The other thief merely laughed again. “Gods, woman, where've you been all evening?"
Kandys shrugged. “I slept late."
“You must have. Further rumor says that the current uproar was caused by a visit from a Sandlander delegation."
Kandys's stomach constricted abruptly. “Burning Men? In the city?"
“Well, I can't say I've seen them myself, but I'm inclined to believe it. The story's a bit too creative to've been produced by your average lout. And speaking of louts, did you recognize the fellow being carried from The Snarling Hound?"
It took Kandys a moment to catch up with the change of subject. “Um, no,” she said. “Though he looked familiar."
“Familiar? That, fair lady, was the youngest son of His Righteousness. Prince Darien himself, in all his noble dignity. The little brute behind him was Stamovan, his pet dwarf. It warms the heart, knowing that our little city-state will be in such competent hands, should something befall the elder brother."
They'd reached the intersection, and Kandys was about to reply when a shape dropped out of the sky before them. Kandys reached instinctively for her dagger, and Sylvain bunched his cloak in one hand so that the bright green inner lining was exposed. Left in place, the enchanted exterior would instantly give away Sylvain's profession.
The flyer let his wings fall into their folded position and lifted one hand. A ball of light flared to life in his palm. Kandys blinked against the sudden brightness and held up her own hand to shield her eyes until they adjusted.
“Good evening,” said the flyer. “Lieutenant Hawkin, of the Air Corps."
“So we gathered,” said Sylvain.
Hawkin gave a small smile. “It's a little late to be strolling through the back streets. Do you have a destination?"
Sylvain stepped slightly in front of Kandys. “Last I knew, citizens were free to roam wherever they pleased in Hurst."
“Of course,” said the flyer. “Your safety's my only concern. This isn't the safest of neighborhoods at night."
“Well then,” said Sylvain, “we'll take your advice and be on our away."
Hawkin nodded. “Good night to you."
The glider wings sprang out as Hawkin extinguished his light. He slipped his arms through the straps and turned, then sprinted away from the thieves. On the third step he leaped into the air and beat downward so hard that the tips of his wings nearly touched. Instead of belly-flopping back to the cobblestones, the flyer shot upward at a sharp angle. The wings opened and closed again, and in seconds Hawkin had disappeared into the night.
“It's amazing,” said Kandys, staring after the vanished flyer.
Sylvain snorted and let his cloak fall back to place. “Magic,” he said. “Without it, they're just a bunch of boys wearing feathers."
The thieves set off down the street in the opposite direction from that taken by Hawkin. They walked in silence for a bit, then Sylvain asked, “What's bothering you, Kandys?"
Kandys tried to make light of the question. “I'm heartbroken that such an attractive man could fly in and out of my life so quickly."
Sylvain shook his head. “You froze completely in front of the soldier and you damned near jumped out of your skin when I mentioned the Sandlanders. What's more, you've yet to remark on the hideous lining I'm forced to endure with my new acquisition. Something's on your mind, and it certainly isn't our winged friend."
“It's nothing.”
Sylvain stopped her and put both hands on her houlders. “Will you take some advice from an older, wiser thief?” he asked.
Kandys nodded mutely.
“If I had nothing on my mind, particularly nothing serious enough to frighten a seasoned professional like yourself, I'd find somewhere to give it considerable thought. Perhaps somewhere like Balis Tyrok, or even Charlain. A room on the coast is a wonderful place to contemplate nothing."
Kandys flashed a grin. “The same idea occurred to me earlier."
Sylvain turned and they resumed their walk. “You see? When two master criminals agree, surely the idea is worthwhile."
“Like the time that you and Jackie Corrison agreed to rob a certain moneylender?"
“Now, it's hardly my fault that Jackie turned out to be a dolt."
A crier's voice broke the night air, calling the hour of midnight and Kandys allowed Sylvain to lead her home. They chattered as they walked, enjoying the topics that only two thieves could share. Though she tried to appear relaxed, Kandys cringed from every shadowed doorway, certain that a red-skinned giant awaited her at every corner.
