by Tim Pratt
She chuckled. “It’s been rather longer than that, if I’m honest. I’ve spent most of my life in these barbarous lands.” She looked around the room. “Well. Perhaps not quite this barbarous. Absalom, Andoran, Cheliax, Taldor.”
“You’ve traveled a great deal, for one so young.”
“And you’ve traveled farther than any other Andoren I’ve met. What took you to Jalmeray?”
“A business opportunity.”
Her laugh was musical. “Ah. Is that what brought you here, too?”
He grimaced. “Something like that.” He liked her, which didn’t mean he would stop being vigilant or suspicious, but it did make being in her presence more pleasant.
“All right.” Temple shoved back from her desk and stood up, but still peered down at the papers. She gestured vaguely toward the devilkin and the gaunt man. “Introductions. This is Merihim. As you may have noticed, she’s not entirely human. She was apprehended in the vicinity of the Whispering Tyrant’s tower prison with a suspicious array of arcane equipment, and was brought here for adjudication.”
Merihim pressed a hand to her chest and said, in tones of outraged innocence, “I was merely taking a walk, and strayed over a poorly marked boundary into forbidden territory. My only crime was walking while being devilkin. My continued imprisonment is a terrible offense against justice.”
Temple ignored that. “Merihim is your field leader, Volunteers.” The devilkin dropped a curtsy. “She has an impressive history of planning and pulling off complex and challenging crimes, and a firm grasp of tactics. We’re going to channel those antisocial tendencies into more useful work. The creature beside her is Prinn. I think he’s a wizard or a sorcerer, but he’s either mute or incredibly stubborn. Loyal to Merihim, at least. I confess, my inquiries didn’t turn up anything about Prinn, beyond his association with Merihim, but he has demonstrated great skill when it comes to infiltration and subterfuge, which will likely be useful.”
“Prinn’s not anything at all,” Merihim said. “He’s just my valet. All women of quality have one.”
Temple turned her gaze to the others. “The gentleman with the spectacles is called the Specialist. If he has a name, no one has ever mentioned it to me.”
“What does he specialize in?” Merihim asked.
“Everything.” The man’s voice was harsh and grating.
“Then shouldn’t you be called the Generalist?” Rodrick said.
“He was apprehended trying to break into a trove of forbidden volumes,” Temple said. “My research indicates that he used to be an alchemist with a sideline in the study of dangerous artifacts, and a further sideline in the retrieval of dangerous artifacts, but his principal obsession seems to be knowledge. That said, when the guards caught him breaking into the library, he broke one of their jaws and two of their arms before they managed to subdue him.”
The Specialist shrugged. “I spent a winter studying fighting techniques at Tar Kuata in Osirion. It’s just the application of certain fundamental anatomical principles.”
“He’ll be in charge of gathering intelligence and materiel, and will assist Merihim in planning as necessary.” Temple nodded to the Vudrani. “This lovely young woman is Eldra. Don’t let her apparent youth and innocence fool you. She has been a courtesan, a spy, an assassin, a jewel thief, and assorted other occupations. A very talented woman, especially when it comes to making people like her and then relieving them of their valuable possessions. If you need to sweet-talk anyone or worm your way into someone’s confidence, I daresay she can manage, and she has other practical skills, too.”
Eldra beamed at them all. “Thrilled to be part of the team.”
“She actually sounds sincere,” Merihim said. “That’s remarkable.”
“That brings us to the newest members of our group.” Temple nodded toward Rodrick. “While you are all formidable in your own ways, what we’ve lacked so far is sheer muscle—brute force and destructive capability.”
Rodrick scowled. I’m mere muscle?
“What, him?” Merihim said. “Prinn could break Rodrick over his knee like a twig. He doesn’t look more formidable than any other oafish leg-breaker you could have dragged out of the cells.”
Rodrick opened his mouth to object, but Temple spoke first. “Ah, but Rodrick is only half of the equation. Perhaps only a quarter. His good strong arm wields this.” She drew Hrym halfway out of the magic-deadening scabbard. Everyone leaned forward—the Specialist just a fraction, Merihim and Eldra with a more acquisitive and obvious sort of interest—except for Prinn, who didn’t even glance at the blade, but kept staring at a point halfway between nowhere and nothing.
