Thief’s Magic (33 page)

“Of course not.”

“And you will tell us the truth,” Veroo finished. “Who you are and what you’ve done.”

“That’s fair. I agree to your conditions.”

Sezee smiled. “So, Aren. You are, as you will have noted, our porter. So pick up our bags and do not speak unless you are addressed.” She gave him a lofty look, then walked away. Veroo followed, leaving him with their bags. The gate had opened, he noted, and the line of people had begun to move. He quickly lifted the luggage and caught up with the women.

A man with a notebook stopped and asked them their names and business.

“We are Sezee and Veroo Anoil of the West Isles. We have arranged passage to Darsh on the
Nightstar
.”

The man waved them on, never giving Tyen a second look as he passed. They walked through the gate into docks now loud with activity. The doors to the warehouses were open and goods were being carted to and from the ships. Tyen and the women had to dodge men carrying heavy loads as they picked their way along the wharf. Sezee walked confidently, Veroo keeping protectively close, while Tyen hurried after, fighting a return of the weakness of the night before that made his legs feel shaky and his head spin.

Instead of approaching the dockmaster, Sezee strode up to a ship and led the way up the removable ramp onto the deck. The crew eyed them, but none seemed surprised. All but one continued with their tasks – currently carrying barrels on board and down a ladder into the hull of the ship. The man directing them smiled and came over to greet the women.

“Captain Taga,” Veroo said in greeting.

The conversation that followed was spoken in a language Tyen didn’t recognise, so he tried to guess its meaning from expressions and gestures. Sezee did most of the talking, though the comments that Veroo inserted here and there gave the impression she was, ultimately, the one in charge. Captain Taga clearly knew them already, but though his skin was also browner than the typical Leratian he had the distinctive lean look of a Great Archipelago man, not a West Islander.

Catching the name Aren, Tyen looked expectantly at Sezee, but she continued talking to the captain. The man gave Tyen a quick look over, then shrugged and held his hand out to Tyen.

“Give him your papers, Aren,” she said, without turning.

“Yes, la’ Sezee.” Tyen took the wallet from where he’d tucked it under one arm and handed it over. Taga skimmed the document then nodded and shrugged again. Sezee then gave him her most dazzling smile and posed a question. The captain shook his head. A little wheedling followed, then she sighed, brought out her bag of coin and counted out what Tyen guessed was his fare. That settled, she beckoned to him and set off along the deck. He quickly picked up the bags and followed. The captain chuckled as he passed.

“You’re a brave man joining those two.”

Wondering what the man meant, Tyen followed the women across the gently rocking deck, through a narrow door, down a corridor with a low ceiling and to a tiny room with a bunk with two beds. At this last effort, or perhaps at the relief of finally finding a way out of Sacal Bay, his head started to spin again.

“Leave the bags here, Aren,” Sezee ordered. She gave him a look he could not decide was a smile or a grimace. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to sleep with the crew.”

He opened his mouth to say that it was fine. But the world had begun to tilt alarmingly.

“Aren?” Veroo said. “Are you ill?”

He shook his head, but that only made it worse. A numbing darkness crammed in on him. Someone grabbed his arms and was guiding him to … somewhere.

A
t least you chose a private place to faint.

Tyen winced as the words appeared on the page. He looked up at the sea and his earlier melancholy returned. Beyond the horizon lay his country, a day and a night’s sailing behind him. Every hour that passed he travelled further and further away from home. The uncertainty of his future stirred fear, but all he could do to ease that was turn his intent towards his destination and overcome the obstacles that lay between him and reaching it.

He’d risen early so that he could catch some time alone to talk to Vella. Though she would have learned of all his ordeals since the aircarriage as soon as he’d touched her, he’d felt a need to relate the whole adventure stage by stage in order to get it straight in his mind. He looked down at the page again.

