Empress Unborn

Chapter Four

Julia did not sleep well that night. She had restless dreams, but could remember only one, and that only in snatches. She was in a strange country, lost in a tangled woodland where unfamiliar animals snorted and howled.

Somewhere nearby, her father was held captive, but she could not find him. Every time she tried to Read in the direction she was certain he had been taken, her head would fill with pain, and-

— she couldn’t Read!

Julia sat up in bed, sweating and shaking.

She had been carefully taught not to Read in her sleep, and that stricture held her powers inactive just long enough for icy panic to seize her gut as she realized she was awake and not Reading.

Then the cobwebs cleared, her powers returned, and in relief she Read outward from her room to the early-morning streets of Zendi, where a steady rain was falling.

It was cooler than yesterday morning, autumn asserting itself. Julia pulled a long-sleeved dress from her chest. She had grown since the last time she had worn it; it fell well above her ankles when she wrapped a belt around her waist and bloused the top. But then, she had also grown a bosom since it had last been cool in Zendi-well, at least the beginning of a female figure- so it was not unflattering to let the dress hang unbloused, the belt knotted loosely.

Quickly, she braided her hair and wound it neatly at the back of her head, observing without her usual pleasure that the damp air curled the wisps about her face, so that she looked good even when Dilys and Blanche appeared bedraggled.

Julia’s mind was not on vanity this morning, with the single exception of annoyance that the hem of her white dress would get dirty in the wet streets. Once she achieved the rank of Magister, her dress would be edged in black, no longer subject to every hint of grime.

Or if she had Adept power, she could keep her dress spotless, the way Aradia did-but today she could not even maintain that train of thought. She was still feeling sick at the notion of the powers she did have being taken away.

It was earlier than she usually got up, but in Lenardo and Aradia’s household there was always someone in the kitchen, always food ready. Today hot porridge was cooking, and baskets of fruit and wheels of cheese lined the center of the long table.

The household staff had already eaten breakfast. Julia sat down, and Cook served her a bowl of porridge worthy of an Adept. “You didn’t eat much supper last night, lass. That’ll warm you up,” she said, pouring milk over the cereal. “You want some fruit cut up on it?”

“No, thank you, Cook,” Julia replied. “I don’t think I can eat all of this. Could I please have some tea?”

“Of course, lass,” said the motherly woman who had run Lenardos kitchen since he had first come to Zendi. When she set the steaming mug in front of Julia, she paused to feel the girl’s forehead, asking, “Still not feeling up to the mark this morning, young mistress?”

Julia couldn’t help but smile at Cook’s assuming she could discover the state of Julia’s health by touching her brow, when the girl’s environment swarmed with Readers capable of studying her down to her individual cells.

But she understood that the woman was truly concerned, so she reassured her, “I am not ill, Cook. There are just… things on my mind.”

She sipped her tea, knowing Cook was bound to ask what those things were-anything that prevented her charges from appreciating her cooking was something she felt impelled to investigate.

Julia was saved from trying to explain by the appearance of Aradia. “My Lady!” Cook exclaimed. “Why are you up so early? You need rest, for the health of the babe you carry.”

Aradia shook her head. “The baby is fine, and so am I. There are simply things I must do today. Julia, I will need your help.”

Aradia did not ask why Julia was up before her; she obviously knew what was preying on both their minds. “I’ll warrant Master Clement didn’t sleep much either,” Julia commented, drawing a wan smile from Aradia.

Aradia looked pregnant this morning. It was not just that her figure had reached the stage at which even loose, flowing robes could not conceal her condition. Today she was paler than usual, and lack of sleep had put circles under her eyes and given a puffy look to her face.

“Julia,” Aradia began, “I can see that you are also disturbed by what we learned yesterday-what Portia did to Pyrrhus. ‘

“Yes,” Julia replied. “It gave me nightmares,” she admitted.

“I don’t wonder,” Aradia agreed. “I had some, too. But it does Pyrrhus no good for us to suffer bad dreams. And I am certain he would not welcome our pity.”

“That’s why he never told Wicket,” Julia realized.

“Or anyone else, until he decided to use his condition as a weapon to hurt Master Clement.”

Julia nodded. “That was mean. But I can see why Pyrrhus blames Master Clement, too-if he can’t Read, how can he know that Master Clement really didn’t know what Portia was doing?”

Aradia nodded. “We have established that we cannot restore Pyrrhus’ Reading,” she said. “It does no one any good to feel guilty-especially you and I, who had no hand in what happened to him.”

“Guilty?” Julia asked. Then she realized, “Yes. We feel guilty for being able to Read when Pyrrhus can’t- and that doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No. It just allows us to sit here and do nothing.”

“But what can we do?” Julia asked.

“I need your help to find out. Pyrrhus must have skills-he has survived for the past five years. Wicket said Pyrrhus saved his life, and that they had some plan in mind-something they are doing together. I would like you to find Wicket this morning. I think he will talk to you more readily than to me. Find out their plan- perhaps we can help them achieve it. Find out their skills. Perhaps we can offer them work.”

