Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (26 page)

Jak tilted his head close and muttered, “Quite colorful, aren’t they?”

Nikalys chuckled.

They drew stares and a few sneers as they walked the stone-paved street, something neither of them had ever seen. Every road they had traveled was dirt.

Most buildings were single story with large, multi-paned glass windows and signs hanging over bronze-handled doors. Nikalys eyed the signs as he passed.

Tena’s Herbalist Shoppe.

Bredon and Sons Bronze

Pep’s Clothiers.

Yellow Mud had never needed signs. People always knew where to go for something.

Peering down the smaller streets that intersected with the one they walked down, Nikalys spotted taller stone structures, two and sometimes three stories high. While topped with flat plank roofs like the rest, these larger buildings had gaudy, ornate windows and double doors.

Farther along the main street, they came across the largest building Nikalys had seen in his life. Standing at least six stories high, the edifice had five towering, white square columns propping up a domed roof. Stairs that ran the length of the building’s front led up to a fifteen-foot-tall set of stone doors carved to resemble bookshelves holding giant books.

The brothers paused to stare at the monstrosity.

“It looks like it should fall in on itself,” muttered Jak.

“Do you think that’s the Constable’s Office?”

“Gods, I hope not. I don’t want to get near that thing.”

Men and women sat on the steps or strolled around a small plaza, all wearing the same flowing light yellow robe. Every man was bald while the women had their hair cut close.

“Temple?” suggested Nikalys.

“Probably,” replied Jak. He smacked Nikalys’ arm. “Come on. Let’s go find the Constables.”

They strode down the main street, following it north toward the lake, away from the cliff’s edge. A short time later, they stepped onto a sprawling plaza filled with a teeming throng of people. It was the busiest, finest marketplace Nikalys had ever seen.

A gentle wind drifted from the north, bringing with it the aroma of roasting meats and herbs along with the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of fresh flowers. A white stone fountain of a woman cradling a wolf pup stood in the middle of the plaza, water flowing from the animal’s mouth. Dozens of stands filled the space, each with a colorful cloth awning. Street performers and playmen entertained the crowd, juggling, dancing, reciting poetry, singing songs, and playing instruments.

A few individuals in the crowd stood out from the others. Nikalys spotted three ijuli standing together, their long arms, spider-leg-like fingers, and elongated faces impossible to miss. He felt a quick flash of anger, thinking of the saeljul from the lake, but he realized these ijuli were of a darker complexions.

Getting Jak’s attention, Nikalys whispered, “Look. Tijuli.”

Jak glanced over. “So they are.” Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Interesting, but not why we’re here. Let’s ask where the Constables are.”

Nodding, Nikalys looked to the nearest stalls and noticed he and Jak had drawn the watchful eye of the vendors. Picking the least-unfriendly looking peddler, he suggested, “How about him?”

Jak looked to where Nikalys was staring. “As good as any, I guess.”

The brothers approached the man’s stand and asked for directions. The rotund man—who was selling fresh-cut, blue honeybells and white tumbleshoots—gave them a queer look, but answered them nonetheless. With a quick word of thanks, they left.

As they walked away from the flower stall, Jak leaned close to Nikalys. “Flowers? Truly? What a waste of coin.”

Nikalys shrugged. Some people had more coin than they needed and found pointless things on which to spend it.

Following the flower vendor’s directions, they crossed the plaza and moved down the flat-stone road on the other side. A short time later, they came to another limestone building, three stories tall with a sun-faded black sign proclaiming “Office of the Constables” in painted white letters. The brothers strode to the single oak door and opened it. As they stepped through the entrance, Nikalys checked that his mother’s necklace was tucked inside his shirt, praying Broedi was right about its magic not being detectable.

Inside, they found a sweltering, well-lit room. Windows along the building’s front were propped open to let in air, but
it was
they were not helping. The furnishings were sparse. Six simple wooden chairs, a few of which were occupied, lined the wall to Nikalys’ right. Across the room, on the opposite wall, sat a single table on which a blue vase full of white tumbleshoots rested. Nikalys caught Jak eyeing the flowers, while shaking his head.

