The Thorn of Dentonhill

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “And yet, you keep eating as you say that,” Delmin said.

  Parsons shuddered. “Quicksilver is creepy. I prefer vivisection.”

  “I need to take some Natural Philosophy courses soon,” Veranix said. “I need at least two before I get my Letters. What should I take?”

  “You’ve been stalling on them,” Delmin said.

  “And you’ve been stalling on practicals,” Veranix said.

  “I’m better with theory.”

  Veranix nodded. “By the way, I need to go over that stuff from yesterday’s lecture.”

  “The stuff you slept through?” Delmin smirked at him.

  “Shut it,” Veranix said, laughing. He looked at Parsons. “What should it be?”

  “Yanno’s plant life course is good,” he said. “Or Hester’s astronomy class. You’re always up late anyway.”

  “Right,” Veranix said. Tower bells rang nine times. Veranix took a few last bites and gulped down the last of his tea. “Off to practicals.”

  “History lectures after lunch?” Delmin asked. “You have done the reading?”

  Veranix hadn’t read yet, though the chapter to read was on Shalcer, the Idiot King. That sounded at least somewhat entertaining. “I’ll read during lunch. See you there.” He brought his plate over to the steward and left the hall.

  “Hey, Jutie! Hey, Jutie! Where you been?”

  Jutie came up to the corner of Rose and Vine, where Hetzer and Tooser were both leaning against the building, keeping an eye on the street. “There was a church meet this morning, me and Colin went down to it.”

  “Really?” Hetzer sounded a bit offended. Hetzer was an older Prince, and usually at Colin’s right hand for anything. “He took you?”

  “I was awake,” Jutie said with a shrug.

  “We woke up and you were gone,” Tooser said.

  “So where’s Colin now?” Hetzer asked. He had stepped in closer to Jutie, his head cocked to one side.

  “Don’t know,” Jutie said. Colin had said something about getting a bite, and next thing he knew, Colin was gone.

  “Slipped out from you?”

  “He does that,” Tooser said. “He does that real good.”

  “And, blazes, there was this one Knight, you know, he was giving me the eye, and I almost cut him right there.”

  “In the church?” Tooser asked.

  “Yeah, if Colin hadn’t held me back. Knight deserved it, too. They’ve been trouble.”

  Hetzer nodded, laughing nervously. “So what’s the deal, what’s the big meet for?”

  “Some comer nipped Fenmere last night.”

  “Serious?” Hetzer gave a low whistle. “Had to have been a good bit, you know? To make them all go for a church meet first thing?”

  “Right on the docks, apparently,” Jutie said.

  “Blazes!” Hetzer said. He was grinning wide, pacing back and forth on the corner. “That’s what I’m talking about, you know? That’s what somebody needs to be doing.” He punched at empty air. “Giving Fenmere his own right back, you know?”

  “Like I said—” Jutie started. For once he had a piece over these two, and it felt good. Then he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in months, and that all came crashing down.

  “Juteron?”

  Jutie turned to see exactly who he didn’t want to see. His older brother Wylon, dressed in a heavy leather smock and smelling like the sewers. He sat on a skinny three-wheeled pedalcart, stopped in the middle of the street.

  “Juteron, what are you doing?”

  Hetzer stepped up to Jutie’s shoulder. “Who’s this, Jutie?”

  “My brother,” Jutie muttered. Why the blazes was he even on this block?

  “Brother?”

  Wylon got off the pedalcart and stepped forward, giving a nervous glance over to Hetzer. “This is where you’ve been?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Wylon?”

  Hetzer leaned in. “Yeah, Wylon, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’ve been worried sick about you, Juteron,” Wylon said. “We didn’t know where you had gone. I had no idea you would be hanging around with . . . trash.” He said the last word cautiously, as if he had to work up the nerve to say it.

  Hetzer started laughing. “This bloke calls us trash, you hear that?”

  “The man knows his trash,” Tooser said. He came over real close to Wylon, getting his nose in. “Based on how he smells.”

  “But he’s got such a nice pedalcart here, Tooser,” Hetzer said, running a finger along the metal frame.

