City of Keys, page 4
“We just ate, brother. But I thank you for the offer.”
They eyed each other a few seconds longer than seemed appropriate. Paarjini grinned and looked away. “I’m afraid I must be goin’,” she said, switching back to Osterlish. “But I’ll be back to see how ye fare.” The witch turned, pitching her voice for Malach’s ears only. “Don’t fail me, aingeal.”
Finlo watched her walk to the car with a lazy grin, his gaze openly appreciative. Every day brought new lessons about the balance between the sexes here. Malach had expected men to be treated as little more than beasts of burden, but it wasn’t the case. They were only barred from using lithomancy. The art fascinated him. If he only had the ley, he might learn to wield it himself—
“Shall we?” Finlo asked, breaking his train of thought.
Malach smiled. “Of course.”
He trailed Finlo to the pavilion. The other minder was a stout, bearded man who introduced himself as Yvar. The children studied Malach with frank interest. At Finlo’s prompting, they each gave their names, none of which Malach remembered.
“Ready for a tour?” Finlo asked.
“Sure.” Malach waved at the kids and they strolled toward the house. It had an air of cheerful decrepitude that reminded him of Bal Kirith. The foundation was stone, the walls curving timbers of age-dark wood half hidden by ivy. Yellow birds darted from hidden nests in the eaves. Like most of the buildings in Dur-Athaara, it was round and had two stories with large windows that could be sealed with shutters if a storm blew through.
“So you all live here together?” Malach asked.
“One big family,” Finlo agreed, stepping inside.
It was tidier than Malach expected given the number of children. The ground floor held the kitchen, two schoolrooms with blackboards, and a living area with battered, comfortable-looking furniture and boxes of toys. Childish drawings were pinned to the walls, along with maps of the islands and posters identifying different stones and minerals. His gaze slid down the list, pausing at the rainbow-hued stone halfway through the alphabet. K is for . . . Kaldurite!
Malach wrenched his eyes away.
“Laundry’s in a building out back,” Finlo explained. “Three washers and dryers. Thank the goddess we’re on the solar grid. In the old days, they had to do it all by hand. I can’t even imagine.”
Malach grasped the concept of a washing machine, though he’d never actually seen one. “You’ll have to show me how to use them,” he said.
“Of course.” Finlo gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of practice.”
A flight of stairs led up to the bedrooms. Four belonged to the children, who slept three to a room. The walls were painted in bright murals of fish and other sea creatures. At the end of the circular hall, Finlo showed him a larger room with one double bed. The mattress had been stripped and clean sheets sat on a wooden chair. A vase with fresh flowers sat on the dresser. After the barracks, it looked like a palace.
“The children picked those for you,” Finlo said, nodding at the vase. “I understand you don’t have many belongings. There’s a few Rahais in the dresser, and some shirts. They ought to fit.”
“I’d like to shave,” Malach said, rubbing his beard.
“Fresh from the mines, eh?” Finlo grinned. “You can borrow my razor. Then we’ll buy you one of your own in town.” He nodded at the bedroom across the hall. “That’s mine. Just knock if you need anything.”
“Where does Yvor sleep?”
“Oh, he’ll be leaving now that you’re here.”
“So it’s just the two of us?”
Finlo nodded. “Some creches are larger, with one minder to ten kids.” He smiled. “That can get a little rowdy. But you’ll only have five under your care.”
“Great.” Malach nodded confidently, as if he had any clue what he was doing.
“You’ll get a feel for it as you go,” Finlo said. “There’s a pretty strict routine. Breakfast, then lessons until midday. Afternoon is free time. Gardening, games in the yard, that sort of thing. The little ones still take naps. Then story time, supper, baths and bed.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Good. You can watch them while I clean up from lunch.”
Malach felt a mild jolt of alarm. “What, now?”
“Do you mind? You can take the dishes, if you prefer.”
Malach did, but he wouldn’t admit it. “No, I should get to know them. Which are the troublemakers?”