Two men in gray tunics stood behind the counter that ran the length of the room, each one speaking with a separate group of people. Behind the men was a stone wall with two open, wood-framed doorways. Nikalys hoped the sweet odor of incense and fresh flowers hanging in the air would cover up his own unique “traveling in the wilderness for days without a wash” scent.

As the brothers walked to the counter, one of the men in gray glanced up, eyeing them with obvious distaste. Without saying a word, he pointed to the chairs placed against the wall. Taking the man’s meaning, they moved over and sat next to an older woman in a yellow dress with a light green sash. Nikalys offered her a friendly smile as he collapsed in his seat and received a huffy frown in return.

A short while later, one of the men behind the counter finished with the man and woman with whom he was talking. As the couple left the counter, the now-free man in gray called, “Next, please.”

The old woman in the yellow dress, her white hair pulled tight atop her head, stood and strode to the counter, stopping before the balding man.

The Constable gave the woman a polite smile and asked, “How can we help you today, Lady Uberts?”

In a voice as crisp and firm as a perfectly ripe grape, the woman announced, “I am here to report the dastardly use of magic near my home last evening.”

Nikalys’ ears perked up. Sitting taller, he exchanged a worried look with Jak.

Oddly enough, the man behind the counter did not seem to share their concern. In an almost bored tone, the man asked, “And what happened this time, my Lady?”

“Well. Yesterday afternoon, I was supervising my seedsman in the garden as he attended to my shortbud roses—that man’s hands are like a horse’s hooves—when Lady Therrbur wandered by and commented that my roses seemed to be wilting. I was quite polite to her, I assure you, but that woman was born sour. She is still jealous of my roses besting hers in last festival’s show.”

Nikalys wondered what this had to do with dastardly magic use.

“This morning, when I went to check on my roses, I found every bud withered and brown!”

“I see, my Lady,” said the Constable. “And how does this concern us?”

“It concerns you because Lady Therrbur came by in the cover of blackness and, using
magic,
withered my roses! I demand you detain her and investigate!”

Nikalys bit his lip in order to stifle a laugh. Jak tried to hold in his amusement, too, but when he saw his brother struggling against a smile, a small chortle escaped. In the quiet office, Jak’s outburst was as noticeable as if someone had dropped a clay pot.

Both Lady Uberts and the man in gray turned to stare at them. Jak covered his mouth with a hand and stared out one of the windows. Contrite, Nikalys raised a hand in apology and tried to stop smiling.

Looking back to Lady Uberts, the Constable said, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, my Lady. I will record your account and provide it to one of the Trackers.” He pulled out a small piece of parchment and began to scrawl on it. “They will follow up with you.”

Glancing at the paper on which the man was scribing, Lady Uberts asked, “Do you need my place of residence?”

The man glanced up. “We have it from you other reports, thank you.” Looking back down, the Constable continued to write—especially slowly, it seemed to Nikalys—while Lady Uberts watched every word he scribbled. After a moment, he looked back up. “I believe I have everything I need.”

“Hmm?” muttered the noblewoman. “Ah, well. Yes. Of course. See to it that something is done this time.”

With a curt nod, Lady Uberts spun around and left the office, giving Nikalys and Jak one last disdainful look before walking out. The quick burst of fresh air when the door opened was welcome.

The moment the door shut, the man behind the counter uttered, “Next.”

Nikalys and Jak stood and approached the counter, stopping opposite the man. The clerk was crossing out whatever he had written on the parchment during his talk with Lady Uberts. The man was not entirely bald as he had appeared from farther away. A long, thinning wisp of hair was combed over from the left side of his head to the right. His eyes seemed small for his face while his bulbous nose seemed too large.

Looking up from the parchment, he asked, “How can I help you young—” he paused, ran his gaze over their dirty clothes, and wrinkled his nose “—gentlemen?”

Jak said, “We’d like to report a magical event of sorts.”

“How lucky for you that you found your way into this office, then,” replied the man. The sarcasm was thicker than Fallsbottom mud. “What is your report?”

Looking to Nikalys, Jak said, “It’d be best if you tell it.”

