Emerald House Rising, page 4
There was a short pause, and Arikan reached for the cup of wine at his elbow and took a swallow. “So I think the answer to your question is, yes, if the Founders’ War hadn’t happened, the nobles wouldn’t be as bothered about the use of magic. Oh, I’m not saying they would have no problem with it at all, but at least they wouldn’t be so frightened of it.”
A rap at the door made them both look up. “Enter,” Arikan called.
The door opened, and the housekeeper poked her head in around the corner. “Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s Mistress Elspet to see you.”
“Ah.” Arikan nodded. “Show her in.” As the housekeeper withdrew, he hoisted himself to his feet and went over to a shelf to collect a wide basket heaped high with pots and pans. “She’s come to collect these, I expect. Well, Jena, if you will excuse me …” He gestured vaguely toward the door.
“Could I—that is—” Jena stopped, and laughed a little self-consciously. “Would you permit me stay, Arikan? Just to watch for a little while, if your customers wouldn’t mind?”
“Watch?” Arikan, returning to the table, looked over at her in some puzzlement. “Watch what?”
“Well, to watch you, I suppose. To see how a magician spends his day.”
“You’ve seen me in my shop before, Jena.”
“Well, yes. But not since knowing I could maybe learn to do magic myself.”
Arikan studied her through narrowed eyes for a moment, and then shrugged as he put the basket down. “That’s true enough. Very well.” The sound of a step in the hallway diverted his attention. “Ah, my dear madam. I have the pots ready for you, as you see.”
“Do you indeed, Arikan?” The slight woman entering the shop spared Jena a single curious glance and then came forward eagerly, all her attention focused on the contents of the basket on the table. She lifted one griddle to eye level with work-roughened hands and squinted down the length of the handle. “They don’t look any different,” she said, a note of doubt in her voice.
“Of course they don’t,” Arikan said blandly. “I pride myself on keeping my style rather unobtrusive. You want pots and pans that work, don’t you? Not cookware that will necessarily draw the eye of everyone who comes into the kitchen.”
“That’s so,” the woman said hesitantly. She gave Jena another quick glance, and Arikan immediately took the hint.
“Madam Elspet, this is Jena Gemcutter, a friend of mine for many years. Jena, this is Elspet Washer, of Buckthorn Lane.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Elspet said. Her gaze strayed back to the basket, and she lifted out a hanging covered pot and held it up to admire. “For my daughter, d’ye see,” she said with simple pride. “Her wedding is in a month.”
Jena’s eye quickly took in the patches on the woman’s apron, the scrubbing paddle hanging from a cord at her waist, the careful, almost invisible darns down the length of her sleeve. The pot the woman held wasn’t large, but Jena could tell it was a heavy grade of iron, with a well-fitting cover, and there was a larger one still in the basket, besides the griddles, bread pans, ladles, and skillets. The whole set must have made an impressive dent in a hardworking laundress’ wages. “Oh, your daughter will be thrilled with such a wedding gift,” Jena said. “I’m sure when I marry, I’d feel lucky to have a set half so fine.”
Elspet blushed a rosy pink with pleasure. “Why, thank’ee kindly. I’m hoping my Nonie will like ’em. Aye, and use ’em well.”
Jena gave Arikan a sidelong glance. “So … you brought them to Arikan …”
“A simple spell,” Arikan said, “to decrease the possibility that the young bride will ever burn her new husband’s meals.”
“Oh, I see.”
“My Nonie’s a good girl, miss,” Elspet said. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows. “But she don’t have much of a dab hand in the kitchen, if you know what I mean. She will scorch the soup every time. Now she’s found herself a good man, and I don’t want her to lose him, so I thought, d’ye see, perhaps a charm or so …”
“I can assure you,” Arikan said, “I foresee a long and happy marriage for her and a wide reputation as a splendid cook. In fifteen years or so, her husband will be well on his way to a girth like mine. That is”—he raised a finger—“if you do what’s necessary to finalize the spell. I left it for you to complete.”
“What? Me?” Elspet put the covered pot back into the basket hastily and looked at Arikan in some alarm. “I don’t know no magic.”
“In a way, you do.” Arikan smiled. “You have a month. Spend it giving your daughter concentrated cooking lessons.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Elspet’s face. “Aye, that would help, too, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I think it would. And more than that,” Arikan continued kindly, “it will give the two of you some time together. By the time the month’s over, perhaps you’ll feel more confident she’s ready to begin her life with her new husband, eh?”
Elspet’s forefinger slowly stroked the edge of one of the bread pans. “I just don’t know whether I’m ready,” she confessed in a low voice. She dabbed her eyes hastily with the hem of her apron and smiled at Jena a little tremulously. “She’s the first to leave home, you see. Ah, well.” Resolutely, she gave her eyes a last wipe, and then lifted the basket with a grunt and settled it against her hip as Arikan pulled the bellrope. “That’s good advice, Arikan. I’ll do what you say. Thank’ee! Good day to you both, then.”
“And a good day to you too, madam,” Arikan replied as the housekeeper appeared at the shop door, “and my very best wishes to your daughter upon such a happy occasion.”
