Glasswrights' Apprentice Page 8

  Sooner than Rani cared for, she was pushed toward a dark little hallway that led to the covered portico at the core of the marketplace. Ironically, the Council sat near the scale-masters where she had fantasized meeting Thomas Pilgrim. The intricate stone ceiling writhed with beasts and flowers, filtering out most of the morning’s rosy light.

  “Morning, Your Grace,” the butcher said, and Rani peered into the shadows, trying to discern a body in the gloom. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a tall man sitting in a folding wooden chair, his bony hands relaxed on carved arm-rests. Shrewd eyes glinted beneath his bald pate, and shadows made a skull out of his sunken cheeks. The dim light picked out a fist-sized hempen knot secured to his left breast.

  “It’s too early for disturbances in the marketplace.” The man’s voice was old, and Rani wondered who held the post of Chief Councilor this season. The job rotated among the most respected merchants; so far, it had remained far beyond her father’s grasp.

  “Not too early for the likes of this gutter rat.” The baker spoke this time, pushing Rani forward, so that she fell to her knees. “Broke all of Narda’s eggs, she did.”

  “Narda, do you seek the judgment of the Council?”

  “Aye, Borin.” The woman managed to make her two words a pitiable plea for assistance, even as she gloated over being the center of attention.

  “And you,” Borin directed his words to Rani. “What are you called?”

  Rani ran through the possibilities. “Ranita” would likely do her more harm than good; she could scarcely demand to be handed over to guildsman justice when she could not name her guild. “Rai” would earn her a severe beating, if not worse - merchants considered the lawless Touched children an unfortunate blight, like flooding, drought, and insect infestation. There was little point in appending “Pilgrim” to her name - she certainly had no Star to mark her pilgrimage, and a quick inquiry at the cathedral would clarify that no panicked Pilgrim Thomas sought his daughter. Shrugging in resignation, she managed to voice the two syllables, “Rani.”

  “Rani.” The old man’s voice was as stony as the canopy above his head. “Do you have family to stand beside you as the Council decides its verdict?”

  “No, Your Grace.” Rani longed to name her father, longed to throw herself on the mercy of the Council for help in finding her missing family. Such a request, though, would only raise nasty questions, impossible questions. Better to stand alone than to stand surrounded by the King’s Guard.

  As if acknowledging her decision, Borin nodded before turning to the butcher. “What happened to Rani in the marketplace?”

  Rani listened as her exploits were recounted. Even though her knees itched where they were caught between two bricks, she did not shift position. She did not like the tone of the butcher’s voice, but he was fair enough in his words, describing how she had fled Shanoranvilli’s guards and upset various tables, including the one bearing all of Narda’s eggs.

  “And what other damage did she do?”

  “Tarin lost two dozen melons - they were bruised enough that he’ll likely not sell them. Rordi claims she trampled his squash, but two other merchants say he damaged his own goods, hoping for a Council verdict and a free afternoon. Others lost their displays, but their wares were not destroyed.”

  Borin nodded slowly, weighing the personalities involved, measuring out his own knowledge of the merchants under his supervision. Rani remained enough of a merchant’s daughter to take pride in the Council’s smooth governance, even as she feared the penalty Borin would extract.

  “Rani, do you have anything to say for yourself before the Council speaks?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “Do you have any money to pay for disturbing the Market’s peace?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “Do you have any reason that the Council should not announce its verdict, binding you and the merchants you have wronged today?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “Very well. The Council gives this verdict. Rordi suffers punishment enough, in not having his own wares to sell. Rani will scrub down Tarin’s stall every night for two weeks, and she will mind the stall for him during the noon hour for those same two weeks. A Councilor will watch from nearby and make sure that all the coins owed to Tarin get to him each day. As for Narda, Rani will be her servant for a fortnight, doing her command in all things at all times, except for those hours when the child meets her obligations to the other merchants. The Council will pay Narda from the Common Fund for today’s loss of eggs.”

  Narda crowed her delight, but both the butcher and the baker satisfied themselves with tight nods. Borin’s sentence was a fair one. The old man looked Rani directly in the eye. “You hear the Council’s verdict. By your name, you are already sworn to abide by the Council. Will you stand by that oath, or do you demand the King’s Justice?”

