“Uh, magus–”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know where to find him.”
“It’s not that. If he sees me again he’s going to do very bad things to me. Permanent things.”
“He won’t.” I dug out another mark, pulled a whisper of power from my well, and scribed the Hardic rune for ‘parley’ just above it. The rune floated and turned slow circles, as buttery gold as the gold mark it drew its reality from. I gave it enough power to last the day, and hardened it so that it wouldn’t fade once I turned my attention away from it.
I flicked the coin to Keel. “Give him that. You’ll be fine. He’ll respect the parley.”
“Not so sure about that,” Keel said.
“Would you disrespect a mage’s offer of parley? Trust me.”
“All right,” he said, both morosely and dubiously. “Anything else?”
I was going to need much more hard currency than I’d brought along with me on my voyage from Lucernis. If bad turned to worse, I’d need it in immediately spendable form. And I could not count on being able to pop down to the bank to make a withdrawal. Or that if I did, the bank wouldn’t be razed to the ground. By all the dead gods, I disliked being stuck in the middle of a civil war.
“Do you know where the banking house of Vulkin and Bint is?” I asked him.
“All the banks are on the same street, so yes.”
“I’ll need you to carry a letter there for me. I’ll write it out in a moment.”
“They’re not going to let me in the door. Especially not since the rioting.”
“You don’t have to go in. Just deliver the letter to the doorman. And on your way back invite Greytooth to dinner.”
“So we’re having a dinner party.”
“It would appear so. Better buy some decent wine.”
“Magus?”
“Keel, if you don’t start calling me Holgren I’m going to write it on a stick and beat you with it until you remember.”
He smiled. “That sounds like something she would say.” No need to explain who ‘she’ was.
“Where do you think I got it from?”
“All right, Holgren. One more question?”
“Yes?”
“Why the change? For the last week you’ve barely spoken, or slept, or eaten. Everything has been about the magic. Now you’re making plans like you’re going to be here a while.”
It was a good question. The boy was perceptive, if annoyingly young. “The change is because I’ve exhausted all my quick, relatively sane options for finding her.”
“So? What now?”
“From this point forward, haste is a liability. She lives, that much I know, not hope. While that remains true, I have to walk a knife edge in regards to what I can and should attempt, to find her and get her back. I have to walk that edge. No more sprinting. The consequences could be dire.”
He shook his head. “I don’t really know what you mean.”
“I’ll explain all you’re likely to understand, and probably much more. But tonight at dinner, not now.”
#
When Keel left I went exploring. I’d seen something in the Telemarch’s weave of wards that had intrigued me. I wanted to see if my suspicions were correct.
I knew that, below the four visible floors of the tower, there was a basement that served as larder and kitchen. But the weave suggested there was more to the Citadel, possibly much more.
I didn’t bother to take a lantern. The weave of wards and other, still unknown magics was so dense and bright to my magesight that mundane light wasn’t necessary. If I needed to see something with my physical eyes—eye—I could always summon magelight in any case.
It was in the great hearth of the kitchen. What looked like a solid, soot-blackened back wall was just illusion. Behind it was a corridor. Where it led to, I couldn’t tell from the outside.
I stepped through the wall.
Dust and soot, thick and dry and kicked up by my feet, assaulted my nostrils. I sneezed. It was loud in that cold, silent place. I walked forward, and within a few feet came to a T intersection. Stairs led down in either direction. I chose the left-hand path and descended a short way. The stairs led to a corridor but soon enough that came to an abrupt dead end. I summoned a ball of magelight and took a look.
The passageway had collapsed, and the weave of wards was torn and dead where the rubble began. I did a little mental calculation and came to the conclusion that I was just about where the Riail must have stood, before Amra made it fall down on top of the Syndic.
Retracing my route, I took the right-hand stairs. Soon enough the stairs began to spiral, with a landing here and there, seemingly at random. The stairs went down a long, long way, with the occasional off-shooting corridor, which I ignored for the time being.
Eventually I came to a rough-hewn cavern, featureless and empty except for a massive iron disc set flush into the floor. It was at least four feet in diameter and five inches thick, and had hundreds of sigils carved into its face, all of them whispering of containment and quiescence, torpidity and compliance.
It was the sorcerous equivalent of a prison door.
I traced the weave, found the command, and forced the door. The iron disk floated up and out of the way, revealing a black shaft drilled into the floor. A faint sorcerous whiff of power rose up from it, turning my stomach. It was unmistakably a residue of the same poisonous power that had poisoned my well the night Amra had disappeared.
At first glance I thought the shaft was featureless, but closer inspection revealed more of the same sigils carved into the shaft’s smooth wall. They were barely visible to the human eye, so small were they etched. I hadn’t noticed them at first because every iota of magic had been leeched out of them, unlike the sigils on the shaft’s lid. Closer inspection revealed that they were nearly all still sound, just bereft of power. If it were necessary, they could be renewed.
I summoned a glowing bead of light, gave it weight and enough power to last perhaps a quarter of an hour, and dropped it down the shaft. It fell and fell, and was lost to sight long before its power sputtered out.
