... ^^ Jon Dearborn ^^

— Yafet —

Zara began sewing, her eyes closed. "Sixty and Two years ago, there lived a small girl of 14, an orphan, in the streets of Dublin.

"She was very thin, and quick, and learned to steal from people; from their pockets, their wallets, their purses, even their hearts.

"She would put on performances, near a train station that went to London, so that she had a fresh crowd every single day, and no one but the train station guards knew a thing, but they were lazy Dublin coppa's, and couldn't be bothered to stop her, so long as she wasn't knifing anyone.

"Her performances varied widely. Some days she was a sick mumper, some a destitute orphan, sometimes a guide around Dublin, sometimes a magician who would make things disappear... some days even, she was a very small prostitute, which those sick city-boys seemed to adore." She said this all matter of fact, her eyes closed still, but glowing behind the eyelids.

Her hands didn't stop moving, and I realized the thread and needle were moving on their own, she was only moving the cloth.

She continued. "People would pay her, for her services, or pass her by with a scathing glare, but that was fine.

"Then one day, a man passed by, and simply stared at her, as if confused, then laughed. Before the girl could say anything, he dropped a pound note in her hat, and disappeared.

"Every day after that, the man appeared, always on the 1 O'Clock train from London. The girl began to expect his visits. He never spoke, but he was always there. He would visit, see her act, and if he approved, he would give her money. Nothing as grand as the first day, a few quid at most, but it was money, nonetheless." She smiled a little, fond of the memory.

"Jon Dearborn." I said softly.

The needle stopped moving. "Don't ruin my story, boy." She growled.

"Sorry." I said reflexively, and my brothers glanced at me, shocked and confused.

The needle began moving again. "Anyway... after about two weeks, he stopped coming. The girl noticed many people who had the same build as him, but never saw him again.

"Instead, there were a new gang of little thieves, and she had not time for performances. She took over the gang, and then had them begin to rob the people who didn't tip her. Once a mark tipped her performance, they were marked as Safe. They'd paid the Toll at the Dublin Train Plaza." She grinned evilly.

"Six months after she last saw the silent man, a woman began appearing. She was blind, but seemed to always know where she was going. She would speak to the girl, asking for directions, or simply questions about the weather.

"The girl did not allow her gang to steal from cripples, and so the woman was always safe, even though she had a very obvious purse attached to her belt." She smiled again, clearly showing this was another happy memory.

I suppressed my desire to name her, as well. The blind woman from the boat. Marissa Keaton, the Celt Eye, the Ravenite. One of the most feared women in all Europe, for a few very good reasons.

She seemed to notice my restraint, and smiled. "Mm... after about two weeks, she, to, stopped visiting. After she left, the girl realized she had quite a few blind orphans wandering around. She put them to work with her gang, masquerading as guide and cripple, having an excuse to rob most people... well, blind." She laughed softly, and the needle wobbled, then retraced itself, re-sewing its previous loop.

"Another six months later, a very tall man with no ears came to her little stall, as she had evolved from a orphan to a shopkeeper. She would still do performances, but they were now about selling things, instead of herself.

"Stolen watches could be reclaimed, purses, canes, jewelry, rings and such, all for a Toll. The deaf man couldn't hear very well, or at all, but he read lips very well. And from studying him, the girl learned as well."

I shivered. Hayden the Poison Maker. Deaf, yes, but he knew everything there was to know about herbs, even oriental herbs. Every poison known to man had passed his lips, and he was still alive. The rumors that this made him immune to poisoning may be fake, but only exaggerated. It was very hard to poison someone who had already been poisoned.

"Two week's later, he was gone, as she had suspected, and she began to sell information at her stall, not just watches.

"Wives could know if their husbands were dancing the field, husbands could know if their wives suspected anything... who was Friendly in town, so the other Friendly women or men didn't have to make mistakes and ask the wrong woman or man to dance...

"Another sixmonth passed, a full two years after she had met the silent man, and all three of the people came to see the girl. They asked her name, first.

"She responded in perfect, proper London-accented English, 'I haven't got one, sirs, mum, nor need for one. I'm the Toll-girl at Dublin plaza, everyone knows li'l-ol'-me.'

"They thought that was hilarious, of course, and instead offered her a job as a thief in London. She refused, much to their amusement, saying she had everything she needed, right where she was.

"This proved the wrong answer, as her gang and the blind orphans disappeared overnight. A gift from the blind woman and the silent man, they were never truly hers.

"Enraged by their trickery, she refused to speak to them, and continued her business on her own... within six years, she had rebuilt what they took away in one night. A young woman now, she left the Dublin operation in the hands of her best student, and daughter, then went to London for a little pay-back." She smirked.

I blinked slowly. "And you're the daughter?" I asked, doing calculations. That would make her... 54?!?

