by Jean Johnson
Out loud, she said, “You can always share my bolt-hole. A bucket of coal is bound to be safer for keeping warm than whatever might be offered at Big Momma’s.”
“It won’t get that bad,” Alonnen countered firmly. “At least, not down in the flats. The cloud cover isn’t that thick, and it’s thinning out on the trailing edge. The mountains will get the worst of it, but the guilds always clear the road up to the dam. There are too many shipments going back and forth every single day not to scrape the roads.”
That made Rexei think. “Tallnose . . .”
“Yes?” he asked, holding both women a little more closely as the motorcart skidded a little on a bit of ice. These carts need some sort of safety rope system, so we don’t get flung off the benches . . .
“The priests were the ones ordering all the fighting against our neighbors, right?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for confirmation. “Even though the militia received the war machines and munitions, it was by Mekha’s will that they tried attacking the borders.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So . . . with Mekha gone, do the Steelworks at the Heias Dam need to keep producing all those parts for war machines?” she asked. “I know there’s a chance the other lands will try to swoop in and claim chunks of Mekhana now that we’re Patronless. But do we really want the priests or the militia still controlling everything?”
“Lad’s got a point,” one of the other two men muttered. All three on the bench across from Gabria, Alonnen, and Rexei were there to be bodyguards for the Guild Master, but they were clearly smart as well as muscled. “Leftenant’s alright, but the captain’s another matter. The Hammer of Heiastowne is strict when it comes to upholding the law, but what if he gets it into his head to make the laws? I heard the leftenant declared anyone making trouble would be dragged off to the quarries.”
“That’s just a rumor,” the third man stated.
Rexei shook her head. “No, that’s what he threatened. I was there. Captain’s orders, a month’s work per hour’s trouble.”
“That’s exactly why we need to have all the guild heads meet at the Consulate,” Alonnen asserted. “Up until yesterday, Mekha demanded, the priests ordered, the militia enforced, and we all had to obey. But not anymore.”
He poked out his thumb sideways. So did the others, though Rexei was the last to move; since the thumb he poked out was the left one, it meant Springreaver’s cap-covered head hid the initial action from her view. Alonnen gave her far arm a little squeeze with his free hand.
“That does not mean, however, that we’re going to let lawlessness take its place,” Alonnen cautioned them. “That’s what this meeting is for.”
A gust of wind swirled around the side of the trundling motorcart, sending more snowflakes in through the open sides of the driver’s bench and a few in through the open back. The very front had an angled glass wall shielding the guider and his passengers from most of the wind, and a pair of clever sweepers that scraped the snow from the panes when a lever was pulled, and the sidewalls of the cargo section had glazed walls, too, but not the doorways by the front bench nor the very back of the vessel. Alonnen grimaced and shifted his right hand off Rexei’s shoulder, swiping at some of the crystals as they smacked into his face and tried to melt on his cheek.
Tugging his scarf a little higher, he switched topics. “We need to start talking with the Caravaners about making these motorcarts more weatherproof. Motorhorses, I can see why they can’t be fully enclosed, but these things could be. And should be.”
From the enthusiastic nods of the others as they huddled together for warmth against the swirling snow and wind, they agreed.
SEVEN
Torven Shel Von wished he had not been seated at the archbishop’s right hand. The dining hall had two hearths, one at each end of the long table and both with warm-glowing coals doing their best to heat the space, but there was a draft at his back that pushed half the heat away. At least the food was reasonably good and the wine not bad, if well watered. Allowing mages to get inebriated was rarely wise.
Still, it was better than the fare found in most inns and taverns, thanks to one of the priests who actively enjoyed cooking. The apprentices roped into assisting him had grumbled, but with all the servants kicked out, no one of lower status had been left to help in the temple kitchen. Torven found it amusing that the apprentices who had complained the most were the ones being fed the thick glop, half stew and half porridge, which had been earmarked for the former prisoners.
He reached for the thigh of the roasted pheasant quarter he had been given for a third course, ready to remove the tender meat. The conversations around him revolved around his lengthy lessons in the exact wording needed for oathbinding demons into obedience. From the gossip, Torven had proved to be a fair, if stern teacher. A few of the novices had ended up with reddened hands from being slapped for their poorly presented oaths, but the elder priests hadn’t objected to his use of an Aian-style ruler smacking. Plucking at a bit of still juicy meat, he wondered if he’d been too light on them. Demons rarely played fair with honest mistakes.
The murmur of voices fell quiet at the far end. Into the hall strode the bald priest who had first questioned him, Bishop Hansu. His lips, framed by his long, neatly groomed, dark brown beard, were pulled down in a frown. So were his matching gray-salted brows.
Archbishop Elcarei lifted his own brows. “You have news, Bishop Hansu?”
“Yes, archbishop.” He paused at the midway point and bowed. “The Patriarch and over half the priesthoods have voted against our guest’s proposal.” A slight, ironic dip of his head was aimed at Torven, then he continued. “But six of the nearest ten temples have agreed to it. Provided our guest can prove his method works, and works safely . . . then they will be with us.
