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by Sarah Prineas

  Pip opened its maw and dropped something onto my chest. I picked it up and used the edge of the blanket to wipe the dragon spit off it. Pushing Pip off me, sitting up in my blankets, I examined it. A stone. It fizzed in my hand, making my fingers tingle. It was deep purple, round, and rough, about the size of a quail’s egg. A locus magicalicus. Sandera’s stolen stone, sure as sure. I got to my feet and looked down at Pip, crouched on the floor next to me. “Where’d you get this?” I asked.

  Krrrr, Pip said. It crawled onto my abandoned blankets, wrapping its tail around itself.

  Busy night, clear as clear.

  I crouched down next to the nest of blankets. “You didn’t steal it, did you Pip?”

  The little dragon blinked, then closed its eyes.

  Had Pip stolen Sandera’s stone? Maybe. More likely, the dragon had stolen the locus stone back from the thieves, whoever they were. Why else would Pip be bringing the stones to me? If it wanted the stones for itself, it’d just swallow them, as it had swallowed mine.

  Getting to my feet, I set the locus stone on the table. Then I washed and found some clean clothes and got dressed.

  I was pulling my black sweater on over my head when a knock came at the door, and a piece of paper, folded, slid under it. As I went to pick it up, I heard footsteps hurrying away, a servant too frightened to wait for me to open the door.

  A note from Nevery.

  Connwaer. The magisters have called a meeting for this morning to discuss the thefts of locus magicalicus stones. You must attend. DO NOT BE LATE.

  —Nevery

  The last thing I wanted to do this morning was go to a meeting where I’d be shouted at by the magisters. Especially with Sandera’s stolen stone on me. Still, if Nevery wanted me there, I had to go.

  Not on an empty stomach, though. Because I had a ferocious dragon with me, the servants wouldn’t bring breakfast to my room unless they had a direct order from Rowan, so I settled sleeping Pip on my shoulder, slipped Sandera’s stone into my pocket, and went looking for food.

  When I stepped out of my rooms, two guards were at the door. They both followed me while I found the kitchens. The cook shooed me and Pip out, but told me to wait in the hallway while she found me something to eat.

  “Nothing fancy,” I called after her, as she went back inside.

  She came out with a plate of hot rolls and butter and jam. “You’re that wizard boy, aren’t you?”

  I had a dragon riding on my shoulder; who else would I be? I nodded.

  The cook looked me up and down, hands on hips. “You are too thin. You should eat more. And what about that?” She pointed at Pip. “Does this . . . animal need anything?”

  I grinned at her, and she backed away a step. “No,” I said. Not unless she had some pigeons flying around in the kitchen. I took two of the hot rolls from the plate and ate a big bite. Mmmm. “Thanks,” I said to the cook, who nodded and went back into the kitchen. I held a roll out to the guards. “Want some?” I asked.

  They didn’t eat while on duty, they said.

  Munching on breakfast, with Pip still asleep on my shoulder, its snout nestled against my neck, I headed out of the Dawn Palace. At the front gate, standing on the gravelly drive, I stopped and looked back.

  “Ah, sir?” one of the guards asked.

  I ignored him. The Dawn Palace. A fancy prison. Rowan wanted me to give it a chance, and I’d done that. I wasn’t coming back to live in those too-hot, too-cold ducal magister’s rooms, with the nasty fancy food, and closets full of silk-stiff clothes, and guards outside every door, and Miss Dimity bulging her eyes at me. If Nevery wouldn’t let me come back to Heartsease, well, I’d figure something else out.

  That decided, I headed down the hill. The guards followed. The air was chilly, the streets bustling with people and carriages and hansom cabs.

  When they saw I was heading for the bridge, one of the guards cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  Him calling me sir was about the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. I ignored him and swallowed down the last bite of buttered-and-jammed roll.

  “Ducal Magister Connwaer?” he said.

  I stopped. “What.”

  One of the guards stayed behind me; the other stepped in front, blocking my way. People passing us on the street stared as they walked by. It probably looked to them like I was being arrested. The guard said, “Magister, we’re supposed to report with you to Captain Kerrn if you attempt to go into the Twilight.”

