Engine of Lies ebook

by Barbara Howe

  Mother Celeste’s expression soured. “There’s nothing dangerous about our tunnels, and we’re all going together, so you couldn’t possibly get lost.”

  “Madam, I have not been in one of your d—, er, dark tunnels since I developed my powers as an enchanter, and I do not intend to start now.”

  Sorceress Lorraine turned an imperious stare on the Enchanter. “Paul, stop this nonsense at once. You are as terrified of being buried alive, and rightly so, as a warlock is of drowning, or a sorceress is of being burnt. But none of those will happen today. The Locksmith is adept, and the tunnels are safe. If the Locksmith loses control, I am more likely than you, Paul, to be burnt, but I am going. No, we are going.” She grabbed Paul’s right elbow, and nodded at Celeste, who grabbed his left. The two women marched Paul, still protesting, towards the tunnels.

  The three of us from the Fire Guild followed. With the Fire Office demanding his attention, Beorn marched as if he were an automaton. He had shrugged off my apologies, but this exercise was an imposition.

  I had already spent a week preparing, working with each Officeholder in their strongholds to ensure I could draw on their power for the braided lock. Beorn gave me no trouble; one tug, and I had a cable of fire. But even with the best of intentions and Jean’s coaching, the others did not find it easy to lower the innate barriers guarding their magical reserves and let someone else—from another guild, no less—draw on them. Sorceress Lorraine had the hardest time—we made dozens of tries before I pulled from her a line of blue as fine as spider’s silk—but she would not give up.

  Working with her had been exhausting, but I admired her perseverance. Enchanter Paul could have used some of the Water Guild’s patience. He would have given up if Jean and Sorceress Lorraine together had not bullied him into line.

  Paul circled the practice room, examining each narrow shaft under the skylights and chewing on his lip, while I lined the others up and explained the exercise.

  “We are practicing locking and unlocking braided locks, like the one on the Water Office, so everyone will be ready when the time comes. We’ll start with hiding a teacup. I’ll deal with the lock, you don’t have to. All you have to do is let me draw on your power.

  “It will be easier the closer together we are. Sorceress Lorraine and I will sit, with my hand on her Token of Office. The rest of you can sit or stand with your hands on my head or shoulders. Understand?” Nods all around. “Then let’s do it.”

  Even with the hours of preparation separately, the four Officeholders had difficulty letting down their guards in the others’ presence. Enchanter Paul, who had as bad a case of fidgets as René ever exhibited, roused in me a desire to wallop him. I came close to screaming from frustration, but finally I succeeded in drawing strands of energy—red, green, blue, and white—of about the same weight from all four Officeholders. The teacup disappeared with a satisfying little pop, and reappeared a moment later.

  Expressions of relief and pleasure followed. With that success behind us, other small locks came more easily. A caged bird, followed by a candle flame, disappeared and reappeared in due order.

  “Now we will try something a little harder,” I said, and a fire sprang to life in the fireplace.

  Enchanter Paul breathed a low, “Uh-oh.”

  Sorceress Lorraine forced a smile. “I did not realise you had such a dry sense of humour.”

  “The lock for this is small compared to the Water Office.”

  She winced. “I understand. Proceed when you are ready.”

  “Fine.” I wrapped a mental fist around the four stands of power and yanked. The fire disappeared, hidden from our mind’s eyes as well as our physical ones.

  “Oof!” Enchanter Paul grunted. Mother Celeste twitched. Sorceress Lorraine’s eyebrows rose.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Surprised, that’s all,” Mother Celeste said. “No harm done.”

  “Unlocking will take more power. Shall I go ahead?”

  “How much more?” Enchanter Paul asked. “Twice? Ten times? A hundred times?”

  “Er, maybe four or five times as much, but still less than a level three is capable of.”

  They exchanged glances and shrugged. Mother Celeste said, “Any level five could give you a hundred times as much. We aren’t used to someone else demanding it, that’s all.”

