“What—what does the person who is watching want from me?” Ven asked, his voice still shaking. “Am I in danger?”
The fortune-teller shrugged slightly. “Has the bird done more to help you, or harm you?”
Ven considered. “The albatross has done nothing to harm me,” he said after a moment. “Everything she’s done has helped me in some way. She saved me from drowning by alerting Amar—” He stopped. “She’s just helped me, never harmed me, at least as far as I know.”
Madame Sharra nodded. “Then either the person who sent the bird is trying to protect you, or wants to keep you alive until he can kill you himself. Or herself.”
“Great,” Ven muttered.
“Do you wish me to read the scales for you?” Madame Sharra asked, brushing the sand into a small pile. She snapped her fingers, and the sand caught fire, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
Ven’s dismay vanished with it as his curiosity roared back, making him itch.
“Scales?” he asked.
The fortune-teller took hold of the two movable pieces of glass and swung them carefully into place above the glass table.
“The gold crown rests in your left hand, palm up, on this surface,” she instructed as she moved the first glass piece into place. “Your open right hand rests here, palm down.” She positioned the second piece below his hand. “Here they must remain. You may not touch the scales with anything except your breath. If you do not heed this warning, you are risking a tear in the fabric of the world. And your life. Do you understand?”
Ven hesitated. He was not certain that anything was worth the risks Madame Sharra had just stated, but his insatiable need to know the answers won out. I can hold my hands still, he thought. It can’t be that hard.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“The gold crown,” said the fortune-teller.
“Oh! Yes, sorry.” Ven dug into his pocket for the small leather wallet. To his relief his money was still there. Thank you, Mr. Coates, he thought, wondering if the black felt circle was still on his back. He put his left hand, with the gold crown in the palm, on the left piece of glass over the table, and let his right hand rest on the other piece.
Madame Sharra closed her eyes.
A breeze whistled in from beneath the drapes of the tent, snuffing the candle flames. It rustled through Ven’s hair, making him suddenly cold, even on this warm summer day.
In the darkness Ven could see nothing but the faint golden glow that Madame Sharra herself gave off.
Until she spread her hands across the glass table beneath where his own rested.
* * *
Fanned out on the lower glass table was a deck of what at first I thought were tattered cards. Then I looked closer.
The objects were oval, and about the same size, but irregular. Their edges were finely tattered, and their surfaces were scored with many fine lines. At first they looked a little bit like giant fish scales, with a slight curve that made one side a little bit concave and the other convex. In the dim light they looked gray, like the stone in the Rover’s box had—now I understood that it was one of these things, not a stone at all. One that lay closest to her hand seemed far older than the rest.
When I glanced at them all together, it seemed to me that there were fine drawings on each of the scales, but when I looked closer, I saw nothing.
It was hard to see anything in the dark, with only the tiny orange glow and the smoke from the candle wicks.
Suddenly, one last candle sparked with light before it winked out.
That candle cast a tiny beam onto the table. Colored light, the same rainbow sparkle I had seen the first time I walked past the Gated City, and in the Rover’s box, exploded from the cards.
I shut my eyes quickly. Then I opened them again.
When the light passed over the surface of the scales, it looked like it was passing through a prism. Rainbows danced on the table below the glass pieces where my hands were resting, then disappeared into the darkness.
The scales went gray once more.
* * *
“Did these come from a—a giant fish?” Ven asked, his eyes still stinging.
Madame Sharra smiled, her eyes watching him sharply.
“Dragons,” she said.
“Dragons?” Ven repeated. “These are dragon scales?”
“What other sort of scales do you think would hold the power to see the future?” the fortune-teller asked. Her glance was still sharp, but her tone was amused. “They are ancient, from the Before-Time, when the world was new.”
Madame Sharra passed her hand again over the array of ancient dragon scales.
“You may select two of the scales, or three, to be read for the price you are paying. The choice is yours. The first scale will tell you about yourself, where you are at this moment in Time. The second will tell you what is coming. And the third, should you choose to accept it, is a gift. It could be a gift of great power.”
“Why would I not choose to accept a gift?” Ven asked.
“Most people who seek me do not choose the third scale, for they are unwilling to risk the possible negative aspect of it,” said Madame Sharra. “Choose wisely—great power is backed by great consequence. Only you know if you are willing to pay the price for it.”
* * *
Suddenly I wished I was home. I wished I was in bed, in the small room I shared with my brothers Leighton and Brendan, who work in the areas of Pitch and Varnish and stink up everything I own. I wished I was working in the nastiest place in my father’s factory, or even back in school. When I realized I was wishing for that , I knew how desperately I didn’t want to be here.
* * *
“Do I have to decide now?”
Madame Sharra smirked. “When else would you decide?” she asked. “No one who seeks me knows whether he will ever find me again—all you have is this moment. And who knows? You may not even have that if you tarry.”
The light glowing from within her began to dim.
