“One thing at a time,” the abbot said, enjoying his meal. “How long since you….”
“Yesterday,” Vanora said, irritated.
“Mm,” the abbot said, chewing. He swallowed. “Until he gets back, I would not advise leaving again. Unless you know any secret ways out of here. There are some!” the abbot said. “But I was never privy to their location or their workings.”
“What are you talking about?” Vanora asked. “Where’s Heden?”
“The place is being watched,” the abbot said, leaning forward and holding Vanora’s gaze. “By the count’s men, I assume.”
“Watched,” Vanora said, coming over all still.
“Mm,” the abbot said. “They may not snatch you the minute you walk outside, they may follow you. See where you go. But not for long, I shouldn’t think.”
“I’m trapped,” Vanora put her hands flat on the table.
“At least until Heden comes back. What’s your opinion of him?” the abbot asked, idly.
“He’s coming back!” Vanora asked, her concern about being watched, gone.
The abbot nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Well, you knew he was. If you thought he wasn’t coming back, you wouldn’t have done this,” he said gesturing to the common room and the people eating inside. “Brilliant idea, I’d like to add. Don’t sit around waiting, do something. Healthy. I see you’ve got friends helping.”
Vanora ignored him. “Where is he!? What happened to him?” she demanded, sotto voce.
“Well as to where he is; he’s on his way back. It may take him a few days more. What happened to him? That’s between you and him. And he and I, I suppose, eventually. But you still haven’t answered the question. What do you think of him?”
“He saved me,” Vanora said. She didn’t know what else to say. It seemed like that said it all.
The abbot nodded. “Yes. He does that. Has been known to do it. In your case I’d like to think it was the Gods or one of the Saints at work. I think he took the job from Gwiddon because he had someone waiting here—you—who he didn’t want to disappoint. Which only makes sense if you know how his mind works. And after many years I like to think I do. Of course, you had no idea who he was or what he did or what kind of burden the Church puts on him. But you knowing or not knowing doesn’t matter to him. He could shrug off the Church and his duties and his life as long as it was just him, but once you entered the picture, once someone depended on him, well that changes things.”
Vanora blinked at him, trying to absorb all this.
“Anyway that’s just one man’s opinion. What’s yours?”
“What’s mine?”
“Your opinion. Of Heden.”
She shrugged. “He saved me,” she said again.
“That simply won’t do,” the abbot said, frowning. “It’s no use you saying ‘he saved me’ anytime someone asks you about him. You’re living in his inn, you’re waiting for his return, you need to develop a more sophisticated outlook on the man.”
Vanora looked around. Was anyone else seeing this? Was anyone else being interrogated by an elderly godbotherer? It seemed unreal. But she took his question seriously and thought.
“I trust him,” she said eventually.
The abbot took a deep breath and went back to his meal. He seemed to like the potatoes. “That will have to do, I suppose.”
“Should I not trust him?” Vanora asked.
The abbot raised his eyebrows. “Now that is a question. A good one. One I am often asked by many people about many people and I find myself deploying the same phrasing every time;
“You can trust him to act in accordance with his nature,” he said cryptically.
Vanora winced as she tried this idea out. “What does that mean?”
“Well I suppose it means you can’t always trust him. Not in the sense that you mean. It is possible he will let you down. Anyone has that capacity, no matter how good or righteous. The trick lies in knowing what he would let you down for.”
Vanora considered this. The abbot liked talking and continued.
“Some men will let you down because they get bored with you, or distracted. Or because not letting you down has never been important to them. Some men will let you down and not even realize you were depending on them. Heden is none of them, you’ll be happy to know.
“He is a man who will keep his word if at all possible, a condition I think he sometimes forgets. You must not.”
Vanora blinked.
“For instance,” the abbot continued, “I daresay Heden promised to be back before this.”
“Yes!” Vanora said, happy to participate in the conversation again.
“And you trusted him when he said this,” the abbot said.
This brought Vanora up short. She was skirting around the edges of the abbot’s point, beginning to see the shape of it, but it was unfamiliar territory.
“Yes,” she hesitated.
“Now,” the abbot said, “Heden did not come back when he promised you. And you feel wronged. Slighted.”
Vanora nodded rapidly but chose not to interrupt.
“He broke his word to you. And yet, only a moment ago, when pressed, you said you trusted him.”
Vanora’s eyes unfocused. She looked at nothing, thought. The abbot watched, then nodded to himself and drank more ale.
“I…,” Vanora started.
“You get it,” the abbot said. “I can tell. You trust his character and well you should. There are few men you can trust more. But you cannot trust to circumstance. Circumstance conspires against us all. He promises to return in a day or a day and a night, and a week passes. A betrayal? Certainly you feel you are owed something for this slight, a dangerous transaction but one I think it early to speak on, but you immediately conclude that something must have happened. True. That something more important, more pressing, prevented him from fulfilling his promise to you. True.
“And this is the nature of things. You don’t feel the promise broken, you feel you can still trust him. You can. But this is a lesson, young lady, and one you must learn early. The world puts many demands on Heden. He cares about you, you are important to him, but none of us are important to the world. And Heden sometimes finds himself burdened by the world.”
