First, she discovered that Chime did not want to be left behind, which meant Tris had to don the sling and settle the glass dragon. Then she went downstairs. As she’d hoped, Ferouze was awake. The old woman kept the same hours as the yaskedasi. “I’d like to go for a walk,” Tris explained. “Would you watch Glaki until I come back? She’s asleep in Yali’s room.”
“She pays no rent for it,” Ferouze grumbled through her handful of remaining teeth. “And I’m no children’s maid.”
Tris got two copper five-bik pieces out of her purse. “One of these to watch Glaki, one to pay a week’s rent, and don’t tell me Yali paid more than that. Will you do it?”
“I’ll do it.” Ferouze reached greedily for the money.
Tris held up a finger in warning, then stroked a thin braid with her free hand. Sparks of lightning jumped on to the copper coins. She loved copper: it held lightning for hours. “When I come back, I’ll take the sparks off these,” she said, placing them on Ferouze’s table. “I wouldn’t do that,” she added as the woman grabbed for the coins.
“Ouch!” Ferouze sucked on her stinging fingers. “That hurt!”
“I know,” Tris replied. “Better hope that I remember to take the spell off when I get back. Of course, I’ll find you up where Glaki is, won’t I?”
“You dhaski are hard folk,” grumbled Ferouze as she followed Tris into the passage. “Your mother would be ashamed.”
“I’ll tell her you said so,” Tris promised, turning on to Chamberpot Alley.
Khapik was as fascinating as ever to both Tris and to Chime. Together they went down alleys and through streets designed to tempt the coldest heart, up to rooftop gardens and down to sunken open theatres where dancers, jugglers and fire-eaters entertained the public. She passed rough taverns overflowing with drunkards and select wine shops where people sipped and talked about vintage and palate. Her breezes sought her out wherever she went, carrying snippets of conversations, including some that made her blush.
“They say you’ll get an education down here.” she confided to Chime. “They just don’t say if you’ll like what you learn.”
Only once did she encounter a problem, on a street off Willow Lane. A man drew a knife when he saw her, showing bad teeth in a nasty grin. “Just the purse, girl. I’m doing you a favour here, teaching you about walking dark streets alone.” He came so close to her that Tris could smell his breath. She moved back a step before he grabbed her by the arm.
Tris tried to yank away. “What if I don’t want the favour?” she asked coldly, trying to decide how she would punish him. She felt Chime clamber on to her shoulder.
“That’s life, Dimples,” the robber said, fumbling for Tris’s purse. He was on the girl’s far side, in the light. Tris’s right shoulder, and the dragon, were in shadow.
Chime pulled herself on to Tris’s braids, leaned forward, and spat a handful of needles into the man’s cheek. The robber yelped, released Tris, and backed away, pulling the sharp bits of glass from his face. His fingers bled as the needles cut them.
“Maybe I’d better call for an arurim,” Tris remarked, though it seemed to her that Chime had punished the man enough. “Men like you are probably terrible for business.”
“Mage!” croaked the robber. He turned and fled into the darkness, still trying to pull bits of glass from his skin.
“I don’t have dimples!” Tris called after him. She sighed and walked down a broader street. “That was well done,” she praised Chime. “I’m impressed by your aim.”
The glass dragon butted her head against Tris’s ear. A breeze circled around them, carrying the voice of someone who yawned and said, “I’m done for the evening, Nerit.”
Tris caught herself yawning. “Sounds like a good idea,” she murmured, and returned to Chamberpot Alley.
When they arrived at Touchstone Glass in the morning, Dema was there, waiting for them. Keth halted in the courtyard, fists clenched. Get it over with, he told himself, and asked Dema, “Who, and where?”
Dema’s face was covered with sweat. He wiped it on his stole. “Stenatia, a courtyard yaskeasi from Swansdown House. He left her on the steps of the Hall of Records on the Keeper’s Road.”
“A courtyard…?” Tris asked, not sure what that meant.
“From one of the entertainment houses. Yaskedasi there are a cut above those who perform on the street,” explained Keth. “Their customers pay just to get