Chapter 49: Confidences and Magic String

Riza didn't understand what she had done wrong.

She knew that it must have been something terrible, but she couldn't figure out what it was, or when she had done it. A long time ago, probably. When she was just little and didn't know any better, but that didn't matter. Papa kept telling Roy that the things you did do were what mattered, not the things that you meant to do.

Papa told Roy a lot of things. Whenever Roy did his lessons, Papa would put aside his own work to discuss things with him. They would talk about the subject at hand, whether it was mathematics or chemistry or history or philosophy. Roy had trouble with the last two, and Riza knew it, but Papa never seemed to notice. He couldn't see that half the time Roy was faking his way through it. Riza knew, though. She saw Roy thumping the pages in frustration when he studied in the kitchen, or staring vacantly at the big, old dictionary, and once or twice she had even caught him sounding words out under his breath – words that she, despite the fact that she was only six and he was ten, had no trouble at all in reading.

Riza didn't understand. She was a good reader. She knew all of her numbers, and she could add and sub-stract, and even knew her two times tables. Still, no matter how hard she worked, how carefully she studied, how well she learned the things that Papa wanted her to recite, it never seemed good enough. There was always some little mistake, or her writing was too messy, or she had answered too slowly or spoke too softly. And Papa never talked to her about things the way he talked to Roy.

Of course, Roy was older, so he was probably more interesting to talk to. And Roy was learning alchemy, so Papa liked that, too. Papa loved alchemy. Sometimes Riza wished that she could learn alchemy, too, so that Papa would spend time with her like he spent time with Roy.

Some small part of her mind thought that this was all wrong. She thought that her papa was supposed to love her, and read her stories, and bounce her on his knee, and call her chibi-chan. Instead, he was impatient and grumpy, distant at the best of times, too busy to read to her unless she made a mistake and he had to correct her. His knees were always under his desk, now, or piled high with the new books he kept sending away for. And he never called her anything but "you" on most days. "You, go and wash your face!" he would say; or "You, find something quiet to do!"; or "You come here and I'll give you some more arithmetic problems".

Riza wondered what terrible, awful thing she could possibly have done to make him stop loving her.

Right now, he was bent over his desk, poring over another book, his hand tapping the barrel of his fountain pen against the paper before him. His eyes were focused intently on the page, and he looked like there was nothing in the world but himself and the words that he was drinking in.

Riza bit her lip and bowed her head over the reader. She was six years old now, and she was a big girl. Papa had said so – almost the only kind thing he had said to her in weeks. She was a big girl, he said, and Riza's heart had soared with pleasure... and then he had quantified it with a brusque "big enough to study quietly, for goodness' sake!"

Papa wasn't studying quietly, she thought crossly. He was humming. That was odd: Papa didn't ordinarily hum at all. He didn't sing anymore, either. Nobody sang in this house, 'cept sometimes Doctor Bella if she stayed late on the nights she brought supper. If she put Riza to bed, she would linger to read a story and sing a lullaby. Those were the nicest times.

But now, Papa was humming. It wasn't any tune that Riza recognized, so she cocked her head, listening to the unfamiliar but not unpleasant sound.

Roy wasn't here. It was springtime again, and Maes was in town, so Roy was upstairs, changing the sheets on Papa's bed. He wasn't allowed to play with Maes until all of his chores were done. Riza wondered if they still played the same games now that they were both bigger. Roy was ten years old, and his trousers and sleeves were getting too short. Maes had stopped by the yard a couple of times to help with the garden, and he was enormous now: almost as big as a grown-up man. Riza wondered why a grown-up man would want a boy for a friend, even a big boy like Roy.

Riza wished she could have a friend.

The room was suddenly silent again. Riza felt oddly disappointed. "Don't stop, Papa," she pleaded. "It's pretty."

Papa's head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder at her. "What is it?" he demanded coldly.

Riza shrank a little under his hard gaze. "T-the music," she said. "It's pretty."

Papa blinked. "What music?" he asked.

