Street Magic

Chapter Five




The Camelgut den was in chaos. Gang members lay on pallets as others tended them. Apparently there had been fights throughout the night. Very few Camelguts sported no bruises at all, and there were eight fresh victims, not five.

Briar took a deep breath. For some reason he remembered a talk he'd had during one of Summersea's medical crises, one of the many times he'd been pressed into work with the sick. "Why do they obey you?" he'd asked the woman as those who were well enough to work carried out her orders.

"It's no mystery," she'd said then. "I act as if they should. And they're frightened enough to turn instinctively even to those who only know a bit more than they do."

Act as if they should obey, Briar thought now. And they did send for me again, after all. They must trust me some. He turned to Douna. "Get that pot filled with water and put it on to boil," he ordered. "Evvy, stick close to me."

"Oh, I will," she muttered, watching the Camelguts from the corners of her eyes.

Briar unslung the staves from his back and leaned them against the wall. Then he scratched his head and considered the room. Since his arrival at Winding Circle, he had worked in sickrooms in three epidemics and a border war, but he'd always been under the guidance of Rosethorn and experienced healers. What would they do?

First straighten out the mess, Rosethorn's voice said in his mind. You won't be able to find your ankles with both hands and a lamp otherwise.

"Here's how we start," he called loudly. All conversations stopped. Even those who were moaning fell silent. Urda save me, Briar thought, they are actually listening. He didn't try to savor the moment, but rattled off instructions. He'd already found with Evvy that if he didn't give her time to argue, she wouldn't. He put that knowledge to use with the Camelguts, ordering some to move the pallets into rows and others to clear away the mess of jars, rags, crates, and barrels that littered the floor.

"Why are the doors and windows covered?" he asked one of the Camelguts.

The boy, who was about Briar's age, shrugged. "We got tired of local kids peeking at us all the time."

"But it's not that this is a secret place?" Briar wanted to know. The Camelgut shook his head. "Then uncover them," Briar ordered. "Let's get some light and air in here."

The Camelgut pulled aside the rags that covered the windows and doors and secured them: now some light and fresh air entered the room. A group of three was sent with jars and handfuls of sand to fountains, where they had orders to scour the jars with sand, fill them with water, and bring them back. The fire was built up and trash taken outside. Even with the windows uncovered, the den was still shadowy. Two Camelgut boys made rough torches and thrust them into holders on the walls.

As the gang members cleaned up, Briar inspected each victim. Those whose bruises and cuts didn't look serious were ordered to clean up or sit on a bench against the wall. Dealing with the less seriously hurt was easy for Briar – growing up in the slums of Hajra, he'd learned about all kinds of injuries and wounds, including the ones that might eventually kill someone. In Summersea's epidemics he had seen how the healers sorted groups of the sick, treating the worst off first. He found those now, and got to work.

Briar could do little for the boy whose forehead was visibly dented, except make him comfortable. Sometimes people recovered from such injuries; sometimes they didn't. He moved on to another boy, squinting as he tried to see the extent of his injuries. The nearest torch burned poorly, dumping smoke into the air. Briar's eyes stung. It was hard to tell if he was looking at a mammoth bruise or dirt on his patient's shin. His hands told him it was a bruise, but it would have been nice to see the difference.

That gave him an idea. "Evvy," he said.

"Yep." The girl crouched beside him, careful not to jar the contents of the basket she carried.

"Put that down." She obeyed as Briar grubbed in his breeches pocket. He found his worry stone, a small crystal egg he liked to hold whenever he thought he was about to say or do anything stupid. Its coolness seemed to draw the anger from his veins whenever he remembered to use it. Rosethorn said it worked because thinking of the stone instead of the thing that upset him simply broke the chain that fed a rising temper.

He wasn't angry now, and he could always come by another worry stone. "See this?" He held it up.

"Ooh." She reached for it with eager fingers. "It's happy.''

