Magic Lost,Trouble Found

by Lisa Shearin

  “For about five years,” Tarsilia added. “The sex part, that is. The business partnership dissolved long before that. We just couldn’t seem to agree with each other.”

  “Sounds like you agreed with each other just fine,” I said.

  Tarsilia winked. “That’s a different kind of agreement, dear.”

  Garadin recovered quicker than I did. “Think he would remember you?”

  She gave him a flat look. “I can guarantee it.”

  That was more than I’d ever wanted to know about my landlady.

  “As nice as getting information about this necklace would be,” I told her as diplomatically as I could, “there’s the small matter of time. I don’t have any. Not to mention, the Guardians take their orders from Justinius Valerian. If he wants the amulet, he’d just have the Guardians drag me back to Mid along with it. Let’s see what we can do to avoid me surrendering to the Guardians, shall we?”

  Tarsilia shrugged. “Suit yourself. But until you get rid of that trinket, things are going to be busy around here.”

  “They’re not going to be busy, because I’m not going to be here,” I told her. “The Khrynsani will be watching my rooms. When I make it obvious that I’m moving out, I should take my trouble with me.”

  Tarsilia bristled. “You’re not letting goblin shamans run you out of your home.”

  “It’s just temporary,” I assured her. “I can’t have Khrynsani visits becoming a nightly event around here. I won’t endanger you or Piaras. Don’t worry, I’ll be going somewhere safe.”

  Tarsilia didn’t look convinced, but she decided to let it drop. I knew it wouldn’t stay that way.

  My rooms above Tarsilia’s shop were small, which I preferred to think of as cozy. Cozy also had the added benefit of less to clean. I’ve never been one for clutter, so what furnishings and possessions I had were there because I either needed or simply wanted them. Less clutter also made it obvious from the moment I opened the door whether anyone had been there while I was gone. Everything I owned had a purpose and a place, and if it had been moved, I’d know about it.

  Nothing had been moved.

  As a Benares, I had an eye for the finer things in life, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t have a few of them. Nothing too terribly expensive, just nice. I liked warm feet, so why shouldn’t I keep them toasty on a Nebian rug or two? I bought one; Phaelan gave me the other. I knew where mine had come from; I couldn’t say the same for Phaelan’s gift. As to furniture, I had a preference for warm-colored fabrics and dark wood. And on one occasion, Markus Sevelien had paid me with a particularly beautiful painting I had often admired in his office. It was of a fog-shrouded landscape with the ruins of a temple. Not the most cheerful subject, but I liked it.

  These rooms were my home. I was being forced to leave, and that made me angry. Now all I wanted was someone to take it out on.

  Tarsilia had come upstairs with me, my self-appointed bodyguard for the morning. Piaras was downstairs opening the shop. Garadin had left once I promised him that I would get myself to one of Markus’s safehouses. It wasn’t a lie. At some point during the day I was sure I’d find my way to a safehouse. I needed answers, and answers were difficult to come by when you were hiding. By no stretch of the imagination was I that good a sorceress even on my best day, strange amulet or not.

  Boris darted around my legs and ran straight for his basket by the fireplace, no doubt to make sure his favorite toys were still there. Satisfied, he began kneading the old blanket I used to line his basket. At least one of us was going to get some sleep.

  “Could you keep Boris with you for a few days?” I asked Tarsilia. “I don’t want him here in case someone gets really serious about breaking in.”

  My landlady shrugged. “He stays with me most days anyway. Are you going to put a seal on the doors and windows when you leave?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. As much as I disliked the thought of anyone in my rooms, using a sealing spell would just make any potential intruder think there was something inside worth taking—like the amulet hanging quietly around my neck.

  “I don’t think so. No one will actually expect me to be staying here. If I’m not here, no one else should come sneaking around. Unless it’s Ocnus, then you can just sic Piaras on him.”

  “You know how to spoil an old woman’s fun, don’t you?”

