Charmcaster

by Sebastien de Castell

  That left me with one final option, which was less likely to hit the wrong people and vastly more likely to get me killed. Halfway to the stage, I stopped and pulled powder. A lot of it. The guards had all settled in front, expecting me to try to rush past them. One of them shouted an order and a group of six of them advanced on me.

  This is such a lousy plan, I thought as I threw the powders high up into the air in front of me. They collided about three feet above my head. I focused my will and sparked the breath band on my forearm as my fingers formed the spell’s somatic shape. ‘Carath,’ I whispered.

  Engorged on so much powder, the twin fires looked like bloated red and black snakes as they shot out at the stage. Janucha’s eyes were on mine, and something in them surprised me: she wasn’t scared. She was fascinated. I could almost imagine her mind working, trying to make sense of a young man who’d seemingly come to kill her only to fire a spell high and wide over her head. I wondered if she might have somehow calculated my true target. It didn’t really matter though, because there was no time for her or anyone else to do anything about it. The blast destroyed the supports holding the silk-and-wooden dragon above the stage. The mythical creature landed on Janucha and Cressia, enveloping them in fabric, trapping them underneath the weight of its wooden frame.

  The bulk of the guards instantly turned their attention to the inventor’s plight, leaping up to the stage to get her out from underneath all that cloth and wood and then surrounding her in case I tried to fire again. Cressia slipped out from under the dragon and briefly tried to push past the guards to get to Janucha, but had to give up when a second group of guards set themselves to protecting her. Cressia gave me a slight smile. I’m no lip-reader, but I’m pretty sure she mouthed the words ‘Shrewdly done, traitor’. For sure the word ‘traitor’ was in there somewhere.

  I enjoyed a very brief moment of satisfaction before the first guard slammed into my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs and driving me down to the floor. Soon other guards were on top of me, and more after them – an avalanche of bodies crushing me. There was nothing I could do about it, so I just kept watching Cressia as her expression changed from surprise to confusion and then finally to horror. Whoever had been controlling the worm inside her had made their attempt to kill her mother, and now, having failed, left her with the mess.

  Well, some of it they left with me. The guards were intent on landing as many blows as they could before it no longer mattered, which didn’t turn out to be very long since the weight of them piled up on me made it impossible to breathe.

  Yeah. That was some plan I’d come up with.

  23

  The Servadi

  I awoke in chains.

  Again.

  Why does this keep happening to me?

  This time there were no windows to let in a fresh breeze, no oil lamps to provide me with light. There was certainly no comfortable bed. I was bound to a stiff wooden chair, breathing air so stale it turned to dust in my mouth. I was in absolute darkness.

  ‘Hello?’

  No answer. I’d have worried that I was lost in shadow again were it not for the weight of the heavy chains around my shoulders. My hands were lashed behind my back, and someone had wrapped lengths of sharp wire around my fingers to prevent me from forming any somatic shapes. As if that weren’t enough, there was some kind of metal apparatus clamped over my mouth to keep me from correctly pronouncing any incantations.

  Apparently they don’t take too kindly to suspected assassins in this country.

  How long had I been in this place? A day? A week? I’d expected a couple of my ribs to get cracked from all those guards piling on me, but while my whole body was sore, nothing felt broken.

  The soft tinkling of a bell outside the room was followed by a door opening. As soon as I saw the growing line of light appear I closed my eyes tightly.

  Footsteps. Not heavy, but precise. Defined. Military. Another chair, the legs scraping the floor briefly as it was set down – probably right in front of me. No creaking of the wood, so whoever had just sat down probably wasn’t very big. Which might be useful knowledge if I weren’t tied up.

  Hands grabbed at the contraption attached to my face. I heard a click, and then it came free. I swallowed spit that tasted like metal.

  ‘Why do you not open your eyes?’ a voice asked. I couldn’t quite tell if it was male or female, but the words were Jan’Tep – accented though, so not one of my people. An odd courtesy, I thought. Or maybe just a way to catch me off guard.

