The Amethyst Angle

by C. Ryan Bymaster

  We’re seated in the farthest corner from the raised stage, nearly two dozen tables between us and where tonight’s entertainment will perform. The main hall is wood flooring polished to a reflective sheen, and the dining section is cordoned off by stone walls adorned with an eclectic collection of bric-a-brac. Above us runs a mezzanine, upon which the most important folk sit in seclusion—or those capable of parting with the coin to afford such privacy. I, for one, have never set foot up there, and have no dreams of ever doing so.

  “Do you come here often?” Vayvanette asks when she’s taken it all in.

  “More for business,” is my guarded response.

  She twists her lips at that but doesn’t press me for more.

  A young man in crisp clothes delivers a loaf of sour bread and I rip it in two for us. As she nibbles and I chew mouthfuls, I ask more about Anderest.

  “How often did you visit your grandfather?”

  “When I had the free time,” she says. Then, with a little thought, she clarifies, “Once a month, perhaps. Sometimes a bit more.”

  “And on the night of …” I pause, chewing slowly to find the softest term. I’m unable to call up the proper word, but she gathers my meaning easily.

  “I hadn’t planned on going that night,” she says. “I had been out and only decided to stop by because I met with one of my student’s parents not too far from Grandfather’s estate.” She lowers her eyes. “I almost wish I had kept walking.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes come back up in a dismissive manner and I leave my apologies one the table. “What did you two talk about? I don’t mean to pry, but anything you might be able to tell me could help determine if he had any enemies.”

  “Enemies?” She scoffs. “Grandfather didn’t have enemies, Gideon. Everyone loved him.”

  Someone didn’t love him, I think to myself.

  “Did he have any unusual visitors?”

  “Not that I know of.” She taps her chin, then adds, “Honestly, though, I don’t know what would be considered unusual. I do know he was frequently visited by people from the Aristocracy lately.”

  I have to force myself to keep a casual tone at hearing that.

  “Really? Regarding?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but I do know whatever it was, Grandfather didn’t want to speak of it with me. I could always tell when he had received a call from a magistrate or councilman. He’d seem so distant for days.”

  I lean in a bit closer and lower my voice. “Were they pressuring him for something?”

  She shrugs daintily. “I don’t know what they could pressure him about. I do know that he would do some type of work for them on occasion. It could be that he was on a deadline, or that they were asking too much of him. But, if you’re asking if they wanted him dead, then I would definitely have to say no, they did not.”

  “You sound sure about that.”

  “It would be like my children at school wanting something foul to happen to me. Why rid yourself of someone who is only there to better your life?”

  She has a point there.

  “What was his latest project, do you know?”

  Her eyes hover over my shoulder as she thinks for a moment. “Something to do with optimal alignment of crystals, I believe. To find a way to use inferior crystals, to make them as reliable as pure crystals.”

  “Hmm.” A breakthrough like that could drastically drop the price of magically charged items, even put back-alley crystal chargers out of business. “Did he manage to find a way?”

  Another shrug. “I think it was more a mental puzzle for him than anything. He enjoyed finding solutions to problems that others had forgone as hopeless.”

  My mouth dries and I have trouble swallowing. Was that why he took me in all those years ago?

  Vayvanette tilts her head. “Something wrong, Gideon?”

  Clearing my face of any hints of my dark thoughts, I say, “No, no. Just thinking, that’s all.” But thoughts of my past churn up questions that I need to ask. I clear my throat. “Your grandfather … he was known to have dealt with all people, any who he thought he could help. Could he have possibly crossed the wrong person?”

  I’m afraid I may have upset her as her eyes narrow, but she recovers quickly and says, “He never let a person’s station ever stop him from trying to help, but he would never, ever put himself in a position that would elicit such a response as his being murdered.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, dumbly picking up my tabled apology and dusting it off. “I just have to ask these questions.”

