a silverlit nightmare can be as gentle as

a silverlit nightmare can be as gentle as

a portrait of a child
   neglected
pale as milk
from some unknowable
                 mother
and she is beautiful
                so beautiful
                             so dressed
                             so poised

                  cracks through
which i saw(,) as a boy(,)
secrets are yet in her eyes and yet is always
yet
she moves
to me, at l(e)ast she is flawless

           small body comes
to rest, awkward and cold and pained
            i AM when her lips brush
she takes                the red
                     so poised

and when i wake i will
                  need        not find

The Cat's Eye, Book I, Part VI

The Cat's Eye

Book I, Part VI

It didn’t take Chaku long to realize she’d been underpaid for the job. Normally, if a fancy lady’s maid came to her with rich people problems, she could trust them to part easily with their money for little things. A lack of perspective meant she could get a gold piece from them for a couple hours a night tracking a husband’s catting around, maybe two or three to help facilitate some catting by letters--even ruining some unlucky sow’s rose garden was a pouch full of silvers in her hand.

Shadowing a circus boy the whole night for four silvers was a sickeningly fair deal, but Chaku could swim with it. Harder to take was shadowing a circus boy as six hard soldiers led him through one of the worse parts of town. She’d seen--lived in--worse enough back home and grown used to it. The boy, on the other hand, was a soft one, drawing enough attention that she barely had to try to blend despite her much darker skin. Any one of the creeps in Iacosi’s run could eat him alive. The only reason they didn’t was owing to the whole other breed of danger he’d gotten himself surrounded by.

Waters turned white not long after she’d picked up their trail, when fat old Iacosi sent around some of his rough-handed boys, killing in their faces, the tools in hand. She’d hid, of course, and tried to figure some way to sneak the boy out of the situation, what with his mean friends unarmed, but she’d seen it all wrong. The soldiers took Iacosi’s lot apart easy as you please, snatched the weapons and finished the thing. The boy hadn’t done bad for himself, either; still breathing, which is good enough. He’d made a right fool of the fellow who’d taken a knife to him, bending and dancing around on cat’s feet until his big friend gave the youth’s skull a knock, and she thought maybe the boy would wise up, but he stuck around.

Chaku was quiet enough to follow them close even as they got further out and she ran out of city to hide behind, but she started wondering what to tell the maid after--she’d learned early on in this line that wives want to hear their husbands are scoundrels, but unmarried girls like their man pure. Well, she couldn’t rightly say what he was.

She saw him drop the knife, but it was still his choice to be there in the first place. He wasn’t that much younger than her, not too young to figure what the blindfold and gag had been for. Dark and distance made it hard to follow, but Iacosi’s man took daft and picked the knife back up, she saw two black shapes meet and tumble down, and only the boy got back up, trying his hand at the big one. He was sent to the dirt for his troubles, but he’d tried. So, then, maybe not so soft, probably not so pure, either.

There was some talk, then they split up. The lot of them passed not two arm’s length from where she hid, close enough she could take the measure of them. They stank of blood the lot of them, none worse than the big one. The old man was the last to leave, and she readied herself to slip around closer when he’d passed. She heard his footsteps coming, caught a look at him from the shadows--somebody had a knife to her neck.

Chaku swore. How’d someone got behind her? And who, one of them? If it was, she was good as worm food no matter what, so she waited for her throat to open up and that be the end of it. But it didn’t, and it wasn’t. The old man’s footsteps went off into the black, and the knife was gone. She spun around, fists up, but the alley behind her was empty. She weighed that for a moment, and figured there’d never been a knife: she’d taken the old man’s measure, and he carried death with him.

She shook it off and closed in near enough to listen as the robed one carried the boy away: they were returning to the circus, and slowly. She’d have time enough to catch them after they’d left, so Chaku bided her time behind an outbuilding until the scene was clear, excepting one. The body of Iacosi’s man was left with a level grave, sure as he deserved it, but she was more interested in what the circus boy had done to put him there. She crouched down and saw the mess of blood spilling out a clean cut.

That didn’t sit right. It’s one thing for a boy with some bones and a clever hand to get lucky in a scrap, doubly so if he knows the tools like the circus boy did. But the stroke was perfect, the kind of stroke that takes a few necks to learn. It reminded her of how her older sister had described it back when they still lived in Oza: a clean cut keeps the spirit from talking, so when the White Ship comes for them, they can’t give an ill account of you. This one’s soul would never say a word. Well, then.

She closed his eyes with a pass of her hand, placed the knife in his and folded his arms over his chest. He almost looked like someone a mother’d mourn.

“Can’t say as I knew ye from a pig, and what I saw of ye didn’t bear much liking, but on some other day, we’d switch places, so . . . God keep ye when the White Ship comes. I’ve no booze to pour ye out, so this is what ye get.” She spat into the dirt and nodded, satisfied she’d done her peace.

It was certainly more than four silvers’ worth of mess, she decided, but a job was a job and Aanitsuru Chaku was not in the habit of taking what wasn’t hers. The streets were mostly clear as she ran after the circus boy, catching up with him quickly. If nothing else, the robed one took him back to the upper city by the shortest path and then straight to where the circus folk were settled. They had words, then the soldier waited until he’d seen the boy go back in the tent.

