Veranix knew the young man, or, more correctly, knew who he was. He would have recognized the red-and-gray scarf and the four pips on his hat, regardless, but he had seen this fourth-year magic student in various places over the course of his time at the University of Maradaine. Despite never formally meeting, he knew this was Phadre Golmin.
For a magic student, Phadre came off as almost husky. Most of them had at least a lean look, like Veranix or the professor, or gangly like Delmin. Phadre was built like most folks, maybe a little on the soft side. He greeted them with an almost goofy smile.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Phadre said. “I, uh, want to apologize in advance to the two of you for what’s about to happen.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Veranix said.
“You are being overly dramatic, Mister Golmin,” the professor said. “Are you familiar with the work Mister Golmin has been doing?”
“Afraid not,” Veranix said. “But you’re about to defend, get your Letters, right?”
Phadre nodded. “That’s exactly right.”
“I’ve heard a little about it,” Delmin said. “You’ve been working on external factors that affect numinic flow.”
“Yes, exactly,” Phadre said.
“In final preparation for his defense, Mister Golmin will be engaging in a number of demonstrations to highlight his findings. And I could think of no one better than the two of you to assist him in that.”
“The two of us?” Veranix asked.
“I did suggest it,” Phadre said. “Delmin, your skill in sensing numina is pretty well known amongst the fourth-years.”
“Is it?” Delmin smiled brightly.
“Try not to be too proud of yourself, Mister Sarren. The point is, while I understand you have other exams you must focus on, I will require the two of you to use your free time over the next few days to help Phadre prepare for his defense.”
“Sir.” Veranix’s mind was already racing about the Red Rabbits, the prank in Almers, or just hitting more of the dealers in Dentonhill. “I do have quite a few responsibilities to attend to.”
“And I am aware of all of them, Mister Calbert. Your History exam is at two bells in the afternoon. Your Magic Theory exam is tomorrow at ten bells in the morning, and your Rhetoric exam at two bells the following day. And this, right here, is your Magic Practicals exam. Assisting Mister Golmin.”
“Told you,” Delmin said.
“Like I said, I wanted to apologize in advance,” Phadre said. “And, Professor, I do appreciate how much you’ve supported me with this.”
“You are my student, Mister Golmin, and I would be remiss if I did not do everything in my power to ensure your Letters of Mastery. In our field it is more crucial than any other.”
Veranix nodded almost out of instinct, and he noticed Delmin and Phadre doing the same. For magic students, one had to receive Letters of Mastery—or some sort of equivalent—to be inducted into a Mage Circle. Without a Circle for protection, both physical and legal, it was nearly impossible to be a practicing, professional mage of any sort. Given that their talent for magic was some inherent factor rather than a conscious choice, failing to receive Letters was simply not an option any of them could entertain.
“All right,” Veranix said. “So how exactly do we help? I mean, I’m still not clear on what, exactly, your work is here.”
“It’s fairly advanced ideas in Magic Theory, frankly,” Phadre said.
“Advanced and controversial,” the professor added. “If you put stock in controversy, which is mostly about old people who don’t want to learn new ideas.”
Veranix put on his best face. He already suspected this would be a long morning. “Well, let me hear it. I’m sure to understand extremely little.”
Phadre got up from his chair and went to a pile of crates that were sitting in the corner of the office. “I’ll start simple. Do you remember the Winged Convergence last month?”
All too well.
“What about it?” Veranix asked, trying to keep his voice as innocent as possible.
“Well, there was a marked change in numinic flow, quite sharply.” He pulled out a metallic device from one of the crates and put it on the professor’s workbench. To Veranix’s eye, it looked like some sort of spider-legged torture device, with each leg ending in a stylus. He took out a sheet of paper and put it under the machine. “Veranix, could you turn the crank on that? Magically?”
Veranix drew in a small amount of numina and started the crank turning. The styluses all started moving in elaborate patterns along the paper.
“Good enough.” Phadre pulled out the sheet of paper, showing a series of circles in a variety of colors. “Regular numinic flow, as far as we’re recording today. Understand?”
“I suppose,” Veranix said. “I’m not sure what it means.”
Phadre took a piece of paper out of his satchel. “This is what I recorded on the night of the Winged Convergence.” The sheet was covered in crazy, jagged squiggles, filled with spikes and jabs.
Delmin was all over the device. “What are you using as vibration catalysts? Gemstones?”
“Very small ones,” Phadre said. “Now, I’ve got recordings like this for the past two years. I’ve never seen one like the Winged Convergence.”
“Yeah, that was a crazy . . .” Veranix started. “I felt something strange that night for certain.”
“Right, so the question I’m working on is: why?”
“Because the moons were in a strange alignment?” Veranix shrugged.
“That’s lazy thinking, Veranix,” Phadre said. “That’s what happened, but has nothing to do with why it happened. There’s always a why behind these things, even if we don’t understand what those are.”
“I never thought about it,” Veranix said.
“I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to do for his Mastery Defense,” Delmin said.
