Points of Departure

by Patricia C. Wrede

  As time went on, more and more people joined the throng, though Tazli would have sworn there was no room for them. Some carried lanterns or torches; about a quarter wore outlandish costumes of one sort or another. Tazli began to feel trapped by the sheer number of merry-makers that surrounded her. She was also cold, and all too conscious of the fact that she had not eaten since mid-afternoon. Then she saw an unoccupied niche near one end of a bridge. Thankfully, she darted into it, shivering in the sharp wind that was blowing off the harbor.

  A hand fell on her arm. “What’s this?” said a deep voice, and suddenly she was surrounded by a masked group of torch-bearers. One woman wore a leopard-skin and carried a long spear in one hand and a feather in the other; beside her was a man in mud-colored garments and a hideous, wrinkle-faced mask; another man wore a robe of Liavek blue, painted with gold symbols, and a fist-sized, diamond-shaped piece of glass bound to his forehead. The man who held Tazli wore an old-fashioned long robe, also painted with wizard’s symbols. Tazli saw with a start of horror that his right arm ended in a stump; then he waved it and she realized that it was only a coating of wax and clay, covering his real hand.

  Tazli tried to hide Rikiki behind her back, but the one-handed man’s grip prevented her. The movement made him glance down; a moment later he straightened with a laugh.

  “Kosker and Pharn, it’s Ryvenna and Rikiki! That’s luck for you!” He let go of Tazli’s arm and bowed with a flourish. “Allow me to introduce my companions, madam. This”—he waved his false stump at the leopard-clad woman—“is Ibinrun, whom Ombayans name as the first woman. This,” he turned to the blue-clad man, “is Calornen, the wizard Levar. That is a troll.” The man in mud-colored garments pushed his mask forward almost into Tazli’s astonished face, and the man with the false stump thrust him back with a good-humored curse.

  “Here we have Anjahaz Girandili, the famous Tichenese caravan-master,” the man went on, indicating a woman in a flowing abjahin with a dagger stuck through her belt. He bowed with a flourish. “And I, of course, am the great wizard Marik One-Hand.”

  “You’re all people out of stories!” Tazli said, forgetting her wind-borne discomfort.

  “Clever girl! I knew you’d see it. You must join us, you really must,” the one-handed man said. “We’ll take the prize for sure.”

  “Wait a minute, Jinji,” the leopard-clad woman said. “We have opinions, too; it’s not as if you’re in charge of this group.”

  “Yeah,” said the troll. “Why should we add another person to split the prize with?”

  “If we win,” murmured the wizard Levar, but Tazli was the only one who seemed to hear him.

  “Niv’s right,” the leopard-clad woman said, nodding toward the troll.

  “We don’t have anyone from the old S’Rian stories, Elit,” the one-handed man said. “And this girl is perfect!”

  “Perfect?” Elit said in a skeptical tone. “Ryvenna was the most beautiful woman in seven cities.”

  “Don’t be so literal-minded. Besides, we need something from S’Rian. Ryvenna and Rikiki would be just the thing.” He lifted his left hand from Tazli’s arm and gestured dramatically.

  The moment her arm was freed, Tazli lifted Rikiki onto her shoulder. He was watching the costumed group with great interest, and she hoped he would have sense enough to stay quiet and perhaps hide under her hair.

  “Jinji’s got a point,” the woman in the abjahin said in a thoughtful tone. “I heard that Danesh Fels is one of the judges, and you know how he feels about his S’Rian ancestry.”

  “Where’d you hear that, Voshan?” the troll said.

  “Does it matter? The point is that with Danesh judging we’ll make a better impression if we have someone in the group who represents S’Rian.”

  “Then we’ll say that Niv is that storm-god of theirs, instead of calling him a troll,” Elit said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jinji said, waving his false stump for emphasis. “Niv’s costume is entirely wrong for the S’Rian storm-god. Besides, we can’t go improvising at this stage of the game.”

  “Then why are you so set on letting this girl in on it?” Elit snapped. “And what’s wrong with Niv’s costume, anyway?”

  “For one thing, Shissora is a snake,” the wizard Levar said dryly. “But you aren’t really considering taking this child to Ishvari’s place, are you, Jinji?”

