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

by D J Salisbury

  Ah, Thunderer, I praise you, it’s still there. If he’d moved it I’d never find it again.

  It cost nearly an hour to ease the book off the overcrowded shelf, but in the end his patience paid off. He was so quiet, Trevor never once looked up, never suspected a thing.

  Were the old man’s shoulders shaking? No, it was his own nerves making him shiver. He’d better hurry before he dropped something.

  He slid the slender book on illusions inside the chant booklet and crept back to his chair.

  Wind Dancer, let the old man stay occupied for a long time. He needed a few hours to read through his prize. He’d worry about understanding it later.

  Chapter 26.

  “No. Stop.” The fraying lieutenant spread his arms across the weapon yard gate, totally barring her way. “Did you understand any part of what I told you?”

  Lorel crossed her arms and glared back at him. Of course she understood what the snipped thread told her. What he’d been telling her for lunars. Why wouldn’t he understand she didn’t intend to give up until he at least gave her a trial? She was better with a sword than any of his new recruits. Not that she dared tell him that. Not that he’d believe her if she did say it.

  “Go away.” The fraying lieutenant slammed the bronze gate in her face. Again.

  She kicked the bars and turned away. What a rotten day. The frayed thread had posted guards outside the walls so she couldn’t climb up. He’d put guards under the trees so she couldn’t climb high enough to see over the walls. He might put guards on the clock tower next, just to make sure she didn’t have a chance to see anything.

  Like there was anything secret about what they was doing in there. Ahm-Layel taught her more every time they met than the baby guards were learning. But Ahm-Layel didn’t show up much more often than the kid did.

  She’d love to know why Ahm-Layel was teaching her at all. Because it was fun didn’t make no sense. Nobody did nothing just for fun. Except maybe the kid, and the kid never made no sense, anyhow.

  The gate clanged open, and a patrol of baby soldiers filed out. Their gray-haired sergeant frowned at her as he marched by.

  What did he think she’d done this time? He had no call to be making faces at her. She had every right to be out on the street. Who did he think he was? She’d show him.

  Lorel fell into step behind the last row of soldiers, matching their cadence perfectly.

  Two blocks later, the sergeant turned into Old Brewster Alley. The baby soldiers almost made the turn in lockstep. Almost, but not quite.

  This was the perfect place for her ambush. Halfway down the alley, she began to stagger step, stamping her boots hard against the cobblestones. Her footsteps echoed off the tenement walls. Clunk CLUNK. Clunk CLUNK.

  Straightaway, the babies blundered out of rhythm. One of them tripped and fell clear to the ground. Two others stopped to help him up, and three more babies bashed into them and knocked a whole pile of the snipped threads onto the cobblestones. Nine down altogether, over half of the patrol.

  Lorel laughed. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen anything so funny since the magician’s the snake ate his dove, right there on the stage. The look on the magician’s face couldda boiled oil.

  The sergeant looked up and growled like he wanted to boil her in oil. She half expected foam to spurt from his mouth. That would cap a perfect caper.

  No foam, but plenty of venom. The sergeant pointed at her and shouted, “Arrest that treasonous creature.”

  Oops. That was more anger than her prank deserved. She better get clear until he got hold of his temper.

  Lorel sprinted past the baby soldiers and darted into Lesser Brewster Alley. Footsteps pounded after her, so she headed toward Knacker’s Quarter. Nobody in their right mind would follow her there.

  But follow they did. And some of them sounded like they were catching up. Fraying long-legged boys. Nashidrans, all of them, and outsiders wouldn’t know they’d crash into trouble in this part of town. She hoped their frayed sergeant caught up before somebody got hurt. Starting a riot might be more trouble than she could sneak past her father.

  If there was a riot, it was all that snarky lieutenant’s fault. She’d never tease the baby soldiers if he wasn’t so mean.

  Footsteps clattered closer to her. She even heard the babies’ heavy breathing. Maybe she oughtta stop fretting and try running a little faster.

  She lowered her head and charged across Slaughterhouse Square.