Briar rolled his eyes. Why did girls get honey-sweet over things that weren't even alive? Sandry would coo like that over a spool of silk thread, Daja over a piece of well worked brass. Even Tris, who was sensible for a skirt, turned silly over a bit of ball lightning, giving the thing a name for as long as it lasted. "I don't care if it's the Queen of the Solstice," he informed Evvy tartly. "But look, it's a clear stone, you're a stone mage, right?" He fumbled for the words to guide her to do her first planned magic spell. "I bet if you really, really concentrated, just, oh, poured your whole mind into that stone? I bet if you did, you could make it light up like a lamp. A real lamp, one everybody can see."

"Oh, that," Evvy said scornfully. "That's not work." She gripped the crystal. Suddenly light blazed through her fingers. She opened her hand. The stone gave off a bright, steady glow.

Briar swallowed. Of his foster-sisters, Daja and Tris had learned to make crystals into lamps, Daja because fire was part of her smith-magic, Tris because lightning was part of hers. They had done it once by accident, making a night light for Sandry. After that it took each of them weeks to get the knack of it so they could do it as they needed. No one he'd known could make stone glow with no effort at all. He'd thought it would be possible, given Evvy's magic and the fact that he'd already known mages who could get stones to hold light or fire, but it was one thing to think it possible and another to see the results of "Oh, that."

"Is it hot?" he asked.

"Nope." Evvy put the stone beside the boy they were supposed to be treating.

Reminded of his patient, Briar went over him again. The leg bruise shrank under his bruise ointment, but Briar could feel a bone chip that remained under the boy's skin. Cutbane, spread neatly over the splits in his left eyebrow and cheek, drove off infection and worked to close the wounds. Next Briar put an uninjured Camelgut to work cutting the wooden staves to a proper length for splints. As he straightened the arm, Briar said to Evvy, "I thought you never used magic before yesterday."

"I didn't," Evvy said, watching him with interest.

The boy who'd cut the splints gave them to Briar. "How'd you make my stone light, if you never did magic before?" Briar asked as he splinted the broken forearm.

"I knew I could when I went home," she pointed out. "Doesn't that hurt him?"

"That's why it's nice for us that he's passed out. Elsewise they'd hear him yelling at the Aliput Gate." Finished, Briar gathered the crystal and the remaining bandage and knee-crawled to the next pallet. This patient was a girl with a shattered kneecap and a broken collarbone. "So you knew you could do magic when you got home, and –?"

"I have rocks. Some came with the place, and some I brung there. For pretty, you know?" Evvy put down her basket. "And I remembered how the junk stones I threw at the Vipers lit up, so I thought I'd try and see what stones would light for me. Some of them did. Some just got hot, though. Do you need me to make something hot?"

Briar sat back to think. He'd ordered the Camelguts to put their blankets over the injured, but what good were blankets that were mainly rags? He'd thought to ask his helpers to fill gourds with hot water to put in the beds, but stones would keep heat in longer.

"Can you make sure the heat won't burn folk?" he asked.

Evvy scratched her head. "I can try," she said at last.

"Do it," ordered Briar.




"I need different rocks," she pointed out.




"Don't stand there telling me about it. Sooner before later, all right?" he asked. He was taking a chance that her magic wouldn't spill out of control, but he'd seen her slip just enough power into his stone. Was it because she was used to thinking of a rock as an enclosed thing? "Do you need help?" he wanted to know.

Evvy shrugged. "I don't think so." She trotted out of the Camelgut den.

So far she hadn't once questioned his right to give her orders. Later, when he had this mess straightened out, he would have to find out why.

Briar continued to work on the injured with the Camelguts' help. When he saw he would run out of bandages soon, he instructed his assistants to dump rags into a pot of water and set it to boiling. Of the boiled water in the pot he'd fetched from home, part went for washing, part to willowbark tea, to ease the aches of injuries.

