by Sharon Green
“Just follow us to th’ guard post, boy,” the coach driver said as he and his assistant carried the trunk past Clarion on his right. “They’ll get you straightened out, or at least squared away.”
The other man carrying the trunk guffawed at something he considered amusing, but Clarion couldn’t see the joke. The commoners had been rude to him at every opportunity, usually in some indirect way that Clarion hadn’t been able to protest, and he was heartily sick of it. They must have been related to his mother’s house servants in some manner, but the time of indignity was finally over. At least that was one benefit in being here: he would never have to see those miserable commoners again. The thought of that let Clarion smile as he strolled after the two over to the guard post.
“This here one’s yours,” the driver said to one of the guardsmen before setting Clarion’s trunk down just beyond the men and inside the gate. “You boys have yourselves a real nice day.”
And then the men were heading back to their coach, depriving Clarion even of the pleasure of refusing to tip them! That entire situation had long since turned intolerable, but even the intolerable should have had limits.
“Let’s see your ticket, friend,” one of the guardsmen said, taking Clarion’s attention. The hand he held out was large and meaty and blunt-fingered, clearly marking another member of the lower classes.
“Ticket?” Clarion echoed, thoroughly confused. “No one told me I needed a ticket to enter here. Are you trying to charge me for something I have no real need of, my good man? If so, then—”
“Your coach ticket,” the guardsman interrupted with what looked suspiciously like a swallowed sigh. “I need to see the coach ticket you used to get here.”
Clarion frowned in thought, trying to remember what he’d done with the remnants of the coach ticket. It wasn’t his habit to collect keepsakes even of pleasant occasions, so there was an excellent chance that he’d thrown the useless stub away. Searching his coat pockets was proving fruitless, but just as he was about to say so, his fingers finally brushed the thing. It was something of a surprise that he hadn’t thrown it away, but at least it saved him from having to order the guardsmen to overlook the stub’s absence.
“Okay,” the guardsman grunted after inspecting the stub, now offering the useless thing back. “Take this inside to the archway just to the left of the one directly behind this post. When you give it to them, they’ll tell you what to do next.”
“Who do you mean to have carry my trunk?” Clarion asked as he reluctantly took back the ticket stub. “Since there doesn’t appear to be anyone else around, you and your companion will probably have to—”
“The trunk will be fine right where it is,” the man interrupted again, now appearing fractionally more impatient. “We’re not about to let anyone walk off with it, and you can reclaim it once you come out again. Dragging it along with you would be a waste of time and effort.”
Clarion would have enjoyed arguing that opinion, but it had become obvious that he would have to drag the trunk if he took it with him. These two oafs were clearly refusing to carry it for him, so it was either leave the trunk here or look a fool dragging it behind him. So Clarion swallowed what he would have said under other circumstances, nodded curtly, then took himself through the gate the two men guarded.
Inside was one of those would-be grand administrative buildings one could find in various parts of the city, but this one lacked the doors of the last one Clarion had seen. The structure had nothing but simple archways, and the one he’d been told to use was the next one to the left of the archway straight ahead. Clarion had the urge to pick an archway at random and use that instead, but being frivolous would only delay his reaching Mother’s house and some true comfort. He therefore strode to the proper entrance and walked inside.
Just to the right of the archway was a table with a man behind it, and when Clarion stopped in front of the table the man looked up.
“I’m told you’re to be given this thing,” Clarion said to him, handing over the ticket stub. “Once you’ve done whatever it is you do with it, I’ll require two strong men to carry my trunk, and the summoning of a public carriage to take me to my house.”
“What you’ll require is putting on this identity tag as soon as I finish filling it out,” the man countered dryly without looking up from the rectangle of heavy paper he wrote on. “After that you’ll follow the guide provided you to the proper building, and then the people inside will tell you what you’ll require next. Do you understand that?”
Clarion’s jaws were clamped together in anger when the man glanced up at him, but apparently that was enough of an answer to satisfy the lout. He continued writing for another moment, attached a thin chain to the paper when he was through, then handed the whole thing over. Clarion disliked putting on the foolish thing, especially since he had to remove his hat to do it, but better that than dignifying the man’s remarks with words. When the thing hung around Clarion’s neck the man silently handed over a small sheaf of papers, then gestured to one of two people who had sat a short distance away.
“This is Fellar, and he’ll take you to where you have to go,” the man behind the table said. “Give them that set of papers when you get there, and they’ll tell you what to do next.”
“You’re repeating yourself,” Clarion commented in as offhand a manner as he could manage while turning away from the man. “That’s one of the first signs of old age, I’m told. Do have a nice day.”
And with that he walked off after the man Fellar, who was already heading for the far side of the building. Nothing in the way of a countering comment was shouted after him, which made Clarion feel inexplicably good. He’d never before found it possible to use that smooth but distant and superior tone he admired so much, but this time it had come flowing out as if he’d used it all his life. The general situation was still intolerable, but apparently even the intolerable had its bright side.
