The Guild

by Jean Johnson

  She also felt an uneasy distrust at how quickly she had found one of her long-lost brothers. It could just be a decade-long habit of caution, or it could be a worry that somehow he’s been converted by the priesthood, or it could be . . . I don’t know. Guildra, I just don’t know, other than I want to take things slowly.

  That, and Alonnen had promised her there would be more fondling and cuddling tonight, and she suspected he would need some soothing and reassuring after this unexpected encounter with her brother. Not to mention hunger now warred with her weariness, letting her know that retiring to Big Momma’s would not be amiss for yet another reason.

  Still, this was her long-lost brother. Contenting herself with a smile, she said, “I’ll be here tomorrow morning to take care of some business. We’ll have more time and privacy for talking then.”

  Lundrei frowned at that. “Why not tonight?”

  “Because I am a Guild Master.” Gathering her papers, Rexei stood. Alonnen rose with her, guarding her almost like a hound standing over a fallen bone. She would have to talk with him about that, but first she needed to deal with her brother. “I still have to find quarters tonight for my brand-new apprentices plus give them their initial instructions, and that takes precedence.”

  “But, I haven’t seen you in ten years!” Lundrei protested. He had the courtesy to keep his voice low, but the intensity was still there. “What happened to you? Where have you been all this time? Don’t you want to know about Father and Tandron and me? Where we’ve been and what happened to us? Don’t you want to tell me what happened to you?”

  “Of course I want to know. But I am not going to abandon my responsibilities. I am not a little . . . child anymore,” she amended carefully, mindful of the others still in the meeting hall. “Now, what name are you known by, and where are you staying? Since, if you’ve paid attention to this meeting, you’ll know my name by now.”

  “Lundrei Cogsprite. And I’m staying at the Fallen Timbers,” he added, naming an inn she vaguely recalled being on the southeast side of town. “Rubber makers get a discount there, same as Lumber and Woodwrights.”

  “I’m glad you get a discount,” Rexei told him. She wished she could just toss the papers out of her arms and hug her brother instead, but too many years of caution said be careful, be cautious, don’t rush things. “If I don’t see you here tomorrow morning, I’ll leave word at the Fallen Timbers.”

  Grandmaster Toric approached along the curve of the head table. “Guild Master Longshanks, I know night has fallen, but if I could have an hour of your time, Grandmaster Della Grindhammer of the Exchequers Guild is willing to begin the paperwork assigning you . . . and your apprentices . . . the funds allocated to your guild during this meeting. The local grandmaster for the Mintners Guild is also willing to work on a suitable set of guild medallions for your, ah, growing numbers.”

  Since it was clear he wasn’t going to get the freedom to speak with her tonight, Lundrei sighed, ran a hand over his dark hair, and gave Rexei a look that said they would have words later. “I can’t believe you were appointed a Guild Master at your age.”

  “I am what I am . . . and I am not the only one who has to deal with what is, instead of how we all wanted things to be. A good evening to you, Master Cogsprite,” she told him. “I look forward to catching up with you tomorrow morning. Tuckerhart, Cartwound, Foundertack, if you’ll come with me, we’ll see about getting our first stipend set up, then see if the Mintners have the tool-spoked gearwheel already among their designs, or if not them, then the local Engravers Guild. Master Tall, if you’d like to accompany us, I’d be grateful for your continued guidance.”

  Thankfully, Alonnen simply nodded, relieving Rexei that he wasn’t going to cause further trouble.

  • • •

  Alonnen held his tongue until after they left the Shambling Mountain Inn, where Rexei had secured temporary rooms for her three apprentices. It was late, he was tired, he had been looking forward to fooling around with his Rexei . . . and he didn’t know what to make of the turmoil of feelings he had at the thought of that man. Under the prodding of young Alsei during the walk to the inn, Rexei had confessed the gentleman from the Laticifers Guild was her half brother, and Alonnen had felt a bit of a fool over his reaction. Or rather, his overreaction. He still felt protective of her, but he should not have reacted so strongly.