Elspet exchanged a friendly nod with Jena and followed the housekeeper out of the shop.
After the door had closed, Jena cocked her head at Arikan. “Will Nonie’s marriage really be happy?”
Arikan considered the matter judiciously. “Well, all the parties involved want it to be, including Elspet. I think it will—as long as Elspet doesn’t defeat her own purpose by sticking in her oar too often. Some private moments with her daughter before the wedding might help prevent that.”
Jena smiled. “I remember Father saying once that there were two parts to earning a living as a master gemcutter. One was learning to cut gems flawlessly. But the other part was harder, and maybe even more important, and some gemcutters never grasp it: you have to sense what it is that customers really want when they ask for something, because sometimes they don’t even truly understand it themselves.”
Arikan sat down again and refilled his cup of wine from a pitcher at his elbow. “Is that so?” he asked innocently, as if being presented with an interesting new theory.
Jena grinned, not in the least fooled. “Yes, it is, although I didn’t understand until now it’s true of magicians, too. I wonder if Elspet Washer understood she paid her fee as much for her own benefit as for her daughter’s.”
“No. But that’s not important for the spell to work.” He took another sip of wine. “Now, let’s see if we can’t discover where Lord Baro’s ring might be hiding.”
Jena stayed with Arikan for several more hours. By the time Arikan had finished a succession of scrying spells and determined the ring had probably rolled into one of Lord Baro’s clothing storage chests (“It’s buried somewhere among his underlinens, I believe”), several more customers were waiting. The first, a merchant whom Jena knew had a reputation of having a rather peppery temper, had come because he had quarreled bitterly with his son and now wanted a spell cast that would make the young man willing to speak with him again. Arikan refused to accept a fee and simply sent the man on his way with a polite but firm, “You don’t need magic from me. Simply write to your son and tell him you’re sorry.”
He did cast a spell for the next person waiting to see him, a young fisherman about to go into business for himself, who had brought in a splinter of wood from a boat he was considering buying. Arikan scorched the end of the splinter in a candle flame and then rapped it sharply over a bowl of water and studied the patterns of bobbing ashes on the water’s surface. “There are a few rotten planks on the starboard side near the bow. Keep that in mind when you’re bargaining over the price. Replace those and it should remain seaworthy for ten to twelve more years—if you keep the hull scraped clean and caulk the seams every winter. Mind you get good sails, too. If you like, when you buy your nets, bring them in and I’ll put a spell on them for you.” And he gave the man an amulet to take with him to hang from the mast.
The rest of the client meetings went like that, mixing the application of magic, when appropriate, with common-sense advice. As Jena walked home afterward by herself, thinking over the morning, she realized that Arikan’s use of magic had interested her, but she had actually been paying more attention to the different ways he had handled each customer—a jocular manner with one, a confiding air with another, a serious and quiet style with a third. He was even better at that sort of thing than her father, really.
He had not asked her to help him with any of his spells. That surprised her a little, since once the secret was out that she could learn magic, she would have thought he would have been eager to teach her. But then, she had to admit to herself, she had not asked, either.
A passing woman’s heavy dangling earrings caught her eye as she mounted the steps leading toward Goldberry Lane. She spent several moments absentmindedly considering how they might be better designed when she caught herself and smiled at her own abstraction. Perhaps that was why Arikan had not jumped at the chance to teach her any particular lesson about magic that morning: he knew what it was she really wanted to do. She thought of the half dozen spinels she had waiting for her in the shop, rough-ground and set on dopping pegs, ready for the first cut. Maybe she could ask Father to demonstrate the briolette. She was ready for something challenging. Her step was light, and she was humming to herself when she came home to her father’s shop.
Chapter
Four
In the afternoons, Jena joined her father in the workshop. Sometimes they worked silently side by side for hours, but at other times she would watch as Collas demonstrated to her techniques of his craft. The day after spending the morning in Arikan’s shop, she was watching him painstakingly set a spray of opals on a brooch when a knock at the street side of the house interrupted their work.
Jena went to answer the door. It was a young apprentice from another gemcutter’s shop, who handed her a folded piece of parchment sealed with a stamped blotch of indigo wax. “For Master Collas.” He gave her a wave and a cheeky grin and was off at a run back down the street before she closed the door.
“Who was it?” Collas asked her as she came back in the workshop.
“One of Master Tiavet’s apprentices. He left this for you.”
Collas took the parchment, slit the seal with an engraving tool, and read what it contained. After a moment, he lowered the paper and looked at her, with an expression she could not quite read.
“It concerns you, my dear.”
“Me? That is stamped with the Guild business seal, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes. Master Tiavet is replying to your application to be elevated to journeyman.”
“Already? But I thought the Guild didn’t announce this year’s elevations until autumn.”
Collas nodded slowly.
Jena swallowed. “Father, what does the letter say?”
With a sigh, he handed it to her. It took her a few moments to grasp the contents. Your rather unusual request … do not consider it necessary … precedent does not allow us to … trust you will, of course, understand …
She looked up from the parchment in wonder. “They’re rejecting my application?”
“Jena, I’d hoped—but of course, I could not be sure …”
She felt a heavy numbness creeping over her and sat down abruptly. “But why? I mean, weren’t my samples good enough?”