  Vendors looked up from their booths. Wrinkled faces frowned, gap-toothed mouths snarled. Threadbare men and women left their tables and stalked to the center of the square. Almost like magic, more and more folk appeared, drifting through doorways and out of filthy alleys. Before she was halfway across the square, the space was filled with scowling people.

  Lorel darted around the tanners with their weathered skin, past the dyers with their stained hands and clothes, through the ranks of butchers with their bloody aprons. No one tried to stop her. At the far side of the square she paused and looked back.

  The baby soldiers stopped cold. Panting like racing dogs in the heat of summer, they looked at the crowd, then back at each other. One frayed thread stepped forward. “In the name of the Emperor, move out of our way!”

  Three butchers eased closer to him and flapped their bloody aprons at him. Several old women held out their tattered skirts and curtsied to him, blocking his way even more.

  The soldier raised his fist.

  The crowd growled, and moving like a single creature, edged forward.

  The frayed baby soldier drew his sword.

  Blood in the Weave. That snipped thread was trying to start a riot. She had to stop this disaster. Now.

  Lorel stepped back into the square.

  Strong arms slid around her from behind, one around her shoulders, the other around her waist. Blue stained hands tightened on her gently, but firmly. A male voice grumbled into her ear, “We don’t give up ours, no matter what you done.”

  “Let go.” She tried to pry his hands loose, but his fingers were stiffer than hard-set glue. Weaver’s cold toes, this guy was strong. She tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “I ain’t worth getting everybody hanged.”

  “This ain’t about you, Trouble. This is all about them Nasties lording over us.”

  She glanced back at his scarred face. “They do it all the time. What’s different now?” Squirming didn’t work to get her free, but she didn’t want to hit him. He looked even older than her father.

  “They ain’t paying us to put up with their crap now. This is personal.”

  Maybe those weren’t scars; they looked more like splashes of red dye. “Ain’t worth getting killed over. I gotta stop them.”

  “You stop them from killing Joshua yesterday? Or little Gen a lunar ago?”

  Bitter blood. She never even heard about the thread-snipping Nashidrans killing nobody. Unless… “You sure it was Nasties? There’s a couple of gangs turning real rotten.”

  Two more soldiers drew their swords.

  “Ain’t sure of nothing but childer getting beat to death.”

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. Even the worst local gangs didn’t kill children. That had to be Jorjan and his ‘gentlemen.’ If only she could prove it.

  But she needed to do something to stop the fight now, before it turned into a battle. The witless Nashidrans would slaughter thousands of people, and never ask what started the riot. She couldn’t live with herself if she caused the murder of her own people.

  But what could she do? How could she get free?

  She was getting ready to bite the dyer’s arm when the sergeant staggered into the square.

  The crowd froze, turned slowly toward him.

  “What do you howling dog eaters think you’re doing?” he shouted. “Secure your weapons.”

  The soldiers hesitantly sheathed their swords. The crowd glared, but didn’t move.

  “Form up, dog eaters.”

  The s
oldiers skulked back to the sergeant, who cuffed the three sword wielders.

  “Return to patrol status.” The sergeant pointed at the alley, and the soldiers trudged away, heads hanging. “Straighten up, you worthless gulls.”

  Lorel sighed. Who’d have guessed any Nashidran had that much good sense? Maybe she should’ve asked him for sword lessons.

  Scowling like a dire wolf, the sergeant turned back and raked his gaze across the crowd.

  Maybe not. Looked like he held a grudge.

  The dyer bent his knees and forced Lorel lower until her head was hidden behind the scattering crowd. An old woman with purple hands noticed and strolled over to stand in front of them. “You what them dog eaters is after?”

  Lorel nodded. Weaver’s cold toes, was she in for a lecture now. But this woman didn’t look all that old up close. She might even be younger than Mom.

  “Good for you, girlie. You’s welcome anytime you wanna throw them dog eaters off your trail.” After a quick glance over her shoulder, the woman sashayed into the nearest building.

  The dyer laughed and pulled his hands away. “Sure, if you pull their tails hard enough, we’ll remind them we still got teeth. Even if we don’t show ’em as often as we should.”

