Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “Are you sure?”

  He smiled. “We can find a cab on the Opferstrasse, but it will be easier if we aren’t invisible. And I don’t want to be recognized just now.”

  Ardhuin wanted to ask about the guard at the gate, but was afraid her shaking voice would betray her. Markus must think the risk acceptable.

  Dominic had to appear as himself; that couldn’t be helped. She knew what illusion would suit her, but for Markus….

  There had been a young, gawky, and eager magician in the crowd at the Kriegszauberkollegium, with hair so blond it was almost white. That would work, especially if she replaced the uniform with clothing a student would wear.

  It was hard to focus—with the icy wind, her jittery nerves, and fatigue, there was always something to disturb her concentration. Three attempts, and still nothing. She could not complete the delicate bubble of magic that created the illusion. Dominic was looking at her with concern. He knew it shouldn’t be that difficult for her.

  Ardhuin took a deep breath. She remembered how pleased her great-uncle had been when he found her out, how astonished she had been that she was not going to be punished for “disappearing” the hated asparagus on her plate. At the age of seven, she had not understood what she was doing was magic. And eleven years later, she still did not understand why other magicians found illusion so difficult. It was fun.

  She smiled, closed her eyes, and summoned up a wave of power, shaping it to her will by not even allowing the possibility it would fail. She heard a stifled gasp from Dominic and felt the internal snap in the flow of her power that told her the spell had closed itself, completed. She opened her eyes.

  A gangly, white-blond student stood before her with a lopsided grin on his face. Dominic was struggling to contain his amusement.

  “Now, you look very familiar,” the student said with Markus’ voice. “Although I prefer your true form, I can see a definite resemblance. Don’t you agree?” He turned to Dominic.

  Dominic squinted at her. “It’s hard for me to tell. I can see both the real thing and the illusion, and the light is poor,” he said apologetically.

  “This is what my brother Brian looks like,” Ardhuin mumbled, confused. She’d picked him because he was the youngest, most likely to pass for a student. All her brothers were handsome, but he was the best-looking of them. Which, of course, meant that she and the other brothers had to tease him mercilessly about it. This was probably Fate’s revenge, telling her if she’d only been born male she would have been considered handsome, too. “We should go.”

  The street was not as empty now. A sleek black carriage with a device on the panel went by as they left the alley, and a man in a heavy coat and muffler was hurrying away on the other side of the road.

  Markus-the-student led the way to the philogiston-lit street ahead, which was much wider and had even more traffic. Ardhuin presumed it was the Opferstrasse, and hoped it would be easy to find transportation. The wind was making her fingers numb.

  She scanned the traffic, wondering how one discerned a carriage-for-hire in Baerlen. How strange—there was the black carriage with the device again. Hadn’t it been going the other way earlier?

  Even stranger, it was coming towards them. And stopping. The door opened. Gutrune von Kitren was inside, calm and imperturbable as ever. She wore a dark pelisse trimmed with black fur, making her pale face appear detached in darkness.

  “I am on my way home. May I take you anywhere?”

  Ardhuin gaped. Then a strong hand in the small of her back propelled her forward.

  “Get in!” hissed Markus.

  Somehow she got in the carriage without tripping. Her skirts were illusioned to look like trousers, but the reality was still there. She should have thought of that. Dominic was propelled in after her, and then Markus leapt in and closed the door. Gutrune took one hand out of her large fur muff to open a compartment next to her seat, on the wall. She spoke into a small, dark opening revealed there, and Ardhuin felt the carriage start to move.

  She turned a reproachful look at Markus. It was hard to tell through the illusion, but the tone of his voice made it clear he was furious.

  “There’s no point in continuing if even she can find us so easily,” he said, with a suggestion of a snarl. In his own voice, too, since she had not added anything to disguise it.

  Gutrune von Kitren raised an eyebrow. “That is uncalled for, Herr Asgaya. However, I am glad you had the good sense to insist on accompanying them.”

  “Insist? Good sense?” Markus sputtered. “I wasn’t given a choice!”

