“What?” Marek turned.
Darissa held up a hand, then went to Nondel’s bedroom. She slipped quietly inside, where she found the old man asleep. She crept up, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and said, “Goodbye, Master. Thank you.”
Then she followed Marek out the front door, and up the street toward the castle.
Chapter Forty-Five
Morvash of the Shadows
9th of Newfrost, YS 5238
Morvash had dozed off somewhere over the western Small Kingdoms, but he awoke with a start when Zerra announced, “We’re here!” He sat up.
The carpet was carrying them slowly up a street in Ethshar, at roughly the level of the second floor, and the street lamps at every corner gave enough light for Morvash to recognize it as Canal Avenue, in the New City district. In fact, even before he saw the wrought-iron dragons on the gates, he knew they were approaching his uncle’s home.
Zerra did not bother with the gates, but sent the carpet over the walls into the forecourt and then let it settle to the pavement at the foot of the front steps.
“Go on,” she said, gesturing to Morvash.
It took him a second to realize what she meant, but then he rose, took a moment to stretch legs stiff from sitting cross-legged for so long, picked up his bag, then walked up the steps and pulled the bell-rope.
Behind him, Hakin and Karitha also rose. “Is this where we’re staying?” Karitha asked.
“Yes,” Zerra said. “Off the carpet.” She brushed at Hakin’s calves.
Startled, Hakin stepped off the carpet onto the bricks of the front drive. Karitha, too, stumbled off.
Then, without further warning, Zerra sent the carpet upward. “Good night, and good luck!” she said, as she rose into the night sky.
The three watched as the carpet ascended to fifteen or twenty feet up, then turned and zoomed away into the night sky.
When she was gone Morvash snapped his mouth shut, yanked at the bell-rope again, and knocked loudly on the front door.
Nothing happened for a moment, and he was about to knock again and maybe start shouting, despite the lateness of the hour, when the door finally opened a crack. “Who is it?”
“Morvash,” Morvash replied. “I’m back.”
“At this hour? Do you want me to wake your uncle?”
“No, of course not! I just want you to let me in—I don’t have my key.”
The door opened a little further, enough for the man inside to peer out; Morvash recognized him as Karn, the senior footman. Morvash repositioned himself to provide a decent view of his face; there wasn’t enough light for a good view.
Once the doorman had satisfied himself that the person outside was indeed his master’s nephew he opened the door further.
Morvash promptly stepped up and held it while beckoning to Karitha and Hakin. “Get inside, you two.”
“Sir, I don’t—” the footman began.
“I take full responsibility,” Morvash said, following them into the house and closing the door behind him. “These two are friends of mine. Find beds for them, and make sure that Uncle Gror is informed promptly, once he’s awake, that he has guests.” He remembered the other former statues, and added, “Or perhaps I should say more guests; I assume some of the last batch are still here.”
“About half of them,” Karn said. “But we still have enough room for this pair.”
“Separate beds, please, if that’s possible. And is my old room available?”
“Of course, sir! Your uncle had expected you back before this and kept it open. But it may need some attention; could you wait here for just a moment while I wake the housekeeper?”
“What time is it?”
“I’m not entirely certain, sir, but it’s definitely after midnight.”
“I am sorry to get you up like this!”
“I’ll fetch the housekeeper.” The footman turned and hurried away, leaving the three travelers in the foyer.
“I thought we’d be going back to that other house,” Hakin said.
Morvash blinked. “I’m not sure why we didn’t,” he said. “But I don’t know whether I have the key for that one, either, since we went out a window. Besides, there’s more room here, and helpful staff, even if it’s half full of other formerly petrified people.”
“It’s big,” Karitha said, looking around at the foyer. Most of the lamps were dark, but the footman had left a single lit candle on a small table; it gave just enough light to soften the shadows on all sides. The numerous sculptures cast shifting, distorted shadows, giving the entire place an eerie feel.
