Lodo sighed. “You’re right. I’m scarred by those years in the Haunted City. And if the Wardens continue to paint me in a bad light, then so be it; I return the favor often enough. But I’m no bigot, and no fool, either. The past I can accept--but you? Who are you and what do you want with me? Tell me now, or let me get back to forgetting things better left forgotten.”
Sal’s father looked uncertain for a moment. To gain time he indicated that Lodo should sit on the bed, but the old man declined the offer, moving instead to lean against the windowsill between the two beds. Sal’s father shut the door, glanced at Sal, and sat down.
“I need your help,” he said, looking down at his hands as though frightened by the thought of what he might see if he looked up.
Lodo nodded. “Ask, then.”
“No, it’s not that easy.” He spoke haltingly. “In fact, coming to you is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done--and I’ve only done it because you’re the one person I’m prepared to trust. Not that I have much choice. No one else but you has the knowledge I need and, I hope, the inclination to use it in the way I need. The way we need…” Again he paused.
“You want me to train your son,” said Lodo.
Sal’s father looked up, eyes wide. Sal mentally chalked up a correct guess. “No--I mean, yes. In a sense. But for you to ask that, that means you can feel it. Already? Have I left it too late?”
Lodo raised a hand. “Not so fast.” The old man shot Sal a fleeting look that said as clearly as anything: patience. Sal felt the tension leave him in a rush, and only then realized that he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, so intently focused on what was happening that he was as rigid as a board.
“Take it slowly.” Lodo folded his arms. “Yes, I can feel the boy’s talent. I felt it the moment he arrived in town. I’ve been watching you both since then, waiting for the moment to introduce myself, if that seemed the right thing to do.” Another glance at Sal warned him to keep quiet about everything else that had happened. “When I heard that you’d been looking for me, I began to get curious. What do you want with me, if not to train your son? Innocent enough, I suppose, on the surface. But why me? Why now and not sooner? What do you mean by ‘in a sense’? And who are you? You still haven’t answered even that most basic of questions.”
“No, and I’m sorry.” Sal’s father exhaled heavily, so heavily he seemed to deflate. He shook his head. “I don’t know how to tell you everything you need to know--not right now. We’re too vulnerable.”
“You’re in trouble?”
“Maybe. It’s been a long time. I don’t know. But I fear…” Sal’s father stopped, searching for words.
“The past has talons in someone else, I gather,” said Lodo with a grimace.
“Yes.”
“So let’s start with what I can guess. You haven’t taken the boy to the Wardens. There must be a reason for that.”
“Yes.” Sal’s father spoke very quietly. “Years ago, I took something from the Sky Wardens. Something they wanted to keep very much. They say I stole it.” Sal thought immediately of the ward in his ear, but his father’s gaze didn’t drift anywhere near him. “To stop them getting it back, I ran as far as I could, to the very edge of the Strand, where I thought I was safe. But they found me, anyway. The Wardens took it back--and perhaps only luck saved me and my son from them, too.” He did glance at Sal then, briefly. “I’ve always feared they’d come after me, so I’ve been careful. I swore never to let them take anything of mine again. That’s why I won’t go back to them now.”
Lodo rubbed his chin. “The boy is powerful; there’s no denying that. They’ll want him, given the chance. But are you sure they’ll still want you, too? You say this happened years ago. People forget, times change--”
“I’m not prepared to take that chance.”
“You’re already taking a chance, coming so deep into their territory.”
“I know. Surely you are, too?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to hide in a crowd than alone.”
“I know. That might be our last hope.”
“Indeed.” Lodo folded his arms. “But it will become increasingly difficult to conceal the boy’s potential. Uncontrolled talent is like a flare, shining for all with eyes to see. The gulls have noted him already, and only quick thinking on the part of my apprentice kept him from more probing eyes this morning. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Sal’s father nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, although I didn’t realize how obvious it was becoming. I don’t have any talent myself, so I can’t see what you see. But there is still a chance we can do something about it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Your timing is bad. The Selector will be here in just two weeks. Her representative is already in town.”
“I’m aware of that. But that should be long enough.”
Lodo’s eyebrows went up. “To teach someone the Change? You must be joking. Even if I devoted myself completely to his training, you’re talking about a job that would normally take years! And as I do already have an apprentice to deal with, at a crucial point in her training--”
“I’m not asking you to teach him everything--”
“That doesn’t alter the fact that I’m an old man. Two students would be a handful, even with no deadline--not to mention the risk of getting on the wrong side of the Wardens. Again. So I’m sorry to have to say this, but I don’t think I can give you what you need.”
Sal’s heart sank, and his father looked beaten. All the years of running radiated from him like grief.
“Is that your decision, then? I’ve come here for nothing?”
“Not necessarily.” Lodo raised a finger and examined the nail. “I suppose I could take him on for a couple of weeks only, to teach him the basic principles of how to use his talent. What happens after then we can deal with when the Selector is gone. Would that be acceptable?”
Sal looked to his father, his hopes revived.
But his father shook his head. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I don’t want you to teach him how to use it. I want you to teach him to hide it.”
