Lila met his gaze. “The Fells. That is one reason I am fluent in that language. But I work for myself. You could call me a sell-sword, although I believe my talents would be wasted on a battlefield.”
Montaigne and Karn looked at each other. “Well, then,” the king said. “Did you bring the collar that you mentioned?”
“Aye, Your Majesty. As you know, I’ve been able to source magical tools from time to time in the past, but it’s very hard to get. The clans are wary of letting go of flashcraft these days, since they worry that it might make its way to Arden. But I do have a piece to show you. With your permission?” Lila patted her carry bag.
“Please.”
Unfastening the flap, Lila reached inside and pulled out a collar made of beaten silver, its dull finish inscribed with blackened runes. She extended it toward the king, but he yanked his hands back and shook his head. “Have a look, Karn.”
He’s a cautious bastard, Lila thought, for about the hundredth time.
Karn took the collar and turned it in his hands, examining it on all sides. It took on a glow as he sent power into it, testing it. “It is flashcraft, Your Majesty. Copperhead made. But it looks old—like a vintage piece.”
“It is,” Lila said. “It dates from the Wizard Wars. It’s more than a thousand years old.”
Karn looked up sharply. “Is it, now? Where did you get this?”
Lila shifted her eyes away. “I have a contact who can supply flashcraft now and then. Not just collars. Talismans, magical armor, and amulets.”
Karn unfastened the catch and opened the collar, snapped it shut again, tried the connection. “Who is this contact and where does he get the merchandise?”
“I don’t know,” Lila said. “But he is trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy?” Montaigne said, raising an eyebrow. “Is there really such a person?”
“What I mean is, he knows better than to cross me.”
Karn rolled his eyes, as if he found that hard to believe. “We would rather work directly with your contact,” he said.
“First of all, this person doesn’t want to meet either of you,” Lila said, feeling sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. “Second of all, if he traveled south, people would wonder why. As a student and a soldier, I have an excuse.”
“He’s a swiving copperhead,” Karn said, like a trout striking a fly. “Isn’t he? That’s why he can’t come to us.”
Lila hesitated just long enough to confirm it. “Understand his position. He’s taking a huge risk as it is.”
Montaigne splashed more whiskey into his glass. “Well, Karn? What do you think?”
The general fixed Lila with his muddy eyes. “I think a trickle of flashcraft doesn’t do us any good. We need a source who can supply a large number of collars right now. If you’re as good as you think you are, you will find a way to make that happen. Otherwise, we’re not interested.”
“How many collars were you thinking of?”
“Five hundred to start.”
“Five hundred!” Lila stared at him. “It’s not like we’re running a factory. And if we divert that number of collars, people will notice.”
“Let them notice,” Karn said, “as long as we get the collars first. If you come through on this, it won’t matter. If you don’t—” He bared his teeth in a feral smile that was scarier than any scowl Lila had ever seen. “Consider this a test, girl. A demonstration of your abilities.”
Lila took a breath, then let it out slowly before answering. “It’ll be pricey. I’ll need to be compensated for the loss of future business from this source.”
“I have no doubt we can meet your price,” Montaigne said.
That’s odd, Lila thought, given that I’ve heard your coffers are empty.
Of course, there’s no need to pay a dead person.
“It will take me a while to make arrangements,” Lila said, her mind racing. She needed to reach Shadow Dancer, and she needed to do it without risking being traced or followed.
“Just don’t take too long,” Karn said. “Or we’ll find somebody else.”
“No worries, General,” Lila said, reaching for the collar he was still toying with.
Karn yanked it back. “I’ll keep this,” he said. “I want to study it more carefully.”
You’ll have it wrapped around some poor wizard’s neck before the day is out, Lila thought.
“As you wish,” Lila said. “I will keep you up to date on my progress.”
As she took her leave, the king and his general already had their heads together, talking. This meeting had spawned more questions than answers. What could they possibly want with five hundred collars? Where did they expect to find that many wizards to enslave? Was this a piece of a plan to invade the Fells? She had no idea.
There was one thing she did know: she’d made a deal with the devil—something she might regret.
16
OFFICER OF THE CROWN
When Jenna shouldered her way into Fletcher’s Tack and Harness, Fletcher was at his workbench, buffing a pair of boots. Three old men clustered around the coal stove, clawlike hands extended, staying warm. A young man leaned against the counter, waiting for a pickup. She stole a second look. Yes. He was a mage, which meant he must be in the army or the Guard.
The harness shop was one of the few businesses in Delphi that catered to everybody—citizens, miners, travelers, blackbirds, and dirtbacks. Anybody who needed any kind of leather goods—shoes, scabbards, gloves, and harness passed through there. It was usually repair, because most people couldn’t afford to buy new. Aside from the inns and taverns, it was one of the best places to get the news. Since Brit Fletcher took it over three years ago, it had also become headquarters for the Patriots.
“Riley!” Fletcher said, looking up and smiling. “I never see enough of you these days.”
“’Cause every time I come in here, it costs me money,” Jenna said in her gruff boy voice. She held up a leather pouch, the kind she used to carry blasting powder. “Can you fix this? I burned two holes in it on accident.”
