The Spirit Thief (35 page)
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he growled when he saw her expression. “I’m not made of paper, you know.”
Miranda walked over and reached up to scratch behind his ear. “I’m glad to see you doing so well.”
“So am I,” Gin said, but he leaned into her scratching. “So, where now?”
“Home,” Miranda said. “I have to let Master Banage know what happened, especially now that the League’s involved. I think our Eli hunt is going to get a bit more hairy from here on.”
“If Banage lets us keep going,” the hound said. “League nonsense aside, Eli still got away with the increased bounty and more than eight thousand in loose gold. Banage isn’t going to be happy about that part, and he’s not the forgiving type.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we reach it,” Miranda said, giving him a final pat. “Finish your pig, we’re leaving as soon as I find where they put the rest of my things.”
They left that afternoon, after Miranda said good-bye to Marion and paid her respects to the king. Henrith was in a bit of a panic when she found him, for the league members had left just a few minutes before, vanishing as mysteriously as they had appeared.
“It really is too much,” he said, slumping down in his chair. “First we have no wizards, then we have too many, and now none again.”
“It doesn’t always have to be that way,” Miranda said, sipping the tea he had insisted she try before leaving. They were sitting in the rose garden behind the
main castle, just below the throne room’s windows. It, like the rest of the palace, had been repaired, but here and there the plants were bent at odd angles where the falling stones and overflowing water had crushed them. Deep inside her, Mellinor shifted uncomfortably at that thought. Miranda sent a warm reassurance before setting her cup down and meeting Henrith’s dejected gaze. “The Spirit Court would be delighted to send a representative. We might not be as flashy as the League, but no country was ever worse off for having a Spiritualist.”
“I think I may take you up on that offer,” the king said thoughtfully. “After all, of all the wizards who’ve tromped through my kingdom over the past week or so, you’re the only one who did right by us, and we won’t forget that.”
“Your Majesty flatters me,” Miranda said and smiled. “Perhaps I can do you another good turn. I’m going home to Zarin to give my report to the Rector Spiritualis. Master Banage is a powerful man, and he might be able to convince the Council of Thrones to throw out Mellinor’s part of Eli’s bounty. I think coercion of a monarch counts as extenuating circumstances enough to justify a slight bending of the rules.”
The king set down his teacup. “I appreciate the offer, but it won’t be necessary. After all this ruckus, I think thirty-five thousand is the least we can do to reward the person crazy enough to catch Eli Monpress.” He smiled broadly. “I hope, lady, that it will be you.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” Miranda said, laughing. “But I shall do my best, all the same.”
In the end, he gave her three bags of the tea to take with her. She bundled them into her pack, along with the generous store of sandwiches, fruits, nuts, and bread
from the palace kitchens, and secured the lot across Gin’s lower back. Then she climbed into her spot right behind the ghosthound’s ears and let him put on all the show he liked as they bounded over the gates and out of the town. Once on the road, she was careful not to comment when he set a slower pace, and if she made them take more breaks than they usually did, Gin didn’t mention it. So, in this casual way, they crossed the borders of Mellinor and followed the trade roads north and a little east toward Zarin, the wizard city at the heart of the world.
Far to the west, on the other side of Mellinor, Eli was having a harder time of things.
“I give up,” he said, turning his back on the deep, fast river he had spent the better part of an hour trying to convince to pull back its waters long enough for them to cross.
“Why don’t you just give it an order?” Josef said from his perch on the enormous bag of gold. “Worked well enough on the big lake spirit back there, why not a river?”
“It was a sea spirit,” Eli growled. “And that was totally different.” He turned his scowl toward Nico, who was sitting on the ground beside Josef drawing patterns in the sand with a split twig.
“This is all your fault, you know,” he said, pointing at her. “If you hadn’t been so careless and ripped your coat to shreds, the river would have no idea what you are, and we would have been safely across thirty minutes ago. Now it thinks we’re part of some vast, demonic conspiracy and is looking for a way to drown us.”
As if to prove his point, the river chose that moment to splash several rocks onto the shore, which landed in the sand inches from Nico’s bare knees. Eli shook his head
and glanced forlornly upriver. “Nothing for it, we’ll have to find a bridge and cross like normal people. Fortunately, I think there’s one in our direction.”
“Our direction?” Josef scratched his chest where the bandages poked above his shirt. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Eli said. “We can’t get anything done with Nico in that condition. We’re going to get her a new coat.”
“A new coat?” Josef cocked an eyebrow at the wizard. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” Eli said, starting up the sandy bank. “So make sure you don’t lose any of that gold. If we’re lucky, we’ll have just enough to pay for it.”
“We’ve got enough gold to purchase a fully stocked villa and the noble title to go with it!” Josef said, kicking the bag with his boot heel. “What kind of coat are we buying?”