I didn’t “faint”. I “passed out”
, he protested.
But even so, it wasn’t very manly of me
. What was it that Sezee had said? “According to your novels, women are the ones who are supposed to fall over at the slightest fright.” By “your” she’d meant Leratian. But she’d apologised for teasing him after she’d learned how long he’d been without food or drink. “Such things don’t bother literary heroes,” she’d added, with no trace of mockery. “The real world is not so convenient.”

He’d passed out for the briefest moment, but it had changed the women’s attitude to him instantly. Veroo had disappeared to find some food and water, returning so quickly he imagined she had simply snatched both from the hands of the first person she’d found bearing either. Sezee had drilled him on his symptoms, their duration and how long they’d been occurring for.

Fortunately, the chunk of plain bread and cup of water had restored him. They’d insisted he stay in their room and get some sleep, and since it was wise to remain out of sight until the ship left Sacal Bay he didn’t argue. He’d lain awake, stomach twisting with anxiety, until the ship began to dip and sway with the swell of the sea which had it protesting for an entirely different reason. He emerged on deck in the hope that it would reduce his sea-sickness to a tolerable level. Aside from a night sleeping in a sling bed in the crew’s quarters, which seemed to reduce the nauseating effect of the rocking, he’d spent most of his time since then on deck.

How much should I tell Sezee and Veroo?
he asked Vella.

You promised to tell them the truth.

Yes, but I didn’t promise to tell them the whole truth.

A lesser man would simply lie.

I’m willing to become a lesser man, if it means we don’t die. But I’d rather not lie. It’s too easy to forget what I’ve already told someone.

They will have guessed that you are running from the police and Academy. They may have seen the article in the
Leratian Daily
warning of a dangerous sorcerer. The article didn’t say you had stolen something, however.

So I don’t need to tell them that. But they’ll expect there to be a reason the Academy is chasing me. Theft is better than some other crimes they might fear I have committed.

If you wish to avoid lying, then all they have to do is keep asking questions and they will get all your secrets out of you.

Which was a problem Vella knew all too well. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any opportunity for the women to ask questions. The little room they shared was too small for three people to squeeze into for a private conversation and it would look odd, possibly scandalous, for two women and their porter to do so anyway. He wasn’t sure how thick the walls were, either. On deck there were always crew about. So far he’d been able to keep to two of Sezee and Veroo’s conditions: he hadn’t harmed anyone and he’d paid them for his passage. Which was for the short crossing to Wendland, as it turned out.

“Aren.”

Sezee’s voice cut over the constant whine of the wind. He turned to see her making her way past crew and various obstacles towards him. Closing Vella, he slipped her into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“La’ Sezee.”

She smiled at the honorific, used when addressing a female superior.

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

He shrugged. “The advantage of catching no more than a few hour’s sleep over two days is that sleeping in a hammock feels like a luxury.”

“A hammock, eh?”

“Yes. Seemed to help with the sea-sickness, too.”

She grimaced. “Do you think they’d let us try it?”

“Bad night?”

Her nod was followed by a shudder. “But we’ll be arriving at Darsh soon and things will improve. Well, all travel has its discomforts but I prefer something other than endless water to look at while I’m enduring them.”

“Have you ever travelled by air?”

She sighed. “Not yet. I was rather hoping we’d get the opportunity while in Leratia. I guess we can add that failure to our list of disappointments.”

“Are you free to divulge your purpose for visiting Leratia to a mere porter?”

“I suppose I am.” Her lips twitched into a lopsided smile. “I think you will find it amusing. Veroo sought to join the Academy. I came along for the adventure.”

He frowned. “I gather they did not accept her.”

“No. They barely acknowledged her existence.” She scowled. “Apparently when they say women of means and status are welcome they don’t mean foreign women. Or any women, if they want to learn sorcery. Apparently we can’t be trusted with magic, as our heads are full of superstitions and our bodies can’t take the strain.”

Tyen winced. He’d heard such views expressed by some of the more conservative professors, but since there were women in the Academy he’d assumed those men did not have undue influence in the admissions approval process.

