The Crescent Stone

by Matt Mikalatos

  The First Rule had a corollary as well: if it ain’t here, it must be somewhere else.

  He had been thinking about Delightful Glitter Lady. To magically make her huge required a stone or some other object to become small at the same time. He remembered this from physics class: conservation of matter. Mass and energy were constant in the universe. Or something. Maybe that was the Pythagorean theorem. Whatever. The point being there must be something, somewhere, that allowed Dee to get larger or smaller by taking on the opposite. So his magic dial wasn’t an embiggenator so much as a transference device.

  “Ow!”

  Ruth had pinched him. “Pay attention, I said, and you immediately stopped in the street, closed your eyes, and let your brain wander.”

  “It’s creepy how you talk like an adult. What are you, eight?”

  Ruth frowned. “Meanwhile, you behave like a five-year-old.”

  Jason gasped. “How dare you? A six-year-old, at least!”

  “Charming,” Ruth said. “Walk us to the cloth merchant over there. The one to your right.”

  The knight didn’t usually let him or Madeline wander the city unattended, but the archon had sent specific directions that Jason was not allowed to wear his multicolored tuxedo to the palace. He had been informed that the tuxedo clashed “with everything.” So Jason had been sent into the city to buy new clothes. Ruth was his babysitter. She had a tiny leather pouch tied at her waist with the money, or whatever passed for money here in the Sunlit Lands. Being watched by an eight-year-old—a blindfolded one, at that—did not do much for his self-esteem. He didn’t even get to hold the money. He stared at the heavy little coin purse. He could keep track of something like that if they gave him a chance.

  A small, quick hand snatched Ruth’s money satchel. Jason stepped away from Ruth and grabbed the little thief by the neck before he could escape. An unkempt Scim kid wriggled in his grasp. The kid screamed and thrashed, but Jason had a solid grip. “See? I was paying attention,” he said to Ruth. Except she couldn’t see, of course. Ugh. “I caught a pickpocket,” he said.

  “I hear him,” Ruth said. “What is your name?” she asked the kid.

  The ugly little thing scowled at her. He peeled his grey lips back, showing them his protruding yellow teeth. “Mud.”

  “Why are you stealing from me, Mud?”

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “We’re going to buy some fruit.”

  Ruth took the leather satchel from Jason, slipped it open, and dropped a large metal coin in Mud’s hand. His eyes widened, and he looked quickly at the blindfolded girl in a way that made it clear he suspected she didn’t realize how much money she had dropped in his palm. “Thank you, mistress,” he said, ducked his head, and ran across the street, where a small knot of Scim kids enveloped him. They disappeared into a nearby alley.

  “That better not have been my top hat money,” Jason said.

  “Top hats have specifically been vetoed.”

  “Outrageous! Who does the archon think he is! This is a free country, and I can wear a top hat if I want!” He realized with a strange little shock that the Sunlit Lands were not the United States, and he was still fuzzy on the political setup. “Wait. Is this a free country?”

  “It was Madeline who vetoed the hat,” Ruth said. “She described your previous hat in great detail. All the girls in the castle were laughing. One girl nearly fainted.”

  “All the girls?” Jason asked. “Who’s that besides you and Shula and Madeline?”

  Ruth smirked. “That’s who I was talking about.”

  “Philistines,” he muttered under his breath. “Still. You shouldn’t give little thieves like that money. You’re just contributing to the problem.”

  Ruth’s face went still. “You have never been poor, have you, Jason?”

  “Who, me? No way. My parents worked hard. There’s a reason I hardly ever saw them. But we had money.”

  “So what would you suggest that little ruffian do? How would he eat if I did not give him money?”

  Jason sighed. “You could give him a job or something, I guess. Can we go buy my suit now, please?”

  “You don’t have any money,” Ruth said. “How will you get a suit?”

  “Why are you acting like this? Are you—?” Oh. Ruth had been poor. Maybe here, maybe back on Earth. But she had lived without money. Maybe she had stolen fruit to survive herself. Maybe she had been a pickpocket on the street. “I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I am. But stealing is wrong.”