  “Get on with it,” Paul said.

  Keeping a careful grip on the four threads of power, I twisted them together, and ordered them to become cords. My mental candle flame raced backwards along the words in my mind’s eye, reached the end with a loud crack, and blazed like a torch.

  Mother Celeste cursed and snatched her hand off my shoulder. Enchanter Paul staggered backwards, gasping. Sorceress Lorraine became a fountain.

  I goggled. Lorraine had gone white and rigid, eyes squeezed shut. Water poured from her, splashed on my skirts, and pooled on the floor. I yanked my feet out of the way, but my shoes were already soaked.

  Beorn tugged at his beard. He and Jean exchanged a long look, frowning at each other.

  “What happened?” I said. “That was no more power than I’ve drawn from the level three wizards on our staff.”

  Enchanter Paul said, “Even a level three fire wizard has shields against fire magic that we don’t have.”

  “You felt the blast from the release? I thought I was the only one affected.” I looked at Jean. The worry lines around his eyes did not soothe me.

  He said, “I am not altogether surprised.”

  “What?” I said. “You never said anything to me.”

  He said, “We practiced braided locks only with fire wizards. We could not be sure of the effects on members of the other guilds.”

  Enchanter Paul snapped, “You should have figured that out before asking us for anything.”

  Jean’s nostrils flared. “And what foreign wizards should we have trusted to practice with?”

  “Your problem, not mine. We’re through for today.” Paul was halfway to the nearest door. I started up to run after him, but Beorn pushed me back in my chair.

  “Don’t listen to him. You did fine.”

  “Paul, you fool, wait.” Mother Celeste hurried after him. “That’s the wrong door. You’ll get lost.”

  Sorceress Lorraine pushed wet hair from her face. “I beg your pardon. Summoning water was a reflex action to protect myself from burns.” The water drained out of her dress and hair, a line dividing dry fabric from wet sliding down her torso. In seconds we were both dry; the pool shrank and disappeared. Beorn sighed. Wet, her filmy silk dress could have been painted on.

  I said, “I can’t protect myself from the lightning yet; how can I protect anyone else?”

  Beorn gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You don’t have to. Leave that to Jean and me.” He looked a question at Jean, who nodded.

  “We must experiment further,” Jean said, “but we do not need you.”

  “Good. I have other problems to see to.” Beorn disappeared into the fireplace.

  Sorceress Lorraine said, “Do not let Paul upset you, Lucinda. We are so unfamiliar with locks no one knew what to expect.” A weak smile came and went. “I cannot claim eagerness for more, especially in the Warlock’s Fortress, of all places, but I will devote as much of my time and energy as is needed to make this unlocking come to fruition. What do you suggest, Jean?”

  Jean said, “Lucinda, my dear, if you draw on the four Officeholders through me, perhaps I can shield the others from the heat.”

  I considered the idea. “It might work. Worth a try, anyway.”

  Lorraine said, “Can we convince Paul to return?”

  Jean shrugged. “We will experiment without him.”

  Mother Celeste returned, and we arranged ourselves with Jean seated beside me, and her hand on his shoulder. René, standing in for Beorn, had a hand on my s
houlder. Sorceress Lorraine faced us across the table with her hand outstretched. Jean put his hand over hers, and I laid mine across his, touching the great sapphire in her Token of Office, without touching her.

  “Ready?” I said.

  “One moment,” she said. The healthy pink in her cheeks faded into alabaster translucence; even with Jean’s hand between us, I felt her skin cool. I suppressed a shudder. I had experienced the defensive power of ice; her armour demanded my respect even as it repelled me.

  “Now,” she said.

  The strands of power appeared in my mind’s eye as three cords, two of them on the far side of Jean’s lighthouse beacon. I reached through the beacon and pulled, twisting the three strands together into one cord. The lock snapped closed; the fire disappeared. Another few seconds, and the lock popped open. Once again, the heat from a furnace rolled over me.