  “I know, I know.” She brushes my hand with hers. “It only took me a moment to understand that. You meant no disrespect. It is, after all, one of the reasons why I hired you in the first place.” She sweetens her words with a dimple and a wink.

  “Speaking of which,” I say. “Why did you hire me?”

  She leans back before answering. “About a year ago, Grandfather mentioned your name in passing. I can’t remember the circumstances, but I do remember it was with a certain fondness, something I hadn’t seen in him since my parents left the estate.”

  Hearing that the old man held me in such high respect warms me throughout. I’m heartened that he felt that, and it only serves to bolster my resolve to find the bastard who took his life.

  “Then,” Vayvanette goes on, “one night I showed up, Grandfather was heavy in his drink. I don’t know what had brought it on, but I had to pry the bottle from his hand. He’d mumbled and slurred many things that night, but, as I tucked him safely in his bed, he had a moment of coherence and told me if ever I was in trouble, that I should find you.”

  That is something I wasn’t expecting.

  Vayvanette reaches over and folds her hand around mine on the table. “He said Gideon Knell would know what to do if I ever I find myself in need.”

  I don’t know what to say. That Anderest had held me in such high regard was something akin to being patted on the head by one of the gods above. He was the first man I truly wanted to do right by, and here, sitting on the other side of the table, hand on mine, is the means for me to do just that.

  I’m saved from having to come up with something to say by the same young man from before as he places a wooden plate of vinegar and pickled greens between myself and the lady. I thank the server, both vocally and internally, for the much-needed diversion.

  When the server leaves, Vayvanette glances around once more then settles her gaze on me. “I can’t help but feel as if people are staring at us,” she whispers, fork poised just above the greens.

  She’s right as rain, of course. In fact, I expected no less.

  A couple tables down from us a trio of magistrates have their heads close together in deep conversation. Their eyes come up for air occasionally to glance our way. Clear opposite the room, a woman and man, seemingly engaged in a bit of unrestrained flirting, take the time to break from their nuzzling to whisper words of sweet somethings to each other regarding myself and my date. Those two I recognize easily as Arcanium ilk. And even as I wonder how the few members of the Watch seated closer to the stage can afford such a night out, they no doubt are wondering quite the same about me.

  “It may be because I’ve had run-ins with a few of them,” I say, leaving my periphery and centering back on my own view, the best in the house. “But,” I add with a complimentary tone, “I think the main reason is you.”

  She blushes and when she lowers her head in embarrassment, I smile. She then takes a dainty bite and looks back up at me and says, “If you’ve dealt with some of these people, then I have to believe it was not to discuss the weather.”

  “True.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Not at all.” I gesture to the men and women stationed along the walls, keeping discrete eyes on all the guests. They all stand with hands clasped behind their backs, casual yet ready to move at the first sign of trouble. Fareski’s bodyguards don’t do much talking, and if t
hey do, it is not with their mouths.

  After a few more bites, Vayvanette comments, “This place has to be quite expensive, Gideon.”

  I gesture again to the bodyguards with my fork. “When you come here, it’s as much for the food and entertainment as it is for the security.”

  “I hope this hasn’t set you back too much,” she says with a hint of apology.

  “Think nothing of it,” I say, though deep down I cringe at how much it really is going to cost me by the time night’s through, if everything goes according to plan.

  As she eats and I taste a leaf or vegetable here and there, the large chandelier in the middle of the room is lowered and three men rush out to meet it and adjust the telektric lamps so that when the massive thing is hoisted once more, it is with half the intensity. With the lamps turned down, the dining hall is now lit mostly by lantern and tabletop candle, setting the mood for the woman who’d just walked to the front of the stage.

  Darcy would sadly be put to shame if she heard this woman’s throaty vocals.

  Even tucked away in the corner, we both enjoy the rest of the night. Dinner was succulent, the singers and minstrels were entertaining, and the company was more than divine. I believe I spent more time watching Vayvanette across the table than I did the stage. And as the young man catering to our table places two strawberry tarts down before us, Vayvanette looks at me with wide eyes and parted lips. If this was one image I could keep in mind for the rest of my life, I’d die a happy man.