  Rani hung her head and forced a whisper. “I will abide by the Council.”

  “Then rise up, Rani, and go to your appointed duties. In a fortnight, the Council will review your actions and determine if further sanctions are necessary. I release you into Narda’s care. The egg-woman is responsible for feeding you during your service. Beware the Council and the King’s Justice if you fail to do as you have sworn.”

  Rani bowed her head in the gesture of submission she had used before her father for years. Authority was authority, whether in the guise of a parent or a judge in a crowded marketplace. Borin nodded, and the baker dug into a coffer, counting out coins to remunerate Narda for her losses.

  As the woman hid away the coppers, she turned to her charge. “Come, girl. What do they call you? Rani? Well, Rani, we’ve a long day ahead of us, don’t we?”

  Rani followed the diminutive merchant back through the stalls. No one took notice of them now; the marketplace was flooded with townsfolk filling their larders with fine goods. Rani quickly ceased to have time to watch the shoppers. Narda handed her a rag and a small wire brush and ordered her to get to work, cleaning the toppled egg-stand. Narda, unexpectedly freed from a day’s labor in the marketplace, took her settlement funds and made her way to a distant stall already setting out tankards of ale.

  Rani quickly discovered that the eggs she had broken were not the first to paint the table. Glue-like yolk crusted the cracks between planks, and the trestle legs gleamed with an albumen glaze. The rag helped to wipe up the worst of the morning’s misadventures, but Rani settled down to a long day’s work with the wire brush.

  The labor proved no more difficult, though, than many of the tasks she had mastered at the guildhall. The scrubbing created its own rhythm, and Rani hummed to herself as she wielded her tools. She vaguely remembered despising such jobs when she worked for her parents, but she had learned the true value of labor during her life as an apprentice. At least the sun was warm in the sky above her, and here in the marketplace, there were no embers to burn her, no lead fumes to inhale. She would not be cut by daggers of near-invisible glass. All things considered, her binding to Narda was no more difficult than her obligation to the glasswrights had been.

  Most importantly, she had time to think as she sat cross-legged in the marketplace. She needed to formulate a plan. The guild was likely in ruins by now, all the glasswrights chained in Shanoranvilli’s prison. Another apprentice was probably thumbless, maimed in the service of Rani’s escape. Cook was almost definitely dead, Lan keep her. Rani’s family was certainly arrested, if not worse, and her home was burned.

  Tears stung at the corners of Rani’s eyes, but she swallowed hard, berating herself that she was merely reacting to the pungent smell of egg yolk, freed from the wood trestle. If only she had not been ordered to bring Morada’s lunch to the cathedral.…

  Morada. There was the key.

  Rani did not believe that Instructor Morada had murdered Tuvashanoran. In the first place, Rani could not imagine actually knowing a cold-blooded murderer. In the second place, although Morada had been angry on the scaffold, Rani
had tormented her siblings enough to know that the Instructor’s anger was rooted in fear, not in murderous rage. In the third place - and most importantly - Morada had a glasswright’s body. Her fingers were nimble and deft; she could cut a plate of glass into the most intricate of designs. The woman’s arms, though, were a craftsman’s; she could not pull a bowstring taut; she did not have the skill to hit a target hundreds of ells away.

  Fine. Morada was not the murderer. Nevertheless, she had welcomed the murderer to her scaffold. Certainly, that was the meaning of the Instructor’s nervousness when Rani arrived with lunch; that was the reason for the cold hatred that Rani had read in Morada’s grey eyes.

  Rani wiped a trickle of sweat from her own eyes. The sun was warm in the marketplace, and the soldier’s deep crimson cloak soaked up the heat. Sitting back on her haunches, Rani removed the garment and folded it carefully on the ground, setting it in the shadows of the stone-walled stall. Here, in the crowded marketplace, no one would notice a soiled cloak. Even with the gaping hole where her guild badge had been, Rani would be practically invisible.

  The apprentice almost laughed out loud as she realized the import of her thought. The market was the perfect place to disappear.

