Thief’s Magic (20 page)

As old Sa-Baro began to speak she forced herself to pay attention.

“You must all know by now that the tainted captured two quarterdays ago, thanks to the bravery of one of our own…” – Sa-Baro paused to nod at Rielle – “… was not the first found in Fyre this last year. Sa-Elem has decided measures must be taken to remind the population of the punishment given to those who break the Angels’ edicts.”

He lifted a stack of paper-covered bundles.

“So today you will take a package each, then divide into groups of four. You will be spending the morning walking the streets, handing out these pamphlets to the citizens of Fyre. Any questions?”

“Will priests be escorting us?” one girl asked.

“No. You will be safe enough if you stay together, though there are places you should avoid. I have had maps drawn up for each group, indicating where you should and shouldn’t go. Now, stand and select your companions.”

Rielle rose and followed Tareme and Bayla to the end of the row of seats. There were a few groans and protests, but none were too loud. It was a fine day outside, warm but with a breeze cooling the city streets. Handing out pamphlets was a welcome change from lectures, readings and the questions the priest asked to test how well they’d absorbed their lessons.

Once all had gathered into groups, Sa-Baro walked straight to Rielle and handed her a package. “I selected the area closest to home for you,” he explained in a low voice. “So that you did not have far to walk alone when you are done.”

Rielle nodded and felt a pang of affection and gratitude for the old man. Did he know that her mother had completely forgotten to send a servant to escort her last quarterday? The woman had looked guilty when Rielle asked what had happened, then pretended she hadn’t forgotten, saying she needed everyone in the dyeworks occupied at this busy time and the city was safe now the tainted was gone.

Or had Sa-Baro seen her leaving the courtyard with Izare, and decided to ensure it didn’t happen again?

As he moved away, Rielle looked down at the map and sighed.
Whether he did or not, it still means I won’t be seeing Izare today.
She straightened to see Tareme and Bayla, and a girl named Famire who had joined their group, exchanging frowns. It would mean a longer walk home for them. And venturing near the poor quarter.

Izare lived near the poor quarter. Maybe they would cross paths.

“We’re going to the artisan quarter,” she told the others. “I’ve been there with my brother. It’s quite safe and clean. There are small public squares where people gather that would be ideal places to hand these out.”

Tareme smiled. “We will follow your lead then.”

Before long the girls were spilling out of the temple. Rielle led her friends down Temple Road. Famire was soon complaining that her feet hurt so Rielle slowed down. When they finally reached Tanner Street, Rielle confidently turned onto it, but she kept to the other side to the one she had taken last time, and avoided looking too closely at the place where the Stain had blocked her path. Even so, she was aware of a shadow still lingering there, smaller but as dark as before.

Opening the package, Rielle divided the pamphlets between them. The paper was coloured to conceal its low quality, and the warning on it had been printed in black ink, the grain of the wood block visible where the ink was fainter. They began handing them out, Rielle with the solemnity appropriate to their mission, Famire with a sullen reluctance and Tareme and her sister giggling and flirting.

Following the map, Rielle led them off Tanner Street to where she thought one of the squares must be. She was wrong, but they soon stumbled upon another, led by the sound of music. On all sides were shops selling food and drink, and two musicians were piping and strumming cheerful, rambling tunes. Under the plain awnings were tables and benches, many of them occupied by a mix of both local and foreign customers.

“This is nice,” Tareme said. “Let’s stop for a drink.”

Not waiting for agreement from the others, she moved to an empty table. Bayla sat down beside her and Famire dropped onto a bench as if she were exhausted. Joining them, Rielle winced as the three girls tossed their pamphlets together in the middle of the table, on top of the leavings of spilled drinks.

Suddenly in a jovial spirit, Famire ordered juices from a server clearly amused and pleased to have four well-off, unaccompanied young women as customers. When the drinks arrived Rielle was dismayed to find the juice was alcoholic. She sipped it slowly, knowing her mother would be angry if she came home tipsy.

“So Rielle,” Tareme began. “What did Izare Saffre have to say to you, last quarterday?”

Noting how this made Famire look up sharply, Rielle shrugged. “He just wanted to ask if I had recovered from my encounter with the tainted.”