  “Are you not going to eat your dessert?” she asks, and I realize it may have been the second time she’s asked me.

  “Excuse me,” I stammer. “I was lost in thought.”

  “Something pleasant, I hope?” she teases.

  I grace her with a genuine flash of my teeth. “Oh, indeed.”

  She’s almost done with her dessert and I politely wave for the young man in charge of our table over, asking him if I could have my dessert to go.

  “I could place it in pie tin, sir,” he says, “but there would be an additional charge. A deposit for the tin.”

  “Of course,” I say. “That won’t be a problem.”

  When the young man leaves with my dessert, Vayvanette twists her lips at me in question.

  I gently pat my stomach. “I think I’ll eat it just before I go to bed tonight. A full stomach helps me think things through as I sleep.”

  She accepts my explanation without another word, then twists in her chair to watch as the other tables begin to empty and the guests gather their things to leave. By the time the young man returns with the covered pie tin the main floor is nearly empty.

  We will be among the last to leave, which is what I’d planned. Everything after this point will be up to whatever gods have been keeping an eye on me this night. Vayvanette around my arm and pie tin in hand, I head back to the front hallway, where a balding man about my age pulls away from a departing group of guests to stand before me.

  In a crimson shirt with gold buttons a’glittering, Julien Fareski bows at the waist, obviously not for my benefit. The front half of his head shines like his buttons, and what remains of his short hair is a shade lighter than his shirt. When he straightens back up, I grip his proffered hand, which is heavy with rings.

  “Knell,” he says, all eyes for Vayvanette. “It’s always a pleasure. And, speaking of pleasure …”

  “Julien Fareski,” I begin, “Vayvanette Herchsten. Vayvanette, Julien, the owner of the Far and Wide.”

  Vayvanette dimples at the man. “Your establishment is simply breathtaking, Mister Fareski. I am only sorry that I haven’t yet been before this night.”

  “I merely offer the environment, Lady,” Fareski says. “It’s my guests that tend to make the night shine. Especially those new to make an appearance.” Something in his tone makes me bristle, but I just can’t put a finger on what exactly.

  Vayvanette pushes in against me. “Well I thank you for a wonderful night just the same.”

  Another slight bow then Fareski centers on me. “I’m quite surprised at such a … public appearance, Knell.”

  My eyes narrow. “A well-timed appearance is what’s needed sometimes.”

  Fareski is no fool. “Although I don’t doubt the truth to that,” he says, “perhaps I should call a turbine or a carriage? For the lady, at least?”

  Fareski’s been doing this long enough to glean that there is something going on behind the scenes, and though he may not know what exactly, he knows enough to try to separate me from the woman. It appears chivalrous on the face of it, but Fareski’s only attempting to maintain his reputation as running a safe establishment. He smells blood, and he doesn’t want Vayvanette to be caught up in whatever comes swimming my way.

  “We’re fine, Fareski,” I tell him, polite yet firm.

  He searches my eyes for a long moment before giving in. “We should gather your things, yes?” He snaps his fingers and a short and narrow man I hadn’t seen standing behind and to the side of me comes forward. I hand over my chit and the man melts away to retrieve my six-spell.

  “You know,” Fareski says in exaggerated thought, “a walk home after a heavy meal takes much longer than anticipated. ‘Full stomach, heavy boots,’ as they say. Might be best if you don’t linger, keep a steady pace.”

  I take his warning and dismiss it with: “A good walk will be the surest way to get the stomach going.”

  “Then it’s best you get going, before it gets dreadfully late.” He nods to the man returning with my six-spell, then turns to Vayvanette and bows once more. “Thank you for sharing this evening with us, Lady Herchsten. I do hope to see you again soon.” The expectation in his tone is more than blatant.

  “Thank you, Mister Fareski,” Vayvanette says, then squeezes my arm and smiles up at me. “As for returning, I can only hope, as well.”