She snorted. "Don't interrupt, Boy. Either way, the woman reached London, and began a new operation. A legitimate operation. The Dublin officers may have been lazy, but London Coppa's weren't. Thieving was nearly impossible to live off of in London. So, she began to create a sort of information center, like her older one, only much, much bigger, next to the London Plaza.

"As a legitimate business, she thrived, but it didn't sit well with her. Wasn't exciting enough. So, again, after another six years, she left another of her children, a son of 12, in charge of the operations.

"Assured of his success, she began looking for the people who she viewed to have wronged her, and silently began taking the blind orphans, grown now, and the gang of thieves she had taught everything they knew, only for them to abandon her on account of some sap who'd never fed them, never clothed them... she was, in her own eyes, reasonably pissed.

"She hid them all over the city, leaving clues to their locations, as well as clues to a single, central location, the Plaza." She grinned again, a wave of malicious joy spreading across her aura, and then quieting.

"The three people appeared, and, even 15 years later, they looked exactly they same. The woman greeted them, brought them into her parlor, and calmly gave them cups of tea, laced with the most deadly poison known to mankind, capable of killing even the strongest of Vampires." She frowned. "Or so she was told."

I blinked, and made the connection. "That's why you're so-" She glared at me, and I subsided. "Sorry."

"They drank the Tea, of course, and the blind woman and the deaf man began to choke, dying, until the silent man did... something. Power wrapped around them, drawing out the poison, and then redirecting it into the woman.

"As she died, he made her an offer. She accepted. And now her twelve children, the youngest being 13 at the time, are motherless." She said calmly, and set down the finished sailcloth.

I blinked slowly. "So you're... 74 years old?"

She stiffened. "It's rude to ask a woman's age. Remember that, and never speak of it again." She spat the answer at me, nearly hissing like a snake.

I leaned back. "Right... Sorry."

She huffed, and picked up another sail-cloth. "You should be. Rude little brat..." she grumbled as she began angrily jerking the needle through the cloth. She calmed after the first crooked line, and sighed.

"I see... so you're a vampire?" Grandfather stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"No. I'm technically a Thrall. I've never drank human blood, and Jon's venom is out of my bloodstream. But I'll continue to live, for as long as he allows me to continue drawing power from him." She shook her head firmly.

He smiled. "Ahhh. I see. I've never seen an English Thrall, before."

"Jon is Wallachian. One of the 99 Sons of Dracul. I'm no more English Thrall than you, anymore. Maybe that's the reason for my obsessive patriotism..." she looked thoughtful.

I frowned. "I knew Jon was a Vampire, but... one of the 99 Sons? He'd have to be close to 800 years old!"

"He is." She said simply. "And he's been the founder and Scion of the Silk Assassins for about 700 years of that. Then a century ago, he decided assassinations weren't his preferred modus. So he made the Spiders."

I chuckled. "And what did all of this have to do with Sewing?"

"Ah. Yes. Nothing, actually. That was just so you knew more about me. The sewing is quite simple. To sew with magic requires the most minute control of your magical abilities. No other common activity comes close. Therefore, sewing with magic is how most low-level mages learn control." She shrugged.

"Low level? How would that help us, then?" I snapped testily.

She gazed at me coldly. "Mind. Your. Tone." Her voice, smooth and beautiful, turned ugly and frightening, like gravel over bones.

I flinched, then scolded myself for my weakness.

"And in answer to your... question..." she frowned. "It works for all mages. However, the stronger mages tend to be more arrogant, and have fancy teachers to teach them to pick up feathers across rooms, and drop cannonballs into giant barrels from the top of towers." She said sarcastically.

I frowned. She had just described my training to a Tee.

"Exactly. And that's why your control is terrible. You think tasks like that are about control? That's about accuracy." She said dismissively.

Grandfather paled with every word she said. Finally, he spoke. "And do you say you can teach them better than I?"

"Them? Young man, I'm going to teach you, as well." She said dryly, then simply ignored his sputtered response.

She placed ripped sail cloths in each of our laps, and then a needle and a spool of thread. "You will not use your hands on anything but the cloth. Thread the needle, then sew the rips." She showed us what the finished product would look like.

My brothers, all three almost entirely silent the entire time, answered with a simple 'yes, Teacher', accepting her as an instructor, after seeing her sew with her eyes closed, and her revelation that she'd been a Mage for the same length of time as grandfather.

I decided to try her ridiculous little game, and frowned when the needle didn't stay still, and the thread kept folding on me.

"Grip the thread like you're holding tongs. Just behind the tip. Grip the needle like a vice. It shouldn't move at all, without your permission." She said quietly, trying not to break my concentration.

Despite my arrogance, Patience was a trait I had, and all mages, so we all kept trying.

By the end of the four hour 'session' only grandfather had threaded the needle, but hadn't managed the knot.

She nodded. "Well done. Tomorrow, at 10 O'Clock, we will do this again. Rest, eat, sleep." She said simply, and walked out.