Poor World (16 page)

“That's the worst of it,” she said, grimacing. “So many things are all turned around.”

“All I see,” I muttered, “is that either way, I am a villain.”

“CJ. Don't.”

I shut my mouth, my throat tight, and it wasn't the dust. It was pure self-pity. I blinked fast, not looking at Dhana, thinking miserably that maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to see her. Before I was just trying to survive, but now homesickness and helplessness overwhelmed me.

Dhana sighed with sympathy, but said nothing.

And there was nothing she could say. I had to meet the one ally who could act, but first I had to make his plan possible.

I unloaded a heavy sigh. Dhana glanced up again — and this time her face went utterly blank. “Uh oh,” she breathed. “Gotta scram.” She took off.

I forced myself to turn around, and there was — not Alsaes, but even worse, Kessler.

White pain flashed through my head. Mindless panic froze me — I was terrified that he'd overheard our talk, and was just waiting to whistle up his killer squad and hold an impromptu execution.

But he was at too much of a distance, leaning on a gate, watching with that typical total disregard for what in a normal world would be politeness.

I forced myself to walk in his direction.

“I like this place,” Kessler said by way of greeting. “A place for contemplation. You feel the need as well?”

I flopped my arms in a shrug. I couldn't speak; if I opened my mouth, I'd probably quack like a duck.

“Your friend satisfied with her job?” Kessler asked me with that weird light blue gaze, so impossible to read.

Control
. “Working hard.” I managed to mouth out the words.

“Evasion?” Kessler asked, still staring.

“We didn't really talk about her job,” I said, speaking quickly, desperate to sound normal — except I didn't even know what that was any more. “Mearsies Heili is much cooler — I — we — she, well, isn't feeling well in this heat.”

He squinted upward, and for a moment he almost looked normal. “No one likes heat,” he said. “I don't, either. But if we train well here, we can function in any environment.” He looked at me. “Have you finished today's training? I can make some time for a lesson in tactics.”

“If you're too busy,” I said, remembering the Imaran man's plan, “I did want to go to Dejain. See if she has my preliminary studies ready. And I do have to practice my maps.”

This bald lie met with obvious approval.

“She mentioned not having seen you. A good idea. Then you can get busy with the map work.”

I nodded and took off running, so relieved to have escaped a nasty scene that I didn't even notice the heat until I was halfway to Dejain's.

Fighting against the urge to look behind me (if Kessler was watching, I did not want him seeing those guilty peeks!) I slowed down. By now the sun was boiling hot. My clothes were damp, and I wondered if the note in my waistband had shredded to soggy paper fragments.

Dejain's place was a real relief.

At least, I thought as I walked in, the coolness ought to help me think a little faster. At any rate I did feel better. The air was not only cool, it seemed to be tinged with a faint, peaceful blue — very restful on the eyes after the vicious glare outdoors.

I entered the workroom. Dejain sat comfortably, sipping at a fragrant drink. “Cherene,” she said in welcome. “I was wondering when Kessler would give you a little time away from his tasks. I'd hoped that he would heed my recent hint, and it seems he has.” She smiled.

“Well, I thought it time to come,” I said, as usual lying and hating myself for it.

She sipped again at her drink. “I'm fairly prisoned here,” she said apologetically. “Or I'd have sought you. But it's much too hot for someone of my years.”

“Too hot for anyone, except maybe lizards,” I said, wondering how to get at what I needed. As she gave a mild chuckle I bit my lip hard, reminding myself of that earlier interview.

She looked and sounded so nice, and not just nice, but safe and sane compared to Kessler and Alsaes. I felt a strong urge to tell her about the diamond and that weird place, but I remembered her weird words. At least not yet, I thought.

“So what has Kessler kept you busy with?” she asked.

“Oh, practice of various sorts — like you said.” Feeling like the world's biggest hypocrite, I good-kiddied a lot of gorbaggio about Kessler's map lessons and my improvement at the practice courts, meanwhile walking about and glancing — casually — at her books.

