The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  He stormed off.

  After a moment, Casey sighed. “So this is how it’s going to go, Colin. You’ve done good work on Orchid today.”

  “Damn right I did,” Colin said. “I don’t deserve this damned sewage!”

  “Right, so those boys you’ve got over there, they’re your crew now. Holding on to Orchid is your main concern.”

  “Wait, what?” Colin asked. “What about . . . what about Jutie and Tooser?”

  “Jutie is gone,” Hotchins said. “And you should really ask yourself why.”

  “And Tooser will stay with his new captain in the lockdown flop,” Casey said, giving a nod over to Deena.

  Giles got to his feet. “So Orchid Street. Why don’t you and I take a stroll over there. I hear there’s an excellent cheese shop.”

  Colin gave a last glance at Deena, who had the decency to look sheepish. He didn’t blame her, though. She made a smart choice, and got her stars. Tooser would be good to her. She was getting a good reward for her loyalty there.

  And while Colin wasn’t losing his stars, they were clearly pissed with him. That’s what knocking him out of the lockdown flop meant.

  He’d take it, though. He’d take whatever they, or Fenmere, or the rest of the damned city would throw at him.

  He was a Rose Street Prince.

  Moreover, he was Colin Tyson, son of Den Tyson. That was something he was damned proud to be, and they couldn’t take that away.

  Concern was shown upon Bell’s return. Most of that concern came from Gerrick, who had the decency to send for one of the doctors Fenmere kept in his pocket. A real respectable man with a practice, not some sew-up. But Gerrick brought Bell into the sitting room to meet with Fenmere once it was clear that his injuries were not life-threatening.

  “Red Rabbits did this to you?” Fenmere asked.

  “Led by one of the old bosses.”

  “Rabbits only really have the one left, Reb’s little brother Gabe,” Fenmere said. “None of the rest of them is old guard.”

  “Well, they don’t have him, neither,” Bell said. “I snapped his neck.”

  “Good,” Fenmere said. He leaned over to Gerrick. “Even still, have a few gents round up some Red Rabbits tonight and make a spectacle of them.”

  “Speaking of spectacle, sir,” Corman said, standing by Fenmere’s chair. “The, um . . . Owl is still waiting to see you.”

  “How long has she waited?” Fenmere asked.

  “Over an hour.”

  “Good. Send for her.”

  As Corman left, Fenmere leaned in to Bell. “Now tell me about what you saw of the Thorn’s fight with the Birds.”

  “Well, I didn’t see much. They were both, you know, making a show of it, while he was doing his damnedest to keep them off him. I mean, he’s a scrapper, and he’s got moves, but it was like a cat fighting two snakes. Then one of them got a little sloppy—”

  The Owl walked in carrying a valise, and despite her age she moved with nothing but grace. She had an air about her like she could still knock out the throats of every man in the room if it suited her.

  Fenmere laughed—a large, jovial laugh, as if he was really enjoying Bell’s story. “Which the Thorn took advantage of, right?”

  “He did, right, sir. Twisted her around so she got hit by the other one. Gave him a moment to blast some magic or something, and dash out of there. And the girls, see, they still acted like they were doing a good job.”

  “They tell you that?” Fenmere asked.

  “Cocky as anything. Marched out right after him.”

  “Cocky as anything,” Fenmere repeated, and then turned his attention to Owl. “And yet, and yet. The Thorn, victorious. I hear he actually shouted those very words in the street while your girls lay on the ground.”

  “Sadly, true,” Owl said. “I’ve brought your returned funds. Doubled, as per the agreement.” She slid the valise over.

  “Well, at least I have that to comfort me,” Fenmere said. “Corman, do take that, please. Unless it’s worth our while to reinvest in the Birds.”

  “No,” Owl said. “If a contract fails with an engagement in the assigned time, we do not take it up again. That is our rule.”

  “Really? I would think that you would be itching for another shot at the Thorn.”

