The Archimage's Fourth Daughter Page 5

  “No thoughts, my brothers.” Thaling’s slump grew even deeper. “Not until such time as they are needed. Let us continue as we have done before.”

  Dinton grunted. He stooped and began retrieving the box and its scattered contents. Thaling and Angus bent to help. Soon a flat board, the tokens, and the cards were in their proper places.

  “Before we begin, the oath,” Dinton said. Angus and Thaling nodded.

  In unison, they orated, “I agree that the winner of the game gets the baton for the next cycle. For so long as he holds it, his word is absolute, and I shall obey.”

  “And regardless of who holds the baton, I shall practice no craft. But if I transgress, the tigerwasps shall do what they will with me.” Dinton then continued alone.

  “And regardless of who holds the baton, I shall practice no craft. But if I transgress, the tigerwasps shall do what they will with me,” Thaling repeated.

  “And regardless of who holds the baton, I shall practice no craft. But if I transgress, the tigerwasps shall do what they will with me.” Angus spoke as the last.

  Angus held his thoughts to himself. He pushed away the images of the wasp depositing an egg in his stomach bulges. There was high risk in what he was doing. He could not deny it. But then, neither could he continue with things as they were.

  The three turned their attention to Angus’ tabletop. Dice rolled and the tokens moved. No one spoke until Thaling said, “I suggest it was done by Miss Scarlet with the revolver in the lounge.”

  A Second Encounter

  SOMEONE WAS shaking Briana’s shoulder. Her eyes sprang open. She was still where she had sagged to the ground, but it was night. She must have fallen asleep.

  “The police patrol will be here shortly, missy,” a voice told her softly. “They will take ya in rather than telling ya only to move off the boulevard.”

  “Take me to where?” Briana croaked. Her voice was parched from not having drunk anything all day. She looked up to the figure stooping over her. It took a moment to decipher what she saw. Long mouse-gray straggly hair, knotted and unkempt and a beard like a bird’s nest on a face deeply creased and smudged with dirt. A man then and not a woman. The clothes were in tatters — dirty browns and grays. Toes gnarled like stubby roots from an uprooted weed sprouted from bare feet. The stench of the unbathed filled Briana’s lungs.

  Definitely not a lord like the others she had seen, she thought. Were the serfs only allowed out at night?

  “They call me Slow Eddie,” the man said. “But I know what I’m talking about. If ya got an ID, they’ll drop ya off somewhere else in the city. If ya don’t, well, ya could end up on the next bus south, back to where ya came from.”

  “I don’t think so.” Briana shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. “I come from… too far away.”

  She looked up and down the street. It was almost deserted. The swish of the speeding carriages was absent. Except for the pools of light cascading from strong imp lights, the darkness was heavy.

  “An illegal, eh?” Eddie smiled, showing only three teeth in a cavernous mouth. “I figured as much. Do ya have a place to stay?”

  Briana frowned and did not answer. What was this old man hinting at?

  “No, no, I don’t mean anything like that,” Eddie said quickly. “Ya look like too nice of a missy for … well for someone like me. I only mean ya have to get off the street before the cops come crusin’ by.”

  Briana’s stomach growled, loud enough for Eddie to hear. “Betcha haven’t eaten since ya arrived, too. Well, ya picked a good day to show up. Tomorrow, over a few blocks and then south a few more there is a Sunday handout. Have to get there early though. They run out before everybody in line gets something.”

  He scratched his head. “Look, meet me at this place tomorrow at noon, and I will walk ya there. Get a meal in ya, and things will stop looking so bad,” He wrinkled his nose. “And sometimes they have a shower truck there, too… though it has been a while since the last one showed up.”

  Briana blushed, remembering her predicament. How long had she slept anyway? She had to take care of herself and return to where the portal was due to reappear before anyone else could see it.

  And… Eddie sounded kindly enough. Different from everyone else so far who had disregarded and jostled her as they passed…

  Return or stay? The question boomed back into her mind. She needed time to think things through. For now, she decided to leave all options open in case.

  “Yes, tomorrow, I will be here at noon,” she said. “But do not wait for me long if I do not come.”

  Eddie smiled again weakly and then sighed. “Don’t worry about it, missy. The years have made me slow, but not so slow I can’t understand what words mean a brushoff when I hear them.”

  He turned and began to walk away. “But I will be here at noon nonetheless. I only wanted to have a friend to talk to.”

  “No, wait, I did not mean what you think. The language is new to me.”

  Eddie did not respond but continued a slow shuffle up the street to the east.

  Briana watched for a moment, toying with her hair and then stopped. She had things to do.

  BRIANA WALKED back the way she had come in the morning. Like a warm, comforting blanket, the quiet and darkness were soothing. Only occasionally would one of the carriages rush by. And after a few of those passed, they did not seem to matter much either.

  When she was almost back to where she had first entered the boulevard, she turned south onto a cross street populated with smaller dwellings on either side. Most of them were dark, but for a few lights pierced through large glass windows onto the street like the eyes of huge dragons looking for prey. She ducked behind a large hedge of one of the unlit houses, stripped out of her leggings and undergarment, and relieved herself.