“They are much the same thing--”
“Not in effect. When Sal was born, I prayed that he would be like me. Now that I know he’s not, we have to deal with it before it becomes a problem. If he doesn’t know how to use the talent, and he can hide it from others, then we can get on with our lives--safe. We’re better off without the Change. I don’t want him to know anything that might hurt him.”
Lodo studied him closely. “I fear that decision might not be yours to make.”
“I have no choice but to make it, Misseri. It was taken out of my hands years ago.”
Sal watched the two men debating with a feeling of dismay. The Change might not be something he owned, like a pair of shoes, but it was still his, while it lasted. He was certain he could learn to use it in ways that weren’t harmful to anyone. Didn’t he have a say?
But neither of them seemed to notice him. After a moment’s thought, Lodo clicked his tongue and said, “Well enough, I suppose. First of all we should at least deal with the formalities. I’m not called Misseri any more, as I thought I’d made clear. It’s Lodo.”
Sal’s father inclined his head. “I’m sorry, Lodo. I’ll take more care in future. And we are--”
“No need to tell me. My new student is Sal and you prefer to be called Gershom--an unlikely use-name if ever I’ve heard one. I’m guessing you picked up the custom on the run and figured it would be good for maintaining your anonymity.” His eyes took on a cunning glint. “’Exile’ is a little too obvious for my tastes. I would have gone for something more subtle like ‘adulterer’. Eh?”
Sal didn’t entirely follow what Lodo was saying, so his father’s reaction came as a surprise. His gaze didn’t leave Lodo’s face, and his tan skin went pal
e. He looked like a man who had just been challenged to a duel.
“Irrespective of that,” he said, visibly pulling himself together, “the important thing is to keep Sal safe. That dunk in the ocean was one too many for my liking. How much will his tuition cost, and when will it commence?”
Lodo waved a hand dismissively. “Money isn’t important to me here. I have everything I need close at hand. And as far as lessons go, I run to no fixed schedule. I’ll have my apprentice, Shilly, come for Sal when we’re ready. Until then …”
Lodo stepped away from the windowsill and reached into his pocket. With a tinkle of red and yellow beads he produced a complicated charm and handed it to Sal.
“Wear this wherever you go, Sal. Around an ankle would be ideal. It’s designed to anchor you more closely to the Earth, to the bedrock. It’ll ground any stray discharges and make you harder to detect, protecting you from the gulls if nothing else.”
Lodo folded the charm into Sal’s outstretched hand and closed Sal’s fingers around it. He felt the expected tingle of the Change, followed by an odd sensation, as though everything around him had become dull and muted, even though to his eyes it looked the same.
Something of his surprise must have shown on his face, for Lodo nodded and said: “You’ve just lost your perception of the background potential. Don’t worry about it. Six months ago you probably didn’t even know it existed, and you won’t miss it now. We’ll remove the charm during lessons, and when you know how to contain yourself. Until then, don’t take it off. I’ll know if you do.”
Lodo turned back to Sal’s father. “I’ll leave you for now. Goodnight.”
“Thank you,” Sal’s father said, opening the door. “Dream well.”
“Sleep is for lizards,” said the old man, and left them alone.
Sal’s father returned to his bed looking cautiously relieved and exhausted.
“Why--?”
“No questions, Sal. Not yet. Just do as he says and we’ll see what happens. If there’s another way out of this, we’ll think of it in time, I’m sure.” His frown belied his words. The lines on his forehead were deep in the yellow light of the lamp. So were the bags under his eyes.
“I’m sorry, son, but we’ll have to skip the rest of the story.”
“That’s okay.” Sal genuinely didn’t mind. He knew well what happened to Polain on his quest for the last perfect butterfly--and the story had served its purpose, anyway.
His father slumped back onto the bed with a sigh. “Turn down the lamp, would you? We should’ve been asleep hours ago.”
But Sal could tell that his father was far from sleep. As he too lay awake, he knew that what occupied his father’s thoughts was not what he and Lodo had talked about, but all that had been left unsaid between them. Sal knew what an adulterer was, but why that word should have such an effect on his father, he couldn’t guess. Perhaps it had something to do with the mother he had never met, or the thing Sal’s father had stolen from the Sky Wardens.
But that didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to be so afraid of the Sky Wardens. They’d already taken the stolen object back, hadn’t they? The matter was dealt with now. Old news.
And even if it wasn’t, that was no reason for Sal to ignore his talent. It didn’t make sense to turn down a gift some people would kill for.
He thought of Shilly, then, and wondered how she would react when she found out that they both were to be apprenticed to Lodo. Maybe she would be happy; maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, he would’ve paid a fortune to see her face when she found out.
Chapter 8. “Voices on an Ill Wind”
“Stone-boy! Hey, stone-boy!”
Sal looked up from his book and immediately regretted it. Kemp and his gang were crossing the clearing toward him, shuffling like a single entity with many gangling limbs, a dozen staring eyes and six identical leers. If he hadn’t acknowledged them by looking, they might just possibly have walked by. Now he had no choice but to respond.
“Hello,” he said, cautiously rising to his feet.
