by C. M. Hayden
“Was anything taken?” Magister Briego asked.
“Nothing of importance,” Moira said with a grimace. “Whoever it was rummaged through some old Helian texts and a page was torn from my ledger. But…”
“But who could’ve gotten passed the security enchantments,” Briego finished. “I’m wondering that myself.”
“You don’t think the perpetrators were Magisterium personnel?” the warder-captain said.
“It’s possible,” Briego said, his bushy eyebrows narrowing into a scowl. “Were there any witnesses?”
“A few runners were present, but none of them saw anything.”
Briego put his hand to his forehead. “See the damage is repaired, and I’ll assign Magister Kyra to assist you with some heavier enchantments.” He sighed. “I’ll have to explain this to the Sun King somehow. Amín have mercy.”
“It’s nothing you can be blamed for,” Moira said.
Briego shrugged. “I’m Imperator, I can be blamed for anything. How did I let Godrin talk me into this?” He looked to the warder-captain. “Do what you can to find who’s responsible.”
The captain saluted. “Yes, Imperator.”
As Briego walked back toward the Magisterium tower, he huffed and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Who tries to steal from a library, honestly?”
Taro caught up with him. “Actually, books are quite valuable, Imperator. Some can fetch outrageous prices to the right buyer.” Obviously, Taro had some experience in this regard.
Briego greeted Taro warmly but didn’t slow down. “That I know, lad, but they didn’t take any books.”
“Maybe they weren’t interested in the books themselves,” Taro said after a moment’s thought.
Briego paused mid-step. “Or maybe the book they wanted wasn’t there.” Briego continued through the Magisterium’s double doors. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Taro. I think I’ll have a chat with our guests.”
Chapter Eleven
Travel Plans
When Taro tracked him down on the second level of the Bestiary, Magister Veldheim was on a rickety ladder leaning against a tall tank of carnivorous fish. He dangled hunks of dripping, rotten meat over the water, and the fist-sized yellow snappers jumped out of the water and took tiny bites out of the flesh.
Taro tried not to startle him. “Excuse me, Magister?”
Veldheim briefly glanced down at Taro, and the ladder wobbled for a moment against the slippery floor. “A chat twice in two days? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Veldheim lowered the rest of the steak into the tank and the hundreds of snapper fish reduced it to pulp in seconds, like a swarm of bees. Magister Veldheim climbed down, and Taro noticed that his right index finger was bleeding. He motioned Taro to follow him to a desk in the corner, and he fished out a medical kit from the top drawer.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were looking for me to sponsor your tribune apprenticeship,” Veldheim said as he wrapped his finger in some gauze.
“Actually, sir, I wanted to tell you that I’m going to be taking a term or two off.”
Veldheim raised one of his thin eyebrows. “I see. Is this about…”
“My sister, yes.”
Veldheim nodded somberly. “The Imperator discussed it with me. You think it will take two whole terms?”
“I hope not, but it might,” Taro said. “I have reason to believe she’s in Helia.”
“Helia?” Veldheim said in a concerned tone. “Don’t tell me you’re going there alone.”
Taro shrugged wearily. “That’s the plan.”
“There’s a difference between being fearless and being stupid; wandering through Helia alone is the latter.”
“That’s why I’m here. When you mentioned your time in Helia, you spoke of a guide.”
“Ah.” Veldheim crossed his hands across his chest. “I couldn’t say if he’s still in business. Dangerous profession, that one. I found him in Rohesh. Rennly, his name was.”
Veldheim held up one finger as if to say ‘wait here’, and rushed off to one of the many storage rooms in the Bestiary. Minutes later he returned with a furled bit of paper, which he unfolded. It was a map of the countryside from Caelis Enor in the north all the way past Endra, Helia, and the Foothills of Solis Enor. Never in his life had Taro seen a map with such detail; it would’ve fetched a high price in the underground market, twenty crowns or more to the right buyer.