  “That’s not how we operate, Willem,” she said. “Vengeance makes for bad business.”

  “But this wouldn’t be vengeance.”

  “Willem, let me make it clear what this venture has cost me. I have one girl who was arrested. I have two who are injured, and quite possibly neither of them will be capable of taking further work. In addition, I got to pay you for the privilege.” She stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I know when to walk away from a bad investment. Consider the same.”

  With a curt nod, she walked out of the sitting room.

  Fenmere leaned back in his chair. “Thorn victorious,” he said idly.

  Corman picked up the valise. “Shall I start making inquiries about other professionals?”

  “Not yet,” Fenmere said. “Let’s put that money aside for some good investments. I trust you can do your magic there, Corman, but keep it isolated. Some ventures that will pay off by summer’s end.”

  “So you won’t be addressing the Thorn issue over the summer?” Gerrick asked.

  “Not personally, no. Blazes, it’s the summer, and I will go down to my house on the coast, like I do every year. I’m not going to let the Thorn ruin that for me. Not after having such a good week.”

  “Good week, sir?” Bell asked, before he even realized the words came out of his mouth.

  Fenmere turned to him, a bemused look on his face. “Let me make something clear, Mister Bell. Failure is a choice. I don’t own this neighborhood because I’m the kind of man who chooses it. We’ve weeded out some of the sewage from old crews, we’ve slapped the Thorn around, and because of him, an actual threat that the Red Rabbits posed has been neutralized. Including that chemist who robbed us.”

  “All of the Aventil gangs have been weakened, sir,” Gerrick added.

  Fenmere continued, shaking his meaty finger at Bell. “Red Rabbits most notably. No small part thanks to you, Bell. You contributed to that and I won’t forget it. And according to my information, there is plenty of resentment in the neighborhood for the damage the Thorn caused. Including—and this is quite delicious—the most pure and incorruptible Constabulary man in the neighborhood has all but declared war on the Thorn.” He patted Bell on the side of the face. “Fenmere victorious. Never forget that.”

  “You think we don’t have to worry about him anymore?” Bell asked.

  “I’m saying we can focus on other business for the time being, including my vacation. Besides, we have special projects in the works, Bell. Fingers in pies all around the city. And since I am feeling magnanimous, Mister Bell, I think you might get to taste one of those pies.”

  “Thank you, Mister Fenmere, sir,” Bell said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Fenmere got up from his chair and put a hand on Bell’s shoulder. “You probably will. But the world brings us pleasant surprises.”

  He walked off, issuing orders to Gerrick and Corman regarding travel plans.

  Veranix had limped his way back to the flop over the laundry press, using the cloak to magic his appearance into an old man, so no one would think it was strange he was walking so slow. Once there he had stashed away his cloak and weapons—such as they were, given that he had no arrows—under the bed. He had changed back into his regular clothes and made his way back to campus.

  Things had been afoot, that much was clear. Cadets and Yellowshields walked about, but without any sense of urgency. An emergency had come and passed, and the emotions were ones of relief, not tragedy.

  Veranix was torn about where to head first, but chose the
carriage house. No sign of Kaiana or anyone else.

  Next he went to Almers, where he was approached by Rellings on the walkway before he even got to the door.

  “Calbert, there you are,” he said. A phrase Veranix had often heard from Rellings, usually with an edge of accusation to it. This time, it had no edge. Rellings, dressed in smart traveling clothes, looked calmer than he’d ever seen him. “Didn’t see you around at all last night. Nothing too rough, I hope.”

  “No, Rellings,” Veranix said, not sure what to make of this. “I’m not in trouble, I presume.”

  “Not with me. As of the noon bells, my tenure as a prefect ended. I performed one final duty this morning, delivering examination marks and completion of year notifications. Yours are on the desk of your room.”

  “So I passed,” Veranix said idly. “Saints be praised.”