Finlo laughed. “A good question. Cristory and Roseen like to tease Ealish. Lonan gets upset easily, but he’s also easily distracted. Inry eats anything he can get his hands on. Dirt’s okay, but if he eats a worm, Ealish freaks out, so try to stop him. Now, Bretan—”
Malach paid little attention to the litany, well-meaning though it was, since he had no idea which of them was which. They headed back downstairs and went out to the pavilion. The children had already run to the playground.
“Any advice for me?” Malach asked Yvor, as Finlo started stacking the dirty plates.
“First time at a creche?”
He nodded.
“If you need help, don’t be ashamed to ask for it.”
Malach nodded sagely. “Got it.”
He touched his chest. “Goddess bless you.”
Yvor made the rounds, giving each of the children a quick hug. Then he went into the house. Malach saw him chatting with Finlo through the kitchen window. Yvor came out with a backpack, waved, and set off down the drive.
Malach was about to relax at one of the tables when shrieks erupted near the swings. He walked over, thinking one of the children had fallen down. The others stopped playing to watch. A chubby dark-haired boy was standing over one of the girls. As Malach approached, he balled his hands into fists, snatching at something invisible.
“Mine!” he shouted.
The girl, a tiny thing with blond hair in two messy pigtails, sobbed hysterically.
“He’s stealing my air!” she screamed.
Malach stood for a moment in mute wonder.
“Mine!” the boy yelled again, grabbing at nothing. “It’s mine!”
“Hey,” Malach said. “Quit that.”
His words had no effect. The girl was bright red, face scrunched in rage.
“What’s your name?” he asked the boy.
The kid snatched at Malach’s air. “Inry!”
“Okay, Inry.” He put some snap into his voice. “I’m ordering you to stop.”
“No!” More frantic snatching.
Malach reached for him and the boy darted away. Inry sat down and peeled something grayish-black from the asphalt, then popped it into his mouth and started chewing. It looked like old gum.
“Can’t breathe!” the girl shrieked.
She threw herself to the ground, screaming and kicking. The other children looked at her, then at Malach. He saw Finlo watching through the kitchen window while he washed dishes.
The only discipline Malach had known growing up was of the extreme corporal variety. He felt fairly certain that would be frowned upon here.
He considered the rules of engagement. Two strategies came to mind. One, knock the enemy off balance. Do something unexpected that leaves them stunned and confused. Second, the inner front strategy. Infiltrate their ranks, pretend to be one of them, and stage a brutal coup d’etat.
He regarded the screaming child. “No, no,” he said calmly. “You’re not doing it right. You have to really throw your arms and legs into it. Here, I’ll show you.”
He lay down on the ground and let out a bloodcurdling scream. If felt great. He could see why they liked it. Malach shouted himself hoarse, jerking around in paroxysms of wrathful abandon. After a couple of minutes, he realized that the children had gone quiet. He lay there panting, then brushed himself off and sat up.
“That’s how it’s done,” he said.
The girl had stopped crying. She stared at him in wonder.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cristory,” she whispered.
“Well, carry on,” he said, getting to his feet.
She swallowed. “I’m okay now.”
He smiled. “Good! Want me to push you on the swings?”
She nodded cautiously. He plopped her onto the swing and gave it a shove. After a moment, the rest of them shrugged and went back to what they’d been doing before. The next hour passed with no major incidents. Malach was proud of himself for noticing when Inry started digging up worms and managed to prevent the boy from ingesting any. But then he made the mistake of giving one of them a horseback ride, which meant he had to do it for all of them.
He didn’t realize Ealish had peed her pants until the others started to point and laugh. The girl was blank-faced, unable to meet his eye.
“It’s not funny!” Malach told them sternly. “Come on, we’re going inside.”
It took some nagging, but he managed to herd them into the playroom. “Just wait here,” he whispered to Ealish, ducking into the spotless kitchen.
