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With funds securely in hand, Niffin, Malita, and I followed directions the bank’s bookkeeper had given when I’d asked him to recommend a reasonably priced inn. We handed our horses to a stable boy, set our saddlebags in our rooms, and met in the inn’s dining room for a quick lunch of thin pancakes with sour cream, pickled cucumbers, tomatoes, and fish seasoned with dill.
Glancing at my distinctive scarlet-haired companion, I frowned. “I’m happy to go into Steinerland alone if abandoning your customs makes you uncomfortable, Niffin.”
He touched his napkin to his lips before answering. “I would not have you go alone. I would not be doing my job if I did. And the Fantazikes are more experienced with disguises than you think.”
“And you?” I met Malita’s gaze. “If you want, we’ll find a safe place for you to wait while I meet with Gideon’s contact.”
She shrugged. “Where you and Niffin go, I go.”
After the innkeeper gave directions to the local shops and markets selling the things we needed, Niffin left Malita and me on our own, promising to meet us later for supper. We followed him outside and watched him disappear into the throngs of heavy traffic trundling along Petragrad’s sidewalks. Malita and I turned the opposite direction and weaved through the crowds, my fingers firmly laced through hers to avoid being separated.
Several blocks later, we turned into an open-air market where merchants had laid out their wares—everything from cooking pots, teakettles, and horse-tack to fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Vendors hawked their goods, their voices blending into a discordant jangle. Smells of cooking food, warm bodies, machine oil, and manure combined into a hostile, urban stench. I resisted the urge to pinch my nose as we pushed deeper into the market.
A clutch of dirty children in ragged clothes rushed past us, and the largest one, a gamine girl not much younger than me, plowed into my shoulder. Stumbling, I yelped, and Malita clutched me against her side, holding me steady while I fisted my coin purse in my pocket. Niffin and the bank’s bookkeeper both had warned me about pickpockets.
“Osteregat'sya,” the shabby girl snarled as she gripped my upper arm, fingers gouging my flesh. Her blond hair fell in tangles to her shoulders. Grime stained the knees of her knickers, and patches adorned her waistcoat.
Malita shoved herself between us, putting me at her back, and I gaped at her uncharacteristic display of hostility. Snatching the urchin’s wrist, Malita squeezed until the girl’s eyes popped wide. She gasped and released my arm, but Malita held fast, applying steady force until the girl’s hand bent back to the point of snapping.
“Otpusti menya, devushka,” the urchin growled, her eyes shooting daggers.
Neither Malita nor I spoke much Varyngan, but sometimes actions were clearer than words, and this girl was clearly furious. Her jaw muscle bulged as she ground her teeth. Malita released her, and she stumbled back. Giving us one last hateful glare, the girl spat at our feet before sprinting away and joining her gang. They disappeared into the crowds of oblivious shoppers.
Staring with my mouth agape, I grabbed Malita’s hands. “I’ve never seen you do anything like that before.”
“Niffin teaches me things—how to fight.” She looked up, a blaze burning in her eyes as she stabbed a finger to her chest. “I am no victim.”
I pressed her knuckles to my chest over my heart, which was still beating at an uneasy pace. “You were amazing. Maybe I should ask Niffin to teach me too.”
Her gaze drifted over my shoulder, scanning the market behind me. “We should not stay long. That girl will not be happy with us.”
After waving off a pushy tinsmith and ignoring the flirtatious grins of a young man trying to sell us a bouquet of daisies, Malita and I found a stall of ladies’ secondhand clothing. I turned my nose up at the petticoats and wide skirts, but her eyes went big and round when she found a plain muslin dress printed with yellow crocuses. It was perhaps a bit finer than something a working-class woman would wear on a regular day, but her smile melted my heart. I plucked coins from my purse, but Malita waved me off. She revealed her own small pouch of money. “I take care of myself.”
While we waited for the merchant to wrap the dress in brown paper and string, I surveyed our surroundings, looking for something more suitable to my tastes.
“No dress for you, my lady?” the vendor asked.
Shaking my head, I pointed toward another stall farther down the road. “I’m looking for something a bit more—”
“For boys,” Malita said, rolling her eyes. She thanked the merchant and tugged me toward the men’s clothing stall. “Come, come. Trousers for you. I know what you like.”
***
We had finished our soup and were starting on plates of roasted hen when Niffin finally showed up, plopping into his seat across from me in the inn’s dining room. Malita had insisted we not worry, not give up dinner plans to go out searching for him. My mind had invented a half dozen scenarios, all leading to his demise or imprisonment—it wouldn’t have been the first time a Fantazike in my company had wound up in jail. But he seemed unmolested, unperturbed, and almost unrecognizable as he tucked his napkin under his chin and raised his wine glass.