  Rellings looked back up at Almers, sighing ruefully. “Oddly, I’m going to miss the old girl. You ready to be one of the tall men on the third floor?”

  “Tall men” were what they called fourth-years, at least the kind of fourth-years who looked out for the underclassmen around them. The kind of fourth-years who never called those under them “kish.”

  “As long as they don’t try to make me the prefect,” Veranix said. “Saints preserve us all from that.”

  “I don’t know,” Rellings said. “You might rise to it.”

  “So where to for you?” Rellings had now earned his Letters of Mastery in Law.

  “North side,” Rellings said. “I’ve a cousin who’s arranged a clerkship for one of the City Aldermen.”

  “Then good luck in that, Rellings.” Veranix extended his hand, almost surprising himself how sincerely he meant the sentiment.

  “And good luck to you.” Rellings took the hand and shook it warmly, and walked off leisurely.

  Veranix went up to his room, the whole while passing other young men who were in the process of packing off and leaving. Before he reached his room, he spotted Delmin, coming back from the water closet, dressed almost as smartly as if he had been in dress uniform.

  “Veranix!” Delmin almost shouted when he spotted him. “You . . . you’re . . .” He had no more words, and grabbed Veranix up in an embrace.

  “You were sure I was dead?” Veranix asked with a grin, keeping his voice low.

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “And is . . . anyone else?”

  “No,” Delmin said. “Though it was pretty strange for a bit. But, yes, we’re all fine: me, Kaiana, Phadre, and Jiarna.”

  “Why them?” Veranix asked.

  “Oh, right, you don’t know. We wouldn’t have stopped Jensett without them.”

  “Huh,” Veranix said. He glanced around the hall, making sure no one was marking them too much. “Let’s talk in private, hmm?”

  “Yes, well, just . . .” Delmin said quickly, but Veranix had opened the door to their room before he finished his thought. It was immediately clear what he was about to say, though.

  “Professor Alimen,” Veranix said blankly. “What a surprise to find you in my room.”

  “As pleasant a surprise, I would hope,” Professor Alimen said, as he sat idly at Veranix’s desk, “as it is for me to actually see you here. I was wondering what you had been up to.”

  “I’ve been, you know . . .” Veranix stammered. At this moment he couldn’t even think of a lie.

  “Celebrating and carousing?” Professor Alimen offered. He held up the marks report. “You did pass everything, after all.”

  “Yes, yes,” Veranix said. “Lost myself in my cups and only just now . . .”

  “Sewage, Mister Calbert. Rutting fetid blazing sewage.”

  Veranix actually took a step back. “Really, sir, I don’t think—”

  “Mister Calbert, please have some respect for my intelligence. Do you honestly think I would believe that somehow Mister Sarren here, as well Mister Golmin, Miss Kay, and Miss Nell, would all be involved in apprehending the culprit behind these attacks, and yet you were off carousing? I do not believe you would abandon them like that. You have numerous faults, Mister Calbert, but that sort of callous disregard is not one of them.”

  “I am quite capable of callous disregard, sir,” Veranix said. “Just the other day—”

  “The other day he used my towel and left it on the floor,” Delmin offered.

  “Mister Sarren.” Professor Alimen raised an eyebrow, silencing Delmin. “Please go to the courtyard and wait for the others.”

  Delmin nodded and walked off. Professor Alimen got up from the chair and shut the door.

  “Professor, sir, whatever you’re thinking . . .”

  “I think you’re an emotional young man who leads with his heart. I know perfectly well you went charging off after the culprit—what was his name?”

  “Jensett,” Veranix said before he caught himself.

  “Yes, that was it,” Alimen said. “You tried to get him after the dinner, and I imagine you tried again last night. He caught you and used your power to fuel his plans. Am I correct?”

  “Sir, you have to—”

  “Veranix.” Alimen’s voice was somehow both tender and curt at the same time. Rolling up the sleeve on his left arm, he displayed the tattoo for Lord Preston’s Circle. “There is one thing I have to do. Teach you how to use the gifts you have so that you can earn this, and be safe to . . .” He trailed off, and then grabbed Veranix in an embrace. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had been hurt, my boy.”

