The Thief Queen's Daughter (11 page)

“Did these come from a—a giant fish?” Ven asked, his eyes still stinging.

Madame Sharra smiled, her eyes watching him sharply.

“Dragons,” she said.

“Dragons?” Ven repeated. “These are
dragon
scales?”

“What other sort of scales do you think would hold the power to see the future?” the fortune-teller asked. Her glance was still sharp, but her tone was amused. “They are ancient, from the Before-Time, when the world was new.”

Madame Sharra passed her hand again over the array of ancient dragon scales.

“You may select two of the scales, or three, to be read for the price you are paying. The choice is yours. The first scale will tell you about yourself, where you are at this moment in Time. The second will tell you what is coming. And the third, should you choose to accept it, is a gift. It could be a gift of great power.”

“Why would I not choose to accept a gift?” Ven asked.

“Most people who seek me do not choose the third scale, for they are unwilling to risk the possible negative aspect of it,” said Madame Sharra. “Choose wisely—great power is backed by great consequence. Only you know if you are willing to pay the price for it.”

“Do I have to decide now?”

Madame Sharra smirked. “When else would you decide?” she asked. “No one who seeks me knows whether he will ever find me again—all you have is this moment. And who knows? You may not even have that if you tarry.”

The light glowing from within her began to dim.

“All right,” Ven said quickly. “What do I do?”

The fortune-teller rested her hands in front of her.

“Choose whichever scale you wish,” she said. “Your hand remains on the glass. Let it come to rest above the one you wish me to read.”

Ven slowly let his breath out, trying to concentrate. The cards all seemed about the same, except for the very old one. He thought about it until he realized he was getting nowhere. Then he just pointed to one of the scales in the middle of the outspread deck without taking his hand off the glass.

“That one,” he said.

Sharra pulled the one he had chosen from the deck, then passed her hand over it. The card sparkled with the same rainbow flash, and in its light, a picture appeared briefly, little more than an engraved sketch. The edges of the scale glowed pale blue.

“You have chosen the Windmill,” she said.

As the words came out of her mouth, the picture on the face of the dragon scale was instantly clear to Ven, a mill on a river with four sheets on blades, turning to grind grain. Then, within the same instant, it was gone.

“What does that mean?” he asked nervously. “Where is this windmill?”

The golden woman shook her head.

“Some of the scales refer to people or things that actually exist, while others are merely representations of something. The Windmill is such a representation. Drawing it first means that at present, you live in a constant state of change. It means that you are someone who unifies diverse people and things. Also that you are transforming, growing and changing.” She smiled slightly. “Though you may also run into an actual windmill in your travels. One never knows.”

“Well, my friends are an odd group,” Ven admitted. “And I certainly am changing. Is this a bad card to draw?”

“The scales do not determine what is bad and what is good. They only declare what
is,
” said Madame Sharra. “Before you know where you are going, you must see where you are. Make your second choice. Let us see what is coming for you.”

This time one particular card seemed to jump out at Ven.

“That one,” he said, pointing, being sure not to take his hand from the glass.

The golden woman passed her hand over the card. It stopped in midair. Ven saw the expression in her eyes change.

“How unfortunate,” she said.

A
LL THE COLOR DRAINED FROM VEN’S FACE IN THE DIM LIGHT OF
the tent
.

He leaned forward to better see what was below the fortune-teller’s hand.

The ratty gray scale gleamed brighter for a second, glittering in a rainbow sparkle. The edges glowed with a faint violet light.

On its surface was the sketchy image of a woman in rich robes on a throne, a crown on her head and a sinister smile on her face. In the fleeting moment in which Ven could see the image, the woman seemed ordinary in every way but one.

Her hands, which rested on the arms of the throne, ended in long, cruel-looking talons.

“The Queen of Thieves,” Sharra said. Her hand moved away, and the image faded into dull gray again.

“Is—is there such a person?” Ven asked, his voice shaking. “Or is that just a representation, like the Windmill?”

“Both,” said Sharra. “The Thief Queen signifies a change of possession. Either you will be gaining something, or losing it.”

Ven’s stomach turned over, and he felt suddenly like he was going to vomit. “Which one? Can you tell?”

Madame Sharra’s smile broadened. “The Queen of Thieves only rarely gives; she most often takes,” she said, resting her hands on the table in front of the array of scales. “But again, one never knows until it happens.”

“But there is also a person who is the queen of thieves?”

The smile faded from Madame Sharra’s face.