“I suspect it has nothing to do with your work.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked down at the parchment, blinking hard. “This letter hardly even mentions me.”
Collas’ answer was slow in coming. “There are not many women in the Jewelers’ Guild, you know.”
“But they can join! What about Beatrice? Or Elisabetta? Elisabetta is even a master! And there are others, too. Why should the Guildmasters refuse to even consider me?”
“The circumstances are rather special in their cases. Their membership is what is called hereditary, in trust.”
“What does that mean?”
“To begin with, Beatrice’s and Elisabetta’s fathers were gemcutters.”
“So? You’re a gemcutter, too.”
“Both their fathers were gemcutters who had died without sons,” Collas said gently. “Beatrice and Elisabetta both wanted to join the Guild. I think they were only allowed to because their memberships were considered to be held in trust for their own sons.”
“You mean they’re not really members because of their own skill.”
“No.” Collas shook his head. “Elisabetta once told me that was why she never married. If she should have a son, she would no longer have the right to make jewelry because the membership would pass to him.” He tapped the parchment she held. “I had hoped this would not be a problem for you. But you see, I’m still making jewelry, and, well … they don’t understand why you want to join. Since I’m still alive. Perhaps, when I’m gone … they will reconsider.”
“They can’t understand why I would want to make jewelry?” Jena said numbly. “They expect me to simply sit around waiting for you to die? They think the only possible reason I would have to join is to ensure a place for a son? Why do they want to make jewelry and join the Guild? Tell me that!”
Collas looked at her with compassion. “I’m very sorry, Jena.”
Jena’s gaze fell on the brooch on the table, and she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep the tears from spilling over. She folded the parchment back up along the creases and tucked it into her sash as she stood up. “I’m going to go see Bram.”
Collas’ voice stopped her in the workshop doorway. “Jena—there is a process for appealing the decision.”
Jena shrugged and said, her voice cracking, “What would be the point?” It was only with a strong effort of will that she refrained from slamming the door on her way out.
Bram Tailor lived with his father, mother, two younger sisters, and a constantly fluctuating assortment of cats in an overcrowded brick house on Three Blossom Lane, down on the Fifth Rim. It was a cheerful, bustling household, although sometimes a bit noisy for Jena, accustomed as she was to the quiet order of her own home.
The oldest sister, Carina, a couple years younger than Jena, was tending the counter. “Hello,” Carina said, smiling. “Come to order a dress?”
Jena felt herself warm in response. She liked Carina very much. “Wish I could, but not today. Father thinks I have more than enough clothes.”
“Oh, go on, one more can’t hurt. We can always use the business. No?” Carina gave a little shrug and laughed. “Well, at least Mother can’t say I didn’t try. I’ll go tell Bram you’re here.” She hurried into the back room. “Bram!” Jena could hear her call. “Braa-am! Jena’s up front!”
Jena waited, absently rubbing the chin of one of the cats; it had taken advantage of Carina’s absence to leap up onto the countertop. Eventually Bram emerged from the back of the store and smiled when he saw her. “You shouldn’t encourage him,” he said, flicking the ends of the cloth measuring tape draped over his neck at the cat. “Shoo, Fishbreath, shoo. Yes, you, sir!” The cat hissed and swatted at Bram with an indignant paw and then hopped down and thundered off through the back doorway.
Jena did her best to smile. “What absurd names you give them.”
“We try to keep ’em humble, but it’s a losing battle, I’m afraid.” He reached for her hand and drew it up to press a kiss on her palm, but his smile died as he caught a closer look at her face. “What’s the matter?”
“I need to talk.”
Bram pulled off the measuring tape, leaving it on a shelf with his thimble, and ducked under the counter to join her. “Father said he could give me a little time. Let’s not waste it.”
They hastened from the store into the street outside. “So, where do you want to go to talk?” Bram asked, throwing an arm over her shoulder and squeezing it.
“By the river? Maybe it will be cooler there.”
“Don’t think so.” He sighed. “It’s hot as a forge everywhere. But we can try.”
A few lanes away from the tailor shop, the Spangle River poured down from its source above the Golden Rim, cutting a swath through the city on its way to join the Koh River. Walking along the Spangle toward Lowertown, Bram and Jena pushed through the crowds of laundresses drawing water, quay fishermen, food vendors, and other strollers-by. Finally, they broke through a clump of people and saw several worn wooden pilings in the shade. The Spangle ran swiftly here, falling down the slope of the Bowls, but far below them, where the two rivers joined, the Koh ran slowly, choked with low-riding barges poling along toward the sea.
“It is cooler here,” Jena said, sitting down gratefully on a piling and lifting the braid at the nape of her neck to feel the air. Bram gave her a glancing kiss on the ear, and then settled down on the ground beside her and leaned against her thigh.
For a while they simply sat in companionable silence, enjoying the spray from the rushing water and watching the river traffic on the Koh below. Jena gently ran her fingers through Bram’s curly black hair, feeling the sweat at his temples. The faint breeze over the water carried the smell of fish, wet rope, and the odor of cooking cabbage.