Julia considered telling Aradia what she had Read from Wicket at the award ceremony. His plan with Pyrrhus might have included picking pockets in the crowded marketplace. But since she had no proof of dishonest intentions, she decided not to reveal her own breach of a Reader’s courtesy, if not the Code itself.

“Pyrrhus should not awaken until late this afternoon,” Aradia continued. “I have the feeling that his first inclination will be to put on his clothes and his sword and leave Zendi as fast as he possibily can.”

Wicket obviously suspected the same, for Julia found him at the hospital, still at Pyrrhus’ bedside. The ex-Reader was the only patient left in the four-bed ward.

“Did you stay here all night?” Julia asked Wicket.

“Didn’t have anyplace else to go, did I?”

It was obvious he had slept even less than she and Aradia, for his eyes were red and ringed with deep circles. He also needed a shave.

“If Pyrrhus wakes and finds you looking like that,” said Julia, “he will leave without you.”

Wicket’s eyes widened. “You’re not supposed to-”

“I didn’t Read you,” she assured him. “It’s obvious Pyrrhus doesn’t want pity, but the minute he sees you he’ll know you cried for him all night.”

“Couldn’t help it,” said Wicket. “I mean, I knew he’d been hurt-you don’t get a spiky shell like his unless life’s been pretty bad to you. But I never guessed-” He blinked back new tears, then looked over at Pyrrhus. “Can he hear us? I mean-can you tell when he’s going to wake up?”

“Aradia says not until late this afternoon. It’s safe for you to leave him, Wicket. He’s not going to run away. “

The man stood. “Yeah. Need a bath and a shave. Besides, he can’t leave without me.”

“Why not?” Julia asked.

“Got all our money, haven’t I?” Wicket replied with a hint of his earlier cheerfulness. It increased, as if he were donning armor piece by piece, until he was as she had seen him yesterday: charming, friendly, forgettable. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t let Pyrrhus see how I really feel.”

“Let’s go out into the courtyard,” said Julia. “The rain’s stopped. If you’ll tell me something about Pyrrhus and yourself, maybe we can help you.”

“Dunno how,” Wicket said skeptically, but he followed her out to the hospital courtyard, where they sat on a stone bench that had already dried in the morning sun.

It was turning into a pleasant day. Recalling that she had promised to go with Galerio to the horse market that afternoon, Julia was glad the weather had cleared. Or perhaps the weather controllers had cleared it.

She considered what to ask Wicket, and decided on the least suspicious of her questions: “What kind of work do you do?”

“Odd jobs, mostly. Farm work, you know.”

Julia reached over and turned his right hand palm up. It was an agile hand, not soft, but certainly not the calloused hand of a workman. “Wicket, there’s never any use lying to a Reader, even if to preserve your privacy she is not Reading your thoughts.” She took his hand between both of hers, finding small calluses on several fingers and a place on the palm that he would use to apply pressure to the end of some tool, perhaps an awl.

“You work with your hands,” she told him, “with tools or instruments. Harnessmaker, maybe, or jeweler.

Weaponsmaker, possibly.”

Wicket’s bright brown eyes widened. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Thirteen.’

“How could you know all that, with so little experience of life?”

“Wicket… didn’t you know it at thirteen?”

“Well, yeah-but I didn’t grow up in an Academy, did I?”

“Neither did I,” Julia told him.

“Oh, right,” he said. “You’re a savage. You’d’ve grown up hiding the feet that you could Read-or you wouldn’t’ve grown up at all.” He shrugged. “I’m a locksmith. Lost me trade when all the Adepts flooded into the Aventine lands-a lock’s not much use, is it, when there’s all these folk around can open it with one twist of their minds.”

“And what have you been doing since?” Julia asked, quelling the suspicion that Wicket had picked far more locks than he had ever installed.

“Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Pyrrhus and I do mostly bodyguarding.”

“Bodyguarding?” she asked increduously.

“You haven’t seen Pyrrhus in action,” Wicket explained. “Best swordsman I’ve ever seen, and he can shoot an arrow, throw a knife, a spear-a rock, if that’s all that’s handy-and never miss. An’ I guess I just come along as part of the package,” he added with a shrug.

Julia guessed that Wicket had other talents he wasn’t mentioning. “How did you two meet?” she asked.

“He saved my life.”

“How?” Julia asked when she realized he intended to stop there.

He peered at her again, those guileless brown eyes suddenly shrewd. “How come you get to ask all the questions?”

“What do you want to know?” Julia replied.

“Did you know Portia?”

“Yes, I knew her-and yes, she is really dead. There can be no mistake about it. I was in the rapport that killed her, too, Wicket-and my Reading powers were unimpaired.”

“I want to know about her anyway,” said Wicket. “Will you tell me, if I tell you about Pyrrhus and me?”

“Ill tell you what I know,” Julia agreed. “But first tell me how Pyrrhus came to save your life.”