  It really was starting to sound like I was a prisoner. I glared at the guard. “I’m not going to the Twilight. I’m going to a meeting at Magisters Hall.”

  “That’s all right, then,” said the guard behind me.

  They let me go on, following me across the bridge and down the steps to the tunnel that led under the river to the wizards’ islands. We came to one of the tunnel gates. I plucked sleeping Pip off my shoulder and held it up to the gate’s magic lock and said the opening spell. Pip twitched and blinked, giving me a surly look, and then touched the lock with its snout. The lock clicked open. We went through the gate, then two more gates, then through the Magisters Hall gate and up the stairs to the building itself.

  At the top of the stairs was a long, stone hallway, and it was filled with wizards and apprentices and magisters in their fine robes, all talking in little groups, waiting for the meeting to begin. When they saw me with the two guards looming up behind me and Pip on my shoulder, they stared, whispering. Stolen, I heard, and thief.

  Annoyed, Pip lashed its tail and snorted out a puff of gray smoke. I put my hand into my pocket to be sure Sandera’s stone was still there.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me—step step tap—and then Nevery was beside me, leaning on his cane. “Good morning, Connwaer,” he said mildly.

  I was annoyed, too. “Not really, Nevery,” I said, and I wanted to ask him if he was missing me, but he didn’t seem to be, so I kept quiet.

  He snorted. “The morning is not going to get any better, either.” He started down the hallway. “Yet another locus magicalicus stone went missing during the night. Brumbee’s. Come along. It’s time to start the meeting.”

  The other magisters headed for the meeting room, too, Brumbee in his bright yellow robe looking rumpled and worried, and sharp Trammel who ran the medicos, and Periwinkle with her gray hair in its usual messy bun, and bat-faced Nimble. Coming last was sharp, clever Sandera. They muttered to one another while we went into the meeting room, me shedding my guards at the door.

  Here was my chance. Once I’d picked Nevery’s locus stone from his cloak pocket. Sure as sure I could do a reverse pocket-pick. On feather feet, I hovered behind Sandera. As she stopped beside her chair, I pulled her locus stone from my pocket and—quick hands—dropped it into the pocket of her magister’s robe. She sat down, not noticing a thing, and I went on, finding a seat about halfway down the table and slouching into it, my hands in my pockets. Pip hopped up to perch on the back of my chair. My heart pounded a little. I watched Sandera out of the corner of my eye, but she still hadn’t noticed anything.

  Nevery was the leader of the magisters, so he sat at the head of the long table and, when everyone was sitting, started the meeting.

  “Well, Brumbee,” Nevery said. “Report.”

  “Oh, dear,” Brumbee said. He clasped and unclasped his plump hands, which were shaking, and looked around the table. “As you all know, another locus stone has been, ah, stolen. This time it was my own. And I hear no call from it at all. Nothing. It has simply disappeared.”

  I frowned. That was strange. Even if his stone was gone, Brumbee should be able to feel where it was.

  “What happened?” Trammel asked sharply.

  Brumbee cast him an unhappy look. “Nothing happened. I was being careful, of course. The door to my bedroom was locked. No one could have gotten in. But I woke up this morning and my locus magicalicus was gone from the table beside my bed. Stolen.”

  “Impossible,” Periwinkle said, sh
aking her head. “The stone would have killed the thief.”

  Nimble leaned forward. “And my own locus stone as well—simply gone! And Sandera’s, as well.”

  Sandera looked up, and then cocked her head, as if she was listening to something. I knew what it was—she’d just picked up the call of her locus magicalicus. In not too long she’d find it in her pocket.

  Nimble caught my eye and gave a secret smirk-look, as if he knew something that I didn’t. “My fellow magisters,” he went on, “we do know one thief who has shown that he can handle another wizard’s locus magicalicus.”

  Me, he meant.

  “Oh, no,” Brumbee said. “We can’t possibly think—” He glanced at me. “He wouldn’t—”

  “Yes he would,” Nimble said in his whiny voice. “He held the apprentice Keeston’s stone the other day when his little pet brought it to him. And he once stole Nevery’s locus stone, didn’t he? Picked it right from his pocket!” He stood up and pointed at me while pointing his smirk at Nevery. “Well, Nevery? Didn’t he?”

