“Of course.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I wasn’t. It was going to be awkward. If he suspected there had been a change between Taro and me, why couldn’t he just accept that and fade away?
Zaire. How self-centered was that?
I caught up to Taro, expecting him to be in the same bad mood in which he had left. He didn’t appear to be, though. He grinned when he saw me, slung his arm over my shoulder and strode on with a relaxed gait. I didn’t know why he had gotten so upset; I didn’t know why he was now so calm. It was frustrating to be unable to read him.
Chapter Six
High Scape had a lot of celebrations. Days where government and most businesses closed and people watched performances and played games and drank too much and ended up getting arrested for being really stupid in public. The reasons High Scape found for closing down varied from the profound to the trivial. There would be something massive for Crown Prince Gifford’s coronation, Zaire help us all. Every year there was a celebration to mark the day we guessed our ancestors first arrived on the world from who knew where. There was a marking for the changing of the seasons. There were annual celebrations for the existence of the sun and the moon each, a festival in praise of balance, and days marking battles that had occurred back when cities still fought one another.
And there were others that I hadn’t had a chance to learn about yet, due to my many absences from High Scape. For the last few days, I had seen evidence of another citywide occasion, extra scrubbing of public statues, wreaths and colorful drapes decorating the buildings. I ran through my mental list of holidays and couldn’t think of anything that fell at that precise time of year. I had meant to ask someone what they were celebrating this time, but I kept forgetting.
So I got up late on a day on which I had no watch at all in the Stall, and the only other person in the Triple S residence was Ben. He was in the kitchen, which, as usual, was my first destination in the morning, and he poured me a hot cup of coffee. I breathed in the delicious aroma. My plan for the morning was to drink coffee and read, and maybe write a letter to Aryne.
“How are you settling back in, Shield Mallorough?”
Damn it. He’d asked a question of me. That meant I couldn’t take the coffee to the parlor and consume it in sweet silence. “It’s nice to be back,” I said.
“You must have enjoyed your trip away,” he said, wiping at a countertop that looked perfectly clean to me. “When you returned, you seemed much more relaxed than I remember seeing you before.”
What was he talking about? I was always relaxed.
“Pairs are so very fortunate, that they may travel so much.” He sounded wistful.
Recognizing I was going to be there for a while, I perched on one of the stools at the table and sipped at the coffee. “Is traveling so difficult for people to arrange?”
“Most can’t spare the coin. Or the time away from making their living.”
Yes, that made sense. I felt stupid for not thinking of that. “I would have rather stayed here.” I didn’t care how much he thought the trip to Flatwell had relaxed me: it had been awful.
We sat in silence a short while, both of us watching him wipe his cloth over the counter. Then he bit his lip and asked, “What do you think makes a Source or a Shield?”
That was odd. From what I understood, Ben had been working around members of the Triple S for most of his life. He should know the answer to such questions as well as anyone did. “They channel forces.”
“No, no, excuse me. I mean, what decides a person is going to be a Source or a Shield?”
I frowned, still not sure I understood quite what he meant.
“Before they’re born,” he added.
Oh lords. Philosophy. “Circumstances,” I said. “Life. That was just the way things fell together.”
“Really? That’s it?”
It was far too soon after waking—I’d had only one cup of coffee—to be having a discussion like this. “What are you suggesting?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Nothing, Shield Mallorough. Sometimes it just strikes me as odd, how different life can be for different people.”
Yes, life was unfair. I was lucky enough to have been born a Shield, which was, I knew, a privileged position. If I hadn’t been a Shield, I still would have been the daughter of wealthy merchants, also a fairly privileged position. I didn’t know why I was so fortunate. I only knew I was uncomfortable when I was reminded how much harder other people had it. People like Ben. “Aye, it is strange.”
“Hm,” he said. Then he folded the cloth in a neat little square. “Are you going to the parade today?”
Ah, a parade. So that was the big event. I wasn’t a great admirer of parades. Waiting around for hours while various people drove by. They tended to be crowded and extremely noisy. “I’m not sure. What’s it for?”
He looked shocked. “To celebrate the appointment of a new mayor.”
“When did that happen?”
“Word of it was announced a few days ago.”
Oh. I supposed I should have known that. I had to get back in the habit of reading the news circulars. “I’m surprised they were able to throw together a parade so quickly.” And surely it was hugely inappropriate? The Empress had just died.
“Aye, it does take a while to organize. The parade has been planned for weeks, since the corruption of the last mayor was announced. I am told the city had been assured the name of the new mayor would be given in time for the parade.”
I drained my mug and Ben immediately reached for the coffee warming on the stove. I found it bizarre that a parade was planned without knowing the identity of the new mayor, with the Empress—or whoever—making sure the name was provided in time. Almost as though the parade were more important than the mayor it was designed to celebrate. And what if the people didn’t like the person appointed?
Actually, maybe that was why they did it. It would be too late to cancel the parade if the new mayor was despised by the populace, and that was probably a good thing. It would be embarrassing for everyone if a mayor were appointed and everyone refused to celebrate. By picking the day in advance, all the participants and merchants would already be committed.