  Jinji stared at him with a blank expression. “Whyever not?”

  Tazli had been listening to the argument with growing irritation; it was all but identical to the “discussions” her three Regents held about her plans and duties. Tazli was tired of having her decisions made by other people. “Because I don’t want to come,” she said. She lifted her chin and glared at the wizard Levar. “And I’m not a child. I’m fourteen today.” The wind made her shiver again, partly spoiling her gesture.

  “Today?” Niv said, backing away. “Jinji, I really don’t think—”

  Jinji’s eyes narrowed, and he studied Tazli speculatively. “It could be just what we need. A little extra luck…”

  “Birth luck’s too unpredictable,” Elit said. “And she’s not interested, and we’re late. Come on, Jinji, quit wasting time.”

  The group of revelers began moving off, all but the wizard Levar, who was still watching Tazli. “Hurry up, Daviros!” Voshan called. “We’ll lose you!”

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” the man called, waving them on. “I want to see this young lady on her way first.” Tazli stiffened, and Daviros bowed and added, “If she’ll permit me, that is.”

  “There isn’t time,” the woman in the abjahin said. “We’ll be late as it is.”

  “Yes, do you want us to lose our chance completely?” Elit said. “I thought you needed that prize money just as badly as the rest of us.”

  “And even if we lose, there’ll still be free food,” Niv said.

  The mention of food reminded Tazli that she had not eaten since mid-afternoon, and that she had done a great deal of running and walking since then. Rikiki seemed to have fallen asleep on her shoulder, and he had been quiet enough so far. “All right, I’ll come with you,” she said suddenly.

  Daviros looked at her in surprise. Jinji smiled broadly, and Voshan laughed. “I thought you looked hungry,” she said.

  “But, Jinji,” Niv said with an uneasy look in Tazli’s direction, “what if her birth luck—”

  “It’s her luck, not yours,” Jinji said.

  “But—”

  “Come on, come on,” Elit said, prodding Niv with the butt end of her spear. “Worry on the way, if you must.”

  As they started off again, Tazli shoved her way to a position beside Daviros. “Tell me about this prize you’re after,” she commanded.

  Daviros looked down at her with surprise, but answered readily enough. “Ishvari has decided that her place is going to be the next Cheeky’s, and to get things in motion she’s offered a prize to the group that comes to her Festival party in the best costumes. The prize will be twenty-five levars.”

  “Twenty-five levars?” Tazli said, amazed at the fuss these people were making over what seemed to her a paltry sum.

  “She got her supplier to join in,” Daviros said, mistaking the reason for her astonishment. “And the losers will all get free food.”

  Tazli blinked. “Don’t people always have food at Festival parties?”

  “Not when the party is in a tavern,” Daviros said. “I doubt that Ishvari will lose by it, though; she’s still charging for the drinks.”

  Frowning, Tazli considered the matter. It sounded a little like the shipping arrangement that that Tichenese had tried to make last year, where all Liavekan merchants would send their goods with Tichenese caravan masters in return for special treatment at the border. What was it her former Regent had said when he turned the offer down? “It is not your perquisites which interest Liavekans, but your prices. I believe the merchants are able to judge those without official interference.”
Tazli looked at Daviros. “Does Ishvari charge more on Festival night, then?” she asked.

  “Naturally.” Daviros studied her briefly, then said, “Look, I know you’re an adult if you’ve turned fourteen, but Ishvari’s place can be pretty rough at times. Try to stick close to us.”

  Tazli did not have an opportunity to reply, for they had reached their destination. Ishvari’s was a wide wooden building that looked as if it might once have been a warehouse. The lower floor had been painted, but in the darkness it was impossible to make out what the colors were. On either side of the door hung an iron ship’s lantern, spitting and struggling to get a few dim rays of light out through the unwashed surface of its glass.

  Elit pushed open the door, and a wave of noise and warm smoke spilled out into the street. Tazli heard calls of greeting and saw several mugs raised high above the heads of the crowd; then she was inside. The warmth was more than welcome, but Tazli nearly choked on the smell of mingled smoke and ale and fish and roistering humanity.