She let out a heavy breath, congratulating herself on surviving another night, even if it had its fair share of moments. Now, all that was left was to pass along what she’d seen. The maid had given her a name to ask for at the rear entrance of some big family’s house, but Chaku had another idea. She ducked into a narrow alley between two great houses and looked the walls over. There were places enough to hold on to, and why not? Some fresh air was owed her after such a night. She scaled the wall silently, lifting herself up onto the roof and looking out over the Scembre night.

Out beyond the city walls, she saw the bonfires of a few villages still roaring, the city street torches looking feeble suddenly. Perhaps, she thought, she’d see them this Carnivale, when she had a free night. She took her bearings, remembering where the lady’s house was, and set to running the rooftops. There was no way around it being colder up high, the wind full against her, but it was the sort of cold that woke the soul and got one’s mischief up.

Before long, Chaku crouched on the roof of the lady’s house--tu Potali, was it?--behind one of its many chimneys. They only thought to put two guards on the roof at night, which was enough to probably scare off bored boys, but not so much as spit in the sea to her. It was easy to slip past them to the open courtyard, with its balconied glass doors inviting her. Without anyone to look up and spot her, she took her time climbing along the wall, holding the gutter. The blinds weren’t drawn and, by the soft light of each room’s fireplace, she could guess at what it was. She let herself have a grin when she saw a young lady’s room, dropping down to the balcony.

A quick look told Chaku the door was latched--when would the Scembrese learn about proper locks?--so the thin iron file she kept on her easily fit the gap in the frames and lifted the latch. She opened the door quiet-like and stood there blocking what little moonlight the clouds let pass. She could see the delicate little lady sleeping under her blankets, probably the softest thing she’d ever seen--she could just wait there for the cold to rouse the princess, who’d be in for a scare when she saw Chaku standing there like death herself.

Now, now, she told herself. You have things to tell the lady, and that’s awful difficult if she screams and guards come rushing. So, then, maybe if she snuck up to the bedside and covered her mouth that would--or the young lady could sit up on her bed and look directly at her.

“Close the door, would you? It’s a bit chilly.”

Well, then. Chaku shut the door, but left it unlatched, stepping into the room. The smell of perfume was thick enough to cut the smoke; if that was part of being a proper lady, Chaku was all too happy to live in the street.

“I presume you have something to tell me about Traleau?” The young lady stood from her bed, stretched and sauntered over to the fireplace, pointing to a chair like they were having tea. “Please, sit with me.”

“So, you figure I’m the one yer maid hired?” Chaku asked, flopping into the softest chair she’d ever felt in her life. “What if I were here fixing to kill ye?”

“One of the people Genori hired, yes. And if you were ‘fixing to kill me,’ I’d be dead already. You were standing there for a while--oh, but don’t feel bad. I sleep lightly to begin with. Besides, who would want to kill the heiress to such a small family? I’m only worth something to others alive.”

“I’m quickly getting the notion that I’d figured you all wrong,” Chaku muttered, drawing her legs up onto the chair, letting herself sink deeper into it. She could understand then why the noble folk slept so much, she thought, cushions like that simply sucked the life out of you. Even so, this little lady, perhaps four or five years younger than her, looked to have some bones. Her look was lean, sharp. “Definitely figured you wrong. I’d thought you were soft.”

“Well, I appreciate both your candor and your willingness to reconsider. My name is Amiel, by the way.”

“Aanitsuru,” Chaku grunted.

“So you are Oza,” Amiel said. Was it her imagination, or did the lady look pleased? “I can speak some . . . ah! But, isn’t that a family name? What is y--”

“Aanitsuru’s fine, I don’t expect to be knowing ye.” Chaku turned to look into the fire, let the bad breath out, and when she looked back, ‘Amiel’ was gone and the strong-eyed lady was back.

“Very well. What do you have for me, Aanitsuru?”

“Right, then. The circus boy--”

“Traleau.”

“Sure; he went with the soldiers into the lower city. They took him to a nasty enough place, popular with the soldiering type anyway, lots of fighting pits and such--”

“Iacosi’s territory.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Not until earlier tonight.”

“So, yer boy, his friends got that fat fellow’s wind up enough that he sent some rough hands about to do for them and--”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Ye didn’t hear me?”

“I heard you, but . . . what?”

Chaku frowned. The lady’s tutors probably won’t be teaching low talk, she thought. Fair enough.

“Iacosi, he’s the fat one, ye see--”

“No, yes, I gathered.”

“Right, he got mad and sent around some men to, well,” Chaku pulled a finger across her own neck slowly. “Ye follow?”

“I do. Please continue.”

“Well, the soldiers and the circ--Traleau, he came out of it fine, but Iacosi’s lot got level graves, except for one. Young one, near my age, the big fellow tied him up and they took him out to some old smithy near the wall. They put a knife between him and yer boy and told ‘em to sort themselves out.”

Amiel nodded, and Chaku could tell she had a clear picture in her head, and she didn’t care for it one bit. She weighed what she’d seen for a moment, then sighed.

“Yer boy, he let him go and turned his back to him, so Iacosi’s boy took the knife and went for him. Yer boy defended himself.”

“Is he--”

“No harm done.”

“And the other . . . ?”

“Dead.”

“But you’re absolutely sure it was self-defense, and nothing more?”

Chaku studied closely on Amiel. She had the graces of a lady, all right. Nothing about her had lost its place, except that for the first time, she’d turned her eyes. It was only for a breath, but Chaku saw it, and knew what she’d said wasn’t a question at all. She thought back to that perfectly cut throat, the way the circus boy had gone for the big fellow after.

“That’s right.”

“And then?”