But, then, I know of no female sorcery students. I assumed there had been none with enough ability to qualify.

“I’m … sorry to hear that,” he said.

“What are you apologising for?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting up but her eyes narrowing. “Did you have anything to do with this policy?”

“Er … no, but—” He stammered to a halt as a crewman passed them.

Sezee smiled. “You feel you must apologise for your countrymen,” she finished for him. Looking away, she shrugged. “Never mind. It is their loss. I’ve never seen a setback diminish Veroo’s determination and curiosity. She will find other ways to increase her knowledge and skill. And we
have
had quite an adventure.” She turned to him. “Whereas yours is only beginning, I suspect.”

He nodded. “Are you travelling directly home?”

“Yes, unless we hear of another source of magical learning. I don’t suppose you know of any?”

“No.” Tyen frowned as he remembered Gowel describing the lands of the Far South, of a place called Spirecastle where the sorcerers knew a few techniques unknown to the Academy. “Though I have recently heard a story told by an explorer about the lands below the Lower Latitudinal Mountains. He said there was a small school of sorcerers.”

Sezee’s eyes lit up. “Do they train women?”

“I don’t know.” Her excitement died as quickly as it had sparked, but her expression became thoughtful. “Still, we could make enquiries.”

“It is a difficult place to get to. The mountains are impassable by land and difficult to cross by air, though by all estimations the lands within are vast.”

She grinned. “I so like it when you sound like an academic.”

He heard a smothered chuckle, and turned to see another member of the ship’s crew hurrying past.

“Well, a porter does tend to pick up a few insights from his employers,” Tyen replied in the hope the man didn’t realise one of the passengers wasn’t who he was supposed to be, though he was probably too far away to hear now.

“I’m looking forward to the insights you provide.” Sezee’s eyebrows rose with meaning. “When Veroo and I have a moment to drill you on your reasons for leaving your former employer.” She moved a little closer. “Do you think you might be able to teach her a few things?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He frowned. When it came to sorcery, the Academy had strict rules about teaching. Only members of the Academy could be trained in magic, and students weren’t supposed to teach at all. Breaking yet another rule would not help his chances of being accepted again as a student … but then he remembered the conclusion he’d come to, in the aircarriage, about his likely fate should he fall into the Academy’s hands.

“It depends…” He did not finish, as another crewman had moved close enough to hear them.

Sezee’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Of course it does. Well, we’ll have to see if we can afford to keep you on after we reach our destination.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Kilraker’s money – which he’d had to trust them to mind in their room while he slept among the crew – would not last for ever. And the prospect of continuing on in their company, whether as teacher or porter, wasn’t unattractive.

“Tell me more about your homeland,” he said.

She blinked in surprise, then he saw understanding in her expression. Turning to lean back on the railing, she stared past the ship’s rigging into the distance.

“We come from Bleze, the largest of the West Isles,” she said. “From Loire, one of the larger forts before the Leratians conquered us over fifty years ago. Now it is our main city.”

“Conquered? I was taught that the West Islanders handed over administration of their lands peacefully.”

“Your historians don’t count possession by occupation as a form of conquest but we do. It is as effective as it is insidious. But I’m sure you do not wish to discuss the evils of the Leratian Empire’s past, so I will stick to the present. The West Isles’ main income comes from what we grow. My grandfather – a Leratian colonist named Tomel Firegard – made his fortune growing lall, and we still grow some of the best lall in the world.”

“I shall have to try some.”

“You must. It is excellent. You’re probably wondering how a granddaughter of a Leratian colonist could have my colouring. Well, good old Tomel Firegard acquired half of his land by marrying the daughter of the West Islander queen. Which makes Aunt Veroo the eleventh and youngest of his offspring and the daughter of the deposed heir of Bleze.”

“But … deposed? The royal family is still recognised in the West Isles.”

“A line of the royal family is, but not the legitimate one. The colonists recognised the first
son
of the queen as the ruler, but until then inheritance always passed along the female line.”