Necessity's Child-eARC

by Sharon Lee

  They took a table just inside the door at Joan’s Bakery. Droi bespoke for them a raisin cake each, and a pot of ’toot to share. She placed the coin the cold gadje had given in exchange for her fortune on the edge of the table, and said airily to the one who brought the tray.

  “That is for you; I will see no change.”

  Kezzi blinked, but said nothing, recalling just in time her role as Droi’s shadow. Well she could understand that a coin received from such a gadje might be ill-wished. But the usual remedy for ridding oneself of an ill-wished coin was to have it made into other coins. To send the whole thing away from them, accepting no smallest tie to it—well. It was rare that one of the Bedel paid gadje for what they took, much less overpaid.

  Still, it was Droi, with Droi’s strange sight.

  And, Kezzi reminded herself, she had herself been distressed by the cold gadje’s air. Perhaps it was wisdom, to accept nothing from that one.

  Thinking so, she turned her attention to her cake, finding it sticky enough to warrant two cups of hot ’toot.

  When she was done, and Droi was, they rose and left the bakery, leaving cups, dishes, and cutlery behind.

  * * *

  It was not particularly easy to shell peas one-handed, but it could be done, and, after some practice, done with a certain amount of dexterity.

  Thus, Rys sat at Jin’s hearth and shelled peas. Jin studied his progress with narrowed eyes, then gave him an abrupt nod.

  “That’s well, Rys. Keep on as you are. I’ll be back before you’re done.”

  And so he was left alone, with a garden basket at his left hand, an empty bowl into which the shelled peas were given in the crook of his knee, and another basket at his right hand, to receive the shells.

  Those, he understood, would go with Memit, a blade-thin woman with big hands, to the composting heap, and thence return virtue to the garden.

  He had spoken a few words with Memit regarding composting, a topic of which he had some knowledge. After an initial frown she had warmed to the subject and ended with an apology that duty-work called her elsewhere, and a promise to show him the gardens, some day soon.

  So, he sat, alone with his thoughts, and the work, which was…pleasantly dull. His thoughts were similar. Since his smoke with Udari, he had adopted a course of soft thinking, mostly concerned with those persons and matters directly before him. It was his hope that those memories he felt missing would return to him, if he did not press too hard, nor berate himself too sternly.

  It was…difficult…to adopt this attitude of gentleness with himself. He wished to reach into his own head and shake loose those recollections and motives—his very history!—which had hidden themselves from his waking self. Most definitely, he wished to ransack his walkabout memories for any shred of a clue of how he might contact Momma Liberty. Jasin would not have left him—well. Jasin might have left him, given cause enough; he did not suppose himself the equal of the ship in her regard. But she would not have left him without resources. Without contact, or hope of rendezvous.

  His fingers fumbled the pod he had been worrying, and it fell, whole, into the bowl at his knee. Rys closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, slow and deep. His heart hammered in his ears and his brow was damp. This was what came of stepping off the path of gentleness. Such distress served him—not at all. Indeed, he might be driving those things he most wished to recall deeper into hiding.

  Another breath, and he opened his eyes. He retrieved the pod he had dropped, cracked the seam and released the peas. The broken pod went into the basket with its comrades.

  He shelled another pod; another…and another, moving deliberately, half-drowsing now, in his determination not to think at all.

  “Well met, Brother,” a soft and lately familiar voice spoke near at hand.

  Rys raised his head.

  “Udari,” he said. “Brother. It is good to see you.” He blinked, recalling his lesson in the manners of those he found himself among. “I hope it does not give affront, that I say so.”

  “No affront, but only joy. I return the joy, by saying, It pleases me to see you, Brother, and at work for the good of all the kompani. Truly, it is more than I thought I might look upon in this World, when I found you at our door.”

  He came forward, and Rys saw that there was something hanging from his belt—a dagger, perhaps, but before he could be certain, Udari had seated himself on the other side of the basket and reached in, bringing out a handful of pods.

  “Let me help you, Brother. When we are done, I ask that you walk with me.”

