Chapter 17
In spite of the fact that many of the Blackguard inductees had just returned from actual war, their training resumed immediately, and their trainers still treated them like they barely knew anything. It might have been true, but it still irritated Teia to no end. The weeks passed, and the trainers acted like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed.
“It’s meant to give you normalcy,” Ben-hadad said to her after another practice had left them all breathless, and not a few of them puking. The others had dispersed. For the new Blackguards, there was always somewhere to be, work and studying that needed to be done yesterday. “The order of it. You’ve been off where things are crazy and chaotic. You come back, and it’s all under control. It’s supposed to be comforting. The world’s changed overnight. Prism’s gone, probably dead. Chromeria’s lost two major battles in a war we all thought would be one little skirmish. Everything’s gone to hell, and everyone’s scared. Normalcy? It’s a mercy. And it’s worse for the rest of us, you know.”
“Huh?” Teia asked.
“Those of us who didn’t go to Ru. They crack down and make us all train twice as hard, and we know it’s mostly for your benefit. You come back like war heroes. You’re barely an inductee, Teia, and we’ve all already heard how you led the assault on Ruic Head.”
“Led it?” she asked, incredulous. “I just took point for a while.”
“You impersonated a Blood Robe soldier and led their patrol into an ambush, saving an entire unit and preserving the mission that ended up killing a god. Without you, none of that would have happened.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Teia said.
“So which do you prefer?” Ben-hadad asked.
“Huh?”
“That everyone ignore what happened except for a few whispers, or that everyone walk in awe of you, when you know what happened was less glorious than the stories?”
Teia scowled. “Oh.” Dammit.
“It’s not the first time the Blackguard has dealt with young fighters,” Ben-hadad said.
“Since when did you get all wise?” she asked. “We’re gone for less than a month, and even your spectacles work now!”
Ben-hadad grinned. “I got my third recognized,” he said.
“What?! Your third color?” Teia asked. Ben-hadad had been a bichrome who’d arrived in spring—too late for the school lectures, but he had gotten into an earlier Blackguard class. As his dual-lensed spectacles attested, flipping down one lens at a time, he had always been able to draft blue and yellow, and had been on the verge of green. “But…” They’d been worried that if he were acknowledged as a polychrome he would be forced out of the Blackguard. Polychromes were too valuable to endanger.
“War changes everything. You know how far down the Blackguard’s numbers are. They’re not going to let a Blackguard go, not one who’s already in training. Even if I am a polychrome. Barely.”
“How long have you known?” Teia asked. It wasn’t unheard of for a person’s abilities to expand in their teens; most bichromes and polychromes started with one color and expanded gradually, but there was something odd about how Ben-hadad said it.
“I’ve been able to draft credible green for three months now.”
“You shit!” she said. “You didn’t tell me?”
“You were busy with Kip. All the time, on duty and off.”
“He’s my partner.”
“Was.” Ben-hadad’s eyes widened, like he’d given something away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Teia asked.
Ben-hadad’s jaw clenched, and he scowled, then said, “War changes everything. I thought maybe it could change that. You know.”
“Know what?”
“Kip’s dead, Teia. It’s been weeks. If a loyalist had picked him up, we’d have heard by now. If a slaver had picked him up, they’d have asked for a ransom. They don’t hold on to prizes like a nobleman’s son.”
“He’s not dead.”
“Even if you’re right, he’s dead to us. Even if he survived, he attacked the Red, Teia. He can’t be a Blackguard.”
“The Red is lying. There’s no way Kip—”
“Because Kip never acted on a mad impulse before, right? He’s so levelheaded. Orholam’s balls, Teia. It doesn’t even matter what really happened. The Red is the Red. And he’s the head of his family. And he’s Andross Fucking Guile. If Kip comes back here, it’s suicide. He’s out of your life. I just thought…” He blew out a breath, seeming to deflate. “Look, I’m sorry I said anything. This was not…”
“Not what? Not what?” Teia demanded.
“Look, I—dammit! Forget it!” He stormed off.
Asshole! Teia turned her glower on a little slave girl who was staring at her.
“Pardon me, Mistress,” the girl said. She gulped. She couldn’t have been more than ten, hair in tails. There hadn’t been any wars recently enough that she could have been seized in them, which meant the girl had been sold by her parents. Betrayed.