  The walk had done her good. She had figured out what to do next. She removed the dagger from her waist and her cloak from her backpack. For a moment, she hesitated. Her father had given the garment to her on her eighteenth birthday, and she had to admit she felt quite special when she wore it to a bazaar and everyone knew she was the daughter of the Archimage.

  And now, without it, what would she then be really — a heroine on an adventure but now in disguise or only a mere girl who should return home and accept what fate awaited her?

  Briana shook the images out of her head. “It has only been one day,” she whispered to herself. “Far too soon to tell.” Holding the cloth tight in one hand, she slashed the cape into pieces, creating two aprons, one to drape her in front, and one for the rear. The appearance would look bizarre, but then she was from a different world so what difference did it make.

  Briana cut four more banners of cloth from the remainder of the cloak and folded them up into hand-sized pads. She climbed back into her leggings, placed one where it should be and put the remaining three in her pack. What was left of her cloak and the soiled undergarment she disposed of in one of the curious looking boxes with small red flags standing in the front of some of the houses. Shortly thereafter, she was back in Wattles Garden, drinking from her goatskin, munching a hunk of her bread and waiting for the return of the portal. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.

  Magic castles

  AT DAWN, a woman pushing a child in a contraption of metal tubes, cloth, and small wheels entered the garden. At the same time, the portal door reappeared. Briana fumbled for the setter out of her pack and sent the magical device away for another day.

  She looked with apprehension back at the woman, but the caretaker appeared not to have noticed what had transpired. Instead, she was busy bending over and speaking what must be baby talk to the child.

  The setting of the countdown in the portal had been too long, Briana realized. She needed to make the interval shorter, so there was a greater margin before anyone else came to the garden. This was the wrong place for the portal to be anyway. It needed to appear in a much more secluded spot, not exposed in such an open space as this
.

  The full stomach and hours of quiet had settled her thoughts. Regardless of how bizarre these surroundings were, they did not appear to be threatening or dangerous. Leaving after a single day was not something a true adventurer would do. She would have to stay longer — long enough to convince herself if there was any craft being used by the exiles in this world or not. When the portal returned tomorrow, she would set the countdown interval shorter.

  The first step had to be to determine whether or not the natives were using craft themselves. There were so many marvelous things she had seen that could not easily be explained. If they were practitioners, then whatever the exiles might be doing would be completely masked.

  Briana twisted a loose curl while she pondered. Her task was going to last more than another day or two — maybe as many as ten. When she finished, her wedding would be almost a fortnight closer, but that could not be helped. And to stay so long, she needed silver coins rather than counterfeit ones. Enough to buy the food and drink, to pay for a place to stay. A room at an inn with a lock on the door, somewhere that would be safe for the portal to materialize and disappear at any time of the day.

  For silver, she had to work. Menial jobs certainly. There was no hope of doing anything sophisticated, but with so many people along this one street, surely there would be tasks she could perform. It would only be a matter of looking for them rather than gawking at what she did not understand.

  Yes, merely gazing around was going to be too inefficient for everything she needed to comprehend. She needed to find a palace of magicians where there was a library, or at least what passed for one.

  With renewed purpose, Briana returned to the boulevard and started to retrace her path of the previous day. When she reached the place where she had been given the coin, she watched intently as bizarrely clad others performed the same ritual she had done before. But no silver changed hands — instead only small rectangles of green-colored paper.

  She moved on eastward, farther than she had gone before. This time, the rush of carriages, the frenzy of the signage, the crush of people did not bother her as much. She had seen it all before — strange and incomprehensible — but already familiar, nevertheless.

  Crossing a street with a surge of others, Briana smiled inwardly at her newly deduced knowledge of what the colored lights, arrows, and flashing hands of restraint meant. She looked at a shopfront that appeared quite approachable on her left. In a large window of glass, she read a sign she realized she understood. ‘Help wanted,’ it said.

  Briana peered into the window. There were many inside, eating at tables and others on high stools perched at a long counter. Among them flitted women dressed in blouses, leggings, and wearing aprons like herself, passing out plates they carried skillfully on their arms.

  Serving wenches! She could do that! Bread and rolls covering meat and cheeses top and bottom. Leafy salads far larger than any she had ever seen before. And where there was food there should be lodging as well. With a smile of anticipation, Briana pushed open the door and entered.

  “Take a seat anywhere,” the waitress nearest called out.

  “Help wanted?” Briana asked.

  The waitress looked Briana up and down for a moment and then shrugged. She reached under the counter and pulled out a piece of parchment and what Briana now knew worked the same way as a quill that somehow contained its own ink.

  “Here. Fill this out. We will get back in touch if you’re needed.”

  Briana nodded. She walked to the counter, sat down on a stool and began studying the paper she was handed.

  “First name,” she mumbled to herself. “Well, that is easy enough.” As she had done the day before, she carefully filled in the blank with her name.

  “Last name.” She paused for a moment. ‘Fourth daughter of Alodar, the Master of the Five Magics, Archimage of all of Murdina’ would not fit and probably would require a lot of explanation. Best to leave that empty.

