by TJ Muir
The two continued to size each other up. The man lost, blinking and glancing away. “My name is Kirrin,” he offered. “So you know.”
“I’m Jay, in case you didn’t already know.” Jedda wondered how much Kirrin knew about him, and his precious private life of Turner and carving. “Am I supposed to know you have been watching me?”
Kirrin shrugged, unsure. “It is only sometimes, Jay. And it is only to see how you fare. I have carried no bad reports back to our patron.”
Jedda nodded, a little less worried. And then his attention shifted to the prize in his hands. Whatever might his patron have for him? The man nodded. When Jedda looked up again, Kirrin was gone- as mysteriously as he had appeared.
He still felt eyes on him- even after he looked around, assuring himself that he was now alone. The idea that he, the watcher, was being watched, was unsettling. He felt self-conscious and protective of his parcel. So, up to the rooftops, he went- to a familiar nook, where he knew he would be alone. Kirrin hadn't looked like he intended to stick around.
He unwrapped a pile of new clothes- finer than any he might have imagined. He had no idea what the package was going to be. Never would he have imagined brand new flashy clothes. He suddenly became aware of his fingers- became careful not to smudge his new attire. He picked up one of the two silk shirts and suede jacket. The shirt didn’t smell like anyone. Nor did the breeches: a nice solid fabric that he didn’t quite recognize. And shoes! Soft suede boots with brand new soles. He spent a while marveling over his treasure. Clothes, that had never belonged to anyone before.
He handled everything gingerly, dancing around with them under Breshan’s soft blue glow, before carefully returning them all into the wrapping, wanting to keep them clean. He took a calming breath before heading back down to the ground, toward the bath house.
Hot steaming water felt amazing! Old dirty clothes stripped off, and he found a hot spigot to wash, from head to toe, using soap and cloth, and the special soap on his hair; he didn’t like that one because its acrid sharp scent, but he noticed that his head itched less, and the nits that he often found in his hair, were gone.
Feeling appropriately clean, Jedda leaped into the communal bath, ignoring the steps that led down into the water. For just a few minutes, he released all the joy and excitement he felt in that moment. Splashing, dunking himself, diving and leaping. When he came up, head above water, he whooped loudly, the sound echoing loudly in the empty bathhouse.
Finally, his energy and excitement subsided. Curiosity over his new clothes took over. He climbed out of the pool, again ignoring the steps. Bare feet padded across the marble floor to his towel, and he began drying himself, sniffing at his skin to see if he still smelled as good. He frowned slightly when he noted that the delightful scent was gone, and deliberately took a few extra moments, padded back to the spigot, so he could wash face hands and arms with the scented soap again.
As he did this, he became more conscious of his old clothes, dingy and smelly, so he took them over to the spigot and used the bar of soap on them as well- scrubbing, rinsing and twisting out the dirt. He determined in that moment, no matter what happened in the future, he would go to tremendous lengths to assure his clothes smelled fresh and clean.
He considered how to get his clothes dry. He certainly didn’t want to carry wet soggy clothes around- that would ruin his new attire. He remembered the ducts up on the rooftop, where hot air vented. Making the water hot for the bathers created more heat than the water used. The rest of the heat vented upwards, out through the roof.
Jedda had slept near heat vents many times, on cold winter nights, caught out in the cold before he had found an underground den that stayed snug all year round.
Now, they served to dry his clothes, all laid out to catch the flow of hot dry air as it raced toward the sky. He stood naked on the roof, except for the towel he had used to dry himself off. Remembering his new things, left unattended, he scurried back down inside, worried lest they get stolen out from under him. When he got there, he was both impatient and reluctant to try them on. He was excited by the idea of new clothes. But an inner part of him felt like a liar- far worse than being a thief. These clothes belonged to a good person, someone respectable and respected. That person was not Jedda. But perhaps Jay was worthy of the clothes. He bent to pick them up.
A white cotton shirt. It fit perfectly, even the sleeves. No cuffing these sleeves up to keep his hands free. A dusty blue-grey jacket, fitted jacket, soft and perfect. Charcoal-grey breeches with a cuffed leg. Sensible, he thought, examining them, thinking he could let them down when he outgrew them. Boots in the same matching charcoal gray.
