Untalented (13 page)

“About the rotunda, Highness? It was built with—”

“No, no, nothing to do with that. About the Builder’s Guild.”

“The guild? Your Highness is a musician, is she not?”

“Yes. Soon to be a full member of my guild as well. They have high entrance standards. I had thought all the guilds had such standards, but it appears I am mistaken about the Builder’s Guild.”

The buildmaster spluttered in confusion. “Your Highness is not happy with my work?”

Martezha rolled her eyes. “Your work is perfectly acceptable. No, I am simply puzzled by the guild’s recent admission of someone I know.”

The buildmaster’s confusion increased. “This person is not a builder, in your esteem?”

“Since she was most recently a member of the castle’s stable staff, I should think not. If I were you, I would have the guild scrutinize whatever credentials she presented.”

The buildmaster looked completely taken aback. “Who is this person, Highness?”

Martezha smiled. Loric clenched his fist in triumph.

Elbows on the desk, Saroya kneaded her forehead, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. She knew exactly what she wanted to accomplish with her offal removal system, but she just couldn’t draw it—a clean way to represent the underground network of aqueducts eluded her. Conceptually, it was simple—replace the uncovered street ditches with enclosed tunnels then add drain holes in the flagstones to catch runoff, and pipes to remove waste from homes. Small feeder pipes would lead to larger pipes debouching into major arms of the river or the open sea. The idea would go a long way to cleaning up the city streets and eliminating the odors she so hated. She stared at the sketches on her slate in frustration. None! Not one was worth transferring to parchment. She’d been up all night with nothing to show for her efforts.

A crow cawed outside; such a simple life—hunt shellfish all day, and return to the rookery every night to be surrounded by family. No worries about acceptance. No fears of being cast out. No sketches to produce for review first thing in the morning.

She would just have to explain to her drafting teacher, Master Murtag, that the inspiration had not come.

She dropped her chalk, pushed the slate away, stretched and yawned, then fetched fresh water for washing. Then she slouched off in search of some tea in the kitchens to clear her fuzzy head. On top of everything else, the guild kept her so busy her search for Veshwa was now stalled.

She stirred cream into her cup. Varzha, a fellow apprentice who’d been helping her with some of her assignments, showed up.

“How’d you make out?”

“Bah—I’m having trouble with the diagrams. Back to the drawing board, I suppose.”

“I spotted Master Dila at your door before I came down. You must have just missed him.”

“What could he want with me?” Aside from her required courses, she’d steered clear of Dila since her entrance interview.

“You’re to report to his office after breakfast.”

Saroya felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

“Huh. I didn’t think I did that badly on the materials assignment.”

Varzha grinned, and raised his cup. “Better fortify yourself.”

Saroya gave him a weak smile.

Master Dila’s stern expression as she entered his office confirmed her worst fears. She glanced at the two other men in the room but did not recognize them. Dila came straight to the point.

“Mistress Bardan, do you recognize this person?”

Saroya peered at the man to Dila’s left. She feared she knew what the correct answer was, but it would not get her far.

Dila shook his head. “No, I thought not. This is Goha Ferlen. Goha Ferlen has never met you, and never wrote a letter of reference for you. What have you to say for yourself?”

Saroya swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted to pull herself together. Her voice shook. “I apologize for deceiving you, Master Dila, but I just did not see any other way to show you what I’m capable of doing.”

“Capable? You are failing half your apprenticeships. Your ideas are impractical and fanciful. We are builders here, not dreamers. How did you settle on Goha Ferlen’s name to besmirch?”

Saroya could find no sympathy in any of the faces before her. “I know his family through a friend of mine,” she whispered.

“Which friend?”

Saroya didn’t answer. Nalini would be so angry. What would her parents say to her when they found out?

The master builder slammed his hand down on the table. “Answer me! Which friend?”

“N-Nalini Ferlen, the apprentice healer. She had nothing to do with this, I swear. She doesn’t even know. Please don’t punish her.”

Dila’s mouth set into a grim line. “She is not the one who should worry about punishment. I am fetching the magistrates. The guild cannot tolerate a fraud like this.”

“But—”

“The reputations of Master Ferlen and the guild have suffered enough. Dismissed.”

Saroya turned and left the room with her head held high. She refused to let them see her cowed. When she rounded the corner to the stairs, she fled to her room. Maybe if she left quickly enough, she could evade the magistrates. She crammed her meager possessions into a saddlebag. She found a leather sheet to encase her drawings. Maybe one day they’d be useful.

Varzha walked in. “What are you doing?”

Saroya explained in as few words as possible. “I want to thank you for all your help. It meant a lot to me.” She held out her hand. “I hope we can still be friends.”

Varzha slapped her, hard.

“Friends? After humiliating me like this? And the guild? The sooner you’re out of my sight the better.”

