“I’m off to light the ovens. Don’t you dare be late! And don’t worry - anyone at the menagerie’ll show you Zippo’s place.” Declan ruffled his brother’s hair and made for the door. “And for the gods’ sakes do not go back to sleep!”

No sooner had the door shut than Malcolm was scrabbling at the cord around his waist, feeling for the tiny up stone – still there. As for the other stone, the one Declan gave him. Mal had pored over his dictionary well into the night. Nothing else used the word kitten. The stone had to be linked to the weak as a kitten spell. In an uncomfortable corner of his mind, he wondered if the kitten stone had really been meant for Declan instead. It made total sense. His brother had no combat skills, no strength attributes. He was skinny as a rake, weak as a… Yeah. It fitted alright.

Mal felt around for the loose knot of wood under his bed, then retrieved the kitten stone from his shoe and sealed it into the hole. He certainly wouldn’t be wearing the thing next to his skin. Imagine if he triggered it by accident! No, the only hope was to try and sell the offending stone at the finders’ market. Maybe he could use the coin to buy something better. He shivered into his pants and made for the door. He had a little visit to pay before he headed to the menagerie. Just because he’d chosen a stone didn’t mean he had to stop chasing down opportunities for more.

Outside, only a narrow crack of grey light said it was morning. Mal’s breath steamed in the cold air. Assmodeus left off his grazing and trotted out of the shadows, a distinctly optimistic look in his rheumy eyes.

“You nearly got me shot last night, you daft ass. Never mind nuzzling for snacks. If you’d woken Mona up, she’d have our Dec baking donkey pie by now!” He tossed Assy a handful of peelings and jumped his way across the wet grass.

Part of him still couldn’t believe he was headed to the menagerie. There he’d be surrounded by equipment and books that would put his pocket dictionary to shame. Not to mention all those wordsmiths. They’d need to make sure at least some of their new stone holders triggered before the archive hunt began.

Mal ran through a series of jumps as he went – jump up, jump high, star jump, tuck jump, straddle jump….. Long jump, short jump, big jump, little jump, even littler jump. People said a new stone holder couldn’t miss triggering their skill, but he flicked his scroll down every few seconds just to be on the safe side. Nothing! No matter, he shouldn’t expect miracles. Last year, Half-Job-Bob still hadn’t triggered his skill long after the archive hunt was over and done with. Imagine if Mal managed to trigger before his sponsor even introduced him to the other new stone holders.

Sideways jump, straight leg jump, one leg jump.

“What the hell?” Todd stepped out from the shadows. “Is there something up with you?”

“I wish there was.” Malcolm grinned then tensed. Too much information. Todd and secrets were like Benson’s bull and a herd of heifers. He could smell ‘em a mile off.

Todd leaned against the streetlamp and held out a hand. The dark rings around his eyes stood out stark against his red hair and too pale skin. He must have worked straight through the night again. Malcolm didn’t know what stone skills Todd had, but whatever they were, they’d earned him enough coin to support his whole family since his dad had to give up work. Todd’s da’ used to be the best pennyweighter on all the islands. None of the fancy shopkeepers ever worked out how he did it. These days, it was down to Todd to keep the family going, as well as paying for a top doctor from Neah whenever his da’s hollow legs played up.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Mal had tailed Todd more than a few times, and as far as he could tell, most of Todd’s jobs involved him standing on his own in the dark outside the well-to-do houses, but he wasn’t a thief, and he wasn’t a guard. Malcolm had tested out both theories extensively. Whatever Todd did, one of the fringe benefits was that he knew more about what went on in town than anyone else.

“I can’t pay right now,” said Malcolm. “I’ve got nothing, but I will have tomorrow,”

“Pity that. Tomorrow’s too late.” Todd’s eyes took on a calculating look out of place with the casual manner – his bring out your secrets stare. Malcolm knew it well, and this time, he wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t even sure it was a skill, but somehow, whenever Todd brought out that look, Mal ended up spilling. Well, this time he wasn’t going to break. Todd yawned and pushed himself off the post. “If you want to know about the thing before the thing happens, then you’ll have to tell me what word you got at the choosing and that’s my final off-”

“Up,” said Malcolm. “I chose up.”

“Three o’clock on west bank dunes – grey with an egg,” said Todd. “You’ll want to be there.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Don’t forget to let us know what skill you trigger an’ all. You know, keep me up to speed.” He winked and strolled back into the shadows, humming softly. Malcolm gritted his teeth. He didn’t know how the boy did it, but he resolved to stay well out Todd’s way until he did. At least guessing his spell wouldn’t be easy. Jump up fast. Jump up even faster.

***

Magic leather is safe. Magic leather does not snap. Magic leather is safe. Magic leather does not snap. Malcolm resisted the urge to check his stone again and stared up at the tall, gilded gates. It still hadn’t sunk in. He was at the menagerie. He was standing in the place real magical creatures called home, the place where the monstrous greys met their grisly end. Finally, after so many years of wishing and hoping, he could walk straight into the menagerie like he belon-

“Halt!” An outstretched arm knocked him out of his reverie.

“What the?” Mal peered up into the familiar face and broke into a grin. “Alright there, Roly!”

Roland Rowland’s family yard backed on to Assy’s paddock. Roly had chosen his stone two years ago. The skill he triggered led him to the guards - the perfect career path for the boy who’d spent his whole childhood playing jailer in games of Capture the Flag. Malcolm winked. “How’s it going, mate?”

“You must slate your givenful name and its business in there,” snapped Roland. He blinked. The confident expression wavered. His eyes grew round. “No, not in there. That’s not it. It’s in here. In here what’s business?” No, that didn’t sound right either.

“Roly. It’s me, Mal! Dec’s brother. You know who I am! I saw you this morning! You were on your way to the privy! You waved!”

Roland ran a finger under his ill-fitting collar and gave a strangled cough. There hadn’t even been an official visitor’s greeting till that damn archivist and his hangers on had stepped foot off the boat. Blakey had said something about the chief archivist weren’t very happy with the level of security on the island, said Feor was fouling their own nest egg.

“That’s not what you’re s’posed to say!” Roland tapped the piece of card that Mr Blake had written the words on for him. There was nothing on the card about waving or pri… “You haven’t said it proper. It’s..” He stared at the card. All this pressure made the words hard to read, letters jiggling about all over the show. “You need to say it here where we are now your name and your business in it.” He threw Malcolm a desperate look and gulped, white-faced. His eyes darted to the sentry box. Malcolm followed his gaze.

“Malcolm, my name’s Malcolm Hob and I’m here by request of Zippo the healer. She told me to report to the menagerie at eight o’clock sharp.” He paused. “Mr Rowland, Sir.”

Relief flooded the young guardsman’s face. He sagged. “That’s very good, er, str -straight ahead, then. Off you go with you.”

Malcolm turned and walked away in the direction of Roland’s trembling arm. Halfway down the path, he could still feel the weight of the dead-eyed stare from the archivist in the sentry box.