Rogue's Home

by Hilari Bell

  I sat up, scattering pelts, and Nettie’s Ma, who was crouched beside her kettle, looked up and smiled. “Decided to stay with the living, I see. Good choice.”

  I was suddenly aware of my nakedness and clutched a sheep pelt to my torso. It prickled after the rabbit fur. “Who undress—Ah, where are my clothes, Mistress?”

  Her laughter was warm and rich. “Your clothes are outside drying, for I just finished washing ’em. And I undressed you, wicked old woman that I am. But I promise you, young Sir, there’s very little I haven’t seen.”

  ’Twas no doubt true, but that didn’t stop me from blushing so hard, it warmed me better than fur and hot rocks.

  She laughed again and brought me a bowl of stew. Hunger overcame my embarrassment, though I tried to keep the pelt wrapped round me as I ate.

  “You must be hollow as a drum, but don’t make yourself sick. Your friend’s kept this long, he’ll keep a bit longer.”

  “My friend?” I asked though a mouthful of stew. It was mostly barley, and I didn’t recognize the meat.

  “He’s been walking the marish since just after dawn, looking for you.”

  “How do you know he’s looking for me?”

  “Because every few minutes he calls out, ‘Michael.’”

  The stew no longer tasted so good. “How do you know he’s a friend? There might be a number of people looking for me.”

  The creases around her eyes deepened. “I figure he’s a friend, ’cause every now and then he calls, ‘Answer me, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch.’”

  “Fisk.” My mouth stretched in a smile. “He must be frantic by now. Mistress, I need my clothes. Will you guide me to him?”

  “Aye, I’ll take you, but you can’t have your clothes—they’re wet. Finish your stew; I’ll come up with something.”

  So it came about that I went in search of Fisk wearing nothing but a few old blankets—wool, not the precious fur. The day was cold but gloriously bright, and birds sang their welcome to the sun the townsfolk had called back last night. I was glad Nettie’s Ma did the poling, for there was no way I could have assisted and kept my decency. Despite my sore wrist, and her undoubted skill, it still felt strange to sit, blanket-wrapped like a babe, while an old woman carted me about.

  Fortunately, Fisk wasn’t far off. We heard him before we saw him, and the voice that called my name was rough with shouting, smoke, and mayhap worry as well.

  I called back as soon as he came into view. He went rigid, hands lifted to shield his eyes, and I waved and called again. He sat down then, quite suddenly, right where he stood.

  By the time we drew near, he had seated himself more comfortably on a grassy mound, and his expression was sardonic. “Good morning, Noble Sir. Which do you want first, the bad news, the bad news, or the worse news?”

  His voice sounded even rougher when he spoke, and I smiled. “Let me think about it. If you come aboard, I’ll introduce you to Nettie’s Ma, the captain of this craft.”

  Fisk eyed the raft dubiously, and I remembered that he couldn’t swim. But he stepped aboard and balanced himself, at least as well as I had the first time. He carried a pack, and I reached for it eagerly. “Clothes? Bless you, Fisk!”

  “What else is a squire for? Mistress, you have my sincere thanks. I know how much looking after he needs.”

  “Squire?” Nettie’s Ma cocked her head like a curious crow.

  “He’s a knight errant. That’s why he gets into so much trouble.”

  “That’d do it.” Her eyes laughed but I stiffened, realizing for the first time that she must have seen the broken circles tattooed on my wrists. She clearly didn’t care, but I wished, quite passionately, that I could dress and hide them. Ridiculous, for on this small raft to dress to hide my wrists would reveal all the rest of me. I clutched my blanket tighter.

  “You may as well start with the worst news, for it can’t be too—Wait! Nothing’s happened to your family, has it? Worthington had them safe!”

  “No, they’re all fine, and since the house is still standing, they decided to come home today. But two men died in that fire last night.”

  A chill twisted through me. “So Mistress Weaver’s not the only one he’s killed. But how? I’d have sworn everyone got out.”

