Circle Opens #03: Cold Fire Page 7

  “You would have found a way,” Daja interrupted. “I know you would have.”

  “I’m honored, but you overestimate me,” Ben told her. “Did you see anyone — odd — watching the fire?”

  It was Daja’s turn to smile crookedly. “I haven’t been here long enough to know what’s normal and what isn’t,” she admitted. “So, should I take this to the magistrates? Tell them the fire was set?”

  “I’ll go,” Ben replied. “They may call at Bancanor House to ask you for details, though I doubt it. Magistrate’s mages tend to rely on their spells more than the words and ideas of mere human beings.” He sighed. “I’ll nose around and ask some questions of my own. Luckily I know Bazniuz Island well. My — my family and I lived there.”

  Daja looked down. She wanted to say something proper, something that wouldn’t stir up painful feelings for this man she admired. In the end she could only think of the commonplace: “I am sorry for your loss. I heard how you came to study all this in the first place.”

  Ben picked up a small oval painting on the worktable, and held it out for Daja to examine. “Kofrinna — my wife,” he explained as Daja accepted it. It showed a blandly pretty young woman with dark eyes and a timid smile. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her and our children.” He looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Daja said, putting the portrait on his desk. “I didn’t mean to —”

  “Actually I’m glad you mentioned her,” he said. “No one talks to me about her or the little ones. I —”

  The door opened without a preceding knock. Daja turned to see the newcomer, a hard-faced woman about five feet, five inches tall. She wore a plain undergown of cream-colored wool without a speck of embroidery. Her overgown was brown wool with black braid trim around the hem, collar, and sleeve openings, secured down the front by plain black buttons. Her head veil was cream-colored linen, the round hat pinned on top of her veil as brown and unremarkable as her dress. They covered hair that had been dyed blonde in the Namornese style so often it looked like straw. Hers was a hard, tight face, with lines that bracketed a broad, unsmiling mouth and short nose. Tiny pupils that never expanded were at the center of her pale gray-green eyes.

  The eager, intense Ben Daja had been talking to was gone. In his place was a large, awkward man whose body was as stiff as his voice when he said, “Mother. Allow me to introduce Viymese Daja Kisubo. Daja, this is my mother, Ravvi Morrachane Ladradun.”

  Morrachane looked at Daja and sniffed, as if she didn’t believe Daja had a proper claim to a mage’s title. “Good morning, Viymese. I would like to speak to my son.” She turned to go, then hesitated and looked at Daja again. “You are the one who stays with the Bancanors?”

  Daja, who did not like the way that Morrachane had sniffed at her, gave only a tiny bow of agreement.

  Morrachane’s lips moved: the corners turned up; the wrinkles on either side of her mouth deepened. It took Daja a moment to realize that Morrachane was smiling. It took another moment to wonder at the kind of person Morrachane was, that a smile looked so alien on her face. “You are staying with my young friends Niamara and Jorality, then. Pray give them my greetings.”

  Daja gave another bow in reply. It spoke well of the woman that she liked Daja’s friends, but not well enough to make Daja forget the change her arrival had worked on Ben.

  “Would you be so good as to tell them I found that book of lace patterns I told them about?” asked Ben’s mother. “They had asked to see it.”

  “Yes, of course,” Daja replied.

  Morrachane’s smile, such as it was, evaporated. “Bennat,” she commanded and walked out.

  Ben looked at Daja, patches of red embarrassment marking his broad cheeks. “Please excuse me,” he said and followed his mother, pulling the door shut behind him. It slid open an inch, enough that Daja could hear their conversation.

  Ben said quietly, “Mother, that was rude.”

  “Why are you here?” Morrachane demanded. She didn’t seem to care if anyone heard. “You’ve frittered nearly three days away on this nonsense. No doubt our clerks are robbing us blind while you chat with this southern wench.”

  “Mother, Daja is a mage and deserves respect!” Ben still kept his voice low.

  “Only by dint of bedding with that ‘teacher’ of hers, I’m sure. Those with magic have no morals. I would never expose my daughters to such people as Kol and Matazi have done. And you shouldn’t be lolling about with her.”

