The Burning City (21 page)

Whandall had to clear his throat to speak. “We can't go to the docks anyway. Water Devils don't like people from outside. Morth, do you know your future?”

“No.”

“What can I give you to put that tattoo on my face?”

“… Yes. Seshmarl, I have some errands for you. And one day, when you are fully healed and your, um, bandlord has given permission, come to me. The tattoo will be my gift.”

There were days he came with no excuse but the whim to talk. He would watch Morth and his customers discuss their needs. Then Morth would hand them something from under the counter; or step to a shelf and mumble and wave, or only stand watching for several seconds before snatching up some box or tiny flask, as if avoiding invisible teeth, and give it to the customer with elaborate instructions.

One could ask.

Medicines for pain? Yes, Morth had those (but his hands stayed still and his eyes didn't move from Seshmarl's). For wheezing, shortness of breath? Morth sold a lot of that, especially after the Burning. He bought herbs from loggers.

Philosopher's stone? Unicorn's horn? Boy, you've got to be joking! Magical
cold torch? Spell of glamour? Invisibility? Levitation? Those didn't work here either. “I had a cook pot once that would cook without fire. Never knew what to do with it. Didn't use it because I would wear it out. I couldn't sell it because it wouldn't work very long. Finally it was stolen, not that it will have done the thieves any good. Magic is weak in the Valley of Smokes.”

“Well, it would still be a pot,” Seshmarl said.

“True.”

“Is it that way everywhere?”

“Less so some places.” Morth's eyes went dreamy.

“Why here?”

Morth shrugged. “Yangin-Atep. Magic is the life of a god. It's like you can't keep honey where there are ants. Atlantis had no god.”

“Can you do prophecy?”

“Seshmarl, to know the future is to change it, so that time wriggles like a many-headed snake. What you see is false because you've seen it. Even if there were magic enough, how could I read the lines in my own hand? We student wizards couldn't even read each other's lines; our fates were bound up together, tangled.” Morth shrugged as if great weight sat on his shoulders. “I read part of your fate because you might leave. See, time spreads ahead of us like this…” He reached above his head. “This fan. Your most likely future leads to places where magic still holds power. Traces of manna flow back through time to weave meaning into the lines on your hand.”

“I'm going to leave?”

Morth took his hand again and spread it in the lamp glow. “Do you see? It's the pattern the lines make with the ambient magic, anywhere in the world but here. Yes, you still have the chance to leave, and you should still stay clear of water, except for bathing.”

Bathing? Whandall saw only his hand. He asked, “Morth, why would a magician live where there's no magic?”

Morth smiled. “Seshmarl, that's not something I'd tell anyone.”

Morth had said that Whandall would leave Tep's Town. In his present state that seemed desirable. Had he healed enough? Did he know enough?

He tried to beg money from Resalet. “Just suppose, now, suppose Morth sells me a potion of easy breathing for Mother's Mother. I might see where he takes it from. If it's where the pimple salve came from, then that's the medicines, and if he's lying about unicorn's horn, which is supposed to be
priceless—”

“Stay out of that magician's shop.” Resalet's finger stabbed Whandall's chest. “You don't know what he can do. Read minds? Make you die in a month? He's the man who killed your father.”

“I know that.”

“But does
he?
Stay away from Morth of Atlantis!”

If he couldn't
buy
from Morth, was there anything Morth might want from Seshmarl?

He asked. Morth said, “I want to know more about the forest.”

“You buy your herbs from loggers. Ask them.”

“That is a very strange situation,” Morth said. “Lords tell the loggers where they can cut down trees. I mean,
exactly
where and which. They don't log themselves—”

Whandall suggested, “Maybe they're hiding something in the forest.”

“Yes, and maybe they just like telling people how to live their lives!” Morth took dried leaves from a jar. “Here, smell this. Do you know it? Does it grow there?”

“Wait… yes. Sage. Grows where the trees open out. It doesn't kill, and it smells great when you walk through it. Hey, they use this for cooking at Samorty's house!”

“Yes, it's good for that and other things. What about this one?”

Whandall took the sheet of pale bark—rubbed it, sniffed it, held it to daylight in the doorway. “I don't think so.”

Morth smiled. “Willow bark. I didn't think it grew around here. What about this?”

Long leaves. “Yes. Foxglove,” Whandall said.

“It can be valuable. Do you know of poppies?” He showed a faded flower.

“I know where there are whole fields of them,” Whandall said. “The loggers say they are dangerous.” He didn't add that he had been to the poppy fields and nothing happened.

They whiled away an afternoon. Morth was dubious: he didn't want Whandall—
Seshmarl
—picking plants that were
not quite
what he wanted. That was dangerous. “Bring me the whole plant or a whole branch when you can, so I'll know what I have.”

Morth sent him to where there were no loggers. Whandall didn't want to meet loggers anyway: he was no child, and he'd be on their turf. Kinless or not, they had axes and severs. He sought Morth's plants in the old growth and found them rarely.

On his second foray he approached the Lordshills from the forest side.

There was the blank wall back of Lord Samorty's house. The tree had been cut back, and there were marks on the top of the wall where it had been repaired. Whandall watched the hill for a time. No guards… and if
they chased him into the wood he would outrun them or lead them into lordkiss. He half ran, half crawled within range of the wall, then hurled what he was carrying. He was in shadow when he heard the splash. He didn't wait for more.

But a pine cone had splashed into the laundry pond, and Shanda would know of it. She would know he was alive.

Morth's plants were rare, but they both understood that Morth sought knowledge too. He was using Whandall's explorations to map the forest.

