After three consecutive tests resulting in no significant increase or decrease of theurgic level, it is considered to have settled and no further testing is necessary. The exception is late-bloomers, who require only two unchanging consecutive tests.

—Corthair's Compendium of Theurgy

3

↝ THE SILVER SERVANT ↜

She always took the alleys. They cut through the thoroughfare and her distance by half. But they were also empty. Walls on either side, bare but for grilled vents lining the gutter, out of which scents and sounds were perpetually discarded into the kitchen backstreets: spices, sizzling oil, the tang of fresh blood ...

Isla searched the narrow path ahead. A discarded crate. A broken vase. She could use the glass, if it came to that.

She quickened her pace, listening for his footsteps behind her.

There it was – a crunch on the gravel, boots scraping sand. Gaining speed, and Isla's heart with it.

The footsteps were paces behind her now, and a larger shadow started to fall over hers. Isla bent to one knee and tightened her sandals.

Now!

She scooped at the ground. Dirt, sand, gravel – horse shit for all she cared – dug into her nails. Isla whirled, rising to her feet, and chucked into the man's eyes.

His curse as she fled was in her native tongue.

Isla dared not look behind. She ran down the alley, turned a corner, squeezed into a tight path between two buildings. There was no way the man could follow. Not with his build.

Still, she did not slow. She snaked through one constricting passage after another, until she was out of breath and gasping against a milliner's wall.

The streets were wider and more densely occupied; carts rolling by, shopkeepers drawing their curtains or turning the sign on their doors. Isla allowed herself a brief moment of respite before continuing, this time following the main roads.

It was raining by the time she came upon Diner's Lane. The coffee house was located close to the northern corner of the street, just before the junction with Weaver's Road. Isla checked all directions, but it was useless. The Eastern Markets were always occupied with people of every shape and colour. Her follower could easily blend with the passing crowd.

Someone pushed past her into the coffee house, Isla hesitantly followed suit.

Noi had set the place the second year they were settled, and it had done well despite a slow start. They were popular with academy students, whom presently occupied the tables. The only exception was an Eastern Islander by the window, where he sat watching the rain.

Isla studied him as she joined Juri at the counter. Unremarkable features with an equally unremarkable shade of brown skin that could belong to anyone from any of the four Eastern Isle nations. But nothing like the man in the alley.

'Though you as good as own this place, it would help a lot more if you served the man rather than ogle him all day.' Juri chucked her a smock, which Isla tied around her neck and waist. 'You're half an hour late as is.'

'I wasn't –' Isla dropped her protest. Juri had already turned towards the shelves, her back to Isla as she rummaged through their jars and pots. 'Noi's ill ... had to care for her before ... I could leave.'

'Oh? It's the weather, isn't it? She never abides the cold.'

Isla poured herself water from a pitcher. 'I think so. Won't be in ... for a while.'

'Good news for us.' Juri winked, balancing a tray onto the counter where she proceeded to fix a hot beverage. 'Ifrit's breath, girl, don't tell me you've run the whole way!'

'Wanted to get here ... before the rain.'

'Well, you failed.'

'Who is he?' Isla nodded furtively towards the man by the window. 'A new face.'

'Handsome, eh? In the ruggedy kind of way?'

'You mean the homeless ... kind of way.' Muddied boots, fraying sleeves ... he had not taken the cleaner streets to get to the coffee house.

'Homeless or no, he's bought his second drink since I opened – and a slice of pandan cake on the side. Better treat him like a king or Noi will have your hide.'

Isla's heart eased a little. He could not have been her pursuer if he had been there since Juri opened. 'She's taking in another waiting girl ... Noi, I mean.'

'Pah. We do well as we are, the three of us.'

'Look at this place. It gets busier every season.'

'All right, but you teach her the grinding and brewing. Noi has someone in mind?'

Isla cleaned her nails with her smock. 'Aldir's referred us to someone in need of work.'

'The mixbreed?' Juri added a biscuit and pushed the arrangement towards Isla. 'He's a charmer. Pity he hasn't been in for a while.'

'Nor will he, if you keep referring to him like a dog.'

'It's a term of endearment.'

'No wonder he isn't very endeared to you.'

'You need to lighten up.' Juri swung an arm around Isla's waist and hugged playfully. 'Sometimes I swear Noi's rubbing off on you. Keep it up and you'll have greys in your hair and start wearing it in a topknot yourself. Now bring this to that gentleman you were ogling. I better raise the awnings before the rain ruins my polished windows—and wash your paws!'

Isla slipped into the kitchen to clean herself, her mind on the man watching the rain. Was he waiting for someone? A kinsman?

When she returned to the counter, Juri had already stepped outside. Cold air blasted through the door; a few girls shrieked, scrambling to pin down their papers. Their cloaks swayed where they draped over their chairs, ribbon-tied hair danced loose.

It will be fine. Isla drew a deep breath as she weaved between tables. You're being ridiculous. Turning into one of those Eling who think all Eastern Islanders must know each other. Besides, no one is foolish enough to try anything with so many people around.

Still, not for the first time in her life, Isla wished she were amongst the academy students herself. With thick books piled next to a strong brew, quill in hand, discussing the merits of one runic inscription or the other – instead of serving strangers and weighing whom may or may not want her jumped in a back alley.

There had been a time Isla begged Noi to let her enlist her theurgy. Not only to avoid being caught on the wrong side of the law, but also since the very idea of attending the academy excited her. Most of the things she managed to learn had been caught over the years through eavesdropping upon the students. That, and Papa's books.

If she only knew enough of her theurgy, she would not fear half as much as she did. She would not need sand or gravel or a broken vase to defend herself. Ifrit's breath, she did not know what her theurgy exactly was, let alone how to use it. The moment in the woods had been the first it had come out like that ...

But any ideas of learning was wishful thinking. There was no way she could bring attention to her theurgy.

'Can I help you?' The Easter Islander's rough voice brought her to attention. His accent was thicker even than Noi's. He was glaring at her, and only then did Isla realise she had been standing transfixed by his table, staring at his chest.

'No, I ... I was just ... your pendant.' She threw the first excuse that reached her mind. Isla served his drink and biscuit, hiding her face. 'It looks familiar. I wondered where I'd seen it.' Had the man in the alley worn one?

The man scowled and pushed the pendant under his coat. 'A common trinket. They have plenty in Jewelsmith Court.' He leafed through the stack of parchment on his table, dismissing her without so much as a nod of appreciation.

Isla walked away. He obviously never had human spit in his beverage before. For the rest of the day she watched him, and if he had been expecting company, they never came. Juri's right. I'm turning into Noi, making a mountain of a molehill.

'Whatever Noi has seems to be catching.' Juri pressed the back of her hand against Isla's forehead. 'You don't look so well. I think you best leave before you infect all our customers.'

'It's only a few hours past the noon bells! I can't leave you on your –'

'Pah. I'll be fine. You know these kids ... order a drink or two and sit there for the rest of the day.'

Once again, Juri was right. Isla did not want to wait until dark before she walked home. She caught the Eastern Islander folding his papers into a satchel and dropping a handful of copper crows onto the table. 'Thank you, Juri. I promise to put in a good word for your next pay appraisal.'

She walked off to the sound of Juri's laughter. When she glanced back from the streets, Juri was already busy clearing tables, and their Eastern Islander was gone. Isla looked but could not find him in the huddle of horse carts and oilskin coats around her.

Molehill or no, she felt exposed. Isla took the busier streets home that day, and she was glad for the knife she had slipped from the counter and into her sleeve.
  

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