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In the Leaves Lynn Viehl

Sally Ryan closed the tank feed valve and watched the last of the steam rise from the warmer. "I think me mum gave it to me. Da can't do it, you know." The man standing beside her said nothing, but he wasn't much of a talker. "He don't really believe I can do it," she added as she crouched to latch the cart bins. "You ask me Da about it, and he'll say it's just dumb luck. Get to know your regulars, chat 'em up a bit, then make a guess, that's all. Anyone could do it, says him. But he ain't like us, is he?" "No." He stopped watching the windows of the building across the street and regarded her. "He's not." Sally nodded. "Course I never told Da all of what I can do. Raising a baby gel on his own right scary enough, innit? And him still mourning Mum after the red fever took her. No, even back then I knew I couldn't tell Da." She finished closing her cart by padlocking the wheels to the lamp post, and then braced a hand against it in order to stand. Her legs felt strange, as if her knees had turned to pudding. "Shouldn't have told you, I think." "You had to trust someone." He bent over to help her up. "There are worse than me."

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"It's not that." She liked him for treating her like some grand lady instead of a common cartlass, but he didn't know yet. When he did, when she told him, he might put a blade to her throat. "I'll tell you everything. I'll show you, too, but you have to promise me first. Promise to help me stop him. That's my price, and once you say yeah you can't go back on your word." His hand tightened on her arm. "Sally—" "If you do," she said, not letting him finish, "he'll kill us all." # Sally's Da never wanted her on the cart. She'd been his lass at the counter since she'd grown tall enough to see over it, and in the shop she was safe. Safe wasn't enough for her. Not nearly. Their goods brought in decent trade — the only other baker in their section of town turned out mostly wedding cakes and fancy pastries for rich merchants and city nobs — but they never made enough coin to get ahead and put some aside. Without savings Sally's charms were all she had to offer, and no one but a loon married a shop gel for love. She knew by law her brothers would inherit the shop someday, and she didn't resent that, but they'd need what they bring in for their families. If she didn't earn more she'd be working for her Da until she turned a spinster. Once he went she'd become a burden on her brothers forever. The cart had belonged to her Mum; before they courted Sally's Da had been one of her regulars. To hear him tell it her mother made the hottest,

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sweetest morning brew in all of Rumsen. After she died he'd stowed the cart with the rest of her things in the bakery's attic where he wouldn't have to look at them. Once she was decided Sally had to wait until her father made the trip to the mill outside the city for their monthly flour order before she dragged the old cart down from the eaves and gave it a proper scrubbing. Switching out the old coal bin for a keroseel tank took some doing, but her older brother Devan helped. "You sure about this, Sal?" Devan asked while he connected the last pipe. "Won't none of us be there if there's trouble." "Not expecting any," she told him as she gave the hot topper a final buff. "But if there is, I got me whistle, me hatpins and me brain. And who taught me to plant a proper facer? Weren't that you?" "Were me," their younger brother Tim called from the next room where he was racking the loaves to cool, and came up front a moment later to join them. "I showed you how to give nine kinds of a right thrashing while you were still in your nappies. But if you want someone talked to death, now, Devan's your lad." He sniffed and shook his head. "All chatter, always has been." "I showed her plenty," Devan scoffed. "What about when I tried brushing her mop for Da and she kicked me in the stones? Vicious, she was. Still not sure I'll have kids." As Tim snickered, he surveyed the restored cart. "She'll do, and nicely I think, Sal. No one makes carts this sturdy anymore. You'll need a decent patch, though."

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"Got the perfect spot," she assured him as she lifted the topper and placed the cart kettle over the burner. "Old Mrs. Archer told me the cartlass over on Turk and Larkin is moving up to Settle to marry a logger. I put in me permit papers last week. Light her up, Dev, and I'll brew us a pot." By the time their father returned from the mill Sally had used the cart to make up their afternoon tea and warm some day-old buns. Devan and Tim went out back to help unload the heavy sacks of flour, but Sally stood guard by the cart. Her father must have heard the hissing from the steamer, for he left his sons to the wagon and came out to the front of the shop. He stopped in his tracks and jerked his head back a notch as he stared. "What's that sodding thing doing down here?" He saw the tea mug in her hand and threw up his hands. "Blind me now, Jesu, I'm begging." "Naught to worry, Da," Sally said. "The boys and me got it working fine." He glared at her. "I told you, you're not selling in the streets. I won't have my gel peddling buns—" "Mum was a cartlass, and she was your gel," Sally reminded him, and placed the mug in his hands. "Come on, then. Taste." Scowling, he took a gulp. As he swallowed his eyelids drooped and the lines around his mouth eased. "Very nice, my dear." He took another drink and smiled a little. "I wager your Mum, rest her soul, couldn't have brewed better. But this cart business, Sally, it's not easy or safe, not for you."