“Have you dried out yet, stone-boy?” Kemp, for once, wasn’t doing the talking. The ribbing came from a stocky youth sporting a dark, shaved scalp that gleamed brightly in the sunlight. “I hear you sank so fast they had to dredge you out of the harbor.”
“Sank like a stone,” added another voice.
“Yeah,” jeered the first. “Isn’t that right, stone-boy? You’ve got rocks in your head?”
Sal wished he could use the Change and blast the lot of them into nothingness. Not that blasting would be necessary. Just a small display would demonstrate that he shouldn’t be trifled with. After all, he might be a nobody now, but in years to come, if his talent was encouraged, he might become someone important. And he would remember.
But that was just a fantasy. He had no idea how to tap into the Change as Shilly had and therefore nothing to defend himself with but his mouth.
“All I’ve got in my head is brains,” he said. “What about you?”
The bald youth’s grin vanished. “I think we should conduct a little experiment,” he proclaimed to the group, eyes narrowing. “Let’s throw him in again and see what happens. If he goes down, we’ll know he has rocks in his head--but if he comes up, his head’s empty. That’s what I call using my brains.”
Sal’s insides froze at the thought of going into the sea a second time, without anyone around to save him. They would make sure of that, this time.
“You wouldn’t--”
“Hold it, guys,” said Kemp, shouldering his way to the front. “Why are you wasting your time with this piece of dirt?”
“He said I was stupid!” The bald youth affected a look of hurt and consternation.
“Well, he’s got a point. And you’re ugly, too.” Kemp smacked the youth lightly across the back of his skull, and the gang snickered at this reversal of fortune. “We’re throwing him back, but only metaphorically. There are bigger fish for us to fry.”
Sal stared as his tormentor backed down and away, leaving Kemp before him, his expression aloof and almost friendly.
“Thanks,” said Sal, meaning it--although the sudden change of heart mystified him.
“Think nothing of it.”
As the rest of the gang moved away, muttering among themselves, Kemp’s expression changed into a sneer. His white face leaned close. The gap in his teeth loomed like a black cave.
“You’ll get yours, stone-boy,” he hissed. “You’re mine.”
Then he was gone, loping at the rear of his group like before--a warlord surrounded by his bodyguards, looking for prey elsewhere--and Sal was left behind, even more mystified than ever.
He had been reading Battles Along the Kartinyeri Border, an account of numerous clashes between the Sky Wardens and Stone Mages over a particularly contentious stretch of land. He had liberated it from the storage space under Von’s stairs in the hope that it might keep him occupied. It was interesting enough. In his one School session so far, Mrs Milka had stated the official line that there was no conflict between the Interior and the Strand, despite the fact that the two countries had been squabbling on and off for centuries. Sal had heard of a memorial to the dead in the Haunted City as large as five Fundelrys, and of warrior caste Sky Wardens clad in blue ceramic and copper armor. He doubted such a long-held hostility could evaporate overnight and would have liked to talk to someone who knew more about it. Maybe Lodo. He made a mental note to ask him when he had the chance.
Unfortunately, Shilly hadn’t appeared that day to take him to Lodo as he had hoped. Why she hadn’t, he didn’t know. He would have thought that, with only two weeks to go before the Selector came to town, his education would be a priority, but the old man obviously thought differently. Sal couldn’t even feel her nearby.
There was no School that day, it being the weekend and the last day of the Fun
delry market. The air was very hot--thick and suffocating like the inside of an oven. The close of the market was celebrated with musical concerts and other amusements staged by local performers on the podium in a clearing at the town end of the stalls. Sal had gone to watch, finding a place in the shade nearby and trying to keep as low a profile as possible.
He had thought he was doing a good job. The crowd was full of ordinary people enjoying the break from the normal routine: bakers, fishers, carpenters, cooks; no different from people anywhere, except for the uniformly dark color of their skin. The amusements had been adequate for the most part, despite the heat, and the book interesting when they weren’t. No one seemed to notice him in the shade, apart from the odd scathing look every now and again. He overheard someone talking about more thefts, so perhaps that explained it. But nothing had been said to him and he hadn’t been harassed--until Kemp and his gang had come along, anyway.
As though they had broken the bubble of silence around him, Sal had barely sat back on the scratchy grass when he was joined by someone else.
“Do you know how to play Advance?”
The voice was familiar. Sal looked up into the blinding sun at the person bending over him. Squinting, he recognized the distinctive silhouette of Tom’s ears.
“Not very well,” he replied. “Dad taught me a long time ago, but we don’t have a board or the proper pieces. I have to relearn the rules every time we get the chance to use someone’s set.”
“Would you like to play me?” The boy held out a flat leather case. “People around here don’t find it very interesting.”
Sal could see no reason to say no, and if he said yes, he might find out what Tom had been doing two nights ago, ringing a bell in the storm.
“Sure. Do you want to sit here, or--”
He stopped as Tom dropped down next to him and opened the case on the ground between them. Leveling it with a stick under one edge, he unrolled a leather parchment to reveal molded pewter and brass figures in two neat rows. Flattening the parchment on the case’s wooden interior provided a playing field with a ten-by-ten array of squares etched in black and red ink, faded from long use. Although it had been lovingly cared for, Sal could tell that it was very old.
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 12