“It was after the fall of the Empire,” said Wicket. “As I said, I’d pretty much lost me trade, so I took whatever work I could get. There was this rich lady, a senator’s widow, who wanted a cask of jewels transported to her country villa. She thought it’d be safer than in the city. I took on the task.”

“A senator’s widow trusted you with her jewels?”

“Why not?” Wicket asked with a look of insulted innocence. “I’d worked for her husband, installed the locks in their homes. I warned her, with all the Adepts spillin’ down into Tiberium, those locks weren’t safe anymore.”

“I see,” said Julia. You frightened her into letting you take her jewels. “But why hire you instead of armed guards?”

Wicket might not be a Reader, but Julia was sure he knew she was interpreting what he said through her experiences as a child in the streets of Zendi.

“A coupla minor Adepts could take out armed guards, and what were they armed for if they weren’t carryin’ somethin’ valuable? So it was safer for one person, lookin’ not worth robbin’,‘t’smuggle the jewels over the roads.

“Only an hour outside the city gates, I was set upon by brigands,” Wicket continued. “Dunno how they guessed I was carryin’ a treasure-nless one of em was a Reader. Disguised as city guardsmen, they were, chargin’ me with theft. They took and tied me to a tree, and broke open the casket. And then they started torturin’ me.”

“Torturing you?” Julia asked. “Why?”

” ‘Cause when they smashed it open, the casket had just a layer of gold an’ jewels across the top, y’see.

The rest was filled with rocks. The minute I saw that, I realized the lady was testing me, as it were-an’

after all, I couldn’t blame her, now could I?”

“Oh, no,” Julia agreed, “you couldn’t blame her.”

“But the thieves insisted I’d stolen the rest of the jewels and hid em, and they were gonna make me tell

‘em where. I kept askin’ ‘era to take me back to the city to ask the lady ‘erself- that’s how I knew they weren’t really city guards.

“Finally,” Wicket continued, “the head torturer took ‘is dagger, and threatened to put my eyes out if I didn’t tell. But I couldn’t tell, because I hadn’t stolen any jewels. He didn’t believe me-but I believed him.”

Wicket was sweating at the memory. “I thought his ugly face was the last thing I’d ever see. But then all of a sudden he fell-with an arrow stickin’ out of his back!”

“Pyrrhus,” said Julia.

“Pyrrhus,” Wicket agreed with a nod. Then, a look of shocked awareness crossed his face. “By the gods, now I know why he saved me. It was that they were going to put my eyes out.”

Wicket covered his face with his hands for a moment, then drew a shuddering breath and let them fall again, gathering control. “Afore they could run, four more arrows took the rest of em, and then Pyrrhus came out of the forest.

“Y’understand, I still didn’t know if I was gonna be killed. It was only one man, but he’d taken out five.

He pocketed the jewels that were there, and then came over to me. You’ve seen how cold his eyes can be. I thought sure I was in for more torture-but he just asked me, ‘Will you go back to the lady with me, and the surviving treasure? Or were you lying?’

“I told him I wasn’t lying. We went back to the lady, told her what had happened-and almost got arrested.

“Turned out her maid had-uh, tried to protect her, she claimed. ‘Twas Pyrrhus figured that out, too-saved me again, from prison or worse.

“The lady apologized all over the place for accusing me, gave me a reward for my trouble, gave Pyrrhus a reward for saving my life and the jewels I had been carrying, and then she hired the two of us to take the treasure to her estate.”

“And you did it?”

Again the look of offended innocence. “Of course we did! D’you think we’d rob a widow?”

No- widows and orphans were considered out of bounds by the thieves and cheats I grew up among, too, Julia conceded. But what she said aloud was, “You and Pyrrhus have been together ever since.”

“Yes.”

“And you never found out anything about his background?”

“He was never very communicative on the subject.” Wicket sighed. “Obviously he was used to schedules and discipline, and he talks educated. I figured younger son of a wealthy family, sent into the military. I always assumed he was a deserter from the army-lot of those, you know, after the Battle of the Bog.”

“Battle of the-?” Julia giggled. “Oh, it was funny,” she said, “when we created that quicksand to trap the Aventine army.”

“Yeah, but not to them,” said Wicket. “You defeat people in battle, outnumber them, outfight them-what’s left will hang together, ready to fight again to the last breath. But you make fools of ‘em, you get a whole army vowing vengeance. But there’s no more unity, ‘cause they don’t trust officers that let them be made fools of.”

“And Pyrrhus is obviously a man who will not be taken for a fool,” Julia observed. “Your reasoning was sound; there was no way to guess he had been a Reader.”

“Had been.” Wicket shook his head. “No-won’t think about that. It’s your turn. Tell me about Portia.”

“She was Master of Masters among Readers for many years,” Julia said. “Master Clement says that for a long time she did her job well and honestly, but in the last years of her life she became corrupt. Perhaps we’ll never know why-we’re still finding out what she did.”

