Bound Magic Page 11

  “I require a complete wardrobe suitable for my position as Magistrate Istvan’s familiar,” I stated plainly.

  Goblins’ skin color tended to be a rich blue shade, like blueberries and storm clouds. Istvan had quietly informed me, after our meeting with him, that Pavel was a sea nymph. His blue skin was the subtle silvery blue of sunlit ocean. His eyes were gray, and after my request they opened wide.

  So did his mouth. “To me! Everyone, to me!”

  Half a dozen individuals clothed as bizarrely as Pavel scampered to him, either from the far end of the room where they’d been arranging fabric or from the back rooms which were presumably the workshop and warehouse, and possibly, the sleeping quarters.

  “Milady’s coat! Coffee! Cakes…yes, yes, little cakes. Scrummy yumptiousness. Finger bowls. Dainty wipes.”

  Were we to decide on a wardrobe or partake of morning tea? I surrendered my coat to a woman whose pumpkin-colored dress clashed badly with the blueberry hue of her skin.

  Pavel winced dramatically at the revelation of my gray wool sweater and dark brown trousers. Nonetheless, he ushered me tenderly to a round table that two panting staff members carried to the center of the room. Three more hurried up with chairs. I was seated with all the élan formerly shown to British royalty.

  I tucked my scuffed boots beneath my chair.

  Pavel sat at my right, leaning confidingly close and bringing with him the scent of sandalwood. He patted my arm before releasing it.

  Nils took his own seat at a less intrusive distance on my left.

  Coffee was served Greek-style in tiny cups and with bitter grounds so that the coffee had to be sipped carefully or strained through your teeth.

  “Such cake! Oh, the shame. So crude. The bakers do their best, but their best is bread.” Such condemnation. Pavel made it sound as if the new bakery traded in three days old cold porridge.

  “Man cannot live by bread alone,” Nils contributed slyly as I tried the slice of cake placed in front of me on a porcelain cake plate.

  Pavel was encouraged. His arms swooped up and down, narrowly avoiding hitting me. “Exactly. Next time I shall serve you such cakes as you deserve, Miss Amy. Yes, even if I must make them myself.” He held his slender hands out in front of him to demonstrate that he’d dirty them for my sake.

  His staff all froze for a second in their activity, matching expressions of horror wreathing their faces. Somehow I didn’t think it was at the thought of their employer sullying his hands, but rather a statement on his inadequate baking skills.

  “I look forward to it.” I wasn’t lying. The entertainment was there in seeing his expression falter at my acceptance of his empty offer of homemade cake. In truth, the pound cake from the bakery was delicious. I said so. “Although this cake is wonderful. There’s a hint of orange in with the chocolate.” I wielded my cake fork deftly, enjoying another bite.

  Pavel got down to business, winkling out exactly what I deemed a complete wardrobe.

  I shrugged. “You’ll know better than I what occasions life in a magistrate hall presents. I need to be ready for them, clothes-wise.”

  “Yes, ahem. And beyond that? You will have a position in town society.”

  I hoped I hid my flinch. “Will I? What will that entail?” Pavel was probably the best person to ask that question of. He lived for social combat and status.

  “Attendance at official openings of new buildings and services. Then ongoing patronage of cultural events.”

  On my return to the hall, when I looked for the town map on the slate, I’d need to research the activities associated with the launch of a town as well.

  “You are young, single, yes?” Pavel inquired.

  “Yes.”

  He beamed beatifically. “You must dress to entice, to allure.”

  I glanced at Nils for help.

  “No, no!” Pavel exclaimed. “Not him. He is too old for you, my fawn.”

  Nils’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

  I said, with dignity. “I know.”

  Nils laughed aloud.

  Pavel directed us to the matter at hand: the choice of my wardrobe style. “The Zold elves’ style of angularity is divine, and you have the height and shoulders for it.”

  The dubious glance I gave Pavel wasn’t provoked by his questionable “compliment” about my shoulders. I knew I’d muscled up after months of gardening, household chores accomplished without electric labor-saving devices, and self-defense training. No, my doubt was due to the fact that I’d seen Zold fashion on the slate. It took angularity to the extreme.

