Ship of Magic

She stopped at the refreshment table to pour herself a glass of wine. She was not the only one to have left her seat. In different parts of the hall, knots of folk were forming and talking, all but ignoring the Rain Wild Trader. Some folk were arguing amongst themselves, others nodding in mutual agreement with her words. Almost everyone there was substantially older than she was. She looked for Cerwin Trell, but he was still seated with his family and appeared to be avidly interested in what was going on. Politics. Privately Malta believed that if everyone just ignored them, life would go on as it always had. The arguments would probably last the rest of the evening and spoil the party. She sighed and took her wine with her as she stepped outside into the crisp winter night.

It was full dark now. The footpath torches had burned down. Above the icy winter stars sparkled. She glanced up at them now and thought of flame jewels. The blues and the greens were the rarest. She couldn't wait to tell Delo that. She knew how she would say it, as if it were something she just assumed that everyone knew. Delo was the best for sharing such things with, because Delo was a hopeless gossip. She'd repeat it to everyone. Hadn't she spread word among all the girls about Malta's green gown? Of course, she had also told them about Davad Restart making Malta go home. She'd been an idiot to tell Delo the whole truth, but she'd been so mad, she just had to talk to someone. And tonight would make up for that embarrassment. She wouldn't tell Delo how bored she had been, only that she had stood outside and chatted with Jani Khuprus herself about flame jewels. She strolled down past the coaches, sipping at her wine. Some of the coachmen sat within the carriages, out of the cold, while others hunched on the boxes. Some few had gathered at the corner of the drive to gossip amongst themselves, and probably share a sip or two from a flask.

She walked almost to the end of the drive, past Davad's coach and then the Rain Wild's one. She'd left her ratty old cloak inside and was starting to feel the chill of the evening. She held her arms close to her chest, resolving not to spill wine down her front, and strolled on. She stopped to examine the crest on a coach door. It was a silly one, a rooster wearing a crown. “Khuprus,” she said to herself, and lightly traced it with a finger, committing it to memory. The metal glowed briefly in her finger's wake, and she realized the crest was made of jidzin. It was not as popular now as it once was. Some of the older street performers still made their cymbals and finger-chimes from jidzin. The metal shimmered whenever it was struck. It was a wonderful treat to the eyes, but in reality brass sounded better. Still, it was one more thing to tell Delo. She strolled idly on, and imagined how she would phrase it. “Odd, to think how a human touch sets off both jidzin and flame jewels,” she ventured aloud. No, that wasn't quite it. She needed a more dramatic statement than that.

Almost beside her, a blue eye winked into existence. She stepped back hastily, then peered again. Someone was standing there, leaning against the Khuprus coach. The blue glow was a jewel fastened at his throat. He was a slight figure, heavily cloaked in the Rain Wild style. His neck was swathed in a scarf, his face veiled like a woman's. He was probably their coachman. “Good evening,” she said boldly, to cover up her momentary surprise, and started to walk by him.

“Actually,” he said in a quiet voice, “it needn't be a human touch. Any motion can set them flaring, once they've been wakened. See?” He extended a gloved hand towards her, then gave his wrist a shake. Two small blue gems popped into evidence on his cuff. Malta had to stop and stare. It was not a pale blue, but a deep sapphire blue that danced alone in the darkness.

“I thought the blues and greens were the rarest and most valuable,” she observed. She took a sip of the wine she still carried. That seemed more polite than asking how a coachman came to have such things.

“They are,” he admitted easily. “But these are very small ones. And slightly flawed, I am afraid. They were chipped in the recovery process.” He shrugged. She saw the movement in the rise and fall of the gem at his throat. “They probably won't burn long. No more than a year or two. But I couldn't bear to see them thrown away.”

“Of course not!” Malta exclaimed, almost scandalized. Flame jewels thrown away? Shocking. “You say they burn? Are they hot, then?”

He laughed, a soft chuckle. “Oh, not in the ordinary way. Here. Touch one.” Again he extended his arm towards her.