"Th-the music you w-were humming," Riza whispered. She hoped he wouldn't be angry! She hadn't meant to speak out loud, but the music had been pretty, and she missed it!

"Was I?" Papa sounded surprised. Then he laughed softly to himself. "I suppose I was. Yes, it is pretty, isn't it?"

Riza nodded warily.

"Pretty and useful," Papa said. "You see, I've worked out what it was missing. I tried for months – years to encode it using images alone, but that isn't enough. An image can't provide the intricacy that you need to encipher this kind of information. It's too complex. So you need something else. Numerical codes are too easy to break. Much, much too easy."

There was a queer, animated light in his eyes. Riza didn't understand what he was saying, but she nodded anyway. She hadn't had this much attention from her father in longer than she could readily recall. She didn't want to interrupt him.

"But words... you can do so much with words!" he went on. "And the fact that there's music, and the original text as well... why, you see how the options are endless! I could encrypt entire volumes this way! No average alchemist will be able to work this out: pedantic, small-minded fools that they are. If only the process wasn't so time-consuming..."

Then his expression changed. Suddenly he was shocked, and maybe even a little frightened, as if he had just realized that he was revealing something very important to a bewildered six-year-old. He frowned.

"Riza, this is our secret, do you understand me?" he said, and suddenly he sounded very stern. "You are never to tell anyone. Not Doctor Bella, not Roy... no one. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Papa," Riza breathed, nodding fervently. It had something to do with his alchemy: she knew it! "But why not Roy?"

"Because it's none of his business!" her father snapped. "This is my work. My research, Riza. Do you understand that? I've devoted my life to this knowledge, and I have to guard it. You have to help me guard it."

"Yes, Papa. I will," Riza said. Her eyes were wide: she couldn't believe what she was hearing. He was trusting her with a secret! It was a secret that she couldn't understand, true, but it was obviously terribly important. Suddenly she was glad she couldn't understand. If she didn't know what the secret was, she couldn't betray it.

"Good girl," Papa murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "Good girl." He turned back towards his desk. "I think you've worked hard enough for one day. Run along and play."

"Yes, Papa. I won't tell anybody," Riza said. He had called her a good girl! Today she was a good girl! "I promise."

"See that you don't," Papa said. "I'm trusting you, Riza. This is very important."

"Very important," Riza echoed, partly in agreement and partly because she relished the words. He was trusting her with something important! Her papa, who before now hadn't even trusted her to go into town to get the mail, was trusting her to help him protect his work! She was a good girl today!

"Run along, now. Go and play. Maybe Roy will take you to see that worthless friend of his. Then maybe I could have a little peace and quiet for once." Papa picked up his pen and turned back to his book.

Riza understood. She was dismissed. She carefully set down her schoolbook, and slipped from the room, drawing the study door closed behind her.

discidium

She found Roy just getting ready to leave. "Papa said I could come with you," Riza said softly.

"He did?" Roy said incredulously.

Riza nodded. "He wants some peace and quiet."

Roy rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly. "You're not loud!" he said. "D'you want to come?"

Riza wasn't sure. It would be nice to get away from the house for a while, and after all, Papa did want peace and quiet, and obviously she was louder than Roy thought, because she still bothered Papa.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"I think you should," Roy said earnestly. "Besides, Maes' place is amazing! Maybe you can meet his brothers."

Riza dared to smile. She loved Roy so much. He never made her feel stupid or unwanted. He let her do the dishes and help in the garden, even though Papa didn't think she could be trusted with such responsibilities. He liked her writing and he was just a little envious of her reading. He was smart and talented and sometimes even funny. When she looked at Roy, she could almost understand why Papa liked him better: she liked him best of all herself.

"Okay," she said.

Roy grinned enormously. "That's great!" he said happily. He plucked her straw hat from its peg and tied it under her chin for her. "You're gonna love it!"

Riza slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed it fondly, leading her through the door and out onto the road that led into town. Her stomach fluttered with excitement. Even though she didn't much care for Maes, she was cognizant of the treat of being allowed to go and visit him. She hardly ever went out, except sometimes if Papa would let her go with Roy to buy food and paper and pick up the mail.

