better the first time he
encountered a street gang. He'd been rooting through a barrel of halfrotten apples when cutting laughter erupted behind him. A dozen older
boys surrounded him. As a lesson for trespassing on their territory, they
beat him bloody. After that, he learned to avoid them. He snuck like a rat
through the slums with Kit, his only companion.
But if the street toughs were dangerous, the tinmen were worse. The
bully boys only wanted your food and whatever you had hidden in your pocket, and maybe to rough you up a bit. Yet when he was dragged into
a backstreet by two looming guardsmen after stealing a pomegranate
from a vendor's stall, he knew with sinking certainty they wanted more
than to thrash him. While Kit swatted ineffectually at their heads, one
held him fast while the other ripped open the laces of his breeches. He
struggled, but they cuffed him hard across the face, knocking him to the
ground. A white-hot ember of rage burned in the pit of Calm's chest as he
remembered that day, but also a thread of euphoria, for no sooner had the
guards begun pawing at him with their big, clumsy hands than something erupted inside him. At first, he thought he was going to be sick as
the feeling bubbled in his belly. Then, the colors of the waning day faded
before his eyes. As he was turned onto his stomach, a new spectrum of
shades emerged from the bleak drabness of the alley, blacks and grays of
marvelous, vivid tones. While his tears mingled with the dust beneath his
face, something extraordinary happened.
A shadow moved.
He had seen shadows move before, when a cloud passed in front of the
sun or the object casting the shadow shifted, but this shadow stretched
out from under a heap of broken boards like a black tentacle of tar.
Strangely, he wasn't afraid as it oozed toward him, and the guardsmen
were too distracted to notice. One held him down by the shoulders while
the other tugged down his pants. Caim didn't recoil; he wanted to know
what it was, this crawling, amorphous darkness. When it touched his
hand, he yelped as a sensation of burning cold slid over his skin, like dipping his hand into a bucket of ice water. More shadows crawled into the
light, swarming over the alleyway until Caim couldn't see the ground
under his nose. The guardsman holding him down shouted and let up
enough for Caim to wriggle. He kicked and scratched. When a hand
seized his face, he bit down hard until warm, salty blood filled his mouth.
A strangled scream pierced the gloom, and then he was free.
He didn't hesitate, but hitched his breeches around his waist and ran.
Fear thundered in his ears with every stride.
Caim let the memory fade away as he turned his footsteps toward
High Town. Two things were clear to him. First, he couldn't risk using
his powers until he figured out what had happened at the Vine. He
couldn't risk losing control. And second, he would avoid contact with the Azure Hawks for the time being. Those decisions made him feel a little
better. Then he remembered that he'd left his cloak back in the taproom.
Caim hunched his shoulders against the night's chill and hurried
through the umbrageous byways of the city. Yet the haunting images of
his past followed him down every street.
CHAPTER SIX
aim awoke to the faint glow of dawn. Long shadows crept across
the floor of his bedroom. Two plum pits and a crust of rye bread
lay on the nightstand.
Remnants of a dream lingered in his head. The same old dream. The
burning house. The corpse-strewn yard. The same questions without
answers.
Caim blew out a long sigh and got up. After his ablutions, he went
to the cabinet and pulled out his work clothes.
Kit appeared behind him as he climbed into his breeches. "I like the
view. Ready yet?"
"Almost."
Caim tucked a black hood and a pair of soot-blackened gloves into his
belt. He didn't anticipate any difficulties tonight. He had studied the
workup supplied by Mathias. An
encountered a street gang. He'd been rooting through a barrel of halfrotten apples when cutting laughter erupted behind him. A dozen older
boys surrounded him. As a lesson for trespassing on their territory, they
beat him bloody. After that, he learned to avoid them. He snuck like a rat
through the slums with Kit, his only companion.
But if the street toughs were dangerous, the tinmen were worse. The
bully boys only wanted your food and whatever you had hidden in your pocket, and maybe to rough you up a bit. Yet when he was dragged into
a backstreet by two looming guardsmen after stealing a pomegranate
from a vendor's stall, he knew with sinking certainty they wanted more
than to thrash him. While Kit swatted ineffectually at their heads, one
held him fast while the other ripped open the laces of his breeches. He
struggled, but they cuffed him hard across the face, knocking him to the
ground. A white-hot ember of rage burned in the pit of Calm's chest as he
remembered that day, but also a thread of euphoria, for no sooner had the
guards begun pawing at him with their big, clumsy hands than something erupted inside him. At first, he thought he was going to be sick as
the feeling bubbled in his belly. Then, the colors of the waning day faded
before his eyes. As he was turned onto his stomach, a new spectrum of
shades emerged from the bleak drabness of the alley, blacks and grays of
marvelous, vivid tones. While his tears mingled with the dust beneath his
face, something extraordinary happened.
A shadow moved.
He had seen shadows move before, when a cloud passed in front of the
sun or the object casting the shadow shifted, but this shadow stretched
out from under a heap of broken boards like a black tentacle of tar.
Strangely, he wasn't afraid as it oozed toward him, and the guardsmen
were too distracted to notice. One held him down by the shoulders while
the other tugged down his pants. Caim didn't recoil; he wanted to know
what it was, this crawling, amorphous darkness. When it touched his
hand, he yelped as a sensation of burning cold slid over his skin, like dipping his hand into a bucket of ice water. More shadows crawled into the
light, swarming over the alleyway until Caim couldn't see the ground
under his nose. The guardsman holding him down shouted and let up
enough for Caim to wriggle. He kicked and scratched. When a hand
seized his face, he bit down hard until warm, salty blood filled his mouth.
A strangled scream pierced the gloom, and then he was free.
He didn't hesitate, but hitched his breeches around his waist and ran.
Fear thundered in his ears with every stride.
Caim let the memory fade away as he turned his footsteps toward
High Town. Two things were clear to him. First, he couldn't risk using
his powers until he figured out what had happened at the Vine. He
couldn't risk losing control. And second, he would avoid contact with the Azure Hawks for the time being. Those decisions made him feel a little
better. Then he remembered that he'd left his cloak back in the taproom.
Caim hunched his shoulders against the night's chill and hurried
through the umbrageous byways of the city. Yet the haunting images of
his past followed him down every street.
CHAPTER SIX
aim awoke to the faint glow of dawn. Long shadows crept across
the floor of his bedroom. Two plum pits and a crust of rye bread
lay on the nightstand.
Remnants of a dream lingered in his head. The same old dream. The
burning house. The corpse-strewn yard. The same questions without
answers.
Caim blew out a long sigh and got up. After his ablutions, he went
to the cabinet and pulled out his work clothes.
Kit appeared behind him as he climbed into his breeches. "I like the
view. Ready yet?"
"Almost."
Caim tucked a black hood and a pair of soot-blackened gloves into his
belt. He didn't anticipate any difficulties tonight. He had studied the
workup supplied by Mathias. An
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