“So, are you going to the parade?” Ben asked again.
I guess I’d better be. Ben certainly seemed enthusiastic about it. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was trying to get me out of the house. “Certainly. I love a good parade.”
“I’ll wrap something up for you to eat.”
“I can get something while I’m out,” I said quickly.
“Festival stall food,” he sniffed.
Hey, I’d always liked it. “Have you seen Taro?”
“He left with a friend very early this morning.”
Taro and his bizarre early-morning habits. I refused to ask how good-looking said friend was. I really didn’t want to know.
I left the residence carrying a small bundle of fresh bread, cold cooked bacon, and cheese—good, wholesome food that wouldn’t stand a chance against the more savory fare that would be available closer to the parade route. Of course, it was a bit of a hike to Center Street, the popular choice for parades, and most of the carriages usually available for hire would either be somehow involved with the parade itself or sticking to the streets with the residences of those who could afford rates that had been tripled in honor of the day.
So that meant walking, which meant I’d be starving by the time I got to any stalls. I dug into the little package Ben had made. Cold bacon and cheese could be really tasty when one was starving.
I’d never seen the appointment of a mayor before. I had seen parades. With this in mind, I asked for directions and made my way to Ivy Point, more popularly known as Confusion Square, where the parade would end. That was the first place where royal proclamations and other political speeches were given in High Scape, and it was apparently where the mayor would be appointed. It was a large empty space, basically
, where Center Street ended and dozens of other, smaller streets branched off in crazy directions. Instead of the usual cobblestones, the street of the Square had large slabs of stones in circling shades of light gray. There was a huge memorial in the middle of the northern half of the Square, a ridiculously tall statue of Emperor Benik in a ridiculously heroic pose. And there was ivy everywhere, crawling up the walls of the buildings lining the Square. That was why it was named Ivy Point, but people still called it Confusion Square back from the days when a handful of merchants had fought for control over who could sell in the area, with the result that on any given day no one knew what would be available for sale, if they would be risking their lives trying to buy it or if they’d even be allowed in the Square at all.
When I reached the Square, I saw that many others had had the same idea as I, and a small selection of merchants had set up stalls. I’d been uncertain as to whether it was appropriate to wear mourning purple to the celebration of a new mayor, but I saw many others were also wearing the color to some degree or another. So I wouldn’t stand out.
It looked like everyone was wearing harmony bobs.
A platform had been constructed beside the memorial, and on the platform, a canopy with cushioned chairs. That was where the important people would sit, when it was time to swear in the new mayor. Runners kept a huge swath of Center Street clear where it entered the Square and stretched up right to the memorial. That was where the parade would end, the participants splitting off before the platform and disappearing into the crowd or down the smaller streets as they chose.
I was aware, from the chatter going on around me, that the parade had started before I’d risen for the day, but none of the entrants had reached the Square yet. I browsed through the stalls. Most of the fare seemed of a cheap variety, the kind of things a merchant would be less devastated to lose if the Runners chose to enforce the laws and confiscate their goods. I found a stall selling books, thin with jagged paper and loose bindings.
After perusing the titles for a while, I asked the merchant, “Have you any books about spell casting?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Of course not,” she said quickly.
That was a strange response. “What do you mean by that?”
“Look, I’ve answered your question. Do you see something you want?”
“No.”
“Then please leave.”
Well, that was weird.
The first participants in the parade showed up, a troop of Imperial soldiers wearing copper breastplates and blue capes, marching to the beat of the troop drummers and horn blowers coming in behind them. They were impressive. They were dangerous. At least, to me.
Marching music was bad. It made me want to march somewhere and do something martial. I was such an idiot. Of course I knew parades had music. I’d just, somehow, forgotten the impact such music would have on me. Because I was an idiot.
Music could have a really bad effect on Shields, worse than alcohol, and probably down there with drugs if it were the right kind of music and the wrong kind of Shield. I’d nearly started a tavern brawl once because of the music being played in it. One entry in my endless list of embarrassments was how particularly sensitive to music I appeared to be.
I noticed people giving me uneasy looks. The white braid sewn into my left shoulder practically glowed against the dark purple material of my dress. And a Source, who would be known by a black braid over the left shoulder, was nowhere in sight. My Source was supposed to keep me under control. That was aggravating, but necessary.
I had a method for getting through musical assault. Not a great method, and it didn’t always work, but it was better than nothing. I made my way to the platform, to the side away from everyone else and, an added plus, the farthest from the marching band, and I wrapped my arms around one of the support beams. Hold on to something and don’t let go. And when the music stopped, I would go home.
But the music didn’t stop. It seemed that the military musicians had taken up a position on the other side of the Square and planned on serenading each entrant in the parade. Just lovely.
At least there were plenty of Runners around. They’d stop me if I tried to attack anyone, which was the sort of behavior this kind of music could inspire in me. Violence was far less embarrassing than the other possibilities.