“And what are you going to do?” Veranix shot back.
“Gentlemen,” the professor said calmly from his desk.
“Indeed,” Phadre said. “Can we focus on this work here?”
Veranix threw up his hands in peace offering. “All right. Why did it happen, Phadre?”
“That is the central thing I wish to discern. I’ve been researching into various bi-lunar events, as well as solar events, eclipses, occlusions, alignments of planets. All of these have had reported effect on numina. Or the crafts of Physical Focus. You know what that is?”
“I—” Veranix started, trying to wrack his brain.
“It is on the exam tomorrow, Mister Calbert.”
“I know,” Veranix protested. “Forms of magic—”
“Mysticism.” The correction came in triplicate from every other person in the room.
“In which numina is not directed through a mage himself, but some sort of physical object. Waish or Bardinic runecasting, for example.”
“You might just pass tomorrow, Mister Calbert.”
“Thank you, sir,” Veranix said, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He glanced at Delmin and silently mouthed, “Almers?”
Delmin shook his head, but the look on his face said that he doubted his own answer.
“So my question came down to isolating what factors with regard to the Winged Convergence—and similar phenomena—are responsible for affecting numina. Is it the light? Is it the gravity? Is it some sort of star-based Physical Focus on a cosmic scale?”
“Well, which is it?” Delmin asked.
“I believe it is all, in conjunction. The numbers involved are complicated—”
Delmin’s smile widened. “I’d like to see your work—”
“Well, of course, but we need to demonstrate—”
“You’ve got more devices to do that—”
“Yes, and—”
Delmin and Phadr
e were bouncing like two actors in the opening scene of Bears, Bottles, and Wives, not letting each other finish a sentence but still appearing to understand everything the other was going to say. Veranix sighed and went over to the crate of Phadre’s devices. “Not to change the subject, but you’ve been studying this all year, right?”
“Yes, that’s been my research,” Phadre said.
“So are Delmin and I going to have to learn it all for your defense?”
“Well, no,” Phadre said. “Though I thought it would interest you.”
“It does me,” Delmin said.
Veranix quickly changed tones. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . it’s exams, we didn’t sleep well, and we do have History this afternoon. I do want to help you however I can, Phadre.”
“Mister Calbert does have a valid point,” the professor said. “Time is an essential factor you should consider. Do not waste yours or theirs, please.”
“Right, right,” Phadre said. “I’m very sorry, it’s . . . I’m sure you understand, Delmin.”
Delmin nodded vigorously. “It’s very exciting stuff you’re talking about. I would like to go over your findings at some point.”
“But History,” Veranix said.
Phadre went over to his boxes. “You’re right, Veranix. I apologize. I have several devices for demonstrating effects of light, reflection, gravity, vibration, and many other factors, on numinic energy. The key things I need from the two of you are operation and calibration.”
“Let me guess,” Veranix said, now guessing exactly why he and Delmin were brought in. “I provide the channeling of numina around the devices, and Delmin helps you calibrate them?”
“Yes, exactly,” Phadre said. “Let’s unload the crates, and get started, shall we. This is going to take us much of the morning, just for starters.”
“Glad to help,” Veranix said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could manage. “And while we’re at it, Delmin, let’s maximize our time. I really get my royal lineages mixed up after the Cedidore kings.”
The flop under Kessing’s shop wasn’t too crowded, even with five people there. Saints knew that there were far more packed flops that the Princes held. The one above the barbershop was usually packed across the floor with sleeping bodies on top of each other.
Still, taking in Deena and Theanne was damned inconvenient. Not just because they were a couple of birds, but that didn’t help. Two new bodies, folks Colin didn’t really know if he could trust, wasn’t something he should have to deal with.
He was used to the bosses mostly leaving him alone.
Shortly after they had all arrived the night before, Tooser stepped out and came back with a few blankets and cords. Colin was pretty sure someone would find their washing line robbed come morning. While the girls laid down some bedding for themselves, Tooser hung up the cord and put up a makeshift curtain separating the back room of the flop.
“Fact you even have two rooms is a miracle,” Deena had muttered.
Truth was this flop was almost—almost—a place a respectable person could live. Damp and earthy-smelling, but the front room had a stove and a well pump, a few cabinets of larder. Not that they ever had much beyond a few jugs of cider or jars of preserves on hand.
Of course, the other things in the front room were boxes, cases, and crates lining the walls. A boss usually had stuff brought to Colin, and he was told to “hang on to it for a while.” In a few months it was taken back. Colin and his crew left those things alone, because they knew this flop was a good deal for them. The only windows were in the back room, and too small for even a kid to crawl through. Only way in was the door, and that was steel-lined with a solid latch. A horse couldn’t kick it open. So the flop was secure, ain’t no one could second-story it. And if somebody inside closed the double on the door, even the best lockcracker couldn’t open it.
So Colin was surprised to wake up and find the door wide blazing open.
“There a reason you showing our business to the world?” he asked Deena.