“All right,” Ven said quickly. “What do I do?”
The fortune-teller rested her hands in front of her.
“Choose whichever scale you wish,” she said. “Your hand remains on the glass. Let it come to rest above the one you wish me to read.”
Ven slowly let his breath out, trying to concentrate. The cards all seemed about the same, except for the very old one. He thought about it until he realized he was getting nowhere. Then he just pointed to one of the scales in the middle of the outspread deck without taking his hand off the glass.
“That one,” he said.
Sharra pulled the one he had chosen from the deck, then passed her hand over it. The card sparkled with the same rainbow flash, and in its light, a picture appeared briefly, little more than an engraved sketch. The edges of the scale glowed pale blue.
“You have chosen the Windmill,” she said.
As the words came out of her mouth, the picture on the face of the dragon scale was instantly clear to Ven, a mill on a river with four sheets on blades, turning to grind grain. Then, within the same instant, it was gone.
“What does that mean?” he asked nervously. “Where is this windmill?”
The golden woman shook her head.
“Some of the scales refer to people or things that actually exist, while others are merely representations of something. The Windmill is such a representation. Drawing it first means that at present, you live in a constant state of change. It means that you are someone who unifies diverse people and things. Also that you are transforming, growing and changing.” She smiled slightly. “Though you may also run into an actual windmill in your travels. One never knows.”
“Well, my friends are an odd group,” Ven admitted. “And I certainly am changing. Is this a bad card to draw?”
“The scales do not determine what is bad and what is good. They only declare what is,” said Madame Sharra. “Before you know where you are going, you must see where you are. Make your second choice. Let us see what is coming
for you.”
This time one particular card seemed to jump out at Ven.
“That one,” he said, pointing, being sure not to take his hand from the glass.
The golden woman passed her hand over the card. It stopped in midair. Ven saw the expression in her eyes change.
“How unfortunate,” she said.
11
The Reading
ALL THE COLOR DRAINED FROM VEN’S FACE IN THE DIM LIGHT OF the tent.
He leaned forward to better see what was below the fortune-teller’s hand.
The ratty gray scale gleamed brighter for a second, glittering in a rainbow sparkle. The edges glowed with a faint violet light.
On its surface was the sketchy image of a woman in rich robes on a throne, a crown on her head and a sinister smile on her face. In the fleeting moment in which Ven could see the image, the woman seemed ordinary in every way but one.
Her hands, which rested on the arms of the throne, ended in long, cruel-looking talons.
“The Queen of Thieves,” Sharra said. Her hand moved away, and the image faded into dull gray again.
“Is—is there such a person?” Ven asked, his voice shaking. “Or is that just a representation, like the Windmill?”
“Both,” said Sharra. “The Thief Queen signifies a change of possession. Either you will be gaining something, or losing it.”
Ven’s stomach turned over, and he felt suddenly like he was going to vomit. “Which one? Can you tell?”
Madame Sharra’s smile broadened. “The Queen of Thieves only rarely gives; she most often takes,” she said, resting her hands on the table in front of the array of scales. “But again, one never knows until it happens.”
“But there is also a person who is the queen of thieves?”
The smile faded from Madame Sharra’s face.
“Deep within the Market, past the keyhole gate, is a very different world,” she said softly, her tone serious. “It is a place that has lived by its own code of lawlessness since the sands of Time began running through the Great Hourglass. It is an evil and dangerous place, even by the standards of the Gated City. There are many guilds, many families of powerful thugs and cutpurses, burglars and assassins within the walls of the Inner Market, but none is as powerful as the Raven’s Guild. Their hideout is Raven’s Nest, a place of great darkness, where the most unholy of actions are taken, where the secrets are more deadly than can be imagined.
“That guild has ruled the Gated City since it was founded—and a woman has always ruled that guild. The crown and scepter pass from taloned hand to taloned hand, often mother to daughter. But sometimes a woman of greater skill and even less conscience than the reigning queen takes over the throne and starts a new dynasty. So while your selection of this scale merely means that you will be losing, or gaining, something important to you very soon, there also is such a woman—and she is someone you will wish to steer clear of. I suggest you keep as far away from the Inner Market, and the keyhole gate, as possible. Finish your business, whatever it is, then leave this place, and do not return unless you have to.”
“I will,” Ven promised.
“Do you wish to draw a third time?” Madame Sharra asked. “Remember the risk—great power is backed by great consequence. Only you can know if you are willing to accept a heartbreaking outcome in return for such a gift.”
* * *
What a choice.
I had just heard about the worst news I could imagine—that most likely I was about to lose something valuable. I don’t own many things of value. I felt to see if the jack-rule was still there, fearing Mr. Coates might have picked my pocket. It was still there, for now at least.
And I was nervous. I was sweating from every pore, even at the roots of my hair.
