All the Paths of Shadow (35 page)

Meralda frowned and marched ahead.
If I let them stop me,
she thought,
I’ll be half an hour elbowing my way through them.

Penswifts and court functionaries and Bellringers all met in a mob. Mug shouted something, but Meralda couldn’t make out his words.

“Mage Ovis,” bellowed the closest penswift. His words were instantly repeated by a dozen of his fellows, and Meralda was quickly surrounded by a press of arms and chests and faces.

The Bellringers shoved and shouted. Penswifts yelled back. A paperboy caught in the press squealed and managed to slip past a sea of legs.

A splash of red and green moving through the crowd caught Meralda’s eye, as she shoved and sidled her way through the penswifts. Looks a bit like an Alon kilt.

“Mistress!” cried Mug. “Something isn’t right!”

The crowd shifted, just for an instant, and in that instant Meralda caught of glimpse of a tall, bearded, red-haired Alon, clad in kilt and sash, shoving his way through the mob toward her.

Mug shouted again. The only word Meralda made out was ‘knife’.

The Alon marched steadily forward, shoving penswifts to the pavement, pushing court staff roughly aside.

Meralda looked for his hands, and saw a brief glimmer of steel.

She tried to run. She tried to force her way past the ring of penswifts who shouted questions at her face, at her back. She didn’t dare put Mug’s cage down for fear he’d be trampled and her other hand still gripped the oversized paper mug of hot coffee and though she shouted for the Bellringers she could see neither of them.

The Alon charged. Penswifts went flying. Meralda tried to hurl herself backwards, but the tightly packed bodies at her back kept her pinned to the spot, and the bearded Alon shoved his way to her, knife uplifted.

Meralda hurled her hot coffee square in his face. The Alon howled and stabbed, missing Meralda’s chest by a hand’s breadth and allowing her to land a single solid kick somewhere in the region of his ornate clan belt buckle. The man folded at the waist, cursing and spitting.

Meralda tried to dash away, but again the crowd held her fast. As the Alon straightened and lifted his knife again, Meralda snatched Mug’s sheet away and hurled it at his face.

He batted it away.

Blurs rushed past Meralda on both sides. The Bellringers flung themselves at the Alon, both striking him at his knees. Alon and Bellringers and half a dozen bystanders went down in a tangle, grappling and punching, rolling and shouting.

Whistles blew. A column of guardsmen charged into the fray, swords drawn, and the crowd evaporated as quickly as it had formed.

Three burly guards in full plate encircled Meralda. The rest grabbed combatants and fallen penswifts and Bellringers alike, hauling each to their feet and warning them to stillness and silence with gruff shakes and glares.

The Alon was gone.

“There was an Alon!” said Kervis, wiping blood from his lip. “I tackled him!”

Meralda whirled, but the people hurrying away from the guards were Tirlish or Phendelits or Eryans. Not a scrap of Alon plaid could be seen anywhere on the street.

The captain, himself, came charging out of the castle, sword drawn, eyes ablaze. He saw Meralda and ran for her. More boots sounded from just beyond the doors.

“Thaumaturge!” he shouted. “What happened here?”

“Nothing at all happened here, Captain,” she said, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all. Why don’t you see us inside?”

The captain frowned. His men exchanged confused glances. Kervis kicked Tervis in the shins when the younger Bellringer made as if to protest.

“Someone get my bloody sheet,” muttered Mug. “It’s going to be that kind of day.”

Meralda nodded a quick thanks to her trio of perplexed guards, gently hefted Mug’s cage, and bade the Bellringers follow her into the dubious safety of the castle.

“He tried to kill you, mistress,” said Mug, quivering with fury. “How can you be so calm about it?”

“She’s using her head, houseplant,” said the captain. “Something you should try, now and then.”

“Demanding an arrest, threatening the Alons? That’s just what they want me to do, Mug. Calm down and you’ll see that.”

“All I saw was a bloody big knife, mistress. And a man determined to stab you with it.” Mug tossed his leaves and bunched his eyes. “Tervis? Kervis? Either of you care to chime in?”

The Bellringers withered under the captain’s sudden glare.

“Perhaps we saw an Alon, and perhaps we didn’t, Mug.” Meralda shivered at the memory of the bearded man bearing down on her. “He came from nowhere. He vanished without a trace, despite being a foot taller than everyone else and wearing more bright red plaid than anyone in the crowd. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

Mug snorted. “So he’s sneaky and a fast runner. Mistress. Dorn Mukirk was ready to kill you himself, just a few days ago. What makes you believe this Alon wasn’t some kin of his?”