  “Get your filthy hands off my ride,” Wylon said.

  “Your hands filthy, Hetz?” Tooser asked.

  “I’m sure,” Wylon said.

  “Course they are,” Hetzer said, getting close to Wylon. “I’ve got them covered with your mother’s—”

  “Hetz!” Jutie snapped. That was too damn far.

  “Sorry, Jutes,” Hetzer said. “Forgot my manners. It happens around sewage like this rat.”

  “Least I have a real job,” Wylon said. He brushed Hetzer away and turned back to Jutie. “You still could, too, you know.”

  Jutie sneered back at his brother. He didn’t need to hear this again. “What’s this, at the tannery? Or the slaughterhouse?”

  “Either one is honest work.”

  A hand clapped on Wylon’s shoulder. “Honest work, really?” Colin came up from behind, one arm wrapped congenially around Wylon. “That’s a funny thing to say, you know. Honest how?”

  “It’s not breaking the law,” Wylon said.

  “Who is breaking the law?” Colin said, giving Wylon a smile like a fox. “What laws are we breaking?”

  “Four pieces of trash, standing on the corner, all of you armed . . .”

  “As is our legal right,” Colin said. “We provide little services around the neighborhood, and people pay us as they see fit.”

  “Swindle and scare people—”

  “Protect the people, friend.”

  “You’re just common crooks!”

  “Better than a common tanner!” Hetzer shouted, and the others laughed.

  Wylon ignored them and moved closer to Jutie, his eyes imploring. “It’s not safe out here, Juteron.”

  “Not safe?” Jutie asked. He was boiling with rage, but all that came out of his mouth was laughter. “Wylon, how many accidents you see on the kill floor, eh?” Wylon’s gaze dropped to the ground, he said nothing. “At least out here, I’ve got a fighting chance, hmm? I’ve got people at my back.” He held up his tattooed arm into Wylon’s face.

  “Jutie’s got plenty of brothers, friend,” Hetzer said.

  Wylon stepped back from the corner, still not looking up from the ground. With a nod, he finally said, “The family would still love to see you, Juteron. Anytime.”

  “Maybe we’ll all drop by for supper sometime,” Colin said.

  Wylon glanced up at Colin, and turned away. He quickly mounted his pedalcart and rode off down the street.

  “Honest work,” Colin muttered.

  “I’ll give him honest work,” Hetzer said. He took a few steps into the street yelling after Wylon. “Spend a couple days on Rose Street, you’ll see some honest work!”

  “Settle down, Hetzer,” Colin said.

  Hetzer laughed, jumping in the street, and came back over to Colin. “Hear someone gave it to Fenmere real good last night.”

  “Somebody hit him on the docks, that’s what we hear. Big shipment.” Colin growled out the words. Jutie didn’t get why Colin seemed so displeased with the whole thing.

  “Blazes!” shouted Hetzer. A shop owner sweeping off his stoop glared over at them, and then turned back into his shop. “That’s brilliant, Colin. That’s what people should be doing. Hitting that bastard where it hurts him!”
>
  “Is that why you’re crowing?” Jutie looked across the street to see who called out to them. It was a group of Knights of Saint Julian, including the trash who was giving him trouble before. These guys looked like they had already been through the thrasher once: bloody heads, black eyes, torn clothes.

  “Damned right,” Hetzer yelled back. “You Knights got a problem with that? You do, you shouldn’t be on our corner!”

  “Well, our corner just had a pack of Fenmere’s goons looking for his merch!” The Knight captain led them, stepping off the walkway into the street.

  “This becoming a thing in the middle of the day?” Tooser asked.

  “Blasted well looks that way,” Colin said. “You Knights better get back on your block, you hear?”

  “Our block has Fenmere, Princes. So now your block has Knights.”

  Hetzer was now halfway across the street, closest to the group of Knights. “Hey, Jutie,” he called out. “Which one of these was giving you the eye before?”

  Jutie pointed over. “The one with the dark vest to match his eye.”

  Hetzer drew out a knife, pointed it casually at that Knight. “He’s claiming you, friend. Unless you head on home.”