  “The colors, of course, we will change,” Pavel said. Now, he was the authority and I was his pupil. “The shades that flatter elves would hardly work for you. I have drawn inspiration from our werewolf friends.”

  Was that a poke at Istvan’s alliance with Rory’s new pack?

  I focused on what I wanted. “The huntress style.”

  Yana might have claimed she’d come out in hives if she had to linger in a tailor shop—had she not known there’d be chocolate cake?—but her fashion advice had been spot on.

  The huntress style was one of unfussy elegance: clean lines, generous use of fabric allowing freedom of movement, and trousers as well as skirts. Some styles dictated skirts only, for men as well as women. With winter approaching I required trousers.

  “Very well.” Pavel’s prompt acquiescence meant that I’d chosen well. The moue of his lips said the choice wouldn’t make me a trendsetter or him extra-sought after. “The palette for huntress is ‘woodland’.” He air-bracketed woodland. “I would suggest adding to it.”

  I interrupted. “Black.”

  Lounging to the side of the fray, Nils stiffened into alertness.

  “Istvan, my magician partner, is a black griffin. I will wear his color.”

  Pavel pressed a skinny finger to his lips. “Hmm.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My clothes, Istvan’s money. This is not up for debate. Black. Everything in black.”

  The tailor flung his arms wide. “It is genius!”

  Oh dear. I discovered that Pavel’s enthusiasm was more irritating than his condescension. I was hustled behind a screen with orders to disrobe before I was measured everywhere by the woman in the pumpkin dress.

  She giggled at some of Pavel’s comments on the measurements she called out.

  “Do not comment on my boobs,” I said loudly.

  “But they are perfection, my fawn.”

  “Nils!”

  “What?”

  “Hit him.”

  When there was no sound of a smack, I sighed aggrievedly.

  The next stage of ordering a tailored wardrobe was even worse. Fortified with many cups of gritty coffee and slices of cake, we studied designs Pavel sketched or called up on his slate, and examined countless fabric samples.

  “I will accompany you when you purchase hats and shoes. My vision must not be compromised by your poor choices.”

  “Just because I rejected the corsets. Who wears corsets on the outside? Other than steampunkers.”

  The Faerene present ignored the foreign term of steampunkers.

  “I desire your promise, my fawn.” Pavel waved a peremptory blue finger at me. Then licked chocolate icing off it. We were finally at the end of the ordeal and were relaxing.

  Or, he was relaxing.

  Nils and I were preparing to escape.

  I had my leather coat on. “I promise to purchase hats and shoes under your supervision.” I didn’t promise to purchase all of my hats and shoes with him in attendance.

  When the door of the tailor shop shut behind us I drew in a deep breath of damp river air scented with wood smoke, sawdust, lime mortar and frying food. “Hot fries,” I said reverently. Instinctively, I shoved a hand in my pocket for money, before remembering that I had none.

  Nils, though, noticed the movement. “My treat.” His use of the word treat echoed the candies and other food stuffs I’d bought (with Istvan’s money) for
everyone.

  If I wanted to give kindnesses, then I had to be gracious about receiving them. “Thank you.”

  We had worked through the lunch hour, and although we’d had cake, I was starving.

  Unlike in Civitas and Pavel’s shop where mention of Istvan’s name triggered some form of hidden financial transaction method, Nils paid in coins.

  Clarifying my role as a familiar and how I could earn some money just got nudged up my to-do list.

  The street food vendor briskly and lavishly salted the fries before wrapping the paper around them in a cone. A second cone soon followed. The fries were piping hot and delicious. They were also oval, the potatoes having been cut crossways.

  “Delicious.” I smiled my appreciation at the vendor who leaned forward ready to chat.

  Nils nudged me on with an elbow. He also nudged me in the opposite direction to the magistrate hall.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You can ride a horse?”

  I flapped a hand over my mouth. That fry had been hot! “Yes.”

  “Then we’re going to buy you a horse.”

