"Depends on what it's happy for," Briar remarked. "I can't believe Gorse let you escape without giving you something to eat."

"Gorse?"

"The dedicate in charge," Briar said, frowning. "Everyone who goes in there meets Gorse."

"Maybe on other days," said Aymery. "Right now, I think he's busy. What are you two doing here?"

Briar explained their errand, but kept his other thoughts to himself. He must have gone through those kitchens dozens of times since his arrival at Winding Circle. He'd crept in at night, in the days after his arrival, when a full belly was still cause for excitement, and he'd filled it as often as he could. He'd hidden under tables, and kept to the shadows when all the fires were banked. He'd come as meals were being prepared and people rushed in and out, carrying food to the wagons for those who didn't eat in the main dining halls. Before dawn, at high noon, at midnight - it didn't matter. He was never in those kitchens for longer than a minute or two before Gorse showed up, and gave him something to eat. He thought that Gorse might sleep in the Hub, but that was not the point. He'd seen Gorse do it with anyone who wasn't kitchen staff. He supposed it was possible that Gorse had not spotted Aymery today, with refugees pouring into the temple community, needing to be cheered up with a good meal.

It was possible. It simply wasn't likely.

The doors popped open. Out came Gorse himself, their baskets in his hands, and a smaller, covered basket threaded on to one brawny forearm. Tris took charge of one of the large baskets and the little one; Briar took the other.

"Have we met?" Gorse enquired, looking at Aymery.

"Aymery Gla.s.sfire," the younger man said, with a half-bow. "I'm recently arrived, come to pursue studies at the library."

"A mage," Gorse said. "I know how it is. If you are hungry, reading late, come here.

Someone is always on hand."

Someone meaning you, thought Briar, but he kept it to himself.

To Briar and Tris, Gorse said, "Do not linger. Go home quickly, and store what is not to be eaten right away in your cold-box. The little basket is just cookies, for afternoon." With a nod, he disappeared back into his kingdom.

"If you don't mind, I'll come with you," Aymery said, walking outside with them.

"I'm hoping your Lark and Rosethorn will take pity on me. They want to move a Trader caravan leader and his wives into my rooms in the guesthouse. If I don't find something quieter, I'll end up with a piece of floor in the boys' dormitory. No one can study under those conditions." Reaching out, he gripped the heavier of Tris's two baskets. "Let me help you with that."

Tris scowled, and yanked it away. "I've carried worse than this," she growled as the three of them followed a path that cut across the wide loops of the spiral road. "I used to carry two baskets this size to market, when I was at Cousin Uraelle's, and back."

"Back?" Aymery's eyes widened with shock. "Up that ghastly hill? But you were just a little girl-"

"I earned my keep," Tris said with pride, hoisting the larger basket to keep it from brushing a flower border.

"But she had servants, the old miser-"

"A woman came three days of seven, for big ch.o.r.es," replied Tris. "But she had to be watched. She was lazy. Cousin Uraelle was bedridden, so I had to keep an eye on things."

"The old skinflint," muttered Aymery. He took the other large basket from Briar, which suited the boy just fine. "She was rich enough to afford servants. Did she leave you anything when she died, at least?"

Tris shook her head. "Not a copper."

"Then where did the money go? She must have left it to someone."

"House Chandler. They have to have a ship named for her on the seas for evermore."

Merchants, Briar thought. I'd've left it for something useful, like a garden in a place like Deadman's District, or the Mire. He grinned, amused by the idea that he would ever be in a position to leave money to anyone when he died.

They were just crossing the crowded road between the loomhouses and Discipline when three loud, sharp cracks split the air to the south. A horse reared, screaming in fright; Aymery dragged Briar out from in front of it. Oxen drawing a handful of carts lowed, the white showing all the way around their eyes. Little Bear plumped his behind on the cobbles and yowled; dogs and babies among the refugees did the same thing.

"Thanks," Briar said to Aymery, when the man let go. "Little Bear, stop it, or I'll tell Rosethorn on you." The pup fell silent.

Tris stared at Briar, sweating. "You think it was more of those booming things?"

"I'm sure of it," the boy said, opening the gate to Discipline. "Come on - let's get inside."

CHAPTER NINE.

Rosethorn, Lark and Sandry were all at the big table, working. Tris went immediately to her bird in Rosethorn's workshop. She could hear his peeping. Uncovering the nest, she saw the starling was awake and alert. Seeing her, he opened his beak wide.

"In a moment," she said, and covered him up again. She helped Briar to stow the baskets' contents in the cold-box, eager to find the ground meat and egg yolks that Gorse had put in. The nestling squalled; "in a moment" was not what he wanted.

"If we didn't have Frostpine and Daja in our own rooms -well, Rosethorn and I will be sleeping in our workshops as it is," said Lark, when Aymery made his request.

