Lodestone

by Katherine Forrister

  “Where do the overseers go?” Melaine hissed, trying not to yell as Jianthe stood and began slipping between tables and chairs to reach the door.

  “When in Stakeside?” she asked, her tone innocent. “How should I know?”

  Melaine scowled and slumped back in her chair, the legs scraping against the floor.

  “Careful, now,” Salma chided.

  “It’s covered in scratches already,” Melaine growled. She stood up and headed for the back door.

  “’Ey now, don’t go insultin’ my establishment,” Salma called. “Melaine!”

  Melaine ignored her. She was not in the mood for Salma’s nursemaid games.

  “Stick to lodestones,” Melaine muttered as she shut the door behind her and stepped out into the street. Maybe the Luxian Order was right. Stones were a fucking curse.

  But they were her curse to bear.

  She knew she should be grateful for the talent. It had kept her fed and clothed all these years. But what else could lodestones give her? Especially if the Luxians were taking hold, stones were as much of a limitation as they were an opportunity.

  But Melaine paused in her slow walk up the stairs to her room. If the religion was truly regaining hold in the upper classes, that meant heretical lodestones would be hard to come by. And if the overseers were growing skittish of coming to Stakeside for their vices, then their abilities to get lodestones from even the lowest sources would dry up. They had reputations to uphold, after all. They couldn’t be seen fraternizing with those of less noble bloodlines.

  Maybe this was a chance. A slim chance, and one that wouldn’t last for long. But if Melaine could find the information she needed and could move fast enough to take action, then maybe, just maybe, her lodestones could fuel one last leap out of Stakeside.

  Three days later, Melaine stood in front of Vintor’s shop.

  She’d tried other avenues. She’d tried to eavesdrop on certain circles at the Greasy Goat. Hinted at questions with her clients. Even ventured down a few streets known to be more dangerous than most, trying to glean even a mite of information about the overseers’ supposed forays into the slums. But she had turned up nothing, and she knew what a risk it was to probe deeper amongst strangers. Jianthe might be the best purveyor of secrets in Stakeside, but she wasn’t the only person to make a living out of paying attention to people who asked too many questions about clandestine topics.

  And so, Melaine decided it was time to try the one person she knew, other than Jianthe, who might know a little about the goings-on in and out of Stakeside.

  She glared up at the engraved sign freshly painted since she’d seen it last. Vintor must have been right when he spoke of other lucrative “enterprises.” Either that or he’d lied about how much Melaine’s last batch of lodestones had really gone for. Had the Insight he’d given her been only a scrap from the sum he’d garnered?

  Melaine lifted the hem of her dress to free it from the crackling, brown leaves and stepped over the gutter onto Vintor’s doorstep. She grabbed the tarnished brass knocker and pushed the door open.

  It was morning, and though a slight chill permeated the air, it wasn’t enough to warrant a fire in Vintor’s hearth. Even Vintor couldn’t afford to waste coal. Melaine raised her eyebrows when she saw Vintor speaking with a customer toward the back of the shop. Perhaps he could afford to waste coal if he succeeded in selling the item in his hand.

  “You see,” Vintor said to a woman with tight, brown hair. She had a cleanliness about her that told Melaine she was a Waller, someone from the tenements closest to the Stakeside wall, just like Vintor. “A simple touch of magic to this lever will set the mechanism into motion. Why don’t you try?”

  The woman was hesitant, but her eyes shone as she looked at the marvelous item for sale. The delicate contraption consisted of a thin, rectangular, brass base with a narrow, horizontal rod attached a finger’s width above. One edge of a slightly wrinkled piece of parchment was tucked inside the narrow space between the base and the rod. A fountain pen was attached to the right side of the rod by a small brass hinge.

  The woman summoned a bit of sunrise-pink magic to her fingertip and hummed it against the lever. The lever depressed, and the hinge that connected the pen to the contraption raised. The pen slid across the rod to the left and touched its inked tip to the parchment.

  The pen began to write. It slid back to the right, along the rod, scribbling script all the way. When it reached the other side, the parchment slipped farther between the rod and base, just enough to give the pen access to write another line of script.