Finlo stood at the butcher block counter, chopping vegetables. “I’ll take the older ones for lessons in a minute,” he said. “Let me just finish prepping dinner.”
“One of the kids had an accident,” Malach said quietly.
Finlo didn’t seem surprised. “Ealish, right? She’s scared of the toilet. The noise of the flushing, I think. So she holds it and holds it, until . . . whoosh. Yvor was trying to work with her, but you don’t want to traumatize the kid, either.”
“Isn’t she old for that?” Malach wondered.
“Yeah, but we can’t keep her in diapers. She has to learn sometime. Can you take her to change?”
“Sure.” Malach went back to the playroom. In the two minutes he’d been gone, a hurricane had swept through. Every toybox was upended and the contents strewn across the rug. The volume of noise was ear-splitting.
“Come on,” he said, taking Ealish’s hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She led him to one of the rooms and was about to sit on the bed. Malach tugged her hand. “Not until you change your clothes.” He started for the door.
“Can’t!” she wailed.
He turned back. “What do you mean, can’t? How old are you?”
“Three and a half.”
“So?”
She stared at him. “Yvor helps me.”
“Don’t you want to learn how to do it yourself?”
Her face started to crumple. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Don’t cry.”
Malach undressed the child and rooted through her dresser, grabbing a clean pair of shorts.
“Don’t want that one!” she said firmly.
He stared at the garment in his hand. “Why not?”
“I want that one.” She pointed to a pair that looked exactly the same.
“Fine,” he growled. Malach stooped down and held out the shorts. She clumsily stepped into them. Her shirt looked more or less okay so he didn’t bother with it. He took her hand to go back downstairs. She frowned at him.
“Can’t leave those.” She pointed to the floor.
“Eh?”
“They’re wet.”
He glanced at the soaked shorts.
“Put it in there.” She pointed to a hamper.
“Why me?” he asked.
Ealish gave him a look of disdain. Malach tossed the wet shorts in the hamper.
“I need a bath,” she declared.
“But you just changed.”
“It itches!”
“Bath time is later.”
Ealish squirmed. “Itchy!” she whined.
“Fine. Where’s the tub?”
She dragged him to a bathroom with a large clawfoot bathtub. “I can do it!” Chubby hands twisted the faucet. She pulled her clothes off—no trouble with that, he noticed—and threw them on the floor. He was about to leave when he noticed steam rising from the tub. Malach took her arm as she was about to jump in. “Wait.”
Ealish watched with interest as he stuck a finger in the water. It was burning hot. He turned it to cold, let the temperature adjust, then switched it back to warm. He remembered to find her a towel and left it on the toilet seat.
“Be back in a while,” he said. “Have fun.”
Ealish clambered into the tub. He heard her singing as he went back downstairs. The rest of the children were gathered in the playroom. Finlo sat on the floor reading a story to the older ones, who listened quietly. Malach caught Lonan and Inry fighting over a doll and settled the dispute by taking it away, but by then Roseen had pinched her finger in the hinged lid of one of the chests and was wailing loudly. The others watched wide-eyed as Malach examined it. He pressed the finger to the dagger Mark on his forearm and declared it healed, which worked, but then Cristory—who had been picking her nose not thirty seconds before—poked the Lady of Masks on his chest and shouted, “Healed!” The others swarmed him, giggling and shouting until Finlo stopped reading and glanced over.
Malach hissed at them to pipe down. “Let’s build a tower,” he said, crawling to the pile of blocks. The girls joined him, carefully stacking the blocks, but the boys resumed their fight over the doll. Malach snatched it away again, earning dark looks. Inry’s lip began to tremble.
“Where’s Ealish?”
Malach looked up, the doll in his fist. Finlo stood over him with a slight frown.
“Uh, taking a bath.”
“Alone?”
Finlo didn’t look happy. “I’ll go check,” Malach said, jumping to his feet.