The boy with the dent in his head died by the time Briar had examined the worst hurt and had come to look at him again. Briar did a second check of the others on pallets, then got to work on the less seriously hurt. He wished for Rosethorn over and over – a second pair of experienced hands would have been nice – but knew he could manage if he just kept after things, provided the gang members continued to obey. Besides, Rosethorn was disheartened enough by the exhausted farmlands of Chammur.



The nice thing about Chammur, Evvy thought as she returned to the Camelgut den swinging her loaded bucket, was that it was easy to find plenty of rocks, even one particular kind of rock. Rather than work on them in the Camelgut den, with its noise and smells, she had found a rooftop where she could do as Briar had asked. It was much harder than calling light to his beautiful crystal. The core of noncrystal stones didn't like warmth. They hadn't felt warm in ages of time, and didn't see why she wanted to put it into them now. Her results were spotty, heat flickering in some of the bigger stones, but it was the best she could do. Her head was aching by the time she was done.

Briar was sewing a deep gash in a boy's forearm when Evvy reached him. When he finished bandaging the work, he inspected Evvy's creations.

She watched him anxiously. "It's not like light," she grumbled, hunching one shoulder in case he decided to hit her. "I can't do it so good. They'll stop being warm after a while, and they aren't at all steady."

"But these are lots better than gourds filled with hot water," Briar said absently, turning the stone over in his hand. "This helps, Evvy. Thanks."

A knot formed in her throat as he took the bucket from her. She watched him, blinking eyes that burned and trying to swallow that knot, as he tucked her stones into the blankets of those who needed to be warm. He'd said she helped. He'd thanked her.

As he placed the last of the stones he glanced at her slyly. "They don't work steadily because you don't have your power under control all the way. Jebilu Stoneslicer will teach you to get rocks to hold warmth longer, and steadier."

"He can teach, but I won't learn, not up at the palace," Evvy retorted.

Briar stood and faced her, hands on hips. "What is it with you?" he demanded. He kept his voice low, but he leaned in so Evvy heard every word. "Even you know you have to be taught now! He's the only stone mage in this whole, imp-blest, festering city!"

Evvy shrank away from him. Even if he hit her, she was going to speak her mind. "If I show myself at the palace, they'll, they'll toss me in the cells of Justice Rock for not knowing my place," she stammered. She went giddy with horror as her traitor mouth ran on. "Or they'd sell me. I've been sold once already – I won't be sold again!" She dropped the bucket and covered her face. How could she have said that? She'd told no one that before!

When he said nothing, she peeped at him through her fingers. Whatever she'd expected him to do or feel, it wasn't what she saw on his face now. What she saw looked like sorrow. Not pity – sorrow. "You're a slave?" he asked softly.

"I ran away," she mumbled. She didn't want the Camelguts to hear this. The reward for an escaped slave would tempt them; she knew that it would.

"And the collar?" he inquired, his voice softer yet. "How'd you get rid of it?"

Evvy lowered her hands. "I broke it with a rock."

Briar smiled thinly.

She guessed what he was thinking: more rock magic. "I thought it was a cheap collar," she explained, almost smiling. "You don't need a lot of iron to hold a scrawny piece of crowbait like me." It was her old master's favorite term for her. "You mean I had it" – she touched the corner of her eye in a sign that meant "magic" in Chammur – "even then?"

He walked over to a Camelgut girl who'd been seated, waiting for him. "You're born with magic," he explained. "It just gets frustrated if you get older and you don't do anything real with it, so it breaks out."

"Why can't you teach me?" she asked as he began to wash the sores on the girl's leg. "I already know you, and you know the rules and things." What she didn't, couldn't, say was that she was comfortable around him. For all his pushiness and foreignness, she still felt as if she'd known him all her life. He was quick and inventive, as she'd learned to be, living on her own. She might vex and puzzle him, but never once had she seen pity in his eyes, even when she'd let slip that she'd been a slave. Never once had he treated her as a child, a female, or even a thukdak.

