by Andrew Smith
They followed him past the tea shop and museum, past the grey wall of indeterminate origin, and up the cross-street towards Vijay’s. Then past, all the while Jason was pointing to each building and swearing on his life that the culprits were in each of them. The buildings slipped by them as they walked forward, back to a curving street, then back to a radial one, and finally they were somewhere in the First Quarter of the city. Mme. Rumella examined the Spanish villa on her right, and placed it somewhere in the fourteenth century.
She asked Leila, who responded, “Fifteenth. You’re not very observant for a tea shop owner, are you?”
“Very good, pet.”
“It wasn’t in there,” Jason whispered to her, gesturing subtly at the villa with his chin.
“Are you sure?” Mme. Rumella whispered back
“No,” Jason said urgently.
“Alright, this is it. Quietly now,” she said, and stepped gingerly up the stone path from the road. The villa was a two story building in rose stucco, a square perimeter bordering a central courtyard. The four stepped through the arching doorway. There were matching mosaics on either side. Mme. Rumella stopped the others behind her and peered cautiously around. There was a scattering of shade trees, their glorious foliage still full despite the settling autumn elsewhere.
All the doors lining the courtyard were closed. Mme. Rumella glanced down, purely by chance, and for the first time noticed that the courtyard was tiled with rose marble. She frowned, unsure of where to go next.
A loud crack split the silence. A cry of ‘dude!’ echoed down from above. Mme. Rumella drew her wand from a pocket, and gestured to a door opposite them on the second level. Leila nodded. Jason shook his head. The Crusader remained still.
Mme. Rumella crept forward between the doorways and the white columns and arches, below the overhang. There was a spiraling staircase of blackened iron at the far corner of the courtyard. They approached it as silently as they could, though the Crusader still squeaked occasionally.
The sounds of conversation grew slightly louder. The quartet ascended the spiraling stair, moving themselves stealthily down the open corridor. The autumn sun was bright over Spain, splashing the wall with an intense golden hue. Mme. Rumella halted outside the door in question. She turned placed a finger to her lips, which Leila could barely see in the shadow of the other woman’s face. They stood perfectly still and listened.
The words were still somewhat muffled. Mme. Rumella sensed the inane chitchat of bored young people. They sounded unhappy about ‘having to sit here and look at this dumbass thing all day’.
She turned to the others and mouthed ‘it’s inside’.
This, as it turned out, was a mistake.
The Crusader, apparently able to read lips despite the evident absence of eyes, swerved around them. As he turned to face the door, Mme. Rumella grabbed one arm and pressingly urged, “Don’t!”
The Crusader ignored her, and punched through the rough-hewn wood of the door. The part that didn’t disintegrate under the force flew backwards off its hinges and crashed into the opposite wall. Not feeling like bending down, or so it seemed, the Crusader raised up both fists and arced them down onto the top of the doorframe. Wood and plaster crumbled and he stepped through into the room, the others right behind
Two young sorcerers in cargo pants and t-shirts bearing angry legends, apparently in their late teens to early twenties were kicking back with a few bottles of Klienhorst, from the city’s oldest brewery. Absent a bottle opener, they had been trying to remove the caps by setting them against the edge of the table and hitting them. They jumped to their feet as the Crusader came in, and fumbled for their wands. One yelled, “Holy shit!”
On the table between them sat the Standard of Ur. It was a trapezoidal box, about twenty inches long and eight high. There were three rows of figures, showing processions in times peace and war, figures of the people bringing food and livestock and artisan goods to a grand banquet, and figures on chariots, with spears and axes, vanquished enemies presented to a spear-carrying king. The figures were constructed in surprising detail from bits of shell, red limestone, and lapis lazuli
Leila drew her Focus and shouted the Italian word ‘to protect’, and the name of the artifact. One of the young sorcerers fired an orb of energy at her and she flew backwards. Mme. Rumella tossed Jason a vial of smoke from her pocket and he jumped over to her slumped form.
