Cold Fire (8 page)

Ladradun House was larger than Bancanor House, its windows curtained with brightly embroidered drapes displayed through expensive glass windows. Steps, window frames, and shutters were vividly painted to distract people from Namorn’s long gray winters. Soon after Daja’s arrival, the twins had given her a tour of the neighborhood, explaining that roof and window carvings showed the family’s occupation. At Ladradun House Daja saw bears, otters, lynx, hares, and beavers in the carvings, a proclamation of the family’s fur business.

A maidservant let Daja in and led her to Ben’s study. The woman dressed in the band-collared, tunic-length blouse and long skirts of the Namornese, but unlike most, she sported no colorful embroideries. As Daja followed her they passed two other servants, a man and a woman, whose clothes were just as drab. Namornese fashion was to dress servants in matching clothes, or liveries, but Matazi had given her people a choice of three bright colors for their indoor clothes, and let them decorate with embroidery as they wished. Daja wondered if the Ladradun servants were depressed by such dull garments.

The maid admitted her to a room containing a wooden table heaped with books and papers. Books were stuffed into shelves on the walls; more books filled a cupboard beside the window. The curtains were blue, as was the small rug on the floor. The room was cold, with no fire burning in the stove. The maid left Daja there.

Daja settled herself in a chair to wait. There were drawings on the walls, but little else in the way of decoration. On her arrival in Namorn she’d found the clutter of designs, carvings, and vividly dyed and embroidered cloth annoying. Now she was in a house that had stripped most of that away, and she missed it.

She was shaking her head at her folly when the maid returned with a tea tray. The girl set the tray on a corner of the table nearest Daja and filled a tea glass before she scuttled out again.

Daja sipped her tea. It was watery: the third or fourth brewing from these leaves, not the first. Did they think she was a servant? If she were here as a Trader, to do business, she would have left. Pebbled Sea hospitality dictated food, tea, and a comfortable setting, articles as important as the business discussed. Tea like this was a slap in the face.

“Daja, hello, hello.” Ben Ladradun walked in, making the room feel cramped. He seemed taller indoors than he had out. “You’re good to come, and so quickly. I thought you might be exhausted-we can really talk another time… .”

“No, I’m fine,” Daja said. “Truly, I am, Ravvot Ladradun.”

“Ben, remember. Ravvot Ladradun is who I am to the people at my business. I prefer to think about business as little as possible.” He poured himself tea, put a sugar lump in his teeth, and tried to swallow. He made a face and went to the door. Leaning out, he called, “I want my tea, Yulanny.” He turned back to Daja, running a big hand over the unruly curls on top of his head. “She didn’t realize that you’re an important guest. They get in trouble if they brew fresh tea for someone who isn’t merchant class… . Where are you from exactly? I don’t think anyone mentioned it.”

“I lived four years at Winding Circle temple in Emelan, where Frostpine’s a Dedicate,” said Daja, looking up at him. She wished he would sit. “Before that, I was a Trader on the Pebbled Sea.”

To her relief-her neck was getting sore-he crouched to start a fire in his stove. “As I understand it, if you’re a Trader, you’re one for life.”

“People can leave,” Daja said. “Some do, usually for love. I was made trangshi-outcast-when my family’s ship sank and I was the only one who lived.”

“And now you’re a smith-mage.” He added wood until a healthy blaze was going.

Daja nodded, then realized he couldn’t see it. “So they tell me,” she replied. “I keep thinking I haven’t learned nearly enough.”

He asked her other things, about her travels, about the metals she had studied. Once the maid brought fresh tea, Ben poured for Daja and himself. Settling into his chair, he cradled his steaming glass in his hands. His left hand was unbandaged now, with newly healed skin bright pink on its back. “How do you do it?” he wanted to know. “I told you Godsforge couldn’t handle fire, though he could shape it. He made creatures for the local children on holidays. They loved his fire butterflies and dragons. But he could never have walked into a burning building like you did and come out unscathed.”

“I don’t know how I can do it and others can’t,” Daja replied. “Though Frostpine can, too.”

“And you can see, even inside the flames?” Ben asked.

Daja nodded. “Just as clear as you see me.”

Ben set his glass down, turning the metal base in his fingers. He took a deep breath, like a man about to dive into the sea, then asked. “Did you see anything odd inside the boardinghouse? Anything unusual?”

