A History of Magic

by Scott J Robinson

  “Rawk?” Travis came from the hallway, carrying a couple of more chairs. “I didn’t expect to see you back so early. How is your investigation going?”

  Rawk grunted. “I had to stop so I could have lunch with Weaver.”

  “Right. How is he doing?”

  “Crazy as ever.”

  “I knew that.” Travis handed his two chairs to a passing worker. He continued once the man had moved away and was talking to someone else. “So, are we serving food down here?”

  “That would make things difficult, wouldn’t it? Getting the stuff down from the kitchen and all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t worry about it. There’s more money to be made in ale anyway.” Rawk started towards the door Travis had just used. “Sylvia will be here soon. Send here through to my office.”

  Travis just grunted in reply.

  In the office, Rawk sat down and put his feet up on the desk. It still wasn’t very comfortable, but he stayed where he was and examined his library. It had grown considerably since he’d last been there. It looked as if Travis had cleared almost every book out of the Tapalar mansion. Two entire shelves were full now and one level of the third as well. Some volumes were so big they could not stand upright, others would get lost in your pocket if you weren’t careful.

  Rawk got himself upright without tipping over his chair and collected a book of a more regular size. It turned out that Fire Magic of Southern Tharpin was all about cooking spells. Or spell that involved cooking. Or...

  “THRICE BOILED WATER— SILVER. You will need. One copper pot filled with water. One ring of pure silver. One piece of cured leather. One stone from a peach. Place the stone in the pot and set on a fire. When the water has boiled, remove the pot and allow to cool. Remove the stone by hand and replace with the leather. Return to the fire to boil again. Repeat the process a third time with the ring.”

  “Thrice boiled water?”

  Rawk looked up and saw Sylvia standing in the doorway. “You know of it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does it work?”

  “If you are attempting to make the worst soup in the world, yes, it is fine.”

  “What is it supposed to do?”

  “It was used as the basis for many spells in traditional Tharpinal magic. There is also Golden Thrice Boiled Water and lead and...” She waved her hand. “There are probably hundreds more for all I know but there were about ten common ones.”

  “So they don’t do it anymore?”

  “Of course not. That book must be hundreds of years old if it is taking the subject seriously.”

  Rawk looked at the cover and shrugged. “Somebody called Talamar Haf wrote it, that’s all I know.”

  “Haf?” Sylvia suddenly looked interested. “Really? That is impressive.” She came into the room for a closer look and noticed the shelves for the first time. She changed direction and headed towards them instead. She scanned the titles for a moment then pulled one of the larger volumes out. She ran her hands over the leather cover and opened it up to read a few lines to herself. She tucked that volume under her arm, as if unwilling to let it go, and pulled out something else. She put that one back, though somewhat reluctantly, and found another that she liked the look of.

  “So?”

  She managed to turn away from the books for a moment. “I must say, Rawk, I was skeptical, but...” She held up the first volume for him to see. “This one here is almost two thousand years old. You could buy Weaver’s palace and he would still have to give you some change.”

  “The Rest has a better view.”

  Sylvia sighed. “Your library is very impressive, Rawk. It is not often a man downplays his attributes.” She pointed out another book. “This one opened up a whole new area of magic. Jacob Madacan was a genius.”

  “I got that one especially for you.”

  “But where did you get them.”

  Rawk hesitated, but Sylvia couldn’t really tell anyone, even if she wanted to. “The Lady Tapalar was studying magic, amongst other things. Not to do, you understand, just to know. She collected these for years. I even got some for her, when I was traveling around. Just random selections, of course; I had no idea what was what.”

  “Can I take some of these?”

  Rawk rose to his feet and went over to look at the shelves. He ran his fingers over one of the spines. It was one that he had bought. He could remember because it had been damaged in a tavern fight when he was returning home. “I would rather you didn’t,” he said. He looked at Fire Magic of Southern Tharpin, which was still in his hand. “Well, you can take this one. And you can come and read them any time you like. I’ll get Travis to get you a comfortable old couch and all, if you want.”

  “I guess that will have to do. I shall start with this one.”

  “Do we have time, do you think?” Rawk asked, looking at the book. “Ramaner is going to be sending out the City Guard to look for the sorcerers tomorrow.”

  Sylvia examined the book as well, then glanced up at the shelf. “I’m not sure if I can visit any more brothels, Rawk. And most of the sorcerers I know are smart enough to either avoid detection or leave.

  Rawk didn’t want to start with the brothels either. And it was only a couple of hours before dark anyway. They would lose a lot of that just finding the first place. He sighed. “Very well. Tomorrow then.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Sylvia nodded and when it looked as if she was going to sit on the floor, Rawk motioned her to the desk and the chair. “Thank you.” A moment later, her head was buried in the book and Rawk left the room without her noticing.