"I'm not a stone mage," he said wearily. "It's important that you get someone to teach you stone magic." To the girl whose leg he cleaned he said, "You can't scratch fleabites open like this – they get infected. Or if you do, wash the scratches out right off, with clean water – that means it's been boiled. And soap if you have it."

"Oh, sure, pahan" she retorted with a quick smile. "I left some under my pillow just the other day."

Briar returned her smile, looking the rest of her over while he held onto her foot. Evvy smiled crookedly. So even pahans weren't immune to the hug-and-kiss madness that swamped older girls and boys.

"Tell you what," Briar said to the girl. "You know the aloe leaves they sell in the market?" The girl nodded, and tried to tickle the inside of his arm with her toes. "Behave, or I'll put something that bites on these." The Camelgut girl pouted at him prettily. Evvy sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to another. He was spending more time on swollen fleabites than he did on broken arms. "Steal some aloe leaves," Briar suggested, "and when you itch, break a piece off and rub the juice on the itch. It's good for burns, too." Carefully he smoothed a salve over the sores and put a light bandage over them.

"Thanks, pahan" she said with another quick, sidelong glance from under curling lashes. "I'm Ayasha – if you have any more wisdom to share." She got up and walked over to a group of Camelguts huddled in a corner.

Briar looked at Evvy, who was shaking her head. "What?" he demanded.

"You want a cloth to wipe the drool off your chin?" Evvy asked wickedly.

Briefly he looked the way she felt sometimes about her old home in Yanjing, lost and lonely. Then he shed the sad look and said tartly, "Keep making sour faces and you'll need spectacles. It happened to one of my mates, it can happen to you."

"What? You aren't old enough for one wife, let alone more," Evvy objected as she followed him to the pallets.

"Not my wife, my mate," he said, blotting sweat from a sleeping boy's face. "It's a word we used at home, for somebody that's closer than blood family, your best friend. Don't you have mates?"

"The cats," Evvy said. "Not people, though. I keep to myself."

"Don't keep saying you aren't ganged up," Briar replied, his face mulish. He rubbed one of his salves on the sleeping boy's arm, above and below the splint. "I lived in a place a lot like Oldtown for years. All the kids were ganged up, unless they were crippled or simple. And you aren't crippled, though sometimes I wonder about the simple part."

"I'm no fool," Evvy retorted softly, to keep from catching any Camelgut's attention. How could someone as clever as he was not understand? Unless he told the truth, and he had belonged to a gang.

No, that was too outlandish. Old gang kids worked in inns, or peddled rags, or labored on farms or on buildings. They never became clean, well dressed anything. "Gangers always want this, and that, and some other thing. They're your friend, and why can't you help, and you'd be safer with us, and then they try to show you what you'd be safe from. Cats don't want anything from me, though it's nice if I feed them. I like that."

Briar frowned at her. "The Vipers wouldn't've grabbed you if you had a gang," he pointed out.

"No, the other gang would have grabbed me first. Crabbing's rude no matter who does it," she retorted. "Let someone try it on you sometime and see if you like it."

They made two more rounds of the room as Briar checked bandages, coaxed people to drink the sharp-scented tea he'd brewed, and gave out more medicines. Evvy watched him, fascinated. For all his fine clothes, he didn't mind handling the sick, as if he'd wiped away sweat, blood, and vomit all his life.

He stopped at last and looked around. "I think we're just about done," he remarked.

Someone in the group of unhurt Camelguts in the corner yelled, "I can't believe you! They killed Hammit! Pilib's dead, now, too!"

Briar frowned. Evvy wondered why. He might be caring for these people, but their squabbles weren't his.

"They'll kill us all," another boy argued. "If they don't, you know Snake Sniffers and Rockheads will move in and pick us off. Look around! Half of us can't even fight!"

"The Vipers have the takameri to buy weapons for them," added Douna, the girl who had led Briar and Evvy here. "What's she going to get them next? Axes? Swords?"