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"When that tosser came in last month, was I safe?" Before he could answer she added, "You and the boys were off delivering that special order to Berties, yeah? Was I comfy when he come round the counter to grab me, and I coshed him with the rolling pin?" "You did very good that day, love," her father agreed. "But—" "And those lads from the Hill, the sotted ones what caught me coming back from the market last Christmas? There were three of them waiting on me in the alley, Da. You couldn't hear me scream over the mixer, I knew that. So what did I do?" She lifted her wrist and shook it so that her keylace jangled. "You climbed up on some crates and used your whistle to bring the beaters." His shoulders slumped. "I know what you're saying, gel. I've done a wretched job of looking after you, I know it." "No." She took the mug out of his hands and set it aside so she could hug him. "You taught me to be strong and smart. You told me early on about how some men are, and what they do to gels on their own. I'll never be safe anywhere, no woman is, I know that. Cringing and giving up, that's what the tossers and the sots expect from us. It's what really kills us, innit? But long as I can fight I've a chance, and that I got from you. Sweet Mary, Da, you even bought me the whistle." He wrapped his thin arms around her and held her close, muttering into her hair, "Can't lose me little gel. Would end me, Sally." "I'll be careful, Da." She drew back and smiled up at him. "I'll look for trouble before it spots me, I promise."

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"Right, then." He curled an arm around her shoulders and surveyed the cart. "We'd best find your mum's old price slate and work up a list. You'll need wrap papers and sacks as well. You pick a name for her?" "For the cart, you mean?" Sally chuckled. "I didn't know they had names. Or they were gels." "Oh, yeah, all carts are gels, just like ships and carris and kettles." Her father went to the cart and ran a hand along the top handle. "Your mum called her Sally." She frowned. "She named the cart after me?" "No, lass." He gave her a wry look. "You're named for the cart." # In Rumsen the street carters woke some hours before dawn in order to dress and eat and gather their goods to restock their bins; on her first morning out Sally had the extra burden of moving her mother's heavy cart to her new spot. She had just finished latching all the pulls and lids tight when her brothers came out from the back of the bakery. "I'm off," she told them, walking to the front door to prop it open before she returned to the cart, where her brothers began bickering. "I called dibs last night," Tim told Devan as he took off his apron and used it to wipe his floury hands. "Right after pudding, remember?" "Eh, you'll be winded halfway there." Devan nudged him aside and lifted his chin at Sally. "Put your pronny on now, Sis, or you'll forget it."

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"Aye, and fetch that basket of sticky buns on the counter," her father said as he appeared in his second-best jacket and flap cap. "Still warm from the oven. Should draw 'em like flies." Sally surveyed the men. "And just what do you lot think you're doing?" Devan grinned. "Walking you to your new spot, gel, and pushing the cart. Don't want you opening all panting and covered in sweat, do we?" "I'm to be your first buyer." Tim produced a pair of coppers. "What about the shop?" Sally looked around them. "You can't come with me, you've to bake the morning goods and stock the counter shelves and—" Her father held up a hand-lettered sign that read Off on Family Business Come Back Later. "You'd close the shop." The sting of tears made her blink fast to keep them from spilling. "Just to push me cart, and pretend to be me customers?" "Not pretending nothing, gel," Tim assured her. "I'm starved. Those sticky buns cinnamon or orange, Da?" Sally couldn't properly hug all three men at once, but she gave it her best go. "You'll do fine," Devan told her before he kissed her brow. "You always have, Sally Ryan." "Unless you dawdle round here much longer and let all the other cartlasses have your trade," her father warned gruffly. "Go on, now, get your things. We've not all day."