  “You enchant the pen to write whatever you wish,” Vintor said, his words speeding up as he watched the sparkle in the woman’s eyes. “I set it to write a demonstration letter as soon as I procured it. And after it’s finished…”

  Vintor pressed the lever with his own little pulse of dark blue magic—his signature color—and the pen stopped. Then he pressed a series of metal tabs on springs, and four thin, brass arms, delicate as a spider’s legs, unfolded from the device’s base. Two latched onto the parchment with tiny clamps and pulled it from the base. Then all four arms began to fold the parchment. Rather than a simple envelope, they created a flower blossom filled with words. They set it gently on the table and folded back into the device’s base as if crossing their arms with pride.

  “Oh, how delightful!” the woman said, smiling in genuine admiration.

  “It can fold many other artistic shapes,” Vintor said. “Whatever your heart desires, even if a simple envelope should suffice. The pen will address the envelope, too. Though I’m afraid you’ll still have to send it.” He winked at the woman, but his eagerness for a sale vibrated through his attempt at casual conversation.

  The sight was truly one of the most wondrous Melaine had ever witnessed. The device was a mechagic; it had to be. Melaine had heard word of all kinds of mechagics starting a few years back. They were a product of the Overlord’s secular rule, in which experimentation was encouraged. The Luxians held that magic should maintain its organic roots. Insights, after all, had to be rooted in organic matter of some kind, and magic itself was a biological force. But the Overlord thought differently. And though Melaine had never expected to see a mechagic for herself, she had always admired that, in theory, they could exist under the Overlord’s reign.

  The Overlord wasn’t afraid of progress but rather was a catalyst for change.

  The mechagic in Vintor’s hands was small, and its task fanciful, but at its essence, it held the same core functionality as any other mechagic. The beauty of mechagics was their ability to automate a magical process that used to require a person’s direct, constant attention. Simply setting the mechagic in motion with a touch of magic would make it function all on its own for a set amount of time, while the person went about their daily business. She’d heard by now that the nobles had progressed the technology to the point of mechagical toys, dish scrubbers, music players, even mechagic-assisted carriages. The idea of that was a marvel to Melaine. She doubted she’d ever see one.

  Unless her plan worked.

  Melaine hardened her resolve and walked past the shelves of stacked goods and toward Vintor and his hesitant customer. She was clearly in awe of the mechagic, but Melaine could already see she wasn’t going to buy it. What was Vintor thinking, bringing something like that into Stakeside? No one would be able to afford it. More likely, it would be stolen by someone as foolish as Vintor himself, and it would be passed around Stakeside from thief to thief until someone wound up dead.

  “Vintor,” Melaine said. Vintor did a double take, and then glared with a subtle nod at the woman beside him. Melaine denied his hint that she should leave before ruining his sale. “I need to speak with you.”

  Vintor’s temple twitched in annoyance, but he maintained his cool demeanor. He smiled at his potential customer.

  “Mrs. Leisy,” he said, with a cordial nod of his head. “If you excuse me for a small moment, I will be right b
ack to finish explaining this fascinating machine.”

  Mrs. Leisy nodded, but Melaine caught her inaudible sigh of relief for the opportunity to either politely decline the sale or to escape the shop entirely. It seemed she hadn’t decided which yet.

  With a nod of his head, Vintor motioned Melaine to the other side of the store, his irritable frown becoming more pronounced.

  “What do you want?” he asked in a hushed voice. “I thought I made myself quite clear the other day.”

  “Oh, you did,” Melaine said. “I won’t dispute that. But I do need something from you, Vintor.”

  “Oh?” he said, placing three fingers of each hand in his vest pocket. “I thought you didn’t take handouts.”

  “I don’t,” Melaine responded. “After leaving our business so abruptly, I figure you owe me a little something.”

  “Is that so?” he said. “And here I thought that trifling mending spell would do the trick.”

  “That wasn’t even a fraction of the extra money you got from that sale, was it?” she asked. She knew she was fishing, but she was pleasantly rewarded. Vintor glanced aside and clicked his tongue in a telling gesture.