  “Well, you were,” Dominic pointed out. “Not a very pleasant one, I agree, but that was hardly our fault. How did you find us?” he asked Gutrune.

  “And where are we going?” added Ardhuin. Her voice was disguised, but it didn’t seem to confuse Gutrune. It was all very strange, but for some reason she did not doubt Gutrune could be trusted.

  “I had my men watching all possible exits from the Kriegsa as I circled in the carriage. It is not uncommon for drivers to take their carriages in a roundabout path while waiting for their passengers to arrive, especially when the weather is too cold to leave horses standing for very long. One of my men recognized you leaving. When he saw you go into a blind alley and then three people come out, none of them you, he decided that was unusual and flagged me down. We are still circling, until you tell me where you would like to go,” she added, nodding to Ardhuin.

  Still, she had to be careful. “You haven’t explained why you were watching for us to leave,” Ardhuin said. “Or how you know who I am.”

  Gutrune was silent for a moment. “I heard about what happened. I was also…made aware of certain plans regarding the Mage Guardian, and ordered to secretly assist her in any way possible,” she said quietly.

  Ardhuin felt a small spark of hope. Gutrune von Kitren served the King directly. The King was only person who could order her to do anything. He knew—of course he knew. He was counting on her to uncover the plot, and even though he could not assist her openly, he didn’t expect her to do it on her own.

  “I cannot be completely certain you are the Mage Guardian,” Gutrune continued, “but given your company, the circumstances, and the phenomenal illusion on Herr Asgaya, it seems a reasonable conclusion. Also,” she said, turning her head to give Dominic a small smile, “it is not usual for a man to attempt to assist another man into a carriage. Or for that assisted man to try to pick up his invisible skirts while doing so.”

  “Oh dear.” She shouldn’t have said that, either. Brian would have cursed. “Blast.”

  Dominic laughed. He seemed to be in a much better mood for some reason. “With all due respect, Fraülein von Kitren, your carriage is rather noticeable for errands of some subtlety. And you seem to be aware that we must avoid being noticed.”

  “I have other, less elegant means of transportation I can place at your disposal, if you wish.” Gutrune looked at Ardhuin, inquiringly.

  Ardhuin glanced at Dominic, who nodded after a brief hesitation, and then at Markus.

  “I am resigned to death,” he said, sighing and throwing up his hands. “It only remains to choose the manner of my going. I do hope it isn’t a firing squad, though. It lacks style.”

  Taking that as agreement, Ardhuin said, “We need to go to the Student Quarter.”

  10

  Dominic followed Markus out of the carriage and looked around. Shabby wooden buildings surrounded a small, cobbled courtyard. The windows looking in on it were opaque with grime in the lamplight. The driver was closing the gate behind them, a huge, iron-bound thing in much better shape than the building it was attached to.

  “I wonder what else she uses this for?” Ardhuin said, behind him. He turned back, reaching up to help her out of the carriage. He stopped, realizing his error, just as she remembered herself and drew back her hand. Both the illusion and her real face smiled at him. “Poor Dominic. This will be a trial for you, I fear.” She jumped lightly down. />
  “It would be easier if I could only see the illusion,” he agreed. “I might have a chance of remembering what everybody else sees.”

  “I need to remember the illusion too,” Ardhuin said, sighing. “Perhaps I can use some twine to solve the skirt problem. If I don’t do something, I’ll either trip or reveal the illusion again.”

  Across the courtyard, Markus was nearly invisible in the shadows. He made a complete, careful circuit, then returned.

  “Excellent. There is another gate to a different street; that will be very useful. This is your home?” Markus asked Gutrune, eyes bright with mischief. It hadn’t taken him long to recover from his earlier ill humor, Dominic noticed.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Gutrune said, in a quelling tone. The driver, a huge man in a caped greatcoat, stood before her. “Wir brauchen den Lampekart, Stoller.”

  “Jawohl,” he answered, standing at attention before turning and unhitching the horses from the carriage.

  “What about him?” Dominic asked. “Can he be trusted?”

