The Aware (The Isles of Glory Book 1) (14 page)

I was slipping into my sword harness, ready to leave, when there was a knock at the door. I expected it to be Tor and called out for him to come in—but it wasn’t Tor. It was the pregnant Keeper woman from the
Keeper Fair.

I groped around in my mind and came up with a name. ‘Syr-sylv Mallani. This is a surprise.’

She looked a little sheepish, which meant she wasn’t a messenger from Duthrick: she wanted something for herself. ‘Blaze. I was wondering if you would remember me.’

‘Why ever not?’ There was actually quite a good reason: we had not had much to do with each other in the past. Mallani had once helped me out on one of the tasks Duthrick had set for me. She had been polite, helpful and distant—not traits that were particularly memorable. Perhaps the most interesting thing about her had been that she did not use magic to improve on her looks. Nor did she now: there was not the slightest trace of sylv blue playing on her skin. That intrigued, because she was not a beautiful woman, although there was plenty of character in her face. She was about thirty, lean and spare and energetic. She carried herself like a sail filled with the wind—taut and eager, yet prone to tear if there was too much pressure.

I finished buckling on the scabbard and picked up my money belt. ‘I was just about to go to the
Keeper Fair
to see Duthrick. How may I help you, Syr-sylv?’

‘Um… I don’t know how to say this.’

I put down the money belt. This was going to take time.

‘I want you to use your Awareness to tell me if my baby has sylvtalent.’

I was relieved. A nice simple task. No catches, no dangers—easy money. ‘Certainly. There will be a fee, of course. Send someone to fetch me once your baby is born, which by the look of it, is any time now.’

I expected her to ask the price; instead she said, ‘We might be sailing at any time, or you might have to go—you can’t tell now?’

I hesitated, staring at the bulge of her pregnancy. ‘I don’t know. In fact, even
you
don’t look like a sylv at the moment. You haven’t used any magic in a long time.’

‘No. Some women say it’s not good to use magic while carrying a baby. It weakens us, and that would hurt the child.’ She looked away, almost on the verge of crying.

I hid a sigh. ‘Suppose you tell me what all this is about. What’s the hurry to know? And why are you worried anyway? Every Keeper sylv woman I’ve ever known has had sylv children.’ Thinking of Ruarth’s mother, I amended that slightly, but not aloud:
Or Aware children.

‘Yes, because they have sylv husbands. My husband is a nonsylv.’

That was when I remembered the circumstances of her supposedly scandalous marriage. She had been the first of the Keeper Council’s sylv agents to defy convention and marry a nonsylv. There was no law against it, of course; but sylvs who wanted to work for the Keeper Council
never
married away from their own kind.

She said, stumbling over the words, ‘Some people say that could mean my child will be a nonsylv. I’ve never heard of that happening, but it worries me… And I’ve been told that if the baby is not a sylv, I will have to give it up if I want to continue in Council service.’

‘That seems a little extreme.’

‘It is,’ she wailed, momentarily losing her fragile hold on her equilibrium. ‘It’s Syr-sylv Duthrick’s idea; he says I’d be too preoccupied with the baby if it’s not a sylv, that I won’t be able to do my work.’

I snorted. ‘He’s just punishing you for betraying your own kind and marrying elsewhere.’ I always thought the worst of Duthrick’s motives.

She didn’t quite dare to agree with me, and said instead, ‘The waiting is killing me… I have to know, and I don’t know when I’ll see another of the Awarefolk.’

‘There are plenty of other Awarefolk.’

‘Perhaps, but how would I know? They don’t make a habit of telling sylvs who they are. Blaze, can’t you try? I’ve been told that babies leak magic…’

‘Yes, that’s true. All small sylv children do. But I’ve never tried with one still tucked up in the womb.’

‘Please.’

I shrugged. ‘All right. But I can’t promise anything. But first, let’s discuss the price.’ I gestured at the wall to indicate the room next-door. ‘There is a young woman in there with a dunmagic sore of subversion; she needs help.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You want me to help her? I—I can’t. I can’t risk going anywhere near dunmagic, not when I am carrying.’ She looked terrified and edged away from the wall, a useless endeavour considering my whole bedroom was as small as a ship’s brig. ‘Anyway, one sylv isn’t strong enough to do that. You’d need several.’