  “How much did you get for my stones?” Melaine asked. “Tell me.”

  “I paid you a fair price for them,” he said, avoiding her question. “What do you want from me, Melaine? It had better be good.” He glanced at his customer, who stayed for the time being.

  “You go outside,” Melaine said.

  He looked at her expectantly. He knew what she meant by “outside.” Beyond the Stakeside wall.

  “I need information.” She lowered her voice. “I hear the overseers come down to Stakeside now and again. Do you know where they go? When they come?”

  “Well, that’s pricey information,” Vintor said, his fingers delving deeper into his vest pockets as he puffed his chest out like an over-fluffed pigeon.

  “As pricey as my lodestones?” Melaine asked, not backing down.

  Vintor paused, then scowled. So, he did feel a little guilty for swindling Melaine out of her full due.

  “I don’t know any more than you do,” he said. Melaine opened her mouth, but he held up a finger to stop her. “But I can try to find out for you. If you promise not to come bursting into my shop like this again. In fact, stay clear entirely.” He lowered his voice even more. “You’re going to scare off my clientele.”

  Melaine almost laughed, but she was too close to getting what she wanted.

  “Fine,” she said. “I won’t interfere with your illustrious customers.”

  “How did you learn such big words growing up where you did?” Vintor said, rolling his eyes, but Melaine felt a little surge of pride. She’d worked hard to find big words, eavesdropping from the few who knew them and learning a bit from Salma, who hadn’t been restricted to Stakeside before the war. Salma had been married once to a Waller and was able to walk about the other side the way that Vintor now did. But then her husband had died, and she’d taken over her parents’ pub. She hadn’t left Stakeside since.

  “So, if I swear not to come back, you’ll find out where an overseer might be and when they might be there?” she asked.

  Her heart picked up speed as Vintor hesitated. But then, Mrs. Leisy started sidling toward the door.

  “All right,” Vintor said in a rush. “I’ll do it.”

  “How will you tell me if I can’t come back?” Melaine asked. Mrs. Leisy crept closer to the door.

  “I’ll write you a bloody note,” Vintor said. “Now, please. Go.”

  Melaine nodded. “I’ll hear from you soon, then.”

  “Yes, fine,” he said. Melaine hoped he was serious, but she had done all she could for now. She turned toward the door just as Mrs. Leisy opened it. A glint of a candlestick peeked out of the woman’s skirt. Melaine smiled.

  “Good luck with your sale, Vintor,” she said. Vintor opened his mouth, then he scowled and turned away, not noticing Mrs. Leisy’s theft as she stepped into the sunshine. Melaine decided not to enlighten him.

  “Came for yah today,” Salma said, pushing a folded scrap of newspaper across the pub counter. Melaine almost choked on her drink and sloshed water on her hands as she lunged for the paper. Salma saved her mug from tumbling with a hard frown.

  Melaine started to open the note, but then looked up at Salma. “Did you read it?”

  Salma’s frown deepened. “No.”

  Melaine looked down, feeling a little guilty for insulting Salma. Salma’s word had always rung true, and she’d never been given a reason to mistrust the woman. Salma’s look of disapproval continued, however, as Melaine twisted round in her chair so Salma couldn’t read the letter.

  Over a week had passed since she’d spoken with Vintor. She had begun to doubt his dedication to her request. Now, her hasty fingers nearly ruined the message as the ink ran black, mixing with the water on her hands. She uttered a curse and scrubbed them both on her dress and then rattled the paper until the words that were scrawled across the faded newsprint reached her gaze.

  As Melaine had hoped, the script inside was written in Vintor’s fluid handwriting. She narrowed her eyes as she studied the words in silence.

  S. wi—will.

  She filtered the letters through her brain, forcing them to make the right sound in her head. She had to understand this message. It was too important to misread.

  S. will be a…. No, at, t—the Hol—ee…. No, Hole.

  Melaine shuddered.

  Tomo…rrow nig. T? She crumpled the side of the paper in frustration. N.I.G.H.T.

