Shaman's Crossing

He glanced over at me and saw the dismay in my face. He smiled, and it was a cruel smile, one that mocked himself. “I’m just an old ranker, son. Never sent to the King’s Academy like you; never had the guarantees that you have. If the plague hadn’t done me in, I’d be serving out near the far east still. But it did, and here I am. I get food, and work, if you call this work-parading around half dressed in a drafty old tent so young blighters can look at me and laugh and stare, so sure they’ll never be me. I get a bed and blanket every night. But that’s about all I get. No extras in this life. But once I was a cavalla man. Yes, sir, I was.”

I found my hand thrust deep in my pocket. I pulled out my money and pushed it into his hands and then turned and fled. He shouted his thanks after me, and added, “Don’t you let them send you to the forest, boy! You find yourself a nice post in the west, counting sacks of grain or keeping tally of horseshoe nails! Stay away from the Barrier Mountains.”

I could not find the exit from the tent. I pushed through a crowd of people packed around a girl juggling knives, not caring how they stared at me, nor even for the one woman who cursed me roundly for stepping on her foot. My path led me back past the Specks’ cage, but there was no crowd round it that I could see. The male Specks were there, wandering listlessly about the enclosure. The woman was gone. I estimated the time at midnight, and guessed that Rory and Trist had returned for her.

I made my way to the tent door. I didn’t want to think of them with the wild Speck girl. The fat man and his tales of being a ranker had soured the circus for me. The weight of my recent misfortunes descended on me once more. I was to be culled, for no more reason than to keep the Academy in political balance. It would be seen as shameful, no matter what they wrote on my papers. I doubted my father would buy me a commission. He’d probably sternly tell me that I’d had my chance, and that now I’d have to enlist as a common soldier, alongside all the other common sons of common soldier sons. There would be no arranged marriage for me, no officer’s commission, and no glorious future commanding troops for the king. I wondered if I would run back to Maw tomorrow and beg to be a scout.

I emerged from the trapped smells and still warmth of the tent into the cold night air. As the night deepened, the crowds were thickening, not dispersing, and I suddenly knew that I had no chance at all of finding Epiny or Spink or anyone else in such chaos. Even if I found Epiny, there was no saving her reputation now. Best to go back to the dormitory and pretend I had never found Spink’s note. The whole world was sour and cold and dark, without a single friendly face. I looked up at the night sky to try and get my bearings, but the lamplight and torchlight overpowered the feeble and distant stars. No matter. I’d just go back the way I’d come. Somewhere at the edge of the Great Square, I would find a cabstand and get back to the Academy.

CHAPTER 22

Disgrace

It was late. After the confines of the lighted tent, the cold outdoors and the endless sky overhead made me feel oddly exposed and alone despite the milling people. The Dark Evening festival felt tired and finished to me. I just wanted to go home to a quiet and familiar room. But all around me, the crowd shouted to one another and jostled me from my intended path as they rollicked through their festival. I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of my greatcoat, sank my head into my collar, and shouldered my way through the throng as best I could. I had given up on trying to spot Epiny or Spink. The odds of my seeing anyone I knew in a gathering this large were ridiculously small. Almost as soon as I reached that realization, an opening in the crowd revealed several young men in Academy overcoats, their backs turned to me. I veered toward them, thinking they might be my roommates. If they were, I suddenly decided I’d go whoring with them. The tawdriness of carnival had won me over. I had nothing left to lose to it. One yelled out, “Come on! Finish! Down it like a man!” Three others took up the chant, “Down it! Down it!” They didn’t sound like my friends.

I waited until a gaggle of merrymakers tooting horns had passed, and then crossed the crowded space toward them. When I got closer, I instantly recognized them as the new noble cadets I’d glimpsed earlier. Jaris and Ordo were among them. I turned aside hastily. Then, behind me, I heard one woeful voice raised. “I can’t! I’m sick. That’s enough for me!”

“No, no, my lad!” Jaris was hearty with good cheer. “Drink it down. Finish it, and we’ll get you a woman. Like we promised.”

“But first you’ve got to prove you’re a man. Drink it down!”