Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) (6 page)

I glance skyward. Between the buildings, the strip of bright blue is already darkening. I’m out of time. Swallowing a curse, I head towards the waterfront. Without a carriage, we won’t be able to transport the Degaths—it’s too long a walk to the house Rafiki has in mind, and the family will be too obviously out of place wandering the streets. I’ll have to come up with something else.

I keep a watch out for vacant buildings along the way, pausing at the intersections of alleys, studying the more decrepit structures for signs of occupancy. There are a few. Karolene may be a thriving trade city, but the occasional building does fall into disrepair; businesses close and leave behind empty shells; families board up their houses, intending to return one day, only they never do. Plans have a way of unraveling.
 

I barely step into the first building before I slip out again, moving on before the squatters I spot can register my intrusion. The second and third have too many broken windows and doors to hide our presence or be in any way defensible. When I happen on the fourth, only a few streets from where Rafiki and the Ghost will already be waiting for me, I know that this one will have to work.
 

The doors and shutters at ground level are still intact. It only takes me a moment with my trusty lock-pick set to get through the back door. Inside, I light a candle stub I keep for just such occasions and inspect the rest of the building. Past the large back room, a long hall lined by two rooms on either side leads to the front entry. The rooms have precious little to offer: moldering mattresses, blackened lumps that may have once been cushions, a scattering of refuse. But one of them does have a workable door.
 

Back in the hallway, I find a stairwell built between the front room and these smaller rooms, but the treads have long since fallen to pieces, leaving a splintered framework incapable of supporting weight. My eyes search the stairwell. How did it fall in when the doors and shutters are still in tact? I find my answer in the blackened ends of timbers: a fire that must have started on an upper floor. Given how thick the dust—and ash—lies here, there should be no one upstairs.
 

I cast around one last time, knowing that this is hardly the place to put a lord’s family. But we have no way to get them to Rafiki’s safe place tonight. It will have to do.

Before I leave, I pull a pouch from my pocket, weighing it in my hand, then extract the string of stone prayer beads within. Better to set them up now, when no one can guess at what I’m doing. I suppose I could tell the Ghost or Kenta about my Promise, if I had to. I can’t imagine them betraying me. But there’s no reason whatsoever for Rafiki to know. He may be part of the League, but I’m not convinced that he wouldn’t report me to the High Council for hiding my Promise and remaining “untrained”—formally, at least.
 

I shudder. Untrained Promises aren’t merely fined or sent to school. At my age, there would be only two options. I could choose to have my magic stripped from me, which would likely take my mind with it. Or I could agree to become a source slave, living in a mage’s household and being forced to funnel my magic into the mage’s own spells.

No, the wards go up now, before anyone else arrives.

With a quick tug I release the knot holding the loop of beads together. One by one, I line the inside of the building with the beads, leaving them below each window and along the walls, and at both exits. I return to the center of the building and kneel on the floor, cupping the last bead in my hand. I focus on the bead until I can feel it in my mind, feel the old ties that bind it to the circle I have set out, like the filaments of a single-stranded web. Reaching out through it, I slowly wake each stone, renewing old bonds and closing the circle I’ve created around the building. The bead in my hand grows warm as I send my thoughts out through it, sensing each of its siblings, assuring I haven’t accidentally mixed their order and left a gap. But the wards fall into place around me perfectly.

I’ve cast this spell dozens of times, using it as a protection when I’ve slept in abandoned buildings or on rooftops. I wonder what my mother would have thought, if she could see me. I’ve never heard of a mage using prayer beads, but they’re stone, the traditional material for setting wards. Keeping them on a string retains their order so that I don’t have to recast the spell when I need it. I only need to reawaken it, and, when I am done, be careful to gather the stones in the same order that I lay them out.
 

My beads also reduce the chance that anyone will notice my magic-working, for an old spell draws less attention than a bright, spangly new one.

Wiping a thin sheen of sweat from my brow, I pocket the final bead and head out. I find Rafiki and the Ghost both waiting in a shadowed alley a block inland from the esplanade.
 

“Where’s the carriage?” Rafiki asks, his voice ringing out loud in the empty alleyway. The Ghost touches his elbow, quieting him, but he too looks at me, waiting. For once I’m glad that his hood shadows his face.
 

“I couldn’t get one. The proprietor didn’t trust me.”

Rafiki swears. At least he doesn’t ask about the coin purse.

“It’s all right,” I say, keeping my eyes on the darkness where the Ghost’s face would be. “I’ve found a place for them—a vacant building, safe enough until we can get a carriage. There should be one free by morning.”

I can’t see the Ghost’s hands beneath his cloak, but I would guess they’re clenched around the hilt of his short sword and his dagger. He must be the most clean-mouthed man I’ve ever met: When he gets upset, he just goes quiet.

“Where’s the building?” he asks.
 

I describe its location and setup. Just as I finish, Kenta darts into our alleyway. In his tanuki form, he hardly comes to my knee, his honey-colored fur so thick he looks more plump than dangerous. His legs and belly are covered in darker fur that travels up his neck and wraps around each side of his face to his eyes, suggesting a mask that doesn’t bridge his nose. His ears, twin triangles atop his rounded face, are furred as well.
 

