by Juliet Kemp
“Yes,” they said.
“Yes what?” Cato asked.
“Yes, Tait may learn Marek magic,” Beckett said. “But you have an apprentice. Reb needs one. Tait should apprentice to Reb. I will tell her so.” They nodded as if they had come to a decision.
“Please don’t,” Tait said, urgently. “I mean… Reb didn’t want me around. I’d much rather learn from Cato.” They turned to Cato. “If you don’t mind. If you have time.”
Beckett frowned at both of them. “Reb would be better.”
“Maybe we don’t need to manage this right now,” Cato said. “If I might make a suggestion?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How about, I keep an eye on Tait for a few days, without any kind of apprenticeship,” and without bothering Reb, “while we work out what this demon business is all about. I think something odd is going on. And if I’m right, Reb’s objections evaporate, and all is well.” And if there wasn’t something odd going on, if Tait was just exceptionally good at flat-out lying, then they’d all find that out instead, and that would resolve the problem in another way.
Cato rather hoped that wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t like to feel that he was that bad at reading people.
He really ought to tell Reb what he was up to, given this whole Group business and the discussion they’d had with Selene. But Reb had made her decision about Tait without informing him; and if Cato could get more information, it would be rather easier to discuss it with Reb than if he were just relying on his intuition for someone pulling a fast one. The thing was, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that the person who was pulling a fast one might be Selene. He counted quickly in his head. Two days, he’d promised Reb, before revisiting the decision they’d made about helping Selene. Two days would be up tomorrow, dammit. He’d just have to put Reb off for a bit longer, and hope she wasn’t counting herself.
Beckett looked stern. “No demon may enter Marek,” they said again.
“I know,” Cato said. “Look, you know I always use the proper channels and all that, with spirits. The point is, someone is running round Marek claiming that there is one on its way here, and that interests me. It should interest you, as well, if they’re right.”
“Very well,” Beckett said. “You have three days.” They took a step backwards, and vanished.
Cato flopped backwards onto the bed. “Ugh. I hate when they do that. Appear out of bloody nowhere. They never used to do that.” He sat back up again. “Well then. Welcome to Marek magic.”
Tait, still looking at the place where Beckett had been, didn’t reply. Cato ruthlessly suppressed a slight flare of pique.
“Is – Marek magic involves Beckett?”
“Beckett mediates it,” Cato said. “The detail is perhaps something to go into another time, say, tomorrow, because it is late now and I have had enough. But as a rule they don’t actually show up in person when you’re doing magic, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
“But I won’t be doing magic yet, will I?” Tait said.
Cato raised a shoulder. “We-ll. I said I wouldn’t apprentice you. I can probably show you a thing or too, though, without too much trouble, since you’re not a total beginner. A little taster, as it were.”
Tait’s eyes went wide, with hope and apprehension. “But won’t Beckett disapprove?”
“Well, if Beckett disapproves then they won’t help,” Cato said. “But Beckett wants Marek magic to expand, so my guess is we’ll get away with it.” He looked at Tait and felt an unusual urge to reassure them. “It’ll be my responsibility, not yours, if Beckett gets in a flap.”
Tait was fiddling with the braid that fell down their back. Cato wondered what their hair was like when they let it down. Cato was suddenly glad that he’d avoided the apprentice thing. He was moderately certain that he shouldn’t make a pass at his apprentice, whereas if it was someone he was just, kind of, helping out, it was probably all right. Maybe. At the very least, if he saw Tait doing magic, he’d have a clearer idea of whether making a pass at them would be taking advantage, or whether Tait was competent enough to know what they were about. They had fought off a dragon-bear with blood alone, after all.
“So,” Cato said. “Tomorrow, we can see how you go with Mareker magic.” Cato himself generally stayed up late, but Tait looked done in. Perhaps not surprising.
He rather expected Tait to get up and go, but they hunched their shoulders slightly, and looked awkward.
“Oh. You’ve nowhere to go, have you? And someone might be after you.”