“I doubt that’s
all
he wanted,” Bayla said, with a sly smile.

“He was very well behaved.”

Tareme’s eyebrows rose. “It was obvious he wanted more than to enquire after your health. Something about you interests him, I think, or he wouldn’t have been waiting for you. So what is it?”

Rielle shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Rielle. Tell us, or we’ll imagine the worst.”

Rielle sighed. “It’s not what you think. He asked me to sit for a portrait. Which, of course, I refused.”

Their eyes went round. “Oh! Why would you do that?” Bayla asked. “He’s very good, I’ve heard.”

“Very good,” Tareme agreed.

“My parents would never agree to it,” Rielle pointed out.

“Why not?” Tareme asked. “What harm is there in sitting for a portrait?”

“None at all, so long as your clothes are on,” Bayla said, then laughed.

The girls chuckled at the joke, but Rielle’s attempt to join in sounded forced. Tareme patted her arm.

“We’re being silly. Would you like him to paint you?”

Rielle felt her face warming, though there was truly no reason to be embarrassed. “Well, yes,” she admitted. “But only so—”

“Why is it that men can have their portraits done with no hint of scandal, but women can’t?” Bayla interrupted.

“Because artists are men,” Famire replied.

Rielle turned to look at her. “I paint. So does my aunt.”

“But you don’t paint professionally,” Tareme pointed out.

“Which wouldn’t be scandalous,” Bayla added.

“Yes, it would,” Tareme disagreed.

“A woman artist is unconventional,” Bayla argued. “But a model is but one step from a prostitute. Both sell their bodies to men.”

“Unless the artist is a woman?” Rielle asked.

They considered. “It doesn’t seem as bad,” Bayla replied. Tareme shook her head in disagreement.

“My aunt and I have painted each other,” Rielle told them. “With our clothes
on
, of course. Is that like prostitution? Is it scandalous?”

“That’s … family,” Tareme said. “And you didn’t pay each other, I’m guessing.”

Rielle shook her head. “So how important is the money? If a woman poses for a male artist and he doesn’t pay her is it still like prostitution? What if she pays
him
to pose for
her
?”

Bayla giggled. “Then he’s the prostitute!”

They all laughed at the absurdity of that, then Tareme waved at the server.

“Another round of drinks!”

“Not for me.” Rielle looked at the pamphlets. “We still have these to give out.”

“Leave them there,” Famire told her. “If people want them they’ll take them. If they don’t, Sa-Baro will never know.”

“And if you’re worried about going home drunk, just pretend you’re tired after a long morning delivering pamphlets and go to your room,” Tareme told her. “Don’t get close enough to anyone for them to smell you and I’m sure they won’t notice.”

Bayla sniggered. Her sister gave her a fleeting, stern look and Bayla blushed, glanced at Rielle and covered her mouth with a hand.

It wasn’t the snigger but the look that stiffened Rielle’s back, confirming that Bayla’s laugh had been at her expense.
Tareme has had to curtail her sister’s rudeness before
, Rielle guessed.
Maybe she laughs along with Bayla in private.

As the second round of alcoholic juices was served, suddenly Rielle did not want to linger any longer. Picking up a bundle of pamphlets, she rose. “Well, I’m not taking the chance that Sa-Baro isn’t going to check on us. Anyone coming?”

The girls exchanged looks, then shook their heads. Anger flared through Rielle and she turned and walked away before she could say anything she would regret later.

Bayla’s voice, too quiet to be directed at Rielle, reached her ears.

“We’re supposed to stay together.”

“Let her go. She said she knows her way around these parts,” Tareme replied.

“I’m sure she does,” Famire added.

Choosing a street at random, Rielle took a couple of steps but as quickly as it had risen her resolve vanished. Sa-Baro had said they should stay together. Returning to the corner, she saw that the girls were laughing again.

“Oh, everyone knows why she’s there. She hasn’t a chance,” Famire said.

Tareme nodded. “I feel sorry for her. The only ones she’s likely to catch are ones we don’t want. The ugly, the stupid and the mean.”

“Like Ako.”

