“Our turn will come tonight,” Bailey groaned. She was still sore after yesterday's exercises.
“It's good for you,” Ting protested.
“So is cod liver oil, but that tastes like tuna fish gone bad, very, very bad, and you don't see me taking it!” Bailey wrinkled her nose, freckles dancing.
“Oh, you shush.” Ting put up her hand and ran to the small, wrinkled Chinese woman who held a line of young men at her command with nothing more than the crack of her voice.
Bailey veered away to the campfire. “Need help, Mom?”
“No, no. Qi and I got everything going this morning.” Rebecca pulled at her shirtsleeves, then dished out a bowl of steaming oatmeal, or what passed for oatmeal, and gave it to Bailey. “I have a little bit of brown sugar and raisins saved aside for you . . .”
“Wow!” She beamed at her mom. “Is Henry going to bring back more?”
“If he has the money. It's difficult for him and his family . . .”
Bailey sat on a stump, wooden spoon in hand. Actually, it was more like a miniature pancake turner than a spoon. Someday she'd have to explain the concept of spoon bowls to a Havenite and see what they could come up with. “Being an ambassador between two worlds isn't all it's cut out to be, huh?”
“One could say that.” Rebecca frowned. “He's also worried about being watched.”
“Ummm.” Bailey nodded slowly. No wonder Henry's visits between were getting more and more unreliable. Watched! That could ruin everything . . . She carefully sprinkled only a few pinches of brown sugar over her hot cereal, and doled out half a dozen raisins or so. The idea of rationing had been with them since day one, but sometimes it was hard. Still, it was far, far better than living in a world which now promised to hunt them down like dogs and then observe them like laboratory rats.
Bailey stirred her oatmeal thoughtfully. Lacey gave a hopeful squeak from her pocket, so Bailey dipped in a fingertip and then offered a dollop of the creamy cereal to the pack rat who delicately nibbled it away.
Ting came over, got her own bowl and slid in next to Bailey saying, “Move your big rump,” with a wicked grin on her face. Bailey moved over with a roll of her eyes. They ate quickly while the heated breakfast could still warm their insides, and that was a good thing because a commotion broke out among the boys.
“Stefan,” said Madame Qi firmly, standing ramrod stiff, her cane outstretched in her hands. “You must try.”
“I tell ya, this isn't working for me. It isn't. It's like . . . it's like trying to make a silk whatever out of a bearskin.” Big, square Stefan frowned, his face grimacing in frustration. He punctuated his remark with a wave of a beefy arm, leaving the quad and coming over to the campfire. “Ready for breakfast,” he said with a grunt. Effort and emotion reddened his face as he grabbed up a bowl and waved it near Rebecca.
“Stefan, you are not dismissed.”
He grunted again. “Yeah, I am. 'Cause I
quit.
” He waved his bowl again, and Rebecca hesitated, looking toward Madame Qi.
Her bamboo cane slashed the air like a sword. “Stefan, you must train both your mind and your body.”
With a roll of his shoulders, he turned his back on her. “It's not working.”
For a moment, Madame Qi looked like what she sometimes was . . . a very aged, small Chinese woman, with great concern written across her wrinkled features. Then she straightened and the weakness fled, even as Ting drew in her breath and held it. “Think on it, Stefan. I will be here when you are ready.” She turned her attention back to the others who were jumping up and down in the cold morning air, trying to keep their bodies warm and limber. Her voice cracked out instructions and the three still in a line bent to follow.
Rebecca spooned out a hefty dish of oatmeal but said nothing to Stefan who took his meal and retreated around the corner of the building to eat alone.
Ting sighed then.
“Do you think she's afraid of him?” Bailey eyed the corner of the building where Stef had disappeared.
“Maybe. More likely, she just doesn't want to provoke the bear coming out. Every time it does, he loses more and more control, unless he wills it, you know?”
Bailey nodded. She stood with her empty bowl and dropped it into a second cauldron of bubbling hot water, readying the dishes for a good cleansing. Before she could offer her services for cleanup, another hubbub of voices roses, this time from the wanderers who were grouped together, voices rising, arms waving, and then they swarmed on Gavan Rainwater, the Magicker on whose shoulders many burdens were carried.