  And disappearance would be even more important to Morada than to Rani. Morada had a reputation in the City; she was known to various nobles who had paid dearly for her glasswright services. Besides, Salina was certain to talk at some point, or the soldiers would ultimately take a census of the imprisoned glasswrights. They would learn that Morada was missing, and a search would begin.

  Morada would not be safe anywhere in the City. No friends would take her under their roof, for fear of Shanoranvilli’s retribution. Even public taverns would be closed to her. The establishments that served nobles would never let her in the door. The soldiers’ drinking houses were too fraught with risk. The merchants, counting out the day’s till, would not welcome a stranger. The guildsmen would embrace one of their own - even a stranger - but only if that stranger could show a token of mastery. No glasswright’s token would provide passage today. Morada would be alone.

  So, Rani congratulated herself on her deductions, Morada would have to make her way to the marketplace if she intended to eat or drink. Rani merely needed to study the crowds, the good folk come to spend their coins on fare for their kitchens. Rani breathed yet another prayer to Lan, grateful that Cook had shown her the path to the kitchen god.

  Given Lan’s help and enough time, Rani was certain to find her prey. And Rani would find her. Instructor Morada, by assisting Tuvashanoran’s killer, was as guilty of murder as if she had pulled the bowstring herself. Murder, the guildhall’s destruction, Larinda’s maiming, Rani’s own parents disappearing into the night as their home burned to its foundations.… Morada’s list of misdeeds was long.

  Even as Rani wallowed in vengeful thoughts, Narda returned. “So, my little eggcup, how is your work progressing?”

  Rani had smelled alcohol on adults’ breath before, but never in such quantity, and never so early in the day. She executed a judicious bow as she made way for Narda’s inspection. “Just fine, mistress. I’ve almost finished this leg of the table.”

  The old woman stared at the stand, examining it with a care usually reserved for fine jewelwork. One gnarled hand rubbed against the wood, and Rani saw that callouses marked the horny flesh. Narda cocked her head to one side, looking for all the world like a tipsy crow. “Aye, you’ve done a fine job with your work so far.” The words were pulled grudgingly from the woman’s throat. “Don’t let me keep you from the rest.”

  Rani felt uncomfortable working beneath the woman’s watchful eye. It wasn’t that she planned to shirk her punishment - far from it, Rani knew justice when it slapped her wrist. Rather, when Narda watched, Rani felt a peculiar itch against her shin, and then a niggling tickle on her scalp. She squirmed like an infant trying to break free of swaddling clothes.

  The old woman cackled, and the alcoholic fumes were nearly enough to knock Rani back on her heels. For just an instant, she thought of asking the woman to breathe on the table; surely the spirits on her breath would loosen that particularly stubborn patch of egg yolk. The image of Narda, exhaling like a dragon, made Rani smile. The smile turned to an open grin when the old woman chose that moment to yawn, marking her action with a distinct roar from somewhere deep in her gut.

  “Well!” the egg-woman exclaimed, “You take to your labors like kidneys to pie! Mind you, finish that table by tonight, or you’ll be explaining your laziness to Borin. For now, though, I’d best take you over to Tarin. You’re to mind his stall while he takes his lunch.” Narda took Rani by the hand and led her through the marketplace.

  Stepping up to the melon-merchant’s stall, Rani felt the market’s power in her bones. She knew that Council watchers were eyeing her, but she could not keep a smile from her lips as she sold Tarin’s wares, counting out coppers with flashing precision. Rani was born a merchant; she thrived in the marketplace. Try as Guildmistress Salina might, with words and prayers before altars to the Thousand Gods, with frequent petitions to Clain, the glaziers’ god, the guild had been unable to dig out Rani’s roots.

  Once, looking up from the stand, Rani glimpsed a figure on the edge of the market, a shrouded woman who kept her face well-hidden within her cloak. Rani caught a glimpse of a white streak in dark hair, and she almost cried out Morada’s name. Before she could make a move, though, one of the Council’s women stepped into view, her fretted badge clear on the shoulder of her tunic. Reluctantly, Rani dropped her hand, settling to the business of making change for a peck of fruit.