  “Street.” That one was easy. She looked through the window toward the nearby intersection, saw what she wanted, and entered ‘Hollywood Blvd.”

  “City.” Briana pulled the notepad out of her backpack on which she had copied the very first sign she had seen when she exited the park. ‘City of Los Angeles’ it had said.

  But the rest of the blanks offered no clue — State, Zip, Phone, and SSN. Perhaps what she had done would be enough. After all, it was only for the duties of a serving wench. How hard could that be? Briana held the form up and waved for attention.

  “You left out your social,” the woman said as she scanned the form. “We got to have that for the withholding.”

  Briana’s face froze in puzzlement. It was like her first encounter about the ‘quicky.’ “I do not have a social,” she said.

  “No social, no job.”

  Briana opened her mouth to protest, to ask more so she could understand, but the woman had immediately turned away to resume her duties.

  It was not that she was again overwhelmed by the number of differences, Briana thought. She felt that with a little patience, she could handle such a thing now. But each difference might well have its own peculiar pathblock that needed a key. With a sigh, she nodded and exited the shop. Some of her morning optimism began to erode. She looked up at the sun. It was still several hours until zenith. May as well explore some more on her own and then meet Slow Eddie at noon. Perhaps he could help.

  BRIANA SAT crossed legged next to Slow Eddie on the stone walkway on the side street. She took a swig of water from her goatskin to wash away the taste. The food she had sampled was far too salty, but she had managed to swallow nevertheless. Now to wait for a while to see if her stomach could accept what it was being given, and more importantly, if there were no ill effects.

  “Are you all the serfs of a single lord?” she asked.

  “Serfs? You mean like slaves?” Eddie asked. “No, we are free. Of course, we are free…” Eddie waved at the others sitting or squatting down the walkway like the heaps of trash waiting to be picked up by the garbage wagon. Most wore clothes in tatters, gray with age and grimy dirt. A few huddled near their collection of haphazard discards stuffed into metal cages mounted on tiny black wheels

  Eddie sighed. “Free, but homeless.”

  Briana surveyed the huddled forms. She had been fortunate to be among the half receiving a meal. The others that had obtained none had already vanished.

  “Then, how do you…?” Briana reached for a word she did not yet know.

  “Survive?” Eddie finished her thought. “There are more handouts like this one, but ya have to know where they are. And there are the bins at the backs of the groceries.”

  He shrugged. “Water is more of a problem than the food, but occasionally, the DWP installs temporary drinking fountains in Skid Row. It takes almost all of your time moving around from place to place.”

  This was not what Briana wanted to hear. Occupied with staying alive would leave very little chance to find out if the exiles were using craft, if they had escaped from their imprisonment… Exchanging labor for silver would be a much better way to go.

  “What is a social?” she asked. “I tried to be a serving wench, but I did not have one.”

  “And ya ain’t gonna get one either,” Eddie shook his head. “Ya need a birth certificate or some documentation proving you have an authorization to work in the US.”

  He looked at Briana keenly. “When ya say serving wench, what exactly is it you mean, missy? There are always jobs like that around. Ones dealing in cash only, especially for women.”

  “Take an order and bring the food,” Briana answered. “What else could it mean?”

  “Ah, a waitress,” Eddie smiled. “Good for ya, missy.”

  He screwed up his face in thought for a few moments. “Well, this is hardly better, but it might be something. A bit east of here, there is a place where ya work as a waitress, but only for your meals and tips. How you get your tips is your own busine
ss. It draws in the customers, and the owners do not have payroll taxes. Everybody wins.”

  “Tips?”

  “The extra money a customer gives to the waitress beyond the cost of a meal.”

  “How much is the tip?”

  “Well, I don’t know. A couple of bucks I guess, two dollars or three.”

  Briana tried to put things in perspective with her limited knowledge so far. “So if I serve ten meals, I get enough dollars to buy… one ‘quicky’?”

  “No, no, women sell quickies. They don’t buy them! But missy, I thought ya didn’t want to do that, right?

  “How many dollars for a single night at an inn?” Briana ignored the confusion. “How much of a day could I work?”

  “You wouldn’t get enough,” Eddie shook his head. “Rent around here is too expensive. Why do ya think there are so many of us out here on the street?”

  “How much of a day could I work?” Briana persisted.

  “Around eight hours in a shift, I guess,” Eddie said. “The standard thing. Ya know. One third of a day for sleeping, one third for working, and one third for whatever else ya desire to do.” He looked down the street at the others finishing their meals and moving off. “Yeah, whatever else ya desire to do.”

  No lodging for her labor then, Briana thought quickly. And her stomach was still feeling good. At least her food problem would be solved. She could still sleep in the Wattles Garden in the hours of darkness until she figured out something better to do about the portal and where to stay.

  “Where is this place?” she asked.

  Eddie grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he said. “The mildest ones going there are bottom pinchers. Then there are the gropers and others worse than that.”

  Briana ignored the warning. Eddie was proving to be quite useful. Perhaps he even could provide additional help. She felt a growing empowerment. “I think I can handle myself,” she said, “but there is more I want to know.”