He pauses, brown eyes reflecting the twilight, then tilts his head in a question.

“She couldn’t get a carriage,” Rafiki explains. “Apparently—”

“We’re walking,” the Ghost says, cutting him off. “Rafiki, Kenta, with me. Hitomi, you stay here.”

I bristle at his tone. I don’t mind missing the conversation with the Degaths, but I’m the only one who’ll be able to feel the wards I’ve set. “Fine, but I’m coming with you to the building.”

The Ghost hesitates. “No,” he says, and walks around the corner. Kenta follows, sending me a quick glance, ears perked. I try not to glare at him. Rafiki is already gone.

I turn and kick the wall, which only hurts my foot. How could I have known that fish-brained proprietor wouldn’t rent to me? Is it my fault I don’t look like some rich kid?
 

I put my foot down gingerly, curling my toes to see if I’ve broken anything, and run over my exchange with the Ghost again. I find myself grinning wickedly. He hadn’t barred me from going altogether, just going
with them
.
 

I follow after the others, setting a brisk pace until I catch sight of them again. Rafiki and the Ghost wait just before the intersection with the road that lines the esplanade. I take up a position at the corner of a nearby building, peering around the wall as Kenta trots back into view, followed by a lone man. Lord Degath. The Ghost must have told him to look for Kenta—or rather, a dog that looked like Kenta.
 

In the fading light, I can just discern the barely visible shape of the Ghost’s flowing black cloak, as he steps forward to meet Lord Degath. I can’t make out the conversation from here—they speak with lowered voices—but Degath is clearly worried about the missing carriage. I have a feeling that the Ghost hasn’t mentioned that their destination isn’t really a house.
 

“Baba?” A young woman calls as she crosses the street towards the meeting taking place, her voice clear and carrying. “Where is the carriage they said they’d send?”

I stare. Is she mad? Does she have any idea what’s she’s doing? Even if she doesn’t care about Blackflame finding her, she’s a rich girl entering a back alley. More than a few people would kill her for no greater reward than the dress she’s wearing. Not here, I hope, but it still doesn’t make sense to take such a stupid risk.
 

Her father, to his credit, attempts to quiet her, but I can hear her next question: “We
are
going to a safe house, though, aren’t we?”

Her voice is imperious, commanding, as if the phrasing of her words as a question is irrelevant. We
will
take her where she wishes. I frown. Her demeanor, her high-pitched insistence, and her use of the words “safe house”—as if we have a network of homes in which to hide fugitives—rubs me the wrong way. I’ve met plenty of annoying people working with the Ghost, but this is different. Why should it matter to her whether we take her straight to a boat or hide her on the island, so long as she is protected? And where did she get the idea that we even
have
safe houses?
 

Her father says something in response, and while I can’t quite hear his words, I do catch her name: Saira. Even if I hadn’t heard him, I would have caught it a moment later when a young man hurries across the street, calling after her, “Saira. Saira! You’re supposed to stay with us.”

Lord Degath snaps at them both, ordering them into the alley and telling them in no uncertain terms to remain silent.
 

I close my eyes for a moment. It never occurred to me that the younger Degaths would be anything other than grateful. I can just imagine Saira’s disgust at the building I’ve selected. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling.
 

The Ghost finishes his conversation with Degath without further interruption and drifts back into the shadows. Rafiki waits nearby. Degath crosses the street to collect the rest of his family, returning almost before he’s left with his youngest daughter, a girl of about ten, and Lady Degath. I can’t make out much about either of them in the fading light, other than that they both seem to understand the concept of not attracting attention, hardly speaking at all.
 

Tarek and Saira begin to bicker again as Lord Degath motions for his family to follow after their rescuers. Just one night, I remind myself, easing back from the corner. One night and we’ll be rid of them.
 

Holding that thought in my mind, I head for the vacant building.

A block from my destination, I hear the click of nails on cobblestones.
 

“Hey, tanuki-boy,” I say. “Did you think you could leave me behind?”

Kenta cocks his head as he draws even with me, brown eyes laughing.
 

“Just don’t let on I’m here until they’re all inside,” I say. The Ghost won’t send me away once we’re holed up; it’s not worth the risk of anyone seeing me leave. Kenta agrees with a soft barking laugh.
 

At the door, though, he snaps his teeth at me before darting in. I hesitate, glancing from the dark alley to the even darker interior, and realize that Kenta is doing a quick search to make sure no one else has entered. I could tell him it’s unnecessary; no one has disturbed the wards I’ve set. But of course I can’t tell him.
 

There’s a possibility that Kenta might sense the wards, but only if he’s actively looking for magic. And he likely wouldn’t be able to connect the wards to me regardless. There’s nothing to worry about, I tell myself. Even if he suspects me, he would never betray me to the life of a source slave.
 

Kenta pops back out of the building, taking up a station beside the door. I nod to him and he dips his head in return. My secret is safe, then. I slip into the building. Without a candle, it’s much slower going. I cross the room by memory, feel my way to the central hallway and follow it to the collapsed stairs. Kicking a few splintered boards away, I squat in a corner at the back. With the shadows as dark as they are, and Kenta there to assure the Ghost there’s no need to search the building again, it’s unlikely anyone will realize I’m here.