This then was what Greytooth called the rift, where Aither had stored his unrefined magic, his unleavened chaos. It was empty now; a very deep, very dark hole in the ground rather than a flawed reservoir of power. I would have given much to know where that power had gone. I had a feeling that, wherever it had disappeared to, Amra wasn’t far from it. Which gave me a ghost of a hope.
If I had need of it, I had the world’s deepest, most secure oubliette at my disposal. I preferred not to have need.
I’d feared, since I first forced the door to the Telemarch’s inner sanctum, that any reasonable approach to locating Amra would be met with disappointment. Slowly, over the course of the last week, as spell after spell failed, I began considering more extreme plans to get her back.
The first that came to mind was finding yet another of the Eightfold’s Blades, and using it to find her. I’d put it aside, considering just how powerful, unpredictable and dangerous those Blades had so far proven to be. Put aside, but not discarded. I would do it if I had to. Even if it earned me Greytooth’s enmity. Even if it meant I would end up like Aither.
Before I went down that road, however, there was another I could travel. It was equally deadly and equally terrifying, but it was a route that I had much greater knowledge of. The rift, bereft of power as it now was, might still prove useful on that journey. Or at least the residue of the power it had contained.
“Where did you go?” I whispered, and the rift ate my words and gave nothing back.
I sat down on the dusty stone floor, put my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. Truly alone for the first time in a week, I let my frustration and physical pain and fear for Amra out in a burning shriek. When it was done, my throat was raw. I don’t know that it made me feel any better, but at least I felt no worse. Slowly, patiently, I pieced together my self-control and calm reserve, and strapped myself int
o it, like an armsman his armor.
The frantic worry clawed at my stomach, as it had since Amra entered the Telemarch’s sanctum. I made sure no sign of it touched my face.
I replaced the lid and began the long climb back up to the tower.
Three
“Any unusual pain?” Hurvus asked me as he applied some milky solution to the empty socket. It was cold, numbing and uncomfortable.
“Define unusual, in the context of losing an eye,” I replied.
“Sudden headaches? Persistent irritation?”
“No. The pain has lessened, though it still hurts if I glance somewhere quickly.”
“The muscles are tied into each other, trying to move an eye that isn’t there anymore. The pain will fade. Sit up, lean forward, let it drain into the basin. Have you considered a false eye or sewing the lids shut?”
“I have not.”
“Good. Don’t. That’s just begging for infection.”
“Really? I’ve seen a fair few false eyes in my time.”
He grunted. “Vanity always comes at a cost, magus. Why anyone would want to put a foreign object into their head is beyond me. Gods only know what sort of contagion you’re likely to stick in there along with it.”
He handed me a clean cloth and began packing up his things in a worn leather satchel. I wiped the solution off my cheek and eyelids.
“Don’t sleep with the patch on. Disease loves close, damp, dark places. It don’t need any more attention from me. I won’t miss the walks up the Mount. If you need anything else, you can come see me. I won’t be back here.”
“Trouble getting through the Girdle?”
“No. The boys on the barricades know me, and the Blacksleeves as well. They make sure the sell-swords leave off. Physicking has its benefits.”
“Keel says the Just Men are impaling people down there.”
He paused. “Aye. They are. Some of them even deserve it.”
“You think anyone actually deserves that sort of death?”
“Sadly, yes. I suspect you know as well as I that some of the worst monsters wear suits of human flesh. But I’ll tell you what I told that new leader, Gammond—you can kill a hundred guilty, and it won’t bring back one innocent.” He shook his head once, picked up his satchel and turned to go.
“What about Keel?” I asked him.
“What about Keel?”
“Anything more to do about that arm of his?”
“I unbound it this morning and re-splinted it. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I hadn’t. I’ve been rather distracted.”
He grunted. “It’s properly set and healing well. The splints can come off in a month. No more, no less. Then he’ll need to build his strength back up in the arm, but slowly. The muscles will have atrophied. I’ve told him all this, but Isin only knows if he was paying attention.”
I stood and shook his hand. Passed him a few marks. “My thanks, and your payment. Have you eaten? Greytooth will be supping with me in an hour or so.”
“I can’t. I have a committee meeting.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“The Just Men. I’ve been keeping busy sewing them up after their clashes with the Councilors’ troops.”
“Have you become a revolutionary, then?”
“I take no part in politics. But their organization regarding casualties is a sad fucking shambles. I decided to give them a little advice, if only to make my life easier and keep people from dying unnecessarily.”
“Enlightened self-interest, then.”
“Too fucking right.”
“A drink before you go?”
His eyes said ‘hells yes’ but his mouth said ‘no thanks.’
I saw him to the door. As he was going down the steep street, he passed another gentleman coming up it. I waited at the door, since anyone who had climbed this far could only be coming to the Citadel. The fellow didn’t look like much, but I activated the wards nonetheless. Appearances, deceiving, etc. The man was a mage, that much I could tell with my magesight. How powerful he might be I had no idea.