  “Of course it is,” Ruth said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But can honesty fill a rumbling stomach?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “No,” Ruth said. “Now walk over to the fruit stand and steal a piece of fruit.”

  There was a fruit stand across the road from them, on the right-hand side. Jason could smell it from here, the rich, pungent smell of ripe citrus baking in the sun.

  “Um,” Jason said, “as your elder, I feel like I should set a good example by not stealing a piece of fruit.” The stand had stacks of beautiful fruit carefully arranged. A human girl stood behind it. There were other stands too, selling other things—carpets, buttons, vegetables, and so on.

  “You have never worked for your money,” Ruth said, her head cocked to one side. It was more statement than question.

  “I did chores at home.”

  “Chores.” She rearranged the cloth covering her eyes. “I also did chores.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “That street thief has worked harder in the last month than you have in your entire life.”

  Jason laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it. Feed the street kids. That’s fine.”

  “Bring me a piece of fruit,” Ruth said. She faced forward, waiting for an answer.

  She wasn’t going to drop it. This whole thing was ridiculous. He took a quick look around and didn’t see any of the city guards. A lot of them were humans, anyway, and he had met them when they all lived together at Mrs. Raymond’s. Anyway, he lived with the Knight of the Mirror now. That should give him an out if he got caught. “What kind of fruit should I get?”

  “Whatever kind you want,” Ruth said.

  “Fine, fine,” Jason said. He left her standing on the other side of the street. He couldn’t avoid the feeling she was watching him, even though he knew that wasn’t possible.

  The young woman running the stand said, “May the light shine upon you, sir. Can I help you?”

  Jason surveyed the fruit. An amazing variety of beautiful fruits were perfectly arranged by color. Oranges. Apples. Pineapples. A few things he had never seen before. “What’s that one?”

  “Addleberries. They only grow here in the Sunlit Lands.”

  “Ohh, what’s that?”

  “Guanábana. From Costa Rica.” Huh. That was interesting. They must have some sort of deal set up. Or trained birds that flew fruit back and forth. Or, well, who knew in this place? Maybe they had magic penguins who carried the fruit in little backpacks.

  “Is that a durian?”

  “Yes, it’s an Asian fruit.”

  Jason knew durian. They were gigantic, almost basketball-sized fruits with hard spikes covering the outside. If a durian fell out of a tree and hit someone, it could absolutely kill them. If you broke one open you would be greeted by a pale, creamy fruit that smelled like a gas leak. It was the worst-smelling edible thing Jason had ever run across. Strangely, the taste was sweet, despite the horrific smell. Most public places in Asia (like the subway) had rules about transporting durian because everyone—even people who loved the fruit—agreed that it smelled like corpses.

  Jason debated what to steal. He could take a grape. Technically that would fulfill Ruth’s request. The star fruit and the kiwi looked pretty good. On the other hand, walking across the street with a giant spiky monstrosity of a fruit made a lot of sense. Ruth should be able to smell that thing coming, and it would serve her right.

  He picked up a durian, then “accidentally” knocked a f
ew lemons over. When the girl bent to pick them up, he turned his back so she couldn’t see the spiky baby he cradled to his body and crossed the street.

  “Sir!” the girl called. “You forgot to pay!”

  Jason shoved the durian into Ruth’s arms, then turned around to look at the produce girl. He shrugged. “I didn’t forget!” he shouted. “I stole it!”

  The girl put her hands on her waist and shouted back, “Then I’ll call the city guard.”

  “I think you should,” Ruth called.

  “Hey!” Jason said. “This whole thing was your idea!”

  The girl let a small green bird loose from her shop, and it darted into the heart of the market.

  “You should run,” Ruth whispered, pressing the durian into Jason’s hands.

  Jason stared at the gigantic thorny fruit. “Doesn’t that make it worse?”

  A roar came from the crowd, and an Elenil guard riding a tiger appeared. “He’s looking for you,” Ruth said. “Don’t you wish I had given you a coin to pay for it now?”

  Um, the police had tigers? He had seen Rondelo’s stag more than once, but tigers? That changed everything. Jason ran, hands over his head, the durian bobbing above him, a stinky reminder of his thievery. “Make way!” he shouted, weaving through the crowd. The cries of people startled by a fast-moving tiger grew closer and closer. He ducked into a perfume shop but was immediately ejected. They didn’t allow durian.

