Cold Magic
Page 151

From the common room came the squeak of tables being shoved, and thumps as they were turned on their side.
“You shall get no trouble from me,” said Andevai. Yet he did not budge, as if, I suppose, he thought he was protecting us from them in a manly and courageous fashion.
Booms shuddered the air, and we all flinched as a shattering fusillade of pops resounded from nearby. A shrill echo of screams and shouts followed.
The innkeeper lowered her rolling pin. “This is no refuge for a high and mighty personage of your sort, Magister.”
Two young men appeared, panting and sweaty, gripping iron pokers from the fire. “The militia has gone to war against us!”
The woman nodded grimly. “All we can do is lock our doors and tuck our heads under.” Another set of reports made a staccato rhythm, interspersed with cries and more screams. “If there’s blood on the streets, then there is worse to come.”
“Bloody princes!” cursed the man.
“The beast has been roused,” cried one of the young men defiantly. “So cries the poet!” The poker in his hand shook as he trembled, watching Andevai as if he expected him to lash out to punish him for such radical words.
Andevai said nothing, nor did he move.
“What beast?” Bee asked. “What do you mean?”
“Many are angry,” said the innkeeper, “but now we have found our voice.”
As if to emphasize the truth of her statement, muskets fired yet again, closer now, thunder echoing in a closed tin. In their wake swelled a rising tide of voices whose pure intensity reminded me of the hum and ring of the dragon’s turning in the spirit world.
Bee stepped out from behind Andevai. “Maestra,” she said politely, not begging, “that’s a fearsome noise outside. Might we shelter in the inn until the tide has passed?”
The woman sighed as she looked at Bee. Everyone always did.
“He cannot,” she said, as if she thought we had invited him in or that we were his companions. “Even if I wished to, which I am sure I do not, I dare not offer shelter to a cold mage. Were he to be found here, they’d burn down my inn.”
“Not with me in it, they can’t,” said Andevai in a tone that made me either want to kick him or to laugh. Because it was true.
“Can you defend yourself against knives and shovels and axes and scythes and whatever other instruments they will bring to pull down these good timbers and you to lie crushed beneath them?” she asked, not belligerently but not meekly, either. She passed the rolling pin into her other hand and signaled to the two young men to go around us and out the door that led into the side yard. “How many can you fend off before they overwhelm you? Are you willing, Magister, to let strangers die—me and my people—by forcing them to shelter you, who have entered this house without invitation or permission? Whatever you are, I am sure I wish no harm to you in particular as long as you leave alone me and mine. But I will not risk my people and my livelihood for you. No offense meant.”
Remarkably, he endured this speech without the least sign of emotion, no cracked glass, no shattered cups; perhaps he was accustomed to the right of older women to scold him.
“I will depart, maestra, if you will be so kind as to tell me how to get out of here without running straight into the mob.”
“Out the back and through the yard, there’s a gate into the alley.”
The rising tide had indeed grown to the roar of a once-slumbering beast now roused. I felt their outrage through the soles of my feet.
Andevai pulled on his greatcoat and walked to the door. With a hand on the latch, he turned to address Bee. “This I meant to tell you before we were interrupted, Maestressa Barahal. Five days ago, your father returned to the Hassi Barahal house. The mansa’s agents had already secured the house in expectation of capturing you or Catherine if you returned there. They took your father into custody instead. I thought it right to warn you that his presence in Adurnam may be used to draw you in. By no means should you go home to try to free him before the solstice, because the mansa himself has come to Adurnam to track you down.”
He clicked down the latch.
“I regret whatever trouble I have caused you,” he said to the innkeeper, and with this he opened the door and vanished into the yard behind the inn.
Bee moaned, sagging against me. “Papa came back to find me! And he’s now in their clutches! What will we do?”
“If Rory were here, we might manage a rescue between the three of us.” But to speak his name forced me to contemplate that he might have been killed. A brother found, and then so swiftly lost. How careless of me! I sucked in a harsh breath, grabbing Bee’s hand as I searched for words, although I did not know how to comfort either of us.