Thief's Magic

by Trudi Canavan

  “Give him your papers, Aren,” she said, without turning.

  “Yes, la’ Sezee.” Tyen took the wallet from where he’d tucked it under one arm and handed it over. Taga skimmed the document then nodded and shrugged again. Sezee then gave him her most dazzling smile and posed a question. The captain shook his head. A little wheedling followed, then she sighed, brought out her bag of coin and counted out what Tyen guessed was his fare. That settled, she beckoned to him and set off along the deck. He quickly picked up the bags and followed. The captain chuckled as he passed.

  “You’re a brave man joining those two.”

  Wondering what the man meant, Tyen followed the women across the gently rocking deck, through a narrow door, down a corridor with a low ceiling and to a tiny room with a bunk with two beds. At this last effort, or perhaps at the relief of finally finding a way out of Sacal Bay, his head started to spin again.

  “Leave the bags here, Aren,” Sezee ordered. She gave him a look he could not decide was a smile or a grimace. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to sleep with the crew.”

  He opened his mouth to say that it was fine. But the world had begun to tilt alarmingly.

  “Aren?” Veroo said. “Are you ill?”

  He shook his head, but that only made it worse. A numbing darkness crammed in on him. Someone grabbed his arms and was guiding him to … somewhere.

  CHAPTER 15

  At least you chose a private place to faint.

  Tyen winced as the words appeared on the page. He looked up at the sea and his earlier melancholy returned. Beyond the horizon lay his country, a day and a night’s sailing behind him. Every hour that passed he travelled further and further away from home. The uncertainty of his future stirred fear, but all he could do to ease that was turn his intent towards his destination and overcome the obstacles that lay between him and reaching it.

  He’d risen early so that he could catch some time alone to talk to Vella. Though she would have learned of all his ordeals since the aircarriage as soon as he’d touched her, he’d felt a need to relate the whole adventure stage by stage in order to get it straight in his mind. He looked down at the page again.

  I didn’t “faint”. I “passed out”, he protested. But even so, it wasn’t very manly of me. What was it that Sezee had said? “According to your novels, women are the ones who are supposed to fall over at the slightest fright.” By “your” she’d meant Leratian. But she’d apologised for teasing him after she’d learned how long he’d been without food or drink. “Such things don’t bother literary heroes,” she’d added, with no trace of mockery. “The real world is not so convenient.”

  He’d passed out for the briefest moment, but it had changed the women’s attitude to him instantly. Veroo had disappeared to find some food and water, returning so quickly he imagined she had simply snatched both from the hands of the first person she’d found bearing either. Sezee had drilled him on his symptoms, their duration and how long they’d been occurring for.

  Fortunately, the chunk of plain bread and cup of water had restored him. They’d insisted he stay in their room and get some sleep, and since it was wise to remain out of sight until the ship left Sacal Bay he didn’t argue. He’d lain awake, stomach twisting with anxiety, until the ship began to dip and sway with the swell of the sea which had it protesting for an entirely different reason. He emerged on deck in the hope that it would reduce his sea-sickness to a tolerable level. Aside from a night sleeping in a sling bed in the crew’s quarters, which seemed to reduce the nauseating effect of the rocking, he’d spent most of his time since then on deck.

  How much should I tell Sezee and Veroo? he asked Vella.

  You promised to tell them the truth.

  Yes, but I didn’t promise to tell them the whole truth.

  A lesser man would simply lie.

  I’m willing to become a lesser man, if it means we don’t die. But I’d rather not lie. It’s too easy to forget what I’ve already told someone.

  They will have guessed that you are running from the police and Academy. They may have seen the article in the Leratian Daily warning of a dangerous sorcerer. The article didn’t say you had stolen something, however.

  So I don’t need to tell them that. But they’ll expect there to be a reason the Academy is chasing me. Theft is better than some other crimes they might fear I have committed.

  If you wish to avoid lying, then all they have to do is keep asking questions and they will get all your secrets out of you.