“Deep within the Market, past the keyhole gate, is a very different world,” she said softly, her tone serious. “It is a place that has lived by its own code of lawlessness since the sands of Time began running through the Great Hourglass. It is an evil and dangerous place, even by the standards of the Gated City. There are many guilds, many families of powerful thugs and cutpurses, burglars and assassins within the walls of the Inner Market, but none is as powerful as the Raven’s Guild. Their hideout is Raven’s Nest, a place of great darkness, where the most unholy of actions are taken, where the secrets are more deadly than can be imagined.

“That guild has ruled the Gated City since it was founded—and a woman has always ruled that guild. The crown and scepter pass from taloned hand to taloned hand, often mother to daughter. But sometimes a woman of greater skill and even less conscience than the reigning queen takes over the throne and starts a new dynasty. So while your selection of this scale merely means that you will be losing, or gaining, something important to you very soon, there also is such a woman—and she is someone you will wish to steer clear of. I suggest you keep as far away from the Inner Market, and the keyhole gate, as possible. Finish your business, whatever it is, then leave this place, and do not return unless you have to.”

“I will,” Ven promised.

“Do you wish to draw a third time?” Madame Sharra asked. “Remember the risk—great power is backed by great consequence. Only you can know if you are willing to accept a heartbreaking outcome in return for such a gift.”

Ven’s right hand shot out and stopped on the glass over a scale.

“That one,” he said. He closed his eyes and swallowed, a sore knot tight in his throat.

The golden woman passed her hand over the scale. The rainbow light flashed, then settled into a violet glow at the tattered edges.

She inhaled, then stared at the scale. She said nothing.

The purple edge of the scale continued to glow.

Ven was silent for as long as he could be. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “What scale did I pick? And what’s going to happen to me now?”

Sharra raised her eyes and met his for a moment. Then she passed her hand over the scale once more, and another rough image appeared, the picture of an hourglass in front of which a pair of scissors was stretched, a thin thread in between the blades. Then, as with the other scales, the image vanished.

“You’ve chosen the Time Scissors,” Madame Sharra said. Her tone was solemn. “I have never had this card selected before—throughout all of history, it has rarely allowed itself to be chosen.”

“Allowed itself?” Ven began, then caught the look in the fortune-teller’s eyes. “Never mind. What does it mean?”

The golden eyes went to his right hand.

“Look at your palm,” Sharra said.

Ven turned his right hand over.

On the palm was a faint version of the same image he had just seen, as if it had been painted on there in very weak watercolors. Ven flexed his hand, but the image remained.

“You have received a very precious and dangerous gift,” said Madame Sharra. “All of Time, as it passes, is woven into a giant tapestry, like the threads of a carpet. That tapestry is called history; it is the record of what has gone before, of what has happened in the Past. Good or bad, whatever is woven into the tapestry of history cannot be changed by mortal man, though often it is wished that such a thing could happen.”

Ven nodded. He had wished such things himself many times.

“The selection of the Time Scissors, however, grants someone the power to undo one of the threads of his own Past. This gift will allow you to change something you have done, but only once. It is a power you should use with the greatest of caution, because once you change the Past, everything that has come after that thread will be changed as well. I suspect you will contemplate doing it many times before you actually decide to do it, if you ever do. Remember, the longer ago the time thread was woven in history, the more will change if you undo it. Your reading is now at an end.”

The gold coin in Ven’s left palm vanished.

The image of the hourglass and scissors faded until it was little more than a slight stain in his right palm.

“Go now,” she said. “Your friends are waiting.”

Ven rose from his chair. “Where does the power come from that allows these things to happen?” he asked, his hands still shaking. “How can a gold crown buy the ability to undo a thread of Time?”

Madame Sharra passed her hand over the deck and gathered the scales into a pile.

“The power comes from the scales, not the gold crown,” she said. “The gold crown is for me. Even mysterious fortune-tellers of an ancient race need to eat from time to time.”

In spite of himself, Ven smiled slightly.

“Most of the scales in this deck were given freely by the dragons they came from to do something very noble, something that saved the world,” Madame Sharra went on. “Each scale came from a different dragon. A little bit of each dragon’s magical lore, the power it could use that came from the earth itself, is still in the scales.

“Each time a new dragon is born in the world, the scales grow in power. That has always been a rare event, but it is even more so now. That power dwindles as each dragon dies as well. One day, as man or Time finally destroys the dragon race, the scales will be nothing more than cards with images on them no one can see any longer.”