Daja thought, Of course. He’s probably seen hundreds of fires. He’d notice this one was not typical. “I think the fire was set,” she told him.

He frowned. “I was afraid of that,” he commented softly. “I’d hoped I was wrong.” He coughed and sipped his tea. “Why do you think it was set?”

Daja stared at the hearth-fire, picturing the burning house in her mind. “On the ground floor, everything to the right of the hall and everything to the left was burning. The hall and stairs were spelled against fire, but the spells weren’t that good.” She drank her tea, registering the stronger taste. “Accident fires run outward from one place. By the time this one reached those spells, it should have been big enough to roll over them.” Ben nodded. She continued, “That hall should have been on fire, too. I think it was started, maybe in the cellar, along each side of the house. That’s why the hall and stairs weren’t burning-the fire hadn’t reached them yet.”

Ben sighed. “I think you’re right. I noticed each side was going up first, along the length of the building. It just looked wrong.”

“Have there been other suspicious fires lately?” Daja asked.

Ben smiled crookedly. “No. We lost a warehouse a couple of months ago, but that wasn’t suspicious. And there weren’t any big fires all summer, which is our worst season.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard some broth-brains claim we’ve made the city so safe that the fire-spirits have left us.”

Daja made a face. “People aren’t all that clever, mostly, are they?”

“Someone’s clever,” Ben reminded her. “Someone arranged that fire like artists arrange paints.”

“Have you any idea who?” Daja wanted to know. “What kind of monster would burn a girl to death?”

Ben actually flinched. “Please don’t say that,” he asked. “We came too close there. If you hadn’t arrived-“

“You would have found a way,” Daja interrupted. “I know you would have.”

“I’m honored, but you overestimate me,” Ben told her. “Did you see anyone-odd-watching the fire?”

It was Daja’s turn to smile crookedly. “I haven’t been here long enough to know what’s normal and what isn’t,” she admitted. “So, should I take this to the magistrates? Tell them the fire was set?”

“I’ll go,” Ben replied. “They may call at Bancanor House to ask you for details, though I doubt it. Magistrate’s mages tend to rely on their spells more than the words and ideas of mere human beings.” He sighed. “I’ll nose around and ask some questions of my own. Luckily I know Bazniuz Island well. My-my family and I lived there.”

Daja looked down. She wanted to say something proper, something that wouldn’t stir up painful feelings for this man she admired. In the end she could only think of the commonplace: “I am sorry for your loss. I heard how you came to study all this in the first place.”

Ben picked up a small oval painting on the worktable, and held it out for Daja to examine. “Kofrinna-my wife,” he explained as Daja accepted it. It showed a blandly pretty young woman with dark eyes and a timid smile. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her and our children.” He looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Daja said, putting the portrait on his desk. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Actually I’m glad you mentioned her,” he said. “No one talks to me about her or the little ones. I-“

The door opened without a preceding knock. Daja turned to see the newcomer, a hard-faced woman about five feet, five inches tall. She wore a plain undergown of cream-colored wool without a speck of embroidery. Her overgown was brown wool with black braid trim around the hem, collar, and sleeve openings, secured down the front by plain black buttons. Her head veil was cream-colored linen, the round hat pinned on top of her veil as brown and unremarkable as her dress. They covered hair that had been dyed blonde in the Namornese style so often it looked like straw. Hers was a hard, tight face, with lines that bracketed a broad, unsmiling mouth and short nose. Tiny pupils that never expanded were at the center of her pale gray-green eyes.

The eager, intense Ben Daja had been talking to was gone. In his place was a large, awkward man whose body was as stiff as his voice when he said, “Mother. Allow me to introduce Viymese Daja Kisubo. Daja, this is my mother, Ravvi Morrachane Ladradun.”

Morrachane looked at Daja and sniffed, as if she didn’t believe Daja had a proper claim to a mage’s title. “Good morning, Viymese. I would like to speak to my son.” She turned to go, then hesitated and looked at Daja again. “You are the one who stays with the Bancanors?”

Daja, who did not like the way that Morrachane had sniffed at her, gave only a tiny bow of agreement.

Morrachane’s lips moved: the corners turned up; the wrinkles on either side of her mouth deepened. It took Daja a moment to realize that Morrachane was smiling. It took another moment to wonder at the kind of person Morrachane was, that a smile looked so alien on her face. “You are staying with my young friends Niamara and Jorality, then. Pray give them my greetings.”