  “Most did. Jimmy and the kitchen girl cleared everyone out of the upper floors, and the fire team cleared the ground floor. These two had got hold of a jug of rum and decided to celebrate Calling Night in the traditional way. They hid themselves in a room in the cellar and got dead…” Fisk grimaced at the trap his tongue had set, but went on “…dead drunk. The smoke killed them. From the look of things, they never woke at all. Still…”

  “Yes. Our enemy has a lot to answer for.”

  “That’s what the town thinks too, except…Are you ready for the bad news now?”

  “Go ahead.” His face told me ’twas serious, despite his light tone.

  “The townsfolk don’t think it’s some mysterious arsonist. They think it’s you.”

  “But I have an alibi for Thrope’s office, and last night. Surely Jimmy…” The look on his face stopped me. “What happened to Jimmy? You said everyone got out!”

  “He did get out. Stop wiggling like that—you’re rocking the raft. The doctor says he’ll be fine. When the mob went after you, he tried to stop them, got shoved aside, and hit his head. He’s awake and alert this morning, though he’s got the mother of all headaches, but he doesn’t remember much after midday yesterday, and nothing at all of the three or four hours before the blow. The doctor says it’s often that way with head injuries, and that most of his memories will probably come back over the next few days or weeks, though probably not the time right before the accident.”

  “And what does Jimmy say about almost being dragged to his death by a couple of strangers?”

  “Not much, since he doesn’t remember it.” Fisk smiled suddenly. “He’s a bit embarrassed, to be regarded as a hero when he doesn’t remember doing anything. But you should see the way the kitchen girl looks at him.”

  I had to laugh. “He’s really all right?”

  “So the doctor says.”

  “Then the worst is that I’ve no alibi? Wait a minute what about Mistress Mapple?”

  “She could only testify as to what we did after she arrived. And we have no alibi. But that’s just the beginning. The sheriff’s looking for you.”

  I tensed, but Nettie’s Ma, who’d been listening with interest as she poled us along, snorted. “He’s welcome to try. No one finds anything in the marish if we don’t want them to.”

  “Mistress, ’tis a courageous offer, but enough men—”

  “No,” said Fisk. “She’s right. No deputy’s ever gotten anything out of the marish but fever and snake bite. And having looked for you, I’m beginning to see why. I was trying to follow the riverbank, such as it is, and I’ve no idea where I was when you found me.”

  “You weren’t far off,” Nettie’s Ma told him. “When the river wanders into the marish, it gets lost too. With folk, depends on what they’ve done. Some we help. Some we even let stay. The others find their way out and circle around to the Fallon Road. Or they don’t.” There was no change in her serenity as she said it.

  “So why are you helping me?” I held out my wrists so the sun shone on the tattoos.

  “Those are just marks, boy. One fool judicar’s opinion. I make my own judgments.”

  “And very well, too,” said Fisk cheerfully. “But how did you find him? How did you even know to look?”

  I hadn’t thought to ask those questions, and the gaze I turned to her was full of wonder.

  She laughed. “No, I’m no Savant. I didn’t find him, Dibby did. He was out gathering rafts—the riverburning keeps the marish in firewood for half a year, for the frames hardly burn at all. He brought you to me because my house was closest, and you were so cold it was a near thing.”

  It sounded simple, but I still wondered.

  “All things consider
ed,” I said to Fisk, “I’m surprised Sheriff Potter didn’t hold you.”

  “I think he thought about it, but he decided to leave me at large so I could lead him to you. There was a very healthy beggar sleeping by the back gate, and the street sweeper has Max’s street just about spotless.”

  “Where are they now?” I asked with some foreboding.

  “Watching the house,” said Fisk. “Don’t worry, Noble Sir, I was dodging deputies when you were in the schoolroom. They think taking those red cloaks off makes them invisible. The reward bothers me more.”

  “Reward?” I began to feel beleaguered.

  “For your apprehension. The city, at the judicary’s request, put up two hundred gold roundels. The Merchants’ Guild, out of civic concern, added another two hundred, and Yorick Thrope threw in fifty for spite. Not bad, for an amateur.”

  “I’m flattered. I suppose it’s dead or alive?”

