The Threads of Magic Alison Croggon (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📖

El stole a glance around the alehouse and leaned so close to Pip that he felt her breath on his cheek. “He’s offering silver for information. He probably knows everything he needs to know already. Maybe he knows where our house is. I mean, we keep it dark, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t talk.” She bit her lip. “It’s got to be the same man what cut poor old Olibrandis.”

Pip thought that seemed likely, but he wasn’t willing to admit it. “But why would he cut poor old Ollie’s throat? If he wanted to know my name, Ollie would have told him without that. It’s probably about something else, like I said — some deal that went sour.”

“I told you I had a bad feeling.” El brushed her hair back from her face. “What if he’s waiting for us at home? He might already be there.”

For a moment they both imagined an assassin, skeletal and sinister, his face concealed in the shadow of a hood, hiding behind the door as they entered, his lifted blade shining in the dim light . . .

Pip looked furtively around the taproom, which was beginning to empty out after the noon rush. He wouldn’t trust anybody here as far as he could throw them. If silver was on offer, the Choke Alleys would be solid eyes, looking for him.

“But we’ve got nowhere else to go,” he said at last. “Where could we go?”

“Oni’s got somewhere.”

“But she doesn’t like me.”

“She never said she didn’t like you. She just thinks you’re annoying. Which you are.”

It was Oni who was annoying, Pip thought, but he didn’t say so out loud. He pushed away the bread. His stomach seemed to have unaccountably gone missing, and he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“BUT WHY WOULD AN ASSASSIN BE AFTER YOU?” ONI crossed her arms and stared belligerently at Pip. “You’re not important. Assassins only go after important people.”

After lunch, at El’s request, Oni had begged an hour off from the innkeeper. The three of them had repaired to Oni’s place, an apartment in a crumbling building a few streets from the Crosseyes. It had once been a mansion, but like most of the people who now lived there, it had fallen on hard times. Oni’s apartment was on the fifth floor, an airy attic room that looked over the roofs of the city.

She was being annoying again.

“It’s because of this box I found,” said Pip, trying to be patient. “A silver box. It was precious.”

El cast Pip a speaking glance. Against El’s objections, he had argued that they shouldn’t mention the Heart to Oni. Without being able to say why, Pip felt they shouldn’t talk about it. Part of him worried, irrationally, that someone might hear.

“So you want to move into my place with no notice and maybe forever because you think an assassin is out for your skin because you stole a worthless silver box?” said Oni. “Pull the other one. It’s got bells and spangles.”

Pip had been annoyed by Oni for about five years. He and El had met her shortly after they arrived in the city of Clarel, when he was seven years old. Oni had dark skin, like most Eradians, but unlike most Eradians in Clarel, she had never lived in the Weavers’ Quarter. Her mother was the housekeeper at the Old Palace, and she had been raised there. Oni’s mother had found Pip and El sleeping under a bridge near the Old Palace, half-dead from starvation, and had given them a meal and introduced them to Missus Pledge, who gave them a place to live.

Oni and El had become best friends almost right away. Pip had many acquaintances, but he didn’t have a friend like Oni, and he was secretly jealous. Oni knew this, of course. It was one of the reasons she was annoying.

“I think, if you’re going to ask such a big favor of me, you should tell me the truth,” said Oni.

“I think we should too, Pip,” said El. “It’s only fair.”

Pip squirmed under their double gaze. “But what if the assassin decides to torture you like he did poor old Ollie?” he said.

“Lindy said nothing about torture.”

“You said he was tied up in his chair,” said Pip. “Of course he was tortured.”

For a moment the three of them were silent. They had all known Olibrandis, and had often made fun of his wonky gait and wheezy voice. In a city full of liars, thieves, murderers, and frauds, Olibrandis passed as a decent person. That was quite rare. Old Ollie hadn’t deserved what had happened to him.

“An assassin would probably torture me anyway,” said Oni. “That’s what they do.”

El leaned forward and dropped her voice to a low whisper, even though there was no one else in the room. “It’s about magic. This treasure box Pip found . . .” She shuddered. “It opened by itself, and there was this nasty leathery thing inside. It’s bad magic — I could tell as soon as I saw it.”

A strange expression crossed Oni’s face, a flicker of caution. “But there’s no magic anymore,” she said. “Not since they burned all the witches. You know that.”

“Maybe there is,” said El. “Just because something’s against the law doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I mean, thieving’s against the law, and Pip happens all the time.”

“If it’s about magic, I don’t want anything to do with it.” Oni spoke with sudden violence. “If it’s magic, you have to find somewhere else.”

El took Oni’s hand. “Please, Oni. We need somewhere to hide. Just for a few days. Just until it all dies down.”

Oni squeezed El’s hand, let it go, and sighed heavily. “Maybe. If you’re straight with me.”

Pip was frowning at the floor. “I feel like I shouldn’t tell,” he said.

“Well then, try your luck on the street.”

At last, with deep reluctance, Pip told Oni about the Heart, how he had accidentally stolen it from men he had thought were out-of-towners but who