  Which was a problem Vella knew all too well. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any opportunity for the women to ask questions. The little room they shared was too small for three people to squeeze into for a private conversation and it would look odd, possibly scandalous, for two women and their porter to do so anyway. He wasn’t sure how thick the walls were, either. On deck there were always crew about. So far he’d been able to keep to two of Sezee and Veroo’s conditions: he hadn’t harmed anyone and he’d paid them for his passage. Which was for the short crossing to Wendland, as it turned out.

  “Aren.”

  Sezee’s voice cut over the constant whine of the wind. He turned to see her making her way past crew and various obstacles towards him. Closing Vella, he slipped her into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “La’ Sezee.”

  She smiled at the honorific, used when addressing a female superior.

  “How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

  He shrugged. “The advantage of catching no more than a few hour’s sleep over two days is that sleeping in a hammock feels like a luxury.”

  “A hammock, eh?”

  “Yes. Seemed to help with the sea-sickness, too.”

  She grimaced. “Do you think they’d let us try it?”

  “Bad night?”

  Her nod was followed by a shudder. “But we’ll be arriving at Darsh soon and things will improve. Well, all travel has its discomforts but I prefer something other than endless water to look at while I’m enduring them.”

  “Have you ever travelled by air?”

  She sighed. “Not yet. I was rather hoping we’d get the opportunity while in Leratia. I guess we can add that failure to our list of disappointments.”

  “Are you free to divulge your purpose for visiting Leratia to a mere porter?”

  “I suppose I am.” Her lips twitched into a lopsided smile. “I think you will find it amusing. Veroo sought to join the Academy. I came along for the adventure.”

  He frowned. “I gather they did not accept her.”

  “No. They barely acknowledged her existence.” She scowled. “Apparently when they say women of means and status are welcome they don’t mean foreign women. Or any women, if they want to learn sorcery. Apparently we can’t be trusted with magic, as our heads are full of superstitions and our bodies can’t take the strain.”

  Tyen winced. He’d heard such views expressed by some of the more conservative professors, but since there were women in the Academy he’d assumed those men did not have undue influence in the admissions approval process.

  But, then, I know of no female sorcery students. I assumed there had been none with enough ability to qualify.

  “I’m … sorry to hear that,” he said.

  “What are you apologising for?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting up but her eyes narrowing. “Did you have anything to do with this policy?”

  “Er … no, but—” He stammered to a halt as a crewman passed them.

  Sezee smiled. “You feel you must apologise for your countrymen,” she finished for him. Looking away, she shrugged. “Never mind. It is their loss. I’ve never seen a setback diminish Veroo’s determination and curiosity. She will find other ways to increase her knowledge and skill. And we have had quite an adventure.” She turned to him. “Whereas yours is only beginning, I suspect.”

  He nodded. “Are you travelling directly home?”

  “Yes, unless we hear of another source of magical learning.
I don’t suppose you know of any?”

  “No.” Tyen frowned as he remembered Gowel describing the lands of the Far South, of a place called Spirecastle where the sorcerers knew a few techniques unknown to the Academy. “Though I have recently heard a story told by an explorer about the lands below the Lower Latitudinal Mountains. He said there was a small school of sorcerers.”

  Sezee’s eyes lit up. “Do they train women?”

  “I don’t know.” Her excitement died as quickly as it had sparked, but her expression became thoughtful. “Still, we could make enquiries.”

  “It is a difficult place to get to. The mountains are impassable by land and difficult to cross by air, though by all estimations the lands within are vast.”

  She grinned. “I so like it when you sound like an academic.”

  He heard a smothered chuckle, and turned to see another member of the ship’s crew hurrying past.

  “Well, a porter does tend to pick up a few insights from his employers,” Tyen replied in the hope the man didn’t realise one of the passengers wasn’t who he was supposed to be, though he was probably too far away to hear now.

