A History of Magic

by Scott J Robinson

  “I’m looking for your damn sorcerers.” Throwing some money on the table, Rawk headed out the door as well. Weaver called to him, but he didn’t look back.

  On the porch, someone grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Rawk knew the voice. He shook his arm free without turning around. “Anywhere I damn well please, Ramaner. If you don’t like it, you can arrest me.”

  It looked as if Ramaner would do just that, but he looked around and saw that four people had already stopped to watch. And more were heading in their direction.

  “Tell Weaver that if he want’s to see me in the future he can make an appointment.”

  “I am not your messenger, Rawk.”

  “No, that’s right, you’re Weaver’s messenger. And his servant. You do whatever he tells you to do, don’t you.”

  The general gave a cold smile. He suddenly seemed to feel a whole lot better. “You have no idea.”

  There was a pop and a flash of light. Rawk looked around but there were just people, from a few different races, crowding in close. “Say hello to your wife for me.” That fixed his mood. Ramaner snarled but Rawk was already heading down the stairs and pushing through the watchers. “No stories today.”

  He could feel the general watching him as he strode down the street. His heart was racing. Turning a corner, Rawk stopped to lean against a wall. His confrontations with the general were usually more subtle than that. He’d certainly never mentioned the other man’s wife before. That did seem like sending an army to flush out a band of thieves. But it was done now and Rawk discovered that he didn’t feel too bad about it.

  He stayed there for a couple of minutes, rubbing his knee and trying to calm his heart. Across the street, some ‘Words of Wisdom’ were painted on a plaster wall between the exposed timber frame and it was large enough that he didn’t have to squint to read it. The longest battle starts with a single sword stroke, and ends the same way. It wasn’t particularly pithy, but kind of interesting. That didn’t mean he knew exactly what it meant. He might have stayed to give it some thought, but the pause was enough time for a woman to start giving him the eye from just down the street. Rawk turned away from her and started to walk again. If only he knew where he was walking to. He supposed he should really try to find some of the sorcerers mentioned on Frixen’s papers. They had probably already been warned and had either left town or were hiding even better than they had been. He took a deep breath and tried to think. It wasn’t something he’d had a lot of practice with.

  There was somebody who might be able to help him, slim chance though that was. He turned aside again and limped as quickly as he could towards Juskin’s bookshop. He kept to the back streets as much as possible, trying to avoid attracting attention, but it was never going to work.

  “Can you tell us a story, Rawk?” A pair of boys rushed down from a porch as he went past, giggling and circling him like terns around a garbage barge.

  With a sigh, Rawk slowed down. “And old story or a new story?” he asked. It was a good chance to rest and to check if he was being followed by one of Ramaner’s men.

  “A new story.”

  Well, that was something. Nobody ever wanted the new stories. But maybe, with new stories being created almost every day now, people felt that the age of Heroes wasn’t winding down to a close at all.

  “Let me tell you about... The smoking man.”

  -O-

  Rawk checked both directions along the street, waited for a moment until he thought nobody was watching, then slipped into the bookshop. And all of his efforts were wasted when he realized he wasn’t the only customer in there.

  “Hello, Rawk.”

  “Thok. Again. Are you following me?”

  “Maybe I write for the newspaper.”

  “Don’t say that. I want to dislike whoever is following me today.”

  “Did you read some poetry?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let me know what you think.” Thok held up two books. “ Anyway, I’ve got what I was after and some of us have to make an honest living.”

  Rawk squinted to make out the titles but he wasn’t quick enough.

  Thok left the shop, leaving Rawk alone with the old, stoop-backed shopkeeper.

  “Rawk. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again, what with Travis coming down here all the time.” He looked over the top of his spectacles as if to be sure he was really seeing him.

  “Well, Juskin, Travis is working with another source this afternoon.”

  Juskin raised his eyebrows. “Another source?”

  Rawk couldn’t help but smile. “That’s right, you haven’t managed to buy every book on magic in the city.”

  “Of course I haven’t, but...”

  “Has anyone else come to you looking for magic stuff?”

  He pursed his lips and hauled himself up onto the stool behind the counter. “As a matter of fact, demand for books in that area increased dramatically about two months ago. Maybe six weeks. I didn’t make a note of the exact date, you understand.”

  “Of course. But the point is, people have suddenly been looking for books on magic recently?”

  “That’s right. They were trying to be a bit secretive at first, as you and Travis are now, but they have become less furtive now. I’ve actually been scrounging for those books for quite a while now. Though those other have now slowed down again.”

  “So do you know who these people are? Do you know where they live?”

  “Some of them have accounts...” He ducked down behind the counter and came up with a large leather bound ledger and a frosting of dust in his shock of red hair. He started mumbling to himself as he flicked through the pages. “Here’s one... Valo Wen.”

  Rawk winced.

  “What?”

  “Valo died.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  “He owes me nearly a hundred and twenty ithel.”

  “I’ll pay that for you.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that. It isn’t your responsibility.”

  “Well, I may have had something to do with his death.”

  “You killed my customer?”