“What she did to Pyrrhus,” said Wicket. “Did she do that to any other Readers who found out about her?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of-and I think I would have, Wicket. I’ve been pretty much in the center of verything here in Zendi, and I was in Tiberium when it fell. Portia usually arranged to have her enemies killed, but it didn’t always work. She exiled my father to the Savage Lands, figuring he couldn’t help revealing himself as a Reader, and he’d get killed.”

“Your father?”

“Lenardo-Lord Reader of the Savage Empire. Aradia is his wife.”

“But she’s not your mother.”

“She’s getting to feel like my mother a lot of the time,” Julia admitted.

“Go on about Portia.”

“From her position as Master of Masters, she used Readers to spy on people, influence political decisions, business transactions. At the peak of her power, she had far more influence over what happened in the Aventine Empire than the Emperor.

“You probably know that a few Adepts survived inside the Aventine Empire, even when it was death to be discovered. Portia had at least one under her control, and there may have been more. As she grew older she acquired more and more power. But the Master of Masters isn’t supposed to have that kind of power, so she had to cover up even more. That meant getting rid of Readers who found out.

“Her favorite method for putting such Readers where they could not harm her was what she originally planned for Pyrrhus: rig tests so that they failed, and then put them on the Path of the Dark Moon. That meant marrying them off to other failed Readers-but the ceremonial wine was drugged with a derivative of white lotus.”

“The dream drug?” Wicket shuddered. “Yes-Pyrrhus said they were going to use it on him. No wonder he ran away. That stuff is worse than poison.”

“Yes-but they didn’t use the addictive part. It was an extract that destroyed the will and allowed the Readers present at the marriage to mold the minds of the bride and groom. Back when they failed only real Dark Moon Readers, who honestly didn’t have the ability to reach the upper ranks, the drug was intended as a kindness, to make them fall in love with one another. But when Portia and the Council of Masters were failing Magisters and even Masters, they also used the drug to reduce their powers.”

“Then why-?”

“What was done to Pyrrhus? Even with reduced powers, a Reader is a Reader. Wicket, I’m telling you what facts we know, but all the people who can explain why are dead.”

“I’m glad Pyrrhus had a hand in killing Portia,” said Wicket.

“I’m glad I did, too,” Julia agreed.

They parted then, Wicket to the bathhouse, Julia to tell Aradia what she had learned, and then take her daily lesson with Master Clement. She found him in his study, reading scrolls brought from Portia’s Academy in Tiberium.

“Read with me, Julia,” he instructed. He meant the way he was reading-by Reading.

The scrolls remained in their racks, while Master Clement scanned through the writing on them in search of any reference to Pyrrhus. It was much faster than lifting each one down, unrolling it, and scanning the pages by eye.

But Master Clement had been at it all morning, and had not found what he was looking for.

“Would Portia write down such a terrible thing?” Julia asked.

“Perhaps not,” Master Clement agreed. “But I have to search. I have to know-”

— if there are others,” Julia completed the thought. “If there are, I doubt that they’re alive. I think I would kill myself if it happened to me.”

“Julia!” exclaimed the Master of Masters. “You must not think such a thing. Pyrrhus was right to salvage what he could of his life. Child, I have seen Readers lose their powers before.”

“What?’ She was horrified.

“It is rare, but it can happen from a head injury, a disease, or an apoplexy, if it damages that area of the brain. Thus Portia knew exactly which nerves she could destroy, and leave Pyrrhus otherwise undamaged. With the help of Adept Healers,” he added, “we can now heal such injuries when they come from natural causes. Nature does not burn out an entire section of nervous tissue.”

They returned to Portia’s many years of records, which had never been placed in proper order after transport to Zendi. After the earthquake that had literally toppled the Aventine Empire, the scrolls had been plucked from the shambles, brought here, and left until the day someone would have the time to catalogue them. So far, no one had. They found records from forty years ago next to records from the last days of Portia’s tenure, her personal commentaries on her students beside technical studies of Reading techniques.

Suddenly Master Clement plucked an old, yellowed scroll from the rack and handed it to Julia. “Read that.”

She held it, feeling in its faded, dusty contours the keen excitement of a young woman, enthusiastic, idealistic, proud of her accomplishments, and eager to use her newly acquired power for good.

“Portia?” Julia asked incredulously. It was unrecognizable as the evil old woman Julia had known.

“Portia as I first knew her, when I was just testing for the rank of Magister. Take that one with you, Julia; Read it at your leisure. Perhaps we can trace how the fine young woman who became the youngest Master of Masters in all our history turned into a manipulative, power-mad woman capable of crippling Readers to cover her corruption.”

When Julia met Galerio and his friends at noon, she did not really have the horse market on her mind.

She kept her promise, however, and the group of young people left Zendi by Southgate, walking toward the large open area set aside for fairs and celebrations, and the horse market once each month.

It had turned into a lovely sunny day, the ground just damp enough to keep the dust down, the air just cool enough to be pleasant. Dilys and Piccolo never got as far as the market; holding hands, they wandered off the road toward a small woodland.

