“We don’t want the Orphans beating us on something like that, do we?”
“Yeah, I think so, cap, I think so,” Cainey said. “Wasn’t no one I really know, but I think it was a Prince who got it.”
“That’s . . . that could be a problem,” Colin said. “The Thorn getting beat out there. He might have cracked on the Rabbits right now, but if Fenmere’s taken steps to take him out . . .”
“That’s what this bird is, you think?” Tooser asked.
“What dirt is that on us?” Deena shot back.
Colin grabbed his belt, checked his knives. “The bosses didn’t want to move on the Rabbits because the Thorn would do it. We can’t count on that. So maybe we’ve got to do something else now.”
“That your call?” Deena was a problem. Though he appreciated having someone there who had the good sense to ask questions. Smart questions, even though he didn’t like the answers.
“Not sure, but we’ve got to do something, or we’re going to have a real problem with the Rabbits.”
“So’ll everyone else,” Tooser said.
“Good point. Let’s taste the cider before we drink it, then. Get the word out, I want a church meet with some folks. Today. One bell after noon. Everyone but the Rabbits.”
“Me too?” Cainey asked. Colin had nearly forgotten he was there.
“Yeah, kid. Deena, take him, find some more you trust, take the word to the Dogs and the Kickers. You know anyone you can talk to down there?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Tooser, you and Theanne put out the word to Hallaran’s Boys and the Knights. You find Hannik of the Boys, tell him this comes from me. Jutes, you’re with me, let’s go.”
He unlatched the door and let them all out. They went their separate ways and, while Colin latched back up, Jutie waited by the door. “So we’re going to get the Orphans?”
“I’m gonna do that.”
“You?” Jutie shook his head. “Look, you can’t be doing that. You’re the cap here. You go around like you’re running your own errands, it don’t look right. You at least got to look like you’ve got someone at your arm.”
Jutie was right. “Fine. You find that Orphan bird who was at the last church meet. Yessa I think her name is. You know who I mean?”
“Yeah, I know,” Jutie said.
“Something else I need from you. This is mouse work, just you and me, hear?”
“Even keep it from Tooser?”
“For now. I want you to find out who’s got the Thorn’s bow. And if you can, get it to me.”
Jutie’s eyes went wide. “You think we can get him his bow back?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Colin said. “But you and I both know he deserves some respect from Rose Street.”
“True, true,” Jutie said. “Yeah, I’m on it.” He tapped Colin on the shoulder and stepped off.
Now there was only one thing left to do: let the bosses know what he was doing without making them think he had stepped out of turn. That’d be easy enough—he’d just tell them he was gathering information on what everyone else knew about the Rabbits.
Right now, that was all the truth the bosses needed.
Chapter 9
VERANIX USED EVERY MINUTE available finishing the Magic Theory exam. He actually didn’t feel like he had done too terribly on the test, but the whole process felt unnatural. Explaining the theoretical aspects of doing magic felt like describing how to make his heart beat. At least part of the exam dealt with Circle history and formation, and the Magic Circle Charters of 1021. Concrete things he could wrap his skull around, even if it only reminded him that next year he’d have to take the course on Circles, Magic, and Law.
He came down from the gallery, exam papers in hand, to find Professor Alimen waiting patiently at the lectern, Delmin and Phadre standing at the ready with him. Veranix had the feeling he was walking straight into a trap. The smiles on their faces didn’t alleviate that sense.
“So that was interesting,” Veranix said.
“I’m certain you performed tolerably,” Alimen said. “And now you three will spend the afternoon focusing on Mister Golmin’s final presentation. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Phadre said. “I believe we’re all set to go. Instruments are ready, my speeches are polished, and we’ll be able to demonstrate all my points with clarity.”
“Excellent,” Alimen said. “However, as it’s now noon, I do not expect you to work past five bells.”
“No, sir?” Veranix suspected something was afoot. He had never known Professor Alimen to allow such obvious shirking without reason.
“Well, I need to give you time to clean up and put on your dress uniforms.”
“Dress uniforms?” Delmin visibly gulped. “Why would we ever—”
“A matter of tradition, Mister Sarren. Simply put, tonight is the final formal professorial dinner at the high service. I have the right and authority to extend invitations to willing and worthy students. Within limits, of course.”
“Are you inviting us to High Table, sir?” Veranix asked.
“That is what it’s called among the students, yes?” Alimen chuckled.
“You do know how rare it is that third-year students get invited, sir?” Delmin asked.
“Or fourth-year, even?” Phadre said. That was true. Most students only heard about High Table, but a great majority went through their entire education without ever being invited. Those who did attend were always stingy with the details, beyond it being an incredible honor. It was a weekly event, every Ghen, yet despite that it was steeped in mystery for the students. It was rumored to be an astounding feast, a towering culinary accomplishment, but also filled with pageantry and spectacle. It was, presumably, everything that students in the School of Protocol lived for.