  The temperature had thawed a bit, melting most of the snow left over from that snowstorm, but the night was cold and damp from an intermittent drizzle. Since they had several blocks to go before reaching Big Momma’s, he adjusted the scarf to cover his nose a bit more, caught her gloved hand in his, and tucked both into the pocket of his leather motorhorse coat. Thankfully, she didn’t object. In fact, she huddled closer while they walked.

  “Rexei . . . I’m sorry I got a bit jealous in the meeting hall over your brother,” he found himself confessing. “I’m not used to that. I didn’t know who he was, and I was a bit of a guard dog there, but . . . you’re not a bone for me to claim or fight over.”

  “I know,” she murmured. Then clarified. “I mean, I know you didn’t mean it. I already know you know I’m not something to be fought over. And I do appreciate that you are willing to help protect me. I’m feeling just as cautious, too—excited,” she admitted. “Part of me just wants to run to the Fallen Timbers and talk with him all night long about . . . about everything. But part of me is wondering, why is he here now? Is this some trick or trap of the priests? Is it some subtle maneuvering of my Goddess, to try to restore all that I’ve lost? Or is it pure coincidence only?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you like, we can swing by the Consulate and I can put in a call for a scrying specialist to come out tomorrow morning to examine him for priest-spells. We have all manner of amulets and pendants for that sort of thing. I’d do it myself, but it’s not my specialty.”

  She nodded. “I think I’d like that. I mean, he is my brother. He looks like him, he knows the family names, he . . . I don’t like having to doubt.”

  “It’s just the product of living too many years with a False God,” Alonnen teased lightly, nudging her with his elbow. “You’ll get over it. Now, since we can’t do anything else about that until tomorrow morning . . . do you remember what I promised and what you offered yesterday?”

  She blushed, cheeks heating despite the cold, damp wind curling through the streets. A particularly strong gust tried to extinguish the flicker of the gas lamps, but the glass panes kept most of the breeze out. “I remember . . . and I think I’d like to try that big bathing tub. That is, if it doesn’t cost too much to fetch up hot water?”

  “They have a big boiler in the attic,” he told her. “Hot water on demand for every room, fed by the aqueducts from the Heias Dam. None of that tedious heating it by the kettleful, even if they don’t have magical runes.”

  “Good. Then we’ll get warm, and, um . . . yeah.” She blushed again, but grinned, thinking of the possibilities inherent in old but clean sheets and elderberry jelly.

  The rumble of several engines approached. Wary of the noise, the pair slowed and moved close to the side of the nearest building, where motorcarts and motorhorses would be less likely to pass. Sure enough, a full seven glass-enclosed motorcarts drove past. It wasn’t the sight of so many expensive machines that made Alonnen and Rexei stare, however. It was a glimpse of the Priests Guild symbol enameled onto the side of one of the carts.

  “Did you see . . . ?” Alonnen asked her.

  “It . . . it looked like the Patriarch’s seal,” Rexei confirmed, eyes wide. “I had to study it when I joined the Engravers Guild.”

  “This isn’t good. If that’s the Patriarch . . .” Giving the last of the vehicles a worried look, Alonnen stepped up his pace, heading for the Consulate.

  Several blocks, a bit of ringing and waiting for someone to answer, and a little bit of fast-talking later, A
lonnen had the talker-box cranked up and working. “. . . Are you sure you cannot see anything, Gabria?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry, Master Tall,” the young woman on the other end of the aether-connected machine stated in his ear. “But wherever they are . . . ah! Aha! I just checked the paper roach in the dining hall. They’ve been taken there, and . . . yes, here comes an apprentice priest with the first of what looks like plates. They’re going to be fed after their long journey.”

  “It’s rather late; I suppose food would be foremost on their minds, not business. What about the Patriarch?” he asked as Rexei listened in to his side of the conversation alone. “Can you see him?”

  “Elderly, gray haired, long beard in the traditional braid, with the God’s Sigil on his forehead? . . . Well, not that the symbol would be there, since it’s vanished from everywhere,” Gabria muttered. “No, I cannot. I . . . oh, a name! Oh. Archbishop Gafford. And he looks like the descriptions I’ve heard. Tall, lean, thin mustache, soothing voice. That’s . . . not good.”