A youth added, "If she's paying out that coin, I say she ought to pay it for weapons for us, too."

Evvy was impressed. None of the gang people she knew had the sense to think of things like this. They were too tied up with honor and protecting their ground.

"'They want us to join and I don't want anybody else dying," said a male voice. "Hands. For joining?" Most of the walking Camelguts' hands rose. Other hands were raised as the kids in beds, those who were awake, cast their vote.

"Come on," Briar told Evvy, disgusted. "I'd've fought till the end of time before joining a gang that killed a mate of mine. We're finished here." He waved to those of the gang who looked at him, and led Evvy out into the open air.

She followed, dazed. Was it possible she'd been wrong, that he really had belonged to a gang once? That was just the kind of thing she'd expect a gang boy to say.



It was the first time that Ikrum Fazhal had visited Lady Zenadia doa Attaneh's home before sunset, but she had ordered that he was to come the moment there was word on the Camelgut matter. As her expressionless servants admitted him through the tradesmen's gate and led him to the patio and garden where the lady usually saw him, Ikrum wondered what they made of her interest in thukdaks like the Vipers. He could tell that they were as much in awe of her as he was, or they would have found their own ways to end his visits.

They left him standing before the couch where she usually sat. They had placed a pitcher of wine, a cup, and a bowl of fruit there for her. Ikrum was not even tempted to help himself. The one time he'd been so bold, he'd discovered that she carried a thin, bladed crop in her expensive draperies. It had left a broad scar across the back of his right hand, right between his Viper initiation scars.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he and some other Vipers hadn't mistaken her for an overpriced prostitute wandering the Grand Bazaar one night. They'd grabbed her and dragged her into a nook between closed stalls, meaning to strip her of her jewels and her silks. Instead they had discovered her shadows, the armsmaster and the mute, and the lady's own tiny dagger, which she laid against the big vein under Ikrum's jaw. He had thought he was dead. Then he had told her, "Cut hard and fast and get it over with," and she began to laugh.

She liked his courage, she had said. She took him to a shop that sold coffee, buying him pastries and cups of that bitter, expensive drink. Her armsmaster and the mute sat Ikrum's friends on the carpets in front of the shop and kept them from running away.

Terror-sweat poured from his body when he had learned that she was the amir's aunt, a lady from one of the great noble houses. He saw his headless corpse and those of his friends dangling from Justice Rock. Instead of calling the Watch, she asked about him and the Vipers.

She asked and listened so well that Ikrum found himself telling her his troubles. He even talked of the slight he had been dealt by the city's richest and most powerful gang, the Gate Lords, who held all the territory between the Grand Bazaar, Golden House, and the Hajra Gate. Ikrum had foolishly fallen in love with the sister of the Gate Lords' tesku, or leader. The tesku had told Gate Lords and Vipers alike that he would never allow his sister to go with the tesku of a pack of glorified errand boys.

"I like you, Ikrum," the lady had said on that vital night. "You are no dirt-person. You have ambition, courage, pride. I will help you." She had left with orders for him to report to her house the next day around sunset.

He had gone, because no one could refuse her. He had expected that she had lied about her address, or that she had been drunk and had forgotten all about him. Neither was true. The mute had taken him to the garden after checking him for weapons. The lady waited for him there, with plans to make the Vipers great.

"I'm bored," she told Ikrum. "My children are grown, my husbands dead. I wish no other husbands or lovers. My grandchildren are tedious. It suits me to help the Vipers to greatness, if they can make the journey. If they can accept discipline. If you cannot – "The lady shrugged. "I will find another way to amuse myself. We begin by giving your people a better sign of fellowship than that rag." She pointed to Ikrum's gray armband. "And we shall make the new token one it requires courage to get."

"Stand still," the lady had remarked sharply. "Will you disappoint me already?"