After Sylvain deposited a friendly kiss on her cheek and disappeared down the street, she bounded up the stairs and into her apartment. With the door and window bolted tight, the thief huddled in the corner of her room with a dagger in each hand. An occasional tremor passed through her body as she stared into the darkness. She sat that way for hours, until the light of dawn crept through the shutters and she nodded off to sleep.
* * * * *
Alexander crumpled the sheet of parchment into a ball and threw it across the room. It bounced off the far wall and rolled to a halt just inside the door. He dropped his quill onto the small tabletop then paused. The Huntsman closed his eyes and breathed deeply, three times in and three out. When he felt the brief surge of anger fade into a calmer attitude, he reached for his inkwell and stopped it carefully with a stained cork.
The candles on the edge of the table flickered in the warm breeze, which wafted in the window from a darkened street. As Alexander rubbed wearily at his eyes, a crier's voice announced one hour past midnight. Alexander stood and stretched. His back ached and his legs were sore. Though the bed was starting to look more and more inviting, he knew his frustration wouldn't allow him to sleep easily.
Adriana had departed quickly from the stable when they'd returned from Selmer Ridge. She'd led an urgent pace back to the city, desiring to inform the Emperor of events at the mine immediately. Left to his own devices, Alexander had wandered the streets for a bit, becoming more acquainted with Hurst and watching for anything remotely useful to his current puzzle. Unfortunately, the city had revealed nothing shocking or unusual. Aside from a preference toward muted brown shades on the buildings and a slightly more diverse display of cultures, Hurst appeared little different from all the other cities of the Western Realm. After dinner he had tried in vain to make a contact in the local underworld—not even the three moneylenders he'd visited would take the time to see him. He'd finally returned to his room at the inn, requested a table and chair to be brought in, and set to work.
Returning to his seat by the window, Alexander pulled a new sheet of parchment from a leather pouch and smoothed it on the table. He placed the inkwell on one corner and removed the cork. Taking up the quill, he wrote the words “Selmer Ridge” near the top of the page. At the bottom left he scrawled “Rominfeld—Bard,” and in the bottom right “Counselor Virmual Postwick."
“All right,” he said to himself, “start with the obvious. Rominfeld performed at the keep. Postwick lived in the keep.” He chose a blank area about halfway between the two names and noted the keep as a link between the two.
“The men at Selmer Ridge found silver. Postwick knew about the silver from his position in the Emperor's court.” Alexander made a notation regarding the silver mine along the leftmost side of the parchment.
“What's the link between Selmer Ridge and the bard?” He considered the possibility that Rominfeld had stopped at the mine for an evening before reaching Hurst. Possible, but not very likely. A fly buzzed in through the open window as he sat pondering. The insect circled the candles a few times, found nothing of interest and departed.
“Crap.” Instead of flinging another ball of notes across the room, he stopped the inkwell again and carefully set the parchment aside. Reaching once more into the leather pouch, he extracted another page. This one was already covered with a rough map of the city, freehanded earlier in the evening. He set it in the center of the desk, st
eepled his fingers against his temples and stared at the map.
The gates at the western, northern and southern walls were clearly marked. A thick line, the outer wall, formed a border on the edges of the page. The inner wall was another square, just inside the first. The keep dominated the eastern end of the city, surrounded by the courtyards and its own low barrier. Governor's Way stretched all the way from the western gate through Shipman's Plaza and into the grounds of the keep. The Imperial Road bisected the Plaza in the opposite direction, connecting the north and south gates.
Certain districts and neighborhoods were designated by dashed lines. The southwestern quarter belonged to the temples and traders, though the warehouses were rumored to also house the city's thieves and their ilk. Merchants’ residences predominated the northeast quarter, giving way to the grand estates of the truly rich as one approached the keep. The Evening District was tucked away in the center of the northeast quarter, hidden from the main thoroughfares by shops and apartments, though not hidden enough to hurt business. In the extreme southeast corner of the map, Rottown housed the impoverished and otherwise undesirable. Alexander's inn stood just a bit south of Shipman's Plaza. Earlier in the evening he'd watched the steady progression of priests making their way back to their places of worship.