“On another, somewhat related topic . . . from the state of chaos in many of the cities out there, it was strongly urged by our counterparts in the other temples that we get this city under control. Given what the talker-boxes picked up and the fact that it is now sunset,” Hansu continued, “I strongly suggest you select someone to go to the Consulate, Holiness.”
“Yes, we should remind them that we are the highest-ranked Guild in the land, and thus have a very strong say in the governing of it,” Elcarei agreed. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You said the other towns are rioting?”
Hansu nodded. “Not every temple has reported in via scrying mirror. It is presumed that, by now, they have been overrun by the local peasants—many of those are the ones that did not release their prisoners. Most of those temples which followed our guest’s advice have been spared. Not all, but most.”
“Thankfully, Captain Torhammer is a stickler for the law. This will work in our favor.” At a gesture from the archbishop, Hansu took the remaining empty seat and began dining on the food left around his plate. “I shall go myself in a moment, with a bishop and two priests. Koler, you have served well in our dealings with the Consulate; you shall come with us. Brother Grell and Brother Tanik, you will join us as well.”
The three selected priests bowed their heads. Elcarei looked to his right, meeting Torven’s mildly bored gaze. “Under Bishop Hansu’s supervision, you shall direct the novices to clear the power room of rubble and set it up for a series of test summonings. You will start with one minor demon, demonstrating that you can summon, control, and banish it, then progress to more powerful kinds.
“You may have the assistance of up to three priests and six novices but no more . . . and the first thing you shall do once the room is readied is teach everyone here the proper banishment spells, before actually summoning anything.”
Torven dipped his head. “I was going to suggest something similar myself, Your Holiness. I am pleased we are so well matched in our thinking.”
His flattery was even true, save that Torven had no intention of remaining subservient for long. Banishing a demon w
as not a problem; even if an enemy banished one, unless that enemy were a higher-ranked priest, the demon could always be resummoned. No, binding the demon was where all the true power lay, and he intended to bind the demons summoned to himself as their ultimate master.
“Save dessert for us,” Elcarei stated, rising from his seat. “We may be back late.”
Everyone else rose as well out of courtesy, giving the archbishop a bow of reverence. Even Torven, though his was not quite as deep. He would not upset this chance at securing a vast power for himself, but neither would he play the bootlicking toad to get it. They will acknowledge me as an equal, or they will find out the hard way that I am their better.
• • •
Thankfully, the Consulate was warm. Not only had the message for the meeting gone out in plenty of time to stoke the fires, taking the chill out of the air, Heiastowne itself was large enough that there was a permanent Consulate staff. It wasn’t the biggest city in Mekhana, but it was in the top ten easily, with many strong guilds and a handful of actual Guild Masters in the Precinct, not just grandmasters or mere masters.
At Alonnen’s urging, Rexei had brought all thirty of her Guild tokens, all strung on her silver chain. The other Gearmen of the Consulate had duly examined those thirty, including her trio of larger journeyman-rank medallions, the fourth one that represented her Gearman status—always left uncounted when tallying ranks—and permitted her a seat on the guild bench. Off to one side, of course; she was from out of town as far as they knew, which meant she had the right to speak only for those guilds not represented here in Heias Precinct, or at least not at this meeting.
The discussion hall was packed. All three fireplaces were roaring with the crisp, competing scents of coal, applewood, and oakwood. Even without the fires, she probably would have been warm enough to remove her Vortex-borrowed coat, though she was glad that her current project, a fine, silvery gray wool suitable for summer weight, was now big enough to cover her thighs. She wasn’t the only one, male or female, with a bag or basket of skeins and some sort of needlework in their lap. Looms were taxed for whatever they produced; knitting and crocheting were not.
Sharing the guild bench—which in a Consulate of this size was a long, curved table set with several high-backed chairs—were the Grandmaster Gearman of the Heiastowne Consulate, his three master Gearmen scattered at the quarter points, and Rexei at the far left end. Next to the grandmaster sat the Captain of Heias Precinct. Chairs had been brought in and crowded around the table until one could scarcely move to get up, even by pushing a chair straight back from the table a body length. Rexei herself sat on a footstool dragged in from somewhere else, and she had only been accorded room because she could speak for those outside the immediate region.
The rest of those seats were filled with the Guild Masters of several guilds: Masons, Coalminers, Lumber, Ironworks, Steelworks, Hydraulics, Brassworks, Clockworks, Engines, Modellers, Munitions, Plumbers, Wheelwrights, and Luthiers, specifically those woodworkers and metalsmiths who specialized in making musical instruments. And, of course, Alonnen, representing the one Guild no one wanted to actually name. The grandmasters of the many other guilds were given preferential seating in the first three rows of pews facing the long, curved table, and the masters of those guilds with no one of higher rank in the area were right behind them.
Everyone else crowding the place was a nonrepresenting master, a journeyman, or a few rare apprentices of the various guilds—mostly from the Servers and the Hospitallers, distributing warmed drinks and small sweet biscuits. Such offerings were not uncommon; each time a Consulate gathering was held, a trio of Guilds was taxed to pay for refreshments.
