Chapter 1

Thaumaturgic Square was a square in name only, Kit knew.  She’d been in the real squares – Alaric’s Square, Timekeeper’s Square, the square before the Blue Palace.  Huge spaces, though she had never seen them empty to judge; they were inevitably crowded with gentlemen and pickpockets, carts and horses, elegant ladies and the whores who aped them.  No mages, though.  The grays made sure of that.  Any mage without a written order from the court was liable to be arrested, but few of the grays bothered with that.  They would simply drag the man back to Thaumaturgic Square, to brood amid towering piles of spellbooks until his services were required.

Hence, why Kit was on her way there now.

She had skated atop the thick stone walls of the Square for the past day, looking for the best way inside.  Corner to corner, right angle to right angle, she had raced around the whole thing more times than she could count, but hadn’t yet dared to go inside.  Ordinary books fetched a decent price on the Baywalk, but in the dark alleys of Regent’s Mews hooded buyers would pay fabulous sums for spellbooks.  Just last week Kit spied an ancient graybeard slip 10 glinting coins to one merchant for a single yellowed page.  

10 gold coins. A fortune.  She scanned the rooftops with hungry eyes.  All she needed was a way inside.

Kit dashed along the wall, keeping as low as she could.  She avoided the mages’ market space; even mages might be surprised at a girl suddenly appearing in the midst of a crowd.  Besides, she had watched them long enough to know that they never sold their books out in the open.  Some of them had to keep them in their homes, but Kit had never seen one carried in or out.  The city might have had a lovely huge library (though only courtiers were allowed inside), but here in the Square the mages apparently kept their books as secret as the information inside them.

She was hiding behind the tall Clocktower, kneeling down to peer over the wall’s edge, when she almost laughed aloud.  Some fool had left a window on a low floor of the Clocktower open, without a curtain or bars.  True, it was a hot summer in the city, but even a mage should have known better than that.  Best of all, she could see at least one book on a table through the opening.  Her grin swallowed her whole face.

Light as a dancer, Kit leapt off the wall and landed on her feet, a spectacular cloud of dust temporarily shrouding her appearance.  She glanced up briefly to ensure no one had seen her, but she needn’t have worried; the dark space around the Clocktower was completely deserted.  Soon, cloaked in the shadow of the great tower, Kit was invisible.

Compared to other thefts she had pulled, this one proved ludicrously easy.  The uneven stone which formed the outer layer of the Clocktower made a perfect wall for climbing, and within a minute Kit had ascended to the open window.  Gripping the wall with one hand, she edged her other arm over to the window ledge.  Her fingers crawled along the edge silently, Kit waiting for a sharp-eyed guard to notice.  Satisfied that no one had yet seen her, Kit held onto the ledge and pulled herself toward the opening.  She peeked inside–but saw only an empty room.  

Kit ducked her head quickly, just in case anyone saw her.  After a moment she peeked again, but the room was as empty as before.  Her third time, Kit kept her whole head in the opening, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.  No man – not even a mage – could be so stupid as to leave his window open and the room deserted.  She even stuck her hand through the opening, waiting to see if someone would try to grab her (knowing if they did, she’d whip her knife out and stab the hand, then drop herself to the ground and be invisible again).  Still nothing.  Gripping the wall, she smacked the inside of the room three times, then jerked it back. If there were anyone watching, he’d have to come to the window now ... but after a full minute (counting each second deliberately and silently), Kit found herself still alone.

Uncertain, but satisfied that the room was well and truly empty, she slipped inside, landing without the barest hint of a sound on the smooth carpeted floor.

At once Kit found herself in another world.  The air was pungent with a spicy incense, so strong Kit sneezed despite herself.  Strange instruments crowded the tables, gleaming silver and gold, some spinning or stirring themselves, some emitting a strange blue-gray smoke.  A few glass instruments boiled with curiously colored liquids – purples, golds, one clear but crystalline.  Despite the heat outside, a fire roared in the hearth.  Blue flames, Kit noted, the same as the ones beneath the glass tubes and the ones that burned night and day outside the Mage's Tower of the Blue Palace.  Magic flames.