A stiff breeze blew through the fortune-teller’s booth. The tent flap behind him opened.

“Thank you,” Ven said awkwardly, still in a daze. “I didn’t learn the answers I hoped to discover, but it was an—interesting experience.”

“Sometimes the answers we seek are not the ones we need to hear first,” said Madame Sharra. “All questions are answered, one way or another, in time.”

“I guess so,” said Ven. “Thank you.”

The fortune-teller nodded.

Ven stepped through the tent flap and followed the light under the fabric walls until he found himself out in the bright light of the Market again.

He paused at the door of Madame Sharra’s tent long enough to look at his palm. The faint stain of the Time Scissors was still there, all-but-invisible in the sunlight. Ven stared at it for a long moment, then walked away from the tent, struggling not to look back over his shoulder.

He came out between the booths of the dream seller and the kite maker, through the bright colors and the sound of merriment and music, to find Char sitting at the edge of the splashing fountain. The burlap-wrapped gauntlet was slung securely over his shoulder. Char leapt up and ran to him.

“How was the soup?” Ven asked.

“Didn’ get none,” Char said. “You all right? Gah, Ven, you were in there a ghastly long time.”

“I’m fine,” Ven said. “Why didn’t you get something to eat? You’ve been starving all morning.”

“Been waitin’ for you,” Char said. “I figured we’d go to the pumpkin and get some together once you came out.”

“No need for that,” Clemency said as she, Nick, and Saeli joined up with them. Ven noted with relief that they all still had their tokens. Clemency handed a hollowed-out gourd full of squash soup to Ven while Saeli gave one to Char. Ven inhaled the aroma. It was sweet, warm, and spicy, all at the same time.

“Thanks,” Char said gratefully. He put the gourd to his lips and drank greedily.

Ven tasted his as well. His mouth was filled with warm spices and sweetness with a hint of cream. As he swallowed, he felt the warmth spread through his body. “This is delicious.”

“If you like that, you should try some of the wares of the street vendors,” Nick said. “Especially the steak on a stake and the giant apple fritters. Come on, Ven, if you’re done with the fortune-teller, can we go around and see the sights now? I’d really like to take a ride on the griffin swings or the carousel.”

“Sure,” Ven said in between mouthfuls of soup. “Why not?”

“Well, did you get the answers to your questions?” Clemency asked as they headed back to where the rides were. “Any luck finding out about the king’s stone?”

“No,” said Ven. He tossed the empty gourd into a trash barrel and watched Char wipe his lips with the back of his sleeve. “I just discovered that there are far more questions I didn’t even know I had. And that we should stay as far as possible away from the Inner Market.”

“No lie,” agreed Nick. “If you look close just beyond the edge of the Outer Market, everything starts to look pretty shabby and drab. I can’t even imagine how run-down it must be beyond the inner gate. No need to find out, I say.”

“Me too,” said Char as they approached the ride area. “So if she didn’t tell ya anything about the stone, what
did
she tell ya?”

Ven stopped in the street. He looked around and, satisfied that no one was close enough to see, held out the open palm of his hand with the stain of the Time Scissors.

“I didn’t get many answers,” he said. “But I did get this.”

Nick, Saeli, Char, and Clem stared at his hand, then looked up at him.

“Got what?” Char asked.

Ven looked down. The image was still there.

“Can’t you see the picture?” he asked.

Saeli and Nick shook their heads. “Nope,” said Char.

“What picture?” Clemency asked.

Ven looked at his palm again. The image was faint, but still clear.
Maybe only I can see it,
he thought.
That’s probably for the best.

“Step up, gentles!” the barker at the rides called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the festival. “Just a copper piece a rider!”

The friends looked over in the direction of the mythical beast rides. The beautiful young woman they saw earlier that morning was helping people onto the carousel, a flower in her hands, collecting the fares. Two burly men were pushing the griffin swings, which were twisting wildly on their ropes, high into the air amid screams of excitement. Merry music played from the carousel. The floor of the ride had lifted off the ground and was spinning high in the air.

“Come on!” Nick insisted, digging in his pockets. “I have a bunch of coppers left over from buying our entry tokens. Let’s catch a ride.”

The children scattered, each to his or her favorite wooden beast. Nick waited behind a rope gate for the wild red griffin swing while the others stood in the line for the carousel. Finally, when the current riders had cleared away, the young woman came up to the rope. Her smile was bright in the noontime sun.

“Glad to see you’re back,” she said sweetly. “A copper for the ride, please.”