  “The writ doesn’t say. Why bother? You’re unredeemed—no need for a hearing. But rumor has it you’re a very dangerous man, and dead would be safer. And that’s enough money to ensure there’ll be more than deputies hunting the marish.”

  Nettie’s Ma tsked. “Poor dears. They’ll get all muddy.”

  Fisk laughed, but I didn’t. “I have to go. I won’t bring danger here.” I should never have followed Fisk in the first place. I had wanted to help the Maxwells, to prove that even unredeemed I might still be of use in the world. Now I saw that was impossible, that no one who cared for me could remain untouched by the disgrace that marked me. I had to leave. But go where? Despair clutched my heart.

  Nettie’s Ma started to protest, then paused. “If you have to go, then you may. But I promise no one will find you here, for even magica hounds can’t track through water for more than a hundred feet or so. At least stay till the search has stopped.”

  “And until I can get you a disguise,” said Fisk. “And some boots. We also need to agree on a place to meet. Fallon perhaps? I can elude the deputies myself, but it’ll be harder to get Chanticleer and Tipple past them.”

  I opened my mouth to say I’d leave the horses…and couldn’t say it. Chant and Tipple where the only friends who wouldn’t be condemned just for traveling with me, and Fisk, curse him, knows my weaknesses.

  “Then it’s settled.” His eyes gleamed at having out-maneuvered me. “You’ll stay here till it’s safe to leave. I’ll come again this afternoon with a disguise, and we’ll get you ready for the road.”

  I wondered what ruse he would come up with next, to keep me here till he could clear Max, for Fisk was too loyal to abandon either his family or me. Whatever it was, I couldn’t allow it to succeed—yet even as I resolved to flee, a part of my heart rebelled. My presence had brought danger with it, but I had assisted with the investigation. If Maxwell’s enemy hadn’t used my status against us so cleverly, I could have helped them…just like a real knight errant.

  I was pleased to be clothed once more, though the slippers Fisk had brought were far less sturdy than my lost boots. Nettie’s Ma gave Fisk breakfast, then carried him off to a place where he could escape the watery maze. She said she’d return for him that afternoon, after she’d gathered some firewood for herself.

  Fisk eyed me strangely when I didn’t volunteer to help her, and my claim to be too weary wasn’t far from true. But there was something I needed to do more than resting, or working at a debt that could never be wholly repaid.

  I’d intended to start as soon as the raft vanished, but when I returned to the cottage the weariness I’d feigned claimed me, and I slept for several hours. Then I made another stew for dinner, and biscuits as well, for I hated to be completely useless.

  Nettie’s Ma had a coal box. I raked a bit of the hearth fire into it, gathered up a few bricks of the non-magica peat and an armload of wood from the pile out back, and set off over the chain of small hillocks behind the house. I also carried a plain clay cup.

  It didn’t take long to find a sheltered hollow with a pond in its bottom. I pulled the grass from a small ring of earth and built my fire.

  It took some time to burn down to the bed of embers I needed. I took a few steps to the pond and sank the cup into the tangled grass base first, so the clear surface water flowed over the rim. ‘Twas cold and wet, as water should be.

  I sat before my fire pit and tossed some onto the coals. A hiss, a puff of stinking steam, and after a moment the coals began to brighten. I hadn’t used much.

  I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the unsteady pounding of my heart, and sought within me for magic. It was there, coiled in my guts like a snake. I commanded it to touch the water, and nothing happened. I willed it. Nothing. But last night…

  I took a deep breath and remembered—the fire flowing over the walls, its heat on my skin, the raw, steamy air that came though the cloth over my mouth. I needed a weapon, and water was my weapon. I’d wanted it to work, to eat the fire, to slow it, crush it, wet it, so the old men would have time to flee their beds. I’d wanted it, and now, at the memory of that fierce desire, the magic stirred.

  My heart clenched. My only desire now was to run away and forget the whole thing. The magic settled back into itself. I opened my eyes, swore, then began to laugh.

  It took half a dozen attempts, but finally, in answer to my fearful wanting, the magic crept down my arms to the water in my hands, which I wanted to be more, to be stronger, to become a weapon against the fire. The water in the cup began to glow.