Daja gave another bow in reply. It spoke well of the woman that she liked Daja’s friends, but not well enough to make Daja forget the change her arrival had worked on Ben.

“Would you be so good as to tell them I found that book of lace patterns I told them about?” asked Ben’s mother. “They had asked to see it.”

“Yes, of course,” Daja replied.

Morrachane’s smile, such as it was, evaporated. “Bennat,” she commanded and walked out.

Ben looked at Daja, patches of red embarrassment marking his broad cheeks. “Please excuse me,” he said and followed his mother, pulling the door shut behind him. It slid open an inch, enough that Daja could hear their conversation.

Ben said quietly, “Mother, that was rude.”

“Why are you here?” Morrachane demanded. She didn’t seem to care if anyone heard. “You’ve frittered nearly three days away on this nonsense. No doubt our clerks are robbing us blind while you chat with this southern wench.”

“Mother, Daja is a mage and deserves respect!” Ben still kept his voice low.

“Only by dint of bedding with that ‘teacher’ of hers, I’m sure. Those with magic have no morals. I would never expose my daughters to such people as Kol and Matazi have done. And you shouldn’t be lolling about with her.”

Daja felt like a knot of embarrassment tied around a ball of fury. As a Trader she was used to the hate of non-Trader kaqs. In those days, like every Trader, she told herself that this was the jealousy of the inferior. She didn’t think that about non-Traders any more, though for Morrachane Ladradun she would make an exception.

She went to the window to put distance between herself and the door as Morrachane continued to scold Ben. Half the city thinks he’s the most wonderful thing since window glass, Daja thought. And this dried-up codfish of a woman treats him like an idiot. How can she not see how good he is?

She noticed something in the corner, tucked between the window and a bookcase. It was a six-foot-tall section of shelves, nearly invisible to the rest of the room. Each shelf held an assortment of objects, all scented faintly with smoke. Here was a metal soldier, top half perfect, the bottom half melted smooth. She touched it with her brass-gloved hand and saw a room with toys scattered everywhere, the carpet and hangings in flames. Women in nightdresses ran out with screaming children in their arms. Daja jerked her hand away.

Here was a half-burned book; there a molten piece of glass. There were nearly fifty things, all marked by fire. The one that made the hair stand on Daja’s arms was the skeleton of a hand, each bone threaded on wire to keep its original position, a molten glob of gold around the wedding ring finger. She did not touch the gold.

“Mementoes,” Ben said. Daja spun-she hadn’t heard him return. “Every fire where I manage to make a difference, keep it from being a complete disaster, I like a reminder,” he continued. “In case I get to thinking I’m not worth much.”

Daja looked at him. He was still red with humiliation.

“I apologize for my mother,” he added hesitantly “She’s-very strong-minded. She made us rich after my father lost our fortune. Anyway, she sometimes forgets what she says or does isn’t… polite. Every business deal is a crisis for her.”

He looked worn down. He half-killed himself on that fire last night, making sure everyone did as they should, even worrying about me, Daja thought angrily. He should be in bed, resting, and she orders him out to look at account books and shipping bills.

Daja couldn’t give him any rest, but she could help him avoid more burns like the one that scarred his left hand. She had meant to think about the project some more before she spoke, but she wanted to cheer him up now. “Would you like a pair of gloves-well, gauntlets, ending about here”-she tapped her elbow-“to shield your hands from flames?”

His eyes widened; he rubbed his left hand. “Are you joking? You can do that?”

“I work with a kind of living metal.” She rubbed her own left hand; his eyes went to it. “I did an artificial leg with it once-well, me, Frostpine, and my foster-brother and -sisters. I’ve been working with it since-the living metal, not artificial legs. I mean, maybe I could do a leg now. I haven’t tried.”

Ben’s mouth twitched; there was humor in his eyes. “For the first time since we’ve met, you sound like a fourteen-year-old,” he pointed out. “I can’t make head nor tail of what you’re saying.”

Daja smiled and went back to her chair. She sipped her tea: it was cold. “Never mind the leg. The important thing is, I can make gloves for you.” She didn’t want to mention the suit yet. That was more complicated than gloves, and would require a great deal of planning, if it could be done at all. “Have you paper or a slate?” she asked. “I need to know how long your arms are-a tracing will do.”