He returned to the roof to retrieve his dried clothes with more care than he thought possible. He didn’t know if they were truly his to keep. Maybe Karrahk would expect them back. Worse, he might get angry if Jedda damaged them in any way.
The next while, Jedda preened and pranced, feeling like a So’Har. He mimicked poses, movement, and mannerisms he had been watching for many spans.
He found his movement was free and easy in the new clothes—that fit where they were supposed to, without tucking and rolling. He examined himself from head to toe, assuring himself that not a speck of dust or dirt had gotten onto his new things. He gave his face and hands a final washing, just to be sure, and ran the brush through his hair, before heading out of the bath house.
Once out onto the street, his proud confidence evaporated- even under the cloak of semi-dark. A feeling that he was being watched, crept up on him, bringing with it a low sense of worry. He glanced around, trying to catch sight of Kirrin or anyone. None of the hairs on his arms or neck stood up, but still, he couldn’t shake the unease. Would someone challenge him, in his finery? Would they accuse him, a street boy, of stealing such fine clothes? For how could someone like himself ever afford, or dare to wear such nice things? He could never give away his patron, an ultimate betrayal. Besides, he knew it was a silly notion, as no one was about at the late hour- but the fear danced through his thoughts, nonetheless.
Chapter Four
So now there were two sets of clothes, or rather, there were several sets- but two distinct styles. He had his regular worn out street clothes, as well as two sets of fine clean clothes.
Jedda wanted to try on his new appearance before his meeting later with Karrahk. He walked into Turner's shop, where the older man was busy, filling up the apple barrel. Jedda wasn't sure how to approach, in his unaccustomed finery. Turner looked over his shoulder, calling out “be with you in a moment,” and wiped his hands on the cloth tucked in his waistband. The grocer straightened up and turned toward his customer. And stopped dead, a few feet in front of Jedda. Blinked, and took a step closer, peering intently.
“Is 'at you, lad?”
Jedda grinned and blushed at the same time, feeling awkward now that he was there. He just nodded, and one shoulder shrugged,
“Well, all clean and fancy, you be,” Turner exclaimed, surprised at the transformation. “Just look at you, all proper, like,” Then Turner paused, eyes narrowed and the approving expression shifted to scrutiny.
“You han't stolen the clothes, has ye?” he asked.
Jedda shook his head, assuring the older man, but feeling a little disappointed at the doubt,
“Just makin sure you hain't goin ta have trouble followin ye,” Turner explained. He turned his head slightly, and his mouth opened, trying to form a question.
“Has this any to do with the coins you've been spending this past year?”
Jedda nodded, “Yessir. But I hain't done nothing bad, like. Honestwise,” he explained, slipping back into his most familiar speech patterns. And Jedda proceeded to show off his clothes, showing Turner the fitted boots, and all. Jedda wasn't sure, but he thought that Turner spoke kinder to him now. He looked up at the man shyly, hoping for approval. Turner smiled gruffly, and asked, “Have ye had a bit of dinner yet?”
Jedda was a little later than usual fo
r his meeting with Karrahk. He paused to make sure his clothes were clean and straight, before he slipped behind the statue.
Karrahk’s look of impatience vanished when he saw Jedda’s transformation.
He beckoned Jedda forward, nodding his approval. “Good, good.” Jedda released his breath in one sharp exhale, relieved. It was one thing to impress Turner. Karrahk was both powerful and his patron. This was the person who mattered, at least to Jedda's future income.
Jedda saw a dark shape behind Karrahk. The glooming lump moved forward and Jedda recognized Kirrin, standing just behind Karrahk's left shoulder-- no longer in the shadows.
“You’ve already met my man, Kirrin,” Karrahk said, motioning Kirrin to step forward. “He has served me in many capacities, and I trust his loyalty completely. He knows me, and he knows my business. He will be in charge of your education.”
Jedda chewed his lip and wiggled his toes inside his new boots. “What for educate? I don't need looking after,” he said, suspicious.
