The Queen of Mages (46 page)

Liam nodded solemnly and watched them
leave.

Katin glared at him. “Don’t encourage the
girl. She’s going to get into trouble.”

Liam’s false gravity dissolved in an
instant. “It’ll keep her from putting her hand on my arm any time
soon.”

Katin’s breath caught. He’d felt her squeeze
when she’d seen that. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She
clearly remembered when she wouldn’t have felt one speck of
jealousy over Liam, and now, after all this time, something was
breaking through. She would not dare call it love, and she had no
other name for it, so she tried not to think about it.

Lunchtime ended, the selling began again,
and Coalridge told Katin to assist Miss Li.
LI SAONG—SILKS OF
THE WORLD
her cyan wagon shouted. Katin had never seen her like
before: waist-length black hair knotted with blue handkerchiefs,
curving brown eyes so pale they looked like gold, and wearing a
silk dress of intense azure marked with a pattern of bronze circles
that was most certainly not a Garovan style. Supposedly she was
Liahni, from across the sea. Secretive, majestic, and serene was
how Garovans thought of Liahn.

Li Saong was anything but serene. She nearly
yelled to be heard over a small gaggle of buyers, waving a bolt of
amber silk like a scepter, sneering at offers she thought too low.
Her words were soft and round, all the sharp edges filed off until
she sounded like an angry wind chime.

Katin scurried to fetch bolts or store them
away as needed. The woman treated her as imperiously as any noble
ever had, stating commands to the air rather than actually
addressing her. Katin kept her complaints to herself.

When the sun reached a hand above the
horizon, Averhel’s magistrate showed up again and ordered the
caravan out of town by sunset. Katin saw Master Coalridge try to
hand another pouch over, but the magistrate shook his head
vigorously and pointed toward the gate. Coalridge shouted
obscenities at the man, but all the same signaled the caravan to
start packing up.

Katin’s helper this evening was Johann, a
stocky fellow that Maggie had claimed was half-Vaslander. He was
pleasant and quiet, though, not at all brutish and loud like
Vaslanders were supposed to be, and he had a great love of music.
He carried a small horn pipe wherever he went, and in idle moments
its tender, forlorn whistle could be heard echoing through the
caravan. Even Master Coalridge had no complaint about it.

The caravan returned to its spot outside the
walls, and spent the night there before departing at dawn.
Coalridge cursed Averhel for having made them lose a day, and Katin
saw the magistrate again, standing atop the town’s wall, watching
with hard eyes as they left.

———

The whole next day was taken up by travel
over bumpy dirt roads. At sundown they came to another town, of a
size with Averhel but lacking a wall. When Katin asked, Janice said
that it was called Turnbull. “We’ll likely set up in the morning.
It’s too dark now,” she said, tossing her black hair over her
shoulder and grinning at Cameron as he passed by.

The silk-clothed trader came to a stop,
bowing slightly toward them both. “A perfect evening for
entertainment, I should think. I recall there’s a malthouse that’s
open to all.” He leered at Janice’s cleavage for a moment, and went
on.

At least they’d been allowed to park
overnight in the town square. The magistrate who came out to greet
them seemed pleased to have a caravan visiting, and retained his
smile despite being faced with Master Coalridge’s sour puss.

Liam found Katin as she was hanging up
sheets to dry. “It looks like most everyone’s going to this
malthouse in town tonight,” he said casually. “It’s a public house,
they call it, women allowed.”

Katin sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve barely had
any rest these past few days. I was going to sleep early if I
could.”

Liam’s smile faltered. “Ah. Well, if you… if
you want me to stay with you, ah… I suppose…”

He could not be more transparent if he
tried. Katin smiled and shook her head. “No, you go on. Have fun.
Try not to say anything to upset Coalridge, if he’s there.”

“A man’s tongue is supposed to be free in a
malthouse,” he complained.

She lowered her voice and stepped closer.
“When a man is who he says he is, and isn’t hunted by royalty, a
man’s tongue can be as free as he wants.”

Liam sighed. “I know, I know.” He petulantly
kicked a stone as he strode away. Katin released a sigh of her own.
How on earth could he forget? Katin didn’t go half a day without
thinking of Dardan, and Amira, and Edon, and the horrors of Foxhill
Keep.