He was a relatively young fellow, fit enough that the climb hadn’t winded him too badly. He was dressed in white hose, black shoes with silver buckles, and a suit that was silk and pale, pale blue. He wore a tri-cornered hat, Isinglas-style. I looked down at my own clothes, and realized I was sorely in need of a laundress. Well. At least black was forgiving of grime.
He stopped a few feet away from the threshold and said “Magister Angrado?”
I nodded.
He doffed his hat and gave me a shallow bow. “Perrick Leed, of Vulkin and Bint.”
“Well met, Magister Leed. Would you care to come inside?”
“Your pardon, but no. I was sent to verify your claim, as is necessary before the bank can accede to your request. It will only take a moment, and then I will return to the bank directly to begin fulfillment of your instructions.”
“Well enough,” I said. I’d set in place the precautions Leed was now following, so it wouldn’t have been very fair of me to complain. Being both a thief and a mage, I’d imagined far too many ways to make child’s play of a banking house’s mundane security procedures.
“Do you submit to the Compulsion, magus?”
“I do.”
He summoned up his power, and I felt the Compulsion settle on my mind like a soft cloth. I would notice no further effects, as long as I did not try to lie.
“Are you in fact the mage Holgren Angrado?”
“I am.”
“Do you wish to withdraw a sum of forty thousand Lucernan gold marks based on the letter of credit on file with the Bellarian chapter of the bank?”
“I do.”
“Does the Lucernan chapter of the bank in fact hold sufficient monies on deposit in your name to cover in full the sum you have requested, including the applicable five per cent accommodation fee?”
“It does, as far as I know and last I checked.”
“Are you in any way trying to deceive the bank into giving you monies that you do not in fact possess, or are otherwise spoken for?”
“I am not.”
The Compulsion dissipated and Leed bowed once again. “I thank you for your time, magister. Your request will be fulfilled in the morning.”
“Why the delay?”
“The current situation in the city is such that we feel it necessary take extra precautions, to ensure that your funds are delivered.”
“In other words, the city is a battlefield and you need to gather a small army to make sure I get my gold.”
“Precisely, Magister Angrado.”
“Well. I apologize for putting the bank out in this fashion.”
“Apologies are wasted on banks, magus,” he said with a small smile, “as they do not fit in any ledger. But I appreciate the sentiment. Good day.”
#
Keel was a dismal cook.
He’d prepared what he said were marsh eels in heartroot sauce, but looked like discs of gristle half-submerged in gray, cold, paste. He’d mistaken pepper for a vegetable, rather than a seasoning. The bread at least was bought from a bakery and palatable, if stupendously expensive, costing nearly as much as the wine. The rebels controlled the docks, but Councilor Steyner and Councilor When controlled the routes into the Bellarian countryside, where virtually all the produce and fresh meat for the city came from. Imported wine was dirt cheap. The price of loaf of black bread was ruinous.
Greytooth, Keel and I ate in virtual silence. Greytooth, I had discovered, enjoyed talking about as much as I enjoyed having one eye. He spooned food into his mouth, chewed mechanically, and swallowed regularly enough to mark time by. The sorcerous tattoos that covered his scalp writhed and tried to lift themselves up off of his flesh, as if they were attempting to escape.
Keel could talk all night, but he kept silent, sitting at a table with two mages. As for me, I’d been raised to save conversation for after a meal. Besides, I needed all my concentration to finish the di
sh without letting on what a chore it was to chew and swallow.
Moc Mien had not yet made his appearance.
I had no idea where Keel had gotten the table. Or the chairs. Or the dishes, or the cutlery. I hadn’t seen anything remotely like them when Amra and I had first entered the Citadel, and in the week that followed, I hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than trying to find her. Well, that and my eye. I would have been happy to ignore that as well, but the pain, especially at first, had been unignorable.
I finished the last bite and, with a sigh that I hoped sounded like satisfaction, pushed the empty pewter dish away from me.
“Many thanks, Keel. That was…” I searched for a description that wouldn’t be an outright lie.
“Horrific,” Greytooth supplied.
“…filling,” I finally managed.
“I’ve seen my ma make it a hundred times,” the boy muttered. “Not sure what went wrong.”
“Cooking is as much an art as the Art,” I said. “Perhaps we should hire a professional.” I looked around the virtually empty ground floor. “Maybe somebody to dust. Do you know anyone?”
“That would haul themselves up to the Citadel every day, past the barricades? How much are you paying?”
“Whatever you think is fair, Keel. Perhaps a live-in servant I leave it to you. They can do the marketing as well.”
He nodded. “I’ll find somebody tomorrow.” He rose to collect the dishes.
“No, leave them. We need to talk, we three.”
Greytooth raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.
I filled everyone’s glasses and sat back down. “First I want to thank both of you for all you have done this last week, and for the assistance, and friendship, you tendered Amra before that.”
Keel looked down at his lap, embarrassed. Greytooth swirled his wine.
“I have not been able to discover Amra’s whereabouts, despite all our efforts. We have done all that can reasonably be done, I believe.”
The Thief Who Wasn't There Page 2