  “I didn’t say that. He had a heart attack or something. I just happened to be there at the time.”

  “You were trying to kill him?”

  “No, I was trying to talk to him. He may have believed otherwise.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  Rawk sniffed. “Because any other time I probably would’ve been trying to kill him.”

  “Right. Very well then.” Juskin turned back to his ledger and started muttering again. “Here. Kassius Mellum.”

  Rawk had never heard of him. He tried to think of the wizards from Frixen’s list who he would be most comfortable facing. “Have you got anyone else? Shef Leeker? Or Mistletowe...” He didn’t think he’d ever heard her last name mentioned.

  “Mistletowe?” Juskin shook his head. “That is an unforgettable name, but I certainly haven’t heard it.”

  “Right.”

  The old man tapped the book. “Perhaps if I describe some of the people. They might be using aliases.”

  “Let’s give it a go.”

  “Right then.” He started flicking through pages again.

  “You’ve written their description in our account book?”

  “No, but the listings will jog my memory.”

  “Right.”

  “Here we go. Darley Pas.” He gave a short description but it meant nothing to Rawk. “No? How about Haz Merter?” The description sounded a lot like Frixen. Juskin saw the look on Rawk’s face. “You killed him too?”

  “No, I did not. But last time I saw him he was running very quickly and isn’t likely to go anywhere near his usual haunts for quite a while.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I care. Who else have you got?”

  Juskin stared at Rawk for a moment be
fore turning once more to his ledger. He flipped through some more pages.

  “Ah, yes. Of course. How about Fasha Bengoza? She is short of stature but long of nose. Beautiful red hair like my own.”

  Rawk couldn’t help but smile. “Exactly like yours?”

  The old man brushed a hand through his hair. “Perhaps not exactly.” He smiled as well, and waved away the cloud of dust that he had let loose. “From her accent I believe she might be from Redami.” He coughed and waved some more.

  “That has to be Mistletowe.”

  Juskin spun the ledger around and pointed to a line of small, neat text that Rawk was never going to be able to read.

  “What does it say?”

  The old man spun the book back and read out the address.

  “And where is that?”

  “South of the river, I think. Around the far side of Mount Grace, maybe.”

  Rawk sighed. “I think I know someone who can show me the way.”

  When he crossed the bridge, Rawk stopped and stood in the square, looking around. He knew it was ridiculous, but he was surprised when Clinker didn’t suddenly appear by his side and offer to show him the way. After a moment, he realized there were probably a hundred people in the square who do the job just as well.

  Not far away was a likely candidate. A street urchin was sitting with his back against the dirty plaster wall of a hardware shop. He was human, which was a bonus.

  “What’s your name, lad?” Rawk asked as he approached.

  “Kikum.”

  “Kikum? You’re Clinker’s friend?”

  “We aren’t really friends; he’s a dwarf.” He picked at a toenail as he looked up, one eye closed against the afternoon light. “So, whatever he done, I wasn’t there.”

  “He says you’re friends.”

  Kikum shrugged. “Well, he’s a lying little bugger.”

  “Right. Well, anyway, I need to find—”

  “He’s working.” The boy gestured vaguely.

  “No, I don’t need to find Clinker. I need... Thacker didn’t offer you work too? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Course he did, but around here they give me plenty of money for doing nothing. Why would I want to do work?”

  “To get more money,” Rawk suggested.

  Kikum shrugged. “Clinker got more money than me, he’s got a whole stash of it somewhere, and he always shares.”

  It seemed to Rawk that Kikum would quickly drop all pretense of friendship if he could find the location of Clinker’s hoard of money. Rawk looked around, suddenly not sure if he wanted Kikum’s help after all. “So, which direction did you say Clinker was?”

  “How much is it worth to you? What’s he done anyway?”

  “How about I don’t take you in as well?”

  Kikum stared for a moment as if trying to work out if Rawk was serious. “Prince Weaver send you?”

  Rawk’s lip twitched. He’d been practicing.

  Kikum pointed down a street. “Last I knew he was about a hundred yards up that way painting a wall. Could be done by now though.”

  The directions were accurate, even if the details of the job were not. Two blocks up the street, Clinker was working with an adult dwarf to clean writing off the side off a statue’s pedestal. Rawk stood back and watched them work for a moment. All that was left of the writing was ‘Never’ on the left and ‘life’ on the right. There was no clue as to what might have been between them.

  “More Words of Wisdom?” Rawk asked.

  Clinker and his workmate both turned to look at him. Clinker smiled and his companion said, “Indeed they were, sir.” He gave a nod.

  “Never give up on life,” said Clinker, screwing up his face as he tried to remember. “Is that right, Bung?”

  “Yes it was, lad. Well done.” Bung turned back to continue his scrubbing. “You’ll be reading Gagar in no time.”

  Rawk grunted. “It isn’t particularly wise.”

  “It comes from an old moai saying, I believe, sir. Can’t rightly say for sure though.”

  “Are moai wise?”

  “Can’t say that for sure either, sir. I’ve never met a moai that I know of.”

