by A J Witt
They came upon an open square, and Kyran turned to his older brother. “Why am I, of all people, going?” he whispered.
“It’s what you were told to do.”
“Yeah, whatever.” The younger Adept pulled from his pocket a small wrapped package. “I’m supposed to give the lord this stupid thing.”
“What’s that?” Edvon asked.
“No idea, Marrek handed it to me this morning.”
“You saw the preceptor this morning?”
“Yeah, right before you showed up.”
“Did he … did he say anything?”
“Regarding?”
“Umm …”
“What do you mean? Obviously, he did. He told me to give this package to the Noble. What’s wrong with you?”
Kyran turned away, annoyed, and Edvon breathed a sigh of relief, as Marrek had urged him not to mention the reference to their father.
The Adepts crossed a square, launching themselves into another alley. They walked in silence, Elias laboring to keep up with the siblings’ long strides. As they traveled further east, Phaidros adopted a more commercial feel. With the residential districts behind them, the group made its way through street bazaars that had cropped up in recent years and become the ultimate destination to purchase Source-powered technologies. The market’s proximity to the majestic Albai Bridge made it accessible to all residents of the capital, and because it was still within the limits of West Phaidros, merchants could confidently avoid any Temple persecution. Citizens of every class were bartering a variety of items with merchants, from household appliances to trinkets and decorations. A handful of Overseers in their conspicuous white robes haggled with shopkeepers.
Kyran watched as one agreed to buy a self-vacuuming Source-powered cleaner. Hypocrite. Wipe your own floors.
“Hey mister!” A group of children was pointing at a small widget that had collided with Kyran’s feet. “Pass it back here!”
The Adept picked up the little toy and flung it back in their direction. It hovered through the air, glowing. As it was about to reach the children, the toy shook and crashed into the ground. The small reserve of Source energy had emptied. Time to replenish.
“Kyran!”
Elias and Edvon were waiting for him a block away. He raced toward them and felt his heart leap at the sight of the Albai Bridge. It was swarming with people traveling in both directions, a chaotic mass of bodies and fast-moving SPCs that flowed in harmony. The Apex rose high in the background, and Kyran realized he had never seen it from so close.
“We need to get to the other side,” said Elias.
The brothers stepped out of West Phaidros for the first time in their lives.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Soothing sounds drifted from the music maker, floating around the lounge. They eased their way across the striped rugs, twirling around the plush sofas and meandering up the red velvet curtains before teasing their way through the elegant tables and glasses filled with rare liquor. Ending their pleasant stroll in the musky air, they penetrated many ears in the room, loosening up well-dressed spectators and making them smile. The player could sense this effect and drew from it, using his delicate fingers to produce a stream of tranquil, down-tempo music. He was hunched over, sleeves rolled and glasses almost tumbling off the bridge of his nose. Occasionally, he would look toward center stage, making sure his notes remained in sync with the main act.
“Wait, it’s right here!” exclaimed a performer, the taller of the two. He wore tight pants over his long legs, a tailored coat around his broad shoulders, and a buzz cut uncommon in a capital whose citizens liked to showcase their flowing locks.
The music stopped, and a murmur of delight ran through the audience, punctuated by a few claps. The tall performer returned to a woman her shiny necklace, then beckoned her to leave the stage. “And that’s why you never trust an Adept with anything valuable.” The crowd laughed. “Or with your lady,” he added, winking.
The laughter continued as the second performer smiled at the volunteer and blew her a kiss. His short and portly physique juxtaposed his partner’s, and a large mustache sat on his upper lip. It was black and twirled upward at both ends.
