While the pair scrambled off to follow their sergeant's order, the rest of the men sheathed their blades and tried to settle their nerves. A couple of them struck lights for smokes. The sergeant took out a flask, unstoppered it, and offered the first drink to Evan. The patroller took it without question, nodding his thanks. The men returned with a serviceable cart some minutes later. With the body loaded up, they left the alley behind.
Evan walked with them for a time. He kept his hands in his pockets to keep the others from seeing how they shook. If any one of them noticed his nerves so on edge, none of them said anything. An experience like that would rattle any man. Evan's path finally diverged from that of the guards, and so with a quick round of gratitude, especially to Trevin for saving his life, they parted ways. Evan had a mind for one thing and one thing only right now. While the liquid from the sergeant's flask had helped, it hadn't been enough. More than anything right now, Evan needed a good, stiff drink. Fortunately, he knew exactly where to find one.
10. A Deal Is Made
URSOOL'S MAGIC FAILED HER. NOT in every way, but in the one she considered the most important to her right now. It had seemed strong when first she'd parted ways with the patroller, leading her up and down the city's streets, first one way and then the other. But then it had fizzled out, leaving her directionless and lost. Witchcraft was like that. Alignments and incantations, coupled with base and sometimes vulgar substances, amalgamated with one's ability to bargain with the spirits or use Uhl's natural forces. Sometimes these couplings worked, other times they did not. The worst part, Ursool always reckoned, was that there was little to do about it. But such was the way of witchcraft. Neither as precise nor as finite as spellcraft, the magic of a witch was sourced from the moon, the alignment of the stars, and from the very earth. Only druid magic eclipsed it in sheer power. But there were no more druids in the world. Only sorcerers, witches, and those tribal shamans and witch doctors who practiced the low magic.
Ursool stopped a young man passing by in order to inquire about her current location. She'd not lied when she'd told Evan this was not her first visit to Brighton, but her previous stay had not been long. The young man told her the street and borough, though, in truth, she found the information of little use. Ursool sent him on his way with a thank you and a smile. As he walked away, she noticed his gaze lingering on her. Ursool never knew what others saw when they looked at her. But she knew a person's wants had much to do with it. It was how that particular magic worked. This one must have seen someone pleasing. Evan, a matron. Ursool was thankful this part of her magic remained potent, for no one should have to see her true appearance. Not until she had fixed everything that was wrong with it.
With her magic telling her nothing, Ursool had no idea what to do next. She supposed if she'd friends or relatives, she might look them up until such time as her magic decided to help her again. But she knew no one. Not true, she realized, for she knew Evan, whose presence she still detected despite the thousands of other souls nudging her aura. Also Ensel Rhe, whom she knew was here as well. Now was not the time for them to meet again, though. The same went for Evan, for the patroller had his own path to walk without her influence. She was alone then, which suited her just fine most of the time. She had lived alone in her house in the Dormont for so long it felt strange to see so many faces and feel so many souls. She might find their presence overwhelming if she'd not so many other, more pressing matters niggling at her. Not least of which was the knowledge that Brighton had very little time left to it.
Before she'd arrived, she'd had premonitions. Always there were the premonitions, whispering to her of events to come. Some came true, others did not. She was never sure of the truth of any of them. Her choice, as always, was to either ignore them, attempt to prevent their outcome, or simply prepare for their arrival and the subsequent fallout. In her experience, ignoring these glimpses into future possibilities was never a good idea. Preventing them, or trying to, presented its own challenges, though, for one never knew if by taking that one extra step one wasn't causing the very thing one was trying to prevent. In the end, her only choice was to prepare for their eventuality, which was exactly what she was attempting to do now.
She stood before a tavern. The Minstrel's Cup, the sign above the door read. Two men standing guard beneath the sign eyed her not unappreciatively. Like the young man she'd stopped to ask for directions, they probably also saw someone pleasing. The men's faint smiles, though, turned to curious stares as Ursool paced the front of the building from one end to the other. She'd detected something, stronger at the tavern's entrance and, as she walked away from the place, in a path aligned with the tavern's front door. Ensel Rhe had been here. She followed in his footsteps, imagining the reception the eslar mercenary must have given these bouncers as she noticed the broken nose on one of them. They gave her no trouble as she walked past them and into the establishment. Inside, the place was dimly lit. A man dispensed drinks behind the bar to a few loyal patrons, while serving girls took care of a handful of occupied tables. She scanned their faces, not recognizing any of them and unsure why she'd come inside until she saw the raspel sitting alone at a table toward the back. She approached him, or tried to, as a man not so easily cowed by a pretty face moved to stand between her and his boss.
"I'm sorry, miss, but you can't—"
As he spoke he reached out to touch her shoulder. One touch was all it took. His hand dropped to his side and his stare turned glassy and faraway. Then he stepped past her and walked from the tavern. He'd keep walking until he reached the city's outer wall or thereabouts. The longevity of the effect was different from person to person, but its effect was always the same. The next man approached her with curiosity and caution.
"No, it's all right," the raspel said. "Let the hag through."
