It was a relief to let it move freely. I held out one arm and let it coil around it like a friendly snake. “I can’t control it. Not in any way that matters. I can’t read, and without reading a spellbook, I can’t … you know. It’s more embarrassing than anything.”
“Embarrassing? My dear,” said the Book Man. “I think you may be something entirely new.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be able to do what you did without reciting a spell. But you did.” He held up the book. “I have never heardof such a thing. Affinities will often use a … a skill, or a natural talent, to cast small spells, but for one of this magnitude, a mage would normally require the heft and structure of the written and spoken word.” He reached out to clasp my hand. “My dear, it is best that you keep your abilities hidden, as best you can.”
“Why? What would happen to me?”
He huffed a breath. “It is hard to say, as your circumstances are rather exceptional—coming to your powers as an adult. If you were a member of a powerful family, you could practice as you pleased. Otherwise—some mages with talent are given to the Temple, to be trained there, or are given to a wealthy patron as a private mage. Some are even married off—many nobles seek out magic-skilled partners in an attempt to strengthen their wealth and position at court, and the marriage bond is an excellent way to bind that power to you forever. Of course, some young mages find themselves in less … comfortable circumstances, if they fall into the wrong hands. If people know what you are—what you are capable of—they will seek to use you, as they have done to others. As they did to me.”
“What do you mean?”
He met my eyes, and for a moment I saw the pain beneath his calm exterior. “I wasn’t always the Book Man,” he said. “I’ve made my share of mistakes and had my share of power. But that’s a story for another time.”
Chapter Nine
The Curled Ribbon
‘An exuberant, loose stitch that can provide a needed counterpoint to those that are more formal. There is room for some experimentation and variety with this stitch, giving the seamstress a chance to express some individuality in its use.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
Both Holy and Base, 4th Edition
For Plaguenight, I chose the butter yellow dress that I had purchased on my first day in Quell. It would be eye-catching, but I would be masked, after all, I thought—and something in me longed for color after spending my time in the tea-brown light of the bookshop. Baldbeak was staying behind this time. I knew that a large raven on my shoulder—particularly a large raven that had already evaded capture—would mark me out to anyone who might be searching for me.
Part of me knew that this was a terrible idea. I had just murdered a Temple guard, after all, under what even the most pragmatic of judges would call “mysterious circumstances,” using powerful and dangerous magic that I could neither understand nor control—and which seemed to take possessionof me without any conscious thought on my part. Just because no one had seen me do it didn’t mean I was safe.
But with a mask, with my Hair hidden, with Mieka … I longed to experience Plaguenight, and I thought that for just a couple of hours I would be safe enough. The Book Man had grudgingly agreed, saying that the crowds were so dense on Plaguenight that the king himself could probably pass unnoticed if he hid his face.
I do not like it, Baldbeak said.
“I’m sure the Book Man will let you out for a while if you need some fresh air,” I said, purposely misunderstanding.
He nudged my ear with his beak.That is not what I mean. I do not think you should go alone.
“I’ll be fine.” I stroked his head. “Youstay out of trouble.”
“I’ll take good care of your friend,” said the Book Man. He peered at Baldbeak a little uncertainly. “I have enough biscuits for the evening, I think.”
Baldbeak clicked his beak approvingly.
“Enjoy yourself, my dear,” said the Book Man, and surprised me by stooping and brushing a dry kiss against my cheek. Impulsively, I hugged him around the neck. When I pulled away, he was flustered, but smiling.
“And I have some good news,” he said. “I have heard tell of a bookmaker who may have helped worked on a volume extremely similar to the one you described.”
“Really?” I gasped.
“Yes. He is, er … not a Temple-sanctioned bookmaker, if you take my meaning. He works in the scriptorium at the monastery at Spire.”
“I have to go there,” I said. “I have to go now.”
“My dear,” he said gently. “Take this one night. It will be dark soon. Spire will still be there in the morning. I will do all I can to help you on your way tomorrow. Agreed?”
After a pause, I nodded.
“Now, go and enjoy yourself, my dear.”