“Because I don’t exactly adhere to the Recital Supreme, if you catch my drift,” the taller performer announced. He was leaning over, his hand cupped around his mouth as if confessing a secret, a subtle bit of acting that earned him more chuckles. But Pluto was getting weary. They were close to the last act, around the time he felt like jumping off the stage, walking up to the nearest Noble, and punching him in the face. He sensed a nudge from behind. Joss was his best friend, never mind the second half to their two-man act. Never uttering a word, he often expressed himself through body contact or hand gestures. And Pluto had grown to learn a nudge in the back meant he was losing focus. He watched as Joss pointed at another volunteer, waving him up to the stage for a trick they had practiced hundreds of times since their days together at the Academy. “What’s your name, sir?” Pluto asked.
“Romon.”
“Romon, if I could guess in which hand you’re holding a coin behind your back, would you call that impressive?”
“No, umm … I think that would just be luck.”
“What if I did it twice?”
Unsure of what to say, Romon turned to the audience for support. “Uh … I’d say it would still be luck.”
“And what if I did it ten times in a row?”
There were gasps of disbelief.
“That would be pretty impressive,” admitted Romon.
“Go ahead then, put your arms behind your back and place this coin into either hand.” Once the volunteer had completed the instructions, Pluto beckoned him to hold forward both his closed fists. “The coin is in your right hand,” he called out. A couple of tentative claps came from the audience as Romon revealed the coin. “Again!” shouted Pluto. The volunteer echoed the movement, and once more, the performer guessed the correct hand. “Again! Again! Again!” Pluto never failed to pick the correct hand. Audience members were now standing, disregarding their initial skepticism and holding their breaths in anticipation.
“Again!” someone shouted.
In frustration, Romon brought the coin behind his back and endeavored to trick the magician just once. Pluto sighed as he watched the shuffling hands through a mirror concealed in the stool placed behind the participant.
“I think the coin is in your left hand … but,” Pluto paused for maximum effect. “Before we check …”
Joss wobbled over to Romon, reaching into the volunteer’s vest pocket and pulling out a paper. He took his time unfolding it, as the suspense in the hall grew.
“Well, this is very interesting,” announced Pluto.
“What?” an audience member cried out.
“This paper Joss just found in Romon’s coat tracked exactly what happened here.” Pluto held it up for everyone to see, then read the big black letters. “Right, right, left, right, right, left, left, right, left, left.”
When Romon displayed the coin, a collective glee overcame the spectators. They cheered and whistled as the performers bowed. Joss struggled to keep the other forty papers safely tucked in the pockets of his coat.
“And now, for our grand finale.” A curtain lifted behind them, revealing three small tables, each with a chair pulled up to it. Off to the right, the audience could see three plates covered by stainless-steel domes. “For this act, we’ll need yet another volunteer.” He scanned the crowd and chose a man who started making his way to the stage. “No, wait. You can assist us better from where you are.”
“Umm … okay.” The new volunteer took a few steps backward.
“And your name?”
“Marvis.”
“What you can do for us, Marvis, is pick three random members from the audience here today.”
“Okay. You … you … and you,” the volunteer said, pointing his long index finger.
Three Noble-looking men rose to t
heir feet.
“Alright gentlemen, come on up here. And what are your names? Clasius … Ruan … and Ziatte. Excellent.” They were grouped on the side of the stage, and Pluto turned to Marvis. “In my hand here, I have three envelopes. One red, one blue, one yellow. You tell me which one to give to each of these gentlemen.”
“Uh … sure.” Marvis scratched his gray beard. “How about the red one to Ziatte. Umm … I think the blue one should go to … what was your name again?”
“Ruan.”
“The blue to Ruan, then. And that leaves the yellow one for Clasius.” Pluto distributed the envelopes. “Marvis, now please assign a table to each of these gentlemen. As you can see, each table has a little card on it with a number. Number one on the left, number two in the middle, and number three on the right. So what’s your choice?”
“Well, this is fun,” said Marvis, getting a laugh from the other audience members. “Let’s put Clasius at table two, Ziatte table one, and …”
“And,” Pluto interjected, turning to Ruan. “I think you get the drill, no?”
The three volunteers sat down at their respective tables, and Joss picked up the first plate.