  “Archbishop Gafford? No, it isn’t. That’s the Patriarch’s right-hand man,” Alonnen agreed. “Are they saying anything about the reason why he’s here in Heiastowne?”

  “Wait . . . shh . . .” Several seconds of quiet passed, then Gabria spoke quickly. “He’s just given Archbishop Elcarei a setdown, saying he’s too tired and irritated to speak of business matters until morning. He just wants food, a warm bed, and quarters for his entourage—heh,” the mage-clerk giggled, surprising Alonnen. “He’s just, oh the naughty, insulting words he used, should Elcarei try to stick him in one of the former prisoner cells . . . I’m torn between being frightened at h-having the Patriarch’s Chief Enforcer in town, and . . . He has a very inventive vocabulary.”

  “Be calm, Gabria,” Alonnen directed her. “Remember, you’re in the safest place. We’re the ones in potential danger. Arrange for surveillance through the night. Oh, and get some detection pendants sent out here with, um . . . Master Tildei. Or Master Julianna. Either of them are good at detecting and discerning priest-spells laid on people.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gabria agreed. “I wish I knew how to record these scrying images. Archbishop Elcarei just turned an interesting shade of purplish red . . . Oh! Here comes the Aian mage. Wait . . .”

  Curious, Alonnen waited. And waited. Rexei lifted her brows, so he cupped his hand over the cone of the mouthpiece and whispered to her what was happening. Finally, Gabria spoke once more through the earpiece.

  “Oh my . . . This Torven fellow just firmly put the Patriarch’s right-hand man in his place. This is important, Alonnen,” Gabria told him. “Important and frightening. The Patriarch’s man came here to wrest control of the . . . the demon summonings from this ‘usurper,’ and Torven Shel Von just thoroughly set him in his place as being half trained, shoddily warded . . . and enchanted the archbishop into standing and dancing around to prove it! If Gafford was intending to s-summon demons . . . I think I am now very, very grateful this foreigner is in charge, even if his efficiency and skills frighten me.”

  “So you’re saying it looks like the Torven fellow is firmly in charge?” Alonnen asked.

  “Yes . . . yes, I do think so. The Archbishop Gafford isn’t happy about it . . . but he’s reseated himself and is no longer threatening or bluffing. What do we do about this?”

  There were several options, but Alonnen had to admit to himself that if Torven Shel Von was firmly in charge, even of the arrogant newcomers, then that meant they had more time to prepare. “Continue to monitor all roaches. Arrange for around-the-clock study of the scryings, and have everyone take copious notes. If this Torven fellow is indeed in charge, then we have time, since it’s clear he won’t allow any rash, hasty acts.

  “I’ll stay in town for now. Don’t hesitate to call the Consulate to send me a message if you overhear something that needs me urgently. I’d come back, but if anything happens, it might be better for me to be here on hand than all the way back at home.”

  “Right . . . Heavens, but I am very glad I’m all the way out here and nowhere near there.”

  “Goodnight, Gabria,” he told her, and at her murmured reply, ended the connection by dropping the ear-cone back into its cradle. He gave the crank several turns to keep it charged, then faced Rexei. “Looks like our Aian invader is containing and controlling the problem. For now. Eventually, he will conjure a powerful demon and . . . do something with it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to return?” Rexei asked him, anxious at the thought of something slipping through their fingers, some opportunity or piece of news.

  Alonnen shook his head. “There’s not much more I could do there than I could do here. I can’t watch all night long without exhausting myself, so I’d just have to make others do what they’re already doing right now, watching and taking notes on everything. Gabria’s been introduced as my Sub-Consul to a couple of the other Guardians, in case any of them call. And . . . I’m here with you.

  “I don’t know how much time we’ll have before the muck hits the motor, but since we can’t do anything until we know more, either of what they’re up to or how to stop them for good . . . I’d rather spend my time with you,” he admitted plainly, searching her brown eyes. “I don’t know why it’s you, but I know it’s you, Rexei.”

  “You know it’s me . . . what?” she asked, unsure what he meant.