Morth wasn't stingy with his rewards. Whandall collected medicines to ease pain and reduce a swelling and bring sleep. Foxglove leaves made a powder that would send a man into jittery mania just before a fight. Poppies yielded a brown gum that gave good dreams. All of these lost their power if not used, and often Whandall had more than Morth and Placehold combined would need.

He began trading them for favors on the street.

Morth always told how to use the powdered leaves. Sniff carefully. Never more than once a week, and don't ever heat them first. Whandall was careful to do the same.

Then one day he was summoned to Pelzed.

Pelzed was angry. “Did you give Duddigract some of your foxglove?” he demanded.

Duddigract was one of Pelzed's advisors, a big man with a bad attitude, always muttering about what he'd like to do to the Lords. He was usually behind Pelzed. Today he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

“No, Lord. We don't get along.”

“He's dead,” Pelzed said. “Some Maze Runners raiders came into the Walk. I sent Duddigract to deal with them.” He turned to one of the men behind him. “Renwilds, tell it again.”

“Yes, Lord. Duddigract saw the Maze Runners. Five of them. There were only six of us, but Duddigract looked mean. The Maze Runners looked scared, and I was sure they'd run if we gave them a chance. We could chase them out. They'd run, they'd be gone with no blood shed, and they'd drop anything they gathered. I started to say that to Duddigract, and I saw he had a leaf full of white stuff. He took a big sniff of that, then he stuffed a wad of brown gum in his mouth and chewed, then he took another big sniff from the leaf. We tried to say something but he just grinned, said it would be a shame to waste it, now he was ready to fight.”

Pelzed looked to Whandall. “You know what he's talking about,” Pelzed said.

“Yes, Lord. I always tell people how dangerous the white foxglove powder is. The brown gum is safe enough, that just puts you to sleep, but the white is dangerous.”

“What does the white do?” Pelzed demanded.

“Lord, I don't know. I just know that's what Morth of Atlantis tells his customers. He never sells them more than a pinch or two of white, and he makes them sniff it there in the shop. He won't sell them any more until it's been a week or more. Brown he'll sell any time, but not white.”

“Say more, Renwilds,” Pelzed ordered.

“I'd say that magician knows what he's talking about,” Renwilds said. “Duddigract sniffed that stuff and got a big grin, and all of a sudden he was a wild man. He took out his knife and before any of us could say anything he was all over the Maze Runners. They were ready to talk, you know, brag a little before they ran, and we were all set to brag back, and there's Duddigract with his knife out. He cut down two with no warning; they didn't even get to draw. By then the others had their knives out and one of them cut Duddigract, and Lord, it was like he didn't even feel it. Duddigract yelled, but it wasn't like he was hurt, it was like the Burning had come. We were sure Yangin-Atep had him, but Duddigract didn't want to burn anything. He just wanted to kill! He killed another Maze Runner, and the others dropped everything and ran. They were really scared, but so were we, Lord. When the Maze Runners ran, Duddigract looked at us like he didn't know us!”

Pelzed nodded grimly. “Go on.”

Renwilds shrugged. “It was that powder, Lord. It summons invisible monsters.”

“Uh huh. Why didn't you chase the Maze Runners?”

“Too fast, Lord, and we'd have had to get around Duddigract! So we were trying to figure what to do when Duddigract screamed again and fell down, babbling about how monsters were after him, and he curled up like he was going to sleep, only he never woke up.”

“Where did he get it?” Pelzed demanded.

“He wouldn't tell us, Lord. Said he'd gathered it, but he wouldn't say where.”

Pelzed turned to Whandall. “Well?”

Whandall told what he knew. “Lord, about a week ago some Black Lotus warriors caught me near the east border. There were too many to fight, so I let them gather a bag of powders I was taking to Morth. Maybe there was enough in there to do that to Duddigract. Or maybe they mixed the powders. But I don't know how they got from Black Lotus to Duddigract!”

“You didn't tell me they gathered anything, Whandall. Just that they'd chased you.”

“I was embarrassed, Lord.”

Pelzed nodded thoughtfully. “I sent Duddigract to look into it,” he said. “He must have caught up with the Lotus warriors. And he never told me! Never told me!” Pelzed grew visibly angry, but not with Whandall. “It's his own fault, then,” Pelzed said. “But Whandall, be careful with those powders.”

“I will, Lord.”

But there were always more powders, and friends were always ready to accept them. There was so much he could buy with foxglove.

But some liked the stuff too much.

One day three followed him home. Resalet came out with two uncles and chased them away.

That evening Whandall was summoned to Resalet's big northeast room on the second floor. Resalet eyed him critically. “Dargramnet says you're smart,” Resalet said. “Or used to say it.”

Whandall nodded. It had been a year since Mother's Mother had recognized Whandall when she saw him. Now she sat by the window and talked of old days and old times to anyone who would listen. The stories were interesting, but she told the same ones over and over.

“So if you're smart, why are you acting like a fool?”

Whandall thought for a moment, then took a handful of shells from his pouch and laid them on Resalet's table.

“Yes, bigger fools than you will pay,” Resalet said. “And if they think you keep that stuff here? They'll come to take it. We'll have to fight. We'll lose people; there'll be blood money. The Lords may get involved. We can't fight Lordsmen!”

“Lords don't care about hemp,” Whandall said. “They keep hemp gum! In ebony boxes.”

“Don't show off for me, boy,” Resalet said. “I know you've been to
Lordshills, and look what it got you! You came in beat up and useless, a lot more trouble than you were worth. Hadn't been that Dargramnet likes you, we'd have thrown you out to the coyotes. I don't know what the Lords do at home, but down here hemp trouble gets you Lordsmen. Enough Lordsmen and they tear your house down. This is Placehold! We've had Placehold longer than I've been alive, and we're not going to lose it because of you.”