A fresh cluster of people arrived. Two women detached themselves from the rest and were greeted by Grandmaster Toric. Rexei couldn’t quite hear their titles over the general hubbub of the three or four hundred people crammed into the pews lining the rest of the hall, but she thought she heard the words Actors and Lacemakers.
Alonnen—who had donned a pair of blue-tinted viewing lenses once he had arrived—rose and hurried over to the side of the plumper of the two women, who was clad in a colorful knitted overdress patterned in shades of cream, beige, and russet from wool raised in the northernmost flocks. Nestled on her ample cleavage was the large oval gold-cast medallion of a Guild Master. From the masques engraved on it for its guild symbol, the woman had to be the head of all the Actors Guilds across Mekhana.
Rexei had never met her, but she had heard of Guild Master Saranei Grenfallow, one of the few female Guild Masters who was respected by the priesthood; she was that good an actor. Or had been before taking up the Guild Master’s job. From what Rexei had observed in her many apprenticeships, it was difficult to lead a guild even as a mere grandmaster, never mind as the Guild Master for all the various chapters across the kingdom.
In contrast to all the Guild Masters who wore their palm-sized oval medallions with their symbols on both sides, Alonnen wore a large gold medallion that had been left polished but otherwise blank on the side currently facing outward. Rexei had seen the other face of it when he had taken off his coat upon their arrival; that side had been engraved with a striated triangle, with its point down. Only because she had seen the Vortex itself did she know what it represented, for it was not in the list of symbols Gearmen apprentices were supposed to memorize. Reassured by the sight of it that he was the Guild Master of Mages, she still marveled that he would actually dare to wear it in public, even with Mekha gone. The man has far more bravery than me . . .
While she watched and plied her hook, tugging out lengths of silvery spun wool every so often, the two Guild Masters engaged in an increasingly animated discussion. Then Guild Master Grenfallow turned and clapped her hands, gathering her entourage to her. More discussion followed. The grandmaster of the Servers Guild was called up from one of the front benches, and the matter, whatever it was, was discussed further.
Rexei didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. As it was, she knew Alonnen intended to call upon her to discuss Guildra as their next Patron Deity and the formation of a new priesthood. It was taking most of her concentration to keep her crocheting stitches even, rather than small and tight with tension. Every few lengths, she looked up to gauge the mood of the room and the mood of the Guild Masters in particular, some of whom had been summoned from other cities.
Gabria Springreaver had done an excellent job of summoning everyone important within reasonable traveling distance; Heiastowne would not be the only Precinct represented here tonight. The Guild Master for Lacemakers had already been shown to the far end by a Gearman apprentice; from the looks of things, they were trying to determine if she could share the bench with the Master Gearman at that end or if she would have to displace him. If that happened, Rexei herself would be ousted from her own bench, to give Guild Master Grenfallow her seat.
“Are you Journeyman Rexei Longshanks?”
The question startled her. Quickly winding a span of wool around the tip of her hook to hold the yarn in place without slipping, Rexei stuffed it into her basket and gave the head of the Actors Guild her full attention. “Yes, Guild Master.”
“Hm.” The middle-aged redhead frowned at her. Behind her stood Alonnen, giving Rexei an encouraging look. He had removed his outer coat, revealing a dark, fine-spun wool waistcoat over his equally dark shirt. Grenfallow frowned at her, even as Alonnen smiled. “I’m told you changed your name after moving on from my guild. What name did you earn your journeyman rank under, and why did you quit the guild?”
Rexei glanced at Alonnen, who smiled at her. Confused and wary that he would have told this woman about her abrupt change in names as well as careers, she answered, “I used to be called Rexei Targeter . . . before I was harassed out of the Guild by a grabby woman who should’ve known that ‘no thank you’ means ‘no thank you,’ even when a lad is the one saying it. I moved on to Clockworks after that, amon
g others.”
“So I’ve heard. And tell me, where have you been apprenticed and working for the last two months?” Grenfallow asked her.
“Servers Guild. I was one of five who worked in the Heiastowne temple until yesterday,” she admitted warily.
“So I’ve heard,” the older woman murmured, before sharpening her tone into something very no-nonsense and direct. “Now, be honest with me, Journeyman Actor. Were you set to spy upon the temple inhabitants—the priests—for those two months?”
Alonnen nodded in encouragement, so Rexei admitted carefully, “Yes . . . as a Gearman investigating a claim of improper conduct by the temple inhabitants against members of the Servers Guild.”
“Did they ever suspect you of being anything other than a Server?” Alonnen asked.
“Not while I was within their walls. If anything, the archbishop claimed I grew stupider every time he talked at me,” Rexei admitted. “But . . . they may have overheard me speaking with some wit in the square yesterday, after they pushed us all out the doors. I do not know if they did, but the possibility is there.”
Rather than speaking to her, the leader of the Actors Guild turned to her three companions, two men and another woman. All wore the large round medallions of grandmaster actors. Ovals were reserved for Guild Masters alone. “I believe Master Tall’s assessment is accurate.”
“Two months is an impressive time in the face of their understandable paranoia and skepticism,” the older of the two male actors stated.
“One must subtract some of the points for that from their sheer arrogance, though,” the younger blonde woman countered. “They do sometimes overlook things.”