That would be, was, really, a perfect opportunity to try something on – Cato’s bed was large, plenty of room for two, all that business – except that whether or not Tait was generally competent at such things, they quite clearly weren’t right now. Cato wasn’t in the business of taking advantage of anyone. He strongly preferred enthusiastic agreement from his bed partners. He could, however, flirt a little, see what happened.
“I’d invite you to stay,” Tait’s eyes flickered over to his, startled, but, as far as Cato could see, not alarmed. Tait licked their lip, then swallowed, and Cato upgraded that to ‘possibly slightly interested’. He grinned, and carried on, “but it’s been something of a tiring evening for both of us, and you’ve had what sounds like a tiring time all round. There’s no one in the room next door at the moment, and I’ve a spare blanket. I can set you up in there.”
“The room next door?”
“This is the squats,” Cato said. “If the room’s free, you can stay in there. Free. That’s how it works.”
In fact, the room next to Cato’s was almost always free, because anyone who moved in moved out again very shortly after realising who they were living next to. Cato found this convenient.
“And it’s… safe?” Tait asked.
“We’re sorcerers,” Cato reminded them. “People worry about being safe from us, not the other way around.”
Tait didn’t look any less worried.
“If you can tackle a dragon-bear, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be bothered about the useless lumps round here,” Cato said.
“I’d rather not do blood-magic here.”
“Best not,” Cato agreed. “Beckett isn’t keen.” Also, it was illegal, inasmuch as that mattered.
“And I don’t know who might be after me or what they can do. I’ll be asleep. I can hardly knife anyone in my sleep.”
Cato made a mental note that Tait obviously felt that they were competent to knife someone whilst awake, which seemed like it ought to be useful information. “Wards?” he asked, and Tait looked baffled. “Right, well, I’ll show you how to do that tomorrow, but I can ward your room myself for tonight. Guaranteed no entry for anyone,” except Beckett, probably, but Tait would hardly sleep well if Cato mentioned that, “and very unpleasant consequences for someone foolish enough to try. But, um, remember to come in here in the morning, don’t just sod off down the stairs, or it’ll set the whole thing off.”
Cato saw Tait into the next door room, blankets and all, scattered wards-mixture over the threshold on his way out and set the wards in only a slightly excessively dramatic fashion, and retired to his own room with a sense of having done well and acted in an unprecedentedly noble fashion. Marcia would be proud of him. He made a rude face at the ceiling, and settled down to sleep.
FIFTEEN
Marcia was irritable when she got home, and irritable as she tried to sleep, tossing and turning until exhaustion finally overtook her. She woke sandy-eyed. The sense of something being wrong had chased her through her poorly-remembered dreams, leaving behind only a lingering unspecified discomfort.
She shoved her head into the pillow and scowled down into it. This couldn’t just be about arguing with Reb. She’d been in the right. Reb was the one who was over-reacting.
However firmly she told herself that, it didn’t shift the thick, sticky feeling in her head.
She rang for her morning infusion – rosehip and liquorice. Griya, her maid, brou
ght it up, together with a warm roll with goat’s-butter, eyed Marcia, and evidently decided not to say anything. She drew the curtains and slipped back out of the room.
Marcia poked at the roll. Wheat came from Teren, didn’t it? Wheat, barley, cow’s-butter, though Marekers tended not to eat that. If Selene did have more in mind than just issuing apparently-friendly invitations; if she, or Teren, wanted to put the screws on… Marcia abandoned that unhelpful line of thought in favour of eating the roll.
From the window-seat, she looked out over the river. Watching the boats go in and out of the river-mouth was always soothing; and it was a pretty morning, with a clear blue sky and a handful of small puffy white clouds. Over near the Old Market, she could see the flapping white dots of laundry-lines out in the sunshine on the house-roofs. Reb didn’t do her own laundry, she… Marcia cut the thought off. She wasn’t going to think about Reb. She was going to watch the river and the sky, and drink her damn infusion.
She was feeling slightly calmer as she finished the last drops, but almost immediately there was a gentle knock at her door.
