t got the silent part down yet.

  She followed Wolf down Little Mary Alley, across Old Mary Street, down Tom Tanner Alley. That many alleys meant he was hunting for trouble. Good. Maybe she’d be able to rescue somebody. She’d always wanted to run to the rescue, but nobody ever cooperated.

  Jorjan’s gang enjoyed thumping on little kids. Maybe today she’d save one of them. If she caught up with Jorjan’s thread-snipping gangsters.

  Wolf paused at the corner of Tom Tanner and Blue Dye alleys.

  Weaver’s blood! She better pay attention or he’d catch her.

  She crouched beside a pile of rags and froze.

  Wolf glanced around furtively before creeping into Blue Dye Alley. Was it an act, or did he really miss seeing her?

  Lorel bet he’d missed her. In her gray shirt and black pants, and with her dark skin and hair, better opponents than Wolf had
overlooked her. She’d even snuck past Kraken. Once. That snipped thread hit fraying hard. And he’d ripped her clothes. Good thing the fraying Nashidran patrol had marched by. Kraken hated the guard worse than he hated her. Nice to know something scared him.

  She softfooted to the corner, knelt low, and peered down the alley. No ambush. Nobody to fight. Weaver snip his thread.

  Wait, voices whispered down at the dead end. She crawled around the corner, low enough they shouldn’t see her.

  Fish plonked a dark lantern on a barrel and huddled with Raven and Wolf, who was talking fast, but too quiet for her to hear. All three grinned and nodded like they were plotting trouble.

  Could she mess up their plans? The crowd was far enough away she didn’t worry about getting caught. In fact, it was real quiet down here. She better be careful or somebody would call the guard.

  Nah, not in this neighborhood.

  Keeping to the deepest shadows, Lorel crept forward. The noodle brains chattered so much they didn’t hear her at all. Not even when she stepped on something that crunched. A dead rat, maybe.

  “I swear, the little twerp went up to Trader’s Inn,” Wolf whispered. “We can take him on his way back down.”

  She knelt in a shadow six feet behind Fish. Could she figure out who the victim would be? Not likely. The thread snippers preyed on everybody who couldn’t fight back.

  “We better tell the captain.” Raven glanced up the dark alley.

  Lorel froze.

  Fish shook his head. “We’d have to tell Kraken. He breaks them too fast.”

  It was a wonder Kraken hadn’t killed nobody yet. Maybe being the City Guard’s captain’s son made him cautious. Or made him just not care.

  “We can grab him and have a little fun.” Wolf straightened and grinned. “Afterward we’ll take him to the captain.”

  Captain? Oh, Jorjan. The limp thread was giving himself titles now.

  Fish nodded. “That’ll do.”

  Their idea of fun meant seeing how long they could make somebody scream. She had to help that poor little kid before they ever got hold of him.

  “I don’t like it.” Raven glanced up again, looking right past her. “The captain will have our hides.”

  Lorel stood up and glared straight into Raven’s eyes. “Not if I can skin you first.”

  Wolf yelped. “Weaver’s blood!”

  Fish groaned.

  “Surround her, you frayed threads.” Raven grinned and strutted toward her. “This one’s got some fight in her. Lots more fun than the shrimp.”

  Weaver speed the Shuttle, hooray! About time she found somebody ready to fight.

  Fish marched forward like a brainless soldier on parade. Wolf shook his hands, fisted them, and stalked toward her.

  Raven grinned and lunged at her.

  She ducked below his hands, turned, rammed her shoulder into his. Raven crashed into the alley wall.

  He always was a slow learner. One of these days he’d learn to stay outta her way.

  One down, one and a half to go. Wolf was too scared of her to last long.

  Fish grabbed her arm, exactly like he did last time. That was no fun. Why didn’t he try something new?

  She slammed her fist into his face.

  He dropped to the ground, limp as a sack of sawdust.

  Lorel shook her hair out of her face. Where’d Wolf gotten to? She hadn’t seen him run.

  Weight smashed onto her back and knocked her onto the cobblestones. Knees dug into her shoulders.

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. That hurt! She tried to roll over.

  Feet dug into her kidneys. Something grabbed her hair and slammed her face against stone.

  Loom bust a Thread! That was cheating!

  She reached back and grabbed the hands tangled in her hair before Wolf slammed her face down again. She dug her thumbs into his wrists.

  Wolf yelped and tried to drag his hands free.

  Lorel yanked his hands in front of her, slamming them into the cobblestones.

  His jawbone thumped against the back of her head. Wolf grunted. She yanked his arms farther forward. Bone cracked as she rolled onto her side and used his arm to lever herself upright.

  Wolf wailed and curled around his arm.

  She checked the area. Fish was still down. Faking it, most likely. Where was Raven?

  She spun, put her back to the alley wall. No way she’d fall for Wolf’s trick again.

  Where was Raven?

  Running footsteps echoed down the alley. A whole bunch of footsteps. Blood in the Weave! The coward went and got Jorjan!

