by Paul Collins
Jelindel returned to her cabin. Hargav’s attitude was depressingly common. Destroy that which you don’t understand and it will no longer be there to annoy you. She stretched out on her bunk. So what had happened to the pentacle gem and The Book of Alchemorum? The guards had searched the physical places, and the Adept had checked for the gem’s aura. Both found nothing. On the other hand, because water weakens magic, the Adept would have had to be within a yard of the gem to detect it on the Dragonfang.
The book discussed the power of five pentacle gems when brought together at a ringstone circle. One gem had now been stolen from the Order of Penitents. That meant someone was collecting them, and perhaps gathering them together. The same individual, possibly, also had D’rudar’s book of pentacle gem applications, which meant that someone was building a bridge between the paraworlds. Perhaps the thief, or thieves, planned to destroy the book and gems to ensure no such travel was ever undertaken. Whatever the motives, a paraworld bridge could be of great use to Jelindel in finding Daretor and Zimak.
________________________
At Sezel, the crewmen heaved on the hawsers, and the Dragonfang drifted gently into the stanchions. Captain Porterby went ashore. Within minutes he returned with bad news. A local Duke had rebelled against the imperial government of Bravenhurst; and the little city was known to be full of his sympathisers. The Duke opposed the spreading influence of the Preceptor, and had declared his stand against him. He had won several skirmishes with imperial troops, so now the governor had imposed martial law.
‘There is a military curfew,’ Captain Porterby explained, holding up his hands for silence as he stood before the crew. ‘Sezel is considered to be under siege. The city gates are locked, but the port is still open. We can trade and load cargo, but water and supplies are not available. On the other hand, we stocked up in Hazaria, so there will be no problem with sailing on to Mordicar.’
‘So can the men go ashore then, Captain?’ asked Henrik.
‘The curfew means you must be off the streets between dusk and dawn. If you were to spend the night in some inn, and do your eating and drinking there, it would be a day’s supplies saved, so I would encourage you to do just that. Just don’t get arrested, or we shall sail without you.’ The captain’s voice lowered. ‘We’ll not stop here longer than absolutely necessary. The Duke must be a complete and utter fool if he thinks he stands a rat’s chance of defeating the Preceptor’s army.’
Either a complete fool or someone who has an ace up his sleeve, Jelindel thought. No amount of battlements in a port city would be sufficient against an enemy whose warships are unparalleled in strength and number. Coming into the harbour she had noticed giant cannons facing seaward, but due to their size they were fixed. Once inside their guard, Sezel would fall. And fall heavily, since the Preceptor torched any city that did not surrender to him.
Although it was not part of her job, Jelindel helped with the unloading of the cargo. The sooner this job was done, the sooner she could investigate the Duke.
‘Can’t understand why you do it,’ Hargav said, hefting a crate out of the way. ‘You’re an officer.’
‘Keeps me in the men’s goodwill,’ she replied. ‘Goodwill at sea can be the difference between life and death.’
‘You’re fair enough on the men, though,’ Hargav said, hauling on a rope. ‘They respect you.’
‘Grudgingly perhaps,’ Jelindel conceded. ‘But there will always be distinctions between officers and crew. One way or another, I have butted heads with almost every man on board.’ She smiled at Hargav’s surprise. ‘You’re not the only cabin boy I have saved from the rowdies. Speaking of which, are you going ashore?’
‘Jaelin, they say there’s nothing in town that’s not aboard. I’ve not a coin left of my pay for six-month, so I’ll not be playing cards or skitterjacks.’
Jelindel tried to hide the smile that lifted the corners of her lips. ‘Skitterjacks. And I suppose they used five dice and not four?’
Hargav shrugged. ‘How many dice should there be?’
‘Four as a rule. Five if there’s a light touch in the circle. Look out for that next time. Better still, don’t gamble.’
‘And stay away from alcohol,’ Hargav mimicked Jelindel’s earlier warning. ‘It was asking for limewater that got me dunked in the bilgewater again,’ he said, miserably.
‘It was the crew that did that, not the limewater,’ Jelindel said.