“Ser Marcia?” Griya came into the room. “I’m afraid – your mother wants you, downstairs.”
“Right now?” Marcia asked.
It was breakfast time, certainly – proper breakfast, not the roll-and-infusion to start the day – but Madeleine rarely summoned her at this hour.
“There’s a visitor,” Griya said, apologetically. “From House Pedeli.”
A visitor at this time of the morning? That had to mean a business call, not social, but even for business it was very early.
“Right,” Marcia said. “House casual, then, I suppose, as quick as we can.”
With Griya’s aid, she was decent, in tunic and trousers with a dab of facepaint, in relatively short order. Arriving in the front parlour, she blinked as her mother looked up from her armchair and Pedeli-Head got up from the couch to greet her. Not just any visitor. Whatever this was, it was serious enough to bring the Head of a House here at this time in the morning. Worry caught at her stomach.
“Marcia. I am pleased you could join us,” Madeleine said. Marcia couldn’t catch disapproval in her tone, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there.
“Pedeli-Head,” Marcia said politely, bowing to them. “A pleasure.”
“A pleasure to be here, on this occasion – no, no, I can’t say that it is.” Pirran, Pedeli-Head was several years older than Madeleine, and would have retired some time ago under the old arrangements. She wore her greying hair in a long plait, and a long robe over an under-dress and very tight trousers (according to Madeleine, the style had been popular in Pirran’s youth) in the orange and red of her House.
“Oh dear,” Marcia said, taking the seat perpendicular to both Pirran and her mother. “May I ask what has happened?”
“Betrayal,” Pirran said. “Traitorous, backstabbing…” She held a news-sheet between two fingers, and waved it at Marcia with evident distaste. Marcia couldn’t see what it said from here. She wondered where Pirran had got it from. The Houses, especially the older members of them, hadn’t taken to news-sheets, although they were wildly popular in much of the rest of Marek, and Marcia found the trading-sheets useful.
“And this nonsense making it worse.” Pirran obviously meant the news-sheet itself this time. “The Guilds need to control this, these unrestricted, we cannot simply allow people to print such things, unlicensed, no oversight…”
“Apparently,” Madeleine said smoothly, cutting Pirran off (the matter of independent presses was an ongoing discussion, but was evidently a distraction right now), “the Smiths and Cutlers’ Guild declined this morning to fulfil a contract with House Pedeli, unless Pirran – as Pedeli-Head, you understand – gives their support to moves to enhance the status of the Guilds in the Council.”
Marcia’s stomach flipped. The Guilds had chosen to move on their own? Or was it just the Smiths… but surely the Smiths wouldn’t act independently.
“Not only the Smiths,” Madeleine continued, answering that question. She gestured at the news-sheet. “The Guilds, as a whole, have announced that they will no longer work with the Houses, no longer fulfil House trading contracts, nor engage in further contracting, until there is a more even distribution of power. Four more seats, they want. Four!”
Not just equal power, but increased power. What were the Guilds thinking? And to make such an absolute move, not asking, not politicking, just… leverage, pure and simple. Threats. How could they think that this naked aggression was wise, compared to the slow but more certain gradual approach? How did they expect the Houses to react? Marcia badly wanted to swear.
“Warden Hagadath told me, after that speech yesterday, the Guilds could tolerate this no longer. They said,” Pirran was wildly, visibly indignant, “it is unfair, that the Guilds generate Marek’s prosperity… Of course the Guilds are important, and they are respected, but trade, I told Hagadath, trade is vital, and the Houses are the engines of trade. It is we who negotiate, we who risk our funds, it is we who represent Marek to the wider world. And they have Council seats. Is this not sufficient for them?”
“Without the Guilds, we would have nothing to trade,” Marcia said, as her stomach churned. “And the Houses regularly ignore and overrule them, in Council.” There seemed to be no point in siding with Pirran at this point. She might as well set her own cart out, rather than nodding in pretend agreement to smooth the waters. But what were the Guilds thinking?