They walked through the town, and out towards the creek bluffs. Riza hadn't been in the woods for a long, long time. Suddenly she felt sad. The last time she had been to the woods, Papa had brought her, and they had fed the little animals together. Or maybe that was a dream. It didn't seem very real.

The trees ended abruptly, and the two children stepped into a clearing. Riza looked at the caravans with their pretty carvings and bright colours. She took in the fire pit, and the little kiln, and the wagon piled high with a load covered by a heavy tarpaulin. Her heart leapt eagerly when she saw the horses. Four of the big ones were grazing on their picket lines. She wondered where the other two and the lively little pony were.

There were no people around, either, except for Maes. He was seated cross-legged in the shade, and he was sewing. Riza was surprised and bewildered: she thought that only ladies could sew. Papa certainly didn't know how: it was Doctor Bella who did the mending now that Momma was... dead.

Roy let go of her hand and sprinted over to flop down in the grass by his friend. "Hey," he said.

Maes grinned, clamped his needle between his front teeth, and held out his fist. Roy made one of his own, and bopped the older boy's hand with it. Then Maes turned back to his work.

"I'm almost done," he promised. Then he added, almost as an afterthought; "Hey there, Riza."

Riza wasn't sure what to do with herself, so she moved to stand at Roy's shoulder, stealing shy glances at Maes and trying to figure out what it was he was making. It was small and brown, and it seemed to have a lot of little tubes attached to it. The seams weren't very smooth, either.

"What's that?" Roy asked.

"What's this?" Maes echoed indignantly. "What do you think it is? It's a glove, of course!" He knotted off his thread and bit it in two. "Gareth's teaching me his trade, since I'll never make a tinker."

He stuck the needle into a little pouch of emery, and held up his handiwork. "Not bad, huh?" he asked. "I mean, it's a little puckered, but after a few days' wear you'll never know the difference!"

Roy regarded him sceptically. "It's got six fingers," he said.

"It does not!" Maes contradicted indignantly. Then he looked at it and hissed. "Shh – darn it!" he expectorated. Then he put on a showy smile. "Well, haven't you ever seen a six-fingered man?"

Roy shook his head patiently, and Riza hid a little giggle behind her hand.

"Neither have I," Maes admitted; "but he's out there somewhere! And when I find him, I'll give this to him, and he'll be my friend forever. So there!"

"I don't think you're much of a glover, either," Roy said.

Maes moaned a little and fell backwards so that he was lying in the grass – which looked quite odd because his legs were still crossed. "I know," he said. "I've been at it since New Year's, and I can't even make a decent pattern. A pattern that produces something that looks like a glove, even; let alone a custom pattern that'd actually fit someone!"

"Well, you could try glassgrinding," Roy suggested.

"I did!" Maes wailed. "I spent the whole first part of the winter with Eli at the glassworks in East City!"

"And?" Roy asked apprehensively.

"And what do you think? Everything I touched shattered into a million pieces! My marbles all turned out like snakes. I tried to pour a saucer, and it came out looking like a molehill. And when they had me try blowing something..." He grimaced. "I blew too hard and the bulb exploded and burned one of the senior apprentices right between the eyes. Eli says I could've blinded him. After that they politely asked me to leave. I still say it was the apprentice's fault for taking off his goggles to impress that girl..."

"Ah..." Roy said sympathetically. "Well, you could always try... uhm... something else?"

"Huh. The only thing I'm good at is hunting," Maes said. "I got a pair of pheasant yesterday. Ben says I'm a heck of a hand with the knives. Nope, I'd better face facts: I'm never going to be a wealthy artisan."

"What's this?" a deep, ponderous voice asked.

The two boys didn't even look, but Riza's head whipped around anxiously. There, at the edge of the clearing, stood a tall, grim-faced man wearing dark clothing. He looked a lot like Maes, but he was older, of course, and his hair was shorter, and he wore rectangular glasses instead of round ones.