Ursool hesitated. If he'd called her that, then—
"Yes, I see what you are," the raspel said. "But all of you humans look repulsive to me, so I'll not throw you out. Though, I daresay, if any of my patrons saw what I see, they'd likely burn you at the stake just to purge their minds of your horrid appearance."
Ursool approached the table and, at the raspel's urging, sat. "Many have threatened me with such a fate. Those who truly meant it are no longer in this world."
The raspel dipped his long neck to take a bite of some crispy vegetable which looked something like a blue carrot. He munched on it slowly. "Is that why you've come into my establishment, then? To threaten me?"
"I've come because..." Ursool looked about the small corner of the room the raspel had staked out for himself. "You spoke recently with a certain eslar with whom we are both acquainted."
"And how do you know this, hag?"
"My name is not 'hag.' It is Ursool. Some know me as the Woman of the Wood. I know because I am a witch."
The raspel grunted, and seemed no more alarmed than before. "Bekjris," he said, introducing himself. "I own The Minstrel's Cup, along with half the city."
"I wonder, then, what a man of your station would need with a vagabond mercenary."
"Vagabond? I doubt he'd like being called that."
"Ensel and I have a special relationship. He would not mind."
Bekjris did not look convinced. "I'm still waiting to hear why you've brought your hideousness into my establishment."
Ursool let that pass. She'd been dealt far worse.
"You wanted to make Ensel Rhe a proposition," she said. "Knowing him, he refused."
"I wanted to, yes. But the eslar never gave me the chance. What is it to you, anyway?"
"It is nothing to me. But the proposition you intend to make to me is."
"The...what? I intend to make you no propositions, hag. Now, begone from my presence before—"
"You wish someone dead."
Bekjris was half from his chair when her words stopped him. Slowly, he sat back down. "How did you know that?"
"I have already told you. I am a witch. The spirits are strong with me. They
tell me things. Sometimes, they show me things, if I ask nicely."
"And if you were to ask these spirits something nicely, for me, would they answer?"
"I am sure they would, provided I am in turn satisfied."
Bekjris's gaze narrowed at her. "What is it you want?"
"I am here looking for something."
Bekjris contemplated the statement. It didn't take him long to ask the obvious question. "If the spirits are so knowledgeable and you so in their favor, why not just ask them to find this thing for you? Why do you need my help?"
Such a question was satisfied only with a complicated answer, the nature of which Ursool had no desire to go into right now. So she shrugged and said, "It is the way of things sometimes."
"Tell me what you seek then. I will need to know this before I agree to anything."
"A collection of books."
"Books? If all you need are directions to the city library then—"
"This is a very special collection. It would not be on any public bookshelves. It has only recently arrived in Brighton. I need your help in locating it. You say you own half the city? No doubt you've a network of informants and others who might have received word of it."
Bekjris scoffed. "I do not employ librarians, you old... Ursool. Why would a collection of books, newly arrived or not, garner any consideration whatsoever? I doubt any of my people would even think to take notice."
"Oh, I think they would. Whoever their current owner is, he will either attempt to use them or sell them. If the latter, the seller will place them on the market in the most discreet manner possible."
"A private arrangement."
"Yes. But, still, for a man of your means, knowledge of such a deal should not remain so private, eh? Provide me with the collection's whereabouts. I will handle the rest."
Bekjris munched on another blue carrot before accepting. "I have little enough to lose. I will get you this information, provided you fulfill your end of the deal. As to that, you seem to already know something of what I want. How do you intend to deliver?"
"I will need something of theirs," Ursool said. "Something personal if you have it."
"I have nothing presently, but it can be arranged."
"Good. I will need it today."
"So soon?"
"Time is of the essence."
"Very well. You shall have it today. How shall I get it to you?"
Arrangements were made.
"Also, I will need this person's name."
Bekjris sat back. "I told you I run half the city. This person runs the other half. I want all of it. With him gone, it's mine for the taking."
"His name?"
"Thorvid Kelm. Killing him won't be easy. Besides being a ruthless, cold-blooded killer, he surrounds himself with an army of highly-trained ex-military. I assume you mean to employ subterfuge to—"
"I do not intend to do the deed myself. Rest easy, though. The one I will commission is up to the task. Also, he is not possessed of a loose tongue. No one will learn of our arrangement before the deed is done." Ursool rose. "I will take the needed steps this evening, after I have the item from you. Come tomorrow at midnight, this Thorvid Kelm will be dead. Make sure you have learned something of the books before then." She leaned over the table, hoping her ugliness caused the raspel unease. The way he shrank back, she knew it did. "Do not cross me, Bekjris. Greater men than you have tried and failed."
Ursool left the tavern. Outside, she took a breath as her magic decided to return to her, guiding her once more. She already knew it meant to lead her outside Brighton, but only for a little while. Bekjris needed an unstoppable killer, and so, when the moon was at its fullest, she meant to call to one. Good thing he was already so near.