  Nevery, scowling, opened his mouth to answer, when Nimble went on. “And his first locus magicalicus was a jewel stolen from the ducal regalia! Who else could it be if not him and his dragon?”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. “It wasn’t me,” I said. And not Pip, either.

  “Prove it!” Trammel shouted, jumping to his feet.

  “He’s well known to be a liar and a thief,” Nimble said. “We should have hanged him when we had the chance!”

  Scowling, Nevery started to answer back, and Brumbee pulled at Trammel’s sleeve, saying, “Do sit down, Trammel. Do.”

  From the back of my chair, Pip made a low growling sound, then it leaped into the air and flew to one of the room’s narrow windows. It wanted out.

  So did I.

  Trying to ignore the shouts zinging from one end of the table to the other, I pushed back my chair and went to the window. Pip perched on the sill, which was about chest-high to me. I unlatched the window and pushed it open. Pip launched itself into the chilly air, flapping across the narrow courtyard that lay before Magisters Hall.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Nevery stood leaning on the table, glowering at the other magisters. Brumbee sat beside him looking worried, and the rest of them were red-faced and angry, too.

  Trammel stood at his place, smoke coming out of his ears. Beside him, Nimble smirked. He jabbed his finger toward me. “There’s your thief!”

  Thief. It was always like this. They weren’t going to believe me no matter what I said.

  Still . . . I knew how thieves worked. If I could get away from all the fuss and looking after and the ducal magister box that I didn’t fit into, I could get out into the city, and once I was in the city I could sneak and spy and find out who was really stealing the locus magicalicus stones, and deal with the two-magic problem too, if I could find time for it.

  “We must call the guard and have him arrested!” Trammel shouted.

  I turned back to the window. The meeting room was on the ground floor of Magisters Hall. Quick as sticks, I pulled myself up and crouched on the windowsill. I pushed the window wider open.

  “Connwaer—” I heard Nevery’s warning shout.

  A quick glance back at him—sorry, Nevery—and I turned and gripped the window frame, swung myself down, and dropped. Farther than it looked; I spilled onto the hard stone of the courtyard. Scrambling to my feet, I started to run. From the window behind me I heard shouts.

  Near the front steps of the Magisters Hall was an entrance to the tunnels. I raced for it. “Pip!” I called. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. I reached the top of the stairs leading down to the tunnel; behind me, the front doors of the Hall burst open. The guards!

  “Tallennar!” I shouted Pip’s true name, and pelted down into the tunnel, my boots pounding on the stone steps. I heard the guards shout, coming after me.

  I reached the Magisters Hall gate. Closed. I whirled and saw the guards’ dark shadows at the very top of the stairs. Come on, Pip! I couldn’t open the gate without my locus stone!

  With a flash, Pip shot past the charging guards, through the tunnel, and slammed into my chest. I turned and shoved the dragon up against the lock and shouted out the opening spell.

  The gate crashed open. As the guards reached the bottom of the stairs and lunged after me, I leaped through, and the gate slammed closed behind me. I jerked away from it before the guards could grab me with their long arms.

  One guard pounded at the gate, then shook at the bars. “Come back here!” the other shouted.

  Not likely. Still clutching Pip, I turned and skiffed away.

  Free!

  CHAPTER

  10

  It takes a while to work up a good layer of grime. When I’d been a little kid living on the streets of the Twilight, I’d been grimy all the time. My hair had been stiff with dirt and grease, my face smudged with dirt, my hands and feet grained with dirt and under my fingernails black with it, my tattery clothes, layers of them in the cold months, stained and smelly.

  If I was going to do what I needed to do, I needed to grime up again. Staying in the alleyways, I headed deeper into the Twilight, keeping an eye open for old rags and clothes in the piles of trash I passed. Not too far from Sark Square, I stopped in at a swagshop, trading my good stout boots and red knitted socks for a broken-down pair of shoes and a handful of copper locks. Too bad about the boots, really. But a good pair of boots would be a dead giveaway.