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"Course not." She took her long apron down from the wall hook and tied it over her second-best dress, and then perched her new straw hat atop her curls and stabbed it in place with a gleaming hatpin. "How do I look?" Tim grinned. "Like you're ready for business." Making the trek from the bakery to the corner of Turk and Larkin streets took less time than she expected, thanks to her brothers pushing the cart for her. As they walked her father didn't say much, and when they arrived at her spot his mouth flattened as he scanned the area. "Oy, lad," he called to a boy stacking bundles beside a nearby lamp post. "You got a permit to peddle here?" "Don' need one, sir. I'm a newsy." The lad trotted over and held out one small, ink-darkened palm. "Jimmy Dorrence, at your service." "Howjado, Jim. Henry Ryan, Church Street Bakers." He shook the boy's hand as if he were another grown man and nodded at Sally and her brothers. "Me gel Sally, and her brothers Devan and Tim." "Pleasure." Jimmy ducked his head in their direction. "You'll want to put up your permit right away, Miss; couple tossers ready gots their eye on this patch. Anyone gives you grief, shout for me, I've a sapper and a strong arm. Master Ryan." He nodded to her father before trotting back to his bundles. Sally came to stand beside her father to watch him. "Sweet little chap, he is." "Aye, and I've scabs older." Henry sighed before he turned to her. "He's the right of it, though. First day on the cart will be testy. Thieves'll want to

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pinch off the topper soon as you turn your back, and hawkers'll come round to bully you off. Keep a wide eye and a ready tongue." He took hold of her wrist to check her keylace, and touched her whistle. "They don't shove off, you blow for the beater, yeah?" "You'll hear it over on Church." She hugged him. "Thank you, Da." Henry drew back to survey her, and adjusted the tilt of her hat. "You're the image of your mum. Tim, fire up that tank and Dev, help her set out." Once Sally posted her permit on the front of the cart she primed her hand pots with four different tea blends. As soon as Tim lit the tank she opened the steam dog under the cart kettle to set her water to boiling. From her crockery drawer she took out and lined up the plain white mugs she'd offer customers who hadn't brought their own, and on her goods tray she arranged scones, crumpets and her Da's sticky buns. Her coin drawer she kept locked; she'd deposit what she collected through the narrow slot under the pull. Her last task was to set up the price slate that showed the cost of her goods, carefully lettered in chalk the night before in her best hand. At the bottom she added the sticky buns. "Three coppers," Tim scoffed as he read it over her shoulder. "You trying to fleece your own blood, Sis?" "They're worth it." She thumped him with her elbow before she wrapped up a bun and filled a mug with tea. "Da, you and Dev'll have a brew, too. For luck," she added as he started to shake his head.

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"Wasting all your goods on us," Henry grumbled as he accepted a steaming mug. Tim knocked back his tea between huge bites of the bun and parked the emptied mug in her washbin. "Nobby grand, gel. I'm off to the dry goods, Da." He bussed Sally's cheek before striding off, his cap cocked and his lips whistling. "I'd best go along or he'll buy too much treacle again. A good first day to you, love." Henry gave Sally a quick hug and trudged after his son. As the slowest of the Ryans Dev lingered over his tea and chatted about the sort of trade his sister could expect in this corner of the city. "Lots of clerks and mechants, I expect. There's a militia station one block over, so there'll be redcoats, too." "Bloody saber rattlers." Sally sighed and reached for Tim's mug to wash it. She couldn't help peeking inside it to see the bits of leaves plastered on the bottom. Such ordinary leavings, used tea leaves, but for her they were a bit more than that-Colors exploded behind Sally's eyes and reformed into another place and time. Sounds filled her ears, from kissing and giggling to screaming and gasping. A dear face stared back at her through a mask of blood as his bright eyes slowly emptied of all life. "Sal?" Dev's face swam into view. "You forget something?"

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"No." Bile crawling up her throat, Sally swallowed hard and put down the mug Tim had used and then picked it up again. It took several tries to find her voice. "Little brother's been right sunny lately, you noticed?" "Eh." Dev rolled his shoulders. "Tim's ever a chipper." "More so than ever now." She felt the urge to puke recede. "Probably 'cause he's been sneaking out to see Nan Cheffley." "What?" Her brother's eyes widened. "Chopper Cheffley's daughter?" "Aye. They're sweethearts." Sally worried her lower lip with the edge of her teeth. "Devan, he'll slip out today to see her, while you and Da are on the counter. Tim and Nan've been sneaking about so Chopper don't know nothing about it." Her voice went flat and faraway as she replayed what she had seen in her mind. "Still won't when he catches them in the back room. He'll have his cleaver. He'll not turn on the light or see Tim's face. And he'll think Nan's being hurt." Her brother's expression changed. "You're seeing it again before it happens. The way Mum did." "Yeah. Just like her." Sally plunged the mug in the washbin and dried her fingers on her apron before she met her brother's shocked stare. "On your way back you stop at the butcher's, and you tell Chopper Tim's sweet on his Nan. That they've been together on the sly." Her brother sucked in a breath. "Oy. He'll hang me from a hook." "Not if you're respectful, he won't. He'll bolt his back door, have it out with Nan, and then go round the shop tonight to talk to Da. 'Tween the two of