  ‘You’ve kept me in the dark for a long time. I’m waiting for you to dim the lantern so the light won’t blind me.’

  ‘And why would I extend courtesies to a Jan’Tep spy?’ Now I was sure the voice belonged to a woman. She spoke in a flat, disinterested way that said she didn’t care one bit for my comfort. And yet, a moment later, I could tell the light had dimmed.

  I opened my eyes. My first thought, oddly, was that my captor reminded me of Ferius. I couldn’t quite tell her age, though she was at least ten years older than me, but the sharp lines of her face and stern eyes made her seem older. She had dark, curly hair that came almost down to her shoulders. That surprised me. I’d been expecting short hair – isn’t that what soldiers and police prefer so that there’s nothing to pull at in the middle of a fight? Maybe this was some kind of badge of authority. Maybe she was powerful enough not to keep it short.

  ‘Something troubles you,’ she said.

  Only that I’m chained to a chair in some tiny room who knows where, I don’t know if my friends are alive or dead, and there’s a creepy Gitabrian staring at me like she can’t decide which body part to cut off first.

  ‘I like your hair,’ I said. Ancestors, why do I keep talking about people’s hair? Turns out I’m not very good at talking to women even when they’re only there to interrogate and torture me.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You are more observant than I expected.’

  Seriously? ‘I like your hair’ makes me sound clever?

  She took out a coin from her pocket. It was the one the elderly Argosi couple had given me. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Never seen it before in my life.’

  ‘No?’ She flipped the coin in the air. It came back down just as any other piece of metal would, which was odd – whenever I played with it, the coin seemed to almost hang in the air for a fraction of a second and then spin as it came down. ‘They say that in the right hands, a sotocastra – in your language a “warden’s coin” – can open any door or lock. Alas, I do not have the touch.’ She tossed it in the air again. ‘Perhaps because I am neither a coin dancer nor a spy.’

  ‘Neither am I.’

  She favoured me with a brief smile, as though the two of us were both in on the joke. ‘Is that so? Well, I suppose there aren’t many castradazi left these days. Since you say the coin’s not yours, I suppose I’ll hang on to it until I find its rightful owner.’

  Crap.

  She pulled a small case out from behind the chair. Metal instruments clinked and clanged inside, inviting visions of untold torments that sent a shiver up my spine. ‘My name is Servadi Zavera té Drazo,’ the woman said. ‘I am a minor functionary within the Cazaran security forces. This place … well, it has a name, but not one that would give you any solace. Know that it is impenetrable, including by your Jan’Tep sorcery.’

  ‘I feel safer already.’

  If she found that funny she betrayed no evidence of it. ‘I will ask you certain questions and you will answer them.’

  She didn’t even have to make it sound like a threat. The links of the chains around my torso were starting to bang together from my shaking. Stop, I told myself. Be like Ferius. The more frightened she is, the more audacious she acts.

  Swagger, as she likes to call it, is one of the seven Argosi talents. Probably her favourite. I quickly worked through the parts of my interrogator’s name. Servadi must be some kind of title. Drazo would be the family name, té referred to h
er status within the family, but since it wasn’t zal like Janucha, it meant she wasn’t the head of her house. All that left was her given name. ‘Nice to meet you, Zavera,’ I said. ‘I’d kiss your hand like a proper gentleman, only –’ I rattled the chains – ‘I’m indisposed.’

  ‘Arta valar,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘The Argosi talent for daring. It won’t serve you here, I’m afraid.’

  I don’t think I managed to hide my surprise. She knew a lot about me, and probably about Ferius too, which wasn’t exactly fair since I knew almost nothing about her. There was only one way I was going to get any information out of my captor. ‘You said you had questions?’

  She removed something from her case: a long, narrow object with a sharp end that glinted in the lamplight.

  ‘No, please!’ I cried out. So much for my arta valar.

  Zavera ignored my pleading and took out a second item: a tiny bottle.

