“That’s right, he does,” admitted Daja, feeling better. “I forgot.” Her appetite returned, and she began to eat.

Chapter 9

When Ben’s father had been alive, the Ladradun family worshipped on the first Watersday of the moon at the temple of Vrohain the Judge, the god who had cut off his left hand so he could never dilute the justice he dispersed with his right. On the second Watersday they attended the temple of Qunoc, mother of the earth and its seed; on the third, they paid their respects to Baion, the cold, white god of killing ice. On the fourth moon they worshipped Eihg, goddess of spring and freedom. After his father’s death, Ben and his family still worshipped all four gods each month. It was Morrachane who went less and less to the other temples. When Ben returned from Godsforge’s school, he took his mother to worship Vrohain each Watersday, rather than fight with her. He also made frequent offerings at the temple of Sythuthan, the trickster who ruled the immense lake.

The day after Daja’s first attempt with the gloves failed, the Ladraduns attended Vrohain’s worship. As they left Morrachane was elsewhere, her copy of The Book of Judgment clutched to her chest, her pale-green eyes fixed on some vision of justice and punishment. She looked exalted. The oddest thought wriggled through Ben’s mind: did he look like her when he watched a fire?

He snorted. He had nothing in common with her. She would be the first to say so; in fact, she’d been telling the world as much for years.

He did not share her exaltation. Instead he reviewed his plans. Tonight’s test of his firefighters had to go without a hitch. For that to happen, he needed to get rid of his mother and go to work.

Just the thought of escaping her, even for a day, sent guilt to nip him. He and his brothers had promised their dying father that they would take care of Morrachane. Only Ben had kept his word, though it got harder and harder. Sometimes he thought the best way to do it would be to put her out of her misery. That was a monstrous thought-he knew it was monstrous. Yet he thought it all the same.

Watching the crowd, he saw the white or silver-trimmed hats and long coats of the magistrate’s lawkeepers. Of course they worshipped Vrohain, both here and at the shrines in the district stations. A glint of gold mixed with silver caught his eye: the mages who served the lawkeepers were here too. Many lawkeepers and mages nodded to him: Ben was well known to the magistrates’ people. He’d trained most in Godsforge’s methods of fighting fires and protecting the crowds who came to watch them.

He had not told them that the boardinghouse fire was deliberately set. Just as Ben set fires to test his brigades, he thought of them also as a test of Kugisko’s magistrates’ mages. They had to be vigilant. They thought the penalty of burning alive was enough to stop anyone from committing arson; it made them lazy. Once people discovered fires were set without the mages’ discovering it, their office would have to improve their methods of investigation.

Sooner or later, he knew, someone would realize that his test fires had been set. Sythuthan played tricks on everyone; sooner or later blind accident would make the authorities suspicious. When that happened, Ben would move on, happily, to another city and another set of lessons.

“Don’t jam your hands into your pockets,” snapped his mother, breaking into his thoughts. “You’ll ruin the line of that coat. Do you want us to freeze to death? Let’s go!”

Ben fell in beside her, plans tumbling through his head as he rearranged and resorted them.

At home they sat down to midday in the kitchen, where the heat from the stove warmed them. Ben laid the place settings and poured tea for his mother and himself. Morrachane served a four-cornered meat pie with braised cabbage and mushrooms. There were no servants in the house; Morrachane refused to pay the extra coin that any servant expected when asked to give up his Watersday. Instead she cooked like a common householder.

They ate in silence. Ben knew better than to draw Morrachane’s attention when her mind was fixed on Vrohain. Afterward, she retired to read her Book of Judgment and nap. He cleared and washed the dishes, then left the house. The business was closed. He would be able to finish his preparations uninterrupted.

His workroom was in a corner of the main warehouse garret, secured with two locks and hidden behind empty crates. Inside he lit the stove, then took out his firesetting device.

He loved working on it. Modeled on a fire-starter designed by Godsforge, it was an intricate layering of materials that would smolder inside for hours before the surface burned and set its surroundings ablaze. Godsforge had drummed it into his students that fires were unexpected; they should always be prepared. To enforce the lesson, he’d arranged with the locals to use his devices to set fires at all hours, calling his students out to fight them. Ben knew he was simply continuing the great man’s work.

Working on his present device, Ben longed for the pure study at Godsforge’s school. He had recovered from his family’s deaths there and even found contentment, only to have it shattered on his return. He was in his mother’s house again, for one. For another, he wearied of battles with councils for funds and space to train firefighters, and battles with the men and women who were ordered by their masters to learn from him. It had been worse that summer: the more time between large fires, the harder it was to get the councils’ attention. They were as bad as children, longing to play without thought for the future. All he wanted to do was help; all the rest of the world did was fight him. If it wasn’t some fur-robed guildsman complaining over the loss of his servants’ time, it was his mother squalling about hours taken from the business. Only when he worked on his tests did he feel better. With those he found a way to control his life: the boardinghouse fire had been his second, his own warehouse the first.