But Eli was already a good distance ahead, digging through the maps in his shoulder bag and muttering to himself. Josef rolled his eyes and stood up. With a grunt, he heaved the bag of gold onto his back and balanced it on the flat of his sword while he tied it in place. Then, with the Heart of War secured over one shoulder, and the bag of gold tied across the other, he tromped down the bank after the thief. Tossing down her twig, Nico stood and followed, fitting her small, bare feet into the swordsman’s large tracks. Every few minutes, the river would send a new volley of rocks at her, which she dodged easily, never taking her eyes off Josef’s back. She stayed less than a step behind him the whole way, one thin hand clutching the tattered remains of her coat and the other stretched out in front, her long fingers resting on the cutting edge of the Heart of War’s blade.
To my parents for raising me; Lindsay for finding me and giving the most wonderful advice; Matt for being my champion; and Devi and everyone at Orbit for taking a chance, thank you.
Last but not least, thank you Steven. You are, and always shall be, the original Eli.
Rachel Aaron
was born in Atlanta, GA. After a lovely, geeky childhood full of books and public television, and then an adolescence spent feeling awkward about it, she went to the University of Georgia to pursue English literature with an eye toward getting her PhD. Upper-division coursework cured her of this delusion, and she graduated in 2004 with a BA and a job, which was enough to make her mother happy. She currently lives in a ’70s house of the future in Athens, GA, with her loving husband, overgrown library, and small, brown dog. Find out more about the author at
www.rachelaaron.net
.
Have you always known that you wanted to be a writer?
Yes and no. I’ve always wanted to tell stories, but I went through several mediums before settling on writing. For a long time (all through middle and high school) I wanted to write and draw manga. Unfortunately, my artistic talent never matched my ambitions. In the end, I’m really glad I went with books. I feel that I’ve been able to tell a much larger story in far less space through writing than I ever would have managed with panels. Plus, no one makes fun of my drawings anymore.
When you aren’t busy writing, what are some of your hobbies?
I’m a total nerd. I play video games and read as much fantasy and manga as I can get my hands on. I also have a
horrible adoration of trashy television, particularly reality police shows. You can learn so much about human behavior watching a drunk, shirtless man trying (and failing) to bluff his way out of a ticket.
Who or what inspires you in your writing?
I draw inspiration from all over: things I read, things I watch, daily life, the usual places. One of my favorite things to do is to take something I already love, say, a clever confidence scheme executed by a charming thief, and add magic. This can be a great kick-off for all kinds of stories. Then there are the ideas that just come to me while I’m doing something else, like why are girls always riding giant cats? How about a giant dog? All of these ideas get sorted through and picked over and the best go into my novels, whether they look like they’ll fit or not. I’ve actually had some of my best plot twists emerge while trying to shoehorn in yet another cool idea. Sometimes it seems like a lot of bending around just for some extra razzle-dazzle, but those “Oh, cool!” moments are what make fiction, especially genre fiction, so much fun.
How did you develop the concept for
The Spirit Thief
?
It started, very appropriately, with Eli. He wasn’t even my idea at first, but a character concept from one of my husband’s old Dungeon and Dragons buddies, a thief whose goal in life was to be worth one million gold. I loved it, I couldn’t get it out of my head. A thief actively trying to make his bounty higher? Why would he do that? What
would he be like? Thus, Eli came into my life and started talking to this door. It was all downhill from there.
Everyone else went through several pretty radical iterations before settling into their current roles. For example, Miranda was originally Eli’s thief rival. That lasted about a chapter before I realized this woman was way too duty bound to ever steal anything. After a few more tries, she settled in as the cop to Eli’s robber, and the Spirit Court emerged from my need to give her a backing organization. It was a great fit and I’ve never been happier to be wrong about a character. Josef, on the other hand, was a last-minute addition. He came into being because I needed someone to carry the Heart of War, making this one case where the sword truly did choose its wielder on every level. It had excellent taste, and I’m very happy with the cast I ended up with.
As for the concept of the book itself, it evolved naturally. After all, I had a thief and a cop, now I needed a crime, and what better crime than kidnapping a king? But, since nothing can ever go smoothly, the king had to have a dastardly brother waiting in the wings. Once I figured those bits out, the novel found its own way.
When you began writing, did you set out to write a series, or did it just happen organically?
I tried to fit it all into one book. Really, I did. I’d read on all these publishing blogs that no brand-new writer can sell a series, so I was determined
The Spirit Thief
would stand on its own. I even tried to convince my then soon-to-be agent it was a stand-alone book. He didn’t buy a word of it. Finally, I admitted it was the first book in a
series and everything went much more smoothly. I may have been the author, but the book was a thing of its own by that point. I could no more have made it a stand-alone work than taught it to wash the dishes. Sometimes, you just have to call a duck a duck.
Eli’s magical power—having the ability to talk to the spirits of inanimate objects—is something rather new and exciting. How did you derive the idea for this?
As I’ve mentioned, I’m a nerd, and one of the nerdy things I do is make up magical systems. I have tons of them lying around waiting for a story, but this particular one seemed tailor-made for someone whose main superpower is talking people (and now objects) into doing what he wants. I’ve always loved the idea of talking things. Not just swords or items of great importance, but silly, normal things like pots and fireplaces. I wanted to create a world where everything could talk back to you, if you could listen, and also one where humans weren’t looked on terribly favorably. We’re a pretty scrubby bunch, after all. I’m sure my couch doesn’t approve of me.