Rubbing her stinging cheek, Saroya avoided anybody she saw in the corridors as she exited the guildhall. She trotted down the hall’s stately entrance stairway, but saw no sign of the law officers. A voice behind her called her name. She pretended she had not heard—she could still escape—but the person called out again more insistently, so, turning around and laying her gear on the step beside her, she braced herself to hear out her summoner.

It was Goha Ferlen.

He trod down the last few steps towards her. Too overwhelmed in Master Dila’s office, she had not taken in much of his appearance. His stature was typically Ferlen: short, with a slim build. He stooped with age, which made him appear even smaller. Nevertheless, given the circumstances, she found him imposing. He was a distant cousin to Nalini’s father. He stopped on the step above her, meeting her gaze eye to eye.

“Why?”

Saroya studied the granite carving of a lion’s head on the balustrade as she contemplated her answer. When she met his rheumy eyes again, she was surprised to see genuine concern in place of the censure she’d expected.

“Maybe I’ll never be a builder. But I know I’m more than just a stable hand. I just need someone to believe in me.” She paused, and looked over his shoulder at the builders’ sigil over the doorway. “If I’d told the truth, the guild—they’d have turned me away. My ideas—they could work. I can’t draw them at all, but maybe one day, if I describe them to someone like you, that person can build them for me. For everyone.”

She glanced down at her feet, and took a deep breath.

“I am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. I hope you didn’t come all this way just to deal with me.”

He gave her a wry smile. “No. I came to U’Veyle on business and when Dila ran into me, the news of my new ‘protégée’ took me by surprise. Your secret might never have come out if not for a crack in the foundation of a building I designed several years ago.”

“It probably would have come out once Master Murtag saw my assignment this morning.”

“Perhaps. But if you read certain histories you might find that many of your kind have gone undetected in the guilds for quite a long time—sometimes lifetimes. The guilds do not like to publicize this fact. It begs the question: what is Talent, if an Untalent can feign it? Many of these supposed Untalents are responsible for great advances in their fields. They tend to be known as dabblers within their guilds.”

Saroya stared at him. Not the lecture she’d expected.

“Your designs, while rough, appear quite innovative to me. I believe you could have kept your head above water for quite some time in the guild, were it not that you have an important enemy.” Saroya stared at him, tense again.

“Chance did not bring your lack of Talent to the guild’s attention. The princess took pains to point out your lack of qualifications to them. Why this might be of such personal concern to her, I don’t understand—do you?”
 

Saroya swallowed. He gave her a little pat on the shoulder, then took her hand and pressed something into it—a ten-weight coin, and a small piece of parchment inscribed with his name and a street number in Galon Ford.

“If you are ever in Galon Ford, and need someone to do those drawings for you, look me up. Give Nalini my best. I hear she’s doing great things in the Healer’s Guild.” Before Saroya could thank him, he turned and slowly made his way back up the stairs and into the guildhall. Down the street, she spotted two official-looking men wearing the black coats of magistrates. She grabbed her bag and ran.

Loric resented Daravela’s summons to the Order’s hall so late in the evening. Why had she insisted he bring Isolte with him?

Daravela slapped a parchment down onto the desk before her. “The Bardan girl’s Testing results. The doyenne in Adram Vale did not err—there’s no clear Talent here.” Daravela riffled through more papers. She rubbed her temple, seemingly lost in thought. Then she fixed Isolte with a piercing stare. “What is House Roshan up to?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, my dear. Since the Great Plague, not once has your family nominated one of their own for election by the Houses to the royal throne. Not since Testing exposed the taint of Untalent in your line.”

Isolte sat back, visibly flustered. Loric decided to let her flounder and see where Daravela led them. “Why is that a problem?” Isolte asked.

“Just because you’re working behind the scenes doesn’t mean the Order doesn’t know what you’re up to.”

Loric thought he understood. Each time the Order attempted to gain a seat in the Great Circle of Houses, its efforts failed. The Houses refused to relinquish their power. Especially those that had something to lose come Testing time. Loric knew of several older Houses that discreetly lobbied against the Order. They were careful to do nothing the Order could ever prove.

Daravela continued. “Don’t think that Roshan’s low profile will keep you from going unnoticed when the Order finally proves your family has been faking Talent certificates.”

“How dare you!” Isolte cried out.

Daravela waved several parchments in Isolte’s face. “I’ve been reviewing the records. Once every generation or two, a Roshan child’s Talent emerges by a slim margin. These Talent certificates lack a second Adept examiner’s signature—Queen Padvai’s certificate included!”

“I know nothing of this. It would be my father’s doing if anything. Surely you’re not implying that my own certificate—”

“No. But if we could find a way to tie this conspiracy to Urdig …”

With mounting excitement, Loric stared at Isolte. “Did he know when he married Padvai that the certificate was a fake?”

Isolte shrugged. “It would be hard to prove.”

“I have another question,” Daravela said. “If your family found a way to bribe Adepts into certifying their Untalents, why did Padvai hide the Bardan girl?”