  She’s going to use pain poisons on me. Ancestors, why do you never—

  When she removed the third item – a small notebook – my fear-addled brain finally worked out that the terrifying implement of torture that had very nearly made me piss myself was a pen, and the bottle of horrific poison was just ink.

  ‘You will name for me the lords magi of your clan,’ Zavera said. ‘You will identify their specialties in magic, the bands they have sparked. You will list all other Jan’Tep mages of whom you have information, especially any details of their lives that they might prefer kept secret.’

  ‘Wait, why would I know—’

  ‘You will provide me with the Argosi path of the woman who calls herself Ferius Parfax. You will name all other Argosi you have met, including their paths. You will list for me all the Argosi discordance cards created within the last seven years and who holds them.’

  Why did she want all of this? And why seven years? If she thought I had all this secret knowledge, why not ask for all of it? ‘But I don’t know any of this stuff! Ferius is just a card-playing swindler. I’ve never met an Argosi!’

  All lies of course, but things were getting dangerous and it was time to play to my strengths. ‘And while we’re at it, do you really think any lord magus of the Jan’Tep would let a failed initiate know their secrets? I’m just a spellslinger, lady. I got stuck in the wrong place and the wrong time and—’

  A bell – the same one I’d heard before, though the tinkling pattern was different this time. Zavera’s eyes narrowed for an instant, and I saw irritation there. ‘Let us begin.’ She dipped the pen in the bottle of ink. ‘Start with Ferius Parfax. Tell me everything you know about her.’

  The bell sounded again, repeating its most recent pattern. It seemed to annoy Zavera, which was good, because it gave me a moment to put several things together at once. It wasn’t relief, exactly, but figuring out something the other person doesn’t want you to know when they have you at their mercy is strangely reassuring. ‘No, Zavera, I don’t think I’m going to be answering any of your questions today.’

  She looked at me in the way a sleepy janitor might look at the last bit of dust waiting to be swept from the floor at the end of the workday. She set down the pen and notebook and reached into her case. What she removed this time was definitely not a writing instrument and its design suggested it could do a great deal of damage to me.

  The next time the bell outside tinkled, Zavera ignored it and came to stand behind me. ‘You will forgive me, I hope. What I do is for my country.’ She reached around and squeezed my jaw so hard my mouth opened of its own accord. With her other hand she reached in with what I could now clearly see was a pair of hooked pliers.

  ‘You really want me to tell you what I know?’ I asked, my teeth clattering against the pliers.

  Zavera removed the hooked instrument, but kept it close. ‘Speak.’

  ‘You’re not some minor functionary. You’re part of the Gitabrian secret police. My guess is you might even be their commander. And all those nonsense questions about the lords magi of my clan? That was to distract me from what you really want to know, which is about Ferius Parfax. Oh, and I know one more thing.’

  She let the hooked pliers drift up to my right eye. ‘What would that be?’

  The bell outside the room tinkled a fourth time, more insistent this time. At least, that’s what I hoped. ‘There’s someone in this building with more influence than you and in about thirty seconds they’re going to walk through that door. When they do, I’m willing to bet that this little theatre piece of yours is coming to an end.’

  Zavera leaned in closer and whispered in my ear. ‘You rely too heavily on your arta valar.’ She stroked my cheek with the pliers. ‘Someone did come here demanding to see you. A representative of your own people. I was curious as to why my own government would grant him access to this place, but such diplomatic niceties are beyond me. Nevertheless, this individual is, I sense, rather exceptional, though his taste in clothing is a bit … garish.’

  Garish? She’s talking about the man in red!

  When the bell rang again, Zavera dropped the pliers in my lap. ‘He was insistent that I leave my instruments here.’

  Terror began to wash over me like waves from an endless black ocean. Damn my stupid, stupid arrogance. Why did I think I could bluff a torturer? Bloody Ferius with her Argosi nonsense. And Reichis, too! He’s the one who keeps telling me to be more fierce.