  Walk. Rys sighed quietly and broke the current pod down its seam.

  “I fear that you will not walk far with me at your side,” he said. “But I will gladly go as far as I might, with a brother.”

  “Perhaps it will be further than you think,” Udari said, nimbly shelling pods with his two good hands. “I have dreamed upon you, as I promised I would, and I have found solutions—one simple and one…less so. I have brought the simple with me so that together we may pursue that which is complex.”

  He tossed the depleted pods across to the compost basket and reached ’round his belt, pulling free the item which hung there and offering it across his palms to Rys.

  It was black and shone like enamel in the light of Jin’s fire—a stubby rod only a little longer than Udari’s two palms were wide.

  “Take it—a brother-gift.”

  Such a gift surely could not be refused. Rys took the rod, and sat holding it in his hand while Udari fetched out another fistful of pods and shelled them.

  “What is it?” Rys said at last. “Brother.”

  “A walking staff.”

  Rys felt anger, looking at the length of it—anger, sudden and potent. A joke, and in the style of Jasin’s brother—very much at his expense, though why Udari had not waited until there was a crowd about—

  “There! That is the last!” Udari cast another handful of empty pods into the compost basket and smiled. “It was well you had done so many before I arrived. Now, we are free to pursue other matters.”

  He rose to his feet and held his hand down.

  Rys gave him the black tube, which he tucked back in his belt before extending his hand once more.

  Goaded, Rys took the offered support and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

  “So, then!” Udari had the short tube from his belt, held it between his two hands, twisted—and pulled.

  The rod began to lengthen, to loose bulk, to become something very like…a walking staff.

  “Take hold, Brother.” Udari directed him, and he gripped it ’round the center, the knob nearly to his shoulder.

  Udari dropped to one knee, teasing the tube longer, until it touched the ground.

  “How does that suit you for length?” he asked, coming to his feet.

  “I fear it is too long,” Rys said, and Udari laughed.

  “No, it is only that your brother has forgotten what he was about. A moment.” He reached again to his belt and withdrew a crescent-shape, which he kneaded until it became rather less flat, like a pillow with a spike at the end.

  Udari took momentary charge of the staff, screwed the pillow to the top and returned it to Rys.

  “A crutch,” he said, understanding at last.

  “I hope it will be of use,” Udari answered. “Slip it beneath your arm and let us see how well it matches—a little long, yet, I think. A moment; I will adjust.”

  Adjust he did, and Rys settled his arm into the support of the pillowing crescent.

  “Try a few steps,” Udari said, coming to his feet.

  A few steps was all he needed to understand the balance of it, and the necessary rhythm. His shattered leg still was a burden, but less so.

  Rys smiled, began to speak—and recalled himself.

  “You wished us to walk together,” he said instead, “Brother?”

  “So I did,” Udari answered, his grin wide and white. “Come this way, if you will, Brother.” />
  * * *

  Silain the luthia sat alone at her fire. Malda, whose head had been on her knee, suddenly looked up, then leapt to his feet with a joyous yip, and stood, quivering with joy, on the edge of the rug.

  In a moment, Kezzi came into the firelight and bent, making a basket of her arms. Malda leapt into them, barking and licking her hair, while the child laughed, and hugged him.

  The luthia smiled and poured tea into a mug, uncovered the plate that had been warming at the edge of the fire and placed it on the rug.

  Eventually, the child released the dog and came to give greeting to her elder.

  “Good night to you, luthia.”

  “Fair return to you, small sister. Sit and tell me the tale of your day. There is tea and food to ease the telling.”

  Food for the first little time delayed the telling, but the luthia was patient. She warmed her own cup, and waited.

  Eventually, in starts and stops, and then more smoothly, as the plate was set aside for the dog to clean, came the story of the day, the cold gadje and her coin, Droi’s actions, and the fleez resumed, at a prudent distance.

  “And I read the cards for two gadje,” the child said, holding her mug in two hands, her eyes shining. “Droi said I must take the coin the first gave to me, and hang it ’round my neck, for luck.”