Veldheim took his inscriber and traced a glowing, zig-zagging line from Endra Edûn to Rohesh. “This is the path I took. Keep to the road at all times and, for the love of Mother Sarona, don’t take this route on your own. Find a caravan heading that direction; with the Arclight restored, there are plenty out there.” He furled up the map and handed it to Taro.
Taro pushed it away. “I couldn’t—”
“You most certainly can. And I’ll expect it returned. If you die, I’ll be sending the bill to your family, mind you. Think of it as a protection on my investment.”
Taro took it and looked at the tiny man for a long moment. “You want me to bring you back something, don’t you?” he said accusingly.
Veldheim scratched the side of his head and hummed. “No, no, of course not. Well, I mean, if you happen to see a fire eel on your journey, and just happened to kill it, it would only be appropriate for a savvy artificer, such as yourself, to extract a few vials of arkfire.”
“I see.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to put your life in danger, of course.”
Taro felt a smile tug at his face. “Of course not.”
“But,” Veldheim held on this word for a long moment, “I believe in a term or two, I’ll have enough free time to support an apprenticeship. But, without the arkfire, I’d be hard-pressed to find time.”
Taro laughed under his breath. “I understand completely. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Veldheim held up his hands defensively. “That’s all I ask.”
_____
Of all the areas of the city affected by the loss of the Arclight, none took it harder than the docks. As the city sat in the middle of a lake with direct access to the River Lorne, trade was Endra Edûn’s greatest asset. Frozen ports were one of the primary reasons for the price inflation and poverty Taro had encountered when he first stepped foot into the city.
All of the docks were on the eastern side of town, and many were still in shambles. Shipwrights worked night and day to restore the cracked hulls of the Endran fleet, and much of the cost and labor had been taken on by the Magisterium with massive loans from the Celosan Republic.
It was a short carriage ride to Dock Street. Taro tossed the coachman a noble and climbed out onto the slick cobblestone. There were fourteen docks in total, all built directly into the city walls. Each had a wrought iron portcullis on the entrance that could theoretically be lowered in case of an attack on the city. In practice, however, Endra Edûn hadn’t come under siege in hundreds of years, and the portcullises were never closed.
The dock was packed with merchants and sailors, and it reeked of fish, sweat, and coal dust. With the Crissom Foundry gobbling up tons of coal every minute, coal ships arriving from Solis Enor were often more common than even fishing boats.
Despite many of the merchants looking altogether unsavory, most of them were much too busy to give Taro a second look. As he hobbled through, checking each ship, he struggled to avoid the men loading their cargo. Soon he was knocked to the ground by some burly man not watching (or not caring) where he was going.
“I’m walkin’ here!” the man said, spitting some chewing tobacco onto the ground and continuing with his wheeled cart piled high with barrels of Celosan bourbon.
When the man saw Taro on the ground, his eyes widened, he let go of the cart, and tried to help Taro up. “Beggin’ yer pardon. I didn’t see you was a magister.”
Taro took his hand and pulled himself up, and the man helped him brush the dust off his uniform.
“Y’see, no harm done,
right?” the man went on. He was two heads taller than Taro with a long scar on his bare chest that cut through a myriad of colorful tattoos, most of which were scantily clad women. From his accent, he certainly wasn’t Endran. Possibly from one of the Free Cities.
Taro checked the straps on his prosthetic and shot a furious glare at the man. “Attacking a magister is a serious offense.”
“I meant no offense, young sir. I got a lot o’ loadin’ to do, you see. Since the ports opened, boss has got us workin’ triple-time.”
“I see.” Taro looked the man over as if he were considering what to do with him. “I’ll tell you what, I’m looking to book passage and get as close to Helia as I can. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll forget the whole matter.”
“Helia? You’re not going to find many people heading that way. They don’t take too kindly to Endrans.” Taro gave the dock worker a furious glare, and beads of sweat ran down the man’s cheek. “Actually, now that you mention it, I think there is a ship that runs that route. It’s on the Moorings down that way.” He pointed down the dock. “Red sails, the ship’s named after a woman.”