  ’Twas hard to see in the sunlight, but I knew what I was looking for. I quelled my shock, letting the magic flood into it till it seemed to stop of its own accord.

  I let the magic retreat, thankfully, then took the glowing water and cast a bit of it on the embers. A hiss, a puff of steam, and the embers blackened. And stayed black. And stayed.

  “Interesting,” said Fisk’s voice behind me.

  I must have jumped a foot into the air. The cup flew up and would have spilled if Fisk hadn’t leapt to catch it.

  “Sorry.” He gazed at the water in fascination. He didn’t look sorry. “Is it still…”

  “Yes,” I said shortly. Even in his hands the water glowed, as nothing but the plants and animals the Gods have Gifted should glow, as no normal person should be able to see.

  My stomach heaved, and I scrambled away and was thoroughly sick. Fisk, for once, had the tact to leave me alone. After a few moments I wiped my mouth and returned to the fire pit. Fisk had poured a long S in the embers, and ’twas still damp and dark. So was the spot on which I’d poured the magica water several minutes ago. I couldn’t see the place I’d drenched with ordinary water at all.

  “I’ve never heard of magica water,” Fisk said. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “There shouldn’t be,” I said, trying not to let him see that I was shaking.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? What do you mean, why not?”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t there be such a thing as magica water?”

  “Because it’s unnatural! Magic is the province of nature, given by the Gods only to plants, animals, and those poor folk who’ve little more wit than animals. And them it slays before too long. It—”

  “Do you think it’ll harm you?” Fisk sounded serious but not alarmed. The knot in my stomach began to relax.

  “I don’t know. How can I? This didn’t come from the Gods, Fisk, it came—”

  “From Lady Ceciel’s potions, just as she hoped. I knew she was a clever bitch. Was it like this from the start?”

  So I told him the secret I’d kept so many months, of my fear when I’d realized that I could see what others only sensed with touch, and finally of last night, when a monster reared up within me to fill bucket after bucket with eerie light and ate the fire before my eyes. I was still trembling when I finished, but it felt good to say it, to share the horror.

  Fisk didn’t look horrified. “So what magic does with water is to…to enhance its nature. Like it does with pla
nts and animals. Magic just makes water more itself, right?”

  “So it seems, but I can’t say for certain. It might turn oxen into toads, for all I know.”

  “Then I probably shouldn’t taste it?”

  “Don’t you dare! It might kill you. It might change you into some sort of unnatural freak, like me.”

  “Humph. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Have you thought about this?” He sounded critical, curse him.

  “I’ve thought of little else,” I snarled. “How could I—”

  “I said thought, not felt. Have you thought about it?”

  “What’s to think about? It is what it is.”

  Fisk rolled his eyes. “Didn’t they teach logic in that university of yours? Or weren’t you paying attention that day? You say you’re an unnatural freak. Anything made by man is unnatural. A house is unnatural. A blanket is unnatural. A sword is unnatural, and it can kill. Those things don’t frighten you.”

  “No, but—”

  “And ‘freak’ is just an unkind way of saying someone is different. In case you haven’t noticed, everyone is different. I learned to read when I was four, so I’m a freak. Judith is tall, so she’s a freak. Lissy is pretty, so she’s a fre—”

  “And you think working magic is no different?”

  “Well it is, in that most of the things that folks call freakish are, in fact, natural.”

  I wondered if Fisk could hear his scholarly father in his voice as clearly as I could.

  “Your…ability is not from nature but manmade,” he went on. “Like a house, or a blanket, or any other tool.”

  “You think this is a tool? Something to use?”

  “Why not? You used it very effectively last night. Though I doubt that’ll come up much. How often do you really need to make water wetter?”

  My lips twitched. “I suppose it’s generally wet enough. I can’t use this, Fisk. ’Twould be…’twould be monstrous. Unfair to those who can’t.”

  “Most people can’t read when they’re four years old, but that never stopped me. A man on his own, Noble Sir, needs all the tools he can lay his hands on. But it’s your choice.”