Fellar moved at a brisk pace ahead of Clarion, but Clarion made no effort to hurry and catch up as he might have done earlier. He’d gotten to Gan Garee completely on his own without the least difficulty, and soon he would be free of these stupid people and their nonsensical requirements. With that in view he had no reason to put himself out hurrying after some nobody who was there for no other reason than to guide him. If the man found himself too far ahead of Clarion, he’d have to stop and wait.
Which was exactly what happened. Clarion reached the archway in the far side of the building which Fellar had disappeared through a pair of moments earlier, and stepped through himself to find the man waiting only a short distance ahead on the stone approach. Beyond him was a wide circle of rather large, odd buildings, and it took Clarion a moment to realize they were made of resin. Why that would be so he had no idea, but it wasn’t possible to ask about them. That foolish guide had taken off again, and all Clarion could do was follow.
The man Fellar circled to the left, and eventually stopped in front of one of the buildings. Clarion strolled up to it a moment later, ignoring the fleeting expression of annoyance on the man’s face.
“This is where you hafta go,” Fellar said, jerking a thumb at the building before holding out his hand. He was obviously asking for a tip, something not quite unexpected. Clarion smiled faintly as he handed over the two coppers he’d already taken out of his pocket, then he entered the building without a backward glance.
The symbol for Air magic had been next to the door on the outside of the building, but the first inner room was perfectly ordinary. Soft lamps lit cream-white walls of resin, garish hangings covered various doorways, and another table held another man sitting behind it. This man was fractionally younger than the one in the other building, and he looked up at Clarion with a neutral smile.
“I was told these are to be given to you,” Clarion said as he handed over the small sheaf of papers he’d been carrying. “Now I’d like to be told how soon I’ll be free to go home for a bit of long-denied rest.”
Arguing would have been a waste of time, so Clarion swallowed his annoyance and simply walked to the indicated doorway. He stepped through to find three people in an alcove to the left, two women and a man. All three rose to their feet at his appearance, and the man stepped forward.
“Follow me, please,” he said, then began to lead the way up the hall they stood in. But at least this new guide moved slowly enough to be followed easily and looked back to be sure his charge was with him, so again Clarion made no protest. He followed the man while the two women followed him, and in a moment they reached a closed door.
“Just make yourself as comfortable as possible in here, and we’ll be right with you,” the man said, pushing open the door with very little effort. Clarion sniffed to show his displeasure, but still stepped inside to look around. A bare room of resin it was, lit by lamps hidden behind windows of clear resin high in the walls, with no furniture but a single low stool. Clarion turned to demand what sort of joke that was supposed to be, but the man was gone behind the door which had silently closed.
“This is far too much,” Clarion muttered in instantly increased annoyance. His limit for accepting the unacceptable had now been reached, and he would stand for no more. He stepped back to the door, intending to throw it open and march out to confront the fools, but there was nothing on the inside of the door to grasp. And it was closed so tightly the fitting of door and jamb seemed almost seamless, giving Clarion the fleeting impression it was also sealed.
“What is going on here?” he demanded aloud, turning back to the rest of the room to confirm his impression that there was no other door. His question had been rhetorical, but a moment later he got an answer anyway. A scraping noise from above made him look up to see that a small door had been opened in the wall well above his head, and the man who had led him to that room now looked out.
“Your first and possibly last test is now before you,” the man told him solemnly.“You must find a way out of the dilemma you will soon be presented with, otherwise you will die. Only you can save yourself, and if you don’t accomplish it, no one will do it for you. Good luck or goodbye.”
Clarion was so appalled, the man had pulled back and pushed closed the small door before Clarion had gathered his wits together enough to speak. By then it was too late, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Any demand for further explanations would probably have been ignored, and even if they’d been given, Clarion would certainly have had trouble understanding. Never before had his life been threatened, and he couldn’t believe it was happening now. The man must have been joking, if not simply lying…
But that was when Clarion became aware of something else that had never happened. The air in the room… Although he no longer consciously noticed it, he was always aware of the air in any place he happened to be. The pressure and shape of it changed according to the elevation of the place where it was, but the volume of it had never varied. Now… Now the volume in that room was changing and lowering, as if someone or something slowly drew out the air and refused to allow it to flow back in. If something wasn’t done, he would eventually lack enough to breathe!
The shock of that reached Clarion more directly than any words could have. The man hadn’t been joking or lying; Clarion’s life was in danger! His skill was with Air magic, but if someone didn’t do something quickly, he’d have nothing left to work magic with.