“It is,” Morvash agreed. “You were here before, you know, but you were made of stone at the time. You were in one of the rooms upstairs, at the foot of my bed. You were what convinced me Lord Landessin’s statuary collection wasn’t all just sculpture.”
Karitha shuddered.
“Your uncle owns this?” Hakin asked.
“He rents it.”
“What does he do for a living, to afford a place like this?”
“He’s a merchant. My whole family is merchants of one sort or another, except for me. My parents thought it might be useful to have a magician in the family.”
“He must be pretty good at it.”
Morvash turned up a palm. “He’s the family’s success story, where I’m the failure.”
“What does he sell?”
Morvash hesitated, then said, “Luxury goods.” Then his conscience got the better of him, and he admitted, “And he deals in weapons. That’s most of what he sells, really. That’s what my father’s side of the family sells. Uncle Gror gathers in weapons from the Small Kingdoms and Sardiron, then ships them on to my father and Uncle Kargan. But he also sells whatever the richest people in Ethshar might want—whatever they might be looking for, my uncle will find it for them. He inherited the business from my grandfather, who modeled himself on the people who supply wizards, but for people who aren’t magicians, just rich. The weapons came along later, when my parents got married, and turned out to be a steadier income.”
“Interesting,” Hakin said.
A light reappeared; Karn was returning. He beckoned to Karitha and Hakin. “This way, please, and I will show you to your rooms. Morvash, sir, I assume you remember yours?”
“I do, thank you.”
“The housekeeper is on her way there right now, to make up the bed, and she’ll do the same for your guests as soon as she’s done with yours.”
Morvash nodded. “Perfect,” he said. “Please do make sure my uncle knows we’re here, and that we want to speak with him when it’s convenient. Feel free to wake me, should he ask you to.”
“Of course, sir.” The footman gave a final bow, then raised his candle and led the others into the unlit passages beyond.
Morvash took the candle from the table to light his own way to bed. As promised, he found the housekeeper just straightening the last pillow. He thanked her, and the moment the bedroom door closed behind her he fell onto the bed, still dressed, and fell asleep.
He woke gradually, vaguely aware of sunlight pouring in the windows and footsteps in the corridor. He took his time about getting up. Most of his clothes had been transferred to the late Erdrik’s house, but he had left one of his better robes here in case he needed to impress one of Uncle Gror’s clients; now he pulled it on, along with a pair of black slippers, and headed downstairs.
A footman, not Karn from the previous night but one whose name Morvash did not remember, met him at the foot of the steps and informed him, “Your uncle is waiting, sir.”
“Lead the way,” Morvash said.
Gror was just finishing his breakfast; he gestured for Morvash to join him. Morvash was glad to oblige; he took a seat at the table and was delighted to see a plate
of cakes and sliced ham appear before him.
Gror dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then said, “You’ll have to tell me all about it. Do you have time, or will you be rushing off again?”
“I have time,” Morvash said. “I’m all done with my adventures. There are still a few loose ends, such as finding places for all your house guests, but I’ve finished my experiments and rescues.”
“Speaking of guests, I understand you’ve brought me two more.”
“I have,” Morvash confirmed. “Karitha the Demonologist was that black granite statue in my bedroom, and Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field was the keeper of that demon that tried to knock down the house on Old East Avenue.”
“He wasn’t a statue, though?”
“No.”
“Does he have a home somewhere, then? Or does he still live in the field?”
“I don’t really know,” Morvash admitted. “We got here so late last night that I wasn’t going to send him away no matter where he’s been living.”
“I see,” Gror said. He set his plate aside and leaned back, but before he could say anything more Hakin appeared in the dining room door. “Ah!” Gror said. “We were just talking about you! Come in, come in, sit down, and I’ll have someone fetch you breakfast.”
“That would be greatly appreciated,” Hakin said, crossing to the table and choosing a chair.
Gror gave him a minute to settle in and start eating before he began his questioning.
“Morvash tells me your name is Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field,” Gror said.