“Then the soldiers went off. The old one said some things I didn’t catch, then the young one, the one in the robe, walked him back to the circus, then I came here.”

“I . . . see,” Amiel said, and said no more for what seemed a long while.

“Well, then, if that’s everything from me, I’ll be on my way,” Chaku said, though truth was she wanted to stay in that chair just an hour or two more.

“Oh, please wait. I have something to ask, and if you hear me out, I’ll make it worth your while. I assume extra payment was the main reason you wanted to scare me?” Amiel said, her tone even, smile genuinely amused.

“That’s about it.”

“We call that extortion, typically, but let’s just say it was a convenient meeting. I have an extra gold piece for you if you’ll permit me to ask you a question, and potentially more, depending on how you answer it.”

“Yer feeling generous, m’lady? Fine, what have ye in mind?”

“First, what are your impressions of the mercenary group?”

“Impressions?”

“Well, you’ve tailed them all night. Surely you must have some opinions about them.”

“Aye, supposing I do.” Chaku searched Amiel’s face for any clues to what she wanted to hear, but the lady was hard to read. If the low fee she’d taken for the job made her feel less in control than she’d liked, not having any edge on a little girl had her near depressed. Still, nothing for it but to be straight.

“Well, I can’t speak to the whole lot, since yer maid said they numbered a hundred and then some, and I only saw the six of ‘em. But that leader of theirs, the old one, I wouldn’t trust him. Never.”

“He’s a mercenary. Trust is hardly an issue when you know up front you’re paying.”

“No, not at all. Ye can trust a sellsword just fine, long as yer smart enough to know what yer enemy’s willing to pay. He’s something different and no mistake. What’s more, the ones that was with him, they’re not with him for the money either.”

“I see. I had suspected as much. They all seemed, wrong, somehow,” Amiel said, and drifted off to thinking again. Chaku liked that thinking face less and less, and she was starting to think the soft chairs were for talk like this, to take folks off their guard and make them easier to play. She sat up straight and at the edge of the seat, determined to defy.

“Aye. So, what of it?”

“Well, I promised you an extra gold piece for the question. That is yours either way. But if you would be willing to follow Traleau until the mercenaries leave two days from now, I will pay you a further two gold pieces now, and two more when it is done.”

“I think I’ll pass. Too much risk, with folk like that interested in ‘im. I’ll be taking that gold piece and be on my way, thank you much,” Chaku said, standing and shaking off what was left of the chair’s comfort.

“Of course.” Amiel gave a small nod. “As I said, that is yours either way.”

Oh, that’s the shape of things, is it? Chaku thought. The lady’s tone was just disappointed enough to feel like an insult, to say that only a coward took one coin where five could be had. Of course, when she’d had any, Chaku had seen enough friends go from street to gutter over those sorts of dares.

“Aye, it is.”

“I see. Then perhaps there is a different task I might interest you in, for five gold pieces.”

“ . . . I’m listening, lady.”

“Hardly the proper address. Regardless, I need someone to look into the recent activities of the Ascipili. They’re a merchant family who conduct much of the shipping and accounting for my father’s ventures.”

“Ye think something smells foul?”

“You could say that. The documents that they’ve been passing along to my father of late are rather suspect, or at least, I think so. Too many reports of lost cargo on too many of the same trips. You see where I’m going with this, I trust?”

“Aye. Yer being robbed since ye have no eyes on the ships. Common enough.”

“Yes, well, my family is not so elevated that we can simply ignore this; we deserve the profits of our own vineyards. However, I obviously cannot raise the issue with my father, lest he know I’m more aware of this family’s dealings than I ought to be. He will not deal with it on his own, as he will likely not notice, and neither I nor any servants could tend to it without humiliating him.” Amiel shrugged: no way around noble worries.

“Right. So, how do ye want this done, then?”

“So, you’ll do it? Excellent. What I would like you to do is peek in on the Ascipili for me to ascertain how far this reaches. They keep their offices in Tagie. First, we’ll need to look at the signatory assigned to my father’s interests. It could be that the shipments are all reaching the right hands, but the person who signs off on the statements is altering them to misplace some of our money, in which case the recordkeeper has to be covering for him with false copies. You’ll break into their offices at night and check one of the statements the signatory has marked for delivery against the clerk’s draft.”

“And what should I be doing if that’s the case?” Chaku perked a brow. “Should I . . . ?”

“No, no, there are subtler methods.” The way Amiel smiled at her almost made Chaku forget she was talking to a girl not even thirteen years along. “If those documents do not match, you will take them to the head clerk’s office and leave them on his desk, and then you will leave.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. The head clerk will deal with them on his own when he realizes that not only are his employees stealing from a lord, but that someone has found out about it. Even if he’s complicit in the scheme, he’ll have no choice but to root them out to save face and to clean himself of the matter in case he mistakes the papers finding their way to his desk for a threat.”

“And if it be something other?”

“Then there are three other possibilities. The drafting clerks are all Ascipili family members to my knowledge, so if it’s the one working my father’s account, then it is quite possible that the family itself is cheating all its clients, but they would try to protect themselves if that’s the case. If the problem isn’t within the accountancy, then the crews and dockworkers in the shipping end of the business are the thieves, and we also have unknown black market buyers to worry about. If that isn’t true and they really are just suffering that much loss of cargo, the Ascipili are simply incompetent.”

“Unfortunately, proving any of these possibilities would require additional evidence not to be found in their offices, and even if one obtained the evidence, I’m not yet sure how to proceed with those issues. In any of those cases, return to me immediately.”

