Hetis was the vilest day ever devised. Folk called it a fast, but for Rize it was a day of an “empty belly.” For some reason the gods, on that day, forbade all that was tasty, leaving only bland flatbreads, bread, and roots that left bitterness in the mouth.

  By day the tavern yard seethed with work. Niko helped Hemile split firewood. The old man swung the maul with steady measure, and the boy dragged the logs into the shed.

  Rize, though, drew the hardest lot.

  A huge, heavy cauldron, black with soot, lay on its side by the tavern’s back door, where a draught pulled dampness in from the yard. It looked like a great black mouth; the wretched creature could have stepped into it without even ducking. Only the water in the wooden tub was worse—cold breathed off it.

  Her plaintive mewling got her nowhere. Usually she foisted such chores on Niko, but with Hemile about that did not pass.

  “Tessa commands it—do what must be done, and you shall be repaid,” the old man declared.

  The cat carefully dipped the ladle and splashed water inside. It ran down the walls in cloudy tracks, carrying off grease and the stuck-on flakes of oat stew. The smell was heavy yet familiar—boiled vegetables and meat mingled with smoke and scorch. Her nose wrinkled, drawing in air thick as though full of needles.

  Armed with a bundle of harsh straw bound with twine in one paw, and a lump of ash from the hearth in the other, she scooped a handful of grey dust and rubbed it over the bottom. The ash rasped nastily, catching on the caked soot. The metal was rough, eaten through in places, and the straw snagged on every ridge. She had to press harder. Her shoulders began to ache.

  Drops slid onto her fur, and a shiver ran through her body. With effort Rize heaved the cauldron over, striking it against a cobble—its dull clang rolled across the yard. Black water poured out, leaving greasy rainbow stains on the stone.

  When she drew the straw along the inner wall for the last time, the metal had turned cold and almost smooth. Ash clung beneath her claws. Wiping her paws on her apron, the cat scampered to the hearth to warm herself.

  Colette came in a little later, and after checking the cauldron she handed Rize the next parcel; the she-cat could only rejoice.

  On the way to the countinghouse she tried to keep to the sunny side of the street. Frost nipped at her nose, and her paws went numb quickly on the cold stone. Reaching the massive door, the cat stretched for the familiar bell-rope.

  “Din-din!” rang out within.

  While behind the door came heavy grumbling and footsteps, Rize tipped her head up. A smooth wall, narrow slit-windows under the very roof… She gauged whether her claws might catch some ledge from the alley side. To stand like that in the cold and wait until someone deigned to open was horribly dull and unpleasant.

  “Next time I’ll climb in through the roof for certain,” she thought, shifting from paw to paw. “And I won’t have to ring.”

  At last the bolt clanked, and the door cracked open.

  Dwain let the courier inside. She at once darted to the hearth and passed over the bundle. The dwerg sat down unhurriedly at the heavy table, inspecting what had been brought.

  Rize made no haste to leave. She pressed her ears down conspiratorially and glanced back at the door, making sure it was shut tight.

  — I brrrought morre, — she whispered, slipping a paw beneath her cloak.

  — Is that so? — Dwain lifted one brow with interest. — Well then, out with it. I’m listening.

  With a dull thud the cat laid her trophies from Karen’s room upon the cloth: a pair of rings, a chain, and earrings.

  — Ffor this… you give morre shiny-things? — she asked, tracing a claw over the metal. She knew people brought Dwain things, and he gave coins in return, but how it worked she understood only dimly.

  The dwerg took one earring, held it close to his eye, then lightly scraped it with the edge of a short knife.

  — Look here, — he said calmly. — See how a grey filth comes up under the yellow skin? That’s lead. The trinket’s only been washed in a thin coat of gold. True gold is the same within as without, and it ought not to peel.

  Next in turn were the rings.

  — Don’t! — Rize cried, watching him squeeze one of them with small tongs.

  — Copper, too soft, — Dwain grumbled, seeing how easily the metal yielded. — Such a ring will bend if you just clench your fist hard. True bronze or gold holds its shape better. And your chain is plain tin, polished to a shine. See how the links come apart so easily? You won’t tear gold so simply.

  Rize sighed, disappointed.

  — I don’t underrstand… what is tin, what is copper?

  Dwain, seeing her little muzzle, opened the desk drawer and set out three coins: one reddish, one white, and one yellow.

  — Listen and remember, since your paws itch to steal, — he tapped a finger on the yellow shiny. — Gold is heaviest. Take it in your hand.

