The Island Deception

by Dan Koboldt

  The shark shot around and hit the rock he’d just landed on. He fell to his knees to keep from tumbling off. The frigid water soaked right through his pants, and drove cold needles into his knees. Son of a bitch!

  He worked his mind frantically, trying to remember what he’d done to save himself in the Loutre River. He’d figured he was going to die, and rebelled against that thought. Then the heat surged up from his belly, and he’d pushed the water away. The trouble was, he didn’t know how to find that fire to begin with. Maybe I have to be dying.

  And then, of course, the sharks started jumping, too. The one harassing the skinny kid shot out of the water right at him. He shouted in alarm and hopped to a nearby stone. The shark should have clipped him, but he did something with his hands. The wind roared in a tempest around him, and sent the shark spinning off over the falls.

  “Yes!” Sella clapped her hands. She blew into the bone whistle again, and now the other two sharks charged at Quinn.

  “Crap.” He ducked aside as the closest one leaped at him. He tried copying the kid’s gesture, but it had no effect. Then had to dance a two-step as the second one swept its tail across the rock. “Clever bastards, aren’t you?”

  All right, I’m ready to cheat. He had the elemental projectors, but fire and water wouldn’t help here. The microturbine might, but probably not enough. Not for four hundred pounds of muscle and teeth. He’d push himself right into the water.

  That gave him an idea. A crazy-ass idea, but he might be able to make it work. By the way the sharks had circled out at different sides on him, they were all coming for a coordinated attack. Two toothy leaps right at him, with nowhere to go.

  Nowhere but up.

  The sharks charged at him. Quinn found the right switches on his elemental projectors, pointed them down at the water. Crouched low on his rock. Three, two, one . . .

  The sharks shot out of the water from both sides. He hit the turbines on max power and jumped as high as he could. He kept his arms stiff and straight down. He took off like a rocket, probably five or six feet in the air. The sharks slammed into each other headfirst. They tumbled back into the water. The current swept them over the falls.

  Then the turbines sputtered and went still, and he was falling. He hit the rock hard and slammed a knee against it. Damn, that hurts. It kept him on the rock, though.

  Sella and the skinny kid whooped and applauded.

  Quinn stood to give them the prestige. “How about that?”

  “A bit unconventional, Quinn,” Sella said. “But certainly an improvement.”

  Quinn’s small victory over the sharks put him on cloud nine. Yeah, he’d had to cheat a little, but the grudging compliment he won out of Sella made it all worthwhile. His mood was good enough that he decided to check in with the rest of the team during his long walk back to the Landorian tower. He made sure he was alone before putting his comm unit on burst transmission mode.

  “This is Bradley, can I make my report?”

  He had to wait the customary few minutes to get a reply from Kiara. “Go ahead, Bradley.”

  “My cover is still solid here, so I’m happy to report that I’m alive and well.”

  “Any insights into the nature of Holt’s magical protection?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I have to tread lightly.” That reminded him of the encounter with Anton. “Hey, can you run a name against the archives for me? A Caralissian guy who goes by Anton. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, wealthy. Some kind of a lord or something.”

  “Who is he?” Logan asked.

  “A guy looking to give me trouble. Anything you can tell me about him would be helpful.”

  “We’ll run the name,” Kiara said. “What’s the status of the antenna?”

  Crap, I totally forgot. He considered telling her he’d lost it at sea, but that might raise suspicions. “I’ll have to find a good spot for it. I haven’t had much free time yet.”

  “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Keep me posted of your progress. Kiara out.”

  Quinn switched off his comm unit as he jogged up the steps to the Landorian tower. He passed no one in the empty atrium. Then he got a glance down the hall, and saw light spilling from his room into the dim hallway. Which shouldn’t be possible, because he’d left his door closed.

  He eased up one sleeve, and slid the controls for the elemental projector. With all the people dropping in on him unexpectedly, anyone might be in there. It would be just like Anton to wait for me in my own room. He rounded the corner, ready to throw something nasty in the man’s smug face, and startled Moric from where he stood by the window.

  “Oh. Moric.” Sweet Jesus. He shoved the sleeve hastily back down his arm. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Moric spread his hands out in apology. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I saw you borrowed a new book, and I couldn’t resist . . .”

  Quinn took a calming breath. “It’s all right. You startled me, that’s all.”

  “How in the world did you get Elements of Botany out of the library?”

  “I stopped by earlier. Old Mags was happy to see me.”

  Moric coughed into his hand. “I’m sorry, did you say Mags was happy?”

  “She was delighted.” The old crone could glare daggers when she wanted to, but she’d seemed genuinely pleased at Quinn’s return. Even before he laid a little bottle of fancy Felaran liquor on her. It never hurts to grease a gatekeeper. That was Vegas 101. “She said I could borrow anything, so . . .” Quinn shrugged and gestured at the old leather-bound book. “I thought it looked interesting.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Moric said. He ran a finger down the ancient leather spine, almost like a caress. “Rare would be another. There are only a handful of copies of this book in the world.”