Hakin swallowed a bite of cake. “Well, Hakin, certainly,” he said. “I haven’t lived in the Field for seven years, though. I’m mostly known as Hakin the Demon’s Master, though I wasn’t Tarker’s master so much as its companion, and I’m not even that anymore.” He reached for his mug.
“Then where do you live?”
“I work with the city guard, so I sleep wherever they put me.” He took a swig of small beer. “Most recently we were working in the shipyards, so I’ve been staying in the north tower at Westgate.”
“You work with the guard?”
Hakin nodded. “By order of Lord Borlan, the magistrate in the Wizards’ Quarter,” he said. “He put me in charge of managing Tarker.”
“That was the demon that tried to smash the house on Old East Avenue?”
“That’s right. Tarker the Unrelenting. Karitha the Demonologist had summoned it to kill an enemy of hers, and when she was turned to stone it was stranded. But now that she’s back and Tarker is busy in the far north, I suppose I’m out of a job.”
“Tarker is…oh, never mind; I’ll hear about that later. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to talk to my boss, Captain Arnen, and explain the situation to him. I’m guessing he’ll send me back to Lord Borlan, and after that I don’t know. I’ve done my job for seven years, so I hope they’ll treat me fairly. I have some money put aside, so I won’t starve; I can probably find another job if I need to.”
Gror nodded. “So you don’t need our help?”
Hakin looked from Gror to Morvash and back, then picked up another cake. “I should be fine, thank you.”
“And what about this demonologist, Karitha?”
“Oh.” Hakin set the cake back down. “I hadn’t thought about that. That’s a problem.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s wanted for murder. She summoned a demon to kill a wizard named Wosten of the Red Robe. Lord Borlan has been looking for her for seven years, to try her for that.”
Gror looked at Morvash.
“It’s true,” he said. “Well, I hadn’t specifically known Lord Borlan was looking for her, but I knew she killed Wosten. It was apparently one of these stupid feuds that got out of hand; she killed Wosten, but he turned her to stone. She spent seven years as a statue thinking she was dead. She was…well, broken by the experience, I would say.”
“As badly as that poor slave-girl, Thetta?”
“Probably not that badly. But I would say that she was worse off emotionally than almost any of the other statues.”
“But she was only petrified for seven years,” Hakin said. “Weren’t some of the others stone for centuries?”
Morvash turned up an empty palm. “Temperaments vary. I don’t think she was ever very stable.”
Gror nodded. “Actually, some of them seem to have gotten better after they had been frozen for a decade or two. They adjusted to their situation. I suppose she never got that far.”
“Are you going to turn her over to Lord Borlan, then?” Hakin asked.
“I don’t know,” Gror replied. “It seems a waste to save her from petrifaction just to see her hanged.”
“She did summon Tarker to kill Wosten,” Hakin pointed out.
“And she’s suffered for it,” Morvash said. “For seven years. Wosten got his revenge without any magistrate’s involvement.”
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Gror said.
“If you don’t want her hanged, she can’t stay in the city,” Hakin said. “Lord Borlan has magicians looking for her. She hasn’t been a high priority, but they probably know that Tarker is gone, so that will stir things up.”
“That’s another question,” Gror asked. “What’s happened to this Tarker?”
Morvash and Hakin exchanged glances.
“You tell him,” Hakin said. “I’ll eat.”
With that, Morvash began explaining everything that had happened since he had received Gror’s warning that someone had come looking for Prince Marek. Hakin interrupted every so often to add his own comments or correct details, and Gror occasionally asked for clarifications, but after about half an hour the tale was concluded.
“So what happens if Karitha is hanged?” Gror asked. “What would Tarker do?”
Hakin and Morvash looked at one another.
“I don’t know,” Morvash said.
“I think it would finish its assignment,” Hakin said. “Then it could go home.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t stop halfway through killing the dragon?” Morvash asked. “I mean, it’s not like killing an ordinary person, where it only takes an instant.”