  “Stoller was one of my father’s soldiers,” Gutrune said. “When my father was killed, he went into service with my family. I trust him completely.”

  Stoller produced a battered cart, long and covered like a baker’s van, except it had a ladder to the roof next to the driver’s seat, and brass pipes and fittings along one side that led to the roof as well, ending in a prosaic pump handle. Hitched to it was a shaggy, elderly horse.

  “A lamplighter’s cart,” Gutrune explained, opening the door in the back and preparing to enter. “They are seen all over the city, and people pay no attention to them.”

  “One moment,” Markus said. “While your assistance is greatly appreciated, do you really think your presence will be of any use? That is, I cannot imagine you would enjoy staying in the cart, waiting for us. The student quarter is entirely too near the Closure, as well. It’s too dangerous.”

  Gutrune listened to him politely, then reached into her fur muff and took out a pistol with a long, narrow barrel that gleamed palely in the dim light.

  The defensive magician looked startled, then laughed. “Behold, you are a treasure of the nation! Is that a Kreisheim?”

  “Yes. One of their custom marksman’s pistols.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I would like to know how you come to be carrying such a thing tonight. Is it a habit of yours?”

  A small smile curved the corners of her mouth. “It helps the drape of the furs.”

  Ardhuin choked back a laugh.

  “Still, you agree discretion is of the essence,” Markus said, persevering with a tinge of desperation. “Perhaps I am overly imaginative, but I can’t help but suspect in that area a woman with a pistol would be even more noticeable than a woman without one.”

  Gutrune glanced at Ardhuin, who shook her head regretfully. “I have already done two very complex illusion castings, and I was tired before that. They are very intricate—it takes a great deal of control to make something that will pass close inspection.”

  “And I could not even begin to match Fraülein Andrew’s skill fully rested, so I cannot be of assistance either,” Markus said, apparently serious.

  Was Ardhuin truly that powerful? Dominic realized he had no basis for comparison until now; he’d simply accepted her ability with no thought of what other magicians could do. It could be important to know, but how would he find out?

  With unchanged calm, Gutrune stepped down from the cart door. “Wait,” Ardhuin said, holding up a hand. “I think…it won’t get you inside the room with us, but I can do a visual avoidance spell. If there is somewhere you can stand that is out of the way, it would work.”

  Markus sighed but made no further objection.

  In a few moments they were leaving the decrepit warehouse. The cart was much less comfortable than the carriage. It had wooden benches on either side, and it appeared springs were considered an unnecessary luxury. Evidently philogiston was not as unstable as many people thought. Besides the door in the rear of the cart, there was an opening to the driver’s seat but no windows. Dominic could only catch glimpses of the outside over Stoller’s broad shoulders.

  The jolting grew a degree smoother as they got nearer to the university. Dominic could see the great stone walls that surrounded it. Gutrune murmured something to Stoller, and he drove the cart a little further and turned into a narrow, dark alleyway.

  “We’ll walk from here,” she said, sliding a small shutter open and peering out before opening the door in the back of the cart. In silence, Ardhuin cast the avoidance spell on Gutrune. He had seen her do this same casting many times, but it seemed to Dominic it took longer than usual.

  He also didn’t know the limits of Ardhuin’s strength. Another thing to worry about.

  Wolfgang Maurer’s quarters were only a few streets away. A tiny baker’s shop reminded Dominic of the need for provisions, and he purchased a good meat pastry.

  “Is that really suitable?” Ardhuin asked doubtfully when they had left the shop. “It is a party, correct?”

  “Student party,” Dominic said, grinning. “They are always hungry, and sweet things do not satisfy as well. You will see.”

  “Hey, you came!”

  Markus spun around, alert and wary. Jens-Peter Oberacker was behind them, his cheerful freckled face beaming at them.

  Dominic relaxed. “Er, yes, of course. These are some friends of mine. Do you think there would be any objection if they—”

  “No, of course not! It could be a bit thin of company, actually. The trouble on the streets is making many stay within doors. That’s why I was surprised to see you,” Jens-Peter added. “Come, don’t just stand in the street, you’ll freeze.”

