against the guilds, and the King to blame for it all! Now no one knows what is to come, for he does not abdicate, and Princess Tathiel is who knows where, and all must fall upon the shoulders of Governor Kilp and the High Guilds!”
“I see,” said Clariel. “I suppose this is also why Charter Magic is frowned upon now? Because the King is part of the Charter itself?”
“Oh no, magic has been ever so unfashionable for years!” exclaimed Valannie. “It is so tedious to learn, all that time memorizing marks to make spells, and then if you get one wrong, your eyes might bulge out of your head or your hair catch on fire, or something even worse. Best left to those who have the time to waste on learning it all, I say!”
Clariel nodded. Valannie did not have the baptismal Charter mark, so she had no real idea of what she was talking about it, though it was true that Charter Magic could twist against the wielder. But it fitted with what she had seen so far of the city, that if some difficult service could be bought instead of learned, that would be preferred.
“And the Abhorsens?” she asked. “They are seen as allies of the King who has caused such trouble to the city-folk?”
Valannie looked up and shook her head.
“No . . . the Abhorsens rarely come here. I doubt anyone thinks much of their connection with the King. I don’t want to speak ill of your relations, milady, though how your mother, the artist that she is, came to be born from . . . from . . .”
“From what?” asked Clariel curiously. Back in Estwael, though they did not often come up in conversation, the Abhorsens were held in high regard, as past defenders of the Kingdom against the Dead, Free Magic entities, necromancers, and all manner of evils. Not that any of these things were considered current problems, nor likely to be in the future.
Valannie pursed her lips and tucked her chin in, before reluctantly speaking, almost out of the side of her mouth.
“Well, just as Yarlow said in that ballad, they get rid of unwanted things, so they’re really rather like rat-catchers, or even night-rakers—”
“Enough!” snapped Clariel. “That is even more stupid than being too lazy to learn Charter Magic.”
Valannie shrugged angrily. “It is what everyone says, milady.”
“You’d better make sure my mother doesn’t hear it,” said Clariel forcefully. Though even as she said that, she wondered if that was true. Jaciel was estranged from her father, the Abhorsen Tyriel, and the whole clan who lived somewhere to the south in a sprawling house or series of houses collectively called Hillfair. The reason or reasons for that estrangement had never been explained to Clariel. She’d never asked about them, either, and in fact hadn’t ever really thought about it.
Maybe Jaciel felt so badly toward the rest of the Abhorsen family that she wouldn’t mind them being called rat-catchers or night-rakers, the folk who back in Estwael emptied cesspits, but here apparently worked in the great sewers far beneath the city, keeping them working to carry away the vast ordure of so many people in one place . . . Clariel’s nose wrinkled at the very thought of it.
Valannie was saying something about never speaking so in front of Jaciel, but Clariel ignored her, as she was suddenly struck by the question: what had made Jaciel separate herself from her parents? Quite possibly it was exactly the same problem Clariel faced now, that her mother had wanted to be a goldsmith, and her parents hadn’t wanted to let her follow that ambition.
I need to find out, thought Clariel. If I can just get her to understand . . .
Far off in the distance, carried by the sea breeze, the bells on the tower of the Southeast Gate began to sound, ringing out the hour. A few seconds later, like a distant echo, Clariel heard other bells farther into the city follow. She did not know them all at present, but would soon learn their distinctive tones: Grey Tower, Old
“I see,” said Clariel. “I suppose this is also why Charter Magic is frowned upon now? Because the King is part of the Charter itself?”
“Oh no, magic has been ever so unfashionable for years!” exclaimed Valannie. “It is so tedious to learn, all that time memorizing marks to make spells, and then if you get one wrong, your eyes might bulge out of your head or your hair catch on fire, or something even worse. Best left to those who have the time to waste on learning it all, I say!”
Clariel nodded. Valannie did not have the baptismal Charter mark, so she had no real idea of what she was talking about it, though it was true that Charter Magic could twist against the wielder. But it fitted with what she had seen so far of the city, that if some difficult service could be bought instead of learned, that would be preferred.
“And the Abhorsens?” she asked. “They are seen as allies of the King who has caused such trouble to the city-folk?”
Valannie looked up and shook her head.
“No . . . the Abhorsens rarely come here. I doubt anyone thinks much of their connection with the King. I don’t want to speak ill of your relations, milady, though how your mother, the artist that she is, came to be born from . . . from . . .”
“From what?” asked Clariel curiously. Back in Estwael, though they did not often come up in conversation, the Abhorsens were held in high regard, as past defenders of the Kingdom against the Dead, Free Magic entities, necromancers, and all manner of evils. Not that any of these things were considered current problems, nor likely to be in the future.
Valannie pursed her lips and tucked her chin in, before reluctantly speaking, almost out of the side of her mouth.
“Well, just as Yarlow said in that ballad, they get rid of unwanted things, so they’re really rather like rat-catchers, or even night-rakers—”
“Enough!” snapped Clariel. “That is even more stupid than being too lazy to learn Charter Magic.”
Valannie shrugged angrily. “It is what everyone says, milady.”
“You’d better make sure my mother doesn’t hear it,” said Clariel forcefully. Though even as she said that, she wondered if that was true. Jaciel was estranged from her father, the Abhorsen Tyriel, and the whole clan who lived somewhere to the south in a sprawling house or series of houses collectively called Hillfair. The reason or reasons for that estrangement had never been explained to Clariel. She’d never asked about them, either, and in fact hadn’t ever really thought about it.
Maybe Jaciel felt so badly toward the rest of the Abhorsen family that she wouldn’t mind them being called rat-catchers or night-rakers, the folk who back in Estwael emptied cesspits, but here apparently worked in the great sewers far beneath the city, keeping them working to carry away the vast ordure of so many people in one place . . . Clariel’s nose wrinkled at the very thought of it.
Valannie was saying something about never speaking so in front of Jaciel, but Clariel ignored her, as she was suddenly struck by the question: what had made Jaciel separate herself from her parents? Quite possibly it was exactly the same problem Clariel faced now, that her mother had wanted to be a goldsmith, and her parents hadn’t wanted to let her follow that ambition.
I need to find out, thought Clariel. If I can just get her to understand . . .
Far off in the distance, carried by the sea breeze, the bells on the tower of the Southeast Gate began to sound, ringing out the hour. A few seconds later, like a distant echo, Clariel heard other bells farther into the city follow. She did not know them all at present, but would soon learn their distinctive tones: Grey Tower, Old
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