Teia made her face a calm mask. No need to frighten a helpless girl with fury that had nothing to do with her. “Yes, caleen?”
“A man sent me to tell you he must meet with you immediately. He’s in your room.”
“A man? What did he look like?” Teia said.
“Tall, Mistress. Red hair? Smiled a lot?”
Teia cursed loudly, scaring the slave girl. “I’m sorry. You may go. Thank you.”
It was time. Master Sharp had her job. One job, and she’d be free. Right. Teia knew how that worked. One job, to get you in deeper. How dumb did he think she was? On the other hand, what choice did she have?
How awful could it be?
She didn’t want to think about that. She went to her room—Kip’s room—quickly. She hesitated in front of the door, then, figuring that Master Sharp could kill her quickly, invisibly, and without leaving a trace no matter what she did, she opened the door.
Master Sharp was seated on her bed, legs crossed daintily, hands folded in his lap. He favored her with a large, beautiful, false smile. “There’s a ship docking within an hour. It’s called the Red Gull, from Green Haven. There’s a man aboard, a mund, Dravus Weir, distinctive red and yellow and green hat. He’ll be carrying a bundle of papers. Maybe in a messenger case, silver scrollwork on the ends. But maybe not.”
“You know I’m red-green color-blind. And if the papers aren’t in a case, I won’t be able to see them regardless,” Teia said. “You know—”
“I’m well aware of your limitations. I’m trying to figure out your abilities,” Master Sharp said. “You’ll be expected to … relieve him of those papers before he makes it to the Blood Forest ambassador’s residence. Dravus Weir is a spy, so he’ll be on his guard. Whatever happens, you are not to let him identify you. I’ll trade you those papers for your papers. You understand? Your freedom, for one little theft.”
Of course she did. She’d been dreading this task for—“Did you say one hour?” she asked. It would take her that long just to get there.
He smiled his selachian smile.
“Get out,” she ordered.
“Pardon?”
“I have to change. I’m not going in nunk’s clothes. Now. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
He slapped her heavily, knocking her down. “Remember who gives the orders here, caleen. You can show respect, or you can be taught it.”
Teia stood on shaky legs, fists clenched. Time’s wasting, Teia.
She shucked off her gray inductee’s trousers and tunic and stared death and vengeance at Master Sharp as she pulled on her discipula’s garb. It would stand out less than the inductee’s clothes, but still more than she would have liked. Unfortunately, she wasn’t rich enough to have more than two changes of clothes.
Master Sharp merely watched her passively. “What’s the vial you wear? Oil? Perfume?”
“It’s nothing.”
He let her get away with it. “I’ll be in front of the Crossroads tavern. Two hours.”
In minutes, Adrasteia was moving quickly through the crowded afternoon streets of Big Jasper, blotting out fear with action. Once there was a gang that saw her, but she managed to lose them. It took another few minutes from her, though. Once she thought she saw Kip, stepping out of a tiny shop in a cross alley, but it was just her imagination—or her guilty conscience.
This one thing, and she was free.
It wouldn’t be real freedom, of course. She’d be snared in something worse. But getting her papers would mean that ownership of her couldn’t be passed around. She’d be a slave still, but only informally a slave to Master Sharp. Freeing herself from one man would be a hundred times easier than freeing herself from all the laws of the satrapies.
I’m a slave, not a fool.
But would she rather be tied to Master Sharp, or to Mistress Aglaia Crassos? Murder Sharp was brutal, but Aglaia was respectable. He hid in the shadows; she hid in the light. Teia would take her chances with shadows. Do the job, Teia. You’ll need all your wits for this one.
It was impossible. She had no time to access her tools, her disguises. She hadn’t studied the man she was supposed to rob. There was more going on here. It could be that Murder Sharp simply didn’t know that he was asking the impossible, or it could be more.
It was more. Teia was sure of it. But if it was more, what could it be? Was he setting her up to fail? Why?
Still thinking. Time for that later. The first thing Teia needed to do was make sure she succeeded. While the drab white dress of a Chromeria student with her hair pulled back by her gold-colored scarf was less conspicuous than her inductee’s garb, it still wasn’t good enough.
It was ten blocks before she found what she was looking for: a boy, perhaps twelve years old—younger was important—out in front of a shop, sweeping the area clean, alone, hardworking, wearing an apprentice’s clothing and a hat with a wide brim, plain.