  Any Zedisti who showed his teeth too often was gonna get them knocked out. And the bloody Nashidrans would bash all their friends’ heads in while they were at it. She better avoid this part of town for a while.

  Lorel saluted the dyer and marched out of the square.

  She probably shouldn’t have picked this alley. It wasn’t a part of town she visited often. The locals were a little rough, even by her standards. But maybe she’d run into one of the gangs. Now she was really in the mood for a good fight, if she could talk them into single combat. Taking on a whole gang? Not so much. Too hard to hide the bruises.

  Whose territory was she in, anyway?

  A boy in a dull blue shirt slithered around the corner and leaned against the tenement wall.

  Hmm. Sons of Zedista. They weren’t too bad. When had they moved in next to Slaughterhouse Square? She thought their territory was over by Bakers Street. Or was this one slumming? It got dangerous, tramping through another gang’s territory.

  The boy tossed his hair out of his face. “Hey, Lorel.”

  Was that–? Had to be. “Hey, Jonpaul.” She hadn’t seen him in a year. Rumor had it he’d been sold into slavery by a rival gang, but his shirt marked him as belonging to the Sons. “You guys moved down here?”

  Jonpaul shook his head. “I’m following trouble. Should just follow you.” He snickered. “Never seen so many Nasties run so fast.”

  “Baby Nasties. They don’t know no better.”

  He laughed silently. He was missing all his front teeth. Somebody’d worked him over, for sure.

  She glanced around. “This neutral territory now?”

  “Not hardly. The rest of the Sons are keeping the Snakes busy while I track down our trouble.”

  A rumble oughtta keep the soldiers busy for a couple of hours. She fought down a shiver. Skirmishing with the Doom Snakes was almost as bad as fighting with Kraken. She didn’t envy the babies if they stumbled into that fight.

  “Whatcha up to, Lorel?”

  She shrugged. “Mostly looking for somebody to fight with. Fraying Nasties piss me off.”

  “You wanna smack a Nasty? The whores are all missing, but I saw their pimp a ways back that away.” Jonpaul pointed southwest along Old Tanner Road. “Go knock him around. The Sons’ll owe you one.”

  Pimp? She didn’t know no Nashidran pimps. And one that the Sons of Zedista hated enough to rat on?

  Jorjan. It gotta be Jorjan. He weren’t no pimp, but everybody hated that toad.

  “That’ll be my pleasure.” She nodded to Jonpaul as she trotted away. Old Tanner led down to Tom Tanner and Old Mary, where Jorjan usually lurked when he went slumming with his gang. Shouldn’t take her long to find him.

  It took longer than she expected. She was beginning to think she’d need to search the whole quarter. Or give it up and go home. The toad might’ve crawled back to his slimy mansion by now, and Dad would start looking for her soon.

  A muffled sob caught her attention. If she couldn’t catch Jorjan, maybe she could rescue somebody instead.

  She skulked to the side of the street and peeked into Little Mary Alley.

  Maybe she could rescue somebody and thump Jorjan a few times, too. The red-coated coward pinned a little girl against the wall by her throat with one hand while he tugged at her blouse with the other.

  The girl didn’t look no older than ten.

  Only a red-bellied Nashidran toad would torment a little girl, but she didn’t look hurt yet. Tears streamed down her face, lots of tears, and she’d peed herself, but no blood showed.

  Lorel planned to change that. Smearing Jorjan’s blood all over the alley really tempted her just now. She strolled up behind the creep so quietly the girl didn’t even notice her.

  The toad murmured something that sounded dirty, even if she couldn’t understand the words.

  The little girl whimpered.

  Lorel grabbed Jorjan’s collar, kicked his feet out from under him, swung him around and knocked his head against the tenement wall.

  Jorjan cussed in Nashidran.

  That move didn’t work as good as it had in practice. She’d have to ask Ahm-Layel what she did wrong.

  By the time she looked up, the little girl was gone. Good. This fight didn’t need no witnesses.

  She waited while Jorjan struggled to his feet. What she wanted to do was kick him a few times, but both Ahm-Layel and the kid said kicking was dishonorable. They thought the toad was honorable?

