Glasswrights' Apprentice (15 page)

Rani stared at the man, slack-jawed. The honor he mentioned was legendary - one that she and Varna had play-acted as children. Bardo had served as the Council's messenger one year, carrying the market's riches through the streets, amid much pomp and circumstance. Rani still remembered his boastful pride, especially that he had been chosen over merchants who sold their goods in the marketplace. That the Council would proffer this office to a child - to a rebel who had merited punishment for violating all her caste's rules.… Had
Mair
said something to Borin to bring about this honor? Rani sank back to her knees in honest humility, forgetting to put on the airs of her assumed identity and her false story. “Your Grace, you honor me too greatly.”

“Nonsense, Rani. I honor you with your due. You have borne your punishment - even your chaining at the stall - with a grace clear to everyone. When you have your own stall in the marketplace, it will be a model for your fellow merchants. The tithing embassy is yours, if you wish it.”

“I am honored, Your Grace. I will gladly go to the priesthood.”

Borin might have breathed a sigh of relief. He certainly spoke faster: “Mind your
caste, then, Rani, and go forth as our ambassador, bringing honor upon all our people.” Rani's eyes
shot up as she heard the words that had been muttered by the huddled Touched creature in the
alleyway, but Borin seemed unaware that he had said anything unusual. Instead, he gestured
imperiously, and Katrin rustled forward, bearing a small wooden cask.

Rani had imagined a cart piled high with goods, a dray swaying beneath the combined weight of all the offerings. She almost yelped as she recognized her mistake, giving up the enticing image of riding into the cathedral close, balanced atop a mound of cloth-of-gold. Her disappointment must have shown in her earnest features.

“Not what you anticipated?” Borin's smile was tight.

“Oh no, Your Grace,” she began, shaking her head. “It's just that.…”

“We've reached an agreement with the priesthood. They have no storehouses for our wealth, and they don't want aged goods. Beginning this year, we send them promises - inscribed on golden paper and settled in this box.” Borin opened the wooden casket, and Rani caught a whiff of cedar as a delicate slip of gilded paper curled over the side. “Throughout the coming twelve-month, they need only present these receipts to the Council, and we will provide them with the finest goods at our command.”

Rani nodded, measuring the advantage to the Council: the merchants could continue to claim ownership over their goods if any delicate negotiations arose with moneylenders. A flush of interest spread across her cheeks. She had never dreamed that life as a merchant could be so full of intrigue and dealing. There was no need to escape to a
guild
to arrange things and craft structures of beauty. She could do that right here in the Merchants' Council.

Borin, though, misread the flush on her face. “You are shamed by your mission, now that you know you will not bear your caste's visible wealth?”

“No, Your Grace!” Rani stumbled over her words in her effort to gainsay the Chief Councilor. “I was merely struck by the beauty of your system.”

Borin swallowed a sour smile, as if he did not believe a word she spoke. “A beautiful system, well, yes. Enough of these flattering words. If you leave now, you'll still reach the Pilgrims' Compound before dusk.”

Rani accepted the wooden box with a stiff bow. Borin made as if to follow Rani to the market's edge, but when they reached the eaves of the covered portico, a phalanx of armed soldiers appeared. Rani darted a quick glance toward Borin, but he seemed unsurprised by the soldiers' presence, as if he'd had advance notice of their invasion.

“Borin, Chief Councilor of the merchants?”

“Aye.” Rani could barely make out the single syllable above her pounding heart. She considered dropping the box of receipts and fleeing the market in a whirlwind, as she had arrived.

“We have reason to believe that the merchants in this marketplace are harboring a vicious criminal, the murderer of Prince Tuvashanoran.”

Borin looked concerned, and he settled a protective hand on Rani's shoulder. “Surely that was the traitor whose head you carted about the market this very day?”

“That was only one of the criminals. She spoke before she died, and now we search for the executed woman's apprentice.”

Borin grimaced, apparently unaware that Rani had begun to shudder beneath his hand. “In the marketplace? I can't say I follow your logic. But these words are certainly not necessary for a child to hear. Go along, Rani Trader. Go about your business.”