I pressed my forehead against the wooden beam, trying to focus on the grains of wood digging into my skin. They didn’t hurt, and normally I wouldn’t even feel them. But I concentrated on the rough grains biting so slightly into my flesh. It almost felt good.
I closed my eyes. Images popped into my head. Images of running. With a sword. Charging toward the enemy. Rising up to the crest of a hill and ready to leap into the fray below. It didn’t matter that I wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if I had one, and leaping into the fray would no doubt result in my tripping and falling on my face.
When someone tapped me on the shoulder, I swear I almost jumped right out of my skin.
“My apologies.” The man, middle-aged and almost rigidly slim, bowed low. He wore the plain tunic and trousers of a servant. “But Trader Fines has learned of your difficulties, and offers a place on the platform as a means of collecting yourself.”
I stared at him, my mind blank. He was going to make me talk, damn it. I tried to think about something other than the music. “I thank him.” Hey, I could still form words. “But it would be better if I stayed out of everyone’s way.” The top of the platform was just as open to noise as under it, with the added disadvantage of exposing me to everyone’s easy view.
“There is no one to look after you here,” said the man. “We may be able to assist you and allow you to preserve your dignity.”
There was no dignity in losing control in front of an audience. I would know.
“Trader Fines will be able to attend to you, give you something on which to put your attention and prevent you from harming yourself or anyone else. Surely that is better than cowering down here.”
I wasn’t cowering, prat. I was being discreet.
“Please. Trader Fines fears what havoc your parents might wreak on his trade relations, should they learn he left their daughter in distress and without her Source out on the street.”
Trader Fines. I knew no Trader Fines. That didn’t mean my parents didn’t know him. And if he lived in High Scape, it wouldn’t be ridiculous to believe he knew who Trader and Holder Mallorough’s daughter was.
It was better than accepting aid from someone who didn’t know me at all. But would accepting his assistance put my parents into some kind of debt? Surely not.
Was it normal for complete strangers to assist each other in this way? We had been assisted on Flatwell, but with the expectation that we would bring our benefactors money. Would Fines expect something in return from me? But there was nothing I, as a Shield, could do for him.
It was really hard to think. “I can’t let go,” I confessed.
“Your pardon?”
“I have to hold on and not let go.” I closed my eyes again.
“Then perhaps I can be of assistance.” I opened my eyes when the man touched my wrist. He pulled gently, but my fingernails were dug as deeply into the wood as I could force them. “Please,” he said softly.
I looked at the hand in question, and with great effort forced myself to unclench my fingers. Once my hand was free, the man took it, tsked at the blood under my nails and wrapped it around his forearm. It was hard work to avoid sinking my nails into him, but it gave me focus and a distraction from the music bombarding me.
He slowly escorted me around to the front of the platform, and then up the steps. At the top, I realized that people had arrived and taken some of the seats. A quick glance at the Square showed me that it was much more full, and that there were a lot more parade participants mingling about. How long had I been standing under the platform, anyway?
I recognized two of the people on the platform as attendees at the disastrous party held by Lord
Yellows, who had been using the party as a means to get all of the local aristocracy, as well as the visiting Prince Gifford, into one place so his fellow Reanists could sacrifice them all at once. The two, along with everyone else on the platform, turned to look at who was joining them, and the two sacrifice survivors surprised me by nodding greetings at me. I nodded back.
The servant led me to a man who remained seated as he watched me approach. His black hair had a single wide stretch of white so perfectly linear and white that I wondered if he’d dyed it so for effect. His eyes were dark brown and his skin was the color of copper coins. His face seemed free of lines, but there was an edge to his features that made me think he was much older than he looked.
I really didn’t know much about fashion, certainly not as it pertained to men, but even I could tell the cloth was of the finest quality. He was wearing the dark purple for mourning, and a cloak that looked similar in cut to what I’d seen many other men wear.
He was wearing a harmony bob. That made me respect him less, even though I knew this made me a hypocrite. I had a sentimental reason for wearing mine. What was his excuse?
He rose when I was about a foot away from him. “Trader Fines,” said my escort. “May I present Shield Dunleavy Mallorough. Shield Mallorough, this is Trader Richard Fines.”
He bowed. I always tried to avoid bowing, because it seemed too subservient. It was bad enough that I had to do it for royalty. But when the other person did it first, well, I had to hunker into a curtsy. So I did. “A joy to meet you,” I said.
“A joy shared is twice blessed,” he responded, which was a greeting I had never heard before. “I understand you are experiencing some difficulty.”
“Yes, I hadn’t expected the music to be so . . . loud.” I realized my nails were digging into the servant’s arm after all. The poor man hadn’t made a sound.
I was afraid to let go of him.
“Please be seated.”
“No. Thank you. I need to go.” But I couldn’t move. Not by myself. I was surprised I was able to string words into coherent sentences. So stupid, to have come to the parade alone. Or at all.
Moira J. Moore - Heroes at Risk Page 7
