Tris's Book

"Moonstream." Briar tried not to sound smug. "The slate in this basket is for her."

"Then you only need to carry the slate, not the whole basket." The dedicate returned the token, but kept her hand out. The two passed over their baskets, and ordered Little Bear to sit. To their surprise, he obeyed, thumping his tail in the dirt. "She's right over the gate," the woman told them. "Behave yourselves." She bent down to give the dog's rump a scratch.

Reaching the steps, Tris growled, lifted her skirts, and began to climb.

"Now what's the matter?" demanded Briar, following her.

"I've been climbing a lot of stairs lately," she snapped breathlessly. "I'm starting to hate it."

"Maybe they'd go easier if you didn't climb like you hated them," he remarked. "Those flap-rags of yours don't help, either."

"Those what?" she gasped.

"Flap-rags. Skirts and underskirts. Swap them for breeches, like Daja."

Tris halted. Turning, she glared at him. "Breeches? Like some, some street rat, or busker, or, or a Trader? I come from a decent family, I'll have you know, and decent females wear skirts! And petticoats!" With a final glare, she whirled and finished the climb to the top.

"Once a merchant, always a merchant," Briar muttered. The world was truly a marvellous place, when a girl as smart as Tris Chandler clung to the very clothes that made her hot and cranky.

Moonstream and Niko were talking to a lean, red-headed dedicate in crimson. The two friends only glanced at the people they had come to find. Before them, visible at last, a pirate fleet lay in the cove. Like the fleet that Daja had described, galleys with two banks of oars alternated with single bank galleys in the row closest to the land. Other ships lay behind them. Briar tried to do a rapid count, without success. The ships' images doubled and tripled and wavered before him, all lit by the silver glint of magic.

"No children allowed," a rough, high voice informed them. Strong, thin hands gripped Briar and Tris by the shoulder. The speaker was the red-headed man who'd been talking to Moonstream and Niko. Both looked up. It was a long way to look: he was over six feet tall. His short-cropped red hair stood at all angles, as if he often ran impatient fingers through it. His skin was weathered, his nose a thin, sharp blade. Tucked securely behind a neatly trimmed red beard, his mouth tossed out words as barks. His eyes were his only attractive feature, a deep shade of blue that drew the eyes of anyone near him, whether they wanted to be drawn or not. His habit sported the black border of an initiate, or temple mage. The embroidered gold circle on his robe over the heart meant he was the First Dedicate - the head - of the Fire temple.

"Things might get rough here," he told them now. "The guards shouldn't have let you up."

Briar held up the glass token and the slate. "We have this for Moonstream," he said firmly. "It's important. Honest."

"And I came for Niko," Tris said. Somehow she tore herself away from the Fire dedicate's gaze and out of his hold, to walk over to her teacher.

"She's with me," Briar said, half-apologetically, to the man.

"I guessed that. And I know who are are: Briar Moss. The gardening mage-boy. I've heard about you and your house-mates. Been setting the Circle by the ears." He steered the boy towards Moonstream. "That's the weather-witch, Trisana Chandler. She knew we had a problem last night, didn't she? Nice bit of spotting. Smart girl, is she?"

"She does all right, for a skirt," Briar said, with a hooked smile.

By then they had reached Moonstream. "I notice you said that while Tris is talking to Niko and can't hear," she remarked, taking the slate. "By the way, this is First Dedicate Skyfire."

Briar shook hands with the lanky redhead, awed in spite of himself. They shared a homeland, Sotat. Five years before, Skyfire had been a legend as a general. On the death of his wife, he had given up his lands and armies, and taken his vows to the gods of Fire. As First Dedicate of that temple, he was in charge of Winding Circle's defence.

"I'm glad Lark and Rosethorn thought to send me this information on what's in the harbour," Moonstream said at last. She handed the slate to Skyfire. "I know the Duke will pass it on, but the sooner we get it, the better, for some things."

Briar noticed that pinched lines had appeared around Moonstream's plum-coloured lips. What harm could come to them, with Skyfire running the game? the boy wondered.

"Niko, I'm telling you, it was the exact same smell," Tris repeated anxiously. "I don't make mistakes about smells. It's the same as the one on Bit Island."

"I believe you, my dear." Niko looked worn and anxious. "What it means..." He gazed at the sea, combing his moustache with his fingertips.

Tris waited a moment, but not more - her curiosity was killing her. "How many ships are here?" she asked. "This is a different group from what's in front of the harbour, right? How many?"

"I can't tell," he replied. Seeing her frown, he added, "Like you, I can see they hide their numbers with illusions. But they're craven, these pirates. They hide behind layers of spells, done by at least a dozen mages. I don't yet have the key to all those spells, so I'm as baffled as you. No fewer than six dromons, I'm afraid, and ten plain galleys."

"The Duke's Navy will drive them off, won't they?" she asked, shading her eyes as she squinted out to sea. Something was taking place on two or three of the big galleys - dromons - two banks of oars, she told herself, fixing the word in her memory. Illusion spells rippled over them like waves of heat, making it impossible to see anything but the closest ships clearly.