Finishing the laundry took until dark, and
after a lonely dinner of cold chicken and potatoes, Katin went to
lie down on her bunk. But she missed Liam; his presence had become
a comfort to her, whether she liked it or not. After arguing with
herself for several minutes, she put on her shawl and boots and
went back outside. Half a dozen of Coalridge’s enormous guards
prowled around the caravan. She saw no one else she knew.
I
guess most everyone did go. Everyone except me, who’d rather hide
in a cold wagon than have a bit of fun.

Turnbull seemed tidy and prosperous, with
none of the suspicious glances she’d seen in Averhel. The malthouse
was a few lanes away, so she asked directions, receiving polite
smiles from the townsfolk.

Raucous cheering and laughter assaulted her
ears as she came in the door. Armin Venn—the caravan’s fur
trader—stood atop a table, capering in time to Johann’s pipe as the
crowd clapped. Johann managed to make his pipe sound lively rather
than somber. Occasionally someone threw a bits of fried onion at
Armin, and he caught them in his mouth, crunching away happily.

Several of the caravan guards clustered
around one table, drinking and laughing, slapping one another on
the back. Stump stood near them, showing off his tree-trunk arms to
two local girls, one of whom dangled from his biceps, giggling.

Li Saong had a booth in the corner. She
ignored the ruckus, talking quietly to a man Katin didn’t
recognize. She didn’t see Cameron anywhere, thank the Caretaker.
Liam, it turned out, was the one throwing most of the onions at
Armin, shouting “Hey! Ho!” with each piece. Maggie had contrived to
sit right next to him, nursing her own cup of ale and laughing at
all of Liam’s jests.

Katin watched for a minute, and almost
turned to leave, but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of
David Coalridge laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. He
sat at a table next to Embuerto Botelli, a mysterious olive-skinned
Parilian who rarely came out of his wagon, even when all the other
traders were swarmed with buyers.
MYSTIC ARTS
read the
letters on the side of his wagon, drawn in bestial slashes of
blood-red paint. In fact blood red was the only color on his wagon
at all, sprayed haphazardly around the doorway and windows. Katin
wasn’t sure what he sold; his arms were covered in thin black lines
that didn’t wash off. Botelli tapped his fingers together as he
spoke, grinning below a thin, pointed moustache that curled around
his mouth.

Katin considered trying to eavesdrop on
Botelli’s story, curious about what could make a man like Coalridge
laugh so, but Botelli’s dark, painted eyes frightened her. Instead
she threaded through the crowd over to Liam. He lit up when she
tapped at his elbow, and tipsily planted a kiss on her lips. Maggie
frowned at her approach, tossing her hair.
Harlot. It takes one
to know one.
Katin almost giggled. How was she in such a good
mood already? She hadn’t had a drop to drink. Perhaps the mirth in
the air was infectious.

She did want a drink, though, and was glad
when a serving girl brought mugs of ale all around. That and the
onions heartened her far better than the cold, gristly chicken had.
But she kept reminding herself to not drink too much. Liam shouted
and danced and acted the life of the party, and she began to worry
that he’d say something wrong. She stood up and shouted into his
ear over the din, “Husband.
Oliver.
” His eyes met hers, and
his glee faded for a moment. “Can we find a table? It’s crowded
here.” He nodded toward the side of the room, then smiled and gave
her another drunken kiss. She found that she did not mind it.

They squeezed in at a table where a few of
the other apprentices drank and chatted. Marcus, a bulky
dark-haired man who usually worked with Cameron Longwood, waved as
they sat. “The lovely couple,” he said, grinning. “I heard tell
someone’s got sharp claws.” He winked at Katin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
she lied, taking a sip of her drink.

“Ooh, this should be good,” piped up Kelly,
a plump middle-aged woman who seemed content with permanent
apprenticeship. She’d been with the caravan longer than any of the
other apprentices, and even most of the wagon owners.

“Wha’ happened? Did somethin’ happen?” Liam
asked, catching on. He was quite drunk, Katin determined, and she
would have to keep him quiet. Her head was already feeling a little
light from the ale.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
But
she was penned in between Liam and Kelly, and bolting for the door
would be even more suspicious.

“Nothing happened,” Katin said, just as
Marcus began, “Heard tell your wifey here pulled her knife on a
certain well-dressed gentleman.” He chortled.