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them they'll make Tim come calling proper." Sally squeezed her eyes shut to clear the bloody vision from her mind. Dev glanced down at his mug and shuddered before he thrust it into her hands. "See for me, then." "Don't work like that," she lied. "Can't ever when I want, only when I have to. When I'm needed, to stop something real bad." "Like Chopper going at Tim with a cleaver." Dev nodded. "Right. So I'm off to Cheffley's." He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I'll tell Da I heard Tim sneaking out couple days back and followed him. Unless you want me to say it were your warning." "No, you know how Da feels about me and seeing things." She forced a smile. "Thanks, Dev." "You're not Lulabelle," a cross voice said from behind Dev, and Sally looked over his shoulder at the indignant old geezer examining her cart. "She run off to Settle with that logger, then?" "To marry him, she did, sir." She beamed. "I'm Sally from Church Street Bakers. Cup of tea for you, sir?" The old man sniffed. "I suppose, and a nibble." He eyed the basket of sticky buns. "They got nuts, or currants?" # "That morning I didn't let seeing my brother have his head split open worry me much," Sally told the man walking beside her as they walked down Turk Street toward the trolley stop. "I knew it'd be all right after I told Devan

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and he went off. I can feel it in my skin, the bad feelings going, soon as I do something to change what I see. Weren't half an hour before I knew Tim'd be just fine. Like the evil runs away after I've fixed things." He took her arm before they stepped down from the curb. "Never runs far, lass." "Don't I know it." She squinted through the hot orange light of the sunset at the trolley tracks. "But it's not all terrible, you understand. Sometimes I see great and happy times in their leaves. New love, babies, an inheritance, that sort of thing. Once I saw a beater get all his notes paid off for saving a nob's kid what run away and got lost and nearly starved. Think I'd go loony if it were all bad, Mister -- you got a name, then?" "Kellen." It sounded Irish, and he had the matching scrabbled, hard-edged look some of the poorer lads took on after years of thin living. "First or last, Mr. Kellen?" A groove appeared by one side of his mouth. "No Mister. Just Kellen." "Right, then, Kellen." She peered down the street again for the trolley, which would save her having to tell him the rest for a while. When it didn't appear on the tracks she leaned back against a lamp post. "After Tim that morning I didn't look no more. Put me off, it did. And I was busy, what with the new cart and learning my patch. Sides, if I try more'n once straight away I get the head ache fit to kill me." He gave her a shrewd look. "But you did look again."

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"Aye and still do. Can't help it." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I really don't want to, or mean to, Kellen. My eyes, it's like they go on their own. Like when you see something pretty in a shop front that you don't need, or shouldn't buy 'cause it's frippery or dear or meant for a nob. Knowing it's not meant for the likes of you, that's sense. Still, even knowing that, you stare at it and fancy it like mad, don't you?" He caught a curl of dark hair straying from her hat and tucked it behind her ear. "You didn't fancy what you saw after Tim." Sally ducked her head. "Like I said, I tried not to look for a while. Even when I did, weren't much to see. My trade are good people. City folk, ordinary lives, set on their paths, nothing horrible bad ahead for them. I can feel that without peeking at leaves, you know. Everyone gives it off like . . . I don't know, a strangeness. Like there's a part of them no one else notices but me." "A smell you can see," Kellen murmured. "Or a sound you can taste." Her jaw dropped. "You've got the sight, then, too." "Not exactly." He turned his head and nodded at the approaching trolley. "Come on. We've only an hour left." As he went for the trolley stop Sally caught his arm. "But I haven't told you what I saw in his leaves. I can't talk about it on the trolley, neither. People'll hear and think I've gone off." "No worries." He tucked her arm through his. "I already know about the gel." #