  Dominic, Markus, Ardhuin, and the dark shadow containing Gutrune followed Jens-Peter up the creaking wooden stairs to the third floor. By gestures, Gutrune indicated she would remain on the landing, which had an odd corner where she would be out of the way of any other visitors.

  “Ah, this brings back memories,” Dominic said, looking around the cramped room.

  Shelves had been put up on every surface available, full of books or odd bric-a-brac. Besides the two beds, pressed into service for seating, the room boasted a plain wooden table, an armchair upholstered in cracked brown leather, and a once-elegant chaise now leaking horsehair from its lower regions in an embarrassing manner. A loaf of bread, a knife, cheese, some sausages, and a pot of mustard graced a small desk.

  Only a handful of other people were there, just as Jens-Peter had predicted. Wolfgang, the host; Stefan Arendt; and the small bespectacled student he’d met with them—what was his name? Jochim something. Wolfgang introduced them to the others: the guest of honor Karl Hoffberg and his roommate Arne from Noverige.

  “Help yourself. Karl is feeling generous, so we at least have some good beer,” Wolfgang said, waving his hand at a small wooden barrel and a collection of battered steins. “I am surprised you were able to make it. Was it very bad?”

  Dominic was at a loss, and looked helplessly at Ardhuin and Markus. “We went through the Marktstrasse and the brickmaker’s quarter,” Markus said smoothly. “The streets were empty there.”

  “Ach, what a long way to go. Poor Jochim, he’d had his head in a book for the last two days and didn’t even know. He’s been staying with us until it’s safe for him to go out.”

  “I thought he lived over the bookseller’s on Eisengare,” Jens-Peter said, wandering up with a slice of meat pastry in one hand and a stein in the other.

  “He does, but his parents are in the Closure and he’s worried. He hasn’t been able to get any word of them.”

  “What is the Closure?” Ardhuin asked.

  Wolfgang blinked at her. “Are you from Bretagne, too?”

  “No, Atlantea.” Ardhuin looked like she wanted to fade into the shadows again. Dominic gave her a meaningful glance. “I, ah, had met Kermarec in Bretagne, and when I heard he was visiting Baerlen too, I looked him up.”


  “The Closure is the Adaran quarter in Baerlen. It used to be the only place they could live, until the current King came to the throne.” Wolfgang started asking interested questions about Atlantea, and although he wanted to listen, Dominic decided to find another conversation. They needed to find out something that could help Ardhuin with the Council.

  “Was Dieter going to come tonight?” he asked Stefan Arendt.

  Stefan shrugged. “He was planning to.” Jochim, trying to read the titles of some books by tilting his head to one side, instead tilted his entire body and fell to the floor. Stefan bent down and helped him up. “Do be careful, you owl! Hey, who gave him more beer? You know he can’t handle very much.”

  “I gave to myself,” Jochim said, swaying slightly but with great dignity. “You prefer that I cry, maybe?”

  “No, no, that’s even worse. Oh, just try to aim for the beds, all right? Otherwise you’ll break something.”

  “Maybe I should tell him one of my stories,” said Karl, the would-be author. He was about the same age as Dominic, with a friendly, open face.

  Jens-Peter inhaled some of his beer and coughed uncontrollably. “Why? We don’t want to make him cry, remember? Every one of your stories I’ve read is enough to drain the sunshine from one’s life. Why is it that they always end unhappily for the lovers, eh? Do you think people enjoy reading that sort of thing?”

  Karl gestured airily. “Alas, love escapes me! And if I cannot have my love, I’ll be damned if I give any paper creation the satisfaction I am denied.”

  “If she does not satisfy you, simply pay her less,” teased Arne, to the laughter of the others.

  Karl shook his head in mock sorrow. “Is that what you frozen Northerners call love? Or is that all you can find in a civilized country?”

  Dominic could not help glancing towards Ardhuin, to see if she had heard any of this highly improper conversation. She was still talking with Mauer, and appeared unaware. She didn’t seem frightened at all, now; instead, it was as if she were interested and had forgotten to be afraid. It was incredible.