The Mechanic had not seemed all that different. She clearly kept herself clean when not fleeing bandits in the desert, but she also had not worn the heavy make-up that Alain had noticed on some common women. Common attempts to create their own illusions of beauty, another elder had said contemptuously to Alain before he left the Guild Hall in Ihris.
But none of those women, who had displayed much more flesh than he had ever seen of the Mechanic, had seemed so…interesting. Why had they settled into a barely recalled blur while she remained clear in his memory?
He had been aware of the Mechanic’s body. He had sometimes found himself watching her walk when he was behind her, and even though she had kept her jacket on almost all of the time, Alain had caught glimpses of her wet shirt clinging to her. The memories of those sights had been troubling his nights since then. “She wore a shirt which was sometimes soaked with sweat—”
“Ah.” That answer had pleased the elders into showing their feelings. “And tight trousers, no doubt.”
“She wore trousers, elder,“ Alain confirmed.
They had not been tight trousers.
Though where those trousers had been tightest across the back…
No. No. No. Do not think on it.
Some trace of his own discomfort must have been noticeable, because satisfaction could still be heard in the voice of the elder who asked the next question. “How did she act toward you, young Mage?”
What answers did they seek? He knew that, and so he gave his own answers in a form that was accurate and yet matched the expectations of the elders. “She tried to give orders to me. She made decisions on her own. She was stubborn.“
“Of course.”
She was intelligent, resourceful, and steadfast…she saved my life. She asked my advice and listened to it. Somehow she has caused me to remember things that I should not. But Alain left all of those words unspoken. Why should he say them? These elders would be the first to tell him that nothing was real. Why invite their displeasure by saying things they certainly did not want to hear?
Especially when he could not explain any of it. The Mechanic, her actions, did not match all that he had been taught about Mechanics. But if I tell the elders that, they will accuse me of failing to show wisdom, even if they also cannot explain it.
And so I will say nothing of such things. For that is wisdom here.
“Even one so young as you should know that Mechanics do nothing without purpose, Mage Alain,” said the oldest of the elders, “and those purposes are always contrary to the welfare of the Mage Guild. You traveled with this Mechanic in the same caravan before it was attacked. Did she seek you out before then?”
“No,” Alain answered, certain his voice was betraying no emotion this time. “She spent the entire journey before the attack in her wagon. I was not even aware of the presence of a Mechanic until during the attack.”
The woman asked the next question, her voice still frigid despite its detachment. “Why did you allow her to accompany you? Why did you not leave her to her fate?”
“I was contracted to protect the caravan. Since the Mechanic was a member of the caravan, and the Mage Guild had contracted my protection for all in the caravan, I felt required to protect her as well.”
“That is a lawyer’s argument, Mage. Wisdom born of more experience would have told you that your services were to the caravan master, not to some Mechanic who will surely continue to work against the welfare of your Guild.”
Alain inclined his head toward the dim figures, even though he thought their arguments had more of the lawyer to them than had Alain’s own statement. “This one understands.”
“You should have refused to speak with this Mechanic,” the first elder insisted. “You should have left her to her own devices in the Waste. A more experienced Mage would have known this.”
The other two elders sitting in the room made noises of agreement. Alain almost frowned at the thought of leaving Mechanic Mari to die in the Waste before he remembered to block any show of emotion. These three had already sent barbs about his youth his way.He might as well ask a question suited for an acolyte, since they apparently expected nothing more. “This one has questions.”
There was a noticeable pause before one of the male elders answered. “This one listens.”
“The caravan I was to protect was attacked by bandits armed with Mechanic weapons. I saw one of these Mechanic weapons closely, though of course I did not touch it. I have been told that Mechanic weapons are elaborate fakes of limited use. Yet the weapons I faced were deadly beyond anything I have heard of.”
“We are aware you reported this,” the woman noted in a dismissive voice. “You are young. The Mechanics are clever enough in their own way. Their tricks are complicated and difficult for one unskilled to see through. Did these weapons slay you? No. Your skills, limited though they are in one so young, were enough to overcome the Mechanic weapons.”
“But the caravan was destroyed.”
“That is no matter to us. You said that only you and this Mechanic survived. You will tell no one of the fate of the caravan, and no one will believe a Mechanic’s tale. Some shadows are gone, but the illusion remains.”
Alain stood silently, trying to accept the words of his elders, knowing that they were right, that the fates of shadows and illusions didn’t matter. But he had been personally responsible for protecting the caravan. He remembered the faces of the caravan master and the guard commander. Nothing but shadows. But they had expected him to protect them.
Shadows. His parents had been shadows. They had died at the hands of raiders perhaps not much different from the bandits of the Waste. He had not been able to save them, either. Alain felt a sudden certainty that he would never be able to disregard the fates of shadows. Perhaps that was the reason he had stayed with the Mechanic. It was a terrible error, a failure of wisdom, a betrayal of what he had been taught. In that, my elders are right. I have failed my Guild. I will never be a great Mage.
“Do you have anything else to report?” one of the elders asked. “Your spells worked properly? There were no changes in your skills?”
