Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  “Indeed,” the chancellor said, frowning.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “I would hope not. Next time, duck.” Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with lamplight.

  Cresten couldn’t help but smile in return. “Yes, Lord Chancellor.”

  The chancellor reached for a piece of parchment and scanned it. “Your father believes you might be a Spanner. Do you have any idea why he thinks so?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you ever used a sextant?”

  He shook his head, certain his father would consider his every denial a betrayal.

  “You are old for a new arrival. You understand this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you understand that we cannot send you back.”

  He did. His father had made this clear.

  “I’ll learn what I can while I’m here, Lord Chancellor,” he said, trying to sound brave. “And I’ll try to master Spanning, or Crossing, or even Walking. If the power lies within me, I’ll find it.”

  Another smile greeted this. “Well said, Mister Padkar.” He laid the parchment atop a pile on his desk. “I thank you for coming. I hope you’ll be with us for a good many years.”

  Cresten stood, recognizing the words as a dismissal. “Thank you, sir. I hope so as well.”

  He let himself out of the chamber, found the herald awaiting him in the corridor, and followed her to his next lesson.

  The days that followed passed in a blur of lessons and training, meals and sleep, conversation and laughter and teasing, some of it playful, some intended as torment. Without realizing it, Cresten had found in Vahn a friend nearly as valuable as Wink. Everyone knew the boy – old and young, boy and girl, Spanner and Crosser and Walker. More, most novitiates liked him, and so many came to like Cresten as well. Perhaps this was what Albon had in mind the morning he first paired them.

  It helped that Cresten had made the right enemy. Tache had few friends in the palace, aside from his coterie of sycophants. If Cresten accomplished nothing else in his years in the palace, he would long be remembered for cracking the bore in the mouth.

  As it happened, Cresten made a name for himself in other ways, too. He excelled in his studies. Upon his arrival, the masters placed him in lessons with the youngest children, unsure of how much he had learned prior to reaching Windhome. Within a few days, they realized their error, and let him join the novitiates closer to his age, including Vahn. He was least prepared for advanced history lessons, but they moved him anyway, and instructed him to read what he had missed in his spare moments.

  Because he was tall for his age, the masters had placed him with novitiates as old as him on the training ground, and here he struggled to catch up with his peers. With Vahn’s help, however, he made progress. It would take him some time to rival the best boys and girls in the group, but after the first turn, he no longer embarrassed himself.

  On occasion, as he crossed the courtyards with his new friends, he caught sight of Wink. She never acknowledged him, and Cresten didn’t push for more. Tache and his allies kept their distance, rather than challenge Wink’s decree that Cresten be left alone.

  One night, nearly three turns after his arrival in Windhome, Cresten had to return to the Binder’s workshop. Of all the disciplines he studied, his work with sextants and apertures troubled him most. He had never been good with his hands – one more reason why his father had been eager to send him off. He was useless as a craftsman’s apprentice, and his father was already training his older brothers to be merchants. How many sons would he need to run the family trade?

  On this day, Cresten had marred the arc of the sextant he was building. Binder Komat demanded that he salvage the piece if he could, or start a new one in its place. Cresten managed to correct his mistake, but the work took him nearly two bells. By the time he left the Binder’s workshop, he was exhausted.

  Stars shone overhead, and a gibbous moon cast long shadows on the rimed tiles of the courtyard. Cresten’s breath billowed silver in the moonlight. His steps echoed like pistol fire off the palace façade. He buried his hands in his pockets and walked at a brisk pace.

  At a noise from within one of the archways he halted and spun, nearly losing his footing on the frosted stone.

  Movement caught his eye, a shadow shifting among shadows, the flicker of shining metal. He took a step in that direction.

  “Stay there, shit-beetle.”

  He halted. “Wink?”

  She emerged into the moonlight a spirecount later, her steps uneven, an odd bulge under her overshirt. As she neared him, Cresten saw that she bore a bruise near her right eye. He also caught the scent of spirit. Wine or whiskey. It had to be on her breath. He nearly asked if she was drunk, but bit back the question.

  “What are you doing out here so late?” she asked, her voice throaty, the words running together.

  “Coming back from Binder Komat. I wrecked my sextant today and needed to fix it.”

  “Komat’s an ass. Always has been, as far as I can tell.”

  His gaze flitted to the bruise, and he sniffed the air again. Her eyes had a glassy look. Despite the moonlight, he could see her color was high.

  “Wink, are you all right?”

  Her expression turned guarded. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” She said it with more clarity, but this seemed to take great effort.

  “No reason, I was only… Never mind.”

  Guarded gave way to flinty. “I don’t need your worry, shitbeetle. I don’t answer to you.”

  “I didn’t say you did.” He stepped around her, muttered, “I’m sorry,” and started on toward the keep.

  “Shit-beetle, wait.”

  Cresten would have preferred to leave her, but he halted. She walked to him.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” The words slurred again. She leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course,” he said, unsure of whether he wanted to hear it.

  She bent closer still, hovering over him. The stench of her tainted breath enveloped him.

  “I’m the best Spanner here,” she whispered. ImthbestSpann’rhere. “These walls can’t hold me.” Th’sewallscan’thol’me.