She put a little sway into her walk. He glanced up, stared at her, looked away shyly, then glanced again.
“Hi, handsome,” she said, walking straight up to him.
“Who?” he said, looking left and right. He blushed. “Me? Uh—”
She kissed him on the mouth, pulled his hat off, and slid her body up against him. His entire body locked up. She released him. “Thanks,” she said, putting his hat on her head.
His mouth hung open, but he was speechless.
She glanced back before she went around the corner, and blew him a kiss. He was holding one finger up, but he didn’t move. The broom had fallen to the paving stones at his feet, forgotten.
For the next two blocks, she jogged, just in case he came to his senses. Then she started scouting the laundry lines, looking for something her size. Laundry was supposed to only be dried in the heat of the day, so that the beams of light from the Thousand Stars wouldn’t be blocked if they were needed in the late afternoon or evening, but of course not everyone followed the rules. She had flexibility for what she stole, of course. She had a belt if the trousers she ended up taking were too large, and as long as the shirt or tunic wasn’t enormous, it could work. But baggy clothes could be sloppy, and if she had to run, she didn’t want trousers that would fall down around her ankles.
She slowed as she saw what she wanted. A boy’s trousers, and a tunic, together on a line, one story up, with a cart parked right underneath them. A girl perhaps six years old was holding the pony, keeping the cart while her father or mother was inside.
Teia broke into a jog and jumped up onto the back of the cart, then stepped up onto the edge of the bed like a cat walking a fence. She snatched the trousers and tunic, dropped to plant one foot on the driver’s seat, and rolled as she hit the street.
She rolled to her feet not five paces from the little girl.
Teia winked at her and smiled. Then she bowed. The child looked so shocked that Teia thought she might not say anything at all.
Then the little girl burst into tears.
Walking as quickly as she could, Teia hadn’t quite made the first corner when the little girl’s mother ran out to her. Mercifully, the child was so distraught she couldn’t explain that a woman had fallen from the sky. Teia made it away cleanly.
She avoided the main streets, preferring the slight possibility of crime to crowds. Then she ducked into a bakery’s doorway. This late in the day, they were closed, lanterns extinguished.
Teia pulled on the trousers under her dress, glanced up and down the street, and only saw a few women who didn’t seem to be paying attention, and shucked off her dress. She pulled on the tunic, folded the dress quickly, belted trousers and tunic, bloused everything so it was baggy. Put on the hat, tucked her hair up into it, then stuffed the folded dress down to her stomach inside the tunic. The belt held it in place, and it helped flatten out what little curves she had.
It was depressing how little she had to do to make herself look like a boy.
She was back at the docks ten minutes later. When you came in to port, all your awe was taken by the city’s domes and stars and the Chromeria’s seven gleaming towers. Coming to it from the city was different altogether. To call the docks extensive was an understatement. Big Jasper was one of the largest cities in the world, and almost all of its supplies had to be brought in by ship. The system looked like chaos to the uninitiated, though Teia had once heard a fellow student whose father was a stevedore wax poetical about the symmetry and art of it all. To her, it looked like an ant swarm. Thousands of people crisscrossing, a snarl of ships of every size, carts streaming in and out, queues of burly men going in one way, and women with abacuses ticking off beads for purposes Teia couldn’t even guess at.
Teia walked straight up to a man who was answering laborers’ questions, directing them this way and that. “The Red Gull?” she asked, lowering her voice an octave.
“Pier Twelve, green side.”
Telling him that ‘green side’ didn’t help a color-blind person would just draw more attention to her, so Teia kept her mouth shut and walked.
The Red Gull was already docked, and before she even got onto Pier Twelve she saw a dandy in a wide hat of a couple different shades and yellow. Her man. Amazing luck.
He looked slightly the worse for wear from his time on the ship, relieved to have solid ground underfoot again. He was whistling.
Teia drew in paryl, cupped loosely in her hand, drafted off center so it decayed rapidly back into its spectrum of light, but now focused in a beam. Relaxed her eyes and ducked her head so the hat’s brim shielded her eyes as much as possible. She had to do it quickly. There was no way she could put on spectacles—which only the wealthy could afford—and maintain her disguise, but if anyone saw her pupils, they’d likely shout.