Taro waved the man away with profound disinterest. “Watch where you’re going next time.”
“Y’sir. Thank you, sir.” The man bowed and scurried off with his cart.
When Taro came to the end of the docks, the area called the Moorings, he found the red-sailed merchant ship with a few crewmen tying off the lines. When Taro inquired as to their captain’s location, they pointed off to a tavern just past the edge of the dock. The tavern was called the Cladded Crawfish, and it positively radiated the stench of shellfish and body odor. It was packed full; so full, in fact, that just squeezing through the crowds at the bar was a feat in itself, and finding an empty table to himself wasn’t possible.
Instead, Taro took a seat next to a drunken man whose face was pressed into a pool of his own drool. While Taro stared at two men playing pinfinger (wherein they held their hand flat against a tabletop and stabbed a knife between their fingers), a hostess came to him. She wasn’t terribly older than him, but she had dark circles under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept in days, and the veins in her arms were puffy and visible. She jumped for a moment and yelped, and Taro realized one of the men behind her had grabbed her rear. She swung her empty tray at the creepy bearded man, who was probably three times her age, and smacked him against the side of the head. She looked back at Taro like it had been little more than a minor inconvenience.
“What can I do ya?” she said as she chewed on something.
“I’m looking for a man. He’s a—”
The waitress held up one hand. “This ain’t a guest service, I sell drinks.”
Taro placed his aurom on the table with the Sun King’s seal faced up. “Well, you better start making it a guest service if you don’t want this place shut down.”
The waitress spit her tobacco onto the floor and crossed her arms. “I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’ here, milord.” She spoke this last word with deliberate disrespect.
Taro replaced the aurom with a single silver crown. “Better?” he asked, watching her eyes light up at the glimmering coin. “Answer my question and you can have it. I’m looking for the captain of that shipped docked across the way.” He motioned out of the cracked window to his right.
The waitress nudged her head at a table in the corner, full of large shouting men. They drank and sang and shoved each other as they huddled around the table. When the waitress looked at them, they shouted wild and obscene things in her direction. All of them, however, were dressed reasonably well, and the one closest to the wall was conspicuously quiet.
The waitress pointed to the quiet one. “That’s him.” She went to take the crown, but Taro held it to the table with his forefinger. “Bring that table a few flagons of Zastregg Red. Tell ’em who it’s from.” He placed a few copper nobles on the table.
“Very good, milord.” Her ‘milord’ was much more respectful this time. She snatched up the money and left. Taro sat and waited, watching the adjacent game of pinfinger with morbid curiosity. To his astonishment, even after four full games, not one of the drunken men had lost a finger.
Sometime later, a captain from the other table sat across from Taro, startling him briefly. He was pudgy and wide around the middle, and though the smell of alcohol was hot on his breath, he didn’t seem especially drunk.
“Your gift was well-received,” he said, adjusting his stool forward. “To what do I owe the patronage of an esteemed young magister such as yourself?”
Taro held out his hand to shake, and the man returned the gesture. “One of the dock workers said you were the man to see if I was looking to book passage northeast. Captain…”
“Just Rodrick,” the man said, “no ‘captain’. Always found titles a bit pretentious. And, I might be able to take you that way given the right price. Just yourself? How far were you looking to go?”
“Me and my cousin, and as close to Rohesh as you can bear me. I can pay well, and I don’t take up much space.”
Rodrick ran his hand through his bushy beard, and Taro could swear he saw something scuttle through it. “Rohesh, eh?” he said thoughtfully. “That’s a mighty way off the beaten trail. Lots of folk don’t go up that route.”
“Like I said, I can pay well.” Much of the thousand crowns that Mr. Mathan had paid his family long ago had been used, but there was more than enough remaining, and with his father working again (and both of his parents in good health) Taro didn’t feel guilty using some of the small fortune.