  Chapter 8

  A family of centaurs had rounded up a fine herd of horses and brought them to the edge of Justice to sell. By the wide variation and sheer quality of the horses, these weren’t brumbies. They’d been people’s darlings, until the humans who loved them had been forced to flee, leaving them behind, or more likely, had died in the apocalypse.

  People stood in three circles, watching centaurs walk horses through their paces.

  Rory saw Nils and me, and beckoned us into the group that scrutinized a palomino mare as she cantered smoothly.

  Nils shook his head and flicked a hand in farewell.

  I wriggled through the press of people to Rory. “Nils says that as long as it’s placid, he doesn’t care what horse he rides.”

  “That’s not quite true.” Rory positioned me in front of him so that his body blocked the crowd from me.

  The town of Justice seemed to be growing by the hour—and not just the buildings. People were joining it or, at least, visiting.

  Rory’s hand remained at my waist. I should have been barely able to feel it, given the leather coat I wore with a sweater and shirt beneath.

  “Nils needs a horse that will babysit him,” he said in a low murmur. “When he’s ambling around the woods being a botanist he has no sense.”

  “And when he’s not being a botanist?” I teased.

  There was no answering tease in Rory’s response. “He’s deadly.”

  Distracted from the horse being shown in front of us, I craned my neck to stare at him. “Really?”

  His answer was a whisper in my ear, meant not to be overheard. “Nils was an assassin for the emperor.”

  I had just been laughing and joking and choosing dresses with a killer. I gulped.

  “What sort of horse do you want?”

  On the walk to the field Nils, the assassin—my mind boggled—had explained that Rory was buying horses for the guard unit and hall. My feet and the bikes Yana and I had bought in Civitas would be adequate to get around town, but longer journeys required a horse.

  Renaissance level civilization.

  “I don’t need the horse to babysit me, but I would like one with a calm nature. I’m not in favor of every ride being a wild adventure.” I thought of Jarod riding Coco. There was always trouble with that mare.

  “I’ve already bought a couple of thoroughbreds for Yana and Berre. They’ll have speed. I’m thinking of adding that quarterhorse over there for Oscar.”

  I nodded approval of the gray horse he pointed out.

  “There’s an appaloosa stallion I’d like, depending on the price I can get it for. That dopey bay over there will serve Nils well.” Rory sounded like he had everything worked out. The “dopey bay” was a good-looking quarterhorse. “But I can’t decide between a paint mare and a chestnut quarterhorse for you.”

  Once I’d seen the chestnut quarterhorse, a well-mannered and seemingly unspookable gelding, there was no question. I called him Chester.

  Rory named the appaloosa Spot.

  The big, beautiful animal deserved better. I rubbed his nose. “Sheriff?”

  The stallion didn’t seem to mind.

  “Sheriff in the magistrate’s stable?” Rory grinned. “Why not?” He slapped the horse’s rump, and it tried to stomp on his feet.

  “He’ll always be independent-minded,” Monkhbat, the centaur patriarch, said.

  “Rory or the horse?” I teased.

  Monkhbat snorted.

  Rory slapped my rump.

  I borrowed the move from Sheriff and tried to stomp Rory’s boots.

  At which point he laughed and hoisted me into the air with a muscular arm around my waist.

  “My children will deliver the horses to the magistrate hall stables this evening,” Monkhbat said.

  “My thanks,” Rory said. “We’ll be ready for them.” He lowered me back to the ground.

  Evening was fast approaching. The horse sale had been the perfect distraction from all the questions and puzzles in my mind. If Nils hadn’t suggested it, I’d have spent the remainder of the afternoon searching for answers on the slate and ended up with a headache. As it was, I smelled of horse, but I felt good.

  Rory walked silently beside me as we returned to the hall.

  I doubted he was indulging in an empty brain as I was.

  He juggled a hundred metaphorical balls and fire sticks, and made it look effortless. As we climbed the nearest steps up to the hall, he said, “I’ll introduce you to Bold. He’s the new groom at the stables.”