  “Stay here; I’ll go find Ishvari.” Jinji had to shout to make himself heard. Tazli felt Rikiki stir against her neck as Jinji shoved his way into the crowd and disappeared.

  “Fun place?” Rikiki’s voice said in her ear.

  “I don’t know,” Tazli answered, glad that no one was likely to hear the chipmunk over the sound of the crowd. “Be very quiet and don’t say anything where anyone else can hear you, all right?”

  “All right, nice Tazli,” Rikiki said.

  Jinji reappeared and beckoned. With some difficulty, the group followed him to the far end of the room. A bench-like wooden table had been pushed against the wall between two small doors, one marked “OUT,” the other “KEEP OUT.” A tall, angular woman with stringy hair and a stained apron stood beside the table, watching them with narrowed eyes.

  “They just finished showing the costumes, but I got Ishvari to agree to let us have a chance,” Jinji said, jerking his head in the direction of the angular woman. “Up on the stage, everybody.”

  With some difficulty, the group clambered up onto the table. Jinji positioned everyone to his satisfaction, then handed Tazli a small paper bag. “Hold this,” he said, and nodded to Ishvari.

  Ishvari put two fingers in her mouth and gave an ear-piercing whistle. The crowd quieted at once. “Last entry for the costume prize,” the woman called.

  “Sirs and madams,” Jinji cried loudly, bowing with a flourish. “Allow me to present to you Legends from Far and Near! This is Ibinrun, named by the Ombayans as the first woman, who chose the feather of luck from the gifts offered by the Mother’s servants. This is Calornen, the sole Levar to invest his luck and become a wizard. Here we have a troll, one of those invisible and malevolent creatures who torment their chosen victims both in this world and the next, or so they say. Here is Anjahaz Girandili, the Tichenese caravaneer, whose exploits in the Great Waste made her a legend in three cultures. I myself am Marik One-Hand, who destroyed the luck of seven wizards during the Saltigan wars, and this—” Jinji gestured triumphantly at Tazli, “this is Ryvenna, the wizard’s daughter, with Rikiki and her magic bag of chestnuts!”

  Tazli felt a sudden sinking feeling, but her brain would not work fast enough to tell her why. On her shoulder, Rikiki sat up. In a piercing voice that carried to the farthest corner of the room, he said, “Nuts? Nuts for Rikiki?” and dove head-first into the paper bag that Jinji had given Tazli to hold during the presentation.

  There was a moment of frozen silence, and then the room exploded in cheers and applause. Tazli stared; then she realized that everyone thought it was some kind of trick. A little of the tension went out of her shoulders. Ishvari was conferring with a small, dark man and two women in gaudy clothes whom Tazli assumed were the judges.

  Rikiki’s head poked itself out of the top of the bag. “No nuts in here!” he said indignantly.

  “Shhh!” Tazli said. “I know; it’s not my fault, Rikiki. Jinji didn’t have any nuts.”

  “Jinji not have nuts?” Rikiki said. “Poor Jinji!”

  Ishvari whistled for silence once again. “The prize for the best costumes goes to Legends Far and Near, by popular acclamation.” She poured a handful of gold coins from a small bag and showed them to the crowd, then replaced them and handed the bag to Jinji. “Next year, get here on time.”

  Rikiki turned his head and stared at the bag in Jinji’s hand. His whiskers twitched, and Tazli’s sinking feeling returned. She backed away and squatted down to slide off the table as Jinji opened the bag and prepared to count out the proper share for each member of the group. Five large pecans fell out of the bag into Jinji’s palm. Jinji’s face turned purple.

  “There!” Rikiki said happily. “Now Jinji have nuts. Rikiki fix!”

  Jinji heard him. With a roar of utter rage, he dropped the bag and pecans together and lunged at Tazli. Tazli fell off the table, banging her elbow and losing hold of the paper bag with Rikiki in it. Something wet splashed onto her arm, and a fat woman above her said angrily, “Here, now! Watch what you’re doing!” An instant later, Jinji’s hand closed on Tazli’s shoulder and shook her violently.

  “My money! What have you done with my money, you little thief?”