Gavan listened a moment, his cape swirling about his young, strong body, his dark blond hair curled to his shoulders, his wolfhead cane sheathed by his side the way some might carry a sword, and when he turned about in answer to the protests, his piercing blue eyes fastened on Bailey.
Uh-oh,
she thought, even as she wondered what she could have done this time.
Gavan moved toward them with a dramatic swing of his long cape, wanderers in his wake, their babble diminishing to a quiet murmur. He stopped by the outdoor kitchen fire. “It seems we have a thief.”
“Thief?”
Everyone stopped in their routine then, whether it was cooking, eating, or dancing to Madame Qi's barked instructions, and looked at the headmaster. The wanderers stayed at Gavan's heels, their eyes wide with curiosity, their wandering status tattooed in a single dot over their right eyebrow, their six-fingered hands shoved in as they crossed their arms over their chests. The headmaster nodded solemnly, then pointed his cane at Bailey.
“Mâme?” squeaked Bailey.
“One of the Lantern crystals is missing. Dokr here has checked everyone, and among his tents. The crystal isn't crucial till afternoon falls, but their work depends on illumination. It seems most likely, Miss Landau, that you know the perpetrator of the crime. You were visiting their camp yesterday, I believe?”
“But . . . but . . .” She stared helplessly at Gavan. She had no need for a Lantern crystal, she could focus the light into her own any time she concentrated. What, then . . .
Gavan raised his eyebrows and stared into her face. She felt as if she should know the answer, and had no idea. Why would he think she'd stolen . . . ?
Lacey poked her head out curiously. The little pack rat saw the gang of people nearby and gave off a mousy squeak of fear, diving back into Bailey's pocket.
“Oh . . . no,” breathed Bailey. “Lacey!” She bowed to Gavan and the workmen. “I'm so . . . so sorry. Sparklies, you know? Let me go check her nest.”
Gavan's mouth twitched as he tried to maintain a stern expression and nodded his permission.
Oh, that Lacey! How she'd even gotten into their tents . . . it must have been when she and her mom had gone through yesterday, distributing apples to the children. Good thing Gavan had remembered! Bailey took the stairs to her room in great leaps and then picked the nail keg up off the floor and dumped out its contents onto a tabletop. The nest came tumbling out, mats of fabric and tissue and pack rat treasures. Sure enough, a bright citrine crystal rolled out from the other clumps of useless broken bits of this and that.
“Thief!”
Lacey chittered from the depths of her bodice pocket, as Bailey swept up the crystal. She ran downstairs, breathless, and put it into Gavan's hand.
The Magicker made a show of it, examining the gemstone, concentrating on it, letting its brilliance rain through his fingers as he cupped it closely, then solemnly returning it to Dokr.
“My apologies, Foreman. The little beast knows only that it is pretty, and not that it is part of your hard-earned wages.”
Dokr clicked his heels as he bowed, accepting back the Lantern crystal. “Master, we who are poor know the value of many things thought useless to others. With these, we can work when and where we please, and our craft is our only way to keep our families secure.”
The Talker crystal at Gavan's belt flared slightly as it translated the words almost effortlessly, although Bailey sometimes wondered if that was really what was said. Dokr didn't seem the flowery or overly diplomatic type, to her. But grateful, yes. She dipped a curtsy at him, adding her own apology. Without the workmen, the academy would never be finished before winter storms made building impossible.
Gavan nodded at her, turning away, and dropping his hand on Dokr's shoulder. “Perhaps, for your trouble and dedication, we could add, oh . . . six more Lanterns to your end wages? You can do that, can't you, Ting?”
Ting shifted her weight and frowned in thought, her almond eyes slanting a little. “Six would be difficult. I think I could manage three, however. Would three be all right?”
Dokr lit up like one of the crystals he coveted. “Oh, master, mistress, that would make us wealthy indeed! Blessings on you!” He turned to his men and added a few more sentences, and they all scattered to their jobs once more, their drawn faces now happy.
