Dregs
Master Yeshu didn’t have much planned for today, and an unexpectedly magical - and filthy - urchin sitting on his good furniture is an unwanted surprise.
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The great Houses of magic were not concerned with bloodlines or politics, except in the unescapable mundane sort of way most things are. But at their heart, the Houses considered themselves above such things. Magical heritage did not concern itself with mere genetics; an aptitude was the essential requirement. And, for some Houses, an attitude.
***
“She set old Ognyan on fire, you said?”
The grubby urchin, feet not touching the silk rug beneath its chair, shot Master Yeshu, Head of Claudius House, a glare of such ferocity that he found himself almost believing it was possible. “Ognyan? Head of Koray, Master There’s-Nothing-I-Don’t-Know-About-Combustion himself?”
The two rangy brutes towering on either side of the chair exchanged glances. Neither wanted to be even tacitly associated with calling Master Koray anything other than his official title. ‘Explosive’ was not a metaphor when it came to his temper. One of them - the junior by one year, thanks to a bit of friendly sabotage during a Runes exam - risked a non-committal shrug. His face could have hosted peace-talks for six warring nations and a horde of barbarian tribes.
“He caught her picking his pocket,” he said, in a tone that could be used as a surface plate for precision thaumaturgical tooling. Left unsaid was the tailing sentiment that it was miraculous the urchin hadn’t been left picking her own spleen off the nearest wall. Provided she could find her fingers, anyway.
Yeshu leaned forwards to peer more closely at the hunched over, scowling figure dirtying his best upholstery. Surly grey-green eyes stared back at him, reminding him distressingly of summers spent on his family’s fishing dinghy. Others might have imagined the sea in those eyes, but Yeshu saw the thick, oily mucus of the stardark jellies they sometimes brought up in the nets, and which ruined entire catches. They looked beautiful, if you didn’t mind necrotic neurotoxins.
He leaned back, feeling the solid, reassuring press of his chair against his spine.
“Anything to say for yourself, girlie?”
Belligerent silence was his only answer, and a stare that could have etched steel. Yeshu took a moment to tap the clear gem set in silver that adorned his left index finger; it glowed with magical light, visible only to those with attunement to the world’s magical fields. He saw the urchin’s eyes flicker downwards, towards the ring, and noted the way her shoulders tensed. The reactions merely confirmed the flickering aura that had sprung into life around her - it was pale, barely visible, weak. The glow surrounding his two enforcers nearly drowned it out completely with their brilliant metallic glow. But it was there. She had magic flowing through her veins.
“Ognyan has claim on her, as first discoverer—“
“He doesn’t want her.”
No surprises there. Few people took kindly to brats who set them on fire, and Ognyan was most certainly not among that short list. Yeshu couldn’t blame him. That glare was unsettling. But sending the brat on to him, and therefore denying Yeshu’s ability to choose to deny her, that was malicious. And petty.
He wasn’t about to take the urchin, either. No. He could picture Ognyan’s smug smile as he imagined foisting the kid off on Yeshu and House Claudius, and he wasn’t having a bar of it. But he couldn’t simply cut the little rag adrift - it was poor form, not to mention dangerous. And no other House would welcome a protege with such weak magic.
It was very weak magic.
The flame had certainly been an incredible fluke.
Yeshu sucked thoughtfully on his teeth.
“You planning to set more people on fire?”
The filthy head shook, spraying dirt over the carpet. Yeshu did his best not to scowl with disgust, and mentally noted that he’d need to make sure the cleaners did a thorough job on his room tonight. He didn’t want to catch fleas or lice.
“Then get out.”
The eldest of his men stiffened slightly at the words, but wisely held his tongue. Yeshu might need to deal with that, but it was a later problem. Much more distant than the unfortunate problem staining his chair and imparting an unusually pungent aroma to his usually tranquil office.
The brat didn’t waste any time. Almost before the words had left his mouth, she was moving, clambering over the back of the chair - Yeshu winced at the muddy footprint left on the silk - and darting out the door.
“Make sure she gets out of here.”
***
The vast, ornate doors of House Claudius opened fractionally, and a small, grubby shadow slipped from the gap. She glanced around once, and darted into a shadowy alley.
She’d gone barely twenty steps, wrapped in comforting darkness, when two figures materialised from the shadows. The urchin barely glanced at them, sparing only a nod for each, once in turn.
The newcomers, taller, adult, might have been expected to take insult at the youth’s impropriety. Their clothes, though understated and plain, were of rich material and spoke of quiet wealth - silver glinted at their throats. Anyone in the know would have recognised the symbol of House Vipa, House of silent illusion.
“Welcome to the House, Maya.”
Their voices echoed and entwined, creating a strange echo, and the urchin’s scowl became a broad grin. She clapped her hands together, just once, tossed a used firelighter into a rubbish heap, and - along with the two Vipa members - stepped out of the alley and vanished into the crowd.