“You have much to learn yet,” Karrahk said, an edge in his voice, as he stared down at Jedda. “If you will work for me, you will continue to do as you are told, without question. This man,” Karrahk said, extending a hand to indicate Kirrin, “will teach you better manners, at the very least,”
Kirrin read the confusion in Jedda’s face and stepped forward to explain. “What you have been doing, while useful, is only the beginning of the many ways that your talents will serve the So’Har.”
Jedda’s noticed the reference to Karrahk’s House. Was that a slip, or was it intentional? Karrahk must be aware of how much Jedda knew, or- he was choosing now, to make a transition. Then he began to wonder what Kirrin and Hak’kar might have in mind.
Kirrin continued before Jedda could finish forming the question in his mind. “You are clever. Observant, and nimble- both in mind and body. That can be useful. But, first, we will continue to improve your speech. And then the So’Har will find a way to work you into the paths, directly, of the people you have been observing so faithfully.”
This revelation made Jedda nervous. The idea of having to be around people and talk with them was unnerving. Jedda preferred the shadows and watching. It was safer.
“Why me?” Jedda asked. “I’m just... well… I’m nobody.”
Kirrin nodded, understanding or agreeing, Jedda wasn’t sure which. “And that has served the So’Har well. Being ‘nobody,’ as you say- has some distinct advantages. But that was not what made him pick you out. It was I, myself, in fact, who spotted you in the crowded market square—when you stole my purse.”
Jedda began to sweat nervously, the heat climbing up his neck. Perhaps all this was payback, after all. Caught stealing, not once, but twice? He looked around, saw the alley had a narrow stair at the end and a low roof that he could scale.
“I let you take it,” Kirrin explained. “And then I watched you after that, for a while. And knowing this, The So’Har put himself into your path, purposely. The magic flows strongly in you, and it has been serving you, your survival, for several years.”
“I do’n know nothing ‘bouts no magic stuff.”
Kirrin smiled, almost affectionately. “No. You truly don’t, I imagine. But, you’re luckier than you should be, sometimes? And, I imagine, you ‘sense’ the purses you can steal. Actually, what you have been sensing, is your own magic. Lining up circumstances. All intuitively. Without you knowing, that means,” he added, explaining the word that confused Jedda as he spoke.
“You don’t even know you’ve been doing it. But, that is the nature of Magic, for the Faenyr. The few Chanmyr, who even can learn magic, must work at it very hard. A completely different basis. The mixed-children, such as yourself -- those are the wildcards. And often, it builds as they get older. The world just simply begins to bend itself to your needs and wishes. Yours has been serving you well, in a world where many homeless children would not have survived. And yet, here you are. Shiny and clean and dressed almost as well as a young lord.”
Jedda gulped. His brain was racing, trying to take in this intimate knowledge about himself. And his mind raced back to the many instances in his life- wondering now when and where magic had been at play.
“So’s I han’t in no trouble for it?” Jedda found his voice to ask. From Kirrin’s tone, he hadn’t read any real danger, in fact, it had sounded more like admiration. And then Jedda caught himself. Was this sense he got, also part of something magic?
“No, not in trouble,” Kirrin assured.
“So, what can magic do?”
“A conversation for later, perhaps,” Kirrin said, looking at Karrahk, who was looking impatient. “Would you like to learn?”
Jedda nodded solemnly, hooked. He was Jedda, magic boy. What did it mean?
“Meet me here tomorrow, same time,” Kirrin said, turning towards Karrahk once again. Jedda, sensing his dismissal, left the scene.
It was overwhelming, Too many questions and no answers. Jedda retreated, away from everyone, down into the glowing corridors to his room. He slept, on a new blanket he had bought, determined to keep himself clean and presentable. It was soft and comforting. He lay there curled on his side, staring at his watcher-carvings in their niche in the wall.
He tried to do magic, to see if he could make them move, or float off of the ground. But they continued to stare back at him, keeping any magical secrets they might have to themselves.
Chapter Five
The following night Jedda picked up the conversation right where they had left off. Kirrin took no pains to remain hidden now. The two of them leaned on the stone railing that overlooked the stepped terraces. Just as casual as any two people, Jedda realized. But he was more focused on the conversation.
