Points of Departure

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Jin sighed, shifted, and capitulated. “It’s my brother, Raivo,” she said. “He’s—Do you know much about magic?”

  “Quite enough for your purposes,” Granny said dryly.

  “Well, Raivo’s always wanted to be a magician. But he’s never found anyone who would train him. His Time of Power isn’t very long, you see.”

  “You mean your mother rushed it when he was born,” Granny said. “Silly wench. Why doesn’t he try something he’s more suited to?”

  Jin flushed. “It’s not Raivo’s fault that he only took four hours to be born! He has more than enough luck to be a magician!”

  “But he only has access to it for four hours a year,” Granny said. “That’s not much time to invest it in something, especially the first time. Still, I’ve known magicians who were no better off.”

  “Then why wouldn’t any of them teach Raivo?”

  “At a guess, he’s like his mother—in too much of a hurry. No one wants to have a half-trained apprentice get himself killed trying to invest his luck too soon. It’s bad for a wizard’s reputation.”

  “I suppose so. But Raivo’s finally found someone. Only…”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t trust her!”

  Granny studied her. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. She just gives me shivers. And why would a wizard work as a stage dancer?”

  “Wizards do unlikely things. Have you told this brother of yours about your worries?”

  Jin looked down. “I’ve tried, but Raivo won’t listen to me.”

  “Mmmm.” Granny looked at her sharply. “Your luck time is longer than his, I take it.”

  Jin looked up, startled. “How did you know?”

  “Talent.” Granny saw no reason to point out that most Liavekans had a luck time of more than four hours. Some women even paid midwives to prolong their labor, in hopes that their children would have a better chance of becoming wizards. Midwives seldom hurried a birth unless something went wrong—or unless the mother was fool enough to request it. “Tell me about this magician.”

  “Her name’s Deremer Ledoro, and she works at Tam’s Palace, down by the Levar’s Park. That’s where Raivo met her. He helps serve the patrons, and she…entertains. She calls herself ‘The Black Swan.’ I’m told she’s very good.”

  “And she’s offered to train him?”

  “Yes. He didn’t even have to ask! That was a month ago, and now he spends nearly all his time with her. But he can’t have learned much yet, and his Day of Luck is next Moonday, and I’m afraid—”

  “If your brother wants to be a wizard, you shouldn’t go around telling people when his luck-day is.”

  Jin flushed and nodded. “But if Deremer lets him try to invest his luck this year and he’s not ready…”

  “He must know the risks. And if she’s going to let him invest, she must think he can succeed.”

  “After only a month of training? And why is she so determined to have him summon Rikiki before his Day of Luck?”

  Granny frowned suddenly. “What’s Rikiki got to do with this?”

  “I don’t know. But Deremer’s been pestering Raivo about it for weeks.” Jin made a face. “I can’t imagine why she’s so interested in a blue chipmunk.”

  “He’s a god,” Granny said dryly. “Some people think that’s important.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way! Rikiki’s a nice god, but he isn’t exactly…bright. So why does Deremer want Raivo to call him?”

  Granny could think of several possibilities, none of which pleased her. She kept her misgivings to herself. “Hmmph. Silly situations you young people get yourselves into. Well, I’ll see what I can do for you, but I make no promises, mind!”

  “Thank you,” Jin said doubtfully. “Uh, when will you do whatever it is? If you do it.”

  “I’ll have news for you in a fiveday or so. Be off with you now! I’ve weaving yet to do this morning.”

  But when the girl was gone, Granny did not return to her loom. She shooed the tortoise-shell cat from her favorite chair and sat thinking for a time. There were four days before Raivo’s Day of Luck, but Deremer wouldn’t wait until the last minute to summon Rikiki. She would probably try it Luckday evening; the moon would be in the right phase then, and she would want every advantage she could. Two and a half days, then. Granny sighed, then rose, picked up her cane, and left the house.