  “I- I know that, Wink. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

  Wink shook her head. “You don’t know. No one does. There’s more to me than this place.” She waved a hand, indicating the palace walls. “More than any of you know.” More’nanyo’youknow.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She sobered at this, straightened, backed away.

  “It’s nothing. I was… I was joking.”

  Cresten didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re all right, shit-beetle. Cresten.” She offered a dazed smile. “Go on. It’s late.”

  He dipped his chin, confused still, and worried. He tried not to let that show. He raised a hand in farewell and hurried on to the dormitory. Cresten didn’t see Wink for several days after that, and when at last he did catch a glimpse of her, on a cold, clear afternoon, as he and the other novitiates shuttled between lessons, she was laughing with friends, looking and acting normal. The bruise was gone. She gave no indication of having noticed him.

  Later that same day, Cresten left the refectory after the evening meal, flanked by Vahn and a girl named Lenna, who was a year older. The three of them intended to study protocol together in the Windward Keep. As they crossed the courtyard, a figure detached itself from one of the archways and approached them.

  Cresten recognized Wink in the dim glow of distant torches; his companions were deep in conversation and didn’t spot her until she spoke.

  “Padkar.”

  Thanking the Two that she hadn’t called him shit-beetle, he slowed and cast a look at his friends. They eyed him, then Wink.

  “He’ll catch up with you,” Wink said. “Wherever you’re going.”

  Vahn kept walking, eager to keep his distance. Lenna flipped her hair, a haughty indifferen
ce in her expression as she regarded Wink a second time.

  “Something you want to say to me, Doen?”

  Lenna faltered. “No.” She followed Vahn.

  Their footsteps receded. Other novitiates exited the refectory and made their way to the dormitories, some singly, most in pairs and clusters.

  “I think she likes you,” Wink said, staring after Lenna. “She seems jealous.”

  “I think she likes Vahn. Everyone likes Vahn.”

  Wink didn’t deny it. “Walk with me.” She started toward the lower courtyard.

  They crossed in silence through the broad archway that led to Albon’s training ground.

  “Do I remember that I spoke to you the other night?”

  His mouth went dry. “Which night?”

  “It’s all right. I’m not mad at you.”

  “We talked, but not a lot. I was on my way to the Leeward Keep, and you were… I think you had other things on your mind.”

  A dry laugh escaped her. “Already a master of diplomacy.” She paused, scanned the grounds. He did the same. They were alone.

  “Did you tell anyone?” she asked.

  “No!”

  “Not Marcoji, or Doen, or anyone else? You didn’t mention it to any of the masters?”

  “I didn’t say anything to anyone. You told me it was a secret.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’m not sure what I would have told them. I didn’t understand any of it.”

  She blew out a breath. “Thank you.”

  “What would you have done if I had told someone?”

  Wink sidled closer. “I wouldn’t have had a choice. I would have had to slit your throat. Then, when you were dead, I would have cut off your head and limbs, wrapped your parts in old cloth, and dumped you in the privies.”

  Cresten gaped, and Wink stared back at him, a strange tension in her face. After a fivecount, she burst out laughing.

  “You believed me!”

  He felt his cheeks redden. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, shit-beetle, you did.”

  He turned away, a grin on his lips. “Yes, I did. That was pretty good.”

  She mussed his hair. “You’re all right. Definitely more than others your age.”

  “You said something similar to me that night.”

  Her smile faded. “What else did I say?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “If I did, would I have asked?” She huffed a breath and pushed a clawed hand through her hair. “No, I don’t remember.”

  “You were drunk, weren’t you?” Cresten asked. “And you’d been in a fight.”

  Wink stood before him for another moment, then pivoted and walked away. “Never mind. Sorry to have taken you away from your friends.”

  Cresten remained where he was. “You said you had a life beyond these walls,” he said, taking care not to raise his voice too much. “You said this place couldn’t hold you.”

  She paused. “I didn’t know what I was saying. You were right. I was… I’d drunk too much wine. I was talking nonsense.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Then you called Komat an ass, so I assumed you were pretty coherent.”

  She laughed, and walked back to where he waited. “You really aren’t what I expected that first night.”

  He almost asked her to explain, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Instead, he said, “I wouldn’t tell, Wink. I know I’m just a shit-beetle, but you’re my friend, and I wouldn’t get you in trouble. I’m trying to understand what happened that night.”

  Cresten didn’t think she would answer. She surprised him.

  “I have a… a friend in the city. I visit her sometimes. I Span out of here.”

  He gaped. “You do?” Leaving the palace could get a novitiate expelled. Even one as old as Wink.

  “She hides clothes near her place, and I hide clothes here. I’ve done it enough that I can Span back and forth in my sleep.”

  “And you get drunk together?”

  She gazed past him. “Sometimes. We went to a tavern that night, and we got in a fight with two sailors from Herjes. Asses.”

  “That’s where you got the bruise.”

  “A lucky punch.” She sounded defensive. “We gave them worse.” “I don’t doubt it.”