  Ahead of him he saw a familiar shape—Rondelo, the captain of the guard, standing beside his white stag, talking to another citizen. “Rondelo!” he shouted.

  Then Jason rolled to the ground, wrapped in a snarling, heavily muscled tiger. When the nausea-inducing spinning ended, he was on his back, the tiger was on his chest, and the durian was still in his hands, extended over his head.

  The Elenil guard loomed over him, hand on his sword hilt. “Hello, citizen. What is that in your hands?”

  “Where were you when that Scim kid was trying to steal our money?”

  The guard narrowed his eyes. “We will come back to that, sir. What is that in your hands?”

  “It’s not a weapon, if that’s what you’re asking. I see why you might think that.”

  “Sir. Did you steal that fruit?” He sniffed twice, taking in the odor wafting off the durian. “Also, why?”

  “I did steal it,” Jason said earnestly. “Your tiger won’t eat me, right?”

  The guard grinned. “Not unless I give her permission. She follows the law, do you understand? You would like her to follow the law, right?”

  “Yes,” Jason said.

  At a signal from the city guard, the tiger moved off his chest. “Go back and apologize, and pay for what you’ve stolen. Do not do that again. You do not wear the white any longer, you should know what is expected of you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guard smiled at him, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “Now. What is this about a Scim stealing from you?”

  “Oh, we took care of it,” Jason said. “Just some kid named Mud, but we worked it out.”

  The guard snorted. “Mud. He is well known to the guard. I will speak to him.” The guard pulled Jason to his feet.

  “Like I said, we worked it out.”

  The guard stared at him, as if he couldn’t understand the words coming out of Jason’s mouth, then wandered into the crowd with his tiger.

  Jason let out a long breath of air. Whew. His hands were shaking. He had almost been mauled by a tiger for stealing a durian.

  Rondelo clapped him on the back. “You have run afoul of the city guard. That is Sochar. He is a hundred years my senior, but with a mercurial temper. I keep a close eye on him. You met him in good spirits.” He laughed. “He has a soft spot for humans. Be glad you weren’t a Scim!”

  Jason could smell the tiger still, even over the constant stench of the durian. “What’s the worst that could have happened?” Jason asked, doing his best to sound brave, like the whole event had meant nothing to him. “He’d take me to jail?” A memory rose of Break Bones, chained to a dungeon wall. Jail here might be a different experience than on Earth.

  “He could have taken your hand,” Rondelo said. “Or killed you if he thought you a threat.”

  Jason’s stomach dropped into the soles of his shoes. Ruth was going to get an earful. Well. At least he could introduce everyone back at Westwind to durian. Honestly, it tasted great. It would be funny to watch them gagging on the smell before they tasted it.

  He found Ruth in the center of the market, haggling with a merchant over a pair of pants. She had already bought him a shirt, jacket, and gloves. She didn’t need his sizes, she told him, because she already knew.

  “Did you know I could have died for this durian?”

  “Yes. It was foolish to steal it.”

  “Well, I learned my lesson. No more listening to Ruth Mbewe!”

  Ruth gave the merchant some money and handed Jason the pants. “We have your clothes now, so let us return home.”

  Jason kicked the cobbled street. “I need to go apologize to the fruit-stand lady and pay for my fruit. The guard said I had to.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows raised from behind her blindfold. “But where will you get the money, Wu Song?”

  “I was hoping from you.”

  “Maybe I will offer you a job,” she said, her voice grave.

  “I get it, I get it,” Jason said. “Now give.” He held his hand out, and Ruth dropped a coin in his palm.

  The girl at the fruit stand smiled when he apologized, and Ruth gave her a handsome tip on top of the cost of the durian.

  On their way home, Jason noticed the little gang of Scim kids again. They were gathered at the mouth of an alley, eating oranges. There were peels discarded all around them. Some of them sat on the curb, juice running down their chins as they shoved pieces in their mouths, while others stood against the wall, peeling segments of orange away and popping them in their mouths. “Better keep a hand on your purse,” Jason muttered.