  Something—pain? fear?—flitted across Jean’s face, too quickly for me to identify. Lorraine smiled. Mother Celeste kissed us both on the cheek. “Well done, both of you,” she said. “I felt a tug, and that was all. No heat this time.”

  After they left, and I was alone with Jean, I said, “Jean, what happened? Were you hurt?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do you believe such a trifle could harm me?”

  “No, but I thought… I guess I imagined it.”

  He laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Think no more of it, my dear. When the time comes, you must concentrate only on releasing the lock. As Beorn said, let protecting the other Officeholders be our problem, not yours.”

  The Fire Guild’s Reputation

  Sven glared at me across his desk, his lips set in a thin line.

  I returned the glare. “Couldn’t you be mistaken about any Fire Warlock having the authority to abolish the conspiracy? You said there were variations in how they are created. Maybe when Old Brimstone set it up he put some twist in it so only he could destroy it.”

  Sven shook his head. “He couldn’t. Yes, private individuals can, and often do, but when that happens the conspiracy dies with them. The Fire Warlock can’t. I’ve spent most of my time over the last two years studying the spells making up the Fire and Water Offices, and I have a clearer picture now how they work. The Fire Office would have forced the creator to be seen as the Fire Warlock, not as Old Brimstone.”

  I didn’t ask if he was sure. If he wasn’t, he would have said so.

  “Face the facts,” he said. “Warlock Quicksilver didn’t expose the conspiracy when he could have. That makes me want to vomit.”

  I turned to stare out the window at the pigeons. “There’s some other explanation.” I couldn’t blame Sven for being angry, not even for hating Jean. I did when I first learned the secret. But I had calmed down. Sven was getting angrier.

  He said, “We’ll have to fight him when we expose it. We’ll never be strong enough.”

  “Nonsense. Jean wants me to expose it. If he could have exposed it himself, he would have. He didn’t, so he couldn’t. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I swivelled to face him, lifting my eyes heavenward. “No, of course not. I’ve only studied the man’s every move for three years. I have no idea what he thinks about anything.”

  “Okay, okay, forget I said that. But maybe, and I’m not saying this is certain, you could be so indignant over what’s happened to these women, that you overlook the idea others may have different concerns they judge more important.”

  I leaned on his desk and breathed fire. “What could be more important than protecting Frankland’s women and children?”

  He retreated as far as the clutter would allow. “You know that isn’t the Fire Office’s prime mandate.”

  “Yes, that’s so, but Jean does care. And there’s no mandate dependent on this conspiracy.”

  “No, but…”

  “But what? Sven, you’re beating around the bush. Why would a Fire Warlock, who can’t take advantage of it himself, and who has no love of the nobility who can, keep this a secret?”

  He edged further away. “To preserve the Fire Guild’s reputation.”

  “To preserve… Sven, tell me you’re joking.”

  “You do realise, don’t you, that when this is exposed it will give us a black eye that will take decades, maybe centuries, to recover from? You know Warlock Quicksilver cares what people think of the Fire Guild.”

  “Yes, but not that much. I will not listen to any more of this unless you come up with a better reason than that.”

  He shrugged. “We don’t have time to talk now anyway. If we don’t hurry we’ll be late for the meeting of the Reforging Coven. Let’s not discuss it in front of René, either. Let him enjoy his hero worship.”

  “René doesn’t… Oh, never mind.” More than two years of daily, sometimes intense, contact with Jean had stripped both René and me of the worst excesses of hero worship. René respected Jean, to be sure, and loved him as one loves a grandparent or a revered teacher, but he idolised Beorn, not Jean.

  No, Sven was the one displaying the anguish of a man whose hero has turned out to be human. I believed Jean couldn’t expose the conspiracy, rather than wouldn’t, but it was a matter of faith. Neither option was palatable for Sven.

  I let the matter drop, but couldn’t quell the sense of disquiet. We would revisit the question, I was quite sure, whether I liked it or not.