She turned to stifle laughter and looked over at Larachel, who was also manhandling the shipment. He was a shrewd man.
If Jelindel had learnt one thing while at sea, it was that everyone pulled their weight. It paid to be one of the crew, and not some pompous softie like the previous navigator. It was also the only fitness training she managed to fit in. The shipment of barrels was not large, although delicacies such as pickled fruit and spiced vegetables fetched a hefty price in a city that was virtually under siege.
The work did not take as long as it had when they were aboard the Dark Empress. By evening the ship was manned only by Captain Porterby, Henrik Ju’shron, and Hargav.
Hargav had decided to build goodwill with the rest of the crew by volunteering to be on the overnight watch rather than going ashore to carouse. The crew took over a tavern within sight of the ship, and Hargav could hear their singing from the quarterdeck. Jelindel was assumed to be with them. In truth she had gone ashore and done what she did best: she vanished.
Hargav looked out over the port in the moonlight. Sezel was like any number of minor seaports. Fifteen or so ships of varying size were scattered about the harbour or were berthed at the wharf. The local fishermen were busy, though, putting to sea for the night, while others returned. With the city gates closed, the demand for fish had soared. The piers were not covered by the curfew, and were full of men and women filleting, gutting and salting the catches of the night in the warm tropical air.
Anyone seeing the lone watchman staring desultorily towards shore, would have seen a young boy, unsure of himself, longing to be with his comrades. However, looks can be deceiving.
Hargav was staring intently at a fortified palace built into the cliff face that shadowed the port. He was assessing ways of safely approaching the palace without being seen, and ways of leaving without being caught. Purely speculatively, of course. Hargav did not intend to leave the ship.
Every now and then, an observer would have also seen the young night watchman listlessly walk the decks, casting looks at the town, as though he wished to be enjoying its hospitality. This is exactly what Hargav wanted people to think.
Chapter 14
LADY FORTURIAN
Jelindel saw few signs that Sezel was under siege. The battlements should have been fully manned, the livestock rounded up from the fields and penned within the city and the outlying farmers should have been crowding the streets, begging for food and shelter. The town should be in total chaos as Sezelian troops fought to maintain order. Instead, the city looked prosperous, its inhabitants only slightly troubled by the increased presence of the army, and only mildly put out by the curfew.
As a stranger, Jelindel would have normally aroused suspicion in a town under martial law. In times of strife outsiders were usually kept under scrutiny, and often imprisoned until whatever calamity had struck was under control. The fact that she was allowed to roam the streets without the slightest discomfort meant that there was more to Sezel’s apparent dilemma than met the eye.
Jelindel had wanted to keep an eye on Larachel, but her priority here was to follow a dream. She wanted to visit Lady Forturian, a friend of Madame Dione. The trade envoy would have to wait.
She stopped at the crest of a hill overlooking the ragged northern coastline. The sleek Dragonfang stood out among the other vessels tied up at the docklands. She gave the sea a cursory glance. She was not expecting to see their pursuers, but felt uneasy about the possibility nonetheless. It was then that she realised how far she had travelled in such a short time.
> Puzzled, she resumed her trek up the winding gravel path that she intuitively knew led to her destination. How she knew where the spiritualist lived did not concern her – magic had its own nefarious devices. What did puzzle her was the speed with which she was making the journey. She turned around again and frowned. The docklands were now beyond eyesight, and the coastline was pencil-fine on the horizon. She looked at the sun and realised with a start that it marked more time than was possible during her short sojourn. By the time she reached the broken wall surrounding Lady Forturian’s palatial grounds, she could almost see the sun moving. An atmospheric condition peculiar to the equator or something more arcane? She shrugged and stepped past the open wrought-iron gate.
The town’s curfew bell began to ring as she was knocking on the spiritualist’s door. A bolt rattled, the door opened slightly, and an ageless female face peered out. Despite the apparent timidity of the woman’s behaviour, there was no doubt in Jelindel’s mind that this was a very powerful woman. The guard spells surrounding the place were so complex that Jelindel failed to recognise most of them, although she was only too well aware of their presence. She didn’t bother protecting herself from them. It would have been pointless.