“For five coin, you said? Fair enough.” Break-ins on money-pushers were easy enough, and even counting the time to Tagie and back, five gold pieces was plenty for such a job. But the little lady’s smile told Chaku she wasn’t quite finished.

“But before you do this job for me, I need you to watch Traleau until the morning after tomorrow. You will still be paid five gold coins for each task.”

“Now wait here, I--”

“Is ten gold coins really such an unfair fee for what I’m asking?”

“No, but I--”

“If you do both these tasks for me, you might find yourself with a permanent position. As the heiress, my allowance is quite generous, and as I spend little enough on the usual luxuries of a lady, I have significant savings as well. Certainly enough to sustain your reliable employment. You would have no more need to live on the streets.”

“Yer assuming I don’t like it,” Chaku said, though she felt like a brat, and the little lady wasn’t fooled in the least. There was no reason to say it excepting that she couldn’t tell whether to respect or hate the girl for toying with her, and taking a swipe was near enough to splitting the matter down the middle.

“Please, Aanitsuru. You were able to track six dangerous men through one of the worst parts of the city and break into my room without being caught by anyone, and if you’re someone Genori would turn to, then it is even clearer how capable you are. Surely someone with your ability would enjoy more interesting work?”

If there was one thing the little lady could not have known, it was just how true that was. Taking money from folks that had more of it than sense was enough to get by most of the time, but even then, money had a way of going faster than she could work--too many others that did what she did and well enough for the price. Chaku had to admit that leaving lean times in the past had a sweet smell to it, and if she were truly in the good graces of a noble, then perhaps . . .

“Fine, then. Ye have yerself a deal,” she said, sticking her hand out. Amiel tilted her head and gave her a queer look; well, at least she’d surprised her with that much. “Ye shake it.”

“Oh, I--” The little lady shut her mouth and gave one light shake. “Well, then, I trust you can see yourself out. I’ll hear from you tomorrow night and the night after?”

“Aye. Just one last thing, m’lady.”

“What is it?”

“What’s the boy matter? You sweet on him?”

“No, I scarcely know him, and even if I did, he is not what exactly suitable marriage material.”

“Nobody said ye had to marry him,” Chaku muttered.

“I beg your pardon!” Amiel hissed, horror and some color filling her face; that was satisfying, almost enough to make the whole night work out to good. She needed a few deep breaths to set herself straight, Chaku smirking all the while.

“It just doesn’t seem right to me, that’s all,” the little lady said, looking into the fire. “All I do know about him is that there’s something wild in him. There isn’t any room for that in my world, but I want to believe it can be a good thing, a beautiful thing. I fear that if this Tshio Kion and his men take him, that it will be crushed. Do you understand that?”

“I suppose it don’t amount to much if I do or don’t. Not like it was my place to ask anyway.”

“. . . I suppose you’re right. Good night, Aanitsuru.”

Chaku watched her pick herself up, walk back to her bed and like magic, she was suddenly the fragile little lady again, no sign of the wits or the bones she’d had not a breath before. Business was concluded, as the merchants say, and Chaku let herself out through the doors, though it nagged at her that the little lady’d sounded disappointed.

rhetoric

rhetoric

i appeal to my chronic language
the sole part of long-drawn years
am given table scraps

whole worlds are built on
such sage leavings
        rarely questioned
and what might i ask that is not(?)
       second-hand

sweeping in a full arc
               souls under the table
pass unnoticed or if noticed, unmourned
                       still we are
lightless-deep in our fathers' runes
cowering, i too
                 for the asking
       would be naught
                  courage less
                i wanted an answer

The Cat's Eye, Book I, Part V

The Cat's Eye

Book I, Part V

The dining hall was full of the smells of feast: roasted birds of various breeds, still-steaming bread fresh from the brick oven, the last of the late-season blackberries baked into pies, pumpkin-spiced milk. Warmth filled the chamber, spilled forth from the four roaring fireplaces, trapped by thick tapestries covering every window and most of the floor. A band of four musicians played to one half of the hall, while a traditional farce was staged to the other. Such was Carnivale Scembrese for the wealthy.

Amiel fidgeted, though she assured herself she hid it well. On any other night, she’d be ecstatic to have bedtime deferred five hours, to sit at her father’s left hand and share fashionable talk with important guests. She knew she should have been thrilled to have the attentions of well-bred young men, with her first marriageable season fast approaching. Instead, her mind was full of lowly circus folk and warriors.

“Lady Amiel?” The youth next to her spoke gently, though from his expression she could see she had left him waiting for an answer for some time. Endless practice made a simple task of keeping a straight face while she tore through drawers of memory for the proper documents. The politely concerned face belonged to Haegeth SoFraem, heir to the Fraem Mark near . . . one of the other great cities, which was unimportant. His family outranked hers considerably, he was spending the season in Scembre with some distant cousin, her father had called in favors to get him to their party, and he had been rambling to her about--

“I think, Lord SoFraem,” she began, working her mouth through the strange sounds, “that the people of Oza should continue to govern themselves without intervention from the continent, but that diplomats must be sent to their leaders to demand their corsairs be brought in line.”

“With respect, Lady Amiel, how can we expect them to take our demands seriously if we are not willing to show we have the force to back them?” The heir looked skeptical, but at least she had guessed the subject correctly, which was a start. Her father was deeply engaged in a conversation about the Potali vineyards outside the city, boring her mother and intriguing the Minister of Public Work and wouldn’t catch a word. She leaned over ever so slightly, lowering her voice.