She scanned the room warily, green eyes darting about its every surface.  Someone has to have been in here recently to leave all this out, she reasoned; if he hadn't left a guard, he couldn't be gone long.  Without wasting a moment, Kit dashed over to the table where the book lay waiting, yawning open as though begging some kind soul to read it.  Carefully she picked it up, pleasantly surprised at how heavy it was.  That would make escape more difficult, but also make it that much more tempting to buyers.  She flipped it over to the front, tracing its scaly burgundy binding with her calloused fingers.  The front – what she guessed was the front, though with mages you could never tell when they would feel like writing backward – had an embossed gold title, though she couldn’t read it.  Runes.  No one but mages read runes anymore, though every declaration of the court was also written in runes for form’s sake.  She held the book close to her nose and smelled it – leathery, with the acrid smell of the incense clinging to it.  That would help it sell, too.  Ancient and exotic always sold well, never more so than together.

As Kit weighed it in her hands, however, a frown flickered across her face.  There was no way she would be able to scale the wall with the book under her arm, and it would never fit in her pack.  She would have to settle for a page.  A page was almost as good as a book – if she could find the right page.  She dropped onto the carpeted floor – taking a precious second to enjoy a comfortable seat for once – laid the book across her thin crossed legs and cracked it open.

More gibberish, she snorted.  The book’s text appeared to be written entirely in a flowy type of runes barely recognizable as runes at all.  It was definitely mystical, though, or at least looked the part, Kit noted with satisfaction.  Nearly every page was adorned with strange symbols: concentric circles ringed with moons and flames, beasts with lashing tongues and forked tails, many-pointed stars inside huge golden triangles.  Death’s heads grinned morbidly at her, while a skeleton held up a bleeding heart and looked up at her for approval.

She had gotten perhaps a third of the way through the book (and a vividly colored picture of an eagle clutching an enormous snake in its talons, the serpent’s fangs dripping purple venom) when she heard footsteps just beyond the door.  Her head snapped up from the book, her heart suddenly racing. She flipped the pages blindly, landed on the skeleton shooting the heart, and with one swift motion ripped the wafer-thin page from its binding, folding it carefully under her shirt. Snapping the book shut and pushing it under the table, Kit hopped to her feet and spun back toward the wall … only to discover that the welcomingly open window which had beckoned her in not so long ago had apparently disappeared.

A thousand curses flew through her head, but only one came out through her gritted teeth: “Fuck!”

Kit ran toward the warm brick, shoving herself against the solid wall.  Frantically she pressed her open palms against the bricks, deft fingers searching for any trick lock.  Falling to the ground, Kit dug at the carpet, desperately looking for a trapdoor.  She found nothing.   In frustration she smacked the blunt side of her fist against the wall, but the pockmarked surface remained just as implacable as ever (in addition to her hand now hurting quite a bit).

Suddenly, Kit was slammed against the wall.

She didn't have time to gasp; the assault had knocked the breath out of her.  Before she knew what was happening, her arms were twisted painfully behind her, pinned to her shirt by the same force that held her tight against the rough brick.  

"Who sent you here?" a voice screeched behind her.

Kit's mouth pressed against the pockmarked brick in a close kiss; whatever was keeping pressed against the wall was also not letting her take more than a tiny gasp of air.  "Nobody," she muffled, fingers helplessly grasping at the dagger at her belt.

A sharp whistle pierced the air – so loud Kit raised her shoulders, as though to cover her ears – and a moment later Kit saw a dagger – her dagger – hurl itself against the brick  It grazed her cheek – she could taste the blood a few moments later, mixing with the faintly smoky and metallic taste of the brick – before hitting the wall and dropping harmlessly to the floor.

"Who sent you here?" the voice screamed again, as shrill and unpleasant as the whistle moments before.  “Maric? Pairic?”

"Nobody!" Kit managed as loud as she possibly could, her voice still half-buried in the wall. .

Another whistle – not as loud, not enough to make Kit envy the deaf – and Kit found herself turning away from the wall in a semicircle.  There was no way to resist it; the same weight that had kept her pinned to the wall now shoved her, inch by inch, until she was face to face with her attacker.

