Sunny chill. At sunrise Shay set about her tasks with a gnawing headache. If her hunch was correct, she knew it would be best if the shop opened as usual, lest Serib’s hunters be familiar with this area of Imirka.
‘They had no authority to knock on doors so late and dark, or they would have tried.’ She churned it all over having heard nothing in the night. ‘Just looking around, hoping to find Serib outside?’
Shay woke up the violet and crimson curtains, pulling dusty light across the almost surgically clean shop. The come-go bustle that ensued was nothing unusual. Some souls came in just for the free tea. There were others with similar vices to Shay, and her alchemical mixtures were useful not only for pain-killing. Many wanted spicier soups. So it is in Greed's age leaving Need behind.
∞
Meanwhile, Serib was not a subtle child for Shay to keep hidden in the back of her shop. Reagents were sealed safe in fragile containers away from contaminated air, she thought. Finding them disturbed she sighed and wiped everything back into place. The girl was not bored as you may expect a child to be, opening up the vials and beakers to sniff or stir their ominous contents. It was impatience that followed her; a discontent. Shay knew a ‘Lay’d Payn’ had sent Serib to find her, telling her ‘what, when and who’. This little soul was on a big mission for one of Courtdom’s higher-ups, but it had to wait for now; as does most true subterfuge.
∞
Eventually there was a lull in the busy come-go from the markets and Shay’s shop settled into a calm potter. It seemed about the right occasion to eat, as the boiling fryers outside shook some of her more fragile shelves. Every clear window was locked, and she relied on a loud bell above the entrance to keep her in the loop. She was wearing one of her elaborate disguises, questioned by none of her regulars, serving up some leftover soup for Serib in the back of her shop. A near argument soon ensued:
“Far-bark?” the girl pleaded.
“The smell is too strong, I had to discreetly air out the shop before opening.”
“Why did you let me use it before if I can’t have it now?” Serib frowned.
“I thought you were going to chew it! Never heard of it being crumbled over soup. We need to keep you hidden - and that bark on soup particularly, would alert whoever is looking for you that a soul of Ehl’yiteth, no less, is staying with me.”
There was a threatening and literal spark in Serib’s eyes, a brief lightening or similar magic flashed across her gaze. Shamans are lords of earth, fire, water and wind; some things were beginning to add up for Shay. She took her moment to ask just before another mouthful of soup:
“What’s a young shaman doing here, being chased by Courtdom yet following its orders?”
Serib replied mid slurp:
“Normally, my power startles others.” She tried to blink and shoo the lightning of her eyes away, unsuccessfully.
“I wouldn’t call it power if you can’t control it, yet.”
Serib smiled corrected, and considered more seriously:
“Lay’d Payn can tell you who was murdered, up in High Courtdom.”
∞
“Why would that worry me?” Shay replied flippantly. “Listen, you saw me a burglar last night, but I’m not averse to a contract killing; news of a murder doesn’t startle me. This does happen now and when-then. I know on Ehl’yiteth it may be more concerning. Courtdom is very stable, but it’s natural for…” she looked around her shop for inspiration. “…for some dust to upset the whole potion. Medicine to poison with one slip.”
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“Hmm.” Serib looked over to the grandclock, it must have been twice her height. “She can tell you why the clocks don’t have faces.”
Shay as well turned to face the clock. Her cautious thoughts tended away from daring, from her intrigue, from all she would have done when she was younger and less alone. She shook her head in a helpless sort of way having already made up her mind. Yet even as she spoke she was wary with indecision. Wary of her old-found curiosity. She brushed a spider web from the table and asked:
“Where is she?”
“Entroprison.” Serib chewed.
“The Old Palace? Which wing?”
“Bardenfahl.”
“She’s a Rabid due for execution, then - I’ll have to speak with The Dam’e. She might be able to get us a visit, though when I met you in the night I had just failed an important job for her.”
∞
Serib looked behind Shay towards the clock and Woid’s voice was heard:
“Getting pushed or pincered along a bit, aren’t we? The Dam’e wants to see you.” Leaning against the ever-taller grandclock, he was again dressed for a ball or some other high event. Towards the evening’s end perhaps, having that look - a jacket slung over his shoulder and skin sticky-wet. His eyes winced towards the bright window:
“What’s the sun doing there? I’m sure it was dark outside…”
Serib was very startled having not heard him come in. Shay stood to clear her bowl:
“You’ll have to tone the sneakiness down if we’ve a guest-rest. You’ll frighten her.”
“What kind of a name is Serib, anyway? A tower-lost language, to my ears...” Woid enquired, not without poke and jest, leaning comfortably on the grandclock.
“What kind of a name is Woid?” the girl shrugged with similar intonations helping Woid smirk.
∞
The shop had for a while been empty and Shay swiftly took the opportunity to close early. Early, she thought - though who could tell with the clocks being as they are? All the more so as walking back and forth grabbing this or those she noticed the daylight outside was shifting higher rather than lower, thinking: ‘It will be good to know what’s going on with these clocks.’
She said afterward to Woid as she fabricated another disguise from her waxes and dyes:
“I’m surprised no one came knocking about her.”
“There would have been, but I can be distracting. Tell you later.”
Shay fastened her mask, threw her hood over it and waist-cloak about her leathers. Only her swords remained. She found Serib leering at the weapons almost grimacing:
“I will be taught how to swing a hammer - you can make things and break things with hammers. It’s important for shamans. Not like these, they’re only for murdering.”
Shay took the swords and soon one sat within her waistbelt, the other across her back. Now that it was bright again, Serib could see the harness Shay wore on her torso over her leathers, carrying tricks and tools of her sordid trade.
∞
“I like them.” Shay shrugged. “I’ll teach you, if you have your heart set on a hammer, how to annoy swords like mine. You fine wearing those big clothes? I can get you something proper.”
Serib was distracted swinging around an imaginary hammer, with sparks of small lightning in her eyes.
“You’re fine.” Shay decided.
“Where did you get your swords?” Serib turned around. “Woid doesn’t have any. He’s rubbish.”
Woid was surprised to learn he was rubbish and Shay tried not to laugh:
“One was my mother’s, and the other my father’s.”
“Are they…” Serib slowed down.
“Yes, they are. They got old, that’s all.”
“My master is getting old.” Serib confided. “Lay’d Payn said she can help with that.”
These words were as keys in Shay’s mind. Echo-jingling from a chain in a corridor. Footsteps thudding. A lock clicked. She knelt to the girl, getting her full attention:
“I’d be careful of listening to promises like that. Hear me?”
Serib wouldn’t nod nor heed as she walked off towards the very back of the shop, where the latch down into the tunnels had already been opened by Woid.