I lay down and stared up at the sky. I’d only been in the town for a few hours and I didn’t like what I was seeing. Fearful cityfolk. Professional guardsmen. Guardsmen who’d invade a sorceress’s house ... which had been emptied, somehow, without anyone noticing. I didn't know how that could’ve been done, unless they’d teleported in and out of the building. Even that might have been noticed. The surge of magic should have brushed against hundreds of wards.
There’s clearly something going on here, I told myself, as I closed my eyes. Lord Ashworth was right, damn him. And whatever it is, it isn’t good.
Chapter Five
“Hear ye!” Someone was shouting, so loudly I heard him through my wards. “Hear ye!”
I sat up, rubbing my forehead, as the town crier spun a web of lies. A squad of guardsmen had been attacked by a sorceress, who’d turned them all into frogs before they’d somehow overpowered her and managed to both throw her into jail and drive her out of town. I had always believed that town criers and heralds didn’t bother to listen to their own words and ... I shook my head. The story was about as true as the saga of the princess and the ugly toad, or the excuses my brothers and I had concocted to get out of trouble at school. It was irritating to realise our lies hadn’t been nearly so effective.
“Apparently, someone broke into a sorceress’s house last night,” Juliana told me, as she passed me a bacon sandwich for breakfast. “They’re still trying to undo the curses she cast on them.”
“Serves them right,” I said. I knew very well the spells I’d cast had already worn off. “Did they catch the person who did it?”
“The story keeps changing,” Juliana said. There was no suspicion in her voice. I’d keyed the spells to ensure she’d trust me, and she’d taken me for one of her people, but she could still have seen through the deception if she started poking holes in my cover story. “They can’t seem to make up their minds what lies to tell.”
I nodded as I ate. Town criers proclaimed whatever they were told, if they knew what was good for them. The local magnates wouldn’t hesitate to throw a town crier or a herald into prison - or worse - if the poor men decided to tell the truth. I’d seen former heralds with their tongues pulled out, simply for caterwauling from the wrong song sheet. There were already so many different stories going around that someone was bound to get in trouble for proclaiming the wrong one.
“Half the convoy doesn’t want to stay here any longer,” Juliana said. “They’ll be leaving this afternoon. They should make it across the border before nightfall.”
“I see,” I said. It was awkward. Juliana had accepted obligations to me, but - as far as she knew - I had also accepted an obligation not to make her obligations too burdensome. It would be bad manners to throw a fit and insist Juliana and Gabby remain behind. “What do you intend to do?”
Juliana frowned. “I was going to stay with the remainder, for another day,” she said. “We haven’t sold enough yet.”
“I can stay, too,” I said. I had no intention of leaving. It wouldn’t be hard to get a room at the local inn if the convoy moved on without me. I didn’t really need Juliana any longer. “If you want to go on without me, then go. No hard feelings.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Juliana said. “Have fun today.”
I grinned, then sobered as I helped Gabby wash up and then headed into town. It was still buzzing with activity, small groups of people discussing last night’s events under the watchful eyes of the guardsmen. They seemed energised, although no one seemed to really know what had happened. Apparently, the guardsmen had been turned into women. I had to smile. I’d missed that trick. Sorceresses often wove gender-flip spells into their protections, fearing male intrusion. I could have done it myself. But the spells wouldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes.
Long enough to cause confusion, I thought. And it would teach them a lesson for daring to intrude on a sorceress’s privacy.
I walked on, and kept my ears open. The endless rumours were growing darker. A handful even argued that the travellers were involved, that they were carrying away the kidnapped people and selling them into slavery or ... or something. No two rumours seemed to agree on just what the travellers were doing, but it didn’t matter. I made a mental note to urge Juliana to take Gabby out of town tomorrow with the rest of them. The travellers might not be able to defend themselves against an angry mob, not one that included magicians. I was sure the magical community was already planning some rough justice.
Eyes followed me as I reached an enchanter’s shop situated at the very edge of the magical community. It looked bigger than I’d expected, easily large enough for two or three enchanters. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. A young woman wearing simple robes stood behind the counter, smiling. She looked too young to be the enchanter himself. I guessed she was his daughter.
“Good morning, good sir,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“I need to speak to Master Clawthorne,” I said. I’d taken the name from the ledgers. It meant nothing to me. I pushed a little magic into my voice. “Please show me to him at once.”
The girl dropped a curtsey, then walked around the corner and led me to a far door. Magic sparkled around her fingers as she pushed it open, brushing the wards aside. I saw a workshop inside, a pale-skinned man studying a set of scrolls and carving out notes on a stone tablet. He frowned when he saw his daughter, eyes narrowing as he saw me. His magic was strong. He’d sensed the very mild spell I’d used on his daughter.
“Tami, go back to the counter,” he ordered. He stood up, hands flexing into a casting pose as he looked at me. “Who are you?”
“An investigator,” I said. I unmasked a little of my power, just enough to establish dominance. I didn’t want to pick a fight with him, but I needed answers. “I was hired to look into Mistress Layla’s disappearance.”
