Thief’s Magic (35 page)

“Oh.” He smiled and shook his head. He’d never noticed. He reached out for the satchel and she reluctantly gave it back to him.

“So.” She smiled. “Am I right?”

He looked up. “Is it Beetle? No.”

At the sound of its name, Beetle stirred. Tyen thought of her assumption that it was there to guard his money. It wasn’t a bad idea. If he found the time he would make a few changes so it could function that way. An alarm would be easiest. The instructions would be similar to the alarm he’d trained it to make when Miko had approached his room. Though perhaps he could add pins or blades to its front legs so it could sting anyone who reached inside.

“I told the captain you would pay him half now and half later,” Veroo said.

He looked up and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you both for helping me.” He paused. “What exactly did you arrange? Where are we going?”

“South,” Veroo answered. “Captain Taga trades up and down the coast. He seems an honest enough man, so far as any independent trading captain can be.”

“What of your plans to return home?” Tyen asked.

“Well,” Sezee said, in that way people did when they were about to try winning you over to an idea they’d had. “You’re going to the Far South and since—”

Tyen’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait. What makes you think I’m going to the Far South?”

Sezee’s smile widened. “You are, though. Right?”

“I might be.”

“It is one of the few parts of the world not under the influence of the Leratian Empire, after all.”

Tyen shook his head. “Then I shouldn’t go there, if it’s so obvious.”

“Anywhere else you go, you’ll be turned over to the Academy as soon as anyone works out who you are.”

“
If
they work out who I am.”

“The further you go from Leratia, the more obvious it’s going to be that you’re different from the people around you. In the Far South that won’t matter. They have no agreement with the Empire.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll stop the Academy hunting me down and taking me home.”

“They might. And the Academy have to find you first. It seems to me your chances are better there than anywhere else. And didn’t you say the only way to reach the Far South was by aircart?”

“Yes.”

“You can operate an aircart.”

“Can I?”

“Don’t all Academy students learn to drive one?”

“No.”

She paused and frowned. “Can you?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“And you can build one?”

He nodded.

She grinned. “So, will you take us with you?”

He looked from her to Veroo. The older woman smiled, but her gaze was sharp and unwavering.
Of course
, he thought.
She wants to seek out the school of sorcery Gowel mentioned.
The thought of this woman learning all that the Academy had denied her gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction.

“I would be glad to,” he told them.

Sezee clasped her hands together and said a strange word. She turned to Veroo, who grudgingly repeated the word. Tyen guessed it was some expression of satisfaction or victory in their native language. Then Veroo’s head snapped to the side.

“The captain’s coming,” she warned.

Sure enough, the door to the deck opened and Tyen heard footsteps approaching. He got to his feet as Taga stepped into view.

“So,” the man said. “It’s Tyen Ironsmelter now.”

“Yes, Captain,” Tyen replied.

“Come into my room.” He beckoned and led the way back a few paces, to a door on the opposite side of the passage. Opening it, he ushered Tyen through. “The women have told you of our arrangements?”

“Yes.”

He followed Tyen into a small room with a table and two chairs to one side and a bed on the other. The captain closed the door, leaving Sezee and Veroo outside.

“Did you kill anyone?”

Tyen looked at the captain, at first surprised and then a little offended. But it was a reasonable question to ask, he supposed – though the captain wouldn’t know if Tyen’s answer was the truth.

“No.”

“Steal anything?”

Tyen sighed. “That’s … complicated. What they say I stole … I was set up as the thief. But I did steal an aircart to escape and there happened to be a large sum of money on board.”

The captain regarded Tyen in silence for a while, then nodded. “Fifty levee.”

Tyen blinked, surprised that there were no more questions. He opened his satchel and drew out a few bundles of money, counting out half of the bribe the women had arranged.

“Thank you,” he said, handing it over.

The captain took the money. “I want no trouble with the Academy,” he warned. “You’re to stay aboard and out of sight when we’re in port.”