  She played with the pronunciation of the letters, moving her lips silently, and then what Salma had taught her popped into her mind—H hushes G.

  Night!

  Melaine smiled at her victory in reading the message, and then her breath came fast in anticipation of what it meant.

  S.

  If Vintor had managed to find information about an overseer, then there was only one overseer who had S. for an initial. Garvind Scroupe was the Overseer of the Treasury, and from what Melaine had heard, he was as greedy as one might expect from someone in his position. Did his thirst for his vices match his greed for money? It seemed so, if the location in the note was to be believed.

  Melaine suppressed her doubts. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, she would have her chance to take a bold step—a step that could change her life forever.

  But her stomach twisted into knots.

  Did it have to be at the Hole?

  Chapter 3

  Darkness crept around Melaine like a slithering beast, pressing against her shoulders, crawling down her chest, running its claws through her hair. She resisted the urge to writhe with the fearful discomfort from the nighttime streets of Stakeside, and she straightened her spine. She raised her narrow chin, kept her black eyes up, and exuded as much confidence as she was able.

  Melaine did not consider herself a decent person, but even she was disturbed by the Hole. All but the most depraved souls avoided that den of vice and insidious pleasures.

  And the Overseer of the Treasury of Centara was as depraved as they came.

  Melaine had made no lodestones today, a risk. Her clients didn’t like to be rescheduled. If she had been a lesser peddler with lower-quality stones, she might have been beaten for her poor business practice. But she was Melaine of Stakeside, the most magically potent stone peddler in the slums and probably beyond. And she needed all of her magic now if she was to keep her wits. She summoned magic to her fingertips with every breath, charging them until they tingled with warmth.

  The alley that housed the Hole was thick with fog. Melaine could hear voices beyond; speaking, crying, groaning, shrieking in deranged laughter. She took cautious steps and paused when the thick fog touched her skin. It was warm and wafted strange scents into her nostrils. Melaine turned her head and took a deep breath of the crisp night air before forcing herself to continue into the haze of potion vapors.

  But soon, she felt lightheaded.
She hurried through the thickest of the vapors and finally had to take a breath when she reached a thinner mist. Her dizziness was replaced by a fierce quickening of breath and blinding snap of her thoughts. She shook her head and drew upon the magic in her bones to supplant the effects of what she recognized as a head potion called sniker. She had tried the venomous drug once when she was fourteen. After a bad night, she’d never touched it or any other cheap street concoction again.

  She continued to weave her way down the dark alley, trying to maintain an air of confidence and act like she’d been there before so the leeches wouldn’t rush to corrupt her out of pure, wicked delight. Or perhaps, to drag her down with them and assuage their guilt for their own vices, but Melaine suspected most were too far gone for that.

  More than just sniker circulated through the huddled grime of drunken hop heads. Circles of degenerates passed pipes around while others surrounded open fires, lowering their faces over the cauldrons of head potions and inhaling so closely that they would come up with scalded faces. But they were too high to notice the pain.

  Humping piles of every gender moaned in the shadowed edges of the alley, pressed up against the dirty brick walls of buildings or ignoring the chill of the cobblestones. Melaine ignored the vague calls her way as she walked past, some crudely asking for her to join the orgies, others offering the “best” potions in Centara for an exhortative price.

  She had seen such scenes before, though never in such blatant display. The Shields wouldn’t step foot here. Black magic had built up throughout intangible desecrating piles in and around the Hole for decades, since the days before the war. It had resisted the Reconstruction following the Overlord’s coup. Now, Melaine suspected that the deep, underground cesspool had been secretly allowed to remain in place.

  Even government officials and wealthy aristocrats needed a place to wallow.

  Melaine stopped before the doorway, separated from the alley by no more than a drawn curtain, allowing the head potion vapors to permeate into the depths. The curtain had ceased to maintain any distinguishable hue and was tattered and stained with secretions Melaine did not wish to consider. Although the barrier looked flimsy, she could still feel a sucking, dank, wet pull of dark magic inviting her in.