When they reached the market, Giorgio headed straight for the food vendors, while Blanche and Diana went off toward the booths where trinkets were sold to bored wives, daughters, and children with no interest in the horses. That left Mosca and Antonius with Julia and Galerio, drifting through the crowds to examine the horses in the various roped-off areas.

They passed straight by the young colts and heavy draft animals, and went on to where riding horses were being shown.

Galerio gravitated toward a large ring displaying five magnificent animals, sleek and slender, so built for speed that they almost appeared to be running when they were standing still.

Julia also admired them, but when Galerio asked, “What would a horse like that cost?” she was amazed to Read that he truly wanted one.

“Those are racing horses,” she said. “Galerio, you can’t afford one of those, and if you could it’s not the kind of horse you need.”

“What makes you an expert on what I need?” he demanded.

“You need a reliable riding horse,” Julia replied. “One that can carry you for many miles at a reasonable pace. A horse with enough spirit to be fun to ride, but not too much for an inexperienced rider.”

“Inexperienced-!”

“Galerio, you’re a city boy. Have you ever been on a horse?” she suddenly asked.

“Of course I have!” he replied indignantly. “If this is the way you’re going to help, I’m sorry I brought you along!”

Julia bit back a retort that she didn’t need anyone to “bring” her, and had come as a favor to him. “All right,” she said. “What would you do with a horse like one of those?”

“Um-race it, I guess. Win money.”

“But you’d have to do more than just stable a racehorse. It has to be run every day. And the rider-”

“All right,” said Galerio with a sigh, “I can’t afford the horse, or a trainer, and I don’t have the experience to race it myself. So a horse like that will have to wait till I get rich.”

“You’ll not get rich associating with friends like these!”

Julia and Galerio turned, Julia automatically Reading. “Wicket! What are you doing at the horse market?”

“I might ask you the same question,” said Wicket, who was holding Mosca and Antonius by the arms, one with each hand. Surprisingly, despite squirming and kicking, neither boy seemed able to escape Wicket’s grip. ‘ Associating with pickpockets is not what I’d expect from the daughter of the Lord of the Land.”

“Mosca! Antonius!” Galerio flashed. “Is it true?”

“No, of course not,” Mosca said sullenly, but his light eyes shifted, showing anyone who was watching that he lied.

“But you received money enough yesterday to live well for half a year!” Julia exclaimed. “Why-?”

“Gambling,” said Galerio angrily. “I told you Capero’s gang would cheat you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well-gotta pay what I owe them,” said Mosca.

“You got into debt?” Julia asked. “And you too, Antonius?”

The younger boy mutely hung his head.

“I get it,” said Wicket. “The gamblers cheated these kids out of their reward and then gave them a chance to get it back-only they lost twice the sum. Right, boys?”

Mosca refused to reply, but Antonius nodded glumly.

“Fools!” said Galerio. “When are you going to learn not to gamble with Capero and his thugs?”

“I’ll have him run out of town,” said Julia.

“Oh, good lesson,” said Wicket. “Teach these kids that if they have friends in high places they can be as foolish as they please, ‘cause you’ll bail em out!”

Stung, Julia demanded, “Then what would you suggest?”

“If you can’t teach ‘em to be sensible-a lesson I’ve always had trouble with meself-teach em to solve their own problems, not expect someone else to,” Wicket told her.

“That’s what we were doing!” Mosca protested.

“And how long do you think it would have been before a Reader caught you?” Julia asked. “Wicket’s not a Reader, and he caught you before you’d been at it long enough to- How much did you steal?”

“Nothing,” Mosca said tartly. “Your friend here grabbed us before we got anything.”

Although Mosca was braced for use of his small Adept talent, Julia was sure he was lying.

Wicket confirmed her suspicion by shoving Mosca forward as he let go of him. While the boy was off-balance, Wicket’s hand moved so rapidly that Julia did not see how it happened, but Wicket was dangling a small leather money pouch from his outstretched fingers.

Wicket set Antonius on his feet more gently, and held out his hand, palm up. With a shrug, Antonius produced a ruby pendant and a lace-trimmed silk kerchief.

“Give them to me,” said Julia. “The auction pavilion has a place where lost articles may be turned in.”

“Except for the kerchief,” Wicket said, “these are not items usually lost. You would be questioned, Julia. I saw where these came from. Let me just put them back.”

“Now who’s suggesting that someone else solve the problem?” Julia asked.

“Ah, but it’s clear you’ve already learned that lesson, and who am I to lose a chance to do a favor for the daughter of the Lord of the Land?”

Still in possession of the stolen items, Wicket disappeared into the milling crowd.

“Interesting friends you have, Julia,” said Galerio.

“Extremely interesting,” Julia agreed, Reading after Wicket. His head was full of that nonsense he used to mask his thoughts from Readers as he slipped through the crowd, brushing against a woman watching her husband bargain for a pair of carriage horses. Wicket tucked the lace kerchief through her sash as he jostled her, murmuring an apology as he stumbled away.

A young, very pretty woman was buying an orange from a vendor when Wicket came up behind her, jogged her elbow, and caused her to drop the coin she was holding out.