He could mislead them about that, too, but Alain decided not to. The odd sense of urgency generated by his last vision prodded him to say more. “I experienced foresight. It is one of my skills now.”
“Foresight,” the oldest muttered. “Of all Mage arts, the most useless and the most dangerous. Paying attention to foresight is a certain way to cripple your Mage skills by making the world illusion seem too real. You should know that. What do they teach acolytes these days?”
“I was so taught, elder,” Alain replied. “I did not seek foresight.”
“Finally, some sign of wisdom in you.”
“Elder,” Alain said in the most emotionless voice that he could manage, “I saw a vision which seemed to warn of great danger.”
“To you?” the elder asked.
“I do not know, elder. I saw a threatening storm, and—”
“Enough,” the elder cut off Alain abruptly. “What you saw was simply the illusion of danger created by your mind after the attack on the caravan. It was an echo. Nothing more. A wise Mage would say nothing more of this.”
Alain did not say anything else, wondering why, despite the elder’s attempt to sound completely uninterested, an undercurrent of tension had been apparent in his voice. And he had cut off Alain’s description of the vision. It was as if Alain’s words, or the vision itself, had actually upset him.
The woman addressed him again, her voice stern in its indifference. “You have much to learn. That is obvious. Even an acolyte should know not to speak of meaningless visions born of the misleading art of foresight. I do not understand how the Guild could have given you full Mage status at your age.”
“The Guild did not give me Mage status,” Alain said. “I earned my status by demonstrating my skills to the satisfaction of the elders of the Mage Guild Hall in Ihris.” To the satisfaction of most of those elder
“We must accept the decisions of those elders even if we do not approve of them,” the woman said in a way that made it clear she did not actually accept what the elders of Ihris had done. “Here you are subject to the elders of this Guild Hall. Learn from their experience. The ability to work spells does not mean a Mage has the wisdom to act as one should.”
“This one understands,” Alain replied, a formal acceptance of the elders’ words that should have ended the discussion. He had no interest in hearing more declarations of his inadequacy.
But the elders were not going to let him go yet. “You must practice your basic skills. Focus your mind away from the falsehoods of foresight and unto the wisdom your elders have given you. Your inability to defeat a small gang of bandits shows that you lack confidence in your powers.”
Alain tensed, fighting not to reveal any anger. “This one understands.”
“If this Mechanic attempts to approach you again, you must not speak to her. You must have no more contact with any Mechanic. You will report any such attempts at contact to the elders here.”
“This one understands.”
“Then this may end.” Alain saw one of the shadowy figures raise a hand. The shutters blocking high windows fell open and light entered.
The woman and two men came forward, their impassive faces a bit jarring after the bland hostility of the Inquiry. “How long will you stay in Ringhmon, Mage Alain?” the woman asked.
“I have not decided,” Alain answered. “I must see what employment opportunities exist here.”
“There are few,” the oldest Mage grumbled. “Very few. Ringhmon squanders too much of its treasure on Mechanic toys. Vain fools.”
Alain nodded respectfully. “Then perhaps I shall see the city and learn more of it.”
“Why?” the third Mage asked. “It is all false. Seeing the false brings you nothing.”
“I do not know if my services will ever bring me to Ringhmon again,” Alain said. “I should become familiar with even the false image of the city, enough to be able to serve as my Guild requires. After all, I am young and have much to learn.”
Yet another thing that the Mechanic had done to him. What had she called such speech? Sarcasm? When was the last time he had spoken in such a way, knowing that he was mocking the words he said?
But he hid the mockery very well, or else the elders did not recognize it, because the three Mage elders nodded in approval. “A few days, then,” the woman said as if Alain had already agreed to the time frame. “No one will learn the fate of the last caravan you protected, so any other caravan leaving the city will be glad to have you since you do not command the same price as more experienced Mages.”
Marveling at the elders’ abilities to get in digs aimed at his capabilities and youth, Alain nodded again. “Then, if there is nothing else, I will take leave of the Guild Hall so that I may see what there is to be learned in the city of Ringhmon.”
The woman shook her head. “Go if you will, but keep your nose close. Do not stick it in places where it might get cut off, young Mage.”
The oldest almost grimaced. “Dark Mages. An ugly thing, but you know of them. They are here in some numbers, drawn by offers of employment from the city. Oh, the city denies it, but we know they hire Dark Mages. You do not want to encounter one of them, young Mage.”
Wishing they would stop commenting on his youth, Alain began backing toward the door. “I shall remain alert and wary.”
Once outside the chamber where the Inquiry had been held, safely alone in an otherwise empty hallway, Alain stopped for a moment to think and recover his full composure. A small gang of bandits. They give me no credit at all. They did not accept my words. What would they have said had I died there? It would have been my fault, my own failure due to youth and lack of experience, and none would have ever blamed Mechanic weapons, which are deadlier than any crossbow.
They said I should have left the Mechanic and let her die. Perhaps I should have, before she twisted my own thoughts. But twice she would not leave me to die. Am I to be less than a Mechanic?