  “He wasn’t at the sale?”

  Rory shook his head. “There’ll be other horses he can buy. We needed someone to buy feed and tack and everything else. His son and daughter will help with the horses. His wife will help Peggy in the kitchen.” He glanced at me. “Did Nils tell you about Hope Fang House?”

  “Yes. It’s beautiful.”

  He smiled. “Glad you like it. The Bold family aren’t pack, but they’ll stay there for the next few months.”

  The Bolds turned out to be a family of elves. Their two children were teenagers, and alternated between shyness and giggles. I greeted them briefly and excused myself on the grounds of needing to shower before dinner.

  After my shower I left my hair down to dry. I’d done that before at the familiar trials and Rory had thrown a tantrum—in a small, non-violent manner. Apparently, in werewolf culture, a woman only let her hair down for lovers or in a private setting

  In the kitchen, when his hand cupped the back of my head before stroking downward, I had to ask myself if I’d left my hair down in defiance of Rory or for him. The caress felt really good.

  Across the table, Berre nuzzled his mate. “You’d look good with long hair,” he whispered hopefully.

  Yana squashed his hope. “Too much fuss.”

  Enjoying Rory’s touch and seeing the absorbed expression on his face, the fuss felt worth it.

  After dinner I’d have joined the others in the family room, except that Istvan requested my company. In his office, he introduced me to his night clerk.

  Emil was so different from my preconceptions regarding vampires. True his skin was pale and his large brown eyes tinged with red, but overall the impression he gave was that of an indulgent uncle. He was shorter than me and lacking tone in a manner that spoke of a sedentary lifestyle. His dark brown hair was combed carefully over the bald spot on his crown.

  He shook my hand, and tugged down his knitted gray vest, fussing with it.

  “I have some matters to deal with tonight,” Istvan said. “I’ve asked Emil to provide you with an overview on how the magistrate hall operates, its history and the demands on my time. History and legends are encouraged.” He looked at Emil when he said that. To me, he added. “Oscar will speak with you in the morning concerning your employment and salary. He’ll explain the Faerene financial system.”

 
I smiled at Istvan. “Thank you.” Some things I could learn via the news slate, but having someone to ask questions of was easier. Istvan’s thoughtfulness also served as a well-placed reminder to trust him. He would provide what I needed, but he had competing demands on his time—the details of which Emil had been delegated to explain to me. “Good hunting, or whatever you’re doing.”

  “I will hunt as part of my night.” Istvan’s tail brushed my ankle as I walked past him to the door.

  I patted his shoulder in response. “Good night.”

  Emil trotted along beside me. His highly polished black shoes clattered on the stone floor. He winced. “I will put rubber on the soles for tomorrow night.”

  Sound echoed in the empty clerks’ room. It was empty of people, not of furniture. Empty of comfort, I thought.

  I considered the new clerk. Emil gave off a good vibe. I could sit with him in the uncongenial work room or join the others in the family room where they’d have a fire going and there were blankets to snuggle under. “Emil, would you mind telling me about magistrates and their legends where other people can overhear?”

  His lips parted and his tongue darted to touch his two elongated incisor teeth.

  Impulsively, I crossed the distance between us and touched his arm. “I’m not afraid of you.” It was true. I wasn’t afraid of being alone in the clerks’ room at night with a vampire. I hadn’t even thought about it. Maybe there was something wrong with my fear response? I shook off the doubt. It was simply that I trusted Istvan. “The family room is warmer and more comfortable.”

  “Oh.” Emil smoothed his gray vest. “Stories are better told in comfort.” He smiled at me, shyly.

  “They are,” I agreed.

  In the doorway to the family room, I added him to the guest list.

  His click-clattery shoes had already announced our approach, and the people lounging in front of the fireplace were watching for us.

  The two wolves in front of the crackling fire had to be Yana and Berre. They were beautiful; both gray with a lightening of brown, like timber wolves.

  “Floor cushions.” I realized what was missing from the family room.

  Berre groaned approval and gave a full body, doggy stretch. Yana thumped her tail.