No, not someone, me, Clarion thought with fear clutching at his heart. He took off his hat, intending to put it carefully on the stool, but simply dropped it to the floor instead. He was faced with the need to save himself, and the preservation of a hat came a long way down the list of what had to be done first. But what could he do? What was there to do?
The answer to that came quickly, as though part of his mind had waited all his life to begin functioning. The first thing he had to do was keep from losing any more air, and stretching out the fingers of his ability soon found the place where the air was being drawn out. He thickened the air at that point to keep it from flowing through the set of tiny holes in the wall, and the stratagem worked perfectly. No more air was drawn out through those holes, but that was when he became aware of the second set.
A number of frantic minutes went by while Clarion located one set of holes after the other, and once he’d found them all, the fright began to touch him again. There were almost a dozen sets, and if he took his attention from any of them, he would begin to lose air again. Which meant he had to keep them sealed, but he also had to have enough of his ability free to search for a way out of that room.
It had become perfectly clear that only his talent would get him out that horrible situation, so he had to do two things at once. Or maybe three. Clarion wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, suddenly aware of how hard he was breathing. The air around him had grown just a little too thin for his lungs to work without effort, so he’d have to bring down what air there was up near the ceiling. It did him no good there, but gathering it closer to his face produced even more sweat. He now worked harder than he ever had in his life, but it still wasn’t enough.
For he still had no way out of that place, except for the wild idea he’d gotten in passing. The small door his guide to the room had looked out of; it had closed inwardly, so it ought to be possible to push it open from his side. The only problem with that idea was how high the small door was, more than six feet higher than the top of his head. Standing on the stool would be a waste of time, but what else could he stand on?
And how long would it be before his strength gave out, bringing an abrupt end to his life? Clarion tangled his fingers in his hair, feeling the fear inside him grow stronger. He had to find a way out of there, but how? How? How…?
CHAPTER NINE
I was given a very early appointment at the testing center, just past daybreak, in fact, but that wasn’t a problem. I didn’t get much sleep the night before anyway, and finally gave up trying. Getting up and dressed and simply waiting while everyone else slept was much easier, and had the benefit of letting me be sure I wouldn’t end up late.
I had no real appetite for breakfast but I ate it anyway, stuffing down every last crumb without tasting any of it. I’d heard that the first test would be the hardest, and applicants needed all their strength to pass it. I had to pass it, and was prepared to do anything I had to to make that happen.
And I’d also picked up a very interesting point. Housing in Gan Garee is usually difficult to find for transients, but right now, with so many competitors around, it had become impossible. For that reason, any large residence that took in applicants as roomers during this time of testing enjoyed a very special status, like being immune to court actions which would change its ownership. I’d registered my house for that purpose just the day before, and now should be able to concentrate on the test without being distracted.
Should be able to. I sighed at that thought as the public carriage took me toward the testing center, the city just beginning to wake up all around us. At the moment all I could concentrate on was the knot of fear in my middle, which twisted and tightened with every breath I took. My life and sanity depended on my passing that test, and determination isn’t quite the same as confidence.
I’d been given a small card along with the appointment time and that card got me past the guards and through the outer wall. I’d heard that people of lesser ability were always trying to sneak in to take one of the tests, most of them being convinced that their evaluations had been wrong and they did have the potential to reach High if only they were given the chance to try. I could understand that outlook all too easily, but although I sympathized with those poor unfortunates
I didn’t think much of their intelligence. Even marginal talents were sent for testing, just to be on the safe side, so misevaluations weren’t very likely.
There weren’t many people around at that early hour of the morning, and the coolness of the air made me glad I wore a long-sleeved dress. I’d been directed to a particular archway into the building, and when I stepped through it I saw a man to the right, sitting behind a table. Even as I watched he patted back a yawn, and I knew exactly how he felt.
“Good morning, young lady,” he said pleasantly enough when I stopped in front of his table. “Since you’re here this early you must live in the city, so I’ll ask for your appointment card rather than your ticket stub.”
“Don’t applicants from the provinces ever get here this early?” I asked as I handed over the card, trying to divert myself just a little. If I didn’t calm down, I’d probably end up exploding.
“Applicants from the provinces have their journeys here timed very carefully,” he answered, digging through a box of papers before pulling out a set of them. “They arrive sometime between just before noon and midafternoon, and they’re brought directly here. No sense in turning ’em loose in the city to get into mischief before they have the chance to test.”
He flashed me another neutral smile, then gave all his attention to writing on a larger card than the one I’d given. He was being very polite and pleasantly distant, but I knew it wasn’t simply good manners making him act like that. The people who came here to test for High were all strong Middles, meaning they were nobody you wanted to get angry at you. It might be against the law for us to use our talents against ordinary people, but that doesn’t mean it never happens. If a drowned body is pulled out of the bay, it’s almost impossible for the investigators to determine if that person drowned in the bay, or because of someone with a Water talent.