Ikrum obeyed. The lady's healer moved in to pierce his left nostril and thread the brass ring with its garnet pendant into the opening. Only Ikrum got his piercing and nose ring from a healer. The other Vipers got theirs from Ikrum, who added the ring supplied by the lady and a dab of ointment that both cleaned the hole and stopped its ache.

The lady did not end her interest in the Vipers with presents of jewelry. Time after time the mute came to their den with her gifts: tunics, clean and in good condition, trousers or leggings, skirts, slippers, knives, food, coins for the hammam. Clean, wearing better clothes, the Vipers could enter the Grand Bazaar and Golden House in ones and twos, spying out targets for theft and taking them as they left the souks at night. Looking more prosperous, they were hired to deliver more messages and packages, which let them scout homes and shops to rob once the residents had forgotten the messenger boy or girl with the nose ring.

He'd thought for weeks she would tire of them eventually, until he realized the opposite was happening. The more reports he brought to her of successful thefts and robberies, of the small enlargements to their territory just south of Golden House, of fights they'd won, the greater her fascination. Her reactions to their setbacks grew more heated, as if disrespect of the Vipers was disrespect of her.

Ikrum sighed now, and scuffed the courtyard tiles with his foot. He was never sure if he was glad the lady had taken them up. The sister of the Gate Lords' tesku was still forbidden to him. Viper life was more dangerous. Sometimes the lady frightened him.

And weren't the tiles blue yesterday? Today they were red. Uneasy, he spat on his hand to rid himself of unpleasant ideas, then carefully wiped his palm inside his trouser pockets. The lady did not like it when Vipers spat.

"Ikrum, you are early," she said, walking out into the sun. "I hope you have no disasters to report." She sat on her couch gracefully, veils floating cloudlike around her. Her skirts, sari, and head veil were dull gold today, her short blouse a pale orange. Ikrum went to his knees, then lowered his forehead until he was a hair above the red tiles. For some reason he didn't want them touching his face.

From here he could see that gilt designs were pressed into the leather of her slippers. A heavy gold ring cupped one of her ankles. She wore bracelets, too, heavy earrings, and a chain hung with canary diamonds between her nose and left ear. Why did she care about their thefts, when she wore more jewels than they might ever steal?

She reminded him of a goddess's golden statue – not Lailan of the Rivers and Rain, who was draped in blue and green and whose kindness shone form her face, but some eknub goddess, some distant queen of the skies. How could he worship and hate her at the same time? Ikrum wondered feverishly. Was it possible to feel two different emotions for someone? Fear and hate he knew, or he'd thought he'd known them before meeting her. But worship, admiration … Orlana accused him of being in love with the lady, but the thought made his skin creep. He wondered if her husbands – she'd had two – had died of natural causes. His private nightmare was that she had bitten their heads off while embracing them.

She left him with his forehead to the ground, waiting for her maid to arrange the cushions at her back and to pour her a cup of wine. Once the maid had crossed the garden to a point where she could see if her mistress wanted her but could not hear, the lady ordered, "Report."

"The Camelguts have accepted our offer to join us," Ikrum said without looking up. "There are twenty-four of them altogether."

"You told me they had twenty-six." The lady put a slippered toe against his chin as a signal for him to look up.

"One died last night and one this morning, lady," Ikrum replied, meeting her gaze. Thick lines of kohl accented her eyes, making them deeper and more mysterious than ever. Through her sheer veil he saw her mouth curl with derision.

"Would you agree to join a gang that had killed one of your people?" she asked, after a sip of wine.

Ikrum knew what he would do, but he also knew what she wanted to hear. She would not be pleased if he told her he would run hard and fast. "I would never join such a gang, Lady," he lied.

"Yours is a warrior's heart, Ikrum Fazhal," she told him, setting her cup down. "We will accept these people, of course. We did make the offer. But they must earn our respect." She raised her hand. The mute walked out of the shadows by the house with a small leather pouch. He placed it before the lady and backed away again.