  Tooser and Colin stepped off the corner, and Jutie followed them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few more Princes coming out of the flop over the Turnabout. The Knights were going to be badly outnumbered if they pushed.

  “Maybe we should—” one of the Knights said.

  “Don’t think Fenmere’s just gonna hit us, Prince,” the Knight captain said. “If he’s on our block, he’ll be on every block.”

  With that, the Knights backed off down Vine.

  Hetzer snickered and turned back to the corner. “Blazes of a day, ain’t it, cap?”

  Jutie looked over to Colin, who shoved his knife back in his coat and stalked off.

  Crossing his way over the lawn to Alimen’s office, Veranix glanced at the south wall of the campus. The wall was low here, made of crumbling stones. One could easily see over it, where there was a line of trees, and Lilac Street on the other side.

  One of the trees had two cloths tied around a low branch, a red one and a white one. Most people, passing in a hurry across campus, wouldn’t notice them. Even if anyone did notice them, they wouldn’t think anything of them.

  Veranix knew exactly what they meant. The white cloth was a signal from Colin, letting Veranix know that they had to talk.

  The red cloth meant Colin was angry.

  Colin was going to have to wait until lunchtime, though. After dozing off in lecture yesterday, Veranix couldn’t miss a practical. Professor Alimen wouldn’t stand for that, no matter how much he liked Veranix.

  Alimen’s office was at the top of Bolingwood Tower, as were his personal apartments. It was the traditional place for the University’s Egracian Chair, the position Alimen held as the head of the Magic department at U of M. It held quite a bit of prestige, even if the department only had two other faculty, and at most twenty students at any given time. Bolingwood was the tallest building on campus, which meant that Veranix had to race up seven flights of steep stone stairs to reach the office.

  “Only five minutes late, Mister Calbert,” Professor Alimen said. “For you, that’s something impressive.” Alimen was not alone when Veranix entered. Two other men were in whispered conference with him. Despite being here for his appointed time, Veranix had the distinct impression he was interrupting something.

  “My punctuality would improve if we held lessons on the ground floor, Professor.” Veranix gave his best winning smile.

  Alimen chuckled warmly. “The stairs help keep my students in top condition. You’re the only one who comes in here not winded, Mister Calbert.”

  “I must be living right, sir,” Veranix said. The two men were looking at Veranix with dark, disturbing eyes. Veranix didn’t like them at all. “If you’re indisposed, Professor, I could return later.”

  “Nonsense. These gentlemen are here to observe the lesson. This is Wells Harleydale, from the Circle of Light and Stone and on my right is Fenrich Kalas, from the Blue Hand Circle.” The two men couldn’t be more different. Harleydale, despite his age, wore little more on top than a garish yellow vest, so the lighthouse tattoo on his chest was plainly visible. His hair was a wild mop of gray curls. He would have fit right in with the clowns from the circus. Kalas, though, was dressed in a deep blue gentleman’s suit—an expensive one, with silver clasps on the jacket and waistcoat—including matching gloves and coach hat. His dark hair was cropped short, and he sported a disturbingly tiny mustache. Veranix found both of them disturbing.

  Veranix buried those feelings and straightened his posture, reaching out to shake hands with the two men. “Veranix Calbert,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you both.” Harleydale returned Veranix’s handshake with warm vigor, but Kalas acted as if the physical contact was an imposition he had to endure. A memory sparked, and he turned to Harleydale. “Light and Stone. You were involved in—”

  “The Circle Feuds a few years ago,” Harleydale finished for him. “A most regrettable incident.”

  “Series of incidents,” Professor Alimen said under his breath. That was still selling it softly. In 1212, five different Mage Circles, all over the city, fought in the streets. Viciously. Savagely. Mages weren’t the only casualties, as plenty of bystanders were also killed.

  Veranix bit his lip to keep from saying anything. It was almost laughable. No brawl between the Rose Street Princes and the other Aventil gangs had ever had that much collateral damage. From what Veranix could gather, not even in 1194, when Fenmere rolled the whole neighborhood and Aventil fractured—not even then did innocent people get badly hurt. Yet Colin and his Princes were hounded, and Mister Harleydale and other Circle members walked about unmolested.