“No, I’m not sure,” Hakin said. “I did read up on it, but I’m not a demonologist, and this isn’t a question I ever thought to ask anyone. Besides, I’m still not completely certain Tarker can kill the dragon.”
“I think we need to know,” Gror said. He beckoned to a footman. “Go fetch our other late-night arrival,” he said. “Wake her if you need to.”
The footman hurried away.
For the next few minutes the three men reviewed matters; Gror explained that he had been doing his best to get the other former statues safely settled into new lives. The various wizards had been taken under the Guild’s wing, and Gror was not involved with them. The Northerner was now living in the Palace with one of the overlord’s relatives who took an interest in history, and the two were learning each other’s languages. Some of the others still had family and had gone home. More than a dozen were still living in the mansion, though, including poor mad Thetta. At Gror’s request, Ithinia had sent a wizard to enchant Thetta so that she could not harm herself.
“Javan’s Geas,” Mornash said, nodding.
“Why aren’t they eating breakfast with us?” Hakin asked.
“I asked that they take their meal in the courtyard,” Gror explained. “It’s a lovely day, warmer than usual for this time of year, and I thought we might want some privacy here.”
As he was finishing his sentence the door opened, and Karitha entered, a footman at her elbow. The footman guided her to the chair at Hakin’s left, then headed for the kitchen to fetch her food.
“Good morning, my dear
,” Gror said. “I hope you slept well.”
Karitha stared blankly at him for a moment. “The bed was lovely,” she said at last.
“I understand you’re wanted for murder,” Gror said, with a nod toward Hakin.
Morvash thought this was a very abrupt way to open the conversation, but Karitha did not seem troubled by it. She threw Hakin a glance, then nodded. “I killed a wizard,” she said. “But he turned me to stone.”
“So I heard. Now, I’m not a demonologist, but I had a question or two. You set Tarker the Unrelenting on Erdrik’s giant stone dragon, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So it can’t go home, or kill you, until the dragon is dead? Not just smashed to pieces, but actually dead?”
She nodded.
“What happens if you die before it kills the dragon?”
Karitha blinked. “It still has to… It still has to kill its target,” she said. After a second, she added, “I think.”
“You’re a demonologist, and you summoned Tarker in the first place—don’t you know?”
“Well…no one ever ordered a demon to kill an immortal construct before,” she said, almost apologetically. “At least, not that I ever heard of.”
“If you’re still alive when it’s finished with the dragon, it will come after you again, is that right?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m sure of that.”
“All right,” Gror said. “What happens if we let you go, and Lord Borlan decides not to hang you? What will you do?”
“I…I don’t know. My home… I’m told my home is gone, and I don’t have any family… I don’t know.”
“Can’t you just open a new shop and go back to working as a demonologist?”
She shook her head violently. “I don’t know where my book of summoning rituals is, and I don’t remember enough to go on without it, and I don’t want to be a demonologist anymore. It was never a good job. I apprenticed to a demonologist when I was young and stupid because I was angry at everyone, but people…my customers were terrible people, when I had any. Nobody likes demonologists, nobody trusts us, not even other demonologists. I made a mistake when I was twelve and newly orphaned, and I’ve been stuck with it ever since. Most of the time I could barely afford my rent or food, and even that much came partly from frightening people instead of earning anything honestly. Yes, my customers had to pay me huge sums, I charged enough to live for half a year on a single summoning, but I was lucky to get one paying customer a year, let alone two. I’d get people offering to split the proceeds with me if I’d summon a demon to kill or rob their enemies, but they never had any money for me up front, and they never had any plans to keep the magistrates from finding out, and besides, I was a magician, not an assassin! I didn’t want to hurt people—well, Wosten, because…but I didn’t want to hurt anyone else. Maybe those people found other demonologists who would work for them, but I wouldn’t. And maybe other demonologists did better with honest work, some of them claimed to, but they could have been lying—you can’t trust demonologists. I don’t trust demonologists. I won’t go back to being one. I’ve had seven years to think about what I did, and I won’t do it.”
Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar Page 42