Vanora looked at him, eyes wide. “I understand,” she said, and was surprised to find it true.
The abbot nodded. “I thought you might.” He got up, slowly and it seemed painfully. Threw some coins on the table. “Thank you for the service. The mutton may be going off, not an emergency, but look into it.”
He walked with his odd gait to the door and opened it, stepped out onto the stoop. Vanora ran after him.
“Wait,” Vanora called out. She closed the door behind her. The abbot stood there with his back to her, watching the people in the street.
“Why did you come here?” Vanora asked.
“You didn’t want to know that Heden was alive?” The abbot said without turning around.
Vanora stared at his back. It took her a moment to formulate her thoughts.
“That’s not an answer,” she said, her brow furrowing.
The abbot didn’t say anything.
“I’d have found that out anyway,” she said, taking a step forward to stand right next to him. She lowered her voice. “You warned me not to leave the inn,” she said looking up and down the street. “Is that why you came here? To warn me?” She knew it wasn’t.
The abbot turned around and looked down at her. He wasn’t smiling.
“No,” he said. “That’s not why I came here as, I suppose, you’ve guessed. You guessed the truth and confronted me about it. Which is exactly what Heden would have done, why am I not surprised?”
Vanora felt herself grow a little taller at that.
The old man looked at her and shook his head. The kindly old man was gone. In his stead was the man who kept the secrets of men like Heden.
“Watch me when I say this, young lady, and know that I speak the truth. You’ll
have to develop a sense for truth, and quickly.
“I came to get a look at you. I have some idea the powers arrayed against you and Heden and I wanted to know if you’ve got any chance. For one thing, I expect to see him soon, he’s going to ask me for advice and I needed a sense of you to give it to him. Or help him find it himself, which is my real job.
“To him…well, I’ll talk to him soon enough. To you, I say this: Heden cannot be in two places at once.”
Vanora shook her head, like a fly was buzzing around her. “What does that mean?”
“The list of his enemies is growing longer. He cannot make sure you are safe, and stop the count at the same time.”
Vanora stared at this old man while she processed this. It was a riddle. She hated riddles.
“I hate riddles,” she said. “The inn is safe,” she said, looking at the building behind her.
It was the abbot’s turn to shake his head. “Young lady,” she liked that, “the count and his allies stay away from here, now, because they don’t know who owns the place. They made a try for you once,” Vanora was impressed he knew that, “it didn’t work. They have no idea why. They’re afraid of acting from ignorance, afraid of discovering this place is more than just a retired godbotherer’s inn. But once Heden returns, they’ll find out that’s exactly what it is. And neither you, nor Heden, nor this place will be safe.”
Vanora stared up at the old man. “You told me not to leave! What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t have all the answers.” The abbot looked at the door behind her. “You seem a resourceful young woman.”
Vanora frowned. “I’ll tell him you said this,” it was half-threat, half-promise. She felt as though Heden would not agree with this man, teacher though he may be.
“Do not,” the abbot said. “As soon as you bring it up, you put him in danger.”
“Why?!” she asked, angry at more riddles.
“They have ways of learning what Heden knows,” the abbot said. “It would be difficult for the count’s men to take Heden. But having done it, it’s very easy for them to find out what he knows. And if they believe he knows where you are, they will take him. They will waste dozens of men doing it. If they believe he has no idea where you are, they won’t bother.”
Vanora’s mind went still. This made sense. Everything the old man had been talking about now fell into place.
“That’s why you came to the inn,” she said, and was surprised at how calm she felt.
The abbot nodded. “I’m afraid so. He wants to protect you, but you have to protect him. Go somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”
She shook her head. It didn’t matter how much sense he made, she was going to be here when Heden returned. “I’m not leaving.” Miss Elowen put me in jail. “Heden saved me.” I opened my eyes and I wasn’t in the jail. And he was there. “I’m going to be here when he gets back.”
The abbot just stared at her for a long while, his lips pressed together.
“In any case,” he said, and took a deep breath. “I have to go back to the church for vespers. It takes a long time for me to get there and there will be many people there looking for my help.”
He turned and stepped into the street, and walked in the direction of the massive granite cathedral that loomed over the city.
Vanora watched him waddle away.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a small library. A few dozen books, one door, no windows. A small table and chair, an unlit lamp. When the door was closed, like now, no light got in. But the room was small enough that if you moved carefully, even in the darkness, you could avoid bumping into anything.
A flash of white light announced the presence of a runic circle activating on the carpeted floor. Trapping someone within.
“Ow,” a voice said. Then a sound that might have been a polder pressing his palms into his eyes and rubbing them.
The figure struck a nail. The small fire revealed a polder in hard leather armor, blonde curly locks bobbing as he shook his head and blinked madly. His eyes still hurt but he was able to look down and see the binding circle he was trapped in. Anyone watching closely would see the flame flickering, as though held in a trembling hand being flexed in a vain attempt to stop the tremors.