  The weighty coin lay on the cat’s paw, and she stared at it as though enchanted, twitching her ears and swishing her tail.

  — Feel how it presses down? Now take your false chain. Light as down. True metal always “heavies” the hand.

  Then the dwerg took the white coin and dropped it on the stone tabletop. A sharp, long metallic ring sounded, trembling in the air. After it he threw the reddish one—its sound was dry and short.

  — Hear that? — Dwain nodded. — Silver—the white one—“sings” clean and bright. Copper—the red one—sounds dull. And if you drop lead or tin, you’ll hear only a thud, as if wood struck wood. If a coin falls silent, the shiny is wrong. And remember this too: you can bite gold; it’s soft, it will take the mark of a tooth. But lead is softer still. If you bit a coin and it near fell apart—throw it in the face of the one who gave it to you.

  He slid the coins back away, leaving Rize with a downcast look. So much risk—and all for wrong shiny-things.

  — Not all that gleams is of equal worth. Gold is worth more than silver, and silver more than copper. Copper’s only for paying in a tavern. And with tin and lead you’ll buy nothing at all.

  Dwain raked the forgeries into a heap and pushed them toward Rize.

  — Take them. I won’t give you money, but I hope I’ve given you something else. If you did not grasp it—come next time, I’ll tell you more.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The crestfallen cat went to the door, but on the threshold she turned.

  — Dwain… — she called, not looking back. — Who is Verridan? Why does everyone say I am a verid, and Verridan’s daughterr?

  He scratched his chin.

  — I’ve lived among men long enough, and heard their tales, — he answered slowly. — Verridan is a god of the woods, said to have made creatures like you—hence the name.

  — And daughterr… what is that?

  — Anyone can tell you that, — Dwain sighed. — Off with you. You’ve a tavern to return to.

  Rize stepped out into the street, yanking her tail in anger. In her head it all tangled together: lead, gold, gods of the woods, singing coins… Why, among these stone houses, was everything so complicated? Why must one try bits of metal with teeth and listen to how they rang?

  She did not wish to go back to the “Boar” and boiled roots, so she took a longer way through the market rows. Then, from an alley, came a strangled cry.

  A boy burst around the corner. He was breathing hard and kept looking back. Two older lads chased after him. They caught him under a flaking wall, knocked him down, and began to beat him.

  — Caught you, ratling! Speak—where’s the rest? — one of the attackers snarled.

  Rize did not stop to think. In two leaps she was in the alley; she let out a vicious growl and sank low to the ground. The attackers froze. Seeing before them a bristling creature with eyes aflame, they recoiled in horror.

  — Verid! Get out! — one shouted, but when Rize made a sharp feint toward him, both lads bolted without a backward glance.

  On the ground the boy had curled into a ball, shielding his head with his arms. When at last he dared lift his face, it stretched with fear. He was black-haired, filthy, and very familiar—Rize remembered him from that chase for bread, when she had pursued Arden’s gang.

  — You… it’s you… — he babbled, pressing into the wall.

  — What happened? — Rize asked, sheathing her claws.

  The boy swallowed, seeing she meant no attack.

  — My name is Nodé, — he breathed, wiping blood from beneath his nose. — There… there’s Farra and my sister Liya! We walked into an ambush at the market. Another gang—there’s a lot of them! They’ve cornered the girls in a dead end by the tanners!

  — Farra? — Rize’s ear flicked. — Where is she?

  Nodé blinked, surprised, staring up at her.

  — You… you want to help?

  Rize only twitched her ear impatiently:

  — Show me!

  Nodé sprang to his feet, forgetting his bruises, and pointed the way.

  Weaving through alleys, they spilled out onto a street that stank of something sour. Rize ran low to the ground, slipping between carts. As they neared, a sharp girlish scream rang out, breaking into a rasp, and there came dull blows.

  At full speed the cat hurtled into a narrow passage choked with empty barrels. Five, perhaps six lads had Farra ringed. The girl was on her knees, fighting desperately with a broken plank.

  — Blackie! Filthy girl! Cursed savage! — they shouted.

  One swung a club. Rize launched herself into the air and crashed into him with all her mass, knocking him down. Her claws raked his jacket, leaving torn furrows.

  — Back! Rr-r! Back—back! — she snarled, baring her fangs.

  The bandits recovered quickly. Seeing a verid before them, they bunched together, malice in their eyes.