“Well then, I’ve accomplished something,” Alimen said. “Truth be told, Mister Golmin, for the past four years you’ve been doing extraordinary work in Mystical Theory, and I honestly could not be prouder. You two should consider yourselves quite blessed to be given this assignment. And I’m aware that I have placed quite a burden on both of your shoulders—one which I am quite confident of your collective abilities to bear. I realize that such a burden deserves reward.” Then he put on an almost maniacal grin. “Not to mention, it will irritate the very blazes out of Professor Yanno.”
That may have been the first time Veranix ever heard Professor Alimen say “blazes.” He found himself laughing uncomfortably, as did Delmin and Phadre.
“All right, to work, gentlemen. I’ll see you tonight.” He clapped Phadre on the shoulder and left the lecture hall. Before Veranix or any of the others could gather their thoughts, they heard the professor outside the hall make a few snappish remarks.
Jiarna Kay stepped into the doorframe. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
Phadre suddenly turned into a flustered mess. “You, you . . . you aren’t . . . Shouldn’t . . .”
“Ease it down, sailor,” Jiarna said. “I’m just seeing how my boy here did on his exam.” She strutted over to Veranix like she owned him. He suddenly found this far more intimidating than anything that happened with Bluejay the night before.
“I think I did all right,” Veranix said. “Now we have to—”
“All right,” she said mockingly. She turned to Delmin. “Is he always this humble?”
“Hardly.” Delmin himself was half frozen. Jiarna seemed to turn both him and Phadre into morons. Not that Veranix was doing much better.
“I did fine.”
“You did superb, my little hero,” she said. “You got invited to High Table. And you know the rules of such invitations.”
Veranix really didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Do you mean escortment?” Delmin asked.
“He’s so bright!” Jiarna said, her gaze fixe
d on Veranix. “That was exactly what I meant, my little hero. You have been invited to the honor of the High Table, which gives you the right—not merely the privilege but the right—to act as escort to the young woman of your choosing. It’s part of the protocol.”
“I hadn’t realized that,” Veranix said. He really didn’t have any idea what all the rules of High Table were. Dress uniforms had been mentioned. Did he have a dress uniform? Where was he supposed to get one? Did eating have any sort of ritual?
“Well, now you realize it. And in realizing, I’m sure you know exactly who you should ask to join you. Don’t you, my sweet little hero?”
So that’s what this was.
“Jiarna,” he said, forcing the words through his teeth. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to tonight’s High Table dinner?”
“Delighted,” she said with a flash of a smile. “Now I’ll leave you to your work. But, Veranix, I will want to check up on you later.”
With that, she was out of the room like a gust of wind.
“What the blazes just happened?” Veranix asked.
“I think you have a date for the dinner,” Phadre said. “What is it with that woman?”
“I’m not sure,” Veranix said. Did she just want into the dinner because it was an honor? Or did she have some other plan in mind? Veranix still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was far more to Jiarna Kay than he could put his finger on. Perhaps it would be best to keep an eye on her for tonight.
“Come on, let’s not waste time,” Phadre said, walking ahead to Bolingwood Tower.
“This means I have to find someone to escort, don’t I?” Delmin groused as they walked, letting Phadre gain a lead on them.
“If you want,” Veranix said. “Frankly I would have preferred not to have.”
“Then what just happened?”
“My very question,” Veranix said. “She found me out.”
“Found you out what?” Delmin’s confusion then took on a sudden appearance of understanding. “How?”
“She’s got some crazy device that can create images of numina, or numinic flow or something, and so she has an image of me, plain as day, climbing over the wall.”
“Wait, wait, she has what? She can—how?”
“I don’t know. Something about numinic lenses. It doesn’t matter. The thing is . . .”
“Numinic lenses? I don’t . . . I can’t even . . .” Delmin apparently lost his ability to speak coherently. “That’s extraordinary.”
“I thought so, too. I was quite impressed by her savvy. But I was also busy worrying about her, I don’t know, exposing me as the Thorn!”
“Right, right. That’s bad.” Delmin shook his head. “Even still, if she can—”
“My point, Delmin, is that I’m going to have to humor her whim. If she wants to come to the blazing High Table, I’ll rutting well take her.”
“Fine, fine.” Delmin scowled, probably from Veranix’s coarse language.
“Sorry,” Veranix said. “It’s just that . . . look, I’m not really understanding this stuff that Phadre is doing, or Jiarna for that matter. But it seems like they’re doing similar things, and I couldn’t help but think of the Prankster.”
“The who?”
“You know, whoever is behind the attacks, pranks, whatever. Can we call him—or her—the Prankster for now?”
“If you really want to,” Delmin said. “I don’t know why we need to give them a name.”
“Because it’s easier than saying ‘the guy.’ Anyway, whatever they are doing, it isn’t magic exactly, right?”
“Near as I can tell.”
“But it also isn’t not magic, either.”
“Yes,” Delmin said, his voice stressed. “I think we’ve determined that we don’t understand what this Prankster is doing. At all.”
“All right, but is it possible that whatever the Prankster is doing, it has some similarity to the studies of Phadre and Jiarna?”
“Presuming that what Phadre and Jiarna do is, in fact, similar—a dubious prospect considering that you are the only one who has had exposure to both sets of work, and you don’t understand it in the slightest . . .”