"Aw, Ben, don't play dumb!" Maes chided. "You know Roy's over here all the time."

"Not him," the man said slowly. He pointed at Riza. "Her."

"That's the alchemist's daughter," Maes said. "Riza."

The man seemed to consider this for a moment, looking Riza over thoughtfully. He reached up and doffed his cap.

"Afternoon, Miss Hawkeye," he said politely.

"A-afternoon," Riza replied.

Ben turned his eye on the boys. "I suppose you two want to run off and tickle some trout or something," he said.

"How'd you guess?" Maes asked.

Ben shrugged. "Had a feeling," he said simply. "Go ahead. Miss Hawkeye and I can keep each other company. Right, little lady?"

Riza wasn't sure of this at all. She had little experience with strange adults, and she was a wee bit afraid of this tall, dour-looking man. But Maes grinned. "Gee, Ben, that's great!" he said, hopping to his feet and tossing the six-fingered glove unceremoniously in the grass. "C'mon, Roy, let's go!"

Roy shook his head. "I told Riza she could play with us," he said.

"Aw, she doesn't want to, do you, Riza?" Maes asked.

"No," Riza said softly, even though it wasn't true. "Have fun, Roy."

"See?" Maes said when Roy still looked doubtful. "Let's go! The day's a-wasting!"

"Go on, son," Ben said in his deep, indolent voice. "Miss Hawkeye and I have things to do. Here." He held out his hand to Riza.

Timidly, she took it, and let him lead her over to one of the logs by the fire. The man sat down, fished into his pocket, and brought out a length of twine.

"You know cat's cradle?" he asked, tying the two ends together so that they formed a loop.

Riza shook her head. Beyond the man's shoulder, she could see Roy and Maes vanishing into the woods.

"Well..." Ben said slowly, looping the string around each of his pinkie fingers. His hands moved quickly, in and out, to and fro, until the string hung between them with a funny, floppy bow in the middle. "There've been an awful lot of flies this year," he said. "Zzz! Bzzz!"

He moved his arms so that the ears of the bow bounced. They did kind of look like the wings of a fly, Riza thought. She watched with interest.

"See," Ben said; "flies'll nip at your arms." He swung the thread so it brushed Riza's shoulder. "Or tickle your nose." She couldn't help smiling a little when he did that. "But I'm so quick, I can catch a fly with my bare hands."

He clapped his palms together over the string, and when he opened them again... the fly was gone! There was just a big, single circle of string. Riza clapped her hands.

"Oh, do it again!" she laughed. "Please, do it again!"

Ben nodded soberly and obliged her. After that he made a cat wit whiskers, and owls' eyes that he held over his face like a mask. He made a house and a ladder with a climbing man, a spider web, and lightning that really seemed to flash across his hands as it ravelled from one shape to another. He made a bunch of keys that she could tug... and when she did so, they disappeared like the fly had. Then he told her a story about a bird and a fish and a teacup and a rolly-polly egg, illustrating it with the string.

Best of all, when he was done he sat her on his knee and helped her make some of the simpler ones. By the time the boys came back, their shirtsleeves damp and their faces rosy with laughter (but with no fish in hand), Riza could do the fly, the teacup, the cat, and a little manger. When Roy said it was time to go, Riza almost felt like crying. She didn't want to leave the nice man, who though he didn't smile was very friendly and kind.

Ben patted the crown of her head. "I'll see you again sometime," he said. "And 'til I do, you can practice on your own," he said. Then he gave her the magical circle of string.

So all that summer, during the lonely hours while Roy was working on his lessons or running about with Maes, Riza played with the string. Sometimes Roy would take her to see Ben Hughes, and whenever she went, the man would teach her another trick with the string. By the time the day came for the tinkers to move on, Riza knew all but the very hardest ones – and really the only reason she couldn't do those was because her hands were too little to accommodate the complex movements required.

For the rest of her life, Riza remembered those hours of learning and perfecting the art of cat's cradle as some of the happiest of her rather bleak childhood.