  “I’m fine, sir,” Veranix said, barely able to find his own voice.

  “And you will stay that way. At least while you are my student.” Alimen let go. “The University will officially commend Delmin, Phadre, Jiarna, and especially Kaiana for their efforts. Though I imagine that their efforts would have been futile if you hadn’t been involved somehow.” He raised up his hands. “I am happier not knowing details. But while you will not receive any official commendation, you have my thanks right now.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “You should, Mister Calbert, since right now my thanks includes an invitation to Hightower Club.” He went to Veranix’s wardrobe and pulled out a suit. “This won’t do, I think.” With a rush of magic, the suit shifted in style, suddenly become far more impressive.

  “Thank you, sir.” Veranix took the suit and started changing. “Am I staying here for the summer, sir?”

  “Here in third floor Almers?” Alimen gave a doddering look around. “I imagine that would be for the best. Unless I had you stay in Bolingwood Tower with me.”

  Veranix halted. “I don’t . . . I mean . . .”

  “We’ll see what happens, Mister Calbert. Hurry up and come along.”

  Changed and looking rather smart, Veranix followed Professor Alimen down to the courtyard between the dormitories. Delmin was waiting with Phadre and Jiarna, who were sitting on a bench and engaged in an intimate conversation. It was clear, whatever they had done to stop Jensett had taken its toll on Phadre. He was now as gaunt as Delmin, and half his hair had turned white. Despite that, he looked jubilant, especially when looking at Jiarna. Delmin waited there with patient frustration.

  “Mister Calbert is joining us,” Alimen said. “We’re almost all assembled?”

  “Almost,” Phadre said. He got up and shook Veranix’s hand, and Jiarna did the same.

  “Good to see you, Calbert,” she said. “You . . . had us worried.”

  “I was worried as well.”

  She leaned in close. “I noticed that something of yours was damaged. I might be able to do something about that.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  She mouthed the words: “A rope?”

  “Yes, of course,” Veranix said. “If you could . . .”

  “Might,” she emphasized. “But worth
a try.”

  “I’d be grateful.”

  She shrugged, and then wrapped her arm around Phadre’s elbow. “The least I could do for . . . someone so helpful.”

  Kaiana approached the group, again in her yellow dress. Veranix noticed right away that her arm was bandaged—the dart she had taken from Magpie.

  “You—how are you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Surprised to be surrounded by the heroes of the hour,” Veranix said. “I understand you’re getting especially commended.”

  She smiled. “I’m not sure what that means, exactly. But it sounds good.”

  “Let us go, all,” Alimen said, and he led the walk toward the western gates. Delmin walked with him, and Phadre and Jiarna followed behind them, arm in arm. Veranix hung back just a bit and Kaiana kept pace with him.

  “So, did everything turn out . . . all right?” she asked him. “Obviously, you aren’t dead.”

  “Somehow, I think I have you all to thank for that,” Veranix said. “It was on the edge of the razor for a bit.”

  She smiled, warmly and sweetly. “It felt pretty good to really help you, you know.”

  They walked silently for a bit, and then Veranix nodded over to Phadre and Jiarna. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “They’re good for each other,” she said. “I can’t argue with that.”

  Her tone was neutral, but there was a hint of . . . something else. Veranix couldn’t quite figure out what. And possibly it was for the best that he didn’t. “I suppose not.”

  “And how do you feel right now?”

  Veranix thought about that for a moment. The past few days he had been attacked, one way or another, more times than in the rest of his life. He was tired, down to his bones, from everything he had been through. And after it all, nothing he had done had gotten him any closer to stopping Fenmere.

  But still, here he was, walking and breathing. He had passed all his exams, and was being taken to a celebratory dinner with his best friends in the world.