"I feel guilty, not having anyone when they're laying pallets down in all the dormitories," Rosethorn admitted.

"I don't mind a pallet, here or in the attic," Aymery told them.

"You don't need one." Sandry looked up from her weaving. In the time since Briar and Tris had left, she had managed to put nearly a foot and a half of cloth on the narrow loom that Lark was teaching her to use. If pressed to comment, she would have said it looked no worse - and not much better - than the weaving she had done the day before. "If Daja says it's all right, I'll sleep in her room, and Tris's cousin can sleep in mine." Getting up, she went to see if Daja was awake enough to ask.

She was, and gave her permission immediately. With that settled, Aymery went to get his things from the guesthouse.

"Now," Lark told Tris and Briar as Rosethorn heated fish stew, and Tris prepared meat and egg b.a.l.l.s for her nestling. "What did Moonstream say when you found her?"

The nestling was fed, and the stew hot, when five sharp crack-booms shattered the noontime heat one after another. Outside, animals and babies cried out. One woman screamed, "What is it?" over and over, until someone hushed her up.

Tris was shaking. Lark and Rosethorn, looking grave, took the stew to their invalids.

"No one's ever seen anything like this?" Sandry whispered to the other two children.

"Not that we heard," Briar muttered.

The five of them were just finishing their own midday - not the stew, which was needed to build up Daja's and Frost-pine's strength, but cold beef, cheese and vegetables from the garden - when a runner stumbled in the door.

"Moonstream asks for you the senior mages to be on the wall by South Gate when the clock strikes one," he gasped, and ran out again.

"That means us," Lark said, rubbing her face tiredly. "I don't know how much good I'll be for this." She rose with a sigh and looked out the window at the clock. "We have a few minutes to get there, at least."

"I know what Moonstream wants." Frostpine stood in Rosethorn's doorway, his dark face ashy with exhaustion, as he leaned on the frame. "If they're using those - those boom-stones, or whatever they are, down at the cove..."

Lark helped him over to a seat.

"Thanks, my dear," Frostpine said. He leaned forward,

supporting his weight on the table. "All those bangs are coming from South Gate."

Everyone looked at him, not sure what he was getting at. "I heard you say we have pirates in the cove. They'll be trying to land - and that piece of the spell-net is ruined.

The southern approach has no protection but our handful of soldiers and the war- mages - who are only human. How long can they hold off pirates and their mages?

And how long can they keep the pirates from landing those catapults on the sh.o.r.e, where they can bombard all Winding Circle?"

"Before we didn't need anything but the spell-net," Rosethorn commented. "No one could fight it-"

"Because once invaders touch the net, they have no idea of where they are, or what they do," said Frostpine. "The net is still protection for the rest of the wall on the west, north and east. But the cove... I think Moonstream needs you seniors who can walk to find ways to defend the South Gate, and the beach."

Rosethorn slowly grinned, showing her teeth. "I can be of use, then." She strode into her workshop, crooking a finger at Briar. "Come on - you'll go with me." The boy obeyed.

Lark drummed her fingers on the table, thinking. Abruptly she commented, "Sandry, continue with this kind of weaving while I'm gone."

"But Lark-" protested the girl.

Lark raised a hand to quiet her. "I know we'd thought to go back to magical weaving this afternoon, but I can't risk you trying it alone."

"I'll be careful-"

Lark smoothed a lock of hair away from Sandry's face. "Some of the spells we've done with you children - the weaving spell, the spell Niko used with Tris to see what happened at Bit, the one Frostpine and Daja used on the harbour chain - those are called great-spells. Without a senior mage who understands great-spells to guide them, young mages have been known to get so caught up in one that they die. They feed their magic and their lives in the pattern of the spell, without ever realizing what they're doing."

"My best friend died that way, twenty years ago." Frost-pine was resting his head on his folded arms. "He was building a lead pattern - it was to be a window in the shape of a thousand-petalled flower, one that would hold and give off sunlight on the gloomiest days. He wanted to impress our master, and he burned up right in front of my eyes."

Sandry gulped, and nodded. "I'll stick to this, I promise," she said, patting the small loom. This weaving lacked the feeling of power she'd had the day before, as she watched the novices stagger away with baskets full of new bandage. On the other hand, she was enjoying life too much to risk losing it so foolishly.

Rosethorn and Briar returned. Briar carried a cloth bag, Rosethorn a bottle and a cup just big enough to hold an egg. To the eyes of all three children present, the bottle gleamed white with power. Placing the cup next to Frost-pine, Rosethorn poured it half full of green liquid. "Drink," she ordered. "You and Daja must be able to move, just in case."

Frostpine made a face. Lifting the cup, he dumped its contents down his throat.