“Pigfucker,” he said as he turned around to examine the circle, about four feet across. “Prick, arse, rancid cunt. Ow!” this last as the flame burned his finger and he shook it out.
Silence for several moments, then; “Shit.”
Time passed. With no visual cues and nothing else to do, he counted breaths. He felt his skin crawl. He sweated. He didn’t used to sweat when he was caught. He used to be cool as a gravestone.
He lost count of the time, only noticed when he heard a noise, like something heavy landing on a pillow.
He knew someone was in the room with him. The lantern on the table flared to life revealing a young—to his eye, he often found it difficult to tell a human’s age between 15 and 50—human female. Unlike most women in Corwell, she didn’t wear a dress. She wore black leather pants and a black and red corset vest.
She was short, with dark, arched eyebrows and black hair. There was a streak of color in it, blue or red…it was hard to tell with his eyes still burning. Wide lips painted dark red against pale skin. Her figure reminded Aimsley of the goddess figurines people found among the ancient Gol ruins. She seemed relaxed, but her eyes flashed with danger.
“Got you,” the woman said, arching one perfect eyebrow. She seemed relaxed, but poised. Aimsley’s instincts told him she was ready for murder.
His eyes darted, looking for an escape, for anything. He was trapped inside the circle. There might be a way out, but he’d need time and some luck to figure it, and he’d run out of both.
He pointed at the woman in black and red.
“You’re Hapax Legomenon,” Aimsley said. “The Lens’ occultus quaesitor.”
She ignored him and counted on her fingers.
“The Cold Hearth’s fixer is a polder,” she said, “that’s you I figure. The Darkened Moon’s is a woman named Noor. The Guild of Blackened Silk’s is an assassin named Garth.”
“He’s not an assassin,” Aimsley said, “he’s just a prick.”
“A guild fixer killed one of our librarians to cover their tracks after stealing a codex,” she said.
“You got a lot of librarians,” Aimsley sneered.
Hapax Legomenon’s eyes narrowed.
“This one was a friend of mine. And the quaesitor doesn’t have a lot of friends.”
“I know the feeling,” Aimsley said.
“Whoever did it, I figured they’d be back,” she nodded at the circle and relaxed a little. Content to enjoy the upper hand.
He was trapped. The ward was specially configured for him, or someone like him. He’d probably stolen the codex and probably killed the librarian. He seemed to do a lot of killing these days, though his blackouts meant he didn’t remember.
For some reason he thought of the priest he met outside the wode. It wasn’t the first time the man had intruded into his thoughts. The priest who stole the count’s whore and kept her safe in his tavern-fortress. What would he say?
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he ventured. He tried to imagine what it would feel like if he really was sorry about her friend. It wasn’t easy. But there was maybe a little twinge of feeling in there. Might help his performance.
Using the same pocket-magics he used to hide his dirks, she produced a large red gem, a fire diamond, held it between her middle finger and thumb.
“Won’t work,” Aimsley said, shaking a little. He wasn’t afraid, but he couldn’t control the tremors or the sweats. “I know maybe six people in the guild now. Don’t know their assignments.”
Hapax Legomenon nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “but I don’t give a shit about the guild.” She locked eyes with the polder. “I want to be certain you killed my friend. Then….”
Aimsley realized he was in a half crouch
. Undignified. And stupid, there was nowhere for him to go. He had to get her to drop the ward. For this, there was nothing except the old standby; bargaining.
He stood up, straightened his vest. Tried to recover some of his dignity. Put his hands behind his back to hide the shakes. “I might have done it,” he said.
“Might?”
“I kill a lot of people,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “The fire hurts. It is pain. Normally I don’t enjoy it, doing that to someone, but I really want to put you under all of a sudden.”
“Let me out,” Aimsley said, trying not to sound panicked. He played his own voice back in his head. Not bad, he thought.
“What?” the wizard asked.
“I didn’t come here to kill anyone, I came here for information. I came here to make contact with you. This is your library, isn’t it?” He knew it was.
She stared at him. “You…you want to trade. I’ve got you by the balls, and you want to make an offer.”
“The count has a way to make deathless,” Aimsley said.
“There are no more deathless,” Hapax Legomenon said automatically.
“I’ve seen it. It’s some kind of black smoke. Dust. I think he’s trying to use it to take over the city.”
Hapax thought, nodded. “If he’s the only person in all Orden who can make deathless,” she said, “he’ll take over more than the city.”
“Uh-huh,” Aimsley said, smiling. “So maybe I give you some, and you tell me how it’s made. Fair trade.”
Aimsley saw the opening. Saw the quaesitor think. Watched as she searched her mind. This was his opening. She cared about more than just revenge.
“It can’t be priestly magic,” she said. “The link between the gods and the deathless is broken.”
“I don’t think it was priestly,” Aimsley said. “I think it’s sorcery.”
Hapax shook her head slowly. “If there was a way for a wizard to make deathless,” she looked at him, “I’d know about it.”
“What else is there?” Aimsley asked.
“Alchemy,” Hapax said.
Aimsley smiled. “Know any good alchemists?” he said.
“All of them,” she said, then nothing for a few moments.
Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) Page 9