  A latch opened and the door swung open. The light was so bright I could only see the shadows of three figures. Two of them stood with the stiff-backed posture of soldiers, the third was larger. And louder. ‘Enough!’ declared Credara Janucha zal Ghassan. ‘You asked to speak to the boy and I allowed it, but this goes too far, Servadi Zavera.’

  The emphasis on servadi told me it wasn’t a very high title. On the other hand, Janucha was probably severely underestimating Zavera’s actual rank.

  ‘Contraptioneer, I was promised two hours with the prisoner.’

  ‘And you may have it,’ Janucha replied. ‘Some other time, over tea and cake in a very public place with you on your very best behaviour and me watching over you. You’ll be paying for the tea and cake, by the way.’

  ‘This Jan’Tep spy attempted to murder you, Credara Janucha. Your value to our nation is—’

  ‘High enough that if I express my displeasure to the lords mercantile they will ship you off somewhere very unpleasant. Servadi Zavera, you are dismissed.’

  With what I thought was remarkable aplomb, Zavera gave a short bow and placed her instruments back in her case before turning to leave. She paused at the doorway, and said to me, ‘Your arta precis is quite good, but it is incomplete.’

  Arta precis was the Argosi talent for perception – for seeing what others don’t want seen. So I guess that was a compliment. Sort of. ‘Hey!’ I shouted to her.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You still have my coin.’ I looked over at the two guards standing in the doorway. ‘And somebody better give me my hat back.’

  Zavera turned, and smiled in a way that was almost – almost – friendly. She reached into her pocket and tossed the coin at me. It landed on my lap next to the hooked pliers. ‘Too much arta valar can be a dangerous thing, Kellen Argos. I look forward to our next meeting.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, maybe I’m looking forward to …’

  Oh, ancestors, just shut up when you’re ahead. You sound like a squirrel cat.

  24

  The Credara

  Once Zavera and the soldiers were gone, Janucha took the pliers from my lap. She used them to pick up the coin and place it in the pocket of her coat.

  ‘That’s mine,’ I said. Pushing my luck probably wasn’t a good idea, but when you have a squirrel cat for a business partner you get tired of your stuff being stolen all the time.

  ‘A small price to pay, I think, for removing Servadi Zavera from your rather long list of immediate concerns.’

  She had a point.

  The inventor paced around the room. Sometimes she’d pause and
look down at me as though searching for the right way to begin the conversation. Each time she’d briefly reach into one of the pockets of her bulky coat – but not the one where she’d put my coin – before resuming her walk.

  ‘May I see it?’ I asked after a few rounds of these dizzying perambulations.

  Janucha shook her head. ‘The sotocastra is banned in Gitabria.’

  ‘I meant the bird.’

  She froze. ‘You think I would brazenly carry something so precious on my person?’

  ‘Judging by the way you keep patting your pocket, I doubt you ever let it out of your sight.’

  The inventor looked oddly relieved, as if I’d freed her from her own invisible chains. She reached into her pocket and gently withdrew her prized invention.

  The bird was even more wondrous to behold up close than it had been at the exhibition. Hundreds of delicate steel feathers adorned its wings. The feet were like ornate bronze sculptures with articulated joints. Janucha placed the bird upon her shoulder and sat down in the chair opposite me. ‘Servadi Zavera warned me that the Argosi are particularly observant.’

  ‘I’m not Argosi.’

  ‘No? Then what are you?’

  I rattled the chains around my shoulders. ‘A prisoner.’

  Janucha winced as if I’d struck a blow. ‘I … regret the treatment you have received at the hands of our secret police. The unveiling of my little contraption has caused something of an unexpected sensation among the foreign delegations.’

  ‘Not that unexpected,’ I said. ‘You never wanted to show off the bird in the first place.’

  Janucha tensed up. The bird had to flap its wings to keep its balance. ‘Why do you say this?’

  ‘The translators,’ I replied. ‘Throughout the presentations they spoke smoothly, but when the uproar began, you started to say something about the lords mercantile and they hesitated.’

  ‘There … has been some debate between my government and myself regarding how much to share of my discovery.’

  ‘You wanted to keep it quiet.’