Taking up the quill once again, he placed a dot inside the keep. He made another mark near the Evening District, in the area where Adriana said Rominfeld had met his end. Something tugged at the edge of Alexander's memory. He tapped on the table in the spot where Selmer Ridge would be, had the parchment been larger. A dark stain marred the wood before he noticed what he was doing. Sighing, he plugged the inkwell once more. He was about to blow out the candles when someone knocked on the door.
Alexander stared at the door for a moment, wondering if his tired mind had imagined the sound. It came again, however, and he quickly shuffled his pages back into their leather case. His sword hung by its belt from one corner of the bed. The visitor knocked again as Alexander slipped his dagger from its scabbard and slid it into his belt. He was dressed only in trousers, and the pommel felt cool against his naked back. He kept one hand behind himself as he opened the door a crack. The man in the hallway was starting to turn away, but Alexander recognized him immediately.
“Eduard! What the blazes are you doing here? I thought I'd be tracking you down in the next few days."
The visitor turned back to the door. He peered through the crack at Alexander, then his wrinkled face broke into a warm smile. Hafflston's long hair was completely gray, and he leaned heavily on a stout walking stick. He shifted his weight to one leg and tapped on the door with the end of the stick.
“Waiting for you to remember your manners and let me in,” he said.
Alexander stepped aside and ushered the older man inside, directing him to the chair he'd previously occupied. After re-bolting the door, he returned the dagger to its scabbard and dropped onto the bed. Hafflston watched him, nodding.
“Cautious, I see. Not a bad idea, from what I hear."
Alexander's fatigue melted away instantly. “What've you heard?"
“You're a hard man to find. I must've knocked on the doors of a dozen inns tonight. I'm not a young man, you know."
“The Emperor's people know where I am,” Alexander said. “At least, they know now. I came in a day early, had a look around with no escort. Now, what'd you hear?"
Hafflston wagged a finger in his direction. “Patience, young Huntsman. Have you anything to drink in these luxurious quarters?"
“Not unless you stick your head under the pipes in the privy. And I'm thirty-five, which is young only when compared to yourself. Add to that the fact that I'm tired and annoyed."
“The bard's killer proving difficult to find?"
Alexander leaned back on the bed, cradling his hands behind his head. “Half of me says I've only been here for a day, and the other half says I could be here for a year and not learn anything. I'm not sure sending me was such a great idea."
“I've been in Hurst for nigh three months now, my boy. After that counselor was murdered I suggested to His Excellency that we offer your help."
“And here I am, accomplishing exactly nothing."
Hafflston sighed and set his cane on the table. He reached forward with both hands to shift the position of his right leg. He grimaced as his knee straightened.
“Patience, Huntsman. How many puzzles have you solved in a day's time back home?"
“It's not that,” said Alexander. He sat up again, back against the wall. “I've been here a day and a half, and I don't even have an idea. Not the slightest starting point. I know no one in this town; I've no information sources. Hell, the best I've done is talk with a pawnbroker and confirm that some people were indeed killed. If that's not bad enough, I think this Imperial counselor believes the killings are part of a political conspiracy. I don't involve myself in court intrigue back home—why the blazes would I do it here? I should be on the road back to Addamantia right now."
“Of course, if you did that you'd lose the opportunity to mope around your room and feel sorry for yourself."
Alexander stared at the old count, feeling the anger tighten his stomach muscles. The corners of Hafflston's mouth twitched upward. He let out his breath abruptly, smiling begrudgingly as his visitor laughed.
“All right,” said Alexander. “Give it up. What advice do you have that you haven't already given me in the past ten years?"
Hafflston sobered and tapped the leather parchment case. “I take it you've already mapped the killing sites?” Alexander nodded. “Next, then, I suggest you compare notes with any allies you have in this, er, empire.” He finished the sentence on a decidedly sarcastic note, which Alexander found surprising. Such a judgmental display was out of character for the count, in his experience.