  • • •

  The Merchant’s Bazaar was a colorful, lively place. Granny picked her way through its ever-changing fringes, where the newcomers set up their tents for a week or a month. As she passed one of the newer booths, a camel coughed at her. She turned and glared. The camel caught her eye and pursed its lips as if to spit, but before it could complete the gesture, Granny’s cane flicked up and rapped it smartly on the nose. The camel grunted in surprise and settled back to await a different victim.

  The camel’s owner, mindful of a possible customer, called out, “You’ve quite a way with animals, Grandmother!”

  “Hmmph. You’d best learn a bit of it yourself, young man. If you don’t teach that camel some manners, you’re going to regret it some day,” Granny said acidly, and walked on.

  The fringes of the Bazaar gave way to more permanent booths and stalls, and then to brightly painted wooden buildings. Granny found the shop she was looking for, and noted with pleasure that it had grown. Danesh must be doing well for himself. She went inside, and in a short time was ushered into a private room with Danesh himself.

  “Granny Kahri,” Danesh greeted her. “It’s good to see you.” He was a short man, still lean despite the temptations brought by years of successful trading. His dark hair was shot with grey and he watched her with wary respect.

  “And you’re wondering what I’m here for and how long it will take me to get to the point,” Granny said. “And probably how much it will cost you.”

  Danesh spread his hands. “I’m a merchant.”

  Granny chuckled. “I should keep you in suspense for a while, but I’m in a hurry. I want some information about the People.”

  Danesh’s eyebrows rose. “I’d think you would know more in that regard than—”

  “I’ve been out of touch,” Granny interrupted. Her voice was curt, because he was right. She should have known more than anyone about the doings of those of the old blood, the remnant of the people left when Liavek was built on the ruins of S’Rian nearly seven hundred years before. But things had been going too well, and she’d gotten lazy these past few years. That would be fixed, but Granny couldn’t attend to it while there was the slightest possibility of a threat to Rikiki.

  “I see. What information, then?”

  “I want to know who might be foolish enough or desperate enough to sell Rikiki’s story to a wizard,” Granny said bluntly.

  “What?” Danesh looked shocked; Rikiki held a special place in the hearts of the old S’Rians.

  “You heard me. Some time within the last year, I would say, though it might be any time in the past five.”

  “Luck of a little pig! You’re sure about this? No, of course you are. I don’t suppose you can narrow it down any further?”

  “Someone who ought to know better, and definitely of the old blood. Beyond that, I’ve no information.”

  Danesh sighed. “You don’t come up with easy problems.”

  “Easy problems you can find for yourself,” Granny replied tartly. “Can you do it or not?”

  “I’ll know the answer to that by Luckday. Should I send a message, or will you be favoring us with your presence again?”

  “A message will do. I’ll expect to hear from you in two days, then. Mind your business.”

  • • •

  Outside, Granny hailed a footcab and started for home. As they crossed the river, she remembered yet another visit she ought to pay. She leaned forward and called, “Boy! I’ve changed my mind.”

  The young man pulling the cab stopped and turned. “Where to, then, mistress?�
�

  “Wizard’s Row.”

  The man stared. “Wizard’s Row? You’re sure?”

  “Are you deaf? Go along; I haven’t got all day.”

  “Uh, yes, mistress.” He turned and started off again, grumbling under his breath.

  Wizard’s Row was being difficult; half an hour of traveling up and down the three streets, which sometimes intersected the Row, failed to produce any results. Finally Granny halted the footcab and paid the driver, then began walking determinedly down the street herself. Halfway between the Street of Scales and Bregas Street, she stopped and looked around. Buildings rose on either side, without a sign of a cross-street.

  “Lot of childish shenanigans,” she muttered, and closed her eyes. She gripped the worn brass head of her cane more tightly and drew on her power, then muttered a brief spell. When she opened her eyes, a street led off to her left. She nodded in satisfaction and started down it.