Liam looked hard at her, his face clouding
and turning even redder. “What? Who? Cameron?”

“He was… bothering me at the laundry, in
Averhel. I told him to go away.” She took another gulp, hoping
someone would change the subject.

“That man’s destined for bad things,” Kelly
said, leaning in. “I heard tell he finagles his books, to cut
Master Coalridge out of his fair share.” The wagon owners paid a
percentage to Coalridge, for the benefit of being part of the
caravan and its protection. If Cameron
was
cheating
Coalridge, and the caravan master found out… Katin shuddered to
think of the pain that would be inflicted, even if it was on
someone as vile as Cameron Longwood.

Katin encouraged Kelly to talk more, and was
relieved when the conversation shifted away from Cameron entirely.
She whispered to Liam, reminding him to keep quiet, and he nodded,
looking put out. Well, he could be as put out as he wanted. If he
slipped up and called her “Katin” in front of everyone, he’d suffer
worse than a little lost fun.

Her bladder grew uncomfortably full, and she
squeezed out past Liam, promising to be right back from the privy.
On her return, she saw that Coalridge and Botelli had switched
tables, joining Li Saong and her mysterious companion. They all
talked quietly, Coalridge’s characteristic snarl rising above the
other voices. It scared her as usual, but at least it was less
stupefying than hearing him laugh.

As she passed the table, though, his hand
darted out to grab her wrist. “Girl, I need an errand.” Coalridge’s
grip was iron, and his breath stank of ale. “Go to the wagons, tell
Larkin I need the envelope with the red seal.
Red,
” he
emphasized, tightening his grip until it almost hurt. She wanted to
wrench away but made herself freeze, until the caravan master let
go a moment later.

“Red seal,” she repeated, “yes sir.”
Coalridge seemed to meet with a lot of odd folk in the towns they
visited, from what she’d seen and heard. Other apprentices had
gossiped about Coalridge’s mysterious envelopes. Kelly had once
claimed Coalridge was a spy for the crown, and the envelopes held
secret instructions to other spies. It sounded fanciful to
Katin.

She went to Liam, saying Coalridge had sent
her on an errand. He barely seemed to notice, laughing at something
Maggie said. The accursed girl had slid in next to him in Katin’s
absence. Katin felt jealousy grasping at her, but she made herself
turn away and go out into the cold night.

The town seemed not half so friendly on this
trip. Shadows lurked, watching her. She encountered no one except a
pair of drunken men who whistled at her as she went. She bulled
onward, ignoring them.

She must have taken a wrong turn, because
the street she found herself on didn’t look quite familiar. But
then there was the square ahead, a torch glowing at each end of the
caravan as usual. She must have come at it from another angle.
Woozy, she stopped in the doorway of an apothecary, powders and
potions on display in the window.

Her head spun with drink and anger. They
were never going to find Amira and Dardan… if the two nobles were
even still alive. Katin and Liam had been with the caravan for
weeks, waiting. For what? They should have split from the caravan
and gone east as soon as they were clear of Hedenham, safely away
from Warden Penrose. Instead they’d clung to the safety and growing
familiarity of this band of merchants. Time slipped away; autumn
deepened and the days grew short. A chill breeze seeped around her
shawl, driving the point home.

Larkin. Larkin, the guard. She’d tell him
Coalridge’s command and then go to bed. Sleep. Yes, she needed
sleep.

She took a few steps further, and then
jerked to a halt. A shadow ahead moved, or rather a person,
slipping from one shadow to the next. A thief? No, something seemed
familiar about him. And then he stepped into a pool of moonlight,
and she knew that silhouette: Cameron Longwood. Why was he skulking
about? He glanced around, then went in a door.

When Katin reached it, she saw that it was
an inn she’d passed on her way to the malthouse, but this was the
rear side. Why was Cameron going into an inn? Perhaps he was tired
of sleeping in his wagon. Even the largest wagon’s most comfortable
bunk couldn’t compare to a real bed. But he had looked so
furtive.

He’s stealing from Coalridge,
a voice
whispered. What if he was meeting some… some compatriot, who helped
him with his duplicity? If she could catch him in the act,
Coalridge might throw him out of the caravan for good. It was no
less than he deserved, the scoundrel. She recalled his touch on her
chin, and shivered.