“What’s she do here?” Briar asked, curious. “What’s her name? ‘Evvy,’ you said?”

The owner shrugged, not quite meeting Briar’s eyes. “She’s just a street kid,” he replied. The word for baby goat was slang for a child in Briar’s native Imperial as well as in Chammuri. “She polishes some of my pieces, and I throw her a few coppers.”

“Then he triples the price and sells them to the mage trade,” the shopkeeper across the aisle called, his voice waspish. He was seated at a bench as he worked on jewelry. “Just because he realized the ones she handles sell quicker.”

“I’d pay her more,” protested the muscular stall owner, glaring at his neighbor. “But she won’t handle all the rocks. And what does she do, anyway? She polishes them with a rag, cleans them up a bit.”

“He spoke of magic, Nahim Zineer,” the sharp-voiced man retorted, pointing at Briar. The boy glanced at the awning overhead: gold embroidered letters read NAHIM ZINEER: CRYSTALS, PRECIOUS, AND SEMIPRECIOUS STONES.

“If she’s a mage, what’s she doing living in some Oldtown cave like an animal?” Nahim demanded, glaring at the jeweler. “She’s just got a hand with cleaning stones, that’s all.” To Briar he said, “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t frighten her off again.”

“At least not until she’s done all the baskets,” quipped his neighbor.

Briar wandered off, shaking his head. It was possible the girl might not know of her gift. Some magic hid in most things, waiting for a mage with the right power to call it forth. That had been the case with Briar and the three girls who had shared a house with him at Winding Circle temple in Summersea. None of the four had shown the traditional signs of magical power, but all their lives they had been fascinated by particular ordinary things, things they later discovered were magically bound to them. In Briar’s case his magic had drawn him to plants. Only at Winding Circle, under the supervision of four extraordinary mage-teachers, had he and the girls learned about their unusual magics, and the ways they could be used. What if there was no one like Niklaren Goldeye, the mage who had seen Briar’s magic and taken him to Winding Circle, in Chammur? This girl might never be trained in the use of her power. Worse, if it broke away from her — as magic often did when its bearer could not control it — she would find herself in real trouble.

Briar was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had attracted companions until two youths slid up on either side of him. Two more oozed out of the crowds ahead to block his advance. If Briar had cared to gamble he would have bet there were two more behind him. All of the ones he could see wore the yellow metal nose ring and garnet drop; all moved together without discussion. They nudged him to one side, trying to direct him down a dimly lit aisle. Briar stopped. There was no telling what they’d do in some dark niche. He had no intention of finding out. He saw no weapons, but that meant nothing: he carried nine. Theirs were probably tucked in the same places that his were.They were barefoot or in sandals, so at least they had no boot knives, and he did.

The ties that kept his wrist knives in their sheaths were twisted hemp. They came undone at his command, letting the hilts slip down into his palms. “You kids run along and play,” he told the youths in heavily accented Chammuri. “I’m just minding my own business.”

One of them, a short black youth, crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re on Viper ground, eknub” — foreigner.

“You got me wrong.” Briar met the speaker’s eyes. “I’m not in your business.” His tongue fumbled with the unfamiliar Chammuri words. He hoped they meant the same things they did in the west. “I’m just shopping. Besides, souks are free zones. You can’t claim them for territory.”

The youth beside the first speaker raised an eyebrow. He was tall, lean, brown-skinned, sixteen or seventeen years old. His eyes were like stones. “If it barks like a dog, eats like a dog, walks like a dog — it’s a dog,” he said lazily. “You look like competition to us, eknub. And outside these doors, you’re on Viper territory.”

Briar scratched his head. A rude answer, even if it made him feel better, would only dig him into more trouble, not less. “The competition’s all in your minds, boys,” he informed them. “I’m just passing through.”

The black youth met Briar’s eyes. “You better be telling the truth,” he cautioned. “We don’t like poachers.”

“Not at all,” the taller boy added.

The Vipers faded into the crowd with the ease of long practice.

Briar slid his wrist knives back into their sheaths, and ordered the hemp ties to lock them in place again. So the nose ring and pendant meant Viper. He wondered who the black-and-white gang was, and if they knew the Vipers had claimed the streets around Golden House.

Not my headache, he realized, turning down the aisle where charms were sold. I’ve said my good-bye to gangs.

It lacked an hour to sunset when he left Golden House and turned his face toward the home he and Rosethorn had rented on the Street of Hares. Traffic was heavy now as people came inside the walls, their workday at an end. Briar dodged camels, mules, and people, briefly touching each plant that reached for him from the ground and from the windows of different houses, giving them some affection before he ordered them back to their pots or trellises. He was still thinking of that street girl.