“Oh, sorry!” Wicket said, stooping as the girl did, managing to kick the coin aside, stumble in front of her as she reached for it, push her enough off-balance that in her bent-over position she had to fling her arms out to keep from falling over, and at that moment fling the pendant over her shoulder from behind, so it fell right in front of her as if the chain had broken just then instead of when Antonius had pulled it loose.

“My ruby!” the girl gasped. “You fool-you almost made me lose my ruby!” But by the time she gained her feet and turned to vent her anger on Wicket, he was nowhere in sight.

Odd. At the moment Wicket had slipped the pendant over the girl’s shoulder, his mental litany of nonsense had halted until he slipped away. Julia paid closer attention as he stalked the man from whom Mosca had filched the pouch of coins.

The still-unwitting victim was a tall man with curly brown hair, dressed to be admired by the women at the horse market. He wore tight britches that showed the hard muscles of his legs, fine polished leather riding boots, a green silk shirt open in front down to where his deep-veed tabard covered it, and a wide leather belt.

At the moment he was pretending to consider a fine chestnut mare parading in one of the rings, but his attention was actually on two women who were bored with horses and having a much better time considering him. Julia was amused to see him turn his handsome profile to them, and then shift his weight so the muscles in his legs rippled-all in a pretense of getting a better look at the horses.

Wicket slipped up behind the man, and Julia turned her attention to Reading the reverse-pickpocket.

Wicket noted where his attention lay, came up on the other side of the man from the women, and waited.

It wasn’t long before the women decided to try to attract the attention of the man they thought had not noticed them. They giggled.

The tall man turned, lazily, as if it were the first time he had realized they were there. When he saw them, he gave an appreciative smile-and while his attention was thus distracted, Wicket slipped his hand over the man’s shoulder and dropped the money pouch.

It slid inside his shirt collar, down his bare skin, and lodged inside his shirt, where the belt held the tabard against it-a most unlikely trajectory.

Feeling the movement, the man grasped for the pouch, thinking he was being robbed. Relief flooded his mind as he found his money where he expected it to be.

Julia’s mind, however, was flooded with surprise.

For not only had Wicket’s litany of mental oddments cut off when he dropped the money pouch-in that moment he had become blank to Julia’s deliberate attempt to Read him!

Aradia’s morning was filled with her usual duties. Since she had learned to Read, most of her reports came over the Path of the Dark Moon. Huge as the Savage Empire now was, it was possible with Readers to relay a message from one end to the other within half an hour.

In the lands Aradia was responsible for, little was happening except for cleanup of the chaos created by the mysterious whirlwinds, and healing of those who had been injured. Readers and Watchers were spending days and nights trying to trace the source of Adept power necessary to cause such winds, but to no avail.

To add insult to injury, this morning just after sunrise a freak hailstorm had destroyed acres of apples just ripe for picking, in the lands between here and Lilith’s. No Reader had noticed the storm coming, and no weather controllers had been on the scene. By the time they reached the orchards, the storm was over, the damage done.

Was the hailstorm a part of a pattern which included the whirlwinds? Or was it an independent freak of nature? Aradia sent a message to Lilith, who had no Reading powers, wishing she could talk to her friend.

The reply came back, relayed by Readers, but although Aradia was pleased to hear that everything was well with Lilith and her son, it was not the same as being together. It was the first time in her life that she did not have another strong Adept at her side in time of trouble: her father, Wulfston, or Lilith had always been there when enemies threatened.

Now her father was dead, and Wulfston was far away.

In a few weeks, Lilith would come to be with Aradia for the final days of her pregnancy and her confinement. Each day Aradia looked forward more to that event. Readers could be good friends-she felt great joy at her deepening rapport with Julia-and they had their own strengths and skills. But Reading skills were not what Aradia had relied on all her life. When the world was pulling mysterious tricks, she longed for the strength of a fellow Lord Adept.

Especially as her own powers waned.

At midmorning Julia came to report what she had found out about Pyrrhus and Wicket. They worked as hired bodyguards, of all things.

Lords Adept didn’t need bodyguards. The standing army in the Savage Empire was very small, and neither man, Wicket especially, seemed the type to be happy in the military.

What, then, could she offer them? Posts in her household? Household guards led boring lives most of the time, completely unsuited to either man’s quick mind. She didn’t really need more retainers, and both would recognize immediately that such an offer came from sympathy, not need.

Had Wicket told Julia the whole truth? Aradia doubted it. She decided to send out an inquiry to Tiberium via the Path of the Dark Moon.

A reply came back before noon: Pyrrhus and Wicket were indeed bodyguards and mercenaries, of excellent repute. They had even hired out several times to the new government of the city, helping to clean out gamblers and drug dealers who continued to prey on their citizens despite all that the combination of Readers and Adepts could do.

Before four years ago, Pyrrhus had been unheard of; he had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. His knowledge of the underworld suggested that he probably had criminal connections (Aradia laughed to herself, and had to break the connection for a moment before she let slip where Pyrrhus had really learned about corruption), but since he had teamed with Wicket there was no indication that he had been anything but scrupulously faithful to contracts he had made.

