I winced a little at the word.
“So few speak of them these days. They are rather frowned upon, I fear … for being ‘trivial.’ Or even dangerous. But I find that, although minor, mine is very useful. The books respond to me, you see.” He patted the book again. “See here, how some of the pages have come loose from the spine. And observe the cover.”
The cover was cloth drawn taut over the boards and had been stitched with a pattern of flowers and vines.
“I haven’t seen one like this before,” I said. Mother had only ever used my stitching for fastening a book together. I had never dreamed that a book could be ornamented like this.
“An embroidered cover is unusual, but not unheard-of.Many wealthy clients like to set it with gems or other objects.” He made a face. “Gaudy. I much prefer this. But as you can see, some threads have come unraveled.”
My mind immediately started filling in the gaps in the pattern. My fingers itched to take up a needle.
“Books like this,” said the Book Man, “are vessels for the spells themselves. Not just the words, but the power of the wordsin potentia, as it were, as they wait to be spoken. Damage to the vessel means damage to the book’s efficacy.”
“And you repair them?” I said, running my hand lightly over the taut fabric.
“Not all can be saved, but I do what I can.” He looked up at me, his eyes owlish behind the strong spectacles. “And perhaps you can help.”
Hesitantly, I sat and pulled his tray of threads and various needles towards me. He had laid out all the colors that were already in the pattern.
As I began stitching, I felt a familiar tickle against the back of my neck. The Hair. At first it was just a faint stirring, as if it were caught in a breeze that did not exist. Then the movement strengthened. A few strands floated upward like water weed caught in a current. My hands faltered. I looked at the Book Man to see his reaction, but his face was unreadable.
“Continue,” he said, then added in a conversational tone, “Did you know, there are ways to bind and focus magic other than words and books? It is not commonly talked about these days, but it is true. I have heard of people using paints, instruments, playing cards. Even needles and thread. Isn’t that interesting?”
I held his gaze for a moment, then let my eyes drop back to the work. It was a simple pattern, easy to follow and easy to repair. I finished my stitching and tied it off. There was a short silence—expectant, or disappointed?
“Lovely,” he said at last. “Yes, I can see that you will be very useful.”
That afternoon, when I had finished the work he had given me, I asked the Book Man if I might visit Mieka, both to tell her that I was staying on with him and collect my pack.
“You don’t need to ask my permission, my dear,” he said. “You may come and go as you please. But let me show you the door. I don’t want you crawling in through the oven again.”
He led Baldbeak and me to the belled bookshop door that opened into the little tunnel. Stairs led up to another door at street level, at the back of the old crematorium.
“You won’t be able to see it easily from outside,” he said. “That’s part of the warding. Look for a brass ring and pull on that.”
“How do you manage to remain so concealed, when customers can come and go?” I asked.
“Extremely expensive spells, my dear. The act of crossing the threshold in either direction triggers one or another of them, depending on who you are. For example, you will be unable to speak about certain things you have seen here once you exit the shop.” He smiled at my expression. “It is nothing that will cause any lasting damage, I promise. Just a precaution.”
Sure enough, when I was outside and turned around to look behind me, I could see nothing of the metal door that sealed the entrance to the tunnel. When I knelt and ran my hand over the bricks, however, I was able to find the brass ring of which he had spoken, and so I felt fairly confident that I would be able to find my way back later.
I felt a little self-conscious in my new clothes as I followed Baldbeak back to Mieka’s workshop. I was surprised and relieved, however, that it helped me to blend in rather than stand out. Looking like a street urchin with Mieka had been one kind of disguise, and this was another. Anyone who lookedat me saw the dress and apron and immediately knew that I was in service of one kind or another. Pickpockets could see that I wasn’t wealthy enough to bother with, and the wealthy dismissed me immediately. I passed largely unnoticed and completely unharassed on my way to the Tin Quarter, except for those who gazed curiously at Baldbeak.
When I arrived at Mieka’s workshop, I heard raised voices. She and Zlata were sitting in the little paved area in front of the building, smoking and arguing. I walked towards them slowly and stopped just out of sight, behind a jutting portion of the neighboring building. I told myself I was loath to interrupt, but really I was curious to hear what Mieka and Zlata spoke of when alone.
“You’re going to get yourself dragged off one of these days, you know that?” Zlata was saying. “The Temple doesn’t need much of an excuse, with your record.”
“They don’t need an excuse at all,” said Mieka. “That’s the problem. That’swhyI do this.”
“You say that every time I ask you to stop,” Zlata snapped back. “Every time you sneak out to your little ‘meetings’ in those creepy tunnels. Every time someone new shows up at the door saying your name like it’s some Plaguing password.”
“If this is about Netta …”
I started at my own name.
“Netta, and all the rest of them who come to you for help. Who aresentto you for help. You should have nothing to do with Ladran. He’s not our friend.”
“He’s not our enemy.”