  He gave her a lopsided smile somewhat reminiscent of Marta. “I know it’s you I want in my life . . . and in my bed. For more than just sleeping. Still willing to head to Big Momma’s?”

  She blushed and ducked her head, then nodded. Eyes bright, she smiled and helped him to his feet. “You, me . . . and elderberry jelly.”

  Grinning, he let her pull him out of the talker-box room.

  THIRTEEN

  Rexei wrinkled her nose. “It’s kind of small.”

  Alonnen rolled his eyes. “You don’t need that much.”

  “Well, I thought it’d be a lot larger,” she protested, holding up the little jar of elderberry jelly, one barely half the size of her fist. The oil lamps lighting the brothel room—fourth floor, instead of third this time, but still a corner room—shone through both the glass of the jar and the deep purplish red preserves inside, but there was barely half a cup’s worth. “For that much silver, I’d expect a full pint, is all I’m saying.”

  “Can you honestly eat an entire pint of elderberry jelly in a single sitting?” he challenged her. He reached for the jar, only to have her pull away. Undaunted, he cupped her arm instead, but she didn’t move far. Moving up behind her, Alonnen wrapped his arms around her sweater-clad chest. “Well, can you?”

  “With a big enough stack of toasted bread? Maaaybe,” Rexei teased. Setting the jelly back down next to the other jar, she picked it up and squinted at the label. This jar had a rippled outside texture and a smooth oval for the glued-on label, which simply said, Pomade. The translucent white contents were a mystery. “What’s this one for?”

  “Well, after you’ve had your elderberry jelly mess, and we’ve had a chance to clean up in that nice big copper tub . . . I was hoping we could . . . you know,” he coaxed, sliding one hand down to cup her backside.

  She considered his words, conflicted. Alonnen was a good man, smart, funny, handsome, and appealing in many ways. He had a lot of love to give, from what Rexei had seen. In fact, she was sure he would make a wonderful parent. However . . . “Um . . . I’m not ready to be a mum. And the potion isn’t one hundred percent perfect.”

  “It’s not for that,” he told her. She gave him a confused look. Plucking the jar from her fingers with one hand, he slid the fingers of the other down between her nethercheeks and spoke bluntly over her little squeak of surprise. “Pomade is used to grease the bottom for pistoning. I’d hope to be a good father, and I’m sure you’d be a good mother, but neither of us is in a position at this point in our lives whe
re creating a child is a wise option.”

  “Ah. Right. And using the back door for pistoning avoids that as a complication,” she agreed, remembering all the lurid gossip she’d listened to over the years in her guise as a boy. The fingers between her nethercurves had been a bit of a surprise at first, but . . . were kind of exciting now. Rexei had heard it was enjoyable for both genders, though apparently it took a bit more preparation and effort than the baby-making route. And he’s willing to be careful, and I know he cares enough to make sure I’d enjoy it . . . A thrill of excitement wormed its way past her trepidation. “Okay . . . we’ll do it.”

  Alonnen squeezed her waist and nibbled on the side of her neck in gratitude. “As much as I enjoy fondling and being fondled,” he murmured, tracing a little circle on her skin with the tip of his long nose, “I also want to do much more with you.”

  Part of her was nervous at the thought of all they were about to do. Part was curious. The greatest part of Rexei’s feelings, though, was very glad she was here in this room with him. Alonnen. Setting down the pomade jar, she turned in his arms, looped her own around his shoulders, and . . . they bumped noses awkwardly.

  He ducked his head at the collision, mumbling an apology. Smiling, Rexei kissed the “offending” appendage. Several times, too, so that he knew she didn’t care his nose was a bit longer than most. In fact, she peppered it with pecking kisses until he laughed and pulled back.

  “Enough—enough! Leave my nose alone, woman, or I’ll attack you with it!” Alonnen mock threatened, though it was spoiled by his grin.

  Giggling, Rexei covered her mouth with both hands; giggling was a girlish thing, a habit she had mostly broken over the years. But the way he smiled at her, warm and accepting this side of her, all of her, made her relax. “And how would you attack me with it? I’ll grant you it’s long and sharp at the tip, but it’s still made of flesh.”