They asked if she had “displayed her gifts.” Alain thought of the Mechanic’s dusty, sweat streaked face and the drab jacket she insisted upon wearing even in the worst heat. The gifts she displayed were those of who she was. Shadow she may be, but I…liked the person I saw there. I had forgotten how it felt, to be in the company of another and to wish it to continue. What fate made her a Mechanic and me a Mage?
Startled that such a thought had even come to him, Alain tried to banish his memories of the Mechanic. Like? She has made me remember “like”? I must not let her lead me farther astray. But I also must not let the elders here disorder my thoughts. If I dwell on their criticisms it will make it hard to concentrate on my spells, maybe even weaken them so that my abilities as a Mage could be called into question.
Perhaps that is what they intend.
This Mechanic…is different. I have felt a strange restlessness since my last vision. A vision centered on her.
Why did the elders react the way they did to my report of that vision?
* * * *
Feeling tired and irritable after a bad night’s sleep, Mari got breakfast amid the other Mechanics, all of whom appeared stand-offish now. She was used to that attitude from Senior Mechanics, but not from others. It was almost as if they had been warned not to speak with her.
Cara caught her eye long enough to deliver a cautionary look, then glanced away.
Apparently they had been told not to speak with her.
A female Senior Mechanic came up to the table where Mari was eating alone and glowered down at her. “You’re to see Guild Hall Supervisor Stimon immediately.”
“As soon as I’m done eating—”
“Immediately.”
Mari nodded slowly, then got up with equal slowness and walked unhurriedly from the room. Childish, she reproached herself. Keep acting like a child and you’ll be giving them ammunition against you. But she sped up only a little after that.
Mari accompanied the woman through the Guild Hall, along corridors which reeked of age and were familiar even though she had never walked them. Every Guild Hall was built to the same floor plan. Only furnishings and art differed from Hall to Hall, except in the Imperial capital of Palandur, of course, where the basic plan had been repeated twice to accommodate the demands of the Guild headquarters building.
Stimon’s office was very large, as in every Guild Hall, and very well appointed, which wasn’t always the case. Senior Mechanic Stimon sat behind a huge desk made of highly polished wood from the far southern tropics, the sort of wood that had become much harder to get since the Kingdom of Tiae had fallen apart. The female Senior Mechanic directed Mari to enter, then closed the door, staying outside.
Stimon waved Mari to the plain seat before his desk. She noted he hadn’t risen from his own comfortable chair to greet her.
He nodded at her as if they were meeting for the first time. “Welcome to Ringhmon. I trust you enjoyed the courtesy of this hall last night, after you arrived safely.”
Mari’s temper flared but she managed to keep her voice calm. Needle me, will you? Let’s see how you like it. “The accommodations were adequate, but the air cooling unit was malfunctioning.”
Stimon froze for a moment at the implied criticism of his Guild Hall, then nodded. “I’ll look into that. Some apprentice doing substandard work, no doubt.”
“Surely your apprentices are supervised by full Mechanics when working?”
This time Stimon’s smile was strained. “That’s usually the case. I’ll make sure someone repairs the unit.”
Mari shook her head. “I already fixed it. It only took a moment.”
The smile vanished. “Mechanics are required to do work only within their area of specialty unless otherwise directed. Surely even someone of your limited experience is aware of that.”
Mari met Stimon’s angry gaze, keeping her own face calm despite another direct jab at her youth. “Surely a Senior Mechanic is aware that Mechanics of Master rank are allowed to direct their own work. Guild regulations are clear on that point.”
Stimon’s face darkened, but he quickly changed the subject. “The Guild wanted your presence in the caravan to remain unknown so as to ensure the contract with Ringhmon remained confidential. Your presence has in fact been made public.”
“Yes. You told me to report as soon as possible. That meant walking openly through the town.”
The Guild Hall Supervisor gave her an appraising look that quickly hardened. “You compromised your presence before that.”
Mari took a long, slow breath before replying. “As I told you, the caravan was attacked by a heavily armed force. I had to escape, which meant leaving the wagon in which I’d been confined.”
“So you say. But you said the caravan was wiped out. Did anyone else see you or these bandits you say attacked?”
Mari took a moment to answer. A lie would keep her out of trouble now, but could too easily be found out. Too many people had seen her arriving in the city, and the salt traders knew who her brief traveling companion had been. “One other person.”
“A common? Who?”
“He wasn’t a common.”
“There were no other Mechanics with that caravan,” Stimon said. “Your story isn’t holding up.”
She glowered at the implication that her report had been false. “He was a Mage.”
At least she had finally managed to rattle Stimon’s composure. “A Mage?”
“Yes. He’d been hired by the caravan to help protect it.”
Stimon stared at her. “How do you know that?”
Blast it. She still hadn’t learned to think before talking. That had probably been why Stimon had angered her, to get her to say something without thinking. But now she had no choice but to say the simple truth. “He told me.”
“He. Told. You.” Stimon leaned back, looking stunned. “You spoke with a Mage?”
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