11. Secret Laboratory
AARON KNOCKED ON THE DOOR to Serena's room. After a short wait, he heard Serena's voice, but just barely, beckoning him to come in. Opening the door, he stopped at the threshold.
"You can come in all the way," Serena said.
"Are you sure? After what Chane said..."
"It's going to be difficult having a conversation with you standing all the way over there."
She had a point. Aaron walked in the rest of the way, but he left the door open just in case.
Serena lay in bed, propped up by pillows right at the center. A chair had already been pulled close, so Aaron sat there.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
She was pale. But then, Serena was always pale. Glassy eyes and sunken cheeks, though, were not normal.
"Better," she said in a hoarse voice. "Do you know what happened to me?"
"Yes. But, before I explain..." He took out an encorder from a belt pouch. "Can I take a reading?"
She turned a suspicious eye on him. "Why?"
"Because I need the current level of your inherent energy, as well as some other information."
She crossed her arms. "You're such a charmer, Aaron. At least you asked how I was first."
Aaron tried to smile. "I have the baseline figures from before. I'd like to compare your current figures to those. Is that all right?"
Serena narrowed her gaze. "You're being rather courteous. Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." He held the encorder up. "May I?"
Serena shrugged and shifted closer. Her long nightgown tangled around her, but, once she'd freed herself, she held her arms out and said, "You may proceed."
Aaron stood and waved the encorder over her one way and then the other. As soon as he had completed that first pass, the encorder's alchemical power source went dead. Aaron let out a frustrated sigh and sat back down.
"Problem?" Serena asked as she let her arms drop.
"The encorder's alchemical power cell is empty. I was up all night using it, so I guess I'm not surprised." Beneath his coat, Aaron now wore a laboratory vest similar to the one he'd worn back in Norwynne. Its front was lined with vials containing an assortment of alchemicals. He put the encorder on his lap and opened it at the front. A bit of fiddling, and out came the power cell, which was a small glass filament with a screw top. He undid the seal, balancing it between his legs while he took one of the vials from his vest. He mixed some of the greenish liquid with a solution from another of the vials, then poured just enough into the filament to fill it all the way. With the seal back in place, he inserted the power cell back into the encorder, restored the front, and stood once more. The needles on the device came to life once more.
"Ready?" Serena asked.
Aaron repeated his routine, taking mental note of the figures.
"Am I going to make it?" Serena asked.
"I think so," Aaron said absentmindedly as he walked away. He'd his face stuck in the recording device as he mentally compared the new figures to those of the ones from before.
"You're beginning to worry me," Serena said. "What's taking so long?"
He turned back to her. "Your current inherent energy is lower now than before, but I don't think it's anything to worry about."
"Why not? Why is it lower?"
"Because the Incandescent Engine—I'm not really sure where Lord Phillip's scientists got that name from—it drained some of it from you."
"Drained? What's that supposed to—" She considered his answer, working it out for herself. "It drained my sri."
To sorcerers, it was the sri. Master Rhe called it his ka. Those of faith called it the soul. Aaron just called it what it was: inherent energy. At minimum, it sustained life. Those blessed—or cursed—with more, and possessed of certain other qualities, were capable of using it for other things, like sorcery.
"It didn't drain all of it," Aaron said. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking right now."
Serena sank a bit into her pillows at the thought of what the machine had almost done to her. "Is that its purpose?"
Aaron returned to his chair. "I'm still not exactly sure. All I know right now is the machine is collecting energy principally from the environment, but residually from everywher
e else. You saw the collecting rods and how each was inlaid with stones specific to the four elements. Each is drawing a specific type of elemental energy. But they're also taking energy from anything and everything around it. It's a very slow draw. So slow that no one, so far, has even noticed. But the malfunction caused an overload of sorts, which heightened the process. You felt it worse than anyone else on the platform because of your higher relative attunement and sensitivity."
"Is that what happened? A malfunction?"
"The machine's been sitting idle for a long time with no one around to maintain it. It's a wonder it works at all, actually. I've already had to make several more repairs. Just minor so far, luckily."
"So tell me what happened after I fainted. Did you carry me out?"
"Me? You're too heavy for me to have carried you out, Serena. No, I stayed behind and stopped the machine from—"
Serena took hold of one of her smaller pillows and winged it at him. It hit Aaron square in the face.
"Hey! Why'd you throw that at me?"
Serena flashed him a wicked stare and crossed her arms again.
"Anyway," Aaron said, "the energy field containing the machine's core almost collapsed. We thought the core only gas at first, but it's actually a mixture of all states of matter—solid, liquid, and gas—which is kind of strange all by itself. The way it's under pressure, a sudden loss of the containment field would have caused a major explosion. But the field is stable now. At least, it was through the night and this morning. I figured it safe for me to get away for a little while to come see you." He held up the encorder again. "This reading at least gives me something to work from. Even now your energy level is twenty times more than my own and that's not even your steady strength value. As you recover, I think it will return to normal. But I should probably take another reading before I go, just to make sure it is coming back. I also want to calculate the return rate. Knowing it might help with my analysis of the machine's process."
The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two) Page 18