“Hrm?” Hrym said. “What’s all this then?”
“Hrym, meet our coworkers.” Rodrick pointed them out quickly. “Eldra, Merihim, Prinn, and the Specialist.”
“A talking sword!” Eldra said. “I’ve heard of such things, but never met one.”
“We’ve had bad luck with joining ragtag bands of misfits in the past,” Hrym said. “Are any of you secretly demon cultists? You have to tell us if we ask. It’s the law.”
“That’s bigotry.” Merihim crossed her arms. “Just because my skin is a bit pinker than Rodrick’s, you assume I’m in league with demonic forces?”
“There are no demon cultists here, Hrym,” Temple said. “The only gods any of these people worship is the god of naked self-interest. Rodrick, would you like to hold Hrym?”
He rose and crossed the room, taking the hilt and sliding out the blade. Now Prinn looked at him, eyes like augers. Rodrick leaned against the wall, sword in his hand. “Hrym and I have worked together a long time.”
“Rodrick likes to think he’s the brains and I’m the brawn,” Hrym said. “Really I’m the brains and the brawn and I just keep him around because he has legs.”
“His brain won’t be particularly necessary on these missions.” Temple sat down in the chair and laced her fingers over her belly. “But his legs will be. Merihim, you can now add a suite of powerful ice magics to your tactical toolbox. Hrym can summon blizzards, freeze people in place, make walls brittle enough to smash with hammers, create ice slicks, obscure your movements with freezing fog, and, I’m sure, other capabilities. Ideally you’ll use his powers to cover escapes and prevent detection, but if you get into a situation where you must fight, he’s the best tool you have.”
“Why bring Rodrick with us at all?” Merihim said. “No offense, but why not strap Hrym on Prinn’s back?”
The ghoulish silent figure behind her smiled. Rodrick shuddered. It was like seeing a corpse grin.
“All of your loyalties are secured because you’ve been infected with poisonous gems,” Temple said. “Hrym is rather more difficult to control, but he has an inexplicable fondness for Rodrick.”
“If anyone else tries to wield me, they’ll catch a nasty cold,” the sword agreed.
“No puns,” Temple said severely.
“I also have a wealth of experience regarding Hrym’s capabilities and know how best to use his powers in any given situation,” Rodrick said, but everyone ignored him. Oh, that rankled. He was used to running operations, or at least running his own secret plans while pretending to be in the employ of others. Being reduced to a sort of mobile sword-stand was not going to agree with him. Perhaps he could arrange for Merihim to suffer some terrible embarrassment in the field—without giving away his own complicity, of course—and position himself to take over as leader of the Volunteers …
But what was he thinking? That was like angling to become king of a rat-heap. Why would he want leadership of this press-gang? Better to push down his pride and go along quietly until he saw an opportunity to escape.
“I’m not entirely convinced about these gems of yours,” the Specialist said. “You could simply be exploiting our fears, using harmless trinkets and illusion spells to make us think we’ll die if we disobey.”
“It’s a good thing I anticipated your objection and planned a dem
onstration. Gather around, children.” Temple slid back her chair, reached under the desk, and removed a wooden box with a barred lid. She placed it on the desk, slid back the lid, and lifted out a squirming rat almost the size of a kitten. The animal wriggled in her hand, but she kept a tight grip behind its neck. With her other hand, reached into her pocket and removed a familiar-looking, thumbnail-sized gem. She pressed the gem against the rat, and Rodrick shuddered as the ruby burrowed beneath the animal’s skin, making the rat squeal and writhe even more ferociously.
Temple put the rat back into the cage and slid the bars shut. “Everyone move back, hmm? In creatures your size most of the gem’s destructive force will be absorbed by your bodies, but some of the magic might … spill over … in something the size of a rat.” They all stepped back several feet, including Temple. “Watch closely, Volunteers.” She cleared her throat. “Infadibulum,” she said.