“Of course.”

“We only go as far south as Carmel.”

Tyen nodded.

A knock on the door diverted the man’s attention. “Come in.”

One of the crew stepped inside. “Aircart. Looks like it’s tailing us,” he said.

The captain scowled and turned back to Tyen. “Stay here.” He led the way out of the room, walking past the women and out onto the deck.

Glancing around, Tyen saw a small window on the opposite side to the door. He approached cautiously, but could see nothing but clouds and birds and a small part of the deck. The ship altered direction slightly and the rocking increased, forcing Tyen to brace himself. After several minutes he gave up and moved to one of the chairs.

Perhaps hiding and waiting for someone to tell him what was going on was the way things were going to be from now on. It was a small annoyance to endure, if it would keep him out of the Academy’s hands. All he could do was sit quietly and hope that he was safe.

R
ielle reluctantly peeled Izare’s paint-stained hands from around her waist and slipped out of his embrace. “Enough of that. Get back to work.”

His lower lip protruded. “But—”

“You told me to do this,” she reminded him, backing towards the chairs. “You said I was too much of a distraction and I should shoo you away. I don’t want to be the reason you’re late delivering the spiritual. Later than you already are, that is.”

He smiled and followed her. “But I finished it last night.”

She glanced at the easel. The back of the board he was painting faced the stairs, so she had not yet seen the progress he’d made. Keeping out of reach, she approached the front of the painting.

It was a narrative based on the story of Sa-Azurl, the Doubting Priest, who chose to believe the Angels did not exist rather than that they had not saved his village from flood, but eventually came to see his mistake and was welcomed by the Angels when he died. Rielle had suggested it, as the man who had ordered it was a melancholy old widower of one of the city’s oldest families, who was very self-critical. Her guess that he might appreciate a story of forgiveness had proved right.

As with all Izare’s spirituals, the scenery and format were traditional, but the figures were so extraordinarily real she almost expected to see them blink.

Izare took her distraction as an opportunity to slip his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It is beautiful, as always.”

“As always,” he repeated. Then he sighed. “And the same every time. I would like to change so much more. Why must they always be a story? Why are they always set outside?”

“How would you do your own spiritual?”

He hummed and the vibration of his voice penetrated her shoulder bones. “Like a portrait. One man – or woman – but not looking at the viewer as if knowing they are watched. Instead absorbed in their own mind. Praying, perhaps. Perhaps to an Angel. Perhaps unaware of being observed by an Angel, who is barely visible in the shadows.”

Rielle shivered. “You should try it.”

He pulled away. “And risk that the priests would find some outrage in it?” He shrugged. “If I’m going to do that, I may as well paint naked women. At least I’d have fun
and
earn money.” He glanced at the window. “And in matters of income, I had best start doing the rounds of temples to see if I can attract some new commissions.”

Something tightened within Rielle’s stomach. It was not quite a knot of anxiety, but it was close. Izare turned her around to face him.

“Don’t worry. I told you, customers change their mind all the time. I have always found new commissions when I looked for them. It’s just been a while since I sought them. That’s all.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I should seek my own.”

“Not yet.” He moved away to a box he kept full of small, square samples of spiritual scenes. “I know you’d like to sell your work, but people are strange when it comes to women artists. They may feel it is not proper to hire you. You might be better off helping me with the spirituals without them knowing, but you’ll need more skill with the oily paint first.”

Suppressing a sigh, she nodded and moved to the table. “Then I had better continue practising.”

He grimaced. “Yes … but not today? I am a little low on paint.”

Turning back, she headed for the chairs instead. She settled by the window and watched Izare gather his things. Along with the box of samples, he pulled together some cheap paper and chalk. He tied his money bag to his belt then walked over to kiss her.

“You will be fine on your own?” He asked the same question every time he left the house.

“Of course,” she told him, then watched him head for the stairs. It was a lie, and he knew it. If the priests or her family came to drag her home she would not be able to stop them. But neither would he have been able to.