“No, there’s no risk of that. He won’t marry until he’s forced to, and Father would never approve of him marrying a dyer’s daughter. If we had a younger brother he might consider her, if links to her family were profitable enough.”

Turning away, Rielle began walking again.
So. I suspected as much. I’m not good enough for the families, unless as a bride for the men nobody else wants. All these temple lessons and attempts to befriend my fellow students have been a waste of time.
She looked at the pamphlets and considered throwing them away, but her eyes caught the word “tainted” and reminded her that the priests, at least, were trying to do some good.

She began to offer them to everyone she passed. Few accepted them. Even so, her anger faded with each step.

But it was replaced by a creeping fear.

Memories returned of her abductor dragging her along streets like these. She remembered his knife pressed into her back. When people looked at her, their gaze dropping to the expensive cloth of her skirt and tunic, she began to feel out of place and vulnerable. While she never wore jewellery to temple classes, she couldn’t be seen among the other girls wearing anything of low quality.

Then, like a cool breeze chasing away the summer heat, she remembered Izare. When escorting her home, after the tainted had passed, he had told her where he lived, describing how close it was to her home and how safe the area was. He had gone on to talk fondly of his neighbours, who were all either brilliant artisans and performers or drunks – or all three – and of the bold ways they had decorated their homes. His descriptions had made her want to see his neighbourhood. Which was all part of his attempt to persuade her to sit for him, of course.

And yet … she
did
want to see them.

So she kept walking, heading towards the area he lived in. Though this part of the city was more populated, fewer people accepted the pamphlets, but their refusals were polite and most people smiled at her. Her earlier anxiety faded a little. The brightly painted walls cheered her. She reached an area where they were not only coloured, but decorated with patterns around windows and doors. Looking down one alley, she glimpsed the edge of a much larger design and could not resist venturing down it to see. It was of an enormous tree painted on a wall, with all manner of objects hanging from the branches.

Ahead the alley ended at what looked like another small courtyard, with more decorated walls. She followed two women to the end and stepped out into a dizzying spectacle. All of the houses were covered in images of people, animals and plants. False doors and windows opened onto unfamiliar landscapes, and even one of the Angels sleeping on a cloud. Rielle turned full circle, slowly taking it all in.

“Are you lost?” a voice asked.

She turned to see that one of the women she had followed, holding a pitcher up to the fountain at the centre of the courtyard, was looking at her. The fountain was as striking as the paintings, shaped to resemble a four-headed beast with water pouring from each mouth.

“No,” Rielle replied. “But … I am looking for Izare Saffre.”

The woman’s gaze dropped to Rielle’s clothes and she smiled. She nodded to the right. “He’s in the third house down that street.”

“Thank you.” Rielle nodded then set off in the direction the woman had indicated.

This street was narrow and filled with groups of battered, mismatched old chairs. Some of them were occupied by a group of young men and women, laughing and drinking from cheap glazed cups. Children were dashing between the chairs – a shrieking swarm of varying heights. As Rielle neared the third house she saw that images of Angels in a striking, familiar style had been painted over the door along with the words:
Izare Saffre, Painter
.

Seeing his name, she stopped, frozen by a sudden doubt. Was this such a good idea? What if the other girls told Sa-Baro where she had gone? What if her aunt’s warning about Izare’s real motives were true?
What will I say to him?

“Ais Lazuli?”

She started and turned to see one of the young drinkers walking towards her. Then she froze again as she realised this dishevelled man was familiar.

“Aos Saffre?” she said doubtfully.

He grimaced and looked down at himself. “Ah, yes. I apologise for my appearance. I have not yet been long out of bed.”

“Not long!” another male voice exclaimed. A tall man rose and walked over to lean on Izare’s shoulder. The artist immediately shook him off. “We dragged him out of there quite some time ago. But, to be fair, we haven’t let him back in to wash. We were laying bets on how long it would take him, if he had to clean up quick in time to…” The man stopped, then stepped past Izare and peered at her. “Wait…” He scooped up one of Rielle’s hands. “Who is this fine lady, Izare?”

“This,” Izare said as she pulled her hand away, “is Rielle Lazuli.”