The other sorcerer immobilized the Crusader before he could move any further. Mme. Rumella tried to do the same to him, but his friend deflected the spell. With a swiftness belying her age, she leapt behind the Crusader.
“Sorry about this,” she said absently to the inanimate armor
One of the young sorcerers shouted something, and the Crusader began to topple. Mme. Rumella leapt again, out of the way. Without thinking, she went further into the room rather than towards the door. She shouted the first thing in her mind, and the room was filled with a blinding light. Jason, Mme. Rumella, and the two young sorcerers cried out in pain.
The light faded from the room, but still filled Mme. Rumella’s eyes. She looked around blindly. The young sorcerers were casting around the room, equally blindly.
An orb of red light stuck a glancing blow to Mme. Rumella’s shoulder. She was thrown back against the near wall, but was still fully conscious. She could feel the splintered door beneath her. She dove out of the way as two spells crashed into her former position. Splinters of wood flew overhead as she struggled across the floor. She felt a warm trickle on the back of her neck and touched a hand to it. It came back wet with what she had to assume was blood. Across the room, she heard poor Jason cry out in shock as he was hit.
Then suddenly, silence.
Mme. Rumella struggled for another vial in her pocket. She had brought several. One was smashed. She cut her finger on it. She found another, unstopped it, and breathed in the gray, sandwood-scented vapor within. Her cuts healed, and her abused retinas were restored. She took in the scene. Leila was still unconscious against the wall. The Crusader lay toppled nearby. Jason had apparently gotten close enough to land a solid punch on one of their attackers before he was hit. The walls were set through with scorch marks and holes.
The two young sorcerers lay fallen on the ground, gagged, and bound with rope at the wrists and ankles. Mme. Rumella looked closer and discovered the rope was sorcerous, coiling back and forth of its own accord, and actively resisting the young men’s attempts to untie them.
There was a window. It was broken. Mme. Rumella stood on her toes and peered down. There was a rain of glass on the ground below, with a rather suspicious gap in the middle.
“Thank you,” she said to the decamped rescuer who must have been below only moments prior. She walked back to Jason and gave him her last vial. He awoke with a start, sputtering perfect sense. She restored the Crusader as the young sorcerers continued to struggle against their bonds. To her surprise, the Crusader spoke.
“They caught me by surprise,” he said.
“Of course they did,” she said reassuringly.
She made her way over to Leila. With no more healing vials left, she slapped the archaeologist’s face lightly. After a moment, she came to
“Can I just go ahead and ask what the hell just happened?”
“I’ll explain it later dear.”
Leila appeared puzzled. “My head doesn’t hurt.”
“Jason gave you a healing vial. There was enough to take care your bruises and such, but not enough to restore you to consciousness. You probably had concussion.”
“Ah.”
“Now, I think we ought to summon the Peelers.”
“Good plan. I can do it,” said Leila, using the wall to push herself to her feet. “It’s just about the only thing I can do.”
“Nonsense, pet, your protection spell is working just fine,” Mme. Rumella reassured her. She gave a nod to the Standard, still resting on the now three-legged table. There was a sort of a film or bubble,
the blue of a tropical ocean.
“Okay then,” Leila said. She looked back and forth and decided on the window rather than the door. She stuck her arm out the window and pointed the tip of her pen at the sky. “Peelers!” Leila cried and a red bolt fired out of her wand. It exploded over the villa like a flare, and hung there.
The Peelers were the world’s first real municipal police force. Established by Sir Robert Peel in 1829 in London, they were based off his earlier efforts, the Peace Preservation Force of 1814 in Ireland. The Peelers in the city were still based in old Scotland Yard, where the commissioner’s office resided. A few other police precincts had popped up over the years, but their facilities and personnel had been quickly absorbed into the Peelers. They didn’t like competition.
The first spell newcomers learned in the city was the red flare spell that summoned them. And they would arrive within minutes. Which is why they missed most of the action, but they did try.
