The Silver Lake Read Free Page B

enough shine for a decent supper tonight—a shrimp pilaf or maybe even a lamb and walnut curry—then they’d all hole up until Havo’s Dance blew the last shreds of Low Spring into the sea; the streets would fill up with the High Spring trade and the pickings would ripen; he’d get a new jacket, Cindar’d get a new jug of raki, and Brax would get ... he frowned, well, Brax would get whatever it was that Brax wanted. Everything was going to go smoothly; he’d seen it; he’d done his job; now it was time for him to trust Brax to do his. Head pillowed against Cindar’s ear, Spar closed his eyes, ignoring the unease that refused to be banished despite his reasoning, and made himself relax.

    Halfway across the courtyard already, Brax gave Spar and Cindar one last half glance before losing himself in the jostling crowds. He was glad to see that Spar was trying to get some sleep. He looked tired and pale this morning; the winter and Low Spring had taken as huge a toll on him as it had on his jacket. Frowning, Brax made a cursory inspection of the people around him even though he knew that particular task would have to wait. No one was going to lay a coat aside in this weather. If Spar was going to get a new one, Brax would either have to lift one off a clothier’s stall for him-always a risk—or buy him one—always expensive—be—cause he had no illusions that Cindar would do anything about it, the stinking tosspot.
    “So get to work,” he told himself sternly. Setting his features into an innocent expression of boredom, he began to weave a seemingly random pattern through the crowds, yet by the time he broke free a few minutes later, he’d already cut three purses. Grinning, he made his way up the temple’s wide, marble steps. Cindar said he was one of the best young lifters along the docks. Brax knew better. He was only good; but part of being good was in knowing when to quit, or at least when to take a break, so, once he reached the top, he paused, standing up on tiptoe as if searching the crowds for his companions, but really to check out the marble tributary statue of Usara that stood sentinel beside one of the city’s largest and oldest cinar trees just before the entrance.
    The great blue-painted figure of the male God of Healing had been carved holding a flowering staff in one hand while the other was held out at hip level. The number of coins lying in His deep, open palm was always a good indication of the prosperity of the day’s crowd. Several glittered temptingly at him, but Brax was not so stupid as to try and lift any of them. There was always a delinkos hovering about to empty it as soon as it grew too full and he had no intention of getting snatched for lifting a God’s tribute, no matter how little the God or His temple really needed it. Brax spotted the girl standing just inside the shadowy doorway easily enough but didn’t bother to look her way, merely sat down beside the God’s great feet and, ignoring her frown of disapproval, returned to the increasing problem of their abayos’ neglect.
    Brax had been with Cindar for as long as he could remember. He had no idea if the man had sired him any more than he knew who’d birthed him, but it didn’t matter. Cindar kept them safe. More or less. And Brax was grateful. More or less.
    Leaning his back against the statue, he closed his eyes. More or less was the problem. He was tired of living from lift to lift, never having enough clothes to keep him warm or enough food to fill his belly. The worst of it was that they should have had plenty of both, but ever since Cindar had nearly been snatched outside that silver smithy, he’d been drinking more and more of their shine away. He’d blamed Spar, who’d been too sick to act as lookout that night. (Too sick because Cindar had refused to pay one of Usara’s physician-priests to see him when he’d fallen and cut himself two days before. He’d nearly lost his leg and still favored it whenever he