  Carrying the bundle of rags I picked up along the way, and the old shoes, I headed for the worst part of the Twilight, the Rat Hole. Embre had been working to improve things in the Underlord’s part of the city, but he hadn’t changed much here, at least not yet.

  I could still feel the comforting presence of the magics, though—the stony strength of Arhionvar and the warmer old Wellmet magic. Even though I was alone, I wasn’t really alone.

  The streets grew narrower and clotted with mud and trash, the houses on either side boarded up or burned out, leaning against one another like old men drunk on redstreak gin. I made a couple of turns to be sure nobody was following, then edged down a dead-end alley. I sat down with my back against a rotting wooden wall to see what I’d come up with.

  A man’s shirt with the collar and cuffs ripped off and suspicious-looking rusty-red stains down the front, and a slit over the heart where a knife might’ve gone in. Another shirt, yellowed, dirty wool, more moth-eaten hole than cloth. A sock with holes in the toe and heel. What had once been a gentleman’s waistcoat but was now a tattered vest stiff with dirt.

  Well, all right. Better than any fancy-fine ducal magister clothes, anyway.

  Along with the copper lock coins I’d gotten from the swagshop lady, I had a little knife in my pocket, a silver one good for picking easy locks. I pulled it out and used it to hack off the ends of my trousers, then pulled at the dangling threads to make them look more raggedy. I had a couple of lockpick wires in the seams of my trousers; I left them there. Picking up a clot of mud, I rubbed it over my bare feet and legs, and then I put on the one sock, then the shoes. They both had holes in the soles, so I’d feel the cold cobbles under my feet. Not such a bad thing, the holes. They’d remind me of where I was and what I was.

  Next, the shirts. I stood up and pulled off my black woolen sweater. I set it aside, then stripped off my good shirt and pulled on the other two ragged shirts and the dirty vest. Then I scooped up more dirt from the ground and rubbed it all over my hands and the back of my neck, and up into my hair, and smudged it across my face, too.

  Finished, I looked at myself. Gutterboy.

  It was a strange, free feeling, being a gutterboy again. It meant I could do whatever I wanted to do, without anybody telling me where I had to live, and no bothersome looking after.

  I glanced down, seeing the black sweater where I’d left it folded on the ground. Drats. Benet had knitted that sweater for me; I couldn’t just leave it in the alleyway. I took a shaky
breath and steadied myself. No, I was free of all that and I had something to do, and I was going to do it.

  “What about you, Pip?” I said.

  The little dragon was perched on a broken-down box. I crouched, and it gave me a glary look with its ember eye.

  “I can’t have a dragon following me around,” I said to it. People would notice that, sure as sure, and what I needed was to be not noticed.

  Hmmm. With the magics so unsettled, this could be tricky. But something like the embero spell and the remirrimer might work. I closed my eyes and thought it through, putting the words of the other two spells together to make a new spell. The embirrimer spell. Very useful. Good for making a disguise for locus magicalicus dragons.

  I opened my eyes, ready.

  Perched on the box, Pip eyed me, half opening its wings as if it might fly away. Reaching out, I laid my hand on the smooth place between the dragon’s golden wings and spoke the new spell.

  At first nothing happened—maybe the magics were so unsettled they couldn’t hear me. I frowned and tried again. This time the spell effected. Slowly at first. Pip’s eyes popped wide open; then it leaped up, did a flip in the air, and, in a shower of sparks, landed on the muddy ground. White-bright light flashed.

  I flinched back, covering my eyes, and blinked the brights away to see. Then I laughed. Pip crouched on the dirt in front of me, its tail lashing, its ears laid back, its whiskers twitching. A cat. But with goldy-green fur and ember-red eyes.

  “Come here, you,” I said, and made a grab for the Pip-cat. It yowled and scrambled away, then made an awkward leap into the air. Landing on its four paws again, it growled, then leaped again. Trying to fly.

  “No wings,” I said.

  Pip-cat paced in a tight circle, then snarled at me and bounded out of the alley.

  “Sorry, Pip!” I shouted after it.

  But I wasn’t, really. Being changed into a cat wasn’t such a bad thing.

  The last thing I did was use a copper lock to buy a stub of pencil and a bit of paper from a rag-and-bone shop, and wrote a note.