  The houses she passed were large, imposing structures of white marble and gold, shining impressively in the hot sun. Several had the feel of illusion, but she did not bother to penetrate the spells. Let them show off; they’d at least chosen a harmless method. She found the house she sought, a modest wooden building near the middle of the street, and went up to it. The brass gargoyle on the door appeared to be sleeping; she pulled it’s tongue with unnecessary vigor.

  “Mlrb, mlff, mlff,” the gargoyle said without opening its eyes.

  “Speak plainly if you insist on speaking at all,” Granny snapped.

  “Go ’way,” the gargoyle responded. Its voice was faintly metallic. “No visitors allowed.”

  “Open your eyes and behave yourself.” Granny rapped the door smartly with her cane, barely missing the gargoyle’s head.

  The gargoyle gurgled and opened an eye. The eye focused on Granny, and the other opened with an audible snap. “Oh, it’s you,” the gargoyle said in a disappointed tone. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Quite so. Are you going to let me in?”

  It considered for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose so.” It shut its eyes, and the door swung reluctantly open.

  The hall inside was dark, but as she crossed the threshold a series of silver lamps along the walls flashed into fire. The floor glittered in the sudden light, as though it had been sprinkled with gold dust to make a carpet for a queen. “A bit overdone,” Granny muttered, pleased in spite of herself.

  She went briskly down the hall. She nodded greetings to the two cats standing outside the door at the far end, then went in. The room beyond was a comfortably furnished parlor. The man known to all Liavek as The Magician sat in a large, carved chair on the opposite side of the room. He still looked about twenty, as he had when she’d last seen him thirty or forty years before.

  As she entered, he rose and bowed. “Tenarel. It’s been a long time.”

  “That it has.” She studied The Magician. He was as handsome as she remembered.

  “May I offer you refreshment?”

  “Pretend you already have, and I’ve declined, and we’ve talked about the weather and the policies of His Scarlet Eminence regarding trade with Ka Zhir.”

  The Magician sighed. “I take it this is not a social call.”

  “At my age, I don’t have time to waste on such nonsense.”

  He laughed. “That can be fixed.”

  “I still wouldn’t have the time. And I don’t notice you traipsing around the city visiting people, Trav.”

  “The disadvantages of fame.”

  “You chose your way of living,” she pointed out.

  “And you chose differently. I don’t suppose…”

  “No.” Her voice was firm but unusually gentle. “I have responsibilities.”

  “Well.” He looked at her. “What can I do for you, then?”

  “There’s a wizard who may be getting into something that’s of interest to me.”

  “And since I keep track of wizards the way you keep track of S’Rians, you came to me for information.” He studied her for a moment. “I usually charge for this sort of thing, you know.”

  “Hmmph. In that case, you still owe me for that time down in the Levar’s Park, when—”

  “All right!” He sighed. “I will never be rich. Who is she?”

  “A dancer down at Tam’s Palace. On stage she calls herself ‘The Black Swan’ or some such thing; off it I’m told she goes by Deremer Ledoro.”

  He frowned in brief concentration. “Ledoro…ah, yes. One of the Golden Branch school’s better students.”

  “She’s a true wizard, then?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s the daughter of old Emarati Ledoro, who was killed dueling with Aritoli ola Silba about fifteen years ago.”

  “Ola Silba, the ‘art advisor’?”

  Trav nodded.

  “Deremer’s father was a painter?”

  “No. He was High Priest of the Shrine of Irhan. Very devout, I’m told.”

  “He’d have to be, to serve a god that’s as minnow-brained as Irhan. If he wasn’t a painter, what did ola Silba do to him?”

  “The cause of the duel was Deremer’s mother. Or rather, the exact paternity of the child she was carrying at the time.”

  “Hmmph. Sounds like a nice mess.”

  “It was. The only surprising thing about it is that Emarati would challenge a man thirty years younger than himself. He was apparently…unduly overconfident.”

  “Just so,” Granny said dryly. “What about the mother?”

  “She miscarried and died of it shortly after the duel. Deremer was about ten at the time, and took the whole thing very hard. She had some sort of argument with the new High Priest about it, and left the Shrine.”