‘Ah, Jelindel, do come in, if you can,’ said Lady Forturian, gently.
Getting inside was not easy. Piles of books, papers, scrolls, stuffed animals and crystals jammed the interior, and the doors to the rooms leading off the corridor were packed solid with yet more books. Lady Forturian wore gaudy, gauzy clothes, and was very thin. Her age could have been anywhere between seventy and ninety – in appearance. However, Jelindel knew not to judge age by appearance.
Lady Forturian led Jelindel up a rickety ladder. They went through a hole in the ceiling, across a book-jammed attic, through a tiny kitchen, and out onto a flat area of the roof. Before them spread a view of the darkening docks. The bloated sun was sinking beyond the horizon.
Jelindel noted that a tea service for two was already laid out.
‘You knew I was coming?’ she asked.
‘Part of the job,’ the woman replied. ‘Now, I expect you will want to read The Book of Alchemorum.’ Lady Forturian’s no-nonsense attitude was comforting after the last few weeks of deceit and subterfuge. ‘There’s a copy on your chair.’
Startled, Jelindel looked down, her mind faltering for a moment for she had not expected to ever see the book again. ‘You – I – but – this is a rare and priceless book. It was stolen in Hazaria, and the constables were practically tearing the city apart to find it.’
‘Oh, that. Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Lady Forturian. ‘That copy has water damage to several pages, moderate bookworm damage, and some very ill-informed scribblings in the margins by some Adept of a century or two ago. My copy is slightly singed on the back cover, but is otherwise intact. And fear not for the stolen book, Jelindel – it’s not in safe hands, but it most definitely will be cared for.’
Jelindel picked up The Book of Alchemorum and squinted at the text in the fading light. Lady Forturian was right. This copy was even better preserved.
‘You can have a lantern and a spare room for your studies,’ Lady Forturian went on. ‘I’ve got some scraps of old scrolls if you want to make notes, and a writing kit. There’s a bed, table and chair in there. Oh, and about seven thousand books.’
‘Thank you. You’re most gracious.’ Jelindel paused, stumbling over her thoughts. ‘You could buy a grand mansion with the worth of this book,’ she said.
‘With the contents of this house I could buy a medium-sized city,’ Lady Forturian said off-handedly. ‘But why buy a mansion or a city? Books are far more interesting.’
She poured the herbal tea. Jelindel recognised the aroma of rosehip and lemon.
Lady Forturian set down the pot and looked up. ‘Someone is building a paraworlds bridge,’ she said in her direct manner.
‘I worked that out for myself,’ said Jelindel. ‘It’s dangerous,’ she added, lamely. Despite the coldness of the encroaching night, the air on the verandah seemed moderate. The trees were gently rustling, yet no wind spilled onto the decking.
Lady Forturian passed Jelindel a cup. ‘Well, interesting rather than dangerous. And not as dangerous as forming a bridge without a ringstone and the necessary rites.’
Jelindel frowned. ‘I’m unfamiliar with how the pentacle gems can be used in such a manner.’
Lady Forturian’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, I’ll show you how. But it’s a bit like tossing dice. The numbers are stacked against you. What comes through an unprotected portal could be your worst nightmare or a pleasant dream. Open the floodgates to the paraworlds and you are more likely to be drowned than borne aloft.’ She shrugged. ‘But what of it if you’re about to die anyway. Oh, look, a thief.’
Jelindel froze, then slipped her knife free of its scabbard. A dark figure was squatting on a thick limb of a gumgut pine. Lady Forturian did not seem at all concerned. In fact, she kept her hand outstretched, waiting for Jelindel to take her cup.
Jelindel obliged, deciding that the woman knew something that she did not. The thief sailed acrobatically to another limb and, using his momentum, flipped an incredible twelve feet to the verandah decking. By now, Jelindel was on her feet and in front of Lady Forturian, her knife held out. Almost as inexplicably as the thief’s presence, crackling white energy opened like a window and engulfed the man. He uttered an anguished oath, then disappeared as the energy aperture closed with a curt snap.