Chief Inspector Ian Gregor looked around the room as various people of lower rank shuffled around him. Mme. Rumella had explained to him what had happened, and C.I. Gregor, in classic police fashion, was skeptical about the person-under-the-window theory.
As the two young sorcerers were carted off, sans-irons, since they were already bound perfectly well, Mme. Rumella led Jason and Leila back to her shop. Leila took the Standard, promising to return it to its rightful resting place. The Crusader had wandered off a few minutes earlier, and none of the Peelers felt particularly like getting in his way.
Leila irritably pushed the door of Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. After again remembering that the door opened outwards, she pulled on it, even more irritably. “Who does that idiot think it was? I mean, what does he think happened? We saved ourselves but don’t remember it because we weren’t paying attention or what?”
“It’s his job to be that way, pet. Maybe he thought we were trying to duck out on paperwork.”
Leila snorted. “What’s the point of those guys anyway? It’s like Law & Order without the law part.”
“Sorry?”
“There’s no court system. They just take the bad guys away, write down what they’ve done, and then what? Chide them severely?”
“Then,” Mme. Rumella explained, “they lock them up for a suitable amount of time, and tell them not to do it again. Most of them break out pretty quickly,” she shrugged
Leila set the Standard down on a low table that formed the center of one of the seating areas and proceeded to collapse onto a sofa. Jason appeared to think that this was a fantastic idea and crashed down next to her. Mme. Rumella prepared them all some Irish coffees.
“Well that was exciting,” said Leila. “We nearly got killed, and didn’t learn a thing.”
“At least we didn’t recover the artifact,” said Jason helpfully
“False enough,” said Leila, and Mme. Rumella had to smile
“And we didn’t exactly learn nothing,” Mme. Rumella broached her thoughts. Leila looked at her for a moment before asking what. “We know that whoever did this has resources.”
“Uh-huh,” was Leila’s skeptical remark
“Just wait, pet,” Mme. Rumella admonished. “I had been suspecting Lionel the Necromancer.”
“Him? Why?” Before Mme. Rumella could continue she had to ask: “And why does he call himself that anyway? Why not Lionel J. Necromancio while he’s at it?”
“I really can’t say, pet.”
“Sorry. So why him?”
“Don’t you remember?” Mme. Rumella inquired in classic amateur detective fashion, hazel eyes twinkling. “When Mary had her fight with Lionel, she said it was out in Teo. And where should the two of us run into him but days later: exactly there, on the Street of the Dead. I thought perhaps that he had hidden the Standard there, and was then moving it.”
Leila nodded thoughtfully. “But now?”
“Well, assuming that the taking of the second Standard was related to the first, I’d have to say it was someone else. First of all, they, whoever they are, had the money to hire those two young men to steal the thing and guard it for them. Plus, the estate in which they were hiding.”
“Nice place, until we got there,” Leila commented
“Exactly, pet!”
“Huh?”
“It was a gorgeous Spanish villa, those mosaics, the marble floor... Places like that don’t go unclaimed here in the city, and they’re usually claimed by people who are powerful enough to prevent others taking it from them.”
“And Lionel couldn’t?” Leila queried, puzzled
“No, pet, no. You see, many years ago, Lionel was the most powerful sorcerer in the city. After a while, the Peelers wouldn’t touch him because too many of them had gotten killed trying. It was... Not a great time to live here, for many,” Mme. Rumella understated severely. “The thing of this city, of course, is that there most people here won’t put up with that sort of thing for very long. A few citizens went at a time when he was... distracted.”
“Distracted?” Leila repeated in Mme. Rumella’s euphemistic tone
“I apologize, that sounded a bit odd, didn’t it? You see, Lionel was about to tap into an amazing power, not seen in either world since before the rise of man. Needless to say it was...”
“Really scary?” Leila jumped in as Mme. Rumella fished for the right word
“More than a little, yes. Anyway, like all things sorcerous, it required a bit of ritual.”
“Wait, all things?”