  I went into the bedroom to change clothes and gather what I would need over the next few days. Nothing appeared to have been moved in here, either. I looked over at my dressing table. My one and only mirror was where I had left it—face down. When it came to getting from one place to another, Gates weren’t the only alternative to the front door. Mirrors would work in a pinch, and some sorcerers made a specialty out of spelling things through them. The one mirror I had was small and wasn’t on my wall. I’d seen firsthand the kind of nastiness that could make its entrance through a big wall mirror.

  I took off the bloodstained clothes as carefully as I could. The leather jerkin was a total loss. The shirt could be washed, but I wasn’t going to be here to do it, so the shirt would have to go, too. Everything else was salvageable. As much as I would have liked to, I didn’t think sending a bill to the goblin embassy to replace my favorite jerkin would be a good idea. From what Tarsilia had just told me, I was sure I’d get other chances to collect.

  I chose a blue shirt and my favorite brown leather doublet. It was my favorite because it had steel links woven between the outer leather and inner lining. It wasn’t light by a long shot, but those steel rings had saved my bacon on more than one occasion. The doublet also had leather sleeves, better for hiding what I wasn’t leaving my rooms without—a pair of slender daggers in forearm sheaths. They were also some of my favorites, for the same reasons. I topped it all with a pair of short swords strapped to my back. They fit nicely under a cloak, and wielded nicely in tight spaces. I now felt armed enough to set foot outside my front door.

  “How close of a look did you get at the shamans?” I called to Tarsilia through the partially closed bedroom door.

  “As close as I needed to. Those two were fresh from under a rock. Alix, Parry, and I took turns standing watch. He’s nice to have around the house when undesirables come to call.”

  I found two clean shirts and put those in my pack along with my other things. “Did he go home with Alix?”

  “Of course. But he told me he was just going to walk her home.” She chuckled. “He can put on the airs, but he’s no gentleman.”

  I smiled and buckled the leather strap on my pack. “I think that’s what Alix likes about him.”

  I came out of my bedroom and tossed the burlap sack with my ruined clothes next to the door. I flopped into a chair. Boris decided I was now acceptable for physical contact, and after a tentative sniff, rubbed his head against my hand, demanding to be scratched. I obeyed.

  “A lovely couple,” Tarsilia concluded.

  I knew she wasn’t talking about me and the cat. To her credit, she didn’t say anything else, or toss any meaningful glances my way. In this instance, even I could read her mind. But regardless of what Tarsilia wanted for me, it didn’t change my reality. The men I attracted didn’t have rooms or homes. They had lairs. Or lived in an island fortress and gave guided tours of the dungeons for fun.

  I had a spotty history as far as the opposite sex was concerned. Any and all of my prior relationships had been at the mercy of my family, or more accurately, at the mercy of my family name. There was no middle ground. Men either ran for the hills when they heard who my family was, or they were just using me to get in with my uncle. Sissies or scoundrels—that was all I’d gotten in the past, and I didn’t want either one. I grinned at a couple of particularly pleasant memories. A couple of those scoundrels hadn’t been half bad at first.

  Tarsilia had brought the sugar knots upstairs with us. She popped one in her mouth. She could do that all day and never gain an ounce. The thought of food made me remember something. I grumbled under my b
reath.

  “What is it?” Tarsilia asked.

  “I’m supposed to meet Alix for lunch today.”

  “You’re afraid she won’t remember?”

  “No, I’m afraid she will. Considering what’s happened, she’d be better off not showing up. I don’t want to attract more attention to myself than I have to. Having lunch with Alix might not be the smartest thing for me to do right now.”

  “You don’t want to sit in an outside café at midday?” She finished off another knot and wiped her fingers on her work apron. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Replaced by survival instinct. Though a public place might be safe. Generally sorcerers don’t blow each other away at high noon in a public square.” I stopped. “I just described a duel, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.” Tarsilia grinned. “Mind if I join you two? Sounds like fun.”