Master Clawthorne stared at me for a long moment. I didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was thinking. I’d walked into his shop without permission and enchanted his daughter and he had every right to punish me as he saw fit, but I was powerful enough to make that very difficult and dangerous. The shop was his place of power - he’d woven countless protections into his walls - but I might be able to subvert or simply overpower them. If he fought me and lost ...
His voice was icy. “What do you want to know?”
“I was hired to find out what happened to her,” I said, coldly. “You bought a wide range of goods from her. Why?”
“I needed certain potions to make my enchantments permanent,” Master Clawthorne said, curtly. “And I couldn’t make them for myself.”
He launched into a long and highly-technical explanation that most sorcerers would have found difficult to follow. I had no problems. Indeed, I was impressed. Master Clawthorne had been using potions - and the spellforms within - to tighten up his enchantments, compensating for their weaknesses by locking them firmly in place. It was a clever trick ... I’d never used it, but then I had more than enough raw power to emplace the spells without help. It was something to bear in mind for when I wanted to conserve power. I was surprised the secret hadn’t spread further.
“I see,” I said, in my best impression of a gormless idiot. Let him think I hadn’t understood any of the explanation, particularly the several-syllable words. “When did you last see her? Or speak to her?”
“I picked up the latest batch of potions back” - he thought for a moment - “around twelve days ago. Two days later, she vanished. Her shop was boarded up and warded by the guard.”
“Really, now,” I said. “Who stripped the shop?”
Master Clawthorne looked irked. “It wasn’t me. The guard?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it,” I said. “Why would they take the potions ingredients, but not the money?”
“Perhaps they thought the money was cursed,” Master Clawthorne suggested. “Or ...”
“Perhaps,” I echoed. I doubted it. I’d yet to meet a guardsma
n bright enough to count past ten without taking off his shoes. A glint of gold or silver coin would bring forth overwhelming greed. “Who else has vanished? Amongst magicians, I mean.”
“Thirteen in all, counting Mistress Layla,” Master Clawthorne told me. He outlined a list of names, with a handful of details. They didn’t seem to have much in common. Young and old, male and female ... two were too young to have much magic and one was too old and decrepit, according to Master Clawthorne, to use the magic he had. “We haven’t been able to find them.”
And Lord Ashworth clearly didn’t know about some of the missing magicians, I thought. He certainly didn’t mention them to me.
I thought, fast. A magical family shouldn’t have had any trouble finding a missing member. They shared the same blood. If Tami went missing, Master Clawthorne could have found her easily. And yet ... if the magical families here hadn’t been able to locate the missing ... my blood ran cold. The kidnapped people had to be behind powerful wards, if they weren’t already dead. No wonder the locals were so paralysed. They needed to find the missing and yet they feared who - and what - they might be facing. A necromancer? A Lone Power? Or ... or what?
I leaned forward as I realised what the kidnapped people did have in common. “Do they have any relatives in the town?”
“... No,” Master Clawthorne said. “Not blood relatives.”
I grinned, despite everything, as part of the puzzle fell into place. I’d over-thought it. If none of the victims had blood relatives, at least within the kingdom, it would be tricky to find them. Tami was Master Clawthorne’s daughter. He could find her through their shared blood; no one else could, not without a sample of her blood. It wasn’t good news - it suggested the kidnappers knew the community very well - but I felt better. The whole affair was finally starting to make sense.
Lord Ashworth was raised in a magical family, where everyone has a blood tie to everyone else, I recalled. I chose to overlook the fact I’d had the same upbringing, at least in some ways. No wonder it never occurred to him there might be no local blood relatives.
My mind raced. There would be husbands and wives, of course, but they weren’t related to their partners. Marrying one’s relatives was a bad - bad - idea. They wouldn’t even exchange magical binding vows, not the ones that would make them a permanent part of each other’s family. I made a silent bet with myself that none of the older victims had children, unless the children had vanished as well. Their partners couldn’t look for them ... hell, they might not even have magic. They might be mundanes.
“I’m thinking about leaving, perhaps moving somewhere nearer to Whitehall,” Master Clawthorne said bluntly, breaking into my thoughts. “How’s Dragon’s Den these days?”
“Great, as long as you have magic,” I said. “Things have been going downhill for a long time.”
I shook my head. “Do you have a spellchamber? Of course you have a spellchamber. Can I borrow it?”
“If you like,” Master Clawthorne said, as if the matter was one of supreme indifference. “I’ll show you the way.”
I followed him up a flight of narrow stairs, silently admiring the work he’d put into protecting and developing his territory. The building was on the verge of becoming bigger on the inside, something most magicians tended to avoid because of the risk of a sudden - violent - collapse. I’d heard horror stories about young idiots who bought multidimensional trunks and turned them into living quarters, only to discover - too late - that there was no air. And even if there was, if they thought quickly enough to save themselves, it was still easy to become trapped inside. I could easily imagine someone tying the trunk closed and leaving the victim to starve.