He was tall, she noticed immediately, taller than any man she had ever seen.  Not thin, though; he was wearing blue mage's robes, but she could see the muscled form underneath them, the huge hands that looked like they belonged in a Mews butchery rather than a mage's home.  His hair was black and wildly unkempt, graying at his temples, like a cap of static black fire.  The mage's face was a vast web of wrinkles, scars, and burns, each one gruesomely illuminated in the light of the blazing fire.  He was not handsome, even by Kit's low standards, and the carnivorous way he scowled at her made him somehow even uglier.

The mage pointed a white wand, as twisted and ugly as he was, directly at her.  "Hands in the air."

Her arms were free now, but she didn’t dare try to grab her dagger.  He had already attacked her once; Kit didn't doubt he'd do it again.  Never taking her eyes off him, she raised both hands above her head.  

"Empty your pockets," he growled.

Kit furrowed her brow, frowned.  "How am I supposed to do that when my hands are in the air?"

The mage gave a short, very loud whistle, and blue sparks burst from his wand, followed shortly by an explosion near her head.  Kit gave an involuntary scream.  Embers fell onto her tan arms – she could smell the hair there burning – and she quickly breathed on them to put them out.  

"Empty your fucking pockets," he repeated.

Kit hesitated for a moment, fingertips just barely trembling.  Then, very slowly, she lowered her hands, keeping her palms wide open, and reached down to her pockets.  There was not much to be had: the sharp end of a corkscrew, a thin iron circle with a sharp edge, and a single silver coin.  She dropped them all carefully to the floor, her eyes still fixed on the end of the mage's wand.

As soon as he saw the dull glint of the coin, the mage snatched it off the carpet.  He peered at one suspiciously.  "Where'd you get this?"

"I stole it,” she replied, with a roll of her eyes.

The mage raised one eyebrow at her.  He rolled the coin between his thumb and finger, twisted it, then bit down on it. Kit watched him, mouth slightly open in confusion, as he held it between his teeth for a while, eyes focused in what appeared to be deep concentration.

"Pickpocket?" he asked, spitting out the word.

Kit gave a noncommittal shrug.  

"Tasted that way," he answered, sticking out his tongue in disgust.  The mage threw the coin carelessly back onto the pile, then held his wand up to his lips, eyes locked on Kit.  "But what'd you take here?"

Kit debated lying, but she decided against further tempting of a clearly insane person with a wand.  She reached two fingers under her shirt and produced the folded page, holding it as far away from her body as possible.

The mage whistled again, and the sheet started wriggling out of Kit's loose grasp.  She jerked her arm back at the strange sensation of the paper struggling to free itself.  In a moment the page began flapping unsteadily toward the mage, landing somewhat smoothly on the table beside him.  The mage waited until the paper had grown still, then picked it up with both hands and unfolded it gently.  He looked at it briefly, then glanced up at Kit with a supremely uncomfortable mix of incredulousness and distrust.

"Who paid you to get this?" he demanded, holding it at two corners.

"Nobody. Yet," she added sullenly.

His eyebrow raised again.  "You tried to steal from a mage on the hope someone would pay you?"

"Yes?" Kit replied, with some hesitation.

"Do you have any idea how much this is even worth?"  His tone had lost all its anger; it was even a little pitying.  

"I-" Kit started, before realizing she had no answer.  It was worth however much someone would pay for it, obviously, but she suspected if she said that he'd mock her even more. She crossed her arms, shut her mouth, and snorted.

The mage waited for her to reply, arms folded, both brows raised.  When she didn't, he rolled his eyes, gave a very short whistle, and the page crawled its way back into the re-opened book.  He watched it until the page fit itself back into its place, then turned back to Kit.  

"Well, all's well – something something,” he commented, calmer now.  “Now if you'd back all the way against that wall-"

"Why?" Kit interrupted.

"Well, it'll make less of a mess on the carpet if I kill you there."

"What?" Kit squealed.

"Well, I can't exactly let you go now that you've seen all this," he answered, motioning around the room with his wand.  "Granted, you're not exactly genius-level threat, but-"

"Hey!"

"Oh, the world's not going to miss another pickpocket, and a mediocre one at that."  He pointed the wand directly at her.  "I'd send your – things – to your next of kin, but-" he shrugged – "probably couldn't find them anyway."

Kit glanced at the mage, then at the open door behind him, and took off.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2