I’m almost offended that they haven’t tried
, she mused.
I guess Mother and Father think I’m spoiled goods now. Nobody in the families will marry me so I have no worth to them.

She had stayed in the travellers’ house for two quarterdays. Izare had hidden in Greya and Merem’s rooms. The priests had found him there but though they questioned him at length they had not attempted to force her whereabouts out of him. When it was clear he wouldn’t offer up the information they had ignored him.

Izare could not afford to pay for her rent for long, so she had moved to his house in the middle of the night and hadn’t dared leave it since. He’d arranged with a few of the locals he trusted to warn her if priests entered the area. She would have to leave and come back when the priests had gone.

Hearing the door below shut, she watched Izare through the window as he strode away along the street below. He looked unconcerned and cheerful. It was easy not to worry when he was so relaxed, and she did not yet want to burst the bubble of happiness she was caught within.

It was not a perfect bubble. She missed Narmah badly and felt terrible about hiding so much from her aunt. She could not help feeling guilty about disappointing her parents, brother and cousin, and causing a scandal that now blemished their names. And she was no fool; she knew a life with Izare was likely to be hard.

She was determined to be a help to him, all too aware that he had two people to feed and clothe now. Since she had moved here she had begun a mental tally of his expenses and, during the lessons she insisted he still give her, pressed him on what was a fair price for different kinds of paintings. She sought ways she could be useful, like grinding paint and preparing boards, though he did not have enough work at the moment for that to save him time. When it was safe to leave the house she figured she could fetch him art supplies and food. Maybe she could learn to cook. He seemed to prefer buying meals already cooked from bakeries and drinking houses, but it was an expensive way to eat all the time. Perhaps one of Izare’s friends could teach her, though that would mean cleaning up the grimy corner that passed for a kitchen on the ground floor and hoping there were cooking pots in among the piles of dirty dishes and the mess.

She grimaced and told herself it was more important to hone her skills, since cleaning and cooking wouldn’t earn them anything. If she couldn’t paint she’d draw. Rising, she found some chalk but no paper, then realised that Izare had taken the last of it with him. With a sigh, she sat by the window again.

Well, it’s not like there’s anything here I haven’t already drawn.

She felt a pang of guilt then. She had used most of his supply of paper without knowing it. Izare had brought some to her at the travellers’ house to fill the hours she’d spent hiding there. Later she’d practised by drawing him, the corners of his house and the view from the window. Though she’d known good paper was expensive, what he used was low-quality, cheap stock and he’d not said anything about her consumption of it. Too late she’d noticed that he often used a piece several times, dusting back the chalk and drawing over the top, and using both sides.

Is it possible to make paper at home?
she wondered.
Would it be cheaper than buying it?
She resolved to find out, once she was free to leave the house.

A movement outside the window caught her eye, and her heart skipped as she saw one of Jonare’s boys running towards Izare’s door. Leaning closer to the glass, she saw his mother following, daughter and two nieces at her side and baby in a sling across her chest. The door below opened then slammed shut.

“‘Zar!” the boy called, thundering up the stairs. Rielle smiled as he reached the top and halted, searching the room.

“Izare is out finding new customers,” she told him, wishing she could remember the boy’s name.

The boy stared at her, caught by the revelation of someone strange in a familiar place. The door below opened again.

“Perri!” Jonare scolded. “I told you to wait!”

Perri spun around and hurried down the stairs. Rising, Rielle walked over to the railing.

“Hello, Jonare.”

The woman looked up and smiled. “We thought you might like some company.”

“Thank you.” Rielle beckoned. “Come up.”

Two of the girls were carrying a basket between them. Jonare took it from them, freeing them all to run up the stairs and into Izare’s studio. Rielle winced as they began to tear around, then hurried to catch the finished spiritual as one of them collided with the easel. She set it aside in what she hoped was a safe place.