After taking in a long breath to steady himself, Nikalys launched into a revised version of what had happened at Yellow Mud, changing the story so that Jak and he had been the ones at the lake. He never even mentioned they had a sister.

As he shared the tale about the crimson-robed ijul and the nine other mages, the attendant wrote, peering at him with incredulous eyes throughout. Jak stared Nikalys as well, appearing as dubious as the man was. His incredulity was understandable. This was the first he had heard what had happened on the lake. With Broedi around, Kenders and Nikalys had never shared the full story with Jak.

When he was finally finished, the bald man said, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, gentlemen. I will provide your account to one of the Trackers. If they wish to follow up, where might we find you?”

Thinking quickly, Nikalys said, “The Brown Horse and Cart.”

The man looked up, a phony smile resting on his face. “A fine establishment.”

Nikalys knew the man was mocking them. The inn’s only redeeming feature was its cost.

Smirking, the Constable dropped his head and resumed writing, his quill scratching against parchment.

The two brothers stood still, waiting.

After a few moments, the man looked up and said, “If that is all?” He nodded at the door of the office.

Nikalys and Jak stared at the man, then each other, and then back to the man.

“That’s it?” asked Jak.

“I’m sorry, but what did you expect? One of the Trackers to run out to your village right this very moment?” The man sighed and leaned on the counter. “Honestly, your story is interesting—one of the better I have heard in a while—but had something like this happened I am sure we would already be aware of it.”

Angry, Nikalys slammed the counter with an open palm, causing the other Constable and group with whom he was speaking to turn and look. “It
did
happen!”

Jak murmured, “Nikalys, perhaps you—”

“People died!” exclaimed Nikalys. “
Hundreds
of people died! Including our mother and father!” Jabbing a finger at the Constable, he growled, “You need to do something about it!
Now
!”

“Let’s go, ” said Jak his voice firm. Grabbing Nikalys’ arm, he started toward the door, pulling Nikalys with him. Calling over his shoulder, he said, “Thank you for your assistance, sir. Good memories behind.” Reaching the oaken door, Jak opened it, yanked Nikalys through, and closed it quickly.

Facing his brother, Nikalys exclaimed, “What’d you do that for?”

Moving to stand before the door, Jak crossed his arms and said, “He doesn’t believe us, Nik. Shouting at him was unlikely to change his mind.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Hells, Nik! I barely believed you! And I lived through it!” Nodding to the door behind him, he added, “They hear stories about wilted roses all day long, and then we bring them this? Of course they’re going to be skeptical.”

“But they need to—”

“Nik,” interjected Jak. “This path is at an end. The only thing yelling and screaming will get you now is a visit to the stockades.”

Nikalys glared at his brother. He wanted to argue the point, but he knew Jak was right. Fists balled, he spun and walked away from the building, back toward the street.

“Now what?”

He felt defeated. The one group he had believed could mete out justice was as interested in his tale as a fish was in a bird’s nest.

Jak walked up from behind, put his right arm around him, and led Nikalys down the street slowly, back toward the plaza.

“First we get out of Hilltop and down to Fallsbottom. We get supplies and horses, then find Kenders and Broedi.”

“Then what? What are we going to do, Jak?”

“I have a feeling Broedi might have a few ideas.”

Surprised, Nikalys glanced over. “Pardon?”

Jak hesitated for a moment before saying, “I think Broedi might be able to help us.”

“Help us what?”

Jak looked over, held Nikalys’ gaze for a moment, then stared ahead. “Supplies first. Then we can talk.”

“Jak. How can Broedi help us?”

Jak would not answer the question. By the time they reached the plaza, Nikalys had asked thrice more. Each time, Jak turned the subject back to what supplies they needed to purchase. Giving up for the time being, Nikalys promised himself that when they found Broedi and Kenders, he was going to get some answers.

Supplies first. Then a talk.

Miles south of Fallsbottom and Kenders’ hair was still damp, the ends curling up more than normal. Her clothes seemed determined to cling onto every drop of moisture. The valley at the base of the falls had been refreshing, cool compared to the heat on top the Smithshill ridge, but she could have done without the constant mist. She welcomed it at first, but by the time she and Broedi had made it into the city she had been soaked through.