  “I’m looking forward to the insights you provide.” Sezee’s eyebrows rose with meaning. “When Veroo and I have a moment to drill you on your reasons for leaving your former employer.” She moved a little closer. “Do you think you might be able to teach her a few things?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  He frowned. When it came to sorcery, the Academy had strict rules about teaching. Only members of the Academy could be trained in magic, and students weren’t supposed to teach at all. Breaking yet another rule would not help his chances of being accepted again as a student … but then he remembered the conclusion he’d come to, in the aircarriage, about his likely fate should he fall into the Academy’s hands.

  “It depends…” He did not finish, as another crewman had moved close enough to hear them.

  Sezee’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Of course it does. Well, we’ll have to see if we can afford to keep you on after we reach our destination.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Kilraker’s money – which he’d had to trust them to mind in their room while he slept among the crew – would not last for ever. And the prospect of continuing on in their company, whether as teacher or porter, wasn’t unattractive.

  “Tell me more about your homeland,” he said.

  She blinked in surprise, then he saw understanding in her expression. Turning to lean back on the railing, she stared past the ship’s rigging into the distance.

  “We come from Bleze, the largest of the West Isles,” she said. “From Loire, one of the larger forts before the Leratians conquered us over fifty years ago. Now it is our main city.”

  “Conquered? I was taught that the West Islanders handed over administration of their lands peacefully.”

  “Your historians don’t count possession by occupation as a form of conquest but we do. It is as effective as it is insidious. But I’m sure you do not wish to discuss the evils of the Leratian Empire’s past, so I will stick to the present. The West Isles’ main income comes from what we grow. My grandfather – a Leratian colonist named Tomel Firegard – made his fortune growing lall, and we still grow some of the best lall in the world.”

  “I shall have to try some.”

  “You must. It is excellent. You’re probably wondering how a granddaughter of a Leratian colonist could have my colouring. Well, good old Tomel Firegard acquired half of his land by marrying the daughter of the West Islander queen. Which makes Aunt Veroo the eleventh and youngest of his offspring and the daughter of the deposed heir of Bleze.”

  “But … deposed? The royal family is still recognised in the West Isles.”

  “A line of the royal family is, but not the legitimate one. The colonists recognised the first son of the queen as the ruler, but until then inheritance always passed along the female line.”

  Tyen shook his head, both at the treatment of her people – though after seeing Mailand he wasn’t surprised to learn of another land unhappy at the Empire’s methods of control – and at the realisation that Veroo was, by her people’s reckoning, royalty. And Sezee, as her niece, was too. He understood now where she had acquired her boldness and confidence. Though she would never have the authority her ancestors possessed, her family was still a powerful one.

  Suddenly Leratian society, which didn’t allow women to own anything but their clothing and jewellery, seemed far more primitive and uncivilized. Perhaps this is why Leratian women surround themselves with such elaborate rules of manner and protocol. It gives them a sense of control and respect. Interesting, then, that I find Leratian women confounding but am at ease with Sezee.

  Were all women of her country like her? Maybe it was simply that Sezee was a confident and outspoken woman. Much like Vella, he realised. Which was an interesting thought …

  “So if you are royalty, how is it that you were allowed to leave and travel on your own?”

  Sezee didn’t answer. She was looking at something behind him, frowning. “That one’s flying low.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see an aircart buzzing past, close enough that he could see that the driver’s face was turned towards them. Aircarts and aircarriages had been a common sight since they’d left Leratia, but this one was flying unusually close. Fear pulsed through him and he turned his back.

  The ship had been following the northern coast of Wendland since he’d emerged that morning. They would arrive in Darsh, the capital, soon. When they did it was possible – no, likely – Academy sorcerers and local police would be there, watching to see who disembarked.

  His stomach twisted. He’d had a brief respite on the ship. A chance to eat and sleep. But it would soon be over.

  “What will you do when we arrive?” Sezee asked.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed.

  “You’d better stay below for now. Stay out of sight.” She pushed away from the railing. “Let’s collect Veroo and ask for something to eat.”