Wicket had at one time been a petty thief, pickpocket, breaker of locks-not very secure occupations in a city full of Readers. Some years before the fall of Tiberium he had apparently decided to turn his skill at picking locks to designing them, and had developed a modest business that might have expanded into a success, as his locks were impervious to the skills of common thieves.

But, as he had told Julia, the fall of Tiberium had ended his value as a locksmith. He had started hiring out as a protector of valuables, but with little success until he had teamed with Pyrrhus.

If they were doing so well, I wonder why Pyrrhus ana Wicket left Tiberium?

But Aradia decided not to question Zendi’s good fortune. Although the city was smaller than the Aventine capital, it had its share of criminals, most of whom had enough Adept power to manipulate ordinary citizens.

Unable to root out all of the criminal element even with Adepts and Readers combining their talents, Lenardo and Aradia had discussed putting together a full-time force of minor Adepts and Dark Moon Readers to police the city.

The problem was finding people who understood the criminal mind but could also be trusted. Their attempts using honest citizens had failed abysmally; it required a certain devious way of thinking to outsmart experienced criminals, a mind-set completely foreign to an Academy-trained Reader or the average healer, fire talent, or weather controller.

But now Pyrrhus and Wicket had practically fallen into their laps! From the reports she had received, they would be the perfect nucleus for the police force she envisioned. If she could only persuade them to accept the challenge.

Her morning duties finished, Aradia ate her midday meal and, having lost sleep the previous night, decided to lie down for an hour before going back to the hospital. Were Pyrrhus any ordinary patient, she would expect him to sleep almost until sunset. But he had wakened prematurely yesterday, and she expected that he would fight off sleep again today at the first moment his body was strong enough to do so.

Aradia was in no mood to fight off sleep, however. Content that she had something good to offer Pyrrhus and Wicket, she fell asleep the moment she lay down.

All the time Julia was following Wicket with her Reading, Galerio was scolding Mosca and Antonius.

When he finally let up, Mosa said with a scowl, “It’s all very well for you to be high and mighty, with Lady Julia as your friend-but Capero’s gonna be after Antonius an’ me tonight. We don’t pay him, he’s gonna slit our throats. “

“Not if we all stick together,” said Galerio. “Capero cheated you-you know that.”

“How?” asked Antonius. “We won at first.”

“I thought you were smarter than that!” said Galerio. “Of course you won at first, so you’d think it was a fair game and you could win. Then he started taking your money, and counted on you being stupid enough to think you could win it back. You know what he wants, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Mosca said reluctantly. “He wants us to work for him.”

“Do you want to?” Galerio asked shrewdly.

“Well… he’s got money, connections,” Mosca admitted. “People that work for him live well.”

“Some do,” Galerio agreed. “But for how long? Ever notice it’s the kids the guards pick up for stealing, or cheating at gambling? You want to spend months in jail?”

“Better’n gettin’ killed,” Mosca muttered.

“Capero won’t kill you if you pay the money you owe,” Galerio said.

“But how?” Antonius demanded. “We gotta steal it. There’s no other way to get that much by tonight.”

“And then Capero will have a hold on you,” said Galerio. “Once you steal for him, he’ll find other ways to make you do the work, while he takes the money.” He sighed. “We have to show Capero that Galerio’s people won’t fall into his trap.”

By this time Wicket had returned the stolen items to their owners, and was on his way back toward the young people. Julia let her full attention return to Galerio, proud of the way he assumed responsibility for Mosca and Antonius because they were his followers.

“But how?” Mosca demanded again.

“By cheating Capero right back,” Galerio replied smugly.

“What?” Antonious asked. “How? He’s got a Reader at the game, Galerio; she’d know if we were cheating.”

Galerio looked at Julia, his dark eyes questioning.

Looking into his handsome face, Julia could deny him nothing. “You can have a Reader on your side, “

she said.

“You?” Antonius’ adolescent voice squeaked in astonishment. “But everybody knows you, Julia. You’d be recognized, and then they wouldn’t play with us.”

“I’ll go in disguise,” she said, charmed with the idea of an adventure to break up the routine of her life.

“And don’t worry-I can fool any Dark Moon Reader.”

“What’s this now?” asked Wicket’s voice-and Julia realized the man had sneaked up on her a second time. “Whore you playing, and why do you need a Reader?”

Silence fell.

“Mm-hmm,” said Wicket. He turned to Galerio. “I know you want to help your friends, but this Capero sounds like a real mean ‘un. Even if he can’t figure out how you’re cheatin’, he’ll know you have to be if you win, right?”

“Right,” Galerio was forced to agree.

“And then what will happen?” Wicket asked.

Galerio grimaced. “He’ll want revenge-and there are only eight of us, when he probably has thirty people in his operation and another hundred who owe him favors. So what do I do about Mosca and Antonius? I can give them my share of money, but that’s only half what they need-and I can’t ask the others to give up their reward money because these two got themselves cheated.”