  “Let me go! How dare you!” Tazli was at least as furious as she was frightened. She hit out at Jinji and missed. She struck again, and found her hands full of the cloth of Jinji’s robe. A blow fell on the side of her head, and she let go of the robe. “Stop it!”

  Another blow fell. She heard other angry voices around her, and the sounds of breaking crockery. “You break it, you pay for it!” Ishvari’s voice called, clear and harsh above the tumult. Tazli raised her arm, hoping to deflect Jinji’s next blow. She was just in time. Her hand slid on wax; then she felt the bare skin of Jinji’s wrist. She grabbed it and clung in a futile attempt to stop him.

  Suddenly the arm she clung to shivered in her grasp and then collapsed into a hard, round ball. The grip on her shoulder also vanished, and Tazli fell forward onto her knees, half under the table. Dimly, she saw the crumpled folds of Jinji’s blue wizards-robe piled on the floor in front of her. The shattered remnants of his false stump lay scattered to one side; there was no other sign of Jinji himself. She heard someone gasp, “The girl’s a wizard!”, but she was too stunned to take it in.

  The folds of the robe twitched, and a small blue head appeared. “Tazli all right?” Rikiki said in a concerned tone.

  “Rikiki, what have you done?” Tazli wailed.

  “Never mind that now.” Daviros’s voice was almost in Tazli’s ear, and she jerked in surprise, banging her head against the edge of the table. “You need to get out of here, quickly. Come on.”

  Tazli scooped Rikiki up in one hand, and Daviros dragged her to her feet. Most of the crowd seemed to be fighting and throwing bottles and mugs; only a small half-circle of people near the stage-table had stopped to stare at Tazli with hard, startled eyes and murmur uneasily among themselves.

  “This way,” Daviros said, pulling Tazli toward the door marked “OUT.”

  Tazli started to object, but thought better of it. As they reached the door, the small, dark man who had been among the judges of the costume competition shoved his way to the front of the crowd. “If I might talk with you a moment—” he began.

  “Not now!” Daviros snapped, pulling the door open. He whisked Tazli into a dark hallway and hurried her down it, around a corner, and through another door. Tazli found herself standing next to a large, smelly bin of discarded fish heads and other refuse.

  “Ugh!” Tazli said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “This place is awful!”

  “Girl, that’s the least of your worries,” Daviros said grimly. “Being a wizard isn’t going to be any help to you at all if one of those characters gets a knife in you.” He nodded back the way they had come. “And none of them would think twice about it, for twenty-five levars.”

  “I’m not a wizard,” Tazli said. “But I am hungry. And—”

 
“Hush!” Daviros raised a hand and leaned toward the door they had just passed through.

  Tazli opened her mouth to object that Daviros had no right to order her around, but she closed it again without speaking. She had heard enough talk from advisors and merchants and nobles and emissaries to know when someone meant what he was saying, and Daviros had meant it about the knife. A gust of wind came down the alley, briefly replacing the smell of decaying refuse with the scent of smoke and salt water. Tazli shivered. Her Festival night was not turning out at all the way she had hoped.

  “Someone’s coming,” Daviros whispered. “Run.”

  Slipping and sliding on the damp, unpleasant surface of the alley, Tazli ran. Behind her, she heard a shout and the sounds of fighting; then she dodged around a corner and into the crowded street. She wormed her way between the people until she found herself between a chestnut-haired woman in flowing desert robes and a heavy-set man in a leather vest, both of whom were considerably taller than she. Somewhat protected from sight, she concentrated on putting as much distance as possible between herself and Ishvari’s tavern.

  Five streets and two bridges later, Tazli relaxed a little. She paused in a doorway to put Rikiki on her shoulder, and discovered that she was still holding the hard, round object she had found herself clutching when Jinji disappeared. She opened her hand to look at it, and saw a medium-sized hazelnut. It seemed to glow faintly silver in the darkness.

  “Put away,” Rikiki’s voice said in her ear.

  Tazli turned her head. The little chipmunk was trembling, his tail a rigid bar behind him, his eyes fixed on the hazelnut in her hand. “Put it away,” he repeated, and there was an unprecedented intensity in his tone of voice.