But even as nervous as I was, my stupid curiosity was raging. I wanted to tell the fortune-teller I was done. I wanted to tell her I couldn’t risk the consequences that might come with a gift granted by ancient dragon scales with the power to see the past, present, and future. I wanted to get up, thank Madame Sharra, and leave with as much of my sanity intact as I still had.
But I couldn’t.
* * *
Ven’s right hand shot out and stopped on the glass over a scale.
“That one,” he said. He closed his eyes and swallowed, a sore knot tight in his throat.
The golden woman passed her hand over the scale. The rainbow light flashed, then settled into a violet glow at the tattered edges.
She inhaled, then stared at the scale. She said nothing.
The purple edge of the scale continued to glow.
Ven was silent for as long as he could be. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Well?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “What scale did I pick? And what’s going to happen to me now?”
Sharra raised her eyes and met his for a moment. Then she passed her hand over the scale once more, and another rough image appeared, the picture of an hourglass in front of which a pair of scissors was stretched, a thin thread in between the blades. Then, as with the other scales, the image vanished.
“You’ve chosen the Time Scissors,” Madame Sharra said. Her tone was solemn. “I have never had this card selected before—throughout all of history, it has rarely allowed itself to be chosen.”
“Allowed itself?” Ven began, then caught the look in the fortune-teller’s eyes. “Never mind. What does it mean?”
The golden eyes went to his right hand.
“Look at your palm,” Sharra said.
Ven turned his right hand over.
On the palm was a faint version of the same image he had just seen, as if it had been painted on there in very weak watercolors. Ven flexed his hand, but the image remained.
“You have received a very precious and dangerous gift,” said Madame Sharra. “All of Time, as it passes, is woven into a giant tapestry, like the threads of a carpet. That tapestry is called history; it is the record of what has gone before, of what has happened in the Past. Good or bad, whatever is woven into the tapestry of history cannot be changed by mortal man, though often it is wished that such a thing could happen.”
Ven nodded. He had wished such things himself many times.
“The selection of the Time Scissors, however, grants someone the power to undo one of the threads of his own Past. This gift will allow you to change something you have done, but only once. It is a power you should use with the greatest of caution, because once you change the Past, everything that has come after that thread will be changed as well. I suspect you will contemplate doing it many times before you actually decide to do it, if you ever do. Remember, the longer ago the time thread was woven in history, the more will change if you undo it. Your reading is now at an end.”
The gold coin in Ven’s left palm vanished.
The image of the hourglass and scissors faded until it was little more than a slight stain in his right palm.
* * *
I’m not sure how long I sat there, staring at my hand, but when I looked up, Madame Sharra was watching me. Her eyes glowed in the darkness of the tent.
* * *
“Go now,” she said. “Your friends are waiting.”
Ven rose from his chair. “Where does the power come from that allows these things to happen?” he asked, his hands still shaking. “How can a gold crown buy the ability to undo a thread of Time?”
Madame Sharra passed her hand over the deck and gathered the scales into a pile.
“The power comes from the scales, not the gold crown,” she said. “The gold crown is for me. Even mysterious fortune-tellers of an ancient race need to eat from time to time.”
In spite of himself, Ven smiled slightly.
“Most of the scales in this deck were given freely by the dragons they came from to do something very noble, something that saved the world,” Madame Sharra went on. “Each scale came from a different dragon. A little bit of each dragon’s magical lore, the power it could use that c
ame from the earth itself, is still in the scales.
“Each time a new dragon is born in the world, the scales grow in power. That has always been a rare event, but it is even more so now. That power dwindles as each dragon dies as well. One day, as man or Time finally destroys the dragon race, the scales will be nothing more than cards with images on them no one can see any longer.”
A stiff breeze blew through the fortune-teller’s booth. The tent flap behind him opened.
“Thank you,” Ven said awkwardly, still in a daze. “I didn’t learn the answers I hoped to discover, but it was an—interesting experience.”
“Sometimes the answers we seek are not the ones we need to hear first,” said Madame Sharra. “All questions are answered, one way or another, in time.”
“I guess so,” said Ven. “Thank you.”
The fortune-teller nodded.
Ven stepped through the tent flap and followed the light under the fabric walls until he found himself out in the bright light of the Market again.
He paused at the door of Madame Sharra’s tent long enough to look at his palm. The faint stain of the Time Scissors was still there, all-but-invisible in the sunlight. Ven stared at it for a long moment, then walked away from the tent, struggling not to look back over his shoulder.
He came out between the booths of the dream seller and the kite maker, through the bright colors and the sound of merriment and music, to find Char sitting at the edge of the splashing fountain. The burlap-wrapped gauntlet was slung securely over his shoulder. Char leapt up and ran to him.
“How was the soup?” Ven asked.
“Didn’ get none,” Char said. “You all right? Gah, Ven, you were in there a ghastly long time.”
“I’m fine,” Ven said. “Why didn’t you get something to eat? You’ve been starving all morning.”