  Dueling is forbidden in the city, but that doesn’t stop sorcerers from doing it. And a watcher’s meager salary doesn’t exactly inspire local law enforcement to get between two sorcerers bent on obliterating each other. The chronic offenders are usually mediocre talents fighting over a choice client—or looking to enhance their reputations. Charlatans don’t have the talent to survive a duel, and a mage doesn’t want to be bothered with such childish pastimes. Of course there are exceptions. Then there are the suicidal types—mediocre talents who try to goad a mage into a duel. I guess they think it looks good for them to have fought and defeated a mage. What few of them fail to remember is that duels have winners and losers. Losers tend to be dead. That memory lapse is the reason why there always seem to be rooms available for rent in the Sorcerers District.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let Alix know you can’t make it,” Tarsilia was saying. Her little face grew solemn. “If you promise me you’ll be careful.”

  I gave her an impulsive hug. “I promise.” I draped a hooded cloak over my shoulders, followed by my pack. I didn’t raise the hood. I wanted to be seen leaving. Later I’d see what I could do about a little vanishing act. “And if careful doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just be lucky. Luck has to start speaking to me again sometime.”

  Chapter 6

  You know it’s going to be a bad day when you can’t get privacy inside your own head.

  I knew it’d only be a matter of time until someone came looking for me. When that time came, I had hoped that someone would trail me at a discreet distance. Aside from being invasive and rude, mind touching was just icky. Not to mention having somebody popping into your head starts to wear on you after a while. It makes you wonder which thoughts are yours and which ones have been planted and fertilized by someone else. After last night, my own imagination was doing a fine job of shoveling fertilizer all by its lonesome. It didn’t need any help.

  Since it wasn’t an actual speaking voice, I couldn’t put a name to it. But the slimy trail it left behind left no doubt that it was a Khrynsani shaman. A certain elven Guardian had already put in an appearance, so why should the goblins be left out?

  Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. As uncomfortable and disgusting as it felt, I let whoever-it-was putter around for a little while. Too long and he would see everything I saw—and know precisely where I was. He wasn’t going to be there that long. But the longer he was there, the easier it would be for me to slam my mind’s door on his figurative fingers. I was overdue for some fun.

  I ducked down a side street and stopped. It was early, so it was empty. I’d never been able to dispel a mind intruder and walk at the same time. Not coordinated enough, I guess. I stilled my thoughts and waited. My visitor was impatient, so I didn’t have to wait long. My action was rewarded by a pained shriek from the other side.

  Visitor gone. Problem solved. For now. I knew he’d be back, and he’d probably bring a friend or two with him—or his boss. Sarad Nukpana must have either been a late sleeper or busy getting in a little prebreakfast torture. Before he had some time to spare for me, I was going to do everything I could to make sure my mind wasn’t such an interesting destination, or myself such an irresistible target.

  One big way to do that would be to take off the amulet. Not recommended under normal circumstances, but I had been thinking. If I had the white stone box the amulet came in, half of my problem might solve itself. Quentin had dropped the box when the Khrynsani shamans came through the Gate. Through my link with Quentin, I had seen that there were runes carved into the surface—runes that were probably containment spells. If I could find that box, I might be able to take the amulet off. I’d worry later about what to do with an amulet-in-a-box. One problem at a time.

  First stop, Nigel’s house. I’d done work for the city watch, and counted several officers as friends. I didn’t think it’d be all that difficult to talk my way into the house. Finding the box and having my idea work was another thing, not to mention a slim hope, but at this point I’d take what I could get. At the very least, it put a spring in my step for the rest of the way to Nigel’s house.

  I took a shortcut through Brightleaf, the Elven District’s oldest and most elegant section. Trouble rarely came to Brightleaf, and on the rare occasions when it did, it had the decency to use the back door. The old blood disliked disruptions to their well-ordered lives, and maintained bodyguards to ensure it didn’t taint their doorsteps. High-walled gardens further insulated them from the baser elements. If they couldn’t make trouble go away, they at least went to great lengths to pretend it didn’t exist.