In case she was reporting all my words back to Kessler, I made sure I didn't give any hint of a complaint, and repeated how interesting everything was.

When I'd done a circuit of the room — and hadn't seen anything that would help me — I said, “But soon I ought to have time to study here, and I was wondering what you'll want me to learn. And do.”

“We'll do some tests first, to find out the extent of your magic abilities,” she said. “And if Kessler was right about your being able to hold at least the basics, you'll be able to take over some of the minor tasks that consume my time. Good practice for you, enabling me to concentrate on major projects.”

Was this my chance?

“Such as?” I asked eagerly. “I mean, for me to do? Spy-spells on people, or what?”

“No need,” she said, smiling. “I foresaw the necessity and cast a blanket enchantment that includes the loyalty spells, both the general one controlling the focus of Kessler's willing minions, and the stronger one Alsaes recently insisted on for the prisoners who change their minds and choose service over death.”

“To make sure they won't cause trouble?” I asked, my skin itchy and hot.

“Of course,” she said.

That was why Puddlenose, Christoph, and Rel didn't pretend to change their minds. They'd lose their minds!

“You can take that job.” Dejain set aside her drink and rose to her feet. “As it is now, Alsaes's scouts bring in one or two new recruits each day, and I have to put the new loyalty spell on them as they leave the building for their assignment. It's a tedious job, cutting terribly into my own tasks, but Alsaes insisted to the extent that Kessler insisted. So.” She shrugged. “It must be done.”

As she spoke, she toyed absently with one of the books on a nearby shelf. My heart thumped as I memorized the position and the binding on that book. “After the Plan's initial stage is complete, if recruitment is to be on the large scale that Kessler expects, we'll need a stronger spell, one that subsumes will permanently. Mine wears off too fast, and needs reinforcement. This is a much larger task; even Shnit of the Chwahir has not mastered it completely. I have copies of all his tries.” She waved her hand toward another set of books.

I folded my arms, pressing them against my stomach. Trying for a casual voice, I said, “Or else what, there'll be too many prisoners for those executions in front of everybody?”

“Not likely. He won't have time. Only rulers, or leaders. Then the execution is symbolic, as it is now, but for a larger populace. Or so he reasons.” She quirked her brows.

“But if there are new jails, we'll need new spells to make certain they can't escape, right?” I asked brightly.

“Yes. Another tedious chore,” she said, lifting her gaze upward. “But good practice for a beginner.”

My heart banged. “Want me to learn the spells now? To save time?”

She waved carelessly at that same shelf. “No need; it is all written out plainly. You'll be a better magician if you study and master the basics, rather than specific spells of narrow purpose here and there. But speaking of the prisoners ...” And here she caressed another of her books, a thin black-bound one. “I have an errand for you. Consider it your first test, if you will.” She smiled again, with obvious intent.

“Uh, what is it?” I asked, now really scared.

“One of the prisoners. Yellow hair, named Christoph. He appears to be immune to my spells. Nor can I descry his true origin, and I fear he may be a spy. I want you to take this knife and kill him for me.” She picked up a curious-looking knife, with a wickedly curving blade. An evil greenish tint shone along the edge. She smiled more widely as she placed it in my hand.

“Why? Why me?” I corrected quickly.

“Because Kessler has specifically forbidden Alsaes and me to molest his prisoners any more. Yet I would feel better about, oh, the success of Kessler's plan if that particular prisoner were safely sent along to Norsunder.”

Norsunder.

My shoulders hunched toward my ears, and though I noticed and forced them down again, she smiled a little, ironic and condescending at my reaction to the name no one said in polite company.

“So then I'll get into trouble,” I hedged.

“No — unless of course he's forbidden you the prison, but I know he hasn't, because Alsaes was just here a while ago, complaining about how much time you spend there.”