  Jorjan shook his head like a horse trying to chase flies out of its ears. Finally he looked up and focused on her. “Altrada’s bones. You.”

  Lorel smiled. And slugged him on the jaw.

  He thudded against the stone wall and slid down like a wet noodle.

  Weaver’s chamberpot. Had the miswoven toad passed out already? That weren’t no fun.

  She nudged his boot with her toe.

  Jorjan kicked her in the knee. Hard.

  “Blood in the Weave!” She hopped back out of range. Sneaky, slimy, dishonorable toad just proved her point. She hadn’t even hit him hard yet.

  Jorjan rolled to his feet and charged her before he was fully upright.

  She grabbed his hair and slammed her injured knee into his chin.

  They both screamed.

  Weaver crush the Loom. She’d never hurt so much in her life. And worse, she’d done it to herself. She hopped backward on her good leg and leaned against the cold stone wall.

  Jorjan kept on screaming, but it was beginning to sound like words. “To me! To me! Raven! Hound! Wolf!”

  Hey, this might turn into a real fight. She shook out her hands and tested her bruised knee. Stiff, but it should hold up well enough.

  Footsteps echoed out on Old Mary Street. Only one pair so far. She’d take him down quick.

  Fish skittered around the corner, looked around, and skidded to a stop. He glanced at her, at Jorjan’s bloody face, and scrambled backward into the street. “Kraken! Help, Kraken, she’s killing the captain!”

  Weaver’s chamberpot. Now that would spoil the fun. Kraken knew more dirty tricks than she did. Too bad they couldn’t call a truce so she could learn a few.

  She snorted at herself. Her brains must be addled if she wanted to do anything with Kraken, even learn to fight better.

  Jorjan finally stopped screeching and tried to sit up.

  More footsteps echoed out in the street. That was her signal to leave. She resisted the urge to kick Jorjan in the knee and strolled down the alley toward Silver Street.

  Or, hobbled down the alley, though she tried hard to not limp. From the way the toad glared at her, she thought she was hiding the pain pretty good.

  Jorjan pushed himself upright, and slugged Fish when the frayed thread tried to help
him to his feet. He wiped blood off his chin and stared at his hand for a moment. “You howling dog eater. I’ll get you for this. I’ll grind you to dust.”

  Right. He’d run next time he saw her.

  “I’ll get revenge,” he shouted. “You hear me, you jagged cheat? I’ll get revenge!”

  Sure, he would. In the bottom of a bottle. He wouldn’t dare rat on her. His fancy-pants father would whip him again if he did. How would he explain getting beat up this time? He musta run outta excuses by now.

  Lorel strolled for three blocks before she allowed herself to limp. The pain was worth it. She hadn’t even busted up her knuckles. If she remembered to walk straight, not even her miswoven brothers would notice she’d been in a fight.

  Chapter 27.

  Even though the evening was still young, the rain-laden clouds made the narrow streets dark and secret, full of vulture dreams and untold deeds. Viper walked as quietly as he could, nervous in the shadows and the silence.

  He’d promised Trevor that he’d meet him at the inn. He’d promised, but thunderdrums, he wished he were home in bed. He should have brought a lamp. If he’d had any sense, he would have, but oh no, not him. He could walk the length of this insane city without a light. It wasn’t dark yet. Ha. It wasn’t dark above the sandblasted buildings, but it was Deathsinger dark down here.

  He still thought they should have put the streets above the buildings, not at the bottom of these wind-blasted artificial canyons. Dim candlelight shining through a window only made the path seem darker.

  Whispers hissed behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as he turned onto the road that led uphill to the Trader’s Inn.

  Dark figures followed him. They’d been quiet, but now their shoes crunched on dry leaves. Several pairs of shoes, and they were moving fast.

  He really didn’t want to find out who they were, but he’d worry all the way to the tavern if he didn’t check.

  Viper slipped into an alley and peeked back around the corner. He jerked his head back into shelter. His pursuers were closer than he’d thought. And there were more of them than he’d feared.