“With respect, my Lord, there are subtler ways to deal with contrary folk. Why not, say, employ the corsairs?” Amiel’s painted lips turned into a small smile as the young man arched a brow.

“Is that the Scembrese answer? Try to buy off one’s enemies? Somehow, I doubt the people of the continent would accept it. I would not accept it.” Amiel gave the Margrave credit for not letting anything show in his face, but she knew well enough what was going on. He fancied himself a hero, ready to strike at the heart of evil, and expected the dainty young maiden to swoon. Well, she thought, perhaps my eight-year-old sister would be impressed. Alas, time to end this.

“Pray forgive my boldness, my Lord, but it’s the people who need buying off most of all. I’ve had the luxury of speaking to some of the people who ship for my father, people who’ve been to Oza. They say first that they are a pragmatic people, and piracy is only so prevalent because their island is so poor in its own resources. They say second that Oza maps are far superior to our own, and their crews much more experienced with long-distance seafaring.”

Haegeth leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, turning the thought over.

“Give them a way to make money off us without needing to risk their lives and ships, they can handle their own security, and they’d widen the range of available commodities,” he murmured, mind shifting from blood and glory to silver and gold. “We’d increase our wealth and the people would forget about the raids.”

“My Lord has surely hit upon an enlightened solution,” Amiel replied, looking about the room. Where were her handmaids? She had other, more important things to attend to than derailing noble egos with good sense.

“I must say, you have a fine mind. I imagine you’d be a most capable mistress of an estate.” Haegeth’s smile punctuated the point, not that it needed to be. Amiel considered him for a moment. She knew why her father had worked so hard to bring him here, the same reasons he had invited Tamiano tu Escatri and Laolo d’Gli, Ronete’s older brother: men who could improve her family’s station through marriage. That was why Laolo and Tamiano, whom she knew, were at another table, while someone she’d never met was sat next to her: a Margrave is much more than a Visconte or a Conte. All understandable, but not what she was interested in at the moment.

Just then, Etarezia, the junior of her handmaids, slipped in through the servant’s door and came to her side.

“Forgive me, Lord SoFraem, I’d sent my handmaid on an urgent errand, I need only to hear what she has to say, then we may resume.”

Etarezia blanched at the idea of preceding a noble in conversation, but seeing the Margrave turning back to his meal without protest and Amiel’s father too preoccupied to notice, she leaned in close.

“My lady, I made the inquiries you asked me to. The boy you were worried about, he was seen in the company of the Duke’s mercenaries both in the hills and in the lower city. Some vendors in the old market saw the mercenaries nearly two hours ago, but not the boy,” she whispered. Amiel kept a placid face, but felt her heart sink slightly.

“Have you any word from Genori?”

“None yet, my lady. I’m certain she’ll be back before it is time for you retire. Is there anything else I can do until then?”

“No, you’ve been running about for me in the cold most of the night. Take some rest, enjoy Carnivale.”

“My lady, with respect, from what you’ve said, I am as concerned about this Traleau as you are. If those men truly plan to turn him into one of them . . . please, let me help.” For the sake of appearances, Etarezia kept her whisper soft and even, her face benign. Still, she so rarely insisted on anything.

“Thank you, Etarezia. Then, while I wish I didn’t have to consider it. if you know any people who could check the alleys or the canals for a body . . . ”

“I understand, my lady. I’ll see to it.” She turned to leave, but Amiel stopped her short with a gentle touch to the elbow.

“I know such people must be paid. I’ll not have it coming out of your pittance.” Then, to the Margrave, raising her voice to make sure she was heard by other guests, “If you will excuse me for a moment, my Lord, my handmaid has informed me that my favorite spiced jellies are nearly gone, and they are only for the first night of Carnivale. I was hoping you would permit me to treat you to one, in gratitude for your kind attendance.”

The Margrave was surprised--pleasantly, she thought--and bowed his head.

“You do me a great honor, Lady Amiel.”

“Then I shall send her to fetch them. I must retrieve my purse, but I shall return soon.”

She briefly glanced around the room; those who’d taken notice, including her parents, permitted themselves slight smiles, and she had leave to walk away. The two moved quickly once they’d left the dining hall, the rest of the palace quiet but for a few guards. Entering her room, she shut the door and retrieved her coin purse, handing Etarezia two pieces of gold and six of silver.

“Make sure to actually buy the jellies on your way back, and try to haggle.”

“For the jellies or . . . ?”

“Both,” Amiel said. “And again, thank you.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Her maid went ahead, and she returned to the dining hall in solitude.

“Thank you for your patience, my Lord. I assure you, the jellies will be worth the wait.”

“I am certain they shall be,” Haegeth replied, suddenly with a much friendlier tone. Tamiano and Laolo both looked somewhat dejected where they sat; damage that was mendable, and acceptable. “Tell me, Lady Amiel, have you had the chance to visit . . . ”

The night’s festivities and conversations carried on deep into the night, the tired guests leaving when polite excuses presented themselves. As the tables emptied, the entertainers were paid and sent on their way, Viscontessa tu Potali retired, Tamiano and Laolo paid their respects somewhat begrudgingly to Amiel, and eventually, her father asked the few men who remained to share a last drink with him in the drawing room. Haegeth SoFraem was full of confidence as he went off with the Visconte, leaving Amiel alone at the table.