  Sochar came from the other direction, his tiger at his side. They had a lazy gait to their walk, as if they were out for an afternoon stroll. Jason knew that look. They were about to hassle the Scim kids. Sochar had his hand on the hilt of his sword when he walked up to the kids.

  “Where did you get that fruit?” Sochar asked, nudging Mud with the toe of his boot.

  Mud gave him a surly look and kept eating.

  “It’s okay,” Jason said. “I already told you, we gave them money.”

  Sochar grunted. “You buy that fruit?”

  Mud didn’t answer, and the other kids didn’t speak up, either.

  “Answer me,” Sochar said, nudging Mud harder.

  “The lady gave me coin,” Mud muttered.

  Jason stepped between Mud and the guard. Mud jumped to his feet, and the guard pulled his sword with lightning speed. The other Scim kids disappeared in a frenzied explosion of motion, leaving behind only peels, pulp, and Mud.

  “Stay calm,” Jason said to Mud. “Stand still and speak respectfully.”

  Mud stood beside him, trembling. He leaned toward Jason, half hiding behind his leg.

  “Did you steal that fruit, sir?” Sochar asked.

  “No, sir,” Mud said, his voice quavering.

  Sochar shook his head. “Do not lie to me.”

  “There’s no need for that sword,” Jason said.

  “Get on your knees and show me your hands,” Sochar said.

  Mud bent his knees, and for a moment it appeared he would do as he had been asked, but then he whipped an orange through the air at Sochar’s face and dashed away for the alley. Without thinking, Jason grabbed Mud’s arm, trying to get him to stand still, but Mud yanked his arm away. He ran.

  The tiger pounced, tearing the boy’s leg. Sochar, crushed orange on his face, came two steps behind and with one practiced lunge skewered Mud through the side.

  Mud fell to the ground, eyes open. An orange rolled from his shirt, coming to rest i
n a filthy puddle. His eyes flickered toward Jason.

  Jason stepped toward them, but the guard threw his hand up. “Stay back!” Sochar rifled through the child’s pockets, throwing out pieces of crushed fruit and a short black knife. “A necrotic blade,” he said. “Dangerous. Illegal. No doubt meant for you or someone like you, sir.”

  The black metal of the blade didn’t reflect light correctly. Jason felt a small relief to the tidal wave of guilt threatening to engulf him. Perhaps the boy deserved this, if he was carrying that knife. Maybe he was an assassin, a spy, a troublemaker. He shouldn’t have run, Jason thought. But then he stopped himself. He was committed to the truth, and while it made him feel better to think Mud deserved this . . . Sure, the kid was a pickpocket, but he hadn’t gotten away with the money. Ruth had given it to him. He had bought those oranges. Jason had run when he saw that tiger too. And maybe Mud needed the knife to protect himself. Or maybe . . . Jason thought about this carefully. Maybe it wasn’t his knife. Sochar’s back had been to Jason when he’d pulled the knife from the boy’s pocket. Could he be sure the city guard hadn’t planted it? He could not.

  The boy lay on the ground bleeding because of Jason. Yes, Mud had tried to steal something. Yes, Sochar had wielded the blade that had skewered the boy. But Jason had been the one to speak up, to say that Mud had tried to steal from them. He shouldn’t have done that, but he hadn’t known, hadn’t suspected for a moment this would be the end result. He didn’t care what happened—it wasn’t worth the kid’s life to stop him from stealing a handful of coins.

  “Take him to Gilenyia,” Sochar said to the tiger.

  “Is he alive?” Jason asked, a flutter of relief coming to him at the mention of the Elenil healer.

  Sochar ignored him. The tiger lifted Mud’s body in her jaws.

  Two members of Mud’s gang appeared, shouting and mocking Sochar. One threw a piece of fruit, which spattered the tiger’s face. She dropped Mud, growling. Sochar, furious, shouted at the tiger, and they split up, each chasing a different Scim.

  Jason fell to his knees beside Mud. Was he breathing? Jason couldn’t tell. The black tattoos on his arms were fading, turning grey.