“Marvis, to which table should Joss bring this?” asked Pluto.
“Umm … well, how about table … uh, table three.”
“And that one?”
Joss had already set the covered plate in front of Ruan and gone back for another.
“Table number one.”
“Are you sure?” Pluto prodded
“Actually, change it to number two.”
“That’s what I thought. Don’t you worry, Ziatte, we still have one last plate for you.”
Joss brought it over and waited near the tables while Pluto stepped off to the side. “Now gentlemen, I’d like you to open those envelopes and read them so everyone can hear what they say.”
Ziatte was the first to act. “Sitting at table number one, someone named Ziatte will be eating baked geega with rice.”
Joss removed the cover form the plate, and the crowd gasped.
“And you?” Pluto asked Clasius.
“Sitting at table number two, someone named Clasius will be eating a delicious tart.” He looked down in shock as Joss uncovered a fruit-filled pastry.
“Dig in, my friend!” urged Pluto.
The audience was too shocked to laugh.
“Sitting at table number three,” said Ruan. He stopped and turned to the crowd.
“Come on, read it already!” someone demanded.
“Someone named Ruan will be eating a vegetable soup.”
Pluto unveiled the meal. “We would have gotten you grilled balbak, but the kitchen boy burned it all.”
The standing ovation lasted several minutes. Instead of relishing the moment, the performer found it irritating, only thinking of the pay waiting backstage. With one final bow, he followed Joss behind the curtain.
“How about some enthusiasm, maybe an encore, huh?” asked Slivar, the performance hall’s manager.
“Don’t you hear that clapping?” fired back Pluto.
“I don’t care. You looked like a Source-powered machine out there.”
“A Source-powered machine who made you lots of ticket sales.”
“Doesn’t matter, that sort of behavior won’t be tolerated in this venue.”
“Why don’t you just give us our money then, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Fine.” The manager pulled from his pocket a small cloth sachet filled with coins and tossed it to Joss. “Take it. But if that ever happens again, it’s the last one you’ll see.”
“And I’ll be having my share of that before you spend it at the smoking lounges.” Marvis walked up, still struggling to unglue the fake beard he was wearing.
“Gods,” sighed Pluto.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
“I hate paying you.”
Marvis held out his hand. “Don’t care. Without me, the tricks don’t work.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Pluto dumped four coins into the mole’s outstretched palm.
“You know, it’s funny you fellas don’t use your magic for those tricks.”
“Idiot. They’d see our eyes shine if we did, wouldn’t they?” The two Adepts walked toward the exit and stepped into a blinding sun. Pluto hated the matinee shows. “Lucky Roach?” Joss winked with enthusiasm.
As they left, a pretty woman accompanied by a strapping young lord came around the corner. “Excuse me,” she said.
“What?”
The pair was taken aback by the patent annoyance in Pluto’s voice. “Could you tell us how you did the trick with the disappearing coin?”
“Sure, do you have a coin?”
“Yes, right here.” The Noble pulled a solid gold piece from his vest and handed it to Pluto.
The magician smiled and pocketed the coin. “There, now it vanished.” He spun around, leaving the dismayed young couple behind. Joss chuckled. After crossing through several squares and streets, the companions arrived at their destination. Pluto entered the Lucky Roach, grimacing as he caught a whiff of musty air. The ground floor of the establishment disgusted him, and he hated walking through it.
“We have a table in the back, sir,” said a tired waitress. She had materialized out of thin air and was crowding them into the wall. “And what will it be today? I’ll get your order started.”
Pluto, still irritated, was eager to answer. “I’ll have two eggs, runny on top and burnt on the bottom, five strips of balbak, well done on one end and still raw on the other, a stale piece of bread, and a lukewarm glass of water.”
“Hey!” the waitress exclaimed. “We don’t serve that stuff here.”
“Funny. That’s what I had yesterday.”