  Daja felt like a knot of embarrassment tied around a ball of fury. As a Trader she was used to the hate of non-Trader kaqs. In those days, like every Trader, she told herself that this was the jealousy of the inferior. She didn’t think that about non-Traders any more, though for Morrachane Ladradun she would make an exception.

  She went to the window to put distance between herself and the door as Morrachane continued to scold Ben. Half the city thinks he’s the most wonderful thing since window glass, Daja thought. And this dried-up codfish of a woman treats him like an idiot. How can she not see how good he is?

  She noticed something in the corner, tucked between the window and a bookcase. It was a six-foot-tall section of shelves, nearly invisible to the rest of the room. Each shelf held an assortment of objects, all scented faintly with smoke. Here was a metal soldier, top half perfect, the bottom half melted smooth. She touched it with her brass-gloved hand and saw a room with toys scattered everywhere, the carpet and hangings in flames. Women in nightdresses ran out with screaming children in their arms. Daja jerked her hand away.

  Here was a half-burned book; there a molten piece of glass. There were nearly fifty things, all marked by fire. The one that made the hair stand on Daja’s arms was the skeleton of a hand, each bone threaded on wire to keep its original position, a molten glob of gold around the wedding ring finger. She did not touch the gold.

  “Mementoes,” Ben said. Daja spun — she hadn’t heard him return. “Every fire where I manage to make a difference, keep it from being a complete disaster, I like a reminder,” he continued. “In case I get to thinking I’m not worth much.”

  Daja looked at him. He was still red with humiliation.

  “I apologize for my mother,” he added hesitantly. “She’s — very strong-minded. She made us rich after my father lost our fortune. Anyway, she sometimes forgets what she says or does isn’t … polite. Every business deal is a crisis for her.”

  He looked worn down. He half-killed himself on that fire last night, making sure everyone did as they should, even worrying about me, Daja thought angrily. He should be in bed, resting, and she orders him out to look at account books and shipping bills.

  Daja couldn’t give him any rest, but she could help him avoid more burns like the one that scarred his left hand. She had meant to think about the project some more before she spoke, but she wanted to cheer him up now. “Would you like a pair of gloves — well, gauntlets, ending about here” — she tapped her elbow — “to shield your hands from flames?”

  His eyes widened; he rubbed his left hand. “Are you joking? You can do that?”

  “I work with a kind of living metal.” She rubbed her own left hand; his eyes went to it. “I did an artificial leg with it once — well, me, Frostpine, and my foster-brother and -sisters. I’ve been working with it since — the living metal, not artificial legs. I mean, maybe I could do a leg now. I haven’t tried.”

  Ben’s mouth twitched; there was humor in his eyes. “For the first time since we’ve met, you sound like a fourteen-year-old,” he pointed out. “I can’t make head nor tail of what you’re saying.”

  Daja smiled and went back to her chair. She sipped her tea: it was cold. “Never mind the leg. The important thing is, I can make gloves for you.” She didn’t want to mention the suit yet. That was more complicated than gloves, and would require a great deal of planning, if it could be done at all. “Have you paper or a slate?” she asked. “I need to know how long your arms are — a tracing will do.”

  D
aja left Ladradun House with the paper in a roll under her arm as Serg brought the sleigh around from the Ladradun stable. After tucking the paper under the front seat where it would be safe, Daja glanced up at the house. Morrachane’s unwelcoming face watched her from a window. The woman grimaced and turned away.

  “Kaq,” Daja muttered in Trader-talk.

  “Where do we go now, Viymese?” asked Serg.

  Daja shoved Morrachane from her mind and consulted her list of possible mage-teachers. “Little Sugar Street,” she directed.

  Once she had spoken to the last mages on her list, Daja and Serg returned to Bancanor House just before the hour when Daja was to teach meditation. Daja didn’t want to leave that for another day. The last of Sandry’s letters to arrive before winter closed the roads south had described the mess her student made because she hadn’t pressed him to learn to control his power. Daja thought no one at Bancanor House would appreciate being left to hang in midair, or worse.