“From the simplest spell, pet. What do you think those words you speak are?”
“Oh.”
“And the bigger the power, the more ritual is involved, and the more apparatus. The group of citizens stormed his manor house. Not all of them made it out alive, but one managed to take out the vital Focus of the spell.”
“That sounds like bad news.”
“Very bad, pet. The room was full of a pulsating sorcerous light, focused through a crystal. When it was smashed, the energy collapsed in upon itself. The citizens, and especially Lionel, were lucky to have survived.”
“Wow. Who did that?”
“That would be me, pet,” Mme Rumella said with a proud little smile. “And some others, I’m not sure how many you’ve heard of: Hunter Blue, Joseph Collins, Saridée, Eleanor Drowning?” Leila shook her head. “Ah, well, if I ever see them, I’ll have to introduce you. Where was I? Oh, my, yes. After the ritual, Lionel’s power was reduced to a much more moderate level, and he ran through his accrued riches trying to get it back. Every now and again he comes up with some scheme to that effect, and we’re about due. If the Standard does have some ancient power, it would be like him to try and take it for his own. However, as I said, he doesn’t have the resources for the things we have seen.”
“Round the board and back to square one, then,” Leila sighed
Mme. Rumella shrugged easily
Jason, who had been listening intently and sipping at his drink, held up his empty glass. “I would really hate it if you brought me another of these foul concoctions,” he smiled
“You’re such a sweetheart,” said Mme. Rumella, and fixed him another drink.
Foci
“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Leila announced. Mme. Rumella and Jason regarded her curiously. “Do you think the Crusader can do magic?”
“I’m not sure, pet,” Mme. Rumella honestly replied as she handed Jason his drink.
Leila paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “The way it’s been explained to me, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that every human being has magic inside of them.”
“Sorcery, pet,” Mme. Rumella corrected
“Whatever. So, in the normal world, all the kinds of magic-”
“Orders of sorcery,” Mme. Rumella interrupted to correct
“Whatever. They’re dormant, right? But here, they’re more than a little active. As we’ve all seen today,” she added, smoldering. So far Mme. Rumella had only corrected her vocabul
ary and not her ideas. She went on. “But, we need a Focus, like a wand or some specific device, to, well, focus it. I guess my question is, since you said that Mr. Markab said that the Crusader is a sorcerous being, can he do mag—um, sorcery? And if he can, do you think he needs a Focus? Or does being sorcerous mean that a Focus isn’t necessary. He certainly doesn’t carry much, except that longsword strapped across his back.”
“I’ve never seen Wyyla carrying one, but then she is positively miniscule and perhaps I’ve simply never seen it.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Wyyla. A friend. A sprite. I should introduce you two. And I will, next time she comes for a visit.”
“Huh. Okay. Come to think of it, I have another question. You know that guy you took me to, to get my Focus?” Leila saw Mme. Rumella grimace. The older woman knew the question wasn’t meant to be answered, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated by it. “How does he do it? And why do people have to go to him? Like, could I learn to make Foci myself?”
“Theoretically, you could,” Mme. Rumella answered. “The reason so many people have to go to Mr. Dallal is that creating Foci is a very difficult process. Even a basic wand takes several days to create. Custom Foci usually take much longer, though most who have them learned to make the items themselves.”
“Mine didn’t take that much longer,” Leila noted
“Yes, but it’s really not that much different from a wand is it? It doesn’t do anything extra, it’s simply in a different form.”
“Oh.”
“As to your first question, it’s mainly a matter of concentration. You can create a Focus without a Focus, so there’s no paradox of the original item.”
“No chicken-and-the-egg,” Leila added
“No poultry were involved,” said Mme. Rumella. “The creation process,” she resumed, “is mainly a laying on of hands, and willing the sorcery into it. The reason we need Foci is that it would take days and weeks for the most simple of spells otherwise, though, theoretically, they could be done. Anything more advanced would take a lifetime.”
“So anyone with the willpower could do it, really?”