The rat squealed, and a burst of strangely radiant darkness burst forth from the bars of the cage—along with a quantity of blood, fur, and flesh. After a moment, Temple said, “Go on, take a look.”
Rodrick and the others gathered and looked into the cage. Where the rat had been there was little more than a smear of gore and fur and shreds of intestines. It was as if the rat had exploded. The crimson gem rested in the center of the mess.
“Why ‘Infadibulum’?” the Specialist said.
Temple shrugged. “It’s just a word I saw in an old book. I try to make the trigger words things I’m unlikely to say in casual conversation. If words like, oh, ‘cabbage’ or ‘chair’ or ‘boot’ made the gems inside you explode, it could lead to embarrassing mistakes. Of course, there are also words I have to say each morning to keep the gems from going off automatically.”
“That’s a lot to remember,” Eldra said. “But I suppose you have a list.”
“Only in my mind, Eldra.” Temple reached into the cage and removed the gem from the mess, slipping it into her pocket. “No amount of lock-picking or file-rifling will help you escape your current situation. I know it’s hard, since all of you are schemers and chancers and opportunists, but it really will be best if you resign yourselves to a year of service and settle down to earn your freedom. All right? While off duty, you’ll be kept in these quarters—there are three bunkrooms, and you can sort out your sleeping arrangements—and the pantry is stocked with food. There’s a garderobe down the hall. Crusaders doing penance will come in occasionally to empty your chamber pots and carry away your night soil. Don’t try to leave the area or go up the stairs. While you’re cooped up, I suggest you get to know one another. Complain about me: it will give you a shared enemy and foster group cohesion. Rest up. Tomorrow morning I’ll brief you on your first mission.”
Temple left the room, pulling the door shut after her, leaving the carcass of the rat behind.
“All right,” Merihim said. “Prinn has a bit of healing magic, so let’s find a sharp kitchen knife and cut these gems out. He can keep us from bleeding to death in the process. Then I say we find Temple and stuff the gems down her throat.”
5
TEAM-BUILDING
The Specialist went to one of the armchairs and slouched. He shook his head glumly. “A nice idea in theory, Merihim, but it won’t work. I wanted to goad Temple into giving us a demonstration so I could determine how the gems operate. The rat was killed by a powerful burst of negative energy—the sort of power channeled by clerics of evil gods.” He sighed. “The burst is so powerful, it kills instantly. Not even magical healing could help. If we were vampires, or some other form of undead, the gems wouldn’t work on us at all—in fact, the burst of negative energy would heal us. But, alas, we are all among the living. Tampering with the gems will almost certainly cause them to release a burst of death magic that no magic can prevent.” He rubbed absently at his chest. “There may be a way to deactivate the jewels—I will ponder that—but simply cutting them out won’t save us.”
“It could still be a trick.” Eldra looked impossibly relaxed, sprawled on the long couch on her side, one leg crossed over the other knee, kicking her foot back and forth gently. “She might have caused the rat to explode in some other way, and just blamed it on the jewel.”
The Specialist twiddled a finger around in his ear, removed it, and peered at the fingertip, entirely without self-consciousness. “The possibility occurred to me, but I’ve heard of gems like these before. The Whispering Tyrant’s generals used them to control important human thralls, and to extort the cooperation of living people in neighboring regions. It’s hard to imagine the crusaders of Lastwall using such vile artifacts, instead of merely sealing them away … but I suppose Temple is more ethically flexible than her superiors. You can make your own decisions, of course, but I intend to proceed as if my life is indeed in Temple’s hands.”
“I can’t believe the righteous crusaders of Lastwall employ a creature like Temple, someone who’s willing to use … well, people like us.” Eldra clucked her tongue. “It’s truly a blow to my faith in all that’s right and righteous and good.”
“I don’t think a nation that acted entirely honorably in all situations would survive for very long,” Rodrick said. “People like Temple are probably a dirty, necessary secret.”