“That brings us back to the beginning,” he said. “What've you heard at the Emperor's court?"
Hafflston pursed his lips. “Most important? No one here knows any more about the murders than you do. No, I amend that. No one knows about them, except whoever's behind them."
“Then you think it's a conspiracy, too?"
“Maybe not a conspiracy. But I'm sure it's someone in the Emperor's court. My fear is that our deviant is trying to cause friction between Hurst and Addamantia."
Alexander's eyebrows shot up. “You know about Selmer Ridge."
Hafflston nodded. “I heard this evening. That's when I decided to seek you out."
“I wasn't going to tell you. Adriana—the counselor—is pretty paranoid about the place."
“She's a capable young woman, trained by a very capable old man, in my opinion. Postwick was one of the sharpest men I've ever met and I think he passed a great deal of his talent on to Counselor Thornwell."
“You know what they were doing up at the ridge?"
“I had my suspicions. Today's news confirmed them. You know what the attack at that mine looks like for Addamantia, yes?"
Alexander closed his eyes and nodded. “A local supply of silver for Hurst is bad news for Addamantia. For Forthaven, too, but that's beside the point."
The old count leaned forward, capturing Alexander's gaze when he re-opened his eyes. “I can't impress upon you enough, young Huntsman, how tenuous the relationship between Hurst and Addamantia is right now. Trade between our cities is slowing daily. Both sides are quietly mobilizing border garrisons as we speak. There are elements of the Imperial court who'd march the army west tomorrow if they could. If the right people are convinced that Addamantia is behind the Selmer Ridge attack, we could be at war within days."
Adriana's assessment from the morning rang in Alexander's head, an eerie echo of Hafflston's words.
“But what's the point?” said Alexander. “If Hurst declares war on Addamantia, the other Western cities will be forced to choose sides. The dwarves may join in, but they could just as easily retreat to the Stronghold and slam the doors. The gnomes will disappear until it's all over.
So, we'll have years of fighting all the way from the sea to the desert, no trade across a good portion of the realm and thousands of lives lost. What does Hurst stand to gain from all that?"
“Control."
“Come again?"
“Unified control of the Western Realm. I know you've had a history lesson or two. Tell me—who actually gave Alfrid the title of Baron of Addamantia?"
“Well, the former baron. His father."
“And if his claim to the baronial throne were disputed? Who would resolve it?"
Alexander tapped one finger absently against his knee as he thought. “I suppose the lesser nobles, though it really boils down to who controls the army."
“All right, then, a different topic. Who sets the rules of trade between the city-states in the Western Realm?"
“It's different between all the cities, Hafflston, you know that. We have trade agreements with—"
“And what happens when one partner violates an agreement, or Hurst feels that we favor Forthaven? Who mediates the dispute?"
“No one. We throw more patrols out on the roads, restrict the activity of foreign merchants and wait for men like you to negotiate the problem. I don't think there's actually been any fighting since before the elves, but we'll turn away their merchants and they'll turn away ours until the whole thing settles down again."
“You're wrong there, but I'll get to that in a moment. Here's the final thread, my boy. The Western Realm spent nearly seven hundred years as a unified kingdom. The baronies swore fealty to one king, and law was uniform across the realm. Besides the baronial garrisons, the monarchy supported its own army. Individual cities didn't make trade alliances with foreign nations; as an entire realm we treated with Tigra and the Sandlanders, as well as Parna and the other ocean nations.
“Then, roughly one hundred years before the war with the elves, the Western Kingdom disintegrated. Geoffrey the Fourth proved an extraordinarily inept ruler. Amongst other gaffes, he committed the kingdom to a series of poor agreements with the Parnan Empire. The coastal baronies suffered the brunt of the economic damage since most commerce with Parna was conducted by sea. They turned on Geoffrey, the inner baronies chose sides, and we fought ourselves into a shattered collection of independent cities. Most of the old barons kept their titles, but not one of them has sworn allegiance to a higher power since. In the intervening century, the Western Realm has only come together once, to fight the elves."
One Hundredth Magic Page 9