  She smiled at that. “Look, it’s not… I can take care of myself. I promise. And I don’t want anyone else to know.”

  “Then I won’t tell,” Cresten said. “You have my word.”

  “Thanks.” She waved him forward. “Come on. We should get you back, before Lenna sends out an army to search for you.”

  His face warmed again. He returned with her to the middle courtyard.

  In the turns that followed, Cresten continued to adjust to life in the palace. His sword work and marksmanship improved, he caught up with his cohort’s history lessons, and he discovered that he had a facility with languages, which enabled him to learn the rudiments of Oaqamaran, Aiyanthan, and the common tongue of the Ring Isles. For a time, he convinced himself that all was right with the world. He had found a home. Often he surprised himself by feeling grateful to his parents.

  He and Wink passed each other in the refectory several days after their conversation in the courtyard. They didn’t speak, but she did nod his way. Similar interactions followed: a shared smile here, a brief greeting there. She no longer ignored him, but neither did she seek him out for conversations. In a sense, his relationship with Wink grew as comfortable as the rest of his life. He could hardly have asked for more.

  But with the end of his first year in Windhome, news came he had dreaded.

  The novitiates and masters had gathered in the refectory for the evening meal, as they did each night. Before the priestess could lead them in a prayer of thanks, a rising murmur of voices at the front of the hall drew Cresten’s attention. The chancellor himself had come. He stepped to a dais near the masters’ table.

  The man gestured for them to sit and be silent.

  As whispered conversations died away, he greeted them in a soft voice. “I am pleased to dine among you this night, and to share with you glad tidings. Fesha Wenikai, known to all of you by the far more friendly sobriquet of Wink, will be leaving Trevynisle tomorrow for a posting as king’s Spanner in the royal court of Caszuvaar on Milnos. We wish her good fortune, and pray that the Two bless her through all her years.”

  “Hear us!” came the reply from all those gathered around the tables.

  All, that is, except Cresten. He stood dumbfounded. He craned his neck, seeking Wink. She looked back at him, a sad smile on her lips and an apology in her dark eyes.

  Cresten turned again, to find the one other person who would appreciate the significance of Wink’s news.

  Tache was watching him, his smile smug and chilling.

  CHAPTER 3

  27th Day of Sipar’s Waking, Year 616

  Wink found him after supper, that same melancholy look on her face.

  “You’re going to be all right,” she said, before he could speak. “You’re not the helpless fingerling you were a year ago.”

  “I’m not strong enough to fight Tache either.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You’ll be all right,” she repeated.

  “I hope you’re happy in Milnos. I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.”

  “I’ve never liked the Shield. Or Oaqamar for that matter. I never thought I’d be summoned to either one. Then again, we don’t get to choose so…” She shrugged again.

  “Well…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. “I guess I’ll see you sometime.”

  “I suppose so. Be good, shit-beetle.”

  “You, too.”

  They stood together for another moment. Then they turned simultaneously, he toward the Leeward Keep, she toward the Windward.

  Cresten barely slept that night, and he spent much of the next few days peering over his shoulder, expecting to see Tache and his friends bearing down on him.

  They caught up with him on the fourth even
ing after Wink’s departure. Cresten didn’t try to run, knowing any escape he managed would only delay the inevitable.

  He held his ground, Vahn and Lenna standing with him.

  “Couldn’t get her to take you along, eh?” Tache said, planting himself in front of Cresten. “I’m sure you begged her.”

  “I didn’t. And I never asked her to protect me, either. Her telling people I wasn’t to be touched – that was her idea.”

  “You expect us to believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  Tache faltered, though only for the span of a heartbeat. “It doesn’t matter. She did it, and that kept me from paying you back for that dirty punch you threw.”

  Cresten didn’t deny it. It had been unsporting. He understood that now. Wink tried to tell him as much at the time.

  “All right.”

  The boy frowned. “All right, what?”

  “You want to fight me, to set things right. That’s fine.”

  Tache grinned, and glanced back at his friends. “You think you can beat me?”

  “I know I can’t. You’re right, though: it was a dirty punch. You deserve a chance to get back at me.”

  “Cresten–”

  He raised a hand, silencing Vahn. He didn’t take his eyes off Tache. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said, directing the words at his friend. To Tache he said, “You’ll leave them alone, right? This is just you and me.”

  Tache nodded, solemn. “Nobody touches them. My word.”

  Cresten backed away a step, removed his overshirt, and handed it to Lenna. Tache removed his as well.

  The two of them began to circle. Cresten tried to put to use some of what he had learned from Albon, and from Vahn. That didn’t last long. After Tache’s first punch connected high on his cheek, he fought merely to survive. A second blow to his nose drew blood and put him on the ground. He pushed himself to his feet and fought on. He even landed a punch.

  Tache staggered back, but soon advanced again, buffeting Cresten with kicks and fists. Cresten had learned to defend himself. He blocked as many punches as got through, but Tache threw a lot of punches.

  When he fell a second time, Vahn told him to stay down. He didn’t.

  After the third time, he tried again to stand, only to find that he couldn’t. His vision swam. Blood coursed from his nose, his split lip, a cut below his right eye.