“Magic can do all sorts and manner of things.” Kirrin explained. “The question will be, what will you do with your magic? If it wakes,” he added. “But generally, people have gifts, different strengths. There is no telling precisely how yours might develop.”
“How did I get this magic? Do you have magic?” Jedda asked, wondering if it was an illness he had acquired or something he had stolen or touched.
“No, I do not have magic. Not in the way you do; I am Chanmyr. Human,” Kirrin said. “As for you? You are only part human. The other part of you is Faenyr. They possess magic naturally. So, where did you get your magic? From one or both of your parents.” He glanced sideways at Jedda’s face. “Do you know anything about your parents?”
A simple shrug, self-conscious, head hanging. Shame.
“Well, from the look of you, with that beautiful tawny skin- there was a good chance one of your parents was Tajynal. That’s one of the two Faenyr races. The eyes look human, very human, perhaps Beddo,” he said, showing a glimmer of distaste, for whatever ‘beddo’ was.
“Beddo?” Jedda asked.
“Those are the travelers, the tinkers- very useful people, but generally disliked and not trusted. You've seen their barges on the canals, no doubt. Very colorful and bright. They stand out against the local ships.”
Jedda nodded, remembering the low riding barge boats with banners and flags, with music and laughter. The disdain the shopkeepers treated him with suddenly made more sense. He took a breath, resolved. “What do we start with?”
“Here,” Kirrin said, reaching into his pocket. He handed Jedda a key.
Jedda looked at the small brass key in his hand, then looked up at Kirrin.
“First Terrace south. Number 42.”
Jedda nodded, knowing where that would be now that he knew his way around the city. The lower edge, respectable, but tucked away from the busiest area of the city. “Meet me there this time tomorrow.”
Jedda found the address with no difficulty. The first Terrace South was a quieter area of the city. There were no pubs or taverns on the main lane. Jedda passed several small residences, a leatherworker's shop, and a candle smith. He walked by a house that was tucked back from the road. There were a few girls lingering arou
nd a table just by the front door. From the friendly smiles they gave him, Jedda thought it might be a brothel. It if was, it was very different than the public ones where the girls made no secret about their intent.
He smiled back at them and nodded as he continued down the road. The cottage was recessed, at the end of a private lane. It looked like a place tourists might rent for a holiday. There were hedges around the border, reminding Jedda of Hak’kars topiary. The cottage itself was made of the local sand-colored stone and white stucco. Much of it was obscured by cultivated vines that grew all over.
There was no sign of Kirrin, so Jedda took a moment to explore. He still had no idea why he was there and didn’t know if Kirrin was expecting him inside, or if they were meeting here for some other reason. Jedda realized he should have gotten better instructions.
He walked around the side of the building, holding the key in case anyone asked him why he was skulking around the premises. The cottage was a common U shape, with three sides framing a patio area in the back. He peeked in the window, looking for any sign of Kirin.
“You could have just gone in,” Kirrin said directly behind him.
Jedda yelped, startled. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
“Clearly,” Kirrin said. “Come, let us go inside.”
Jedda stopped just inside the door, in the little entry area. He looked over a half-wall into a comfortable parlor. Chairs and plants and a few tables were neatly arranged. On the far wall was a large painting of a city perched on a cliff.
“Is this where you live?” he asked.
Kirrin shook his head. “The So'har instructs that you live here now,” Kirrin answered, without actually answering the question. “This is just a bit of space that belongs to the So’Har. It suits his needs on occasions. Such as now.”
A surge of conflicting emotions swept through Jedda. He liked his hidden den. It was safe. It had been his home for several years. It felt familiar. But. . . Jedda chewed his lip. What would it be like, to have a real home?. He wondered what Turner would think of it. The grocer was good for practical down to earth simple advice and cautions. He would probably warn Jedda about free gifts coming with a price. He knew the man would be right, too, but that didn’t change the fact that Jedda longed to shed that shadow he carried, the homeless beggar that lurked in the corner of his mind.
