The silver-haired woman smiled. The lesson is never to trust a lock—or the person who tells you how to pick it.”
Malkin grunted.
“Well, that is enough for now,” Shiara told her pupil. “Your fingers are getting stiff from the cold and it is best we rest for a bit.”
“I can go on,” Malkin said stubbornly.
The older woman put her hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “Of course you can. But there is no need and it is best not to force such things without need. Now come and have some hot spiced cider.”
“How did you know?” Malkin asked as they settled in to high-backed chairs before the fire in the great fireplace.
“Hmm?” Shiara said into her mug. “About your fingers? Why, I could hear them. You were slowing down on simple operations.”
If Shiara was blind she still had her ears, her hands, her brains and her memories. Malkin was in the presence of a master burglar and she knew it.
She used no magic, of course. Although Shiara had been a sorceress of high skill, the accident that had ended her career as the Council’s master thief had left her so sensitive to magic that its very presence hurt her. That was why she lived in a magically “dead” zone deep in the Wild Wood, away from other people and their everyday magics. It was why Hearts Ease itself, from stone tower to attached hall to outbuildings to surrounding stockade, had been built completely without resort to magic.
“It is kind of you to teach me, Lady,” Malkin said as she warmed her hands on the mug of fragrant cider.
“It is my pleasure. There is not much human company here in the Wild Wood in wintertime.”
Although she didn’t mention it, Shiara was also doing Wiz a favor. Wiz wanted to get Malkin out of town during the fair. The multitude of booths and merchants was just too tempting for someone of Malkin’s proclivities.
Calling Malkin a thief was like saying Don Vito Corleone was a little dishonest, or Dr. Jekyll had his moody days. Malkin was that rare combination of aptitude, dedication and intelligence that marks a true adept at any art. In her case it just happened to be the art of separating people from their property.
For Malkin, stealing wasn’t just a job and it was more than an adventure. It was business, pleasure and a way of life all rolled into one. She was as dedicated to it as a medieval monk was to his calling—a comparison which would have surprised Jerry, considering her distinctly un-monk-like proclivities in other areas.
“You have a powerful talent,” Shiara went on. “In some ways too much talent.”
Malkin made a noncommittal noise and raised the steaming beaker to her lips.
“I doubt you have ever been seriously challenged in your skill. So far you have been able to rely on your natural abilities blindly, without having to learn the other requirements of your calling.”
“Such as?”
“Patience. Forethought. Perhaps a little humility.”
Malkin smiled. “As you say, I’ve done well enough.”
“But will you do well enough if you face something that really tests you?”
The younger woman sighed and set the beaker of cider on the table. Like as not I’ll never find out. Little enough opportunity I’m like to have for a great test. Things are much changed from your day, Lady.”
“Indeed they are,” Shiara agreed. “And very much for the better.”
Humans had little magic in those not-so-long-gone days when Shiara the Silver and her mate Cormac the Golden had plied their trade. The pair had relied more on stealth and cunning than Cormac’s skill with a sword or Shiara’s abilities as a wizardess to purloin especially dangerous pieces of magic for the Council of the North. It had been the last of these quests which had cost Cormac his life and left Shiara blind and allergic to magic of any land.
“Still, you should strive to perfect your art.” And be careful what you wish for, the blind woman thought, for you may get it.
“Hey, Danny, I’ve got a new wrinkle for the screen saver. Take a look” Two quick mouse clicks and the bunny appeared.