  For the next few hours he pretended that they were doing nothing more than embarking upon an interesting voyage. They ate, then Sezee insisted that he stay in the little room to rest and guard their belongings while she and Veroo watched the approach to Darsh from on deck. His thoughts circled uselessly around the problem of disembarking without being seen. Would his disguise as the women’s porter work? Was there any other way he could slip ashore unnoticed? Could he bribe one of the crew into changing clothes with him and the others into letting him pretend to help them offload goods?

  If Kilraker was there, or anybody from the Academy who could recognise Tyen, no disguise would work. Could he use magic to fight his way free? He had escaped Kilraker before. Perhaps he could do so again. But even if he managed it, there would be no aircart nearby to steal. Only ships. And a ship needed more than one person to sail it.

  At last the door to the passage opened and light, rapid footsteps could be heard approaching.

  “Aren!” Sezee’s voice was low and urgent.

  He rose and stepped into the passage. “Yes?”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “We’re pulling in to the docks. There are Darsh police everywhere and men we think are from the Academy. How much money do you have?”

  He picked up his satchel and opened it, keeping it tilted so she would not see Beetle. “I don’t know. A few hundred levees, I think.”

  “Are you prepared to give a hundred to the captain, if he hides you?”

  Tyen’s breath caught. It was no small amount and the loss would mean survival would get tougher sooner, but there could be no surviving at all if he was caught. He nodded.

  “Stay here.”

  She hurried away. As the passage door closed behind her, Tyen sagged against the wall, assailed by nausea. What if it doesn’t work? he thought. What if the captain takes the money and turns me over anyway?

  The door opened and this time one of the crew e
ntered. He smiled thinly at Tyen.

  “Follow me.”

  Did that mean the captain had agreed? As the man passed him and continued down the passage, Tyen hesitated. Then he shrugged and followed. What choice did he have but to trust him?

  At the end of the passage was the door to the water closet. The man opened this, then grasped the seat of the latrine and lifted. The entire thing popped out of the floor like a cork. He stepped back and jerked his head towards the hole.

  “There’s handholds. Try not to knock the outlet pipe. Someone outside might see it move.”

  Tyen had read in history books that, in ships of the past, one of the punishments for mutinous crew was to be locked in the chute under the latrine with predictably unpleasant results. Trying not to let his dismay show, Tyen stepped up to the hole and peered down. An enamelled copper outlet pipe curved down and to the left, carrying away the waste. There wasn’t much space around it, but the cavity below was large enough for a man to squat in, and it was clean. The walls were rough wood, with chunks of timber nailed on to provide hand- and footholds for access to repair the latrine.

  He dropped his satchel inside, then stepped through to the first handhold, squeezed around the pipe and climbed down as quickly as he could manage. As soon as his head descended past the floor, the crewman, without another word, shoved the latrine back into place. Tyen crouched in the dark, tiny space and listened to the man’s footsteps as he hurried away.

  The air grew warmer and heavier. Instead of growing used to the smell from the latrine pipe so close to his head he found it was intensifying in the small space. He listened to the muffled stomp of many feet and occasional heavy thump – perhaps of cargo. Then all went quiet. When the signs of life returned the nature of the noises had changed, and as footsteps approached the room above the difference was suddenly frighteningly obvious. Instead of the thud of the soft partree soles of the crew’s shoes, designed for grip, he was hearing the clack of hidesole boots worn by people whose job entailed walking the cobbled streets of cities.

  The Wendland police were on board, and no doubt there were Academy men with them. Searching for him. The footsteps drew closer. The door above opened. He kept his breath slow and quiet. The floor above his head creaked. He waited for the door to close again, but it didn’t. Surely it only took one look for an unsuspecting searcher to confirm the water closet was unoccupied. Did that mean the man suspected there was more to the little room? Was he looking closer, searching for evidence of trapdoors? Had he, like Tyen, heard of the old punishment for mutinous crew?