“Damn right there’s a reason,” Deena responded. “This place smells like none of you bother to step out to the backhouse when you’ve got the need. Airing it out is gonna be frightful.”
Colin shut the door. “It don’t need airing.” He shut the latch and the double. “Where’s Theanne?”
“Sent her up into Kessing’s, get a few things. You have frightful little to eat.”
“What, you’re going to be cooking breakfast?”
“I’m going to have breakfast. What you do is your own blazing problem. Don’t think you’ve gotten yourselves cooks, or maids, or washerwomen, or doxies, or wives.”
“Blazing well hope I got a couple loyal Princes.”
Deena’s sleeves were rolled up as she looked around the front room, and she held up her tattooed arm. “See anything that suggests otherwise?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. What’s in these boxes?”
“Nothing that’s my business or yours. We just sit on them until we’re told otherwise.”
She nodded. “Fair enough. That included the three kegs of Jellican?”
Colin couldn’t remember which boss had stored away the beer kegs, but Mister Jellican had retired and shut down his brewery a couple weeks before. A few more weeks and those kegs would be the last in town. They should fetch a real good price then. Colin would have his stars burned off if his crew drank that up. “Definitely includes that.”
She sat down at the table. “Do you even have a kettle?”
“Doubt it.” He went into the cabinet and pulled out a jug of cider and a few cups. He poured it out for her and himself.
“So what’s the word for today, Captain?” she asked.
“A little crowd work in Cantarell Square for you and me. Jutie and Tooser will take Theanne to the Uni gates. Both those things are gonna be pretty light today, what with the Uni boys being on exams.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, sipping her cider.
“Because it’s our business to know. But you and I will go to Cantarell because I want to get my eye on some Rabbits today.” He wasn’t about to tell her the real answer, which was that he knew Veranix had a mess of exams in the next few days, so it wasn’t like the Thorn could be counted on for anything. The bosses wanted to let him handle the Rabbits, and that probably wouldn’t happen in time.
“This business with them letting Fenmere bleed over the Path?”
“Damn right. Look, I’d known Dennick for a piece, and I know you were at his right arm. So I’m counting that I can find you there when I look to my side, hear?”
“Hear.” She sighed and took another sip. “We already lost some ground to the Knights, lost Dennick. I’m in no mood to see the Rabbits do any more damage.”
Colin held up his cup of cider to her, and she tapped her cup against it.
“Done well, then,” Colin said.
“Done well, indeed. Let’s get on it.”
Veranix was certain half the words Delmin and Phadre were using had been made up. Nothing they were saying made any damn sense. Numina was measured in things called “barins”—which was a term Veranix had heard before, though the idea of assigning a numerical value to magic made his head hurt—but the two of them started referring to “centibarins” and “millibarins” and Veranix was sure that meant nothing. Phadre also said something about “luminescent variance” and “prismatic filtration” and a few things that even got Delmin to ask questions.
Veranix turned cranks. He pushed levers. If needed he made numina just flow from one side of the room to the other: quickly, slowly, harshly, softly. Whatever Phadre asked for, while Delmin gave him notes to adjust it. The three of them had stripped down to shirtsleeves while working, and even then, Veranix found himself overheated. Professor Alimen read at his desk, though Veranix felt his eyes burning a
t them. The whole while Delmin was driving him on details about ninth- and tenth-century Druthal.
“So when was Queen Mara deposed?”
“I know this. I know this. ‘With battered arm and bloody tears, I’ve held this throne for seven years.’ So 838 was when Lord Ferrick ousted her.”
“Do not rely too heavily on plays to get you through this, Veranix.”
“But I know the plays.”
“So in whose reign did Monim split into two kingdoms?”
“Ferrick III!”
“Except Ferrick was king of Druthalia Proper, not Monim. Who was the king of Monim?”
“You expect me to remember the Monic kings as well?”
“No, Vee. Professor Besker will expect you to.”
Phadre stepped away from a device with the whirling brass cups on the top. “All right, I need a very soft flow, from right to left. Build it up slowly, Veranix, and hold it when you reach twelve centibarins per second.”
“Of course,” Veranix said, though he had no idea what twelve centibarins per second were or what it would feel like. He drew it in and pressed it across the room without any shaping.
“A little stronger,” Delmin said. “Monic kings.”
“One thing at a time.” Veranix pushed, but the strain was starting to weaken him. How many of these had he done this morning? “Grentin?”
“Grentill. How many of them were there?”
“Eight?” Sweat was forming on his brow, despite the fact that the numinic flow he was directing was minor. “How is that?”
“Ten and a half centibarins. And there were only seven Grentills. Grentill the Seventh was king when Monim split in two, and he and his family were all slaughtered shortly afterward.”
“Of course they were. Is that twelve?”
“Right on it,” Phadre said. “Hold it there for a few moments.”
“Who takes the Druth throne in 915?”
A wave of fatigue and nausea hit Veranix. The cups went out of control, suddenly spinning wildly.
The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels) Page 6