  “And since then?”

  “She took up wizardry a year later. She was younger than usual when she succeeded in investing her luck for the first time.”

  “She’s good?”

  He nodded. “She even studied in Tichen for a while. She has a reputation there as a rash experimenter, but the way the Tichenese feel about progress…”

  “And how long has she been back in Liavek?”

  “Fourteen months,” he responded promptly. “She’s living in the family home, on Pine Street in Old Town.”

  Granny raised her eyebrows. “You’re keeping closer track than usual. Is there a reason?”

  “A feeling, nothing more.”

  She looked at him narrowly. “Tichen has a reputation for subtlety.”

  The Magician gave her a small smile. “So have I.”

  Granny snorted and climbed to her feet. “I’m more concerned about her methods than her politics. Is there anything else I should know? Then I’ll be going; I’ve a lot to do in the next few days.”

  The Magician rose and bowed. “It has been a pleasure to deal with you again, Tenarel. You should drop by more often.”

  “Not until that sentient doorbell of yours learns a few manners. But thanks for the offer.”

  His laughter followed her down the hall, punctuated by the tapping of her cane.

  • • •

  Danesh’s messenger arrived early on Luckday morning bearing a sealed note. Granny thanked him and shooed him off before opening the missive. It was a list of six names, each followed by a brief description. She frowned; it was better than she’d expected, but it might take longer to find the right one than she’d hoped. She started down the list, then stopped suddenly. The third name was Giresla Bennel, daughter of Marra Bennel. Jin’s mother.

  With a sigh, Granny set the list down. It was inevitable, she thought; Deremer was involved with the whole family. And it was certain to make the matter awkward. Well, at least she knew where to start looking. She picked up her cane, paused to check the directions, and left the house.

  • • •

  She found the building without difficulty. It was a rattling old structure near one end of Rat’s Alley, untouched by the recent prosperity that had brushed other stretches of the street. The steps were split, and t
hey creaked as she climbed them. The door sagged on its hinges; when she rapped it with the head of her cane, rotted splinters broke away and fell at her feet. Her lips thinned; then she heard shuffling sounds from the house’s interior.

  The door opened, revealing a heavy-set woman with tangled dark hair and bloodshot eyes. Her face wore a hard, suspicious expression that changed to frightened astonishment as she recognized Granny. “Granny Karith!”

  “Of course,” Granny snapped. “Are you going to stand there all day?” She leaned heavily on her cane, and the wooden step creaked ominously.

  “Oh, uh, no, come in,” the woman said. She opened the door wider, and Granny followed her into the dim interior of the house.

  The place stank of sweat, smoke, and cheap wine; Granny’s nose wrinkled in spite of herself. The windows were partially hidden by the filthy rags of what had once been curtains. The furnishings consisted of a broken-legged chair, a pile of dirty straw in one corner, and a rickety round table holding up a litter of mismatched plates and cracked cups.

  Granny’s lips tightened in disgust. “Giresla Bennel, you know why I’ve come.”

  “N-no,” Giresla said. “I never expected—”

  “Poppycock. You’ve been afraid I’d come ever since you started dealing with Deremer Ledoro.”

  Giresla looked startled, then angry. “How did you—Jin! Jin told you, the sneaking little—”

  “Nonsense. And you’d do better to tell me about it, instead of wasting my time abusing your daughter.”

  The anger vanished suddenly, and was replaced by fear. “I didn’t mean anything,” she whined. “And it won’t do her any good; she hasn’t a drop of the old blood in her. All I wanted was a place of my own. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”

  Granny glanced around again and snorted. “It certainly isn’t. How much did you tell her?”

  A cunning look came into the woman’s eyes. “I didn’t tell her anything, Granny. Truly.”

  Granny rapped her cane sharply on the wooden floor, and the other woman jumped. “I’ve no time for this,” Granny said irritably. “I don’t care whether you spoke to her or wrote her a note or gave her your grandmother’s diary! You know what you’ve done. What was it?”