“How well is ‘well’?”
“Ten crowns. Twelve if I can eat with your men.”
Rodrick shook his head. “I think not. Thank you for the drinks, though.” He stood up to leave.
“Wait, why not?” Taro said before Rodrick could get too far.
“Milord, if you know anything about Helia, you know they wouldn’t take kindly to your sort of folk. The moment we crossed their borders, it would only take one stop for them to notice you. Even a small bit of magic can demand a good old-fashioned hanging.” He made an over-the-top mock hanging motion with his left hand and stuck out his tongue. “They say the Shahl likes to hang those that insult the Old High Gods from the rafters of his Grand Aculam.”
“I’ll refrain from using magic.”
“I’m supposed to risk my life on your word? Not for twelve crowns.” There was a pitch in his voice, and Taro understood what he was implying.
“Fifteen?” Taro offered.
Rodrick licked his dry, cracked lips. “I’d need a fair bit more to rest this uneasy feeling in my heart.” He touched his fingers to his chest.
“Would twenty put your poor old heart at ease?” Taro asked.
“Sixty crowns, and not a copper less.”
“Sixty?” Taro said incredulously. He stood up for a moment, then slumped back into his seat. “That supposed to be funny?”
“It’s my price. Now, if you’re interested, my ship out there is Melinda’s Folly. We’ll be leaving tomorrow at noon. We’ll look for you.” Rodrick wobbled to his feet, splashing his mug of wine. He held it up to Taro in a toasting fashion before he returned to his table. “Again, thanks for the drinks. Good health, long life to you, Lord Magister.”
Chapter Twelve
Good Sense
“Sixty crowns, my ass,” Taro grumbled as he walked through the bases of high-rises in downtown Endra Edûn.
Most of the buildings had a cloth overhang ten feet off the ground to shield walkers from sunlight and arclight. As he walked, he considered his options. It was around lunchtime, and at first, he planned on heading to the Magisterium’s mess hall to catch up with friends. However, he wasn’t far from home, and the idea of another home-cooked meal was appealing, so he headed there instead.
The moment he put his key into the door, he knew something was wrong. It wasn’t the fact that it was unlocked (it was usually unlocked while people were home), but the wood on
the doorframe was cracked as though someone had tried to push through it. More than that, at this time of day both his brothers were usually making all kinds of ruckus, playing dragonslayer or wrestling on the living room floor. But it was dead quiet, but for the faint sound of whimpering.
Taro’s instincts kicked in and he proceeded quietly inside, only opening the door enough to slip his thin frame through.
“I’m telling you it’s not here,” came a voice from the top of the short stairwell to his right. This led directly into the living room, while the other led into the cellar.
“It’s got to be,” a man responded.
It took Taro’s mind only a split second to recognize the voices. They belonged to Sorkesh and Trezu, the Helian emissaries he’d met the day before. The stairs creaked slightly as Taro made his way up, but distracted as they were, the two Helians didn’t seem to hear it.
The living room was trashed, and from his position Taro could see inside the adjacent bedrooms. The cabinets and dressers were torn apart, the drawers were scattered on the floor around heaps of clothing, picture frames, trash, and toys. In the kitchen pots, pans, and utensils were scattered about.
Taro’s father was not there, but his mother, Decker, and Enam huddled in farthest corner beside the overturned dinner table. They faced the wall with their heads down, and his mother held both the whimpering boys tight against her. Decker’s right hand clenched the medallion Taro had made for him.
Sorkesh kicked over a clay vase and side table with his heel and spat. The first time Taro had seen him, the man had the aura of a religious leader; but now he could see that it was all an act.
“You, boy,” Sorkesh said, pointing to Decker. Without giving him a chance to answer, he rushed over, yanked him from his mother by his small arm, and forced him to stand. “Where does your brother keep his things?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said as if he’d answered the question already. “But wouldn’t tell you anyway.”