Jelindel spun around, knife poised. The only men capable of disappearing like that were lindraks, deadmoons or High Adepts – all lethal adversaries. Lady Forturian coughed politely.
‘Uh – what happened?’ asked Jelindel. She sheathed her knife self-consciously.
‘He jumped, oh, about a thousand years into the future.’ Lady Forturian sipped from her cup. ‘I do like a hot cup of tea.’
At Jelindel’s stunned silence, the older woman said, ‘Don’t worry, dear girl. There’s no way back, you know. Have you ever heard of causality paradoxes? I have a book on the subject somewhere.’
‘The future?’ exclaimed Jelindel. ‘Like with D’rudar’s pentacle gems?’
‘Oh, yes. Although his engine is rather archaic compared to the natural causality paradox. Do drink up, Jelindel. Your tea must be lukewarm. This house is bounded by a well in time – the exact spot on Q’zar where the ley lines intersect. Anyone trying to trespass without the truename of this exact spot, will be sent a long way away. It’s more humane than keeping a security demon. Besides, demons are not good company around books; they breathe fire. They fart fire as well.
‘So, apart from the book, what can I do for you?’
Jelindel had met Lady Forturian at Madame Dione’s cottage, two voyages ago. They got along very well, except that Lady Forturian tended to boast of an impossibly large collection of magical books. Almost as a challenge, Jelindel had asked if she could visit her some time. Lady Forturian had written out her address without the slightest hesitation and offered her an open invitation.
‘Have you heard of the dragonlinks mailshirt?’ Jelindel asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Lady Forturian said. ‘The individual links could be worn as enchanted rings. They sucked the fighting ability out of the wearer when they were removed, and transferred it to the next wearer. A self-replicating piece of misery by all accounts.’
‘Yes, but did you know – ?’
‘Six links were missing from the mailshirt. Last year three free-booting adventurers found the missing links, reassembled the mailshirt, and then began to fight about how it was to be used. It had immense powers, you know. Far more than the pentacle gems – although they are more useful in different ways.’
‘Well that is right too, but –’
‘One man was a champion swordsman by the name of Daretor, and the other a common thief called Zimak. The third was a young warlock named Jayen, who by remarkable luck defeated far more Senior Adepts. Jayen easily defeated his colleagues,
and banished them to some distant paraworld. As luck would have it, Jayen was the one who thought the dragonlinks ought to be destroyed, and he did so. Pity, I would have liked to put it on the wall in here. It’s the only safe place for it, you know.’
‘You have both Jayen’s gender and name wrong,’ said Jelindel, gaining some satisfaction from knowing something that Lady Forturian did not.
‘How very interesting. Can you substantiate it?’ Lady Forturian asked with great interest.
‘Well, yes, sort of. Your “Jayen” was me. Only I went under the pseudonym of Jaelin.’
Lady Forturian was not vain about what she knew. She just liked to know everything. Thus when someone knew more about a subject then she did, she opened a jar of her best biscuits, made another cup of tea, and got them talking. Such an occasion rarely occurred.
Jelindel had wanted to talk, but there had been no sufficiently safe audience. Until now.
‘We faced a lot together,’ Jelindel said, waving a wheat biscuit for emphasis. ‘In the months we were together we came to depend on each other and work as a very tight team. Even though we probably did not like each other very much.’
‘So you don’t even care for these characters, Daretor and Zimak, yet you wish to rescue them from their distant world?’ Lady Forturian chuckled. ‘I do not read my guests’ minds, Jelindel. Simple deduction is the basis of all logic. You disposed of your former allies, and now feel guilt at your seeming treachery.’
‘Call me a fool if you like.’ Jelindel finished her second cup of tea and declined a third.
‘You’re a fool.’
‘What would you do?’
‘Leave them there. It’s bound to be an interesting life for men such as them. Place an exotic among the masses and it can go two ways. Either the masses cut down that which they cannot possibly better, or the masses bow in homage to something so obviously greater than they.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I have a suspicion your Daretor and Zimak will fit into the latter category.’