Two men rode inside with them, the sergeant and another guard rode on top, and the other four rode around the carriage. It made for a quick ride down the broad city ways. City people, one of Arram’s patients had told him, learned to spot house insignia on horse gear and carriage doors, and to get out of the way.
The market was crowded by the time they reached it, though their guards created an uncomfortably large space around them. The young people poked through carts and shops unhampered, but the vendors did not have their usual cheerful smiles for Ozorne and his friends. Other customers made themselves scarce at the sight of soldiers clearly on watch, which meant the stall owners were losing money. Ozorne was steaming and about to explode. Arram suspected he had wanted to sneak off to see a tavern girl he had been visiting when away from the music student he courted at the university. Arram thought the soldiers might understand, but judging by the look on Ozorne’s face, the prince was in no mood to hear such advice.
They were crossing one of the broad fountain squares when Arram saw a ragged peddler burdened with a heavy load of wood. A wealthy-looking merchant turned abruptly, banging into the peddler. Furious, the man lashed the peddler’s arm with his walking stick. The poor man stumbled forward, through Sergeant Okot’s ring of guards.
The guard beside Arram drew his sword and used the hilt to shove the unfortunate man away. His voice friendly, he said, “Here, you, be about your—”
Off balance, the man fell into Ozorne.
The honey pastry Ozorne had been trying to eat went onto his silk shirt. He shoved the peddler just as the nearest guard seized the bundle of wood and yanked it off. Wailing, the peddler fell. He raised his feet to hold off any attackers, only to plant his muddy sandals on Ozorne’s new linen breeches.
Ozorne began kicking the peddler. He screamed insults that started with “Sirajit” until Arram threw a shield of his Gift between the prince and the man on the ground. The guard who had grabbed the bundle of wood dropped it and dragged the peddler away from Ozorne. Another of the guards helped Varice to her feet—someone had knocked her down. Okot shouted orders: instantly the remaining soldiers encircled Ozorne, facing outward. Okot bellowed for the gawking crowd to go about their business.
Ozorne rounded on Arram. His face, so often dreamy-eyed or amused, was red with fury. He clenched his hands into fists. “You dare!” he shouted at Arram. “You dare to use magic to thwart me!”
Arram let his shield vanish, though he feared Ozorne might strike him. “I was the only one who would,” he said mildly, his tone belying his shock at his friend’s behavior. “Okot told us he knows poisons best, and I don’t think Varice can manage that kind of shield spell.”
“Not that I can call up in a moment’s thought,” Varice said tartly, brushing her skirts with both hands. They came away streaked in mud. “Ozorne, what were you thinking? Now everything is ruined.”
Okot planted himself in front of their friend. His face was stone. “In truth, Your Highness, this proves what I tried to tell you. We cannot guard you properly in the market. It is too crowded. That could as easily have been an assassin. While we rid ourselves of him, watched your friends, and held off bystanders, a confederate could have killed you.” The man paused, then bowed and said, “With all respect due to you.”
Ozorne ground his teeth. Finally he said, “I can protect myself, you know.”
“Obviously,” the sergeant replied. His tone was very dry.
“I am a mage,” the prince insisted.
Okot bowed.
At last Ozorne said, “Well, I must return and change. Arram, Varice, there’s no reason to ruin your day.”
“I have to change, too,” Varice said tartly. “There’s no point in coming back by the time that’s done. Arram, if you’ll buy some things for me, I’ll cook us supper in Ozorne’s new hearth.”
Ozorne’s face brightened. He contributed money as Varice told Arram what she needed. Off they went, enclosed in a tight square of guards. Arram looked around and spotted the peddler. The man had only gone as far as the nearest water fountain, where he sat on the rim and wept. He’d lost most of his wood, and the urchins who awaited opportunity in the square had stolen it.
Arram crouched beside the peddler. “I’m sorry.” The man stared at him, frightened. His face was marred with bruises, his clothes ripped. “He’s not usually like that,” Arram told him. “But his cousin is dead, and the emperor has made him take guards wherever he goes. He’s not used to the change.” The peddler leaned away, obviously afraid Arram brought more bad news. “Here,” Arram said, offering a handful of his own silver coins. Nervously, the peddler held out his palm. Arram gave him the money. “That should cover the wood, and a healer, and a few days to rest. We’re really sorry.” The peddler said nothing, only stared at the coins in his hand. “Well, gods go with you.” Arram stood, dusting his hands off on his tunic. Seeing the peddler’s eyes widen in fear, he walked back so the man wouldn’t feel so intimidated by his height before he turned and headed off to do his errands.
One of them did not involve supper. He searched through the market until he found the grand main shop of Inlands Trading House. The guard outside moved to stop him, but Arram took a tip from Varice’s book. He knew he looked somewhat bedraggled, but the idea, she had once told him, was to act as if he were royalty, even in rags. He drew himself up, fingered the black opal necklace around his neck, and let his right sleeve slide back. At the beginning of the autumn term, Cosmas had presented him with a thin bracelet made of gold, threaded with sapphire, jet, and jade stones, just as Sebo had given him a bracelet of copper linking moonstone, celestite, and azurite. These were twined with the bracelet Arram had made with Yadeen and the Hag’s die, and supported magic of all kinds. Between the black opal necklace and the twined bracelet, the guard would recognize a mage of talent and let him pass—as this one did. “Never judge a mage by his clothes,” Hulak had told him once.
Arram looked around the shop until he saw a counter girl who reminded him of Faziy in her friendly, cheerful air. They talked a little over a shelf of opals before he asked her if she knew his friend and former teacher.