“Granted.”
“Given that, logically, I can’t rule it out.”
Veranix paused. “Are you endorsing this idea?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Veranix stopped walking. “All right, admitting my logic is on loose gravel, do you think it’s possible that she’s the Prankster?”
“You’ve already thrown this theory at me, and all I’m going to say is this: it is not your problem.”
“It is if she’s my escort! And if she knows I’m the Thorn!” He realized he might have said that far too loud, and looked around to see if anyone was nearby on the walking path. “Even if it is someone else, shouldn’t I be . . . you know?”
“Shouldn’t you what?” Delmin asked. Realization crossed his face. “No, Veranix. You should not. You should do nothing except pass exams. If you’ve got to do things in the street for whatever reason, that’s got nothing to do with what happens in here.” He tapped a finger on Veranix’s forehead. “Get your Letters, get your Circling, and then beat up drug dealers all night long if you want.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Veranix said, though he didn’t believe that at all. “All right, then, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Escortment, Delmin. Who will you take?”
“I don’t even know—”
“Alia Matthin?”
Delmin’s ears turned deeper burgundy than any of Veranix’s cloaks.
After a moment of sputtering, Delmin looked around. “I don’t even . . . we’ve got to . . . Where’s Phadre?”
He wasn’t in sight ahead of them.
Delmin smacked Veranix on the arm. “He must have already raced ahead to the tower while we gibbered like idiots. Come on, let’s hurry up. Plenty to do today.”
When they reached the tower workroom, Phadre wasn’t there. He came in just a few moments after them, though. “Sorry, gents. Just needed a moment.” He rubbed his hands together with excitement. “Let’s get some work done now, all right? Busy day. Busy day, indeed.”
Reverend Pemmick wanted every person who lived in Aventil to feel comfortable coming into Saint Julian’s Church for prayer, solace, or even guidance. Closing his doors to anyone was impossible to even contemplate. He would not turn away any of God’s children.
Despite that, it was hard to live up to that ideal when God’s children took the form of several angry youths, all representing the various bands that tried to wrest control of the streets from the rightful authorities. The past six weeks of serving this community had given him insight into the various groups, especially since they all considered the church a fair, neutral ground for them to meet on. Pemmick did not approve of this idea, but he did appreciate their desire to discuss matters instead of brawling in the streets directly. And it was best they did it in the early afternoon, when only the most devoted of old women were still found praying in the pews.
He had learned about the groups, and the individuals amongst them, as best he could. The ones he saw the most of were the Knights of Saint Julian, which struck him as a woeful appropriation of the saint’s good name. The boys and girls made some attempt to dress in gentlemen’s suits with vests and tall hats, even if the clothes they wore were ill-fitting, threadbare, and several years out of style. They showed a fair amount of respect for the church itself, and they seemed to hold it with an element of sanctity, even if they rarely came in for services. The group of them—six young men and women—were clustered at the statue of Saint Julian. Their captain, so marked with epaulets on his coat and a yellow band on his hat, was Fortill, though all his people called him “Four-Toe.” He left a coin at the foot of
the statue, a small token of reverence. He was a good kid at heart, but not too smart. However, his faith wasn’t some act of ritual to fit the namesake of the gang. Fortill came in to church every day for early services, his old mother on his arm. Reverend Pemmick was genuinely confused why such a boy would join up with the Knights.
Next a group of Hallaran’s Boys came in, notable for the green page caps they all wore, led by their captain, Hannik. They took a place on the far right of the pews. They were followed by the Toothless Dogs, tattooed collars on their necks. This gang almost never came to these church meets, as they were called, and Pemmick didn’t know any of them. The Kemper Street Kickers followed, blue kerchiefs tied around their ankles. There was the usual hissing across the church between the Dogs and the Kickers, who apparently were frequently focused on warring with each other over any of the other gangs.
The last two came in together, with smaller groupings than the rest: the Waterpath Orphans and the Rose Street Princes. The Orphans’ captain, Yessa, was a young woman who Pemmick felt was far too bright to be part of these groups, and he was saddened that the Orphans insisted on cutting scars into their faces to prove their loyalty. She only had two Orphans with her, as opposed to the five or six that the rest of the groups brought.
The Princes’ captain—Colin—also came with only two people. All three of them had their sleeves rolled up, as the Princes would, to show off the rose tattoos on their arms. They strutted as they came in, like they were in charge. In Pemmick’s experience, that was how Princes usually walked.
Colin came up to Pemmick. “Sorry to impose on you here, Reverend. But—”
“A safe place for open dialogue,” Pemmick said. “I do understand and approve, young man. Far better than you starting fights amongst yourselves.”
Colin gave a quick glance to the Toothless Dogs and the Kickers. “I’ll try, Reverend.”
“This is for peaceful purposes, yes? I won’t abide anything else.”
“I swear to you, Reverend, on Rose Street itself, that I’m trying to stop things before they go bad.”
Pemmick had learned enough about the Princes to know that an oath invoked in the name of Rose Street was a sacred thing for them. “Then let’s proceed.”
The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels) Page 12