“Let me know when you’re done,” Master Clawthorne said. He picked up a lantern, lit it with a wave of his hand, and hung it from the wall. “I’ll show you out the rear door.”
“Good,” I said. “And thank you.”
His face darkened, but he said nothing. I stepped forward, scanning the room. It was bare, save for a simple iron circle embedded within the wooden floor. The only source of light was the lantern. I tested the wards carefully, then nodded. The spellchamber wasn’t designed for major spellcasting - I guessed Master Clawthorne didn’t feel the need to invest in a proper spellchamber - but it would do. I closed the door, checked the wards again to make sure I could break out of the chamber if he thought he could lock me in, then walked across the circle and knelt on the floor. Mistress Layla’s hairs felt oddly scratchy to the touch. I guessed she’d cut her hair short. It wasn’t uncommon amongst unmarried sorceresses.
I placed four of the hairs on the floor, then started the rite. It was a fairly simple spell. If the owner of the hairs was still alive, there’d be a very small resonance even if she was behind heavy protections. Blood would have been better, but no sorcerer with a lick of sense would leave his blood lying around. They could be cursed from the other side of the world, if someone had bad intentions and a sample of their blood. My eyes narrowed as I considered the implications. The magical community really should have been able to find the missing people. They must have relatives somewhere, even if they weren’t within the town. Mistress Layla had siblings, surely. Lord Ashworth could have dug up a few dozen people with blood-ties to her if he’d wished.
More likely, delegated the task to someone else, I thought, sourly. He has plenty of assistants who will do the work for him.
The spell grew stronger, the hairs vibrating. I grinned - she was alive - and cast a second spell, one intended to point me in her direction. It was more subtle than most tracking spells, making it harder to block. I had enough hairs to repeat the spell somewhere else and triangulate her location, then teleport as close as I could before she could be moved. If, of course, her captors detected my probe. I’d used as little magic as possible. The spell might just pass unnoticed ...
I swore. There was nothing. The spell should have pointed me towards her location, but ... the arrow was spinning randomly, jerking back and forth as if the target was teleporting from position to position with impossible speed. I gritted my teeth as I reached out to touch the spell, trying to make it stronger. It was useless. Wherever she was, she was heavily protected, location concealed behind powerful wards. There was no hope of tracking her through magic. I cursed under my breath. The exercise had taught me I was up against a powerful foe, or at least someone who knew how to use what they had to best advantage, but not much else. And that meant I was in trouble.
The hairs crumbled to dust as I touched them. I picked up their remains anyway and wrapped them in cloth. I’d have to dump them somewhere, then think of something else. My mind raced. If the kidnapper had chosen his targets so carefully, there was a good chance he was a member of the magical community. It wasn’t impossible. Magicians liked their privacy and mercilessly enforced it. I knew from grim experience that the simplest - but heavily-warded -houses could hide the darkest of secrets. The kindly man who smiled at children on the streets might prey on them ...
And I don’t have much time. I didn’t like the feeling on the streets. I have to draw the bastard out before someone starts something violent.
I stood and walked down the stairs. Master Clawthorne eyed me warily, unsure if I was friend or foe. He needed to get rid of me, before he had to make more concessions in front of his wife or daughter. I understood, all too well. It was never easy to bow and scrape before one’s betters, if one was used to being master of one’s own house. I wondered, briefly, if Master Clawthorne could be the kidnapper, then dismissed the idea. Tami was reassuringly normal. She wouldn’t be so normal if she had a complete monster for a father.
And she’s probably safe, too, I thought, as he escorted me to the door. Her father could easily track her down if she went missing.
“I’ll continue my investigation elsewhere,” I told Clawthorne. “You are not to mention my mission to anyone. If you are asked, you are to tell them that I enquired about a multidimensional caravan, a mansion on whee
ls. You may be as dismissive as you like, when you tell them the idea was laughably impractical. If you do this, I will assist you in moving to Dragon’s Den afterwards. If not ...”
I let the words hang in the air, allowing his imagination to fill in the blanks. I didn’t expect anyone to come asking questions, but it was always a good idea to have a cover story. It would make me look stupid and ignorant - a rube ripe for the plucking - and that wasn’t a bad thing. My mystery opponent wouldn’t think too highly of anyone who asked about a mobile mansion. The idea sounded good, but it was about as practical as turning a necromancer into a frog and stomping on him. Anyone stupid enough to try that deserved everything they got.
And I solved one part of the puzzle, at least, I thought. I just need to figure out how to put it to work.
Chapter Six
I spent the rest of the morning moving from shop to shop, asking a handful of questions and confirming my suspicions. The kidnapped people didn’t have any known blood relatives, at least not within the town. The youngest had actually been adopted by a friend of his father, from what I was able to determine. They didn’t have a blood tie. And none of them had been particularly popular. Mistress Layla had been respected, but she’d been so standoffish she had no friends amongst the cityfolk and none of them cared enough to look for her. The remainder were much the same.
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