I sighed. I had expected as much. ‘Five setus
then.’

I expected her to bargain (it was an outrageous sum to ask for such a small service) but she dug in her purse, produced the money, and placed it next to the clam shell washbowl. ‘How are you going to do this?’

‘Perhaps it would be best if you untie your tunic and lie down.’ She did as I asked, baring her abdomen, and I ran an unskilled eye over the swell of her body. She really was enormous. ‘When are you due?’

‘Soon. A few days.’

I moved around her, studying her from all angles. Then I touched her skin. The baby kicked, and I felt it—a small bump against my hand pushing upwards as though he was ready to escape his prison. I felt a rush of tenderness, of wonderment. I had always resented the fact that the choice to have a child had been taken away from me, but that feeling was just part of the blend of anger inside, an anger that was always there, all part of being a halfbreed. Part of me. Now, however, for the first time in my life, I felt something else—an ache. A regret.
This would never be mine.

I hurriedly took my hand away, appalled by my own vulnerability.

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading, desperate. Having a child was not enough for her—it had to be a sylv child. I said evenly, ‘I am sorry, Syr-sylv, I simply can’t tell. I cannot feel or see any sylvmagic, but that may just be because your own tissue blocks the way. You must wait for the baby to be born. Send me a message and I will come.’

Something died in her eyes and she nodded, rolling off the bed and buttoning her tunic. ‘Thank you for trying.’

I almost didn’t say anything. I almost let the moment pass; it wasn’t my business, but something made me say, ‘There are worse things than having a nonsylv child.’

She looked back at me then, and a split second later her eyes widened in understanding. ‘You’re sterile,’ she said. ‘They made you sterile.’

I nodded.

‘That’s—that’s—’ She stopped, aware that there was nothing she could say. And perhaps in her heart she did not think that halfbreeds should have children.

‘What’s it like to be sylv?’ I asked suddenly. I’d always wanted to be one, but that was more because sylvtalent would have brought citizenship with it. I’d never really considered what it was like to
be
sylv. To have that kind of power. It was impossible, of course; you were either born sylv, or not.

She took my question seriously. ‘It’s wondrous. I love having the power to heal. I help out in the hospice when we are back in The Hub, in the children’s ward…’

‘You make people pay for your services.’

She looked surprised. ‘No one works for free, Blaze.
You
don’t.’

‘Not everyone can afford to pay for sylv healing.’

‘We can’t be responsible for that. I do my best, but I’ve got to eat too.’

‘And the other powers: the illusions? The ability to confuse people, make them believe things that aren’t true?’

She was on the defensive now. ‘To have that kind of power is an awesome responsibility, and only those who accept that responsibility can be allowed to use sylvtalent. There are laws to govern the use of our powers. Strict laws. And the penalty for misuse is very harsh: you have your powers rendered inert.’

I quoted a sailor’s proverb to her: ‘ The captain rules the ship, but who rules the captain?’ but she didn’t understand what I was trying to say. It never occurred to her that the Keeper Council itself may have needed controlling. I gave an internal sigh, and wondered what I was doing. A short time earlier I had been defending Keepers to Tor Ryder; now I was giving his arguments back to a Keeper. ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

We walked downstairs, talking niceties. She promised to speak to Duthrick on Flame’s behalf if he raised objections to my request for help. I promised to tell her the magic status of her baby, once it was born, without further payment. We parted outside the inn: she had an errand or two to do before returning to the ship, and I wanted to speak to Tunn. Secretly, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again. I was almost positive that if her unborn child had been a sylv, I would already know it—and I didn’t want to be the one to have to tell her what she did not want to hear.

###

It wasn’t very far from
The Drunken Plaice
to the main harbour where the Keeper ship was still tied up at the wharf. I didn’t think I would be in any danger; I was still hoping that my part in Ransom and Flame’s affairs was obscure. I still hoped that the dunmaster did not know I was one of the Awarefolk, and did not know that I was the one who had rescued Flame.