  Thanks to Holt, it’s a handful plus one. But Quinn feigned surprise. “Really? I’ll be careful with it, then. The last thing I want is to get on the wrong side of Mags.”

  Moric shook his head. “You have no idea how right you are.”

  Quinn tried to hide his smile. “Once you get on her list, it’s a long way coming back.”

  The man seemed eager to change the subject. “Speaking of which, how was your first lesson with Sella today?”

  “Oh, yeah. She attacked us with sharks.”

  Moric nodded, as if this were perfectly normal. “Any magic?”

  Quinn almost said no, because that was the truth. But if Moric talked to Sella, she’d probably mention the super-jump. This is a delicate line. “Mostly not,” he said. “I sort of jumped, but only when the alternative was getting eaten.”

  Moric crinkled his forehead. “You . . . jumped?”

  “Well, it was a good jump. A lot higher than I should have been able to on my own.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s an impressive list.” Quinn ticked them off on his fingers. “My friends didn’t get killed. I managed not to drown. And today, I wasn’t eaten by sharks.”

  Moric chuckled. “Desperation seems to bring out the best in you, and that’s not a bad thing. Some of the greatest spells ever cast by Enclave magicians were brought about by desperate need.”

  “Even so, I’d also like to be able to use magic when my life doesn’t depend on it.”

  “Sometimes our powers are fickle that way. Particularly with novice users,” Moric said.

  Ouch. He wasn’t wrong, but it still stung a little. “Do you think I’ll get past it?”

  Moric at last tore his eyes from the book. “We’ll simply have to find more opportunities to make you desperate.”

  “Oh, that sounds promising,” Quinn said dryly.

  “Something tells me that you can handle it. Just as you handled our mission for Richard’s friends.”

  They’re not his friends. “I did what I had to do. I’m just sorry it kept me away so long.”

  Moric’s eyes widened. “That reminds me. Have you spoken to Jillaine
since you returned?”

  “No, I haven’t had the chance.”

  “When we returned from that job without you, she asked a lot of questions.”

  “OK . . .” Quinn wasn’t sure where this was going.

  “I may have implied that you . . . well, you know.”

  “That I what?” Quinn asked.

  “Died.”

  “What?”

  “Perished.”

  “I know what it means, Moric. Why would you say that?”

  Moric gave an innocent shrug. “It seemed like a good way to stave off further questions.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Moric put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Perhaps you’ll drop by the chandlery and let her know that I was mistaken.”

  “Why can’t you tell her?”

  “I’ve a meeting with the council. Important Enclave business, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  “Moric—”

  But the man already had a foot out the door. “I’m late already, now that I recall. Keep me posted on those lessons.”

  Chapter 23

  A Hint of Fire

  “If you want to control the game, you need to know who the players are.”

  —Art of Illusion, June 17

  Quinn wanted to nip this Jillaine thing in the bud. The problem was that—outside of a certain stack of boulders where he’d managed to find her a couple of times—he didn’t know where to look for her. Normally, she’d been the one to find him. Finally, though, he remembered that she’d mentioned making candles for the Enclave. It took him even longer to realize that the plain wooden building next to the Enclave’s apiary might be the place where the candles were made. He usually gave the place a wide berth. Alissian honeybees were about the size of a large walnut. Unnatural things. A dozen beehives, each of them at least three feet in diameter, sat atop large wooden stands in the midst of an apple orchard. There was no fence.

  Not even a damn sign. The Enclave just boggled the mind sometimes.

  The sun had half dipped below the horizon when he approached the wide open door of the chandlery itself. A hundred different scents drifted out of it to greet him. Lavender, vanilla, cinnamon, wet grass, roasting meat, lemon oil . . . each one was more pleasant than the next. Half of them, he couldn’t even name.

  He paused outside and took a breath, centering himself. The last time he saw Jillaine, she’d kissed him, and warned him not to be away too long. But she’d also bound him so he couldn’t move, so there was no telling what kind of reunion he might expect.

  A chime sounded as he walked across the threshold, startling him. There weren’t any wires or bells that he could see, just a pair of little stone owls on each side of the door. They were about two inches high, and faced one another. A magic shopkeeper’s bell. He wouldn’t mind having some of them on his own chambers, the way people kept dropping in.

  There wasn’t anyone inside. Wooden shelves lined every wall, and they were piled high with beeswax sculptures. Flowers and trees made for a little garden in the corner, while a veritable zoo of wild animals piled atop one another on the wall beside it. The largest of these was a wyvern about two feet tall, so realistic that it made him shiver. The scales were carved with such detail it was almost as good as a photograph. He moved over to the section of plant and flower candles. A fist-sized rose stood out from among these. He leaned to inhale the scent. Her scent. The one that she’d always used to announce herself to him.

  Then a small wooden side door opened, and there she was, holding a tray full of new candles. Her golden hair tumbled in a gentle curl past her shoulders, and her violet eyes . . . well, he’d never seen eyes like those and he’d been worried he never would again. But there they are. She wore a sky-blue dress beneath her apron, which bore the battle scars of a thousand candle settings. It was as filthy as she was gorgeous.