Gavan nodded in approval at Ting and crooked a finger at Bailey. “Next time,” he said, “keep an eye on that pet of yours. We can't afford to lose the construction crew!” His laugh belied his scolding words as he sauntered off.
“Win some and lose some,” Ting said, as Bailey sagged in relief. Her gaze indicated the sullen Stefan who'd come out to listen a moment, before isolating himself again.
“Yeah.” Bailey rubbed her nose. Who said coming to a brand-new world was going to be easy?
4
Planners and Dreamers
“
P
SSSST! TING, are you awake?”
A silence followed, then a sleepy answer came from the darkness of the room. “Do you mean . . . lately? Or now?”
“Now.”
“No.” The response came accompanied by the rustle of blankets and the squeak of the uneasy sleeping cot as Ting burrowed back into its depths.
That was silly. Of course she was awake if she was talking. Bailey tried again. “Ting?”
A pink shimmering answered her as Ting stretched out one hand and touched a fingertip to a crystal lying in the night between them; at her touch it began to glow with a soft radiance that lit the whole room. “Bailey,” said Ting, sitting up, pushing her long dark hair from her eyes, and smiling slightly, her almond-shaped eyes tilting a little more. “What is it?”
Their voices echoed slightly in the room, because it was huge, and nearly empty, a big bare wooden dorm room meant to hold a class of students someday in the near future. Now it held only the two of them, two spindly cots, and an assortment of three-legged stools that they used for tables and dressing stands and whatever other use they could be put to. One even held a few things washed out and draped over its upside-down position, as a drying rack. The three-legged stools had been constructed by hand, from rough branches of wood they found, and Bailey was proud of them, primitive as they were. Things were not in Haven as they'd been at home.
This was their home now, more than home, their sanctuary. It was the place they'd come to, escaping discovery and more persecution in their own world, and both girls felt more than a little like pilgrims come to the new lands. Magick was reality, and reality had morphed into another world altogether, a world with new peoples and places, hopes and dreams.
“I can't sleep.”
“I noticed. Why not?”
“I keep thinking about tomorrow. Where we can go, what we might find.”
“The great search for chocolate,” noted Ting, her face lighting with amusement.
“Why not?” Bailey bobbed her head in agreement. Her sun-tinged golden-brown hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Normally she wore it pulled back in a ponytail that danced with every lively move she made. “Tomaz has found wild turkeys . . . horses . . . we don't know what's wandered across Gates in the past. Cacao trees could be growing somewhere!”
Ting grinned. “We can only hope.”
“Always.”
“Think you can find a pizza tree?”
Bailey made a sound of pleasure. “Don't make me hungry. I don't want to get caught trying to get a midnight snack.”
“As if the boys don't go into the kitchen at least once a night.” Ting looped her slender arms about her knees. “What would you do if we did find cacao trees?”
“Oh, Henry has orders to bring back to me everything he can find on the Internet about growing cacao and making it into chocolate!” Bailey made a little face. “And, of course, we'd have to plant sugar beets for sugar.”
“Renart would love that. Sugar beets would be something he could trade anywhere!”
“He'd make a fortune on them.” A solemn expression crossed Bailey's face as she considered their first friend in Haven, the six-fingered trader who'd risked much to barter with them, and found trouble for doing it. He'd approached her mother first from the shadows, leaving food and clothing for barter, and it had been months before they even met him face-to-face. It seemed as if he had sensed how different they were from him. Yet, as he'd put it more than once, they were all the same in souls. He'd suffered for his deeds, though, shut out by his own people. “If the Trader Guild ever gives him back his license to trade. Do you ever think what it means for us to be here and changing this world?”
“Every day, Bailey. Every day.”
“We couldn't have made it without Renart.” Bailey pulled her blankets closer about her, aware that the room had grown chilly as night steeped heavy and close about them and the half finished building. She took a shivery breath. “I've got this map.”
Ting smiled. “So that's it. I knew you had something you've been hiding every day, for weeks. Is that what made you think about chocolate?”