And had any of them implicated Marcia herself in this?
“So I understand you to believe, from Berenaz-Head,” Pirran said, turning on her.
Oh shit.
Madeleine glared at Marcia, then turned to Pirran. “I assume, Pirran, that you are not suggesting that House Fereno has encouraged any such behaviour as this from the Guilds.”
“Encourage the Guilds to breach contracts? I most certainly have not,” Marcia said.
“Not that, not that, perhaps not, but you have suggested an increase in their power. Without that, would they have even thought of this?” Pirran’s face was dark.
“The Guilds are able to think independently,” Marcia said, as calmly as she could. “And if you seek people to blame, I suggest you consider the speech that the Lord Lieutenant made, yesterday. Is it appropriate for Teren to be intervening in Marek affairs?”
“There was no intervention,” Pirran said. “I cannot see how one could read anything untoward into the Lord Lieutenant’s words.”
And Marcia couldn’t suggest that Selene might have been intervening rather more than that without getting back into what she herself had been doing. She bit the inside of her cheek savagely.
“Of course, we cannot give into this nonsense,” Pirran continued. “I trust that, despite your Heir’s efforts, Madeleine, House Fereno will act in concert with the rest of the Houses.”
“Of course,” Madeleine said, and Marcia swore internally. “We cannot bend to such tactics.”
If they weren’t going to ‘bend’ to the Guilds’ demands, what were they going to do instead? Wait them out? Who could wait longer, between Guilds and Houses? Marcia wasn’t at all sure that it was the Houses. If the Salinas didn’t get the contracts they wanted from the Houses; well, they might wait for a while, not wishing to embroil themselves in their clients’ political struggles, but if it began impacting on their own trade, they wouldn’t hesitate to go to the Guilds, would they? Where would the Houses be then?
But there was no point in saying any of that, at this juncture. She might be able to talk to Madeleine, afterwards, maybe, but not to Pirran right now.
Once Pirran had finally gone, with a final glare at Marcia, Madeleine folded her hands and turned to Marcia, her eyes hard.
“And what is your part in this?” she asked. “When we spoke before, we talked about patience, Marcia. This does not look to me like patience. Being embarrassed in front of the other Houses is not acceptable.”
“I assure you, t
his is not my doing,” Marcia said, which was true. This wasn’t at all how she’d wanted things to pan out. “I have spoken to the Guilds, yes, but I too have been urging patience. I did not expect this.”
“The reputation of our House is paramount. I should not need to say this to you, Marcia. What did you say to Berenaz-Head?”
“It was Berenaz-Heir,” Marcia said. “Piath. I said nothing like this. I broached the idea of the Guilds having more say, and Piath was unconvinced.”
“I cannot understand what you intended to achieve with this lack of subtlety,” Madeleine snapped. “Surely you know better?”
“I was under the impression that Piath would be sympathetic.” Marcia paused, frowning. “And I certainly didn’t expect them to be gossiping with Pirran.”
“If your impressions are that badly out, you should not be embarking on this kind of politics.” The words cut.
“Someone else had been talking to Piath,” Marcia told her, slightly reluctantly. She wasn’t sure how open Madeleine would be to hearing that. “Before I got there.”
“Being unaware that someone is acting against you does not improve my opinion of your skills.” She paused. “Although – you are correct that if Berenaz and Pedeli are on speaking terms again, it is worth noting.”
She eyed Marcia for a long moment, visibly weighing up her options. Then she sighed, and looked away.
“Well. Whether or not this was what you planned, I suggest you speak to your Guild contacts. This could be disastrous for Marek, if we do not resolve it – and I cannot imagine that the other Houses will be inclined to co-operate with such high-handed behaviour.”
The other Houses? Did that mean that she might be able to persuade Madeleine to co-operate, despite what she’d said to Pirran? Best not ask just yet. If she could talk the Guilds into backing down, into seeking other routes to a solution…
“With your permission, Mother,” she said, bowing, and retreated from the room.
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