  “We have covered, in broad strokes,” Sorceress Lorraine said, “everything that must be readied for the reforging, but much detailed work remains. We must continue this meeting, and many more over the coming weeks, but only the mages need stay, as the problematic spells are those spanning guilds. The rest are welcome to stay if they choose.”

  The younger air witch, Enchantress Winifred, bolted for the door before Sorceress Lorraine finished speaking. Sven watched her go with a look that might have been either relief or disappointment. The older enchantress murmured polite thanks and followed with as much haste as dignity allowed.

  Beorn said, “Celeste and I have problems we’ve got to deal with, and I need Jean’s help. Sven can handle everything for the Fire Guild. Right, Jean?”

  “Certainly,” he said, and followed Beorn out the door. Sven’s head snapped around. He stared at the closed door long after they were gone.

  Besides the other mages and the two sorceresses, Lorraine and Eleanor, that left René and me. René sat with his head down, doodling on a scrap of paper.

  With the enchantresses gone we wouldn’t be held up waiting for one of the more patient mages to explain everything, twice. I settled into a more comfortable position, eager to listen to these learned men argue minutiae. I might learn as much in an hour as in our earlier meetings combined.

  We made good progress until Enchanter Paul, the sole air mage, got into a wrangle with the senior earth mage, Father Jerome. I had trouble following the esoteric details, and asked questions. Eleanor mouthed a thank you at me. My questions drew satisfactory answers from Jerome, less satisfactory, and increasingly curt, answers from Paul, until finally, he said, “My dear Madam Locksmith, I know the Fire Guild has other pressing matters which require your attention. As Her Wisdom said, you don’t need to stay. We won’t think less of you for not understanding every jot and tittle in every spell.”

  For two seconds there was dead silence. Eleanor stiffened, her eyes widening. Sven’s lip curled. My wretched face burned.

  “Lucinda and I,” René said, without looking up from his drawing, “are under orders to learn everything we can about the Water Office. Arturos and Quicksilver said that will help us understand the Fire Office.”

  Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Do they expect two near-novices who have never been to university to keep up with the mages?”

  Sven said, “Yes.” The other mages turned to stare at him. He flushed. “They didn’t say it would be easy. Ju
st that the effort would be worthwhile.”

  “Is that so? Then it would be better,” Paul snapped, “if René paid attention.”

  René looked up, eyes blazing. “I was listening. Father Jerome used Lucinda’s questions to clarify his thinking, and refine his arguments. If you—”

  “Enough.” Sorceress Lorraine at her chilliest commanded attention. “Neither the Locksmith nor Warlock Snorri need justify their presence here. The Locksmith has earned our respect, and the right to have her questions answered. Even frivolous questions, which these were not. Shall we continue?”

  With a murmur of ‘Yes, Ma’ams’, and a rustling of papers, the other mages struggled to hide smiles or raised eyebrows. Enchanter Paul harrumphed and went on doggedly with his losing argument.

  You were about to insult him, weren’t you, little brother?

  All I was going to say was that if he followed Father Jerome’s example he wouldn’t sound like such an airdick.

  All? Calling him names, and comparing him unfavourably to an earth wizard? If that’s not an insult to an air wizard, I don’t know what is.

  Hey, I’m a fire wizard. I have a reputation to uphold.

  Oh?

  You know, the Fire Guild’s reputation for speaking the truth, even when it hurts.

  I thought you meant our reputation for being obnoxious, tactless wiseasses.

  Same thing, more or less, isn’t it?

  Be careful, little brother. Your mouth will get you in serious trouble someday.

  “Given the size of this conspiracy,” Sven said, when we next met in his study, “we’ll have to use both the second and third approaches. That is, bring as many mundane commoners in on the secret as possible to dilute it, before we put pressure on it from outside to break it.”

  “So how do we reach all the commoners,” René asked, “when the Air Guild can’t do it, and it’s their business?”