  She found Nia in Kol’s study, inspecting her father’s set of ebony and cherry chessmen one by one. “I don’t know what carpenter’s magic even is,” she told Daja. “I know this is well polished, and the clothes on the pieces are shaped to make the grain of the wood look like cloth, but that isn’t magic.”

  After thinking about her own studies and those of her friends, Daja said, “A lot of magic is just everyday practical. No matter what power you have, how it gets used centers on the same things, mostly. People always like magic to protect them from fire, from thieves. Magic gets used for medicine and business.” She leaned against Kol’s desk, looking at Nia. The girl was alert and intent. She wants this, Daja thought. Even if it’s not what people expect of wealthy girls, she wants it.

  Daja fiddled with her Trader’s staff, her constant companion. Odd, that she’d always thought of the brass cap and what it said about her, never about the ebony that ran between the metal-covered ends. “What kind of wood is this?” she asked Nia, though she knew the answer.

  “Ebony,” Nia replied instantly. “Expensive and hard. Used for furniture, inlays — it’s imported from the south.”

  “When Traders give their children their first staff, they tell us ebony’s magical use is for protection. Well, what do carpenters make for protection?” Daja asked. “You can spell ebony inlays on a baby’s cradle, to keep it from harm. You could place spells against fire in ebony thresholds in one of your father’s banks. It would have to be very powerful, because some things, like a really big fire —” She stopped, thinking of the boardinghouse fire and the spells that battled the flames. She blinked, shook off the memory, and continued, “Some things have more power than you. Still, you can keep the bank from catching fire because someone knocked over a candle.”

  Nia’s eyes were wide. “Really?”

  “In time,” Daja said. “It depends on the strength of your power and on your education. You need practice, and a teacher, and control — which means meditation. Let’s start on that. Do you know where Jory is?”

  Nia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them. “Book room,” she said, leading the way.

  “Why did you do that?” Daja asked, curious. “Why close your eyes?”

  “Oh, it’s because we’re twins,” Nia said. “It’s not magical, though. We know some other twins, and they do it, too. Usually Jory and I know where the other one is. If something big happens, we can tell. When Jory broke her arm falling off the stable roof, I knew it, even though I was at market with Mama.”

  Jory was in the book room, as Nia had said, poring over recipes. “Why would anyone want to peel a thousand walnuts?” she demanded as Daja and Nia came in. “Do they mean the shell, or the brown skin over the nut meat? Where could you even get a thousand walnuts?”

  “I don’t know and I’m not interested,” replied Daja. “Come on. You won’t learn to meditate reading walnut recipes.”

  “Oh, that,” Jory said, closing her book. “What is meditation, anyway? Is it boring?”

  “Come do it and find out,” Daja told her firmly. “Where can we be undisturbed?”

  The twins looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously. “The schoolroom, I suppose,” Jory said. “Nobody’s there at this hour.”

  Daja followed them up to the schoolroom, on the third floor with the twins’ bedrooms and the nursery where Peigi and Eidart slept. The floor was silent: the younger Bancanors were no doubt out somewhere with their nursemaids.

  Inside the schoolroom, the twins watched as Daja used her staff to draw a protective circle big enough for the three of them. Leaving a foot of it open, she beckoned for them to come through and sit.

  “I’ll get my dress dirty,” they chorused, looking at the floor with disdain. They looked at each other and grinned: they often echoed each other.

  Daja leaned on her staff and waited. The twins pointed out the silvery magic of the flat circle to one another. That answered something for Daja: she knew Jory had glimpsed the kitchen spells, and now she also knew that Nia could see magic. It wasn’t a common gift, though it made life easier for those who had it.

  When the novelty of the circle wore off, Jory sighed. “Do we have to do this? It’s late. I’ve been at lessons forever — can’t I have time to myself? I’ll get splinters on the floor. And I’m hungry.”

  Daja waited. She didn’t expect Nia to be a problem, but Jory would be, given a chance. She had to learn now that she couldn’t get around Daja as she did others. Their situation was only temporary, but if Daja had to teach at all, she would teach as if it mattered.

  Nia sat first, her skirts tucked neatly around her. Jory continued to stare at Daja. Finally Nia tugged Jory’s orange skirt. “Stop it,” she told her twin. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

  Once Jory settled, Daja said, “I’m not.” She closed the circle, then sat on the floor and raised her protections until they were enclosed inside a perfect magical bubble.

  Next she told the girls, “Meditation teaches you to control your power. To control it, you have to find it, so that’s where we’ll start. First step. Take a long, deep breath. Count to seven as you do it. Then …” She continued instructions on proper breathing, words she could repeat in her sleep. As she spoke she watched their faces. What was going on behind those similar, yet different, eyes? “Let’s try it. Sit up straight.” The girls’ backs were straighter than Daja’s, the result of hours with etiquette teachers. “Breathe as I count. Breathe in.” She counted as automatically as she’d described the breathing, letting them get familiar with this easiest part of the exercise. After about ten minutes she let her voice grow quieter, until she finally counted only in her own mind. The twins kept pace even without hearing her.

  “Very good,” Daja told them softly. “As you breathe, empty your mind of thoughts. Forget everything. This might take time, but try. As I count, let your thoughts flow away as if you empty them from a pitcher. Ready? One …”

  She knew once she told them to empty their minds, they would think of anything and everything. Each time they lost track of the count, Daja corrected them and started over. She had restarted five times when Jory complained, “This is boring.”

  “Quiet. Listen inside your mind,” Daja said firmly. “One. Two. Three …”

  “I can’t help it. I keep thinking about things.” It was Jory again. “There’s a crick in my neck.”

  “Shake it out and start over. Be quiet inside, Ravvikki Jorality,” Daja ordered, using the Namornese word for “Miss,” knowing she sounded as dry as the twins’ other teachers. The girls responded instinctively to the schoolteacher voice, straightening backs and shoulders, composing their faces.

  Daja counted through another three rounds of in, hold, out, hold, before Jory scrambled to her feet. “I have a cramp!” she told Daja, massaging her calf. “This is a silly way to sit!”

  “Jory, would you please hush?” demanded Nia. “I almost had it!”

  “Mouse turds,” Jory retorted. “You didn’t almost hav
e anything.”

  “Sit in a way you’re comfortable,” Daja ordered. “I’m not letting you out of the circle until you really try, and not just for a moment or two.”

  “Then why don’t I just —” Turning, Jory walked straight at the protective barrier. She struck the curved dome headfirst. Her hair stood on end, clinging to the magical bubble, and Jory’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, pulling her long hair free.

  “Sit comfortably,” Daja said as Jory tried to pat her hair down. “You make this harder when you fuss.”

  Jory sat with her knees bent to one side. She soon developed cramps in the arms she used to support herself, and switched to the other side. That arm went to sleep. Next she stretched out on the ground. By then the looks Nia gave her had gone from impatient to murderous. Daja was even starting to feel cross.

  When the clock struck downstairs, they all sighed with relief. Daja reached over to rub out a handspan of her circle. As the barriers collapsed, she drew her power back into herself. “Come back here tomorrow, and we’ll do it again.”

  Jory groaned.

  It occurred to Daja that Jory would fight her until Daja made it clear that she was in charge. Now she walked over to stand between Jory and the door, leaning on her staff as she stared into Jory’s eyes. “Maybe you could go all your life with magic just making a little trouble for you because you never got the discipline,” she said, her voice so quiet that the twins had to lean closer to hear. “Maybe,” Daja told them. “And maybe your magic will break loose and cause a disaster. It happens. Will you behave, or do I speak with your parents?”

  Jory pouted. “I’ll behave,” she said at last.

  “Here. Tomorrow. Same time.” Daja stood aside, letting the twins dash away to change clothes. To the empty room she murmured, “That could have gone better.” She rubbed her head. The trouble with meditation was that it was harder to talk about it than it was to do, and she was not the best talker. Why couldn’t Briar, or Tris, teach the twins?