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By the end of her first week on the cart Sally knew she'd made the right decision. The old tealass's regulars came round, first to inspect her and her goods, and then to buy a cup or a bun. After that they were hers. Passing trade -- drivers, haulers and service folk who noticed her from the street -- also stopped for a quick sip or bite with gratifying frequency. After two days of selling out before noon Sally added two more teas, four kinds of rolls and a basket of sacked sandwiches that could be nibbled on the go. All wine and roses it wasn't. As the little newsy Jimmy had predicted, some hawkers tried to pester her off her spot. She stood her ground, polite but firm, and when pointing to her permit didn't send them off lifting her whistle to her lips did. Thieves likewise gave her their business, and the first time they nicked from the cart Sally pretended not to see. Most were just hungry kids, after all, and she could spare a bun or two a day. If she saw them strolling back to came at her again, however, she'd uncouple the feed hose from her steamer and hold it ready, steam shooting out of it in a narrow white stream. "Pay for it this time," she'd say as they approached, "or I'll take it out of your hide." Of course the first one tested that, and got a scalded hand for his pains. Word of that got around, too, and the cart snatchers left her alone. Then there were the problems she hadn't expected. Being on the cart meant no loo unless she locked up and went down the street to the nearest city public privy, which like most of the others was usually crowded and often

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filthy. Rather than lose trade and endure the queue and the stink more than once a day Sally went before she left the shop, and never ate or drank on the cart. Small as he was, young Jimmy did a brisk business selling his dailies. He called out the headlines every few minutes, greeted every passerby with a grin and even trotted out to stopped carris to wheedle their drivers. He never bought from her, and from the shabbiness of his coat and shoes Sally guessed he needed every coin he earned. After she locked up for the day she'd take a sack of whatever leftovers she had to him. "No use me taking it back to the shop, lad," she'd told him when he'd first tried to refuse. "Me Da's closing soon, and he won't sell day-old, neither. Proud old thing, he is, got to have everything right out the ovens to the shelf. So if you don't take 'em, they're going in the rubbish." Jimmy opened the sack and his eyes widened as he inspected the halfdozen sandwiches, crumpets and scones inside. "Blind me, Miss, you'd toss all this out? Really? But you and yours could eat them, yeah?" "Can't. Got all the leftover goods at the shop for us." She smiled. "No waste no want, right?" "With six kids, Mum, Da, me gran and me aunt at my house, won't nothing never be wasted on us." His big eyes shimmered for a moment. "'Thank you, Miss. You're finer 'n Father Christmas, you are." If only everyone were as grateful as young Jim. Now and then Sally and her cart would catch the eye of a nob from the Hill, whom she'd expected to

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buy from her the same as city folk, and show fabulous manners while doing it. Unhappily most simply sniffed at her most inviting smiles and kept going. The few blues who did lower themselves to buy from her always held up the line while deciding what they wanted, which apparently took forever, or whined about some favorite of theirs that she wasn't selling (and who in the city sold plum trifle, sugared almonds or blue Cheshire tarts from a cart? Sally wondered.) The nastiest spoke to her like she was in service to them, which she wasn't and never would be. Servants and merchants were not the same, not that the nobs ever noticed. Sally held her tongue, but often she was tempted to mention she was a free citizen running her own business on her very own spot, not some underfed maid slaving from dawn to dusk to please a lot of ungrateful highsteppers for a few pounds and the perpetual terror of possibly losing her place. The nobs also never tipped, not a single copper. Not many came from the Hill to that part of the city, but sent their butlers and footmen and stewards in their place. Their servants bought from Sally, and while most were tight-lipped and stone-faced, they'd get very chatty if they saw some other servant they knew at her cart. "He'll have to bring the boy back now," one tall, iron-haired old thing in blacks told another as they warmed their hands on their mugs. "Her ladyship went home last night."