  She backed away from the skirmish zone. Wolf moaned, and refused to meet her eyes. Whiner. He should’ve learned the first time they fought, before he broke himself. Fish crawled to his knees, moving like his guts hurt. The faker. Jorjan would snip his thread if he noticed.

  The footsteps sounded louder. Time to get outta here.

  She trotted up Blue Dye Alley and waved at Jorjan and the gang as she turned onto Tom Tanner. She counted twelve of them, barely two blocks away. That was cutting it a little close.

  A band in the distance played the Nashidran anthem as she strolled across the street. Admittedly a fast stroll, but she wasn’t running when she got to the corner of Old Mary Street. There her luck ran out. Big time.

  Her whole family barreled down Old Mary, headed straight at her. Could she sneak back into Tom Tanner Alley? It was dark enough down there to hide a regiment.

  Not a chance. Her father looked right at her. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Baby, you look awful!”

  Oh, please, Mom, don’t get all mushy now. “I’m fine, Mom. Honest.”

  Chalmer sneered down at her. “She’s been fighting again.” Her oldest brother always had it in for her.

  Baxter plucked something squishy from her shoulder. “She’s been rolling on the ground. Finally find a boyfriend?” Come to think of it, both of her brothers hated her. Tonight the feeling was mutual.

  She pushed Baxter’s hand away. “Mind your own business.”

  Her mother dragged her closer to somebody’s lighted window. “Baby, your lip is bleeding!”

  Chalmer rolled his eyes.

  Bleeding? Must’ve happened when Wolf made her kiss cobblestones. She didn’t remember him slugging her in the face. “Mom, this isn’t the best part of town to announce that.”

  “And what are you doing in this neighborhood?” Dad crossed his arms. “I warned you not to come down here alone.”

  Oops, shouldn’t have mentioned it. But this area was pretty tame compared to the quarter below Trader’s Inn.

  “Well?”

  “I wasn’t alone, Dad. I came with a couple of people.” If Wolf and Fish count as people. She kinda doubted it. Raven sure wasn’t. Raven was a snitch.

  Baxter snickered. “And whatcha doing with them, hey, Light Skirts?”

  Mom slapped him. “I won’t have that kind of talk.”

  He’d be talking outta the other side of his face once Lorel got through with him. As soon as she thought up a really good revenge. One he couldn’t blame on her.

  Revenge was a skill she enjoyed honing. Her brothers gave her lots of practice.

  “You’re grounded, girl.” Her father pointed up the street. “Get yourself home.”

  The noodle brain was pointing the wrong direction. What had she done to deserve a family like this?

  “Move it!” Chalmer shouted.

  “I won’t.” Lorel crossed her arms and glared at him. “It’s New Year’s Night. Accidents happen.” She licked the blood off her lip. Some accidents just happened to be more fun than others.

  Baxter crowded closer. “You’re such a liar.”

  “Go home!” Chalmer also pointed in the wrong direction. “There’s tons of work in the shop that needs doing.”

  “Weaver’s ch– Weaver’s Shuttle!” Lorel thumped Baxter on the chest. Chalmer had enough smarts to stay out of
reach. “I hate working in the shop! I ain’t no good at it, and you all know it!”

  Baxter backed away, looking startled.

  Dad blinked at her. “You’d be good if you worked at it. You’ve got a lot of talent.”

  “I hate it! I hate everything about it!” Lorel jerked away and stomped toward Market Square.

  The out-of-tune Nashidran anthem brayed louder. Giggling dancers pushed down Old Mary Street, out of step and bobbing like courting gulls.

  “Back off,” Mom muttered, still close behind her. “Give her space. She’ll come around.”

  “Come around?” Baxter snorted. “She’s too spoiled. Too good to work like the rest of us.”

  “She’s been useless for ages,” Chalmer grumbled. “Couldn’t make a penny whistle if you gave her all day.”

  Lorel spun to face him. “I’m a better than both of you put together.” She snagged a deep breath and grabbed hold of her temper. She always lost when she got so mad she couldn’t see straight. And her brothers worked too fraying hard at making her furious.

  Chalmer snorted. “You’re too impatient to do decent work. You haven’t finished anything in a year.”

  “Like you know anything.” Lorel turned and stomped away. “Like it matters what you think.”

  “Get back here, girl!” Dad yelled.

  She pretended not to hear him and kept walking until she melted into the crowd. She’d do anything she wanted on New Year’s Night, no matter what he said. She’d pay for it tomorrow. So what?

  None of them followed her. Did that mean they admitted she was right? Or that she’d be locked out in the morning? She wasn’t sure she cared either way.

  ˜™

  Moonlit streets seethed with steaming bodies. Couples swayed and danced, bands played competing tunes, drums pounded like thunder.

  Viper hunched against the cold as he threaded his way through the mob. Someone bumped against his back and he staggered. His shoulder brushed Trevor’s coattails. Maybe he was following the old man too closely.

  He had to keep up. He had to spend the evening at the Trader’s Inn.

  Laughing drinkers dared the Racer to halt his journey and join them for a mug of ale. Drunks jeered at the Coward in his lonely backwards flight around the world. Most of the crowd was content to cuddle and dance.