  “Droi’s sight does not mislead her in this,” Silain said. “Go, find me a length of good cord and it will be done.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.” The child rose to do as she had been bid, snapping her fingers for the dog to follow.

  Silain refilled her mug and the girl’s, then sat looking into the fire, thinking of the strange gadje and her coin. It was troubling, in a way that felt heavily threatening, though she could not have said particularly why.

  Well, then, she would dream on it. Doubtless, the matter would come clear.

  * * *

  Their pace was slow, which was expectable, and must have tried Udari’s patience, though he gave no sign of it, merely keeping pace and from time to time pointing out rough patches or holes in the surface they traversed.

  For himself, he was discovering the usefulness and limits of his new tool. It was, he found, wondrous firm, which imparted a feeling of purpose. He gave it his weight with gusto and was able to swing his shattered leg somewhat, gaining momentum while keeping it above irregularities and rocks.

  “You take to this as a bird to wings,” Udari said. “Soon we will see you dancing ’round the common-fire.”

  Rys laughed and shook his hair back from his eyes. Immediately, it tumbled back. Perhaps he might ask Udari for a pair of scissors. But first, a question.

  “What is our destination, Brother?”

  “We go to the hearth-side of a sister, whose aid I will ask on behalf of yourself.”

  Rys thought about that, swinging along with his crutch settled comfortably under his arm. One step, two steps…

  “May I not ask on my own behalf?” he asked at last.

  Udari pointed down, where a darker shadow snaked along the dark surface. “Mind the crack, Brother,” he murmured.

  Rys swung his crutch beyond the tricksy bit, and his bad leg, too, counting one step, two steps, three…

  “You may speak on your own behalf,” Udari said slowly, “to the luthia, and to the apprentice and assistants of the luthia. To me, your brother, you may unburden your heart. To those brothers of your brother who have accepted your acquaintance, you may also speak in your own voice. To our sisters…” Udari drew a deep breath. “You must not speak to any of the sisters of your brother unless you have been properly introduced. Whether you will be permitted to speak after—that is for each sister to say.”

  “I understand,” Rys said carefully, which was truth. He was an outsider; there must be some—even most—among this cloistered settlement who disapproved of his presence. And of Udari, for bringing him here.

  “I fear,” he said then, “that I may have transgressed with Memit. I spoke to her of compost—a topic of mutual interest.”

  “Did she answer?” Udari asked.

  “After a pause. She had a few moments only, before duty called her. But she promised to show me the garden she oversees.”

  Udari laughed. “My brother Rys can charm a stone! If Memit had taken offense, your ears would be ringing yet!”

  He smiled, warmed by Udari’s pleasure, and by the fact that he had not after all made an error with Memit.

  “Here now,” his brother said, waving a hand toward a hearth a few dozen steps distant. “We arrive. We will see a modest Rys now, with eyes lowered and lips together. A soft voice and few words in answer, only if you are spoken to. Droi is no Memit, which you will recall.”

  “Yes, Brother,” Rys said softly, and followed Udari to the hearth of Droi, swinging a little less robustly on his crutch.

  - - - - -

  His task was to stand tall on his crutch while Udari’s sister Droi—a buxom young woman with untidy hair and untamed eyes—while Droi measured shattered leg and whole in all dimensions and directions, three times for each, to be certain they were correct.

  Neither she nor Udari wrote these careful measurements down—certainly, he did not, lacking pen, pad, and the use of his primary hand. He supposed that Udari memorized what was needful, and he did the same, though to what use he had no idea.

  “There’s the last,” Droi said, straightening so suddenly and so nearly that only quick action kept his nose from being caught between her proud breasts.

  He said nothing, which had been his role; Droi had done as Udari had bid, but as if the one being measured were nothing more than a particularly uninteresting block of wood.

  Now, then.

  Now…

  She stared directly into his eyes, hers showing green in the dark depths.