“No, no,” said Wicket. “You can’t give in. Capero would snatch you up and make you worsen his slave.

No, what you gotta do is cheat him without him ever knowin’ you’ve cheated him.”

“Huh? How?” asked Galerio.

“You go with Mosca and Antonius to Capero tonight. Tell him you want to dice with him for the money they owe.”

“I’m not that stupid, and Capero knows it,” said Galerio.

“You underestimate the professional gambler,” said Wicket. “Capero assumes everyone can be tempted.

Trust me, he won’t question your motives, and you, Galerio, are too fine a bait for Capero to resist. But just to make sure he bites-Lady Julia, will you help Galerio bait the trap?”

“I’ve already said I’d go,” she replied.

“Not in disguise-or at least Capero must know who you are. That way he can’t cry foul, because you can bet that he knows your face, Julia, and that his Reader constantly checks strangers to make sure no one’s sneaking in a Reader of ‘is own. Galerio, you make it a condition: you will provide your own Reader to make sure the game remains honest.”

Julia frowned. “In an honest game Galerio might win, true, but everything is reduced to chance. What if he loses?”

“He won’t lose. I’m going to lose,” said Wicket.

“You?” asked Galerio.

“I’m a rich merchant from Tiberium, likely to drop twenty times what these boys owe Capero.”

“I don’t understand,” said Julia.

“Galerio, you have to make Capero agree that you’ll play tomorrow night, to give me time to connect. ‘

“I can say I need a day to get my stake together,” said Galerio.

“You young men,” Wicket continued, “tell me where in Zendi to let it be known that I’d like to do some gaming tomorrow evening. Then leave it to me to get into the game.”

“But what good will it do for you to lose the award money Aradia gave you?” asked Julia.

“Were you planning to help these young men?”

“Yes.”

“Then help by staking me to seed money. You’ll get it back. Caperos to think I’m in Zendi because I’ve made a big deal, and I’ll get paid day after tomorrow. He’ll want me to win the first night, figuring to take it all back and much more the next. Now, the law would be on to this Capero if he had his Adepts obviously influencing the games, right?”

“Right?” said Julia. “Readers haven’t been able to catch them at it.”

“Well,” said Wicket, “I can manipulate dice with my hands as well as one of your minor Adepts with his mind-and I’ve got the easy part. First I let them let me win, just as they plan. But just when they want to sink the hook by letting me win really big, I start to lose. To Galerio.”

Julia studied Wicket. He really doesn’t know how he does it.

Galerio was grinning. “I like it.”

“Then,” Wicket continued, “I start to complain that they’ve set me up. Lots of noise, threats to call the guards-and a nice fight to break up the game and get us all out of there, winnings intact.”

“He’ll connect you with us,” said Galerio.

“How? I arrived in town two days ago. Any of Capero’s people here?”

Although as they talked the minor Adepts braced their powers and Julia carefully kept from broadcasting what they were saying to other Readers, she was Reading Wicket, who had his usual camouflage running through his mind. Nonetheless, she could catch his feelings-and what she did not catch was any hint that he was either lying or trying to deceive them.

“There’s just one thing,” Wicket warned. “Don’t get greedy. We’re there to break Capero’s hold on Mosca and Antonius, not to make any of us rich.”

“I like your plan,” said Galerio, “but why should you help us?”

Wicket grinned. “You’re friends of the Lady Julia. Always good to have connections in high places.”

“Wicket, ” said Julia, “there’s something you ought-”

Screams erupted!

Human shouting was drowned by the snorts of frightened horses.

“Fire!” someone cried nearby.

Julia saw smoke coming from the other side of the market-the biggest pavilion was on fire!

Galerio, Mosca, Antonius-every Adept in the marketplace turned toward the blaze, uniting their efforts to put it out.

But it didn’t go out!

Fanned by a sudden brisk wind, the fire engulfed the main pavilion. Julia’s mind was assaulted by the fear of fleeing people, the terror of the horses.

Flames flashed upward, leaped from one pavilion to another, but no people were burned, although some were pushed or stepped on in the panic.

There was only one way fire could spread when dozens of minor Adepts were concentrating their efforts to stop it: one or more Lords Adept were deliberately feeding the blaze!

Julia Read, finding no one anywhere nearby who could possibly be the culprit.

Still the flames leaped from one tent to another, while the horses screamed in panic, pulling loose from their tethers.

Stallions, mares, geldings, racers and plowhorses, colts and fillies-all fled the flames, stampeding toward Julia, Wicket, Galerio. Mosca and Antonius took to their heels.

“Run!” Wicket shouted, following his own order.

But even with Adept strength, no human could outrun a horse!

The animals were mindlessly driven by fire. Inexorably, they bore down on the five fleeing people.

Heart pounding, Julia heard and Read the lead horses bearing down on her, felt the ground shaken by their hoofs.

The horses’ panic filled her mind, mingling with her own.

In moments, they would all be trampled to death!