Wild Magic

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The guard compound beside the jail had its walls freshly whitewashed for the Midsummer festa, beautiful, smooth, white as the clouds that weren’t coming this summer. A watchman was perched up in the front tower, but the Wascra-rumorline in the Edge said he spent the time drinking and spitting since nothing much ever happened around there. Not wholly trusting the whispers, the three hugged the heavy black shadow at the base of the wall until they reached the overhang by the ironbound front door. With quick sweeps of their brushes they wrote three glyphs: SHINDA +GUARDS EAT POTZ.

Fizzing with giggles they struggled to smother, they scooted off, half-terrified, half-elated by their own daring.

Dossan swore under her breath and held the bucket away from her; the paint splashed toward the rim and the bail clanked like a guard’s danger as they ran along the lane. “Slow up,” she called, her voice held to a desperate whisper, “or we lose it.”

Faan flicked her dripping brush at a wall, swung round, and danced backward. “Wascra,” she whis-

pered, “Wascra waa.” She slowed. “Let’s hit the school next.”

“School?” Ma’teesee scratched at her nose, leaving behind a streak of red that the moonlight turned black. “S’pose we could.” She inspected the bucket. “Got a lot left, ‘f we don’t spill it.”

Dossan wrinkled her nose. “I wanna do Fedunzi the Silversmith. Gotta do him.” She jerked her head up as Ailiki came galloping past them and she heard a distant metallic rattle; her friends called her catears because she heard things most of them couldn’t. “Buzzit, fleas comin.” She dived down a narrow wynd between two houses.

When the guard squad’s Lanternman slipped the slide on his dark lantern and directed the beam along the wynd, Dossan and Maleesee were already around the corner and Faan had her body pressed into a shallow doorway. The yellow light beam caught Ailiki’s backside as she scratched industriously at the dry cracked earth; the Lanternman said something Faan couldn’t make out and the squad marched on.

Ailiki sat on her haunches, wriggled her nose; a moment later she trotted unhurriedly after Ma’teesee. Faan sighed and followed her.

“Guards’re itchy tonight,” she whispered when she was even with the others. “Maybe we should give it up and go home.”

Ma’teesee shrugged, drew the drying, stiffening brush along the mudbrick of the backwall, leaving scuffs of red behind, then nothing as the paint wore off. “Maybe,” she said.

Dossan frowned, shook her head. “No. Gonna tell everyone what that Kuur is. For the little ’un. You go home ‘f you want.”

Ma’teesee drew invisible lazy eights on the wall, the brush scratching at the soft brick. Her tongue moved quickly along her lower lip, flicking back and forth as it always did when she was disturbed about something. After a minute, she said, “Zizi? It was him?”

Dossan nodded. “Bara the Stick said so.”

“Diyo, but…”

“Vema vema, I know. Mulehead. But I heard him tell it. This is different.” The paint bucket clanked again as she shivered violently.

Faan touched Dossan’s arm. “Who’s Zizi?”

Dossan grimaced, her thin face drawn and old-looking.

“C’mon, Dossy. Tell me.”

“A street-rat, that’s all. Little ’un. ‘Bout five, something like that. Well, a bit more. Cousin of mine. His Mum’s my Mum’s baby sister, what she used to call her, anyway. One of them that hangs round down at Ladroa-vivi, slave till she got so far gone on fayyum her owner kicked her out. Zizi happened after that. He used to come by the kitchen and Mum would sneak him something to eat.”

“So?”

“Mavucador, you know him, the crab man, he picked pieces of Zizi out of his traps last month.”

“And Fedunzi put him in the River?”

“Diyo.”

“Why?”

“I don’ wanna talk about it. Why don’t matter ’cause he’s gonna do it again if we don’t tell. And no one’s gonna listen to us, we’re kids and Wascra. So we gotta make ’em talk.”

Maleesee grimaced. It wasn’t fun any more and she didn’t like being serious. ‘

Faan sucked in a long breath and let it out. The night had gone flat for her, too, but she was ready to back Dossan wherever her idea led.