“I'm just trying to convince them — ”

She shrugged. “If you wish. It's certainly an exercise for a future commander, but that doesn't concern me now. What does is this particular person, for I sense trouble from him. In fact I know he's trouble. My instincts are very good.” She tapped the blade in my palm — keeping her finger well away from the sharp edge. “Complete your first test, and I will teach you a spell that you will probably find amusing.”

“But Kessler — ”

“If you do it and then confess he will not be angry. Not if your reasons relate to loyalty, the Plan, and his greatest concerns.”

She smiled sweetly.

Numb with fear, I closed my fingers around the hilt. “I guess I'd better go.”

“Do it quickly. Contemplation beforehand is what makes it difficult when you've little experience,” she said in a kindly, encouraging tone.

I walked out, and this time I scarcely noticed the heat, except as it added to my already churning guts.

What now? What now?

I walked like a zombie back up the street. Who could help me now?

No one.

I stood outside the jail. I didn't even remember getting there.

I turned around. Kessler was inside his office, still with a pen in his hand. He stared out at me, a frown narrowing his eyes.

Though he didn't move, I jerked forward, as though pulled by a string, and stepped inside. Away from the merciless sun, the air was slightly cooler. Kessler's sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows, a rare concession to the murderous humidity that just kept intensifying. I looked at those forearms, shaped by muscle, and turned my gaze away, gulping in a parched throat. It was far too easy to think of him jumping up and choking my scrawny neck with one hand. And he would, if he found out what I really planned.

How could I possibly get away with it?

“Why do you carry that blade?” His voice splintered my thoughts.

I looked down, surprised to see the curved knife still clutched in my hand. “The prisoners,” I croaked. “Dejain wants me to kill — ”

“Ah. So now she wants you to countermand my orders. Give it to me.”

Silently, in utter, bone-shaking relief, I stepped forward and handed it to him.

He took the knife, frowned down at it, and then tossed it onto the desk with a clatter.

“I don't like those kinds of daggers,” I said stupidly. By now it seemed as if someone else spoke from my voice, had taken over my brain. “Impossible to throw.”

“You did well to come to me first,” he said. “I don't like my orders countermanded. It makes me angry. I shall speak to her directly.”

Every word was a threat, and I felt each aimed at me.

He sat down, spoke into his communications device, then he rose, picked up the dagger and walked out. I watched him disappear down the street, his customary quickness undiminished by the heat.

He was gone!

I could be quick too. A few seconds later I'd bucketed out, across the street, and into the jail.

When I passed the guards I looked up. The one on the right was an older teen, and she looked at me with an unblinking impassive stare that reminded me of Rel. The man on the left — older, short beard bristling — frowned slightly.

But they didn't speak, and neither did I. Of course they'd tell Alsaes, but I couldn't help that. They wouldn't right away, and Kessler was gone, so unless they had orders to sneak in and listen, at least I could get some time with the boys.

So I ran in, skipping by the cell with the two brothers in it; a glance in and I saw them both asleep. Down to the dungeon I went.

“Hey, splatbrains,” I called softly. “Tell me when to stop.” I stretched my hands out.

“Stop,” Puddlenose hissed.

His voice — even whispering — held more strength than I remembered during all our previous conversations. Recalling all those bruises from the execution day, revealed in the bright sunlight, I also recalled Dejain's comments about Alsaes's little hobbies with the prisoners. My insides squeezed.

“You're just in time,” Puddlenose said with fake cheer as picked the lock. “We just finished morning naps, and are about to start afternoon ones.”

“Ah hah,” I said, knowing why Puddlenose had been sleeping so much. But I pretended that nothing was different, because I knew just how much he'd loathe any mentions of it — or even worse, pity.

“I have something to tell you,” I muttered quickly, and then I looked back at the inky doorway. “Do they ever listen? The guards, I mean.”

“Alsaes can't make 'em,” Puddlenose said. “They're under Kessler's direct orders.”

Rel said, “And Kessler trusts you.”

It was a warning, but as usual I was looking for criticism and didn't heed him. “That's right, remind me of what a hypocrite I am,” I whispered angrily. “In case I've managed to forget in the last ten seconds.”