  When Tarin returned, he was surprised and pleased with her handiwork, and he presented her with a melon - a little dented on one side to be sure, but fragrant in the midday sunlight. Narda, too, held true to Borin’s edict, handing over a large loaf of bread when she fetched Rani from the fruit-stand and led her back to her scrubbing. Further pleased with the progress on the table, the old woman splurged on a meat pie for supper, drawing on the coppers that Borin had awarded her for the loss of her eggs. Even as Rani ran a surreptitious finger down the front of her tunic to scrape up a stray daub of gravy, her eyes darted around the market, hoping against hope to catch another glimpse of the figure she was increasingly certain had been Morada.

  Few shoppers remained in the district; even the tardiest of cooks had gathered up remnant herbs and produce to prepare their evening meals. Narda, finishing her own pie, eyed the detritus of the day’s market shrewdly, then walked around her trestle table with an inebriate’s false balance. She barely managed to strangle a cry as the last rays of sun glinted off the stand. “Cor! You’ve done a fine job, girl.”

  Rani’s narrow chest swelled with pride at the compliment. She had done well - the table was stripped of its egg glaze to reveal sturdy oak trestles and planks. Rani had polished the wood until it gleamed, using all her skill as both merchant and guildsman to bring out the whorls in the oak. Rani imagined smooth white eggs arranged on the surface, inviting tomorrow’s shoppers with their perfect shape.

  “Aye,” Narda completed her circuit around the table, “you’ve done well by your family. Almost makes me hate to do this.”

  Before Rani could startle away, the old woman withdrew a heavy chain and a manacle. She clapped the iron around Rani’s wrist, anchoring the chain on the leg of the trestle.

  “Mistress!” Rani gasped out her surprise.

  “What else would you have me do, little merchant? You’ve paid your way today, but Borin allotted me another thirteen days of your labor. I’d not have you count out the coin in your own fashion and conclude your debt paid. You can keep watch here in the marketplace for the night. Don’t worry. It’ll be dry enough.”

  “Mistress Narda, you can’t leave me alone!”

  “Nonsense. Stop that blubbering! You’re a big girl, and you must learn to accept responsibility.”

  “But the Touched -” Rani gave voice to her long-standing m
erchant-child’s nightmare, ignoring the pangs of conscience that reminded her she now had names for the Touched. Old habits died hard, and the limits of caste were the oldest habits of all.

  “If you need assistance, you can always call for the guard. Here. This will sweeten your night.” The egg-woman produced a sweet cake from her satchel, only a little the worse for its leathern stay. “Sleep well, little merchant.”

  Rani stared as the woman staggered away to complete her studies in tavern alchemy, transforming the last of her copper to ale.

  Rani had not realized how fatiguing her day had been; she found herself drifting off to uneasy sleep before the sun had set. She curled protectively around Tarin’s half-eaten melon, her gnawed loaf of bread, and the untouched sweet cake.

  She was swirling into dreams when a hiss hurtled her back to wakefulness. “Shhhhh. We’ll see if she’s got any eggs on ’er!”

  The words shocked Rani into a sitting position, and she immediately reached for her Zarithian dagger. Rabe materialized out of the twilight, his earnest face twisted into a sneer as he saw her blade.

  “Not much good that’ll do ye now. I’d kick yer wrist, an’ th’ knife’d go flyin’. Why don’t ye drop it, and spare yerself th’ pain.”

  “Rabe.” Rani twisted around and saw Mair watching her lieutenant from the shadows. She nodded a cautious greeting, and the girl stepped up to Rani’s side.

  “Ye were expectin’ First God Ait, p’r’aps?” Mair settled onto the trestle table, swinging her legs as Rani clambered to her feet. “Afraid of us Touched, are ye?”

  “And why wouldn’t I be? I’ve heard tales.” Rani raised her chin defiantly.

  “Tales!” Mair chortled. “If ye ’eard ’alf th’ stories we could tell ye! About thieves ’n’ murderers ’n’ ghosts seekin’ bloody revenge i’ th’ night!”

  Rani blanched, certain Mair was referring to Tuvashanoran, wondering whether the Touched leader would give her up to the Guard. “You’re just trying to frighten me.”