“Because Alon blood feuds follow certain rules, houseplant. One of them is the formal declaration of feud by the offended party. Has Dorn Mukirk sent you a letter, Thaumaturge? A letter which mentions a fight to the death, honor of the clan, that sort of thing?”

“Of course not.”

The captain nodded. “There you are, then. This wasn’t a blood feud. Someone just wanted to make it look that way.”

“A murder committed in a crowd of penswifts would be just the thing to wreck the Accords.”

Mug deflated. “You won’t even talk to the Alon queen, mistress? She liked you. You could at least be sure.”

“I am sure, Mug. That man was no more Alon than you or I.” She looked to the captain. “But he looked the part. The penswifts will certainly claim this was an act of hot-headed Alon mischief.”

“The penswifts can write whatever they want. I sent a runner to the king before the fight broke up. The papers won’t print a word of it.”

Meralda lifted her right eyebrow. “Even the king can’t deny them the right to publish.”

The captain chuckled. “No. But he can appeal to their patriotism and beg them for silence.”

“He might as well whistle them a dancing tune,” snapped Mug. “Murder sells papers.”

“Bribes seal lips,” mused the captain. “Especially very large royal bribes, which are usually accompanied by subtle hints of royal mayhem.”

“So the papers won’t print a story of an assassination attempt on the steps of the castle.”

“Not this time.” The captain turned to face the Bellringers. “You two. Charging that fiend, knocking him down. Rare good sense, that. I don’t have access to the royal purse, but will put in a word for both of you. End of summer might see you lads promoted.”

The Bellringers exchanged grins. “Thank you, sir,” said Kervis.

The captain rose, groaned, and turned toward the door.

“Got to get back out there,” he said. “I’ll be back around later. You two see that the thaumaturge doesn’t run into any more vanishing Alons.”

The Bellringers nodded.

Mug tossed his leaves in disgust. “So that’s it? The king bribes the papers, and you just go about your day as though nothing happened?”

“Kervis. Tervis. Take your posts, please. We won’t be leaving for a while.”

The Bellringers leaped to their feet.

“And thank you. You were both very brave out there.”

The brothers blushed in identical shades of crimson and bolted for the door.

Meralda waited for the door to slam before rising and pulling the scrap of tarp off Goboy’s glass.

The Wizard’s Flat was there, lit by horizontal shafts of early morning sun. Nameless and Faceless were gone.

“Good morning,” said Meralda.

“I assume your remark is rhetorical in nature.” The image in the glass wavered a bit, then stabilized. “Yes. An informal greeting. Forgive me. I have not carried on a conversation in nearly a millennia.”

“The mage was attacked not an hour ago, Tower,” snapped Mug. “Attacked by a man who appeared from nowhere and vanished in broad daylight. Your famous sticks of lumber didn’t so much as say boo.” The dandyleaf shot an accusatory vine toward the glass. “I thought you said we could expect a bit of help from that lot.”

“Attacked? By whom?”

Meralda waved her hand at Mug for silence. “By someone posing as an Alon,” she said. “Someone with magical assistance. I do not believe he simply slipped away on a busy street with half the guard out looking for him”

“Interesting. I, too, was the subject of an attack at approximately that time.”

“You? Attacked?” Mug snorted. “With what, battering rams and pick-axes?”

“Someone attempted to latch a moderately complicated spellwork to my main structure. I deflected it, of course, but the construction of the spell was most unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“I have maintained an intimate familiarity with every arcane practice in all of the Realms,” replied the Tower. “Vonat, Phendelit, Eryan, Alon. I am expert in them all.”

“Your wooden friends do a lot of traveling, don’t they?”

“Mug.” Meralda rose and began to pace. “And this was something new?”

“It was.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

“Not yet. I know the general area from which it originated. The spell caster was careful to maintain a considerable distance and employ a number of obfuscatory measures.”

“Dorleigh and Ventham,” said Mug. “Somewhere between those two streets, wasn’t it?”

The Tower’s tone took on a hint of bemusement. “Just so, construct,” it said. “Just so.”

Meralda frowned. Mug turned a trio of eyes toward her.

“I may be just a lowly construct, mistress, but I do read the
Post
. The Vonats rented out a couple of rooming houses in that neighborhood. They always do that, since they throw the kind of parties King Yvin won’t stand for.”

“