  In The Vault, Grint was near the stage, talking to a woman that had to be a carpenter, as some workers set up the last of the tables. There were seats for about fifty people, which would do nicely if he could charge them a couple of ithel just to get in the door and then sell them lots of ale. He watched the men for a few more minutes as they cleared away some mess. Some of them were muttering about taking orders from a dwarf and continually cast dark glances towards the front of the room. The carpenter obviously wasn’t all that happy either. She had her arms crossed and never seemed to do anything more than shake her head. Eventually, Grint shook his head too, threw down a sheaf of papers he was holding and stormed up the stairs to the street. The workers laughed and the carpenter collected the pages. Rawk wondered over to her.

  “What was that all about?”

  The woman looked up, surprised. “Rawk?” She looked around as if someone might be playing a joke on her. She was blonde haired and freckled, under the dirt and sawdust.

  “Yes. Did my disguise not work?”

  Her mouth flapped while she looked for an answer.

  “What was that all about?” Rawk repeated.

  She looked at the stairs recently used by Grint. “The stage is too small, apparently.”

  Rawk looked at the stage. It wasn’t huge, though surely big enough for a couple of stools.

  “He’s a bloody dwarf. How much room does he take up?”

  Rawk didn’t point out that Grint, like most dwarves, was no skinnier than humans, just shorter.

  “He says they might have more than a couple of people up there occasionally.”

  That seemed fair enough. “And you think they won’t?”

  “Well...”

  “So you don’t actually know?”

  She pursed her lips and looked at Rawk as if she suddenly didn’t know who he was.

  “He’s a dwarf, so I imagine he gave you detailed plans for what he wanted.”

  She waved the papers at him. “Of course.”

  Rawk took them from the carpenter and flicked through a couple. The third one showed the stage with measurements clearly written. He looked at the stage. “You stage does seem quite a bit smaller than the one in the plans.”

  The woman shrugged. “Great Path, it isn’t much. A couple of foot, at most.”

  “You don’t even know the dimensions of wh
at you’ve built?” Rawk shook his head. He imagined that if he went and found Gabbo, the dwarf would be able to tell him every detail of the stairs: run, riser height, tread size and possible even the weight of each stone block used. Rawk handed the pages back. “I don’t imagine you’ll get paid if you don’t do the job you were hired to do. Grint may be a dwarf but Travis isn’t.”

  The woman looked at Rawk some more. “Well, I’m done for the day. The damn dwarf and his stage can wait until tomorrow.” She stuffed the pages into her toolbox, threw the remaining tools on top and joined onto the end of the line of workers who were making their way up the stairs.

  Rawk looked at the stage.

  “It looks pretty good.” Travis was striding towards the bar with a crate of tankards in his hands. He dumped his load then came to look more closely.

  “It’s too small.”

  “What? Who says?”

  “Grint.”

  “What does he know?”

  “He knows a bit about stages, I would think.”

  Travis looked. “There’s plenty of room for a couple of stools.”

  “What about five stools? Grint and Celeste can’t sing every night, much as I would like them too. Maybe we need to organize some other acts to play a couple of nights a week as well.”

  “Why can’t they play every night? We’re paying them enough.”

  “Grint gave her plans. If the stage isn’t the same as the plans by tomorrow afternoon, pay the woman a couple of ithel then get a dwarf to come and do the job.”

  Travis started laughing, then seemed to realize that Rawk was serious.

  “They aren’t worth the trouble, Rawk. If people hear about all the dwarves you’ve got working here they’ll stop coming.”

  “No, they won’t. They’ll just pretend the dwarves are slaves working for their betters and think it’s a great idea.”

  It looked like Travis would say something else, but apparently he thought better of it. He shook his head instead and left.

  Five minutes later, Rawk was sitting on the edge of the stage, watching as the last of the workers finally finished up and left via the stairs. Grint came the other direction with Celeste trailing behind. One of the men bumped the dwarf and some others made comments to Celeste. They weren’t nice.

  “Rawk,” Grint said, putting down the bag that held his drum.

  “How is it all going?”

  “Seems to be going well enough, I suppose.”

  Rawk raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if he got it exactly right, but the dwarf seemed to get the idea.

  “It’s all these bloody humans,” he said.

  Rawk wanted to raise his eyebrow again, but he didn’t think he could get it any higher. That left jumping the one eyebrow down then up, or raising the other as well. “Really?” he said.

  Grint seemed to realize he was talking to a human. “It isn’t all the humans, obviously.” He cleared his throat. “The woman building the stage has no idea. And the workers...” he looked over his shoulder at the stairs.

  “The stage will be finished tomorrow, or we’ll hire someone else. A dwarf. And the workers...” Rawk shrugged. “I dare say they are laborers because nobody is willing to give them a job where they actually have to think. I think they’re done anyway.”

  Grint and Celeste looked around the room.

  “It’s looking good,” Grint said.

  Rawk started to nod but didn’t like the look on Celeste’s face. “You don’t like it?”

  She shrugged, then shook her head. “It’s very... stark.”

  “Stark?”

  “Bare. Grey.”

  Rawk had another look. She was right. There was just stone and timber. He hadn’t really given a thought to decoration. “Will it matter?” he asked. “It will be dark and...” He glanced at Grint, but the dwarf look as unsure as he did.

  “It won’t be completely dark. And lamps may well accentuate the starkness.”