  I secure my wand, bid a curt farewell to Fareski, and with Vayvanette close at my side, step out into the night. Guilt tries to settle its tiny claws in my gut, but I do my cursed best to ignore it. This night was necessary, and with Fareski’s bid to send Vayvanette home safely, I know that I had succeeded.

  I’d put on a show, dangled Vayvanette out in the public. If Thelin was right, and someone really wanted to get at Anderest’s granddaughter, I just presented them with the best opportunity to do so.

  Question is, with so many players in the game, who was going to make the first move?

  13

  BACK ALLEY BRAWL

  I’ve done some pretty despicable things in my lifetime, some of them actually regrettable. But using such a vibrant minnow as Vayvanette to fish out mud-shuckers and sharks has to sit somewhere close to the bottom of the barrel of that list.

  We haven’t gotten even three blocks from the Far and Wide when the waters start churning. Here the telektric lamps are not as numerous, and what light there is strays from shuttered windows along the street, making it the perfect place for the four pairs of boots trailing us to pick up their pace.

  I steer Vayvanette across the street, under a rickety byway, and when we reach the sidewalk, I gently pry my arm free from her enticing embrace.

  “I don’t think this is the way we came,” she says, taking note of my change of posture.

  “I was hoping to take the quieter road home,” I say while glancing around at our surroundings. The buildings along this side are packed tightly, the gaps between walls no wider than a rat’s whiskers. A telektric lamp back down a ways illuminates the sign of a fabric shop while an uncharged lamp up ahead hides a shadowed alcove just below another byway crossing the street at an angle.

  “Gideon.”

  I glance at Vayvanette and her widened eyes send my gaze across the street, back to where we’d crossed. Three men, wide-shouldered, heavy-booted, and at the moment unarmed, are coming our way. The last of their party, a mousy-looking woman backlit by a lamp, stands back on the opposite sidewalk, content to let the heavies do the talking for her.

  I throw my coat
wide and nudge Vayvanette toward the shadows ahead. “When I say the word, you head to that alcove and don’t come out until I tell you.”

  Her voice rises an octave or two and she grabs my forearm. “But why don’t we just run?”

  In one hand I’ve got the dessert tin, in the other, my six-spell. And though I haven’t raised it their way—the six-spell, not the dessert tin—the three men do slow their advance. I don’t take my eyes off them as I say, “They’re not about to let us go that easy.”

  “But—” I can imagine those breathtaking eyes of hers intent on my wand.

  “Please, Vayvanette.”

  The three are almost upon us when Vayvanette finally relents. “Very well,” she says, and makes her way to the alcove, but not before squeezing my arm one last time.

  Now, there are quite a few legitimate reasons these thugs from the Arcanium might wish to speak to me. To be honest, there’s likely even more illegitimate reasons as to why, but just the same, I raise my six-spell as the closest steps up onto the sidewalk and stops no more than a dozen paces away.

  I expect the other two to flank him but they veer to their right.

  Toward Vayvanette.

  “Don’t,” I warn the two heading her way.

  When they fail to take my warning to heart I let loose a windshot. It whips through the air just before them, close enough to ruffle their overcoats, gathering a trail of gutter trash before it slams into a building across the way. Stone chips and mortar rain down as the building groans its anger at me.

  That’s done it. They’ve stopped and turn back to me.

  I’m relieved that Vayvanette is no longer the focus of their attention, but then reality sets in. The thug on the sidewalk produces a slapjack he’d hidden somewhere up his sleeve and I catch the gleam of polished steel in the other two thugs’ hands.

  “Fair warning, boys,” I say with a precise gesture of my wand, “but I’ve got five more where that came from. I know the Arcanium doesn’t produce the sharpest of tools but even you have to know that five is much larger than three.”

  The closest one with the slapjack says, “And you have to know the Arcanium doesn’t act without the proper tools.” He gestures back to the mousy girl and grins, showing me he’s got more wits than teeth, though that’s not saying much.