  “Hi,” Quinn said.

  Her jaw dropped, and the tray clattered to the floor. Candles spilled everywhere. A slender taper in plum rolled up to his foot. He crouched to pick it up.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he began, but cut off as she threw her arms around him. “Oh.”

  He hugged her back, enjoying the warmth of her body against his. She let him go. Then fire bloomed in her eyes and she slapped him. Hard. Red sparks danced across his vision.

  “Um, ow.” He rubbed his cheek and frowned at her. “What the—”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  As much as he wanted to throw Moric under the bus, he couldn’t do it. “I guess it looked that way, from Moric’s perspective. I had to leave the group.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

  “To finish our job.” He started piling the spilled candles back onto the tray. They were different shapes—some square, others round, still others scalloped like flowers—and every one was a variation of purple. Their scents mingled in a mixture of flower and fruit aromas. “Everyone else was spent, and the people we were supposed to be protecting were ambushed.” He rose with the tray full of candles—all of which had miraculously remained unbroken.

  “What took you so long?” She made no move to take the tray, but began placing the candles one by one on her shelves. “The others returned weeks ago.”

  “I had to follow the clients through the mountains and back into Felara.”

  “Hmm.” She took the last candle, then the tray, and set it briskly on the counter. “So, let me get this straight.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You left this island with hardly a moment’s warning,” she said.

  “Well, I t-told you—” he stammered.

  She rolled right over him. “Then you left my father and the others to think you’d perished, while you took a little adventure across the mainland.”

  Quinn held up his hands. “It wasn’t an adventure.”

  “How would I know? I’ve never even been anywhere else.”

  That’s not really my fault. “Trust me, you’re not missing much.” No place on the Alissian mainland could top the Enclave, in his opinion.

  “And yet you were gone a long time,” she said. Her voice had a chill.

  “There were . . . complications. It took a lot longer than I thought.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, and you figured I’d still be here waiting for you.”

  “Well, no, I—I just wanted to let you know I’m back.”

  She turned away to straighten more of her candles. “And now you’ve done that.”

  He stood there for a tock more, but when it was clear she wouldn’t say anything—or even look at him—Quinn stalked out the doorway. His chest hurt like he’d been punched. He wasn’t done with her, not by a long shot, but a good entertainer knew when it was a bad night with a tough crowd.

  Thanks a lot, Moric.

  Quinn trudged back in the direction of the Landorian tower, feeling more dejected by the minute. The worst part was the fact that Jillaine wasn’t so far off with her accusations. He had left with virtually no warning, and he’d known at the time he wouldn’t be coming straight back. Instead, Moric and the others had come back and told her he was “probably dead.”

  No wonder she was mad at him.

  It was just after midday, the busiest time for foot traffic in the Enclave. Now and then he saw someone he recognized—an acquaintance from the Pirean tower, or one of his Landorian neighbors—but most of them were strangers. I should work on that. Then again, he wasn’t doing very well with the people he already knew. He was halfway across the green to his home tower when a man hailed him.

  “Quinn?” He wore long pants and a tailored jacket, despite the perfect ambient air temperature. Prim was the word for him, from the polished boots to the trimmed goatee to the dark queue of hair down his back. Almost like a kung-fu master. He carried a single ribbon-wrapped roll of parchment in both hands.

  “Yes?” Quinn eyed the scroll of parchment. I think I’m about to get served. Did they have process se
rvers in Alissia? He hadn’t thought to ask.

  “My master sends his regards.” He bowed and proffered the scroll.

  Quinn ignored it. Spend enough time in Vegas, and you trained yourself not to take things when people shoved them at you. “Who’s your master?”

  “Anton.”

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he took the scroll. The parchment felt thick, but smooth. It was probably the highest quality paper he’d ever encountered in this world. Anton must have some serious loot. “Thank you.”

  The man straightened. He didn’t make eye contact, but he didn’t make to leave.

  “I’m guessing you want me to read this now,” Quinn said.

  The man coughed, polite as a British butler. “If it’s not entirely inconvenient.”

  “All right, I guess.” He untied the ribbon and unrolled it. The scroll contained a single line of elegant script, handwritten in silver ink. And virtually unreadable to someone who didn’t grow up here.

  “Whoops, forgot my glasses.” Quinn plucked the eyeglass case from his inside pocket. Thank God for the real-time translation—illiteracy wouldn’t do much for his reputation. He pointed them at the note, and the lenses showed the translation in block text.

  Please join me for the evening meal.

  That was the last thing he’d expected. And the last person he cared to spend time with, too. Anton’s company made Captain Relling seem downright cheerful.

  It was a curious kind of rabbit hole, though. Kiara would want him to see where it led. “Forgive my backward Landorian upbringing, but I don’t know the polite way to accept this.”

  “A phrase like ‘I’d be honored to accept his kind invitation’ would be appropriate.”

  That would be a white lie, but one he could swallow. “Tell him that, would you?”

  “Of course. If you’d be so kind as to make your way to the Caralissian tower, at sunset?”

  Quinn smiled, and didn’t have to fake this one. “I’ll be there.”