The light cut through his garments, through his hair, though it wasn’t powerful enough from this distance to go through his heavy leather gloves or boots. She watched him as he went past.
Belt buckle, sword, coins tucked in a breast pocket. All these lit up, white in her vision. But no silver scrollwork document case.
If he had the documents on him, they were either tucked into his boots or gloves or lengthwise beneath his belt—or made of thin enough paper that the paryl went right through them. No matter what, she was darked.
She fell in behind him, following thirty or forty paces back. If he was delivering papers to the Blood Forest embassy, she had about fifteen minutes to make the grab. She knew Big Jasper well, but she didn’t know how well this spy knew it. Neighborhoods between the docks and the embassy district weren’t nearly as bad as those farther north.
The spy walked confidently, though he did check behind himself once in a while. He never looked at a map or asked for directions. So he knew the city.
Teia couldn’t follow him and close the distance while he was being this careful. Disguised as a skinny poor boy in a hat, she could blend in well, but the man was a spy. Surely he’d notice her before she could catch up and steal from him.
If he knew the city, and if he was heading directly to the embassy, there were two alleys between main thoroughfares that he would cut through at different spots.
It was a gamble, but it was the best Teia had.
The spy brushed his left glove, as if reassuring himself that something was still there. That was it. Luck!
Teia peeled off and turned left where two roads diverged. After half a block, she began jogging. It drew attention, but not too much. Apprentices often had to run when performing chores for their masters.
She circled several blocks, jogging fast. The crowds thinned out, and she turned down the street that should intercept the spy. Too late. He was already there, heading across the road, crossing in front of her. Teia cursed quietly, and doubled back.
One last chance. This time, she ran full out to make it to the last alley. She was small enough that she might still have looked like a boy playing. She tried not to let her panic show in her face. She’d only have one chance.
She turned down the cross street and made it to the alley entrance.
Heaving a few deep breaths and trying to calm her nerves and steady her hands, she ducked her head low so her face would be hidden and headed into the alley. He was at the far end, coming toward her. Her heart was pounding so hard it shook her whole frame. There was no one else in the alley. If she were quick, she could intercept him as he passed through a narrow spot. Perfect.
Teia kept her head tilted, hat down, shielding her eyes. There wouldn’t be a whole lot of grace in this one. She would do a bump and grab, and if he didn’t notice immediately, he probably would within a few seconds. There was no crowd here, no distractions. She’d just have to hope she was fast enough to get away. She was already plotting escape routes—but let that be. Pay attention. First thing’s the grab.
She stepped through the narrow spot just as the spy did. She pretended a stumble. He brought his hands up and pushed her away. She grabbed the notes, but it wasn’t clean. She tugged a bit of sleeve, too, and the spy turned as she yanked the letters free. Shit!
And then something happened too fast for her to follow. The shadow of that narrow spot in the alley came alive, detached itself from the very wall it had been part of, and imprisoned her arm.
It whiplashed her back toward the spy. Something warm splattered against her lips and neck. The spy raised his hands, panicked—his throat slashed open, his jugular fountaining blood all over Teia.
Teia pushed the spy away and he fell, gasping like a fish. The shadowed assassin put something into her hand. A bloody knife.
She recognized him by his size and stature and eyes, because he was completely covered otherwise, his cloak drawn tight over his head, the side of the hood hooked closed to make a mask over his face, only his eyes uncovered. Murder Sharp.
He released her, stepped back quickly, stepping over the spy dying at his feet as if there were nothing noteworthy in having murdered a man.
“You’re a murderer now,” he said. “Run, or you’re fucked.” His cloak shimmered, starting around his eyes, and in trails like smoke that raced in spirals down his body, light twinkled and then disappeared.
She heard the scrape of his boot in the alley, but there was nothing there to see. She tried to look in paryl, but she couldn’t control it. She was frozen. She looked at herself—covered in blood, bloody knife in her hand, dying man at her feet.
A sharp sailor’s whistle blew in the air, the three-tone call for help. Unmistakable for anything else. “Good luck,” the air said. She could hear Murder Sharp’s wide grin, even if she couldn’t see it.
Teia stood, paralyzed, for one moment more. She saw a watchman two hundred paces down the alley. He saw her, too, bloody blade in hand, standing over a dead man. She ran.