  Rawk still wasn’t sure. “Well, you can be in charge of un-starking it then. Do whatever you want. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  Celeste ducked her head and blushed. “I’m not sure if...”

  Grint grunted. “Then next time don’t say anything, sister.”

  “No,” Rawk said. “It’s all right if you aren’t sure. Talk to Travis and...” He tried to think of who else might be able to help with something like that. “Go and talk to Yardi at the Keeto Alata offices. She knows everything. And if she doesn’t she’ll know someone who does. Don’t let Hurno bully you.”

  Celeste looked up and gave a small smile. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll be trawling through brothels again tomorrow, I expect. I’m sure Yardi will have something to say about that. What are you two doing back here now anyway? Isn’t it time to go home?”

  Grint pulled out his drum. “Normally I’d be putting down tools now and getting ready to go somewhere to play. We aren’t used to going home at this time of the day. And we want to test the place out anyway.”

  He took a chair up onto the stage and started to play his drum while Celeste wrestled her mandolin out of its case. Rawk watched for a second, then found a second chair and put it on the stage for her. A minute later, she was playing as well and Rawk was reminded why he was going to all the expense and trouble of getting the room set up. The sounds drifted around the big room, questing into corners and swirling around the tables and chairs.

  Rawk found a chair for himself and sat down. He almost closed his eyes but instead watched the flash of Grint’s stick and the dancing of Celeste’s fingers on the strings. He listened as they moved seamlessly from a Kenkonian gig to a Redami lullaby to a Habonian dirge. They did it all without words, with just a glance.

  Rawk sat for ten minutes, not moving. He would have stayed frozen for even longer, but he heard a noise behind him and turned to see Sylvia standing near by. He looked at her for a moment but she didn’t say anything, so neither did he.

  The music continued to fill the room.

  Wensday

  There was a knock at the door. Rawk stayed silent, hoping whoever it was would go away. The knock had been so timid that he doubted whoever was out there really wanted to come in anyway. The knock came again, no louder than before, then the door started to slowly open.

  After a moment, Biki stuck her head through the gap and looked around.

  “Hello,” Rawk said, rolling over to the edge of the bed.

  The dwife jumped and almost dropped her tray. “Rawk. Hello. I wasn’t sure if...”

  “Well, I’m here.” He rubbed his eyes. “I was up late last night though, so I probably won’t be in the best mood. You started working this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Travis is already sending you up to my room?”

  She looked up but didn’t say anything.

  Rawk nodded. “I don’t think he likes you much.”

  “Why?”

  Rawk shrugged. There had never been a dwarf in his room before, male or female. The ones who’d worked on the shower room had all come up via the back stairs. He’d made sure of that. And now... He gave a laugh. “Travis thinks I will see the error of my ways when there is a dwarf in my actual room, doing things.”

  “He thinks you will have me fired because you don’t want a dwife in your room? Even though you suggested that I work here?”

  “Something like that.”

  Biki stood silently and looked at him.

  “You’re waiting for me to tell you to leave?” He rubbed his scalp. “I may not have any dwarf friends, Biki, but any fool can see that when a dwarf does something, they do it properly. I could have some human in here, bumbling around doing stuff, but you’ll do it well, you do it without all the fuss, and then you’ll leave me to sit and drink in peace.”

  She gave a small smile and but still didn’t move.

  “You have jug of tea there?”

  “Yes. Whatever that is.”

  “And a cup
?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, just set it down, then pour me a cup.” Rawk looked around and realized that there still wasn’t a table in the room. “On the bed will do.” He watched her as she worked. As if to prove him right, everything was done precisely, each movement, each task, as if it was the most important in the world. And when she was done, she quietly slipped out the door.

  Rawk closed his eyes and breathed in the fumes before taking a small sip. And when he was done with the tea he was going to do some exercise and have a shower. After that, he would be ready to face the day. Perhaps. He didn’t know how many more brothels he could visit.

  “As many as it takes,” he said. He took another sip, then collected some clean clothes and set them on the bed.

  -O-

  Rawk took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall just down the road from the day’s fourth brothel.

  “Are you unwell?” Sylvia asked, shading her eyes against the morning sun. She had not unwrapped the scarf from her face, as if it might protect her from the Blue Deng as well as Weaver’s spies, but her eyes showed concern.

  “I’m fine. I was just wondering how many of those women actually want to be in there.”

  Sylvia looked back at the Blue Jasmine. “I would think that none of them want to be in that place at all.”

  “I don’t mean that place in particular.” He looked back too. It was one of the worst places they had seen. Not only was the building about to fall down, but the women inside acted as if they would welcome the release. “I mean all the whores in all the brothels. How many of them would prefer to be washerwomen? Or servants?”

  “I know what you meant, Rawk. My comment stands. Though after a while, many of them probably tell themselves that selling their body to strangers is an easy way to make money.”

  “Killing exots is easy too,” Rawk said. He catalogued his aches and pain as he rubbed at his sore knee. “Come on, there’s another place not too far away.”

  There was a group of children watching from nearby. One of them finally worked up the courage, with the help of her friends, and crossed the street.

  Rawk held back a sigh. “Hello.”