The councilor stressed her last name, as if he were telling the soldiers that she could not possibly be the murdering guildsman that they sought. The captain of the guard merely scowled in annoyance, letting Rani pass. “I warn you, Councilor, this is a serious matter.”

“Yes,” Borin agreed. “Of course. Come into my chamber and tell me all that you suspect.”

Rani did not wait to hear the guard's response. It was all she could do to make her legs move forward, to keep her fingers clasped around the sharp corners of the casket that held the tithing slips. She had enough presence of mind to raise the wooden cask to her chest, using the smooth wood to cover any rip in her garments that might be noticed by enemy eyes. She had not needed to worry about her missing guild-badge for all the nights that she slept alone, chained in the marketplace, but now that she was returning to the streets.…

The box was not heavy, but it was awkward in her arms. As soon as she was out of the soldiers' sight, Rani shifted the casket to her shoulder. Keeping her eyes on the cobbled streets, she tried not to think about the soldiers in the marketplace behind her, about where she would rest her head that night. As she walked, the casket grew heavier, and she sighed deeply as she shifted the wooden box to her other shoulder.

“Gettin' tired, are ye, Rai?”

“Mair.” Rani jerked back to the present, startled to see the Touched girl in the street, as if she had just come from the cathedral close. Rani kept walking, and Mair obligingly turned about to keep her company.

“Ye might turn a smile toward th' one friend ye got i' all th' world.”

“Friend!” Rani scoffed.

“Aye. Who else would come t' Borin 'n' warn 'im that th' soldiers were comin' fer ye?”

“Warn him?”

“Aye. I woulna want t' see ye missin' yer 'ead, like that Instructor o' yers. I was watchin' out for ye, see? No need t' fear me.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” Rani shifted the casket on her shoulder and jumped when Mair reached out a hand to steady it. Rani reached for her Zarithian blade, all too aware that she carried the wealth of dozens of merchants.

“Easy there!” Mair exclaimed. “Afraid we'll be stealin' her goods? That rat-pricker wouldna stop us if we 'ad a mind t' steal yer scrip.”

“I'm not afraid of anything,” Rani's chin jutted defiantly.

“Make sure ye can talk without yer voice quakin' when ye try that line on a stranger!” Mair's grin was easy, but her teeth glinted in the fading sunlight.

“Borin would not have entrusted me with this mission if he didn't think I could handle the likes of you.”

“The likes o' me! Cor, ye
do
believe anything ye're told, don't ye? I'm sorry t' bear th' bad news, girl, but Borin chose ye t' avoid choosin' among th' real merchants vyin' fer th' 'onor!”

“I am a real merchant!” Rani retorted hotly, and a full minute passed before her curiosity got the better of her. “Why would he have to choose?”

“Ye claim t' be th' daughter o' merchants - ye should know well enough yerself. There're two groups o' merchants i' th' City - those sellin' i' th' market like yer precious Narda, and those sellin' other places i' th' Quarter. Borin dinna want t' favor one over th' other; he dinna want t' choose a messenger as 'is favorite.”

“But he did! I'm from…” Rani trailed off as she tried to complete the sentence. Was she her father's daughter, representing the Quarter Merchants? Or was she Narda's aide, representing the marketplace?

“Aye, Rai, ye're from where'er ye claim t' be.”

Despite the mocking tone, Mair's words rang true. The only real explanation for Borin choosing Rani was to ease other Council burdens. The crafty old councilor was outwitting his fellow merchants, beating them to the punch before they realized that the annual fight had even begun. Rani struggled to reweave her proud dignity. “And if I'm so unimportant, then why are
you
here?”

“Maybe my friends 'n' me, we wanted t' steal yer scrip so we c'n chew on a few extra apples winter nights.” Mair laughed as Rani backed away, casting about a furtive eye for Rabe's shadowy presence. “'N' maybe we wanted t' warn ye o' other dangers. Keep yer eyes peeled in th' close. It'll likely be yer only chance t' learn what 'appened t' yer Instruct'r friend.”

“She wasn't my -” Rani began to argue by habit, but modified her response. “What do
you mean, ‘what happened' to Morada? I thought that was clear enough.” Shifting the casket once
again, Rani set aside the memory of Morada's gelling head.