His pulse slowed at the sounds of splashing and singing. But the tub had overflowed and water soaked the bathroom floor. He twisted the faucet in exasperation. “Why didn’t you turn it off?”
A blank stare. Malach handed her the doll. He pulled the plug and let it drain to half full.
“Are you mad?” Ealish whispered, one hand anxiously stroking the doll’s yarn hair.
He drew a deep breath and smiled. “I’m not mad.”
Malach ran to his bedroom and grabbed the clean sheets, throwing them on the floor to soak up the mess. “Don’t touch the faucet,” he warned her.
She slapped her hands against the water, sending a spray into his face. “I won’t! Promise!”
He left a trail of drips as he went back downstairs. “Everything’s fine!” he declared.
Finlo eyed his soaked Rahai with a grin. “They’re supposed to take naps now, but I think they’re too excited. Maybe you can just play with them for a while. I’ll keep an eye on Ealish.”
The next hours passed in a blur of sticky hands, loud voices and incessant demands. By the time they’d served supper, bathed the rest of the children, tidied the playroom, read more stories, cleaned up the kitchen, and tucked them all into bed, Malach was beyond exhaustion. He staggered to his room. The bed was made up with fresh sheets.
When had Finlo found the time? He’d done all the cooking and most of the storytelling, managed a hysterical freakout after Roseen bit Cristory, and supervised the older children’s homework without breaking a sweat.
Malach woke at dawn the next day with a glob of formless dread in his stomach that wasn’t the kaldurite. But his promise to the witch-queen drove him to his feet, determined to make it through the day without accidentally killing anyone.
Finlo had left a pair of scissors and a razor on top of the tall dresser—well out of reach for small fingers, Malach realized. It wasn’t something that would have occurred to him yesterday. But he had a hazy recollection of Finlo showing him where the kitchen knives were kept and warning him to never, ever leave them sitting out.
Malach took the potential weapons to the bathroom, locked the door, and showered, then filled the sink with hot water. He wiped steam from the mirror. It was the first time he’d taken a good look at himself in months. His face was deeply tanned, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes deeper. Tash was right. With the scraggly, unkempt beard, he was the picture of a deranged hermit. He wondered what he’d looked like throwing a temper tantrum in the dirt. Too bad Darya wasn’t there to see it.
Malach attacked his beard, exposing paler skin beneath. His hair had been very short when he first arrived. Now it curled around his ears, but he lacked the energy or motivation to tidy it up. He dressed and went downstairs, tiptoeing past the children’s doors so as not to wake them.
He was halfway down the stairs when he stepped on something hard and pointy. Malach swore softly, rubbing his bare foot. It was a fucking triangular block, left point-up on the riser like a booby trap. He kicked it down the stairs and limped to the kitchen. Finlo was already there, cooking a vat of porridge. He looked over with a smile.
“There’s tea in the pot.”
Malach started banging through the cabinets in search of a mug.
“Third on the left,” Finlo said. “I make it strong, hope that’s okay.”
“The stronger the better,” Malach muttered, finding the right shelf.
“I used to work in the mines, too. For many years. It got boring. I chose this and I don’t regret it. But my first day was worse than yours.” He blew on his tea. “By far.”
Malach sank into a chair at the long table, intrigued. “What happened?”
Finlo set his mug down. He twisted his hair into a topknot and pinned it with a colored pencil. “I was doing laundry. One of the kids started crying and I left the dryer door open to check on him. While I was gone, Lonan pushed Cristory inside, closed it, and hit the button.”
“Oh, shit,” Malach said with a laugh.
It wasn’t really funny, but he knew the child was fine.
“Oh shit is right,” Lonan agreed. “By Valmitra’s grace, Lonan hit fluff instead of dry so there was no heat. But Cristory had lumps on her head for two weeks.”
“They didn’t fire you?”
Finlo shook his head. “I was only gone for a moment. How do you foresee something like that? But that’s the thing. They’re capable of anything. Anything at all. If you remember nothing else, remember that.”
