The Master Magician

On the water she saw a small boat, little more than a canoe, carrying two people—one rowed; the other smoked a cigar. A lantern sat between them, casting a mustardy glow off their faces. The man with the cigar had an old face with a prominent nose and loose skin; the man rowing wore long, loose sleeves and had a dark complexion—


Ceony’s breath caught in her throat, and a shiver ran down her spine. She stepped to the left to put the tree between herself and the boat, which steadily drew farther and farther from her. Saraj—could that man be Saraj? She thought so, but she had never gotten a clear look at the man in the light of day, only glimpses here and there. What was he doing? Where was he going, and who was helping him?

What exactly did Ceony plan to do? She had the upper hand of having found him first, but the water . . .

She swallowed. Her compact mirror was in her purse. She could use it to contact Mg. Aviosky or Mg. Hughes, alert them of what she’d seen. Perhaps they would believe she’d come across a Gaffer who’d agreed to help her with the spell. She’d have to explain herself . . . Word would reach Emery . . . Surely Mg. Aviosky wouldn’t suspend her at the very end of her apprenticeship!

But so what if she were suspended? Wouldn’t getting Saraj’s neck in the hangman’s noose be worth it? The well-being of her family was more important than any magician’s certificate.

She released her pistol and fumbled through her bag for the mirror, glancing up to spy again at the distancing boat.

“You’re like a kitten.”

The honey-slick voice pricked at the back of Ceony’s neck like cold needles, making her jump. She whirled around to see a tall, thin silhouette of a man standing at the edge of the bridge to the port.

Her hand snapped back to the pistol. “Excuse me?”

The man moved forward until the light of the nearest flashing lamp cast its green and purple beams on him. They glinted off the gold studs in his ears. An Indian man who stood a little too slender, matted curls jutting out from either side of his almost triangular head. He wore tattered clothes that needed washing. The clothing of a man on the run.

“A kitten,” his accented words repeated. “Who wanders around and follows those who offer her milk. But I have no milk, kitten.”

An icy tremor coursed down Ceony’s back.

Saraj Prendi took one step closer. “So tell me, Ceony Maya Twill . . . Why have I found you wandering this city so late at night?”

He grinned a truly canine smile.





CHAPTER 11




CEONY’S THROAT CLOSED, and she took a step back from the Excisioner, her shoulder brushing a drooping branch of the tree. She dared to glance behind her, but the small boat and its oblivious passengers had sailed too far to hear her if she screamed. She couldn’t see their lantern anymore.

“Curious,” Saraj said, folding his long arms and taking a step toward her—once, twice. “Usually a kicked animal fears its abuser, cowers from him. Avoids him. But I have this strange”—he waved a hand in the air—“inkling that you’ve sought me out. Inkling, correct? I believe I’m using the word correctly. Yes. What a strange kitten you are, kagaz. Unless you have another purpose.”

He paused, looking her up and down. His gaze felt like slime on Ceony’s skin, but from what Ceony could see in the blinking lamplight, there was no lust in it. No, he looked at her as if she were a piece of furniture, an end table or chair. Something tossed on the street, and he couldn’t decide if it was worth salvaging. “No,” he said. “You’re not dressed like a harlot.”

“Of course I’m not,” Ceony spat, her anger at the assumption giving her just enough fuel to speak. Still, she took another step back, her eyes searching Saraj’s belt. Lira had kept glass vials of blood secured at her waist for spells, but there didn’t appear to be any on Saraj, unless they were under his shirt. Then again, an Excisioner wouldn’t need blood to destroy her; just one touch would do.

Ceony’s free hand moved to her necklace. She swallowed. “Why are you here, Saraj? Why not flee when you had the chance? I know about your prison break.”

Saraj laughed. “I’m famous, it seems. If you must know, kitten, I have unfinished business to attend to. Things to collect. You are not my sun.”

“Huh?” she murmured under her breath, barely moving her lips.

“My sun,” Saraj repeated, relaxing his stance. He swirled an index finger around. “Orbits, rotations. My doings don’t revolve around you. See?”

Ceony gave herself a few seconds before answering, her fingers playing across her necklace. “No, they revolve around Grath,” she said, clearing her throat once to prevent a tremor in her voice. “He seemed confident about that. But he’s not here.”

Saraj frowned. “No,” he agreed, but Ceony detected no remorse in the word, no regret, no loyalty.