  “You see them don’t you?” she whispered, her breath hot against his cheek and smelling faintly of mint. “You see them, inside the darkness. They’re waiting for us, eh? Aren’t they? Waiting to eat us, and spit out our souls.”

  He drew a careful breath, suddenly hearing the whisper of wings against the quiet air—and inside of that heartbeat between hearing and panic came Udari, a smile on his face and his hands raised, palm-out, as if warding madness away.

  “A bolt of crimson it will be, and as much purple ribbon as a man can carry! I will bring these things from the City Above and place them by your hearth, sweet Droi.”

  Rys felt Udari take his arm, and brought his crutch to the ready, more than eager to go.

  “He sees,” Droi said, placing herself directly before them. She leaned forward and caught Rys’ gaze her own. “Tell me what you see, gadje!”

  He shivered, lips parting—and firmly closed them again.

  Droi smiled and leaned closer still.

  “Rys…” she crooned, her voice soft and treacherous, her breath warming his ear. “Savory morsel. Tell me what you see.”

  “I hear,” he whispered hoarsely. “I hear the wings of a dragon against the wind. Hunting…” He snatched after his wits and pressed his lips together, refusing with all his will to speak further. The trembling—continued, and he was grateful for Udari’s bruising grip on his arm, that kept him upright.

  Droi leaned back, her smile deepening with what might be satisfaction. “Hunting,” she repeated, and licked her lips. Her eyes never left his.

  “Sister,” Udari said, his voice soft and careful. “We are wanted by our brother Pulka.”

  “Of course,” Droi said, while Rys stared, fascinated at the dance of green flame in her eyes. “Of course. You will come and see me again, Rys Dragonbait.”

  He swallowed in a tight throat, and she laughed low in hers.

  “Say yes, Droi,” she instructed.

  “Yes, Droi,” he repeated obediently, though it seemed that Udari must surely break his arm.

  She swung aside, transferring her gaze to Udari.

  “Go, now, and give our brother Pulka my greeting.”

 
“Yes,” said Udari, and hastened Rys forward. He stumbled, then got the crutch into play and swung along with a will, matching the other man’s hasty stride as they left the glowing hearth, and Droi’s watching shadow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Syl Vor pushed the bracelet up under the sleeve of his sweater. It had been nine school-days since Pete had knocked him down in the alley and taken it away. Nine days since Mike Golden had bought it back from Mr. Vin at the pawnshop.

  Nine days in which there were no more attempts—from anyone—to knock him down or to steal from him. He still offended Rudy—only by coming to school, Syl Vor thought. Or maybe Rudy stood on principle with the brats of bosses.

  Whichever it may be, neither Rudy nor Peter was his concern this morning.

  This morning, the rotation had teamed him with Desi and Jeff for current and past event.

  That was a new thing, the rotation. Every morning now, before the first lesson, Ms. Taylor would have them count off by threes, form three lines and dance, line-to-line, until the music stopped. Whoever you were standing next to when that happened were the members of your team for the day.

  And it might be, Syl Vor thought, that the dance—or the music—was the first lesson of the day. Ms. Taylor made a point of talking about what they were going to hear, who had written it and what instruments were involved.

  Lesson or not, the system had thus far worked to his benefit, since he had been teamed with neither Pete nor Rudy since its inception. At some point, of course, they must make a team, given the limited numbers of dancers.

  Or perhaps not.

  There had been another student added to the class, a boy named Kaleb, who had been brought in by one of the street patrol on the morning of Syl Vor’s third day of class. Tansy had attached him, as if he were lost kin, found. Of course, the class could not expand infinitely. But, Syl Vor thought, if they continued to add students, perhaps the group would be split in two, with Rudy and Pete in one group, and Syl Vor in the other. That was something, perhaps, to hope for.

  Everyone came to school and left school by the front door now. That meant using the hallway through Ms. Audrey’s house, which Vanette had said was a scandal. Syl Vor didn’t quite know what sort of scandal, and when he had asked her the only answer he’d gotten was a shake of her head.