“Then think on
why
it 'appened. Cor! If
I'd
caught a traitor, ye can be sure I'd torture 'er a good long time before I let 'er die. Someone killed 'er outright, before she could say too much. I'd want t' know 'oo that person was.”

“Maybe someone took pity on Morada, and executed her to spare her pain.”

Mair chortled, a heartless sound that scraped Rani's nerves. “Aye, that mun be it! A woman kills th' Defender o' th' Faith, a city searches fer a fortnight, 'n' when she's found, the king takes pity on 'er and 'as 'er executed like a noble gone astray.”

“You don't have to make me sound stupid!”

“
Sound
stupid! That wasna my intention, Rai.”

Before Rani could grouse about Mair's choice of words, the girls emerged into the cathedral courtyard. The sun was setting behind bloody bandages of cloud, its last rays reflecting off the near-opaque windows. As Rani looked pridefully at the work of her former guild, the entire side of the building was coated with a viscous crimson light. Unbidden, Morada's specter gazed down at Rani from the splay-legged scaffolding. The apprentice froze, grasping Mair's arm as her vision flooded with the memory of Tuvashanoran's bloody death.

Mair continued on a few steps before realizing that she had lost Rani, and urgency spiced her words as she turned back to the apprentice. “Ye'd best get back t' work, Rai. Ye wouldna want Borin's councilors t' come lookin' fer ye 'n' callin' ye thief.”

“Aye,” Rani agreed, nodding and shifting the Council's casket closer to her narrow chest. With a nervous glance to the shadows, she followed the path past the scaffold, making her way to the pilgrims' compound at the back of the close. Only when a priest stepped forward to challenge her did she realize that Mair had melted into the shadows, disappearing like the Touched wraith that she was.

“Well at last!” huffed the overweight religious who stood at the gate. “Father Aldaniosin's been expecting you for over an hour - it doesn't do to keep him waiting.” The man hustled Rani through the gates, wheezing as he locked the stronghold behind her. The Pilgrims' Bell tolled ahead of them, sending out its first steady summons against the rising fog.

“I'm sorry,” Rani managed. “Borin only gave me -”

“Save your excuses, child. I'm merely the gatekeeper. I'm just the brother assigned to stand in the rising mist, with all manner of mischief lurking around me, threatening in the dark…” The man's grievances were deep-carved with a familiar blade, and Rani stifled a sigh of impatience. It was hardly
her
fault she had been late - the Council should have summoned her earlier.

Before she could complete her justification in her own mind, the gatekeeper ushered her toward a low building, well set off from the other structures in the quiet compound. “Here you are,” he huffed. “Don't waste any more of Father Aldaniosin's time, child.” Just before Rani ducked through the doorway, she heard a swell of prayer rise from a building across the green. The pilgrims must be sitting down to their dinner, breaking the long day's fast with simple fare.

The comforting chant spread like warm balm, all the more soothing for the sad memories stirred by the words. Somewhere in the dining hall were men like the mythical father she had created to fool the soldier, the loving, caring Thomas Pilgrim who had searched frantically for his daughter. Not for the first time, Rani wondered what she would do if she never saw her father again, if she never felt her mother's strong arms about her, if she never teased with her brothers and sisters, about silly things like who got the last sweet cake during a hurried breakfast. Her family had not managed to get word to her when she was easy to find in the marketplace. How could they find her if she retreated to the life of a skulking spy, trying to find Tuvashanoran's real murderer? Could they find her at all, imprisoned as they were in King Shanoranvilli's dungeons?

All these thoughts - and more self-pitying words - rolled over Rani as the distant pilgrims ended their chant and, presumably, settled down to their meal of hearty bread and thick soup. A breeze skirled across the courtyard, reminding Rani she was not only orphaned, but hungry as well. Her life as Narda's well-fed servant glimmered more appealing every moment. The thought forced a heavy sigh from her lungs.

“At last!” boomed a voice from the shadows of the nearest building, thunderous in the darkness, and Rani was so startled, she almost dropped her carved box.

“F-father Aldaniosin?”