  Just because I didn’t care to be around most elven aristocrats, didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate their taste. Mermeia was built on a marsh, but a stroll through Brightleaf convinced you otherwise. It was amazing what a lot of money and a little magic could do. Aristocratic elves had a thing for trees, and the more the merrier. Since this section of Mermeia didn’t have enough for them, the elves had planted additional trees. Now Brightleaf looked like a woodland park in the middle of the city. The flowers of the kembaugh tree attracted fireflies, and I had to admit it made for a pretty sight at night with all the twinkling lights. All in all, a nice way to live if you could afford it.

  As I walked along the cobbled and tree-lined avenue that ran next to the Old Earl’s Canal, I caught an occasional glimpse of shaded courtyards through ornate—and securely locked—gates. Mermeia’s canals rose and fell with the tide, and the smell along with it. Not in Brightleaf. An elaborate system of filters had been installed at the entrance to every canal where it entered Brightleaf. The water was always pristinely clean, and smelled the same way.

  A lone boatman leisurely poled his way down the canal. He sang as he went, a simple tune I had heard boatmen sing on canals all over the city. His voice was pleasant enough, but not really all that memorable. That was what I heard. What I felt flowing quietly under his song was something else entirely. Paladin Mychael Eiliesor was up early. I wasn’t the only one with a morning mind visitor, but the boatman seemed oblivious. Unlike the Khrynsani shaman, Eiliesor didn’t invite himself into my head, and using the boatman’s voice wasn’t all that invasive either. As far as doing something like that went, it was actually quite polite. It was also sneaky. The Guardian wasn’t inside my head, so I couldn’t do a thing to get rid of him. Eiliesor could follow me anywhere in the city using the same trick with any susceptible passerby.

  I didn’t feel like being followed. Time for a little sneakiness of my own. I felt bad about involving the boatman, but I’d feel worse if Eiliesor tracked me long enough to locate me physically. I didn’t know if I could break Eiliesor’s contact with the boatman, but I could sure give him something else to think about. I could move small objects with my mind, and a gondola pole was a small object. I concentrated, yanked, and the boatman took a swim. When the baffled boatman managed to heave himself back into his gondola, his sputtering sounded a lot like a certain Guardian commander.

  I grinned and darted around the corner and out of sight. Mission accomplished.

  Nigel’s townhouse must be crawling
with city watch by now. Considering who and what Nigel was, Janek Tawl would probably be in charge of the investigation. And the hands-on type that he was, Janek would be overseeing things himself. If that was the case, I should be able to talk my way into the house for a little investigating of my own.

  After that, I’d put myself out of circulation for a few hours at one of Markus’s safehouses. The peace and quiet would be welcome. A nap, a bath, and a decent meal wouldn’t hurt, either.

  I ducked out of sight once I crossed the canal at Wormall Mews. This part of the Sorcerers District was a rabbit’s warren of twisting streets and alleys that no one was going to follow me through—at least no one using feet. And if someone did pick up my trail, it was broad daylight, I was armed in more ways than one, and if my follower wanted a fight, I was more than willing.

  The bridge across the canal to Pasquine Street was busier than usual for that time of day. Hardly surprising considering what had happened there last night. I stepped to the railing to allow a cart to pass, and a flash of red caught my eye. Pasquine Street had the dubious distinction of being the closest point in the Sorcerers District to the goblin embassy. The Khrynsani banner had joined the royal standard already flying over the compound. I guess after last night, there wasn’t much use in Sarad Nukpana denying that he and his boys were in town. The amulet thrummed under my shirt.

  “Oh, shut up,” I muttered.

  Wormall Mews was thick with small businesses popular with nonsorcerers. Fortune-tellers, alchemists, astrologers, and the like did a healthy business parting the local Mermeian population from their coin. Most of the proprietors were only marginally talented, but a convincing performance went a long way toward building a successful business.

  I walked the two blocks down Pasquine, keeping to the side of the street opposite Nigel’s house. I spotted Janek talking to someone who looked like he might be one of Nigel’s wealthy merchant neighbors. Janek saw me about the same time.