Neither Etarezia nor Genori had returned; had something happened to them? She noticed the cleaning maids gathered in a knot near the servant’s entrance, watching her nervously, flushed in embarrassment and left the dining hall. To her surprise, both of her handmaids were waiting for her when she reached her room. Etarezia set about preparing her bed, while Genori sat Amiel down by the fireplace and brushed her hair.

“My lady, I apologize for taking so long. While I was asking around the lower city, I met someone who had seen the mercenaries with a foreign-looking young man headed into a disreputable neighborhood.”

“Disreputable?”

“Thieves, drunks, swindlers and, well . . .”

“And?”

“My lady, I--”

“And prostitutes? You know I’m not that delicate, Genori.”

“Even so, my lady.”

“I see. What happened then?”

Genori was silent for a moment, and Amiel felt a gentle hand tremble slightly on her shoulder.

“I pursued the matter further. I paid a night watchman to follow me, and we found that there had been a fight between thugs in the employ of some man named Iacosi, I think, and a group of strangers. Apparently it had something to do with gambling on pit fighting. But they say there were seven strangers.”

“What happened?”

“There were several thugs dead. No sign of the mercenaries, or the circus boy,” Genori said. “I checked at the pit as well, though the men there were of no use, and the night watchman said it was dangerous to ask too many questions in ‘Iacosi’s territory,’ as he called it.”

“I have people looking for bodies that match Traleau’s description, as you asked,” Etarezia whispered, “but we’ll have to wait until morning for word from them.”

“I understand. Thank you, both of you, for this,” Amiel said, trading her place by the fire for the edge of her bed. “I know it was a great deal to ask.”

“My lady, that you are a person who cares about such things is why I happily serve you,” Genori said, curtseying.

“I feel the same,” Etarezia said. “Oh, and the spiced jellies are on your end-table, if you still need the excuse.” With that, both handmaids left her in the dark and silence of her room. She lay down and turned onto her side, staring at the shape of piled jellies wrapped in a linen cloth, waiting for sleep to come.

Tonight, it was elusive. Amiel’s mind kept casting itself back to Traleau. She could admit that however strong an impression he’d made, it was still brief; there were reasons enough to neither care nor think she knew a near-stranger’s best interests. Even so, the feeling of revulsion hit her immediately when she recalled the mercenaries talking at the circus.

The large one, Stonebreaker, spoke with an unnerving excitement about ‘instincts,’ about ‘a taste for blood.’ Their leader, the older one, encouraged him, so did the tattooed, bald one. The slim albino, as far as she could tell, hated everything, while the handsome man who’d done all the talking through the Duke’s dinner treated it all as a light joke. The most disturbing was the youngest one, who had stared, empty-faced through the whole night. Not even the other mercenaries spoke to him.

She could not imagine the simple, quiet boy with the delicate throwing knives surviving in such company. Of course, they invited him along in the Duke’s presence, making refusal impossible. But wandering into some dark corner of the lower city, gambling on pit fights, brawling in the streets? Surely he’d have realized something amiss and heeded her warning before all that. The thought refused to stick; instead she kept imagining Etarezia telling her a body had been found in the canal, face disfigured beyond all recognition.

Or what if, worse still, the mercenaries had been right about Traleau? When sleep finally came, it was mercifully dreamless.

Traleau had the choice to be elsewhere, he knew that well enough. When they’d left the pit, they’d warned him that Iacosi would send men after them to slit their throats and take their money. The Priest had offered to take him back to the circus, and he’d declined. When Wind noticed they were being tailed, he could have easily slipped down some alleyway and climbed to the rooftops, where few could give chase. There had been so many choice moments to escape during the fighting that ensued, yet he stayed. When they bound, gagged and blindfolded the one survivor among Iacosi’s goons, he’d already had some sense what would happen if he followed along.

Still, he had.

“This should work.” Stonebreaker shoved the prisoner down to his knees against the cool dirt of the smith yard. Weeds grew everywhere and most of the outbuildings looked ready to collapse from rot; the lack of lingering ashen stink was the surest sign the forge had been abandoned.

They were close enough to the city wall that Traleau could see it looming overhead, hiding the stars on the horizon behind utter blackness. Their prisoner tried vainly to struggle against the leather strap holding his wrists behind his back, made a muffled shout as he rose to his feet. Stonebreaker laughed and forced him down with a single heavy hand upon his shoulder. Kneeling down beside him, the mercenary removed his blindfold.

“He can’t be but a couple of years older than you, Traleau,” Stonebreaker said. “And yet he came after us--you--with a knife.”

It was true, the prisoner was young. When Iacosi’s men had attacked them, he had been too surprised, too afraid; he’d felt naked without a knife in his hands. A sudden rush of blood had given him his legs back long enough to slip away from one’s persistent but clumsy slashes, and then it was all over, every one of the thugs dead but this one. The unthinking aggression had been replaced with quivering and pleading.

The youth made another effort to cry out, his eyes searching for sympathy in any of the seven faces before him. Traleau wanted to reach out and pull the gag out, but Stonebreaker grabbed the boy’s face in his hand, squeezing hard.

“Hah, what, are you going to beg for your life? No, no. After all, you’ve killed before, haven’t you? Oh yes, you have.” The warrior relished in his captive’s growing fear. “I saw you go straight for Traleau, too. I know your type. You’re the sort of piss pot’s reject who only takes the weakest-looking ones.”

