Tamora Pierce - Street Magic

The youth beside the first speaker raised an eyebrow. He was tall, lean, brown-skinned, sixteen or seventeen years old. His eyes were like stones. “If it barks like a dog, eats like a dog, walks like a dog—it’s a dog,” he said lazily. “You look like competition to us, eknub. And outside these doors, you’re on Viper territory.”

Briar scratched his head. A rude answer, even if it made him feel better, would only dig him into more trouble, not less. “The competition’s all in your minds, boys,” he informed them. “I’m just passing through.”

The black youth met Briar’s eyes. “You better be telling the truth,” he cautioned. “We don’t like poachers.”

“Not at all,” the taller boy added.

The Vipers faded into the crowd with the ease of long practice.

Briar slid his wrist knives back into their sheaths, and ordered the hemp ties to lock them in place again. So the nose ring and pendant meant Viper. He wondered who the black-and-white gang was, and if they knew the Vipers had claimed the streets around Golden House.

Not my headache , he realized, turning down the aisle where charms were sold. I’ve said my good-bye to gangs .

It lacked an hour to sunset when he left Golden House and turned his face toward the home he and Rosethorn had rented on the Street of Hares. Traffic was heavy now as people came inside the walls, their workday at an end. Briar dodged camels, mules, and people, briefly touching each plant that reached for him from the ground and from the windows of different houses, giving them some affection before he ordered them back to their pots or trellises. He was still thinking of that street girl.

His last stop was the small souk near home, to purchase what he needed for supper that night. He’d learned to cook in the four years he’d lived with Rosethorn, her friend Lark, and the three girls, and it was a very good thing. When Rosethorn finished her day’s work here, she could barely think, let alone cook. Briar had taken over the chore completely without comment.

Once most of his other purchases were made, he stopped at his favorite cookhouse for meat. Trying to choose between roasted chicken or braised mutton, he also decided to do something about the Viper who had followed him from Golden House. He’d already considered losing the other boy—had they no girls at all? — but it was too much like work. Worse, in all likelihood he would be the one to get lost in the mazes of Chammur’s streets.

He picked the mutton. As the shopkeeper wrapped it, Briar watched the Viper from the corner of his eye. This made no sense. How could the Vipers be so eager to rid themselves of a stranger while the black-and-white-clothed gang strolled through Golden House as if they owned it? For that matter, why hadn’t the black-and-white gang run the Vipers off? Briar had seen at least twice as many of them as there were Vipers. Moreover, his shadow was now on the territory of yet another gang, the Camelguts. Did he think the Camelguts would ignore him?

Briar knew gangs. Until Niko had transported him to Winding Circle, Briar had lived, bled, and nearly died for his gang. The Vipers weren’t acting according to the rules that governed any gang’s life. To Briar, it was as if the sun had risen in the north. The only reasonable explanation for their behavior was that they might be new as a gang, and looking for victories. The black-and-white gang was too big for them, but a lone foreigner was easy prey.

The shopkeeper exchanged the wrapped mutton for Briar’s coins, and thanked him for his business. Briar returned the thanks, then strolled out of the neighborhood souk. Should he let the Viper tail him all the way to the house? No—he’d told them to leave him alone. Besides, these Vipers had to learn respect for other gangs.

He turned back onto the Street of Hares. Up ahead Briar could see three green-sashed Camelgut youths. They were hunkered in front of the Earth temple, pitching coppers against the wall and keeping an eye on their street. As Briar approached, one of them looked up and grinned. It was a boy he knew, Hammit.

“Hey, pahan” Hammit called, using the Chammuri word for “mage” or “teacher.” “You do good work.” He pointed to a cheek that was more pink than brown, the last trace of a fearsome burn he’d gotten a week ago. Briar had treated it with healing salve. “You should sell that stuff you gave me, not give it away.”

Briar crouched beside Hammit, watching the game. “I do sell it,” he replied absently. “I charge rich folk three times my normal price so I can give it to anyone I’ve a mind to. Say, you lot know anything about a gang called Vipers?”

One of the other Camelgut boys snorted. “They’re no gang,” he said, his voice thick with scorn. “They’re some takameri’s play toy.” It took Briar a moment to identify the word: it was the feminine form of the Chammuri for “money person,” or rich person.

“So they go where they want?” Briar asked, all innocence. “They needn’t respect Camelgut territory? Because one followed me from the souk. He’s back by Cedar Lane.”

Three pairs of eyes flicked in that direction, the Viper had stopped by the Cedar Lane fountain and was splashing water on his face, pretending to ignore Briar. Camelgut hands collected their coppers and tucked them into green sashes. Without another word the three rose and trotted down to Cedar Lane. The Viper was still pretending he wasn’t interested in Briar. The Camelguts were on him before he realized who they were.

Briar smiled grimly and straightened. He’d given his salve to Hammit because he’d known that burn would rot without care. In doing so, it seemed he’d bought himself a bit of insurance as well. Whistling, he walked past the Earth temple gate and turned into the house next door.

Overhead, Evumeimei Dingzai, useless daughter and runaway slave, watched as the jade-eyed boy she had followed from Golden House went home. She was interested to see he knew three Camelguts well enough to call on them to rid him of his Viper shadow. Still, he couldn’t be that clever. He’s never once looked up at the rooftops, or he might have seen that she, too, followed him.

That, more than even his accent, said he was an eknub, a foreigner. Everyone in Chammur knew there were two sets of streets, one on the ground, one over the flat roofs where many houses and buildings were snugged against each other. On these streets, ladders were set to reach higher rooftops, and the bridges jumped streets on the ground. Anyone who was not clearly a thief or an outsider could use the roof paths and did: no nasty-tempered camels and mules up here, no chair-bearers and lords on horseback.

Evvy knew the higher streets like she knew the cliff warrens where she lived, in Chammur Oldtown. She was accepted here, rags and all, as long as she kept moving and took nothing. Dogs might watch until she was gone, women might keep an eye on her as they worked their tiny gardens or hung up their washing, but they were used to all kinds of people up here.

She crouched, staring at the small house beside the foreign temple. Who was the jade-eyed boy? Why did he ask about magic? If she’d had any, her parents would not have sold her to a Chammuran innkeeper before continuing west. If she were a mage, she wouldn’t have to live in Princes’ Heights as a street rat who scraped to feed herself and her cats.

Her cats! Evvy sighed. Without coppers from Nahim today, she couldn’t buy dried fish for them as she’d planned. She’d better get back to Oldtown. If she had enough time before dark, she might be able to catch some lizards on the rocks atop the Heights. That would satisfy the cats at least, and she could eat bread she’d hidden away.