  Rawk had. She’d been as quiet as a feather in a stream. “So, how long will you two be? I need a guide.”

  “I’ve got too much work to do, I’m afraid, sir,” Bung said.

  “I was actually thinking...” It took a moment for Rawk to realize the dwarf was joking. He gave a small smile. He didn’t know that he’d ever heard a dwarf tell a joke.

  Bung broke out into a huge grin that split his beard in two. “Off you go, Clinker. I can finish this.”

  “But Thacker—”

  “Don’t you worry about Thacker. I’m your supervisor, so I decide if you’ve earned your pay.” He took the scrubbing brush from the boy’s hand. “Now, off you go and help Mister Rawk.”

  Clinker dusted himself off, collected his satchel from the ground at the base of the statue and slung it over his shoulder. He set himself with a deep breath. “Where do you want to go today?”

  “I’m looking for the corner of Friar Street and Halcum Way.”

  Clinked cocked his head as he thought.

  “You don’t know the streets?”

  “Of course I know the streets, Mister Rawk. I know all the streets. I’m just trying to think of the best way.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  A moment later he gave a nod and set off up the hill.

  “Not so fast. I’m still numb from the smoke man.”

  Rawk followed as the boy walked and talked. There wasn’t room for him to interject most of the time, so he didn’t bother. He just listened to the news from south of the river and let it wash over him and around him like the crowds in the street.

  “The canal will be done ahead of schedule, I reckon,” Clinker said eventually. “Did you see how close the ends were now?”

  Rawk had seen. He’d been watching the end canal crawl across the city for months. Twenty yards at most until it touched the short stub that stuck out from the Bay of Kata. “What’s with the big cleared area over near Wizer Road? It looks like it’s acres.”

  Clinker shrugged. “Something to do with the construction. There’s a couple of other areas left empty as well but Thacker ain’t giving anything away. At least not to me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the first person he tells.”

  Clinker smiled.

  When the surface of the road was broken by the first step, Rawk stopped to rest. The road didn’t go very much further here. It stopped at the place where Mount Grace suddenly became too steep, even for stairs.

  “We seem to be running out of road, Clinker.”

  “We go around to the far side now.” He pointed to a side street.

  “Oh.”

  “Come on.”

  “So you’re still friends with Kikum, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe you should rethink that.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I saw him before I found you. I think he’s just using you, letting you do the work so you can pay for his stuff.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Do you have a stash of money somewhere?”

  “No.” He wasn’t very good at lying.

  “Why don’t you give it to Sylvia to look after? Ask her to give it only to you.”

  “Kikum wouldn’t steal my money.”

  Rawk shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I think.”

  “He wouldn’t. Come on.”

  Rawk could tell the lad was at least giving the matter some thought. “So, how much money do you have?”

  Clinker looked back over his shoulder as he walked.

  “I’m not going to steal your money.”

  “I’ve got nearly two hundred ithel.”

  Rawk almost tripped. “Two hundred ithel? Great Path, lad, that’s astounding. You really should give it to Sylvia to look after for you.”

  Clinker wrinkled his
nose and kept walking.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Rawk asked when they the young dwarf finally stopped. He looked around for a street sign but apparently the dwarves hadn’t gotten around to erecting them in this part of town.

  Clinker nodded.

  “Very well then.” Rawk pulled a five-ithel coin from the pouch on his belt. “Don’t give it to Kikum.”

  Clinker smiled and hurried away, leaving Rawk on his own in the gathering darkness. He suddenly wondered why he hadn’t delayed his visit until morning. If it wasn’t an hour’s walk back to the Hero’s Rest, he might have gone home anyway. But it was a long way, and he was sore and tired, and he was here now. With a sigh, Rawk looked around. He was standing in front of a bakery, the strong smell of yeast accosting him, even at the late hour, and that left houses on the other three corners. He bought something to eat, then stood in the doorway as he decided which house to try first. A small girl peeked out through a window across the road, so he crossed that one house of the list. He couldn’t see any people in the other two but one of them had bright floral curtains that were pulled back to admit the last of the day’s light. The last house looked rougher and curtains were pulled closed.

  He licked his fingers and dusted pastry flakes from his shirt. “We have a winner...”

  Loosening Dabaneera in the sheath, Rawk headed for the winning house. He cursed when a horse nearly knocked him over. Taking a deep breath, he decided the house wouldn’t disappear, sorceress or not, so he looked to see if there was anything else that could kill him. He crossed the street safely and stopped in front of the dirty, white timber door. He touched the amulets under his shirt and knocked. It may not have been the best plan, but Misltetowe wouldn’t expect such a quiet, dignified entrance.

  Rawk waited. Nothing happened. For a long while, it continued to happen.

  “I don’t think she’s home.”

  An old man, bits of dinner clinging to his long beard, was hanging half out the window of the house next door.

  “Oh, well do you...” But if the old man wasn’t even sure about the one piece of information he had, he probably wouldn’t know where she actually was. “Maybe I’ll come back later, then.”

  “Suit yourself. I can tell her you dropped by, if you like. If I see her, of course.”