The youth’s body shook violently, and in what little light there was, Traleau saw sweat glistening on his face, mixing with tears.

“It is good and just to cull the weak. This pleases the spirits. But if you only ever make of yourself a scavenger, what do you expect will happen when you are face-to-face with a predator?” Stonebreaker abruptly drove his hand into the boy’s back, pinning his whole body flat to the ground. “Have you considered that?”

“Have you!?” The low snarl was unlike any sound Traleau had ever heard a human being make. His body felt heavier than it had when they’d been attacked, heavier than it ever had, even in those distant memories. The effect was not lost on Iacosi’s minion, whose sobbing had ceased.

“All right, all right. I think he gets your point, big fellow,” Kion said, walking over to the boy and crouching down in front of him. He waved a single finger in the air nonchalantly, and Traleau noticed the other mercenaries forming a loose circle, Stonebreaker joining them. “Now, here’s the unfortunate thing: some of my men want to kill you, and the others don’t care whether you live or die. I’m the chief, so I can refuse them, but only if I have a good reason to spare your life, and I can’t say I have one. Traleau, here, on the other hand . . .”

“Well, Traleau isn’t one of mine. He’s our special guest, and I owe him something for the trouble we put him through tonight, so I’m leaving the choice up to him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll let you go.”

Traleau felt a sensation starting at the base of his spine then ran up its length, stretching to enfold his heart, quickening it. Kion pulled a dagger from his belt and drove it into the ground--the same weapon that had been swung at him so awkwardly earlier that night. His fingers curled involuntarily, imagining the handle rest against his palm, that familiar weight.

“Here’s how this works. I’m going to leave this knife here, and the two of you are going to work it out between yourselves. If you try to run, we will kill you. If you try to call for help, we will kill you. You can either kill him yourself, or you can hope he chooses to let you go. Of course, Iacosi will probably kill you for failing him, he seems petty enough. At any rate, I trust you understand your situation?”

The youth nodded, and Kion untied his gag and binding. He gulped down a breath and raised his tear-clouded eyes to Traleau, crawling up onto his knees as Kion joined the circle, leaving them alone.

“Hey, listen, hey.” His voice trembled, but ignoring that sound was one of the first things Traleau had taught himself in the circus. Words came to him from the end of a past life: ‘People aren’t like beasts, they make noises for no reason.’ The knife-thrower walked towards him slowly, studying him.

“Stop, hey, just listen to me,” The youth pleaded again. “It wasn’t nothin’ personal, right? I don’t know you, if you let me go, I swear I’ll leave you alone! I swear it, I swear it! My boss won’t take me back now, so I’ve got no problem with you.”

It was just like the human target act: posturing and bravado before they’d seen a blade, before they’d seen he was ready to throw, followed by the panic. One simply set that aside and took aim. Traleau stood over the young man, saw that he wanted to take the knife but didn’t--couldn’t.

Instead, he pled with growing desperation, recoiling when Traleau pulled the knife out of the ground and considered it closely, slowly. He stumbled getting to his feet and backpedaled away, but froze, looking over his shoulder at Stonebreaker and remembering Kion’s words. He swallowed hard, trembling where he stood.

“Y-you’re not really going to . . . I’ve got no weapon! I can’t hurt anyone,” he whined.

“I didn’t have a weapon, either,” Traleau said. The color drained from the youth’s face, and he realized his words had been taken for vengeful intent. Well, it silenced him long enough to think. The knife in his hand, that felt right. There was, as Kion had said, no convincing reason to let him go; a small voice in the back of his head insisted on the preciousness of life, but that wasn’t what stayed his hand. It simply seemed like a waste.

“Just go,” Traleau said, letting the knife fall to the ground. “See?” He wasn’t sure why he’d expected a quick reaction. The youth stared at him, mute and unbelieving. The mercenaries showed no sign of approval or disappointment, but he reminded himself they’d given him the final choice. Then, a change in the demeanor of the young man: he started to move.

Traleau didn’t have time to wonder why their captive, now freed, dove for the knife. He didn’t have time to reason with him, or ask him to leave. There was certainly not time to create from thin air another excuse for letting him go. These things came to his mind all at once after the burning in his body started to fade.

The young man was struggling vainly, pinned underneath him, his strength rapidly fading. A hand--his own, Traleau realized--held the youth’s head back to expose the neck as something dark spilled forth, dripping into the dirt. The knife was gripped tight in his other hand, wet and warmth sliding down the blade, the grip, coating his hand. The kicking and flailing slowed, and soon the body was motionless under him. He was the one still shaking, teeth clenched.

Traleau pulled his hand back from the youth’s head and was met with a mask of pain, the last expression that face would ever wear. He knew it was impossible, but he thought the body was demanding some answer from him. In that shadowed place from years ago, amid the birdsong, he had seen death this close many times, yet . . .

“It’s different,” he murmured, looking at the knife as he stood. He waited for it to speak some comfort to him, but the stain on its blade rendered it silent.

“I was right about you,” Stonebreaker said. “The spirits howl around you.”

The warrior seemed even bigger, somehow, in the deep darkness of the city’s edge. Though Traleau couldn’t discern any of his features, he felt certain Stonebreaker was smiling at him. He gripped the knife tighter as the great black form approached, his instincts screaming at him to run or lash out. What he felt about having taken the young thug’s life could wait: as much as anyone he’d ever known, Stonebreaker was an enemy, a true predator.