"Auugghh!" he yelled, his voice stronger than it had been since his return from the harbour. "Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

"If I mean to kill someone. I do it," Rosethorn told him. "I don't try.'" She poured a lesser amount of green liquid into the cup. "Give this to Daja, and put the bottle back in my workshop. And keep resting, while you can." To Lark and Briar she said, "Let's go."

Frostpine whistled the dog back when Little Bear would have followed the three of them. The ashy tone was fading from the man's dark skin, and his back was straighter.

Getting to his feet, he took the cup in to Daja.

"I hope they'll be all right," Sandry whispered to Tris.

"Maybe bring our cord out here, just in case," the other girl said quietly.

Sandry nodded, and went to get the circle of lumpy thread.

When they reached the top of the South Gate, Briar decided it had been a bad idea to invite all the senior mages up. The racket was worse than in a houseful of geese, he thought, and the noise made about as much sense, too. He could see Crane, First Dedicate of the Air temple and Rosethorn's main rival, waving thin arms as he argued with Niko and Moonstream. Gorse was nowhere in sight. Surely anyone who could blow people out of the kitchens without touching them was a senior mage, but perhaps his cookery spared him from follies like this. He also didn't see Skyfire near the Dedicate Superior. That was because Skyfire was in position further down the wall, beside a pair of mages, scowling at the invading fleet.

Lark waded into the crowd. She put a hand on one yelling dedicate-initiate's shoulder, spoke in another's ear. Both looked shamefaced, tucked their hands into their habit sleeves, and stood back to let her through. Touching, smiling, talking quietly, Lark worked her way through the noisy gathering, leaving calm in her wake.

"There's more to Lark than meets the eye, isn't there?" Briar asked Rosethorn.

"We'll make an initiate of you yet, boy, if your perception keeps improving,"

Rosethorn said. "Come on. If we get arguing with this lot, we'll lose time." She headed to Skyfire with Briar in tow.

He looked out to sea. The illusion-spells were off the fleet: he guessed there were ten dromons in all, and fifteen plain galleys. Inching between the ships were long boats laden with men, small catapults and weapons: a landing-force. In the prow of each boat stood a man or woman - mages, Briar guessed, to protect the raiders from Winding Circle's magic. Not just against magic, either, he realized, seeing that all along the southern stretch of the wall, dedicates and novices readied catapults of their own. Beside each stood an open barrel filled with globes: animal skins that held a dreadful-smelling liquid.

"Battlefire?" he asked one of the mages near Skyfire, pointing. The woman looked, and nodded.

Briar shivered. Once in Hajra, three ships, survivors of a pirate attack, had limped into harbour when he and some friends were playing on the docks. Each had been hit by the jelly called battlefire. One ship burned as it came, and sank inside the harbour's mouth. The other two had docked, to off-load their dead and wounded. The sight and smell of scorched flesh had given Briar nightmares for months.

Rosethorn waited until Skyfire was done speaking with a runner, then told him, "You're so busy planning how to weave magics, shielding that and blending this, that you forget it doesn't have to be magic alone."

Skyfire glared down at the stocky woman, thin nose twitching. "Only shields will protect us from those catapults, and the boom-stones," he snapped.

"And the cove?" she asked. With a wave she indicated the stretch of open dirt below them. It was pocked with deep craters, and reeked of boom-stone smoke.

"That's why we have archers, not to mention these clackers up here," Skyfire snapped, glaring at the crowd around Moonstream. "They just haven't been useful yet."

Rosethorn poked Briar so he would show the redheaded dedicate the bag he carried.

"Brambles," she told Skyfire, naming the seeds that she'd ordered Briar to put into it.

"Rosevines. Sea buckthorn. Briars." She grinned at the boy. "Sea holly. Milk thistle, Namorn thistle - and a few things here and there to help it all along."

Briar tried not to smile. Before he'd tied each fistful of seed into a square of cloth, Rosethorn had drenched them in a liquid that did for plants what her other tonic did for weak birds and worn-out mages.

Skyfire lifted one of the small bundles in his hand. "You think you can grow enough of a barrier to hold off that landing force, child?" he asked, sceptical.

"Get that seed all over the ground, and Briar and I will see what we can do," she told him firmly. "All your warriors need do is launch the bundles - Lark will make sure they open to scatter the seed."

Skyfire rubbed his chestnut beard, then took the bundle from Briar and waved to a handful of soldiers loitering nearby. One of them was the woman who had taken charge of Little Bear that morning; she winked at Briar and stood at attention for Skyfire's orders. "Get two of these little b.a.l.l.s to each of the catapults along this quarter of the wall," he said. "Load them immediately, and get them into the air.

Cover all the area not shielded by the spell-nets."