“The muscle speaks,” Merihim said. “You could be right. Or Temple might be running this operation entirely on her own, without the knowledge of the Precentors Martial. Most of the nation’s attention is fixed on the orcs in Belkzen, and the rest is still fretting over the Whispering Tyrant’s restless grave. I imagine a quiet, competent bureaucrat with a knack for rerouting funds could run her own mini-fiefdom without much difficulty. Whether Temple is operating on her own authority or with the blessing of the Watcher-Lord is irrelevant, though. She’s got us under her thumb, and we need to figure out how to get out.”
Merihim paced back and forth in front of the desk, and Rodrick wrinkled his nose at her. She was one of those people, who had to incessantly stalk up and down while thinking. She probably waved her arms around and talked to herself, too, just to make sure everyone knew she was doing heavy cogitation.
“Why not just serve Lastwall for a year?” Hrym said.
The others turned and stared at Rodrick. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. Hrym has his own mind.”
“I have only so many years left to live,” the Specialist said. “I doubt I would learn very much doing dirty work for Temple. I’d rather not waste my limited time here.”
“I’m not getting any younger, either,” Eldra said. “I have business to attend to, anyway, some of which is quite time-sensitive.”
“Oh, you short-lived mortals are always so worried about time,” Hrym said. “But your alternative is exploding like … like an exploding rat … so it hardly seems like a difficult choice.”
Merihim clucked her tongue. “Ah, but Hrym, we’re schemers, revolutionaries, thieves, operators—we don’t get tricked, we do the tricking. We don’t get strong-armed, we do the strong-arming.”
“If you were all that good at scheming, you wouldn’t have been caught,” Hrym pointed out.”
Merihim waved a hand. “No one is perfect all the time. Even gods make mistakes sometimes, so it’s understandable that we might do the same. We’re problem-solvers, all of us, and this situation … it’s intolerable.”
The sword made a snorting sound. “Death is very tolerable, as I understand it. The dead don’t seem to mind it at all.”
Rodrick sighed. “So we’ll pretend to go along, and gather what intelligence we can, and if we see a way to escape, we’ll take it. Perhaps we can even make a pact to aid one another? If one of us finds a way to escape, she’ll help the others as well?”
“Mmm,” the Specialist said.
“What a good and thoughtful idea,” Eldra said.
Prinn stared at nothing.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Merihim said. “Even if we made that promise, what would it mean? We’re all here because we’re criminals. Why should we
believe each other? If you saw the chance to escape, would you waste time helping us out the window after you?”
“Of course,” Rodrick lied. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”
“Not yet,” Merihim said. “But I suppose we’ll have to become one—or at least learn to fake it. And since I’m in charge … Rodrick, clean up that rat.”
He considered objecting, but there wasn’t a good way to do so without getting into an all-out struggle for power. Since Temple had decreed that Merihim was their leader, and since Rodrick had decided he didn’t want the job, he decided to acquiesce. “I’ll toss it in the stove,” he said. “Burning rat doesn’t smell good, but it’s better than rotting rat.”
Prinn moved with the speed of a striking snake, darting toward the cage and picking it up, clutching the reeking box to his chest. He glared at Rodrick, as if expecting him to try to take the cage, then sidled over to Merihim and murmured something in her ear. The devilkin sighed. “Fine, take it.” Prinn scuttled off toward one of the bedrooms. “Prinn and I will take the room on the right. He wants to study the effects of the gem on the rat a bit further.”
The Specialist rubbed his nose, seemed about to say something, then simply shrugged instead.
After a moment’s silence, Merihim said, “So, who here knows how to cook?”
“I do,” the Specialist said.
* * *
Rodrick sopped up the last of the mushroom sauce with a hunk of bread, swallowed, and sat back, feeling entirely content, apart from the deadly gem embedded in his chest and a year of enforced servitude looming over him. At least he was being well fed. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“I spent a year apprenticed to one of the great chefs of Absalom.” The Specialist dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. The others were shoving their plates away, too, making appreciative noises, except for Prinn, who’d supped solely on a cup of water and a raw carrot. Did the man have some kind of strange ascetic religion, or did he just hate delicious things on principle, or had he filled up on exploded rat? He seemed an odd traveling companion for Merihim, who seemed the type to live her life with ample (perhaps even excessive) gusto.