  “Really, Alimen,” Kalas said, his voice full of open contempt, shaking Veranix out of his reverie. “This is your top student? I don’t see anything about his aura that impresses me that much.” Veranix’s eyebrows went up at hearing that.

  “Top student in practical exercises,” Alimen said. “Quite remarkable when it comes to practical application. His study of theory . . . still requires attention.”

  “Hmph,” Kalas said. “As does his punctuality. Perhaps I should have just gone to the Royal College of Maradaine, instead.”

  “If you wish, Kalas,” Alimen said. “I was simply giving you the courtesy of meeting Mister Calbert.”

  “Your courtesy overwhelms,” Kalas said. “I thought you had a gifted bloodhound in your stable as well.”

  “I have a student who has exceptional talent in sensing numina,” Professor Alimen said. Veranix could hear him gritting his teeth as he said it. “But he is explicitly bonded to another Circle already.”

  “Pity.”

  Veranix thought the professor must have been talking about Delmin, but he wasn’t promised to any Circle yet. Was he just flat-out lying to keep Kalas away from Delmin? Veranix could hardly blame Alimen for that.

  “Where do his strengths lie?” Harleydale asked. He was walking around Veranix, looking him up and down as if inspecting a horse he would buy.

  “Practical innovation.” Veranix held up his chin high. If these mages wanted to check him out, he’d give them his best.

  “True,” Alimen said. “Mister Calbert has been quite clever in how he shapes magic.”

  “He has good tone,” Harleydale said, groping Veranix’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, sir.” Veranix thought this disturbing. He didn’t know he was going to get pawed over by anyone today.

  “Yes, well,” Alimen said. “Perhaps we should begin, yes? I thought we would do the Vase Exercise.” Veranix was confused. Alimen appeared to be showing him off to these two, but the Vase Exercise was one of his worst.

  “If you say so, sir,” Veranix s
aid.

  “I really don’t need to see that,” Kalas said. He went to the door.

  “I guess I’m not being recruited by him, then,” Veranix let slip.

  “The Blue Hand Circle does not recruit,” Kalas said from the door. “We invite. Exclusively.”

  “Must be very exclusive. I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Veranix!” Professor Alimen said sternly.

  “We do not need to shout our name,” Kalas said. “A whisper will do. Good day, Alimen.” He left the office.

  Alimen let out a deep exhale. “What a horse’s ass.”

  “I wasn’t going to say it,” Harleydale said. “I’ve never liked him.”

  “I was about to say it,” Veranix said.

  “You shouldn’t, Mister Calbert,” Alimen said. “Blue Hand is a very small Circle, but they are powerful.”

  “Couldn’t prove it by me,” Veranix said.

  “Your professor means they have a lot of money, young man,” Harleydale said. “Money makes the University pay attention to them.”

  “I was just being polite,” Alimen said. “I was surprised as anyone he came out here.”

  “I’m just glad he’s gone,” Harleydale said. “If you ask me, the Blue Hand are especially odious. A little boys club, if you get my drift, and they all nearly worship their leader. Disturbing man. I only met him once and it was two times too many.”

  “Wells, let’s not be petty.”

  Harleydale sighed dramatically. “As you wish. Are you ready, Mister Calbert?”

  “Of course, Mister Harleydale. I’m more than happy to demonstrate my skills to you, but—and correct me if I’m wrong, Professor—I’m pledged to Lord Preston’s Circle.” And he was more than happy to keep things that way. He didn’t understand much of anything about Circle law or politics, or how that allowed Harleydale’s Circle of Light and Stone to not face any charges after the Circle Feuds. That was the whole point of Lord Preston’s. They were strictly academic, and stayed neutral in any sort of Circle politics.

  “Not exactly pledged. Nothing is official until induction.”

  “Which can’t occur in any Circle until after I get my Letters of Mastery,” Veranix said, ignoring the implications of what Professor Alimen said. He didn’t even want to think about what might or might not happen after receiving his Letters. “That is still over a year away.”