Offended, the young woman strutted away.
“Hmff.” Joss grabbed his mustache, twirling it between his thumb and index finger.
“Come on, it was funny.”
They made their way through the busy eatery to the back where a colossal man sat in a chair, picking at his fingernails with a shard of metal. He looked up, total apathy gracing his enormous face. The man brought his attention back to his nails, giving them in the process a slight nod. The two performers shuffled around, turning the corner to a dead end where rungs of a ladder had been fixed into the wall. They led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Pluto clambered up, pushed the hatch, and disappeared through it. Taking a second to draw in the fresh air, he turned around to give Joss a hand.
“It’s like emerging into a wonderland, my friend.”
They were standing on a rooftop terrace, one of Phaidros’s many well-hidden smoking lounges. Patrons could be seen chatting, relaxing, and partaking in the prohibited activity. A variety of potted leafy plants gave off the aura of a small garden, with an overhanging lattice and vines growing all around. The vegetation embellished as well as concealed the Lucky Roach’s secret business, since the Noble Assembly had yet to recognize the legality of such establishments. The hypocrisy was evident, as everyone knew they existed, and most lords and ladies joined in the fun. Pluto and Joss walked toward an elevated bar at the far end of the terrace, giving an occasional thumbs up to familiar faces on the way over.
“And what will it be today, gentlemen?” inquired the convivial barman.
“Anything new?”
“Same as yesterday, I’m afraid. New shipments coming in the morning.” As he spoke, the man pulled from behind the counter several terra-cotta plates containing different strains of herbs.
Joss pinched a bit of each one, smelling the various options with long and exaggerated sniffs. After a moment, he pointed at one dish. “I’m pretty sure you picked the same thing yesterday,” muttered Pluto. Joss shrugged. “And the day before.” Joss rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. We’ll take a pouch.” Joss grinned, and Pluto handed the barman several of the coins they had recently gained. The two performers then plopped themselves down on one of the pillow-top benches, and Joss pulled from his inside
vest pocket a little glass pipe. In one effortless motion, he packed some of the herbs into it and cracked a match, inhaling deeply and passing the pipe. As the euphoric sensation coursed through his body, Joss hummed. He surveyed the terrace while Pluto coughed beside him. That’s when the mustached performer spotted her, and he grabbed his friend’s elbow. “I know, I know. I inhaled too much.” Joss kept nudging him. Pluto put the pipe on the table and followed the direction of his companion’s finger. And then he saw her, too. The most beautiful woman he had ever set his eyes upon.
CHAPTER NINE
A sweet fragrance floated around the parlor, pungent enough to please, yet delicate so as not to become overwhelming. Edvon could make out hints of citrus in the scent. And Tecaupylus oil? No, not quite right. It smells fruitier than that. Perhaps some kind of herb? He continued to speculate while taking a moment to admire the luxurious room.
The main opening through which they had entered caught his attention. Intricate geometric shapes had been carved into the marble, and they surrounded colossal double doors towering to at least twice Edvon’s height. They had been painted with vibrant blues and yellows, lending elegance and gentleness. Imposing and graceful at the same time. Like that mystery aroma.
From his new vantage point, Edvon realized the entire entrance resembled an oversized keyhole, circular at the top and narrow as it descended, before opening back up to accommodate the colorful work of art. He smiled, thinking of the Academy teachers who stressed the importance of symbolism in the works they read. I’m sure they’d come up with something pertinent for this. One door was cracked open, and through it Edvon could see the pristine gardens.
Upon their entrance into the palace, an attendant had beckoned the three Adepts to wait in a sunken seating area. It was a square pit, enclosed by the flooring of the elevated main level. Along the inside walls were built-in armchairs of a soothing milk color, matching the lush white rug and round table where servants had placed gold goblets for tea and water. Kyran gazed at the crimson pillows adorning his chair, then the small set of magnificent mahogany steps. “I feel stuck in a hole.”