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"Aye, but the cure gelded him." His younger companion uttered a nasty laugh. "Better for Himself to start over with some young thing. Plenty of those on the market." Instead of taking offense the old butler nodded amicably. "Anyone handsome and desperate?" His friend thought for a moment. "I'd mention Landau's oldest gel. Lovely and obedient, and after her father's losses the creditors are topping the dockets." Sally heard everything, of course, but because she didn't work on the Hill servants paid her no mind. Most of it she didn't understand, and what little she did she ignored. Sometimes she saw things in the servants' leaves, but she never said a word to them. As snobby as their masters, they wouldn't believe her, and some of them might be hateful enough to report her to the police for practicing magic from a trade cart. In Rumsen, anyone who worked as a teller -- the mage art closest to her own gift of sight -- had to train first as an apprentice to a master teller, then undergo the certification trials and join one of the city's magic gilds, and buy all sorts of permits, none of which Sally could afford. At the end of Sally's first week on the cart she sat down with her Da and brothers and emptied all the coin she'd earned onto the kitchen table. The pile was nicely large, and once they'd helped her count it her Da sat back and shook his head.

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"Almost matches what I've brought in this week from the shop," Henry said, eyeing her. "Very nice work, my dear." "This is for what I've taken from the shop." Sally separated enough coin to pay her father back for the cost of the goods she'd sold. When he tried to refuse, she scooped it up. "If you don't take it, I'll give it to Tim." "Hey." Tim perked up. "That would be lovely. In a few months I'd have enough for one of those streak-sided carris--" "Oh, no, my lad. Walking's better for you." Henry took the money from Sally, and asked her, "You don't have to, love, you know that?" "I'll not be a burden on you or the shop any longer." She grinned. "Besides, maybe someday you'll want a streaky of your own." "Aye, that's the dream of my life." Henry tucked away the coins in the kitchen cashsafe, and scooped the rest from the table into a bank bag. "I'll lock this up tonight, then we'll go in the morning to open an account for you." "Gels can't bank anything, Da." Tim made a pained sound as Devan thumped him. "Well, they won't give her an account. She's not married." "As her Da I can open a dowry account for her." Henry grimaced. "Sorry, love, but that's really the only way." Sally chuckled. "That's the whole point of going on the cart, Da. So that someday I have more than my charms to tempt a good husband." "At this rate," Dev predicted as he picked up a handful of coins, "you might land a grand one." #

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Sally had so little trouble on the cart she began to relax and enjoy her new job. Selling from the street was never boring, as there were always new faces to see and lots of traffic bringing more past her spot. Nothing surprised her much, until one early morning when she saw a coach and four emerge from the fog and stop at the corner. While she'd never seen such a grand conveyance in this part of the city, it was the color of the coach and the horses drawing it that made her stare: they were all the same, dismal shade of dark gray. Jimmy, who usually would have trotted out to the coach to offer a daily, came instead to stand beside her. "Oy. We're in for it now." Sally peered until she could just make out the stern profile of the coach's sole occupant. "Why? Who is that?" "'At's His Lordship Dredmore." Jimmy clutched the saints medal hanging from his neck. "He can end you a thousand hundred ways. With a wave of his hand, I heard. Won't never go to prison for it, neither." "What?" Sally glanced down at the boy. "Never say that, Jim. Killing's a hanging crime." "Not for the likes of that one." The boy jerked his chin at the coach. "He's a deathmage." Sally caught her breath as the driver leapt down and opened the door for his master, who emerged with a flourish of his dark cloak. She'd heard whispers of deathmages, the only magical practitioners allowed by law to use magic to kill. "We never had one of them here in Rumsen."

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"We do now," Jimmy muttered, and reached for her hand. "And he's here to stick. Built a grand mansion out on the cliffs, you know. Were in the paper when they finished. Wager he did 'cause no one wanted a deathmage living on the Hill." Lord Dredmore stood tall and impressive, his black eyes searching both ends of the street. For a split second his gaze rested on Sally, and sent a chill through her bones. Before she could shudder he turned and spoke a few words to the driver, and then disappeared into the building behind the coach. "He'll not be wanting tea or a daily, then." Sally patted the newsy's thin shoulder before she straightened her pronny. "So you stay clear of that one, lad." "As a kit in a pup shop." As the boy returned to his spot he kept a wary eye on the deathmage's coach. Sally did the same, although as her early morning regulars came round she became distracted serving them. At the first break in orders she bent down to adjust the flow valve on her kettle, and when she straightened she looked straight into the face of Death Himself. Smiling brightly at Lord Dredmore took every inch of spine Sally possessed. "Cup of tea for you, sir?" His black eyes inspected every inch of her cart. "Have you green?" "Sorry, sir, no." Sally had to choke back a laugh; no one had ever asked her for a Nihon brew. "I've country black, English breakfast, Indian gold, baron grey, chamomile, dandelion and orange. All first-brewed." She rested