“You do not relish death,” the warrior said, sounding disappointed. He kicked the corpse at his feet hard enough to turn it on its face “Yet you killed him so easily, so naturally. That is how it should be. The spirits love those who cull the weak, but those who build their pride on such things are soon ruined.”

“That’s enough,” The Priest hissed. “Stop harassing the boy and let’s get out of here.”

“Right now, you wish to kill me, don’t you?” Stonebreaker said, seemingly deaf to the smaller man’s words. “Your body remembers exactly what you are, even if your mind forgot. I wonder how many throats you cut before the fat man took you in.”

“Come with us, swear yourself to Tshio Kion, and he will show you the purpose the spirits have for you.”

Traleau could endure it no longer, the pressure pouring out from Stonebreaker’s shadow was suffocating him. He lashed out with a kick, his foot arcing towards the warrior’s belly; he’d expected the thick forearm that blocked it, but he hadn’t noticed the huge fist flying towards his face until he’d already committed himself to thrusting the knife. The already dark world went pitch black, and when he came to, he was falling onto his back, the knife dropped paces in front of him. The warrior did not move--was he considering the same things Traleau had only minutes before?

The knife-thrower forced himself up onto shaking legs, everything spinning around him. Pain pushed through the cloud in his consciousness, a stunning ache that dropped him back to the ground. Over the throbbing in his ears, he heard Stonebreaker laughing.

“I admire your will. In time, you will learn the strength and skill to match it.”

Another shape, The Priest, had moved through the darkness and crouched down next to Traleau, helping him back up to his feet.

“Are we quite done?” he asked.

“I am. Chief, I’m heading back to camp.”

“See you later, then. Now, let’s have a look at him.” Kion guided Traleau and The Priest over to the lantern hanging from the smithy wall, looking over the boy’s face. He prodded in a few places and soon Traleau felt the whole right side of his face was one large bruise. Kion, however, looked pleased. “The good news is, he hit you lightly. Well, lightly as he knows how to, and he didn’t break anything. You’ll look a bit rough for a few days, but the swelling should go down soon enough, and you’ll be good as new.”

“It’s time we take him back to the circus,” The Priest said.

“I agree. There are taverns still open, I’d like to wash this wasted night down as soon as possible,” Wind snapped.

“Right, then. Since you’re so keen on it, you can take him back, Priest. The rest of you go back to camp with Stonebreaker, make sure he doesn’t end up doing too much damage along the way now that his blood’s up. I’ll be along shortly” Kion waited for the others to excuse themselves, disappearing into the dark corridors of the lower city. Traleau studied the older man closely for the first time. Though he was supposedly the leader of the group, he had none of the stifling ferocity of Stonebreaker, and he’d been content just to watch the night unfold, not even joining the fray when Iacosi’s men attacked. An inscrutable half-smile seemed never to leave his face.

Still, a truly monstrous warrior spoke of him like a god, and Traleau himself had heard stories of Tshio Kion for as long as he’d been with the circus. Perhaps he could help him understand his odd desires.

“Do,” he began, wincing as movement brought the ache back to his face. “Do you really want me to join you?”

“Hah, got the taste for wet-work already? Priest, what do you think, should we take him on?”

“I think you’re a bastard for bringing him along in the first place.”

“Fair enough. Listen, Traleau: you’ve got some strength and some speed. Sure, you know how a knife works. But you still still made an awkward mess of killing one panicky, beaten kid who wasn’t any sort of fighter when he attacked us, either. I can think of some work that fits you, but you’d have to unlearn plenty and learn even more.”

“Having said all that, I think you and I both know that you can’t be part of the circus anymore. Whatever happened to you before Brogyr’s crew found you made you into something different from, well,” Kion stretched his arms wide, embracing the city, “civilized people. You’ve done a fine job keeping it under wraps, but I bet that has more to do with repaying what you owe than wanting to be one of them.”

To think of it that way had never occurred to him, but Traleau knew he spoke true. He nodded, waited.

“If you come with us, we can use those ‘different’ parts of you. It’s never boring, the work’s always different, and best of all, you’ll meet plenty of people worth testing yourself against.”

More like Stonebreaker, more who stirred his senses into a furor and drew out the violent liveliness from deep inside him. Now that he’d felt it again, he noticed its years of absence, and how much the desire had grown while he was playing at performer. He wondered if he owed Brogyr any more service for his kindness: he had done everything in his power to excel, hadn’t he?

“We’re encamped near the north wall, and we leave two dawns from now. If you want a place with us, you’ll have one. But if I might give you some parting advice,” Kion patted him on the shoulder, “stay clear of Stonebreaker if you see him before you make your decision.”

With that, he walked off into the darkness, leaving Traleau alone with The Priest.

“Let’s get you home,” the warrior whispered. Pain compounded Traleau’s exhaustion, leaving his feet to drag along as the young man carried him, but he managed to look over at him. As far as he could tell, The Priest was watching the ground, but his jaw was tight, his brow furrowed.

“I’m hoping that you’ll have enough sense not to follow us,” he said, as if noticing the knife-thrower’s attentions. “I don’t care if you leave the circus or not, but joining Kion’s band is the same as throwing away your life, if you’re lucky.”

“What if I’m not?” Traleau asked weakly.

“Your soul, then your life.”

“Oh.”

That raised questions about The Priest, but Traleau was far too tired to ask them. They walked through the lower city’s narrow streets in silence, the day’s revelries concluded or carried by the hardy few into the taverns. The blood on his hand had lost its warmth and begun to dry.