  — Beat the beast! — their leader yelled, a big lad with a broken tooth.

  A brawl began—loud and chaotic, and everything was used: fists and stones, teeth and claws.

  Rize spun like a top, dodging blows. One lad grabbed her by the tail; she cried out in pain and slashed his hand. In the same instant another struck her on the head with a heavy stick. Sparks flared in her eyes, but she fought all the more fiercely, flailing her claws and wounding anyone who pressed in. They screamed, clutching bleeding faces, yet still they came on.

  Farra, seeing Rize surrounded, threw herself forward with her last strength, seized one attacker by the hair and dragged him down—then shrank, covering her head as hard blows landed across her back. In a blood-mad frenzy the bandits fought with even greater spite, when from the mouth of the dead end came a whistle and a harsh cry:

  — Off! All of you—get gone!

  It was Arden. He burst into the fight with Tamas. Arden had a stick in his hands, and Tamas simply drove straight through, dealing heavy cuffs right and left. Their sudden appearance threw the bandits into disarray. Some had no time to understand before they took crushing hits. One took the stick to the belly and dropped from a second blow to the back of the head. Another Tamas struck so hard that the crack of a jaw carried even through the heat of the brawl.

  — Arden! It’s Arden! — the rest cried, and fled.

  When the pounding of retreating feet faded, silence settled in the dead end, broken only by ragged breathing.

  Rize sat on the filthy stones, pressing a paw to her head. Something wet and warm ran through her fur. Farra crawled to her; her own face was scraped raw.

  — What are you doing here? — she whispered, looking at the bloodied Rize with undisguised horror and astonishment.

  Rize only gave a sullen shrug, wincing with pain. At that moment the breathless Nodé and Liya ran up. Tamas stayed off to the side.

  — Lads from the western docks, — Arden said, looking toward where the enemies had fled. — Been baring their teeth at our district for a long time. Today we snatched treasures right from under their noses, so they came at us.

  With pride Farra pulled a leather pouch from under her bodice—heavy, and clinking.

  — Look. I’ve got it all.

  Opening the pouch, the children stared, spellbound, at the dull-glinting coins.

  — We’re rich! — Liya and Nodé shouted at once.

  Arden wore a satisfied smile; Tamas put on an indifferent face.

  Rize, pressing her palm to her wounded ear, stepped forward.

  — Let me see, — she rasped.

  — NO! — Tamas grunted. — Get lost, cat-thing!

  In answer the lout found himself facing a beastly snarl; his fists clenched of their own accord.

  — Easy, — Arden stepped between them. — She fought for us. She has the right to look.

  Tamas spat and turned away.

  The children went still. Rize lifted a white coin to her eyes, as Dwain had done, and then, without further thought, bit its edge. Her teeth sank easily into the yielding metal, and a foul taste lingered in her mouth.

  — This is trrick, — she declared, spitting out a flake of paint.

  — How d’you know? — Farra cried, astonished. — It shines!

  Rize did not answer. She raised the coin higher and flung it hard onto a flat stone. A dry, short knock sounded.

  — Hearr? — Rize swept them with a triumphant look. — A good shiny sings. This one is silent—like dead fish.

  A dead hush hung in the passage. Farra slowly lowered the pouch, and Arden stepped up and picked the coin from the ground himself, studying the tooth-mark Rize had left.

  — Where did you come by such brains? — The leader looked at her with open respect. — First you fight like a monster, and now you know coins.

  Rize straightened, though the world swam, and lifted her chin proudly.

  — I am smartr.

  — You sure you don’t want to join us? Clever and strong together—you don’t meet that often.

  — I-I-I… — Rize went shy and faltered, not knowing what to say, but then she clutched her head again. Blood was still flowing. — What is this?

  Arden was silent a moment, eyeing her bloody head, then said:

  — You’re hurt. Does it pain you much?

  — All g-good, — the cat waved it off. — Need… taverrn… — She remembered Colette. The mistress would shout if she was gone too long. And also—Niko would worry…

  She took a couple of steps, then sat down on the ground—high and low seemed to swap places, and everything blurred before her eyes.

  Farra looked at her with concern, then at the leader.

  — She fought for us, — he concluded with a nod. — Helped us—we’ll help her. You need patching up too.

  Arden turned to the others:

  — Tamas! Liya! Nodé! Underground, and wait till we’re back. We’re going to the priestess.

  Black Sapphire - Chapter 18 will be published on February 27.

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