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her hand on the handle of her topper basket. "Sticky buns are lovely today, too." Dredmore reached into his cloak, watching her tense before he placed a shilling on her topper. "A double black, plain. Hot." Sally quickly prepared a mug, using twice the amount of leaves and crushing them with her tamper as she filled it from her kettle tap. She'd never made so strong or bitter a brew, which resembled thinned tar. Likely matches his heart, Sally thought as she wiped the rim and handle, and glanced past Dredmore to a glimpse of two of her regulars approaching, stopping and then hurrying away from her cart. On the opposite corner a large, plain-faced man in dark work clothes stood watching the back of the deathmage, and when he caught her gaze he touched the brim of his cap. Her hand shook a little as she held out the brew. "Here you are, sir." Dredmore took the mug from her and turned away, staring at the building across the street as he took a swallow. "You sell at this cart every morning, gel?" "I do, sir." Sally unlocked her coin drawer to make his change. "Here 'til five, every day. Shine or rain." Or killers what drive off my trade. He drained his mug. "Are you well-acquainted with your repeat clientele?" "Well as any cartlass, I reckon." She reached out to offer his change when he turned suddenly and seized her wrist, making her squeak. Then she looked into his eyes and saw something huge and cold and furious. "Sir?"

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"There is a far-seer who comes here," Dredmore said, his tone low and oddly seductive. "He has used his power more than once in this very spot. Where is he?" A strange lethargy stole over Sally. She wanted to correct him, and explain that she was the far-seer, and possibly kiss his hand . . .but that wasn't what he had asked her. "We've no mages 'round here, sir." "I can feel the lingering traces of his power." He tugged on her arm, dragging her against the cart topper's edge. "Tell me what you know of him." "I don't know nothing, sir," Sally said, and released a dreamy sigh. "This is a merchant's quarter. City don't permit magical trade here." "But you do know of whom I speak, don't you?" His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened. "You're spirit-born. You must have recognized him." "Oy, mister." Jimmy piped up, his face pale but determined as he came to her side. "Turn loose the lady. Now, if you please." "Oh, no, Jim," Sally told the boy. The interruption distracted her from Dredmore, but only for a moment. "It's fine. More than ever so fine. He's lovely, isn't he?" Dredmore's upper lip curled as he glanced at the boy, and the sapper Jimmy had clutched in his white-knuckled fist. "Why am I wasting my time with idiot children?" He released Sally and thumped the mug down on the edge of the cart before he stalked off, his dark cloak billowing in his wake.

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Sally watched the deathmage as he climbed into his coach and was driven off. Only when he was out of sight did the dragging need drain out of her, replaced by creeping horror. He bespelled me. I almost told him everything. Shock made her collapse back against the wall, holding onto Jimmy as he hugged her waist. "Sweet Mary." She crouched down and held the newsy by his arms. "Are you daft, Jim? You don't order about a lord, or wave a sap under his nose. 'Specially not that sort." "Don't care who he is, he don't put his hands on you, and he definitely don't cast no spell on you." The newsy's lower lip trembled before he tightened it. "Sodding fiend." "I'm all right now, and he ain't coming back. Go on, then." Sally smiled as the boy trudged back to his spot. She felt something bruising the inside of her fist, and opened her hand to see she still clutched Dredmore's change, so tightly that the edges of the coins had scored her palm. She dropped the coins in her pronny pocket and took out her kerchief to wrap around her bleeding hand before she grabbed the mug Dredmore had used to place it in her washer. As she did, she saw the clump of leaves at the bottom. Sally saw and heard and felt everything that was to come. She could not escape it, not a single horrible moment of it. She saw thousands of her people being slaughtered, their helpless screams tearing through the darkness. Blazing torches illuminated the massacre and the gloating dark faces of the enemy as they butchered everything that breathed. As men and women and