Ikrum's heart raced the moment the mute's huge body entered his vision. He had not even known the huge man was there until he saw him: he was that soundless in his movements. If the mute ever intended to hurt him, in all likelihood Ikrum would not even know until he was dead.

The lady dug in the pouch until she could tease something out. She held it up on a hennaed fingertip: the nose ring was silver wire, the pendant garnet. "For your new members." She thrust it into the pouch and fished out a second nose ring. "For the original Vipers." It looked nearly the same as Ikrum's. The metal was a little more yellow. "You have proved your characters to be gold," the lady said with a smile.

She offered the gold ring with its garnet to Ikrum. He accepted it, but knew better than to change rings in her presence. Yoru had gotten three lashes from the armsmaster for blowing his nose in front of the lady.

"To further show generosity, I will send my healer to tend those new Vipers who are hurt," the lady said. "They will see there are advantages to their new allegiance."

Ikrum cleared his throat. "Actually, um, Lady, they're seen to. The eknub pahan, the one we talked to at Golden House – he brought medicine and cared for the ones that are hurt. Seems the Camel – " Her dark eyes flashed, and Ikrum backed up. "The new Vipers, they know him. He lives beside the eknub Earth temple, down the street in their territory."

"Now your territory," she reminded him.

Ikrum, who wasn't sure how to protect one territory near Golden House and one east of the Karang Gate, only said, "Yes, Lady."

"Well!" she said after a moment's thought. "If they chose to summon an eknub apothecary to muddle their wounded about, they don't deserve my healer." In a lesser woman her tone would have sounded peeved. "What of the girl, the one who gave three of you that unpleasant surprise yesterday? Have your Vipers found her again?"

Ikrum actually backed up an inch before he made himself stop. "She was with him," he said. "With the eknub pahan, helping him. She warmed stones to put in the beds of those that were hurt, and she did this. They left it behind." He fished a small, egg-shaped stone from his sash and offered it to her. Its cool white light silvered his brown palm and the lady's features as she leaned forward to give it a closer look.

"Well, well." She touched the stone lamp with a fingernail, then picked it up. "For one who had no magic two days ago, she learns quickly."

"The Ca – the new Vipers said she wants him to teach her," Ikrum explained. "And she said she wouldn't learn from Pahan Stoneslicer up to the amir's palace."

"Two days ago she fled him. Now she helps him to dab potions on our former enemies, and does magic for him, and argues familiarly with him." The lady hummed tonelessly to herself, as she often did when she thought. At last she regarded Ikrum once more. "Very well. Watch her carefully, but watch only for now." She drummed her fingers on her couch. "Since our numbers have grown, I would like to make plans for the Gate Lords. Our new members may prove their loyalty in battle."

"Lady, taking on the Gate Lords would be – " He started to say "foolish," and remembered who he spoke to just in time. "We can't trust the Camel – "

"The new Vipers," the lady interrupted. "I did not say to take the Gate Lords on immediately. I will hear your plan for it, however, in three days' time. You may go, Ikrum. Don't forget the badges for our Vipers."

Ikrum tucked the pouch full of nose rings into his sash. He was taking a chance, he knew, but he had to ask. "Lady – Sajiv never returned to the den last night."

She rolled the light-stone around the hollow of her palm. "The world is full of lesser people, Ikrum. By their errors and follies they drag the better ones, the true-hearted ones, down. When you find someone who is small in that way, it is needful to set him aside, before his taint of failure spreads. I do not like failure, Ikrum." She raised her dark eyes from the stone until they caught and held his.

He bowed low, his mouth paper-dry. She had as good as told him Sajiv was dead. "Yes, Lady."

"Here." She offered him a large silver coin. "Your Vipers reduced those others to negotiation for their lives in a day's time. They have earned a feast."

Ikrum took the coin, and kissed the ugly tiles next to her foot in thanks. Deciding he had used up his luck for the day, he left swiftly and quietly.