“Sure thing,” Fletcher said. “I’ll write it up soon as I finish up with the lieutenant here.”
Lieutenant! Jenna slid another look at the young man at the counter. He was young for a lieutenant, if that’s what he was—not much older than she was. He was dressed for the weather, but his heavy coat had no insignia on it that she could see. It looked new, and finely made. The bit of fur around the hood said it cost real money.
“Take your time,” Jenna said, turning away from the lieutenant and toward the stove, where the three idlers sat stiffly, pretending not to pay attention to the officer but all of them stealing looks when they could.
Fletcher clunked the boots on the counter. “Here you go, Lieutenant. I think you’ll find these is warmer than the ones you had. And the soles’ll be better on the snow.”
“I hope so,” the lieutenant said, pulling out his purse. “What do I owe you?”
Jenna couldn’t help herself. She turned to gape.
Fletcher snorted. “Clermont didn’t tell you? The King’s Guard don’t pay for nothing here in town.”
“What?” The lieutenant looked up sharply. “Why not? Do you run a tab or—”
“You’re here for our protection, an’t that so?” Fletcher drawled. “So you just take whatever you want for the good of us all.”
“I don’t,” the young lieutenant said flatly. “What do I owe you?”
Fletcher’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He thought a moment. “Ten steelies,” he said.
While the officer counted out the coins, Fletcher leaned his elbows on the counter and said, “So you’re an officer of the crown, huh? You must be the Lieutenant Karn on this notice here that’s in charge of this hygiene thing. The one that’ll be approving all the coming and going from town.” Fletcher jerked his thumb at a placard on the wall just inside the door. Jenna hadn’t noticed it when she walked in. She could read the headline from
where she stood.
By Order of the Health Minister
HEALTH AND HYGIENE MEASURES
“I am,” the officer said. He didn’t seem all that eager to own up to it.
“Glad to hear that the king is takin’ an interest in our health and hygiene,” Fletcher said.
The lieutenant smiled—at least his lips did, but the rest of his face was blank as any stone wall. “Good day,” he said, and walked out of the shop.
When Jenna was sure he was gone, she crossed to where she could read the whole notice.
Due to a recent outbreak of plague among soldiers of His Majesty’s army, and for protection of the citizens of Delphi, the ministry has ordered the following:
Item One: The gates to the city have been closed and will remain closed until the outbreak has been contained. All travelers and citizens leaving the city will be required to show proof of medical treatment prior to departure. All permissions will be issued by Lieutenant Destin Karn, Officer of the Crown.
Item Two: Because the plague is thought to be carried by fleas that dwell in ladies’ hair, all female citizens of Delphi, ages twelve and up, are hereby ordered to report to hygiene stations that have been set up throughout the city. Their hair will be shorn, washed with a medical soap, and examined for vermin. Each woman so treated will be affixed with silver earrings to signify that she has complied.
Item Three: Any man with hair longer than four inches will be similarly treated.
Item Four: Treatments are to commence immediately and are to be completed before the Solstice holiday.
Item Five: Any woman in the city who has not completed treatment by then will be subject to fines and imprisonment.
“Scummer,” Jenna muttered. “Plague? You know anybody that’s got the plague?”
“Nah,” Fletcher growled. “They’re looking for somethin’ or someone. Just don’t know what. Now what you got for me, Riley?”
Jenna leaned across the counter, the powder bag between them. “How long will it take to fix this?” she said loudly. Then whispered, “There’s two mudback wagons coming up the South Road day after tomorrow. About suppertime.”
“Cargo?” Fletcher’s voice was terse.
“Powder, weapons, dry goods,” Jenna murmured. “Heard two soldiers talking about it in the Mug and Mutton earlier today.”
“I don’t know that this is worth fixin’,” Fletcher said, “but if you insist, I’d say in a week.”
“A week?”
“D’you want me to write it up or not?”
“Never mind,” Jenna grumbled, picked up the sack, and turned to go. Message delivered. That wagon would never reach headquarters.
“You be careful now, you hear?” Fletcher called after her.
He always said that when she went out the door.
All the way back to the Lady of Grace, Jenna turned over what had happened in the harness shop. At first, she’d just been annoyed at this new intrusion into daily life in Delphi. But now she fingered the magemark on the back of her neck and wondered: after all these years, could somebody be looking for her?
As soon as the idea surfaced, Jenna dismissed it. You’ve got to stop listening to your da’s stories, she thought. There’s no need for made-up monsters. We have enough of those in real life.
She had no magical destiny, there was only the here and now. She’d learned that when Riley died.
That night, she bathed and washed her hair, despite the blizzard raging outside. She scrubbed at the back of her neck, like she always did, as if she could wash the magemark off. But all that came off was coal dust.
Her room up under the eaves was poorly insulated, and the wind came through sometimes as if the walls weren’t even there. A small stove squatted in one corner of the room, with a pipe through the roof to carry away the smoke. It took the chill off, and allowed her to heat water for tea or bathing. She always tried to end the day clean, and sleep clean. Clean once in a day would have to be enough in Delphi.
Once a day she could leave off the various roles she played all day long—mine blaster, saboteur, spy—and be herself. Whoever that was. It was getting hard to remember. She never saw the girl she really was reflected in someone else’s eyes. That girl had disappeared a long time ago.
When Jenna finished with her hair, she lifted the teapot from the stove and poured hot water over the leaves loose in the cup. She never needed a fistful of rags to protect her hands when she stoked the stove, moved pots around, or detonated a charge. Her da said that when she was little she’d pull buns out of the oven with her bare hands and scrape cookies off a hot pan.
Now she curled into a chair and sat, staring out at nothing, the warm cup between her hands. It was a fine china cup; she could trace the designs of blown roses on it. It had belonged to her mother, the woman who mothered her in every way except by blood. Jenna always used the same cup, rinsing it out carefully each night.
She had few things to remember her mother by, and there wasn’t much that was beautiful in Delphi.
Jenna heard him knock, a quick, muted, staccato pattern that said he was alone and it was all right to open the door. Sighing, she set the cup aside and moved to the door, her slippered feet making no sound on the wooden floor. She undid the lock and pulled it open so that he could enter.
Her father was carrying a plate of food, sliced chicken and potatoes and carrots with a large hunk of bread alongside. It was a lot of food for anyone in Delphi, one of the benefits of being the daughter of an innkeeper. He set it on the small table next to her chair and kissed her on the forehead. He held her tight for a moment, and then stepped back so he could look at her. He looked tired, and his face was creased with worry lines. They were permanent by now.
Jenna drew in a quick breath. Her father would soon be gone and she would be alone. She shook her head fiercely, dismissing the thought, and he stared at her, puzzled.
She summoned a smile. “You always bring too much food, Da. Who do you think you’re feeding up here, two strapping sons?” She spoke quietly, so the sound wouldn’t carry beyond the walls of the room. She sat back down in the chair and began to eat. She didn’t believe in wasting food, even though her stomach was tied up in a knot. Her father sat in the other chair, the one reserved for him. No one else ever came to visit.
“You need to put some flesh on your bones, girl,” he said. “If your mother could see you, she’d say I’ve neglected you.”
“She would say no such thing!” She snorted. This was one of their rituals. She cut the chicken into bite-size pieces and lifted one of them to her mouth.
He watched her eat in silence for a while. When she slowed to picking, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to her.
She scanned it and handed it back, nodding. “I saw it. Who knew that we had a health minister in Delphi? And I wonder who’s paying for all that silver? Us, probably.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, as if saying it aloud would call the demon. “Do you think this has anything to do with you?”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t have vermin,” she said, misunderstanding on purpose.
“What if they’re looking for the magemark?” He leaned forward, his face prepared for pain.
“You’re never going to get past that old witch and her stories, are you, Father? We’ve been living scared all our lives because of her. Why did you even listen to her?”
Her father made a sign to avert evil. “She was your grandmother, Jenna.”
“So she said.”
“I believed her,” her father said. “I am convinced that she was truly trying to protect you. She cared about you, if I’m any judge, and she seemed . . . she seemed to be scared to death. She said your father was dead, that he had enemies who would come looking for you, and they would know you by the mark on the back of your neck. That’s why she gave you up. That’s why she warned us.”
“For all we know, she stole me from my bi
rth parents and didn’t want them to find me. You are my father, and my mother is buried here in the graveyard. That’s who I honor on the Day of the Dead!” Jenna realized her voice was rising, and stopped speaking for a moment. “You are all I need,” she continued quietly.
He sighed. “We should never have allowed the monks to record your birth. We were just so anxious to have you officially ours, afraid you’d be taken away from us. And Delphi seemed so far away from Arden at the time.”
It was an old story. They lived their lives in little circles, always rounding back to the same fears, the same conversations.
“Da,” she said softly. “I don’t have time to worry about bogeys and witchmarks. If somebody’s looking for me, it won’t be because of some age-old curse. It’ll be because I’ve been betrayed, because somebody tipped off the blackbirds.”
“That’s another thing. I wish you wouldn’t . . . do the things that you do. That’s surely a job for someone else. You’re getting to an age that you should be thinking about marriage and family.”
“How’m I supposed to walk out with anybody when I’m dressed like a boy all the time?” Jenna snapped. “Anyway, why would I bring a child into a world like this?”
“This can’t last forever,” her father said. “Things will change. The Maker—”
“The Maker helps those who help themselves, isn’t that what you always said? Things will change if we change them.”
“Still. Nobody else takes the risks that you take. Sooner or later, the blackbirds will put two and two together.”
Jenna sighed. She’d tried to keep her father in the dark about some of her activities, at least.
“Everything’s a risk,” she said. “Is it less risky for a woman to walk down any street in the city? Is it less risky to work the mines every day, laying charges and setting them off? If not for Riley, I’d be dead already.”
“That’s why every day is a gift from the Maker,” her father said. “Don’t waste them in a futile cause. It won’t bring Riley back.”
“I’m not just doing this for Riley. I’m doing this for me, for you, and for everyone who’s suffered at the hands of King Gerard. I don’t have time to worry about made-up demons when there’s a real one sitting on the throne.”
Flamecaster Page 14