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children died, lights rose from their bodies and swirled up into the air. The killers began dropping their torches on hay bales and inside houses and even inside carris, setting the city to burn. It seemed as if the fires of Hell erupted, enveloping Rumsen from inside and out as it burnt to the ground. Sally was torn away from the city and hurtled to the very top of the Hill, carried along by the lights of the dead to where stood Lord Dredmore. The deathmage smiled as he watched the carnage and destruction, and opened his arms, gathering up the spirit lights and compressing them into a ball of bright, shrieking light before he brought it to his mouth . . . and ate them. Sally screamed. He turned his face toward her, and his eyes filled with blood as he reached for her. You will feed me well, far-seer. Sally didn't feel the mug fall from her hand; she never heard it smash on the pavement. The nightmare of the future stole every ounce of her will and her strength from her, for except death, there was no more future. Her legs quivered and gave out, and she crumpled, not even grabbing for the cart to break her fall. Big, powerful arms caught her and swept her up against a broad chest. "It's all right, gel," a voice as deep as Dredmore's murmured. "I have you." # [Begin 9/25/14]

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As soon as Sally came to her senses, she found herself sitting on the lap of a strange man. He had her cradled against one arm, and was using a dampened kerchief to blot the sweat from her brow and upper lip. She should have screamed for a beater, but she wasn't outside or anywhere she knew. All she could see was a cold fireplace, a dirty window and the arm of the large chair they both occupied. "Where's this?" "My flat." He didn't try to stop her from standing. "You fainted in the street, so I brought you here to recover." Now she could see the narrow rope-bed in the corner, and a long tall crate turned on its end and hung with a rod from which hung some shabby but clean men's garms. She looked down to see her pronny had been removed, but he hadn't torn open her bodice or yanked up her skirts. Under her clothes she didn't feel any different, so he likely hadn't done any serious molesting. She headed for the only door, stopped and then turned round to look at her rescuer. "More like you meant to have some fun while I was senseless, ain't that how it was?" "No." He stood up, and the dim light from a dirty window revealed his features. "I wanted only to talk." "You can do that from there, thank you very much," she said as he took a step toward her. She reached up to grab a pin and found her head bare. "Where's my hat?" "I don't know. Probably on the ground by the cart." Before she could say anything he added, "I saw you serve Lord Lucien Dredmore this morning."

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"Yeah, I did. Him and another twenty blokes." Sally folded her arms. "What of it?" The man muttered something under his breath and asked, "Why you?" He was interested in the deathmage, not her. That didn't convince Sally to confide in him. "He were thirsty, and I'm the only teacartlass on Turk, you dunce." He ignored the goad. "He bespelled you. I saw it. Why?" "How would I know, me being bespelled and all? Now if you'll excuse me, I've a cart to tend." She tried the knob and found it locked. By then the man had come to stand right behind her, close enough for her to feel his body heat, and take in his scent. He did smell nice and clean, but so had the sots from the Hill. "What more do you want?" He tugged gently on one of her curls. "More than this." Sally spun around and knock his hand away, grabbing his lapel in her fist. "Now you listen. I'm not some trollop you can fondle as you please. I'm a tradeswoman, and I'm protected. I've a father and two brothers, and now I know where you live. Should I have them come calling?" "No need for that." He reached past her and slid a key into the lock, turning it and opening the door. "Go on, then. Left to the entry. Your cart is over on the next block north." "Much obliged." Sally didn't look back as she hurried out into the hall and through the entry door out onto the south end of Larkin. It took her only

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another minute to trot back to her cart, where the little newsy was standing guard. "Sally." His pinched face lit up like a rack of church candles. "You're all right. That nobber looked after you proper, then?" "He did." So her rescuer worked on the Hill; that explained his interest in Dredmore. She eyed her cart, which looked exactly as it had before her faint. "Kind of you to look after me goods, Jim, but I think I'll close early today. Why don't you do the same, and take home what's left here for yours, yeah?" "What, all of it?" Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. "'At's most a whole day's worth, Miss. More'n I could earn coin for in three weeks. I can't, it's too much." "I owe you for that business with the deathmage, don't I? And I carry no debts." She held out her hand. "Shake on it, and we're settled." He took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it he pressed an awkward kiss to her knuckles. "You're the truest lady I know, Miss." Sally emptied her coin bin into her reticule before she wrapped up the remaining food and sacked it for the boy. Once she locked up her cart she hailed a carri-cab, which came to a stop at the curb. After she climbed in Sally waved to Jimmy, and leaned forward to speak to the driver. "You drive outside the city, then?" "Far as the farmlands," he said. "Where to, Miss?" "You know that mansion on the cliffs, the one built by that grand mage nob outside the city." When he nodded, she sat back and clutched her heavy

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reticule between white-knuckled hands. "Take me there."