“Cheers?” he asked, ignoring our gaping mouths.
Malita recovered first. Her hand shot out, fingers raking through his midnight-colored hair. Tinted spectacles, as I’d suggested, rode the bridge of his nose, concealing the purple hue in his eyes. He’d traded the Fantazikes’ standard homespun shirt, embroidered waistcoat, and knickers for black canvas trousers, a drop-sleeve calico shirt, and a faded blue neckerchief.
“Who are you?” Truly, I mourned the loss of his crimson hair and regretted the need for his disguise. He was a rainbow reduced to shades of gray. “And what have you done with Niffin?”
The corner of his mouth curled up as he swallowed his wine. “I take it you find my disguise acceptable.”
“More than.” I glanced at my own attire, tweed trousers and worn boots, and fingered my long brown braid. “Perhaps I should take some inspiration from you.”
He shrugged, dismissing my concerns, and poked his fork at the potatoes on his plate. “Do not take this the wrong way, Evie, but I think you will easily blend in among the masses as long as you keep your Thunder Cloak hidden.”
I thought of my Magical family heirloom folded away in my saddlebags. No, I wasn’t the kind of young woman who usually attracted attention, and I hoped that meant I could travel through Steinerland like a mouse crawling through shadows, unseen and undetected. “Run into any trouble?” I asked, cutting into a piece of chicken.
“None at all. How about you?”
Glancing up, he caught the uneasy look flashing across Malita’s face and paused, fork hovering over his plate. Her shoulders drew toward her ears as she sank in her seat. Perhaps she’d learned some fighting techniques from Niffin, but she’d never make a good liar.
He covered her hand with his. “What happened, àyànfe mi?”
“Don’t be modest.” I nudged her elbow. “Tell him.”
Speaking in her own language, she gave him what I presumed was a summary of our trip to the market.
Niffin’s attention shifted to me. “I am glad things turned out all right. Though I think it is a good thing we ship out tomorrow. I do not know why, Evie, but it seems you have a knack for attracting problems.”
His words made me flinch, but I couldn’t disagree. “Get used to it, my friends. I’m afraid my inclination for trouble will only get worse before it gets better.”
After a late and lazy breakfast, Malita, Niffin, and I retrieved our horses. Adaleiz nuzzled my pockets, searching for treats. I revealed the sugar cubes I’d poached from the inn’s breakfast table, and she plucked them up, crunching the treats between her teeth. “You’ve got me completely under your spell, don’t you?”
She answered by nosing my pockets again.
“That’s it. That’s all I have. Any more, and you’ll be fat and good for nothing.” I swung into her saddle, and we traipsed into the morning sunlight. Niffin and Malita plodded beside me on Khosha.
The streets were full but not congested, leaving us plenty of time to get to the docks before our ship sailed. Niffin tugged his floppy cap lower on his brow and scanned our surroundings. Today, the ladies on the streets passed without noticing him. In fact, no one seemed to look our way. Our efforts at blending in were working, or so I thought until a clod of dried mud crashed into my shoulder, striking hard enough to raise a stinging welt.
“Hey!” Twisting in my saddle, I spotted a boy of maybe ten or eleven. He reared back, arm cocked to launch another muddy, rock-studded missile. Before he could strike, I kicked off my stirrups and dropped to the ground. I lunged for the boy, brewing up thoughts of retaliation, but Malita’s shrill shriek struck like a gut punch, and I forgot all about the muddy little boy.
A stringy-haired blond girl had yanked Malita from her saddle and pinned her in a firm hold, grasping my friend from behind. She pressed a knife against Malita’s neck. A wave of panic crashed through me as I struggled to understand what was happening, but as I studied Malita’s captor, my confusion cleared.
She was the same gamine girl we’d encountered in the market the day before. If I had to guess, I would say she was set on avenging her wounded pride.
“Shto ty hochesh?” Niffin demanded in Varyngan, his attention pinned on Malita’s assailant. As he gazed down from Khosha’s saddle, his cheeks flamed red, and his expression promised violence.
Crouched between Adaleiz and Khosha, I pulled my knife free from my boot and searched for the blond girl’s other gang members. A nearby storm rumbled, responding to my racing pulse. The breeze blowing through the streets stiffened, gathering strength. The gang leader’s ratty blond hair swirled around her head, blowing across her eyes, but she held her knife steady at Malita’s throat.
Niffin raised his open hands at his sides, revealing no signs of weapons. “Otpusti yeye.”
The little mud-flinging boy crept closer. I narrowed my eyes at him as clouds tumbled in, racing to answer my call. Easing between the horses, I caught his attention and showed him my knife. I snapped my fingers, and thunder cracked like a succession of bullwhips, reverberating against the surrounding buildings. The boy squeaked and stumbled back, his eyes going wide and round.
Scanning the streets, I searched for something that might help me create a distraction and spotted an old brass bell hanging in a nearby clock tower. In my mind, I reached for the sky as though it were my quiver and the lightning were my arrows. Stepping beside Niffin’s horse, I caught the blond girl’s attention. I held her gaze, raised a single finger, and pointed at the sky. She glanced up, and—
The clouds shattered.
Lightning ripped apart the heavens.
Thunder exploded, rattling windows and doors.
Sharp cries and shouts sprang from the crowd.
The rag-tag band of urchins hesitated, some clutching their ears and staring up, while others homed their gazes on me as if suspecting the storm’s sudden wrath was more than the work of Mother Nature and coincidence.
The blond girl’s eyes shimmered, filling with dread, but she held tightly to Malita, her grip never wavering.
Catching Malita’s gaze, I winked. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, signaling she was ready to respond to whatever I was about to do. I’d believed her when she said she was no victim, but now I needed her to prove it.
I clenched my fingers into a fist. Thunder exploded, a detonation strong enough to rattle my ribs. As the blond girl cringed, Malita stomped her instep. The girl yelped. Malita grabbed her wrist and twirled. Shoving and twisting, Malita wrenched the girl’s arm at an unnatural angle behind her back, nearly popping her shoulder from its socket. The urchin gritted her teeth and teetered on her tiptoes, trying to ease Malita’s hold.
Those gang members still brave enough to defend their leader surged forward, but I drew down a diluted lightning bolt and threw it at the clock-tower bell.
Sparks flew.
The bell shrieked.
The blond girl shrieked, too, but Malita held her while Niffin disarmed her. He raised the girl’s knife, brandishing it at our opponents, but the gang had already scattered. Only an older pair of bandits remained, a boy and a girl, both as grimy and downtrodden as their leader. Part of me regretted frightening them, but their fear was a fair trade for Malita’s safety.
“Ty idesh' domoy seychas,” Niffin said, his tone tolerating no arguments. “Dayte nam pokoy.”
The boy and girl held their position with no obvious intent to challenge us. Earlier I had questioned Justina’s decision to send Niffin with me, but he was already proving to be a skilled diplomat. I was grateful for her foresight.
“Ask for her name,” I said.
Niffin spoke.
The girl’s eyes narrowed, but she answered, “Alyona.”
I’d stowed most of my funds in the bottom of my saddlebags for safekeeping, but I dug into my pocket, pulled out several loose coins, and presented the money to Alyona. She furrowed her brow, obviously confused and suspecting a trap.
“Tell her these coins are hers if she’ll take her gang and leave us alone until our ship leaves.”
Niffin translated, and Alyona bobbed her head, her throat working as she swallowed. She glanced at her friends and jerked her chin, gesturing for them to back off, and they obeyed. I wondered what she had done to gain the power she held over her gang. More importantly, was it something I could learn to do?
I pressed the money into Alyona’s hand and studied her face—her fierce gaze and the proud tilt of her chin. I understood the desperation burning in her blood, the lust for survival that had made her hard and cruel at such a young age. When I nodded, Malita released Alyona. The girl spun away and sprinted down the street without looking back.
Blowing out a long breath, I released my tension, and the clouds dispersed. The winds eased. Sunlight returned, chasing away shadows.
“Why did you want her name?” Malita asked.
“To remember her as an example of what I could’ve become, if not for the good luck of having people like you and Niffin, and especially Gideon, in my life.” Dismissing the thought with a shiver, I slipped my foot into Adeleiz’s stirrup and swung my leg over her saddle. “Let’s get to the ship. I won’t feel at ease until we’re on board and sailing away.”
Niffin snorted and tugged his cap lower. “You said your penchant for trouble would only get worse before it gets better. You were not lying, were you?”
I clicked my tongue and nudged Adaleiz. “Lying is a tricky weapon.” It was something my father had often said. “A double-edged blade. I’m just as likely to cut myself as I am my target.”
“I have never heard of an honest politician before.” He reached down, offering his hand to Malita, and helped her mount behind him. Once she was seated, we sauntered toward the waterfront and docks. “But perhaps you will be the first.”