I had no premonitions. I was even happy. If it hadn’t been for Flame’s predicament I would even have been joyful, but I was confident that I could enlist Keeper help with her problem, that the Keepers would in fact be able to help. In fact, I—who so prided myself on my shrewd cunning—was uncharacteristically short-sighted. Maybe I can blame fatigue; I had not slept at all that night.

I didn’t go straight to the docks. First, I asked Tunn where Niamor lived. Fortunately, he knew; for someone who rarely spoke, Tunn was surprisingly well informed. He told me Niamor’s rooms were on the second floor of a dockside building.

The shops were open when I set out; in Gorthan Docks morning was the time for buying fish. There was plenty of the fresh catch to be had because the night boats had come in. Even better, as far as I was concerned, were the temporary stalls erected along the laneways, where sweetfish threaded on fish-bone sticks were grilled over seaweed fires. I bought two sticks and ate the smoke-flavoured flesh as I walked down to the harbour docks, my feet scrunching in the fish scales of the laneway.

Following Tunn’s directions, I found Niamor’s house easily enough, and he was at home. In fact, he was still in bed when I knocked on his door; people like him slept late in Gorthan Docks.

His grumbling changed to cheerful hospitality when he saw who had woken him up. He waved me in with every indication of pleasure, and loped about getting me a drink while I looked around. His rooms were the closest I’d ever seen to comfortable living on Gorthan Spit; they were spacious, clean and well appointed. Niamor knew how to look after himself.

‘Any luck with your slave?’ he asked as he handed me a drink that steamed in a carved whalebone mug; a potent seaweed brew that I knew from previous visits to Gorthan Spit. Non-alcoholic, but it carried a punch that sprang the eyelids apart nonetheless.

I quelled my impatience; when dealing with Duthrick, I needed every bit of information I could obtain: to use as leverage, or incentive, or payment. I shook my head in answer to his question. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

He shook his head in turn. ‘I’ve asked everyone I know, and they all say there isn’t a Cirkasian slave woman on the Spit. If anyone told you different, then they didn’t know what they were talking about.’

I sighed. ‘Ah. Oh well. Too bad, eh? And what about the dunmaster? Have you had any luck figuring out who he might be?’

‘I made out a list of everyone in
The Drunken Plaice
at lunch that day, and I’ve eliminated most of them. I’m still checking out the remainder, finding out how long they have been on the island. But you know what Gorthan Spit is like. People come and go like smelts on spawning runs and nobody notices. I’ll let you know when I’ve come to a conclusion, but the name will cost you dear, Blaze my sweet. Although you can pay in kind, if you like. In advance too, if you want.’

He put his head on one side and gave me that charming smile of his. A day back I would have said yes, but not any longer. My initial attraction had faded as quickly as the colour of a starfish left in the sun. Tor’s doing, of course.

Embarrassed, I cleared my throat, all too aware that up until now my signals to Niamor had told a different story. ‘Sorry. I’m…er, busy just now. And, Niamor, be very, very careful. If that bastard has the slightest hint of what you’re doing—’

‘Don’t worry, this Quillerman here is very good at looking after his own skin… Did you hear what happened last night, by the way?’

‘About the Cirkasian disappearing? Yes.’ I finished the drink and stood up. ‘Her pretty friend has been telling everyone. Ridiculous boy—he woke me up in the middle of the night, and now he’s asking everyone to send out a search party. He thinks he’s back on one of the law-abiding Middling Islands.’

‘I told you she wouldn’t last long on Gorthan Spit,’ he said as he took me to the door. ‘But that wasn’t what I meant; I hadn’t heard about her. I came across Domino in a rage in the early hours of this morning—apparently someone killed both Mord
and
Teffel last night. With a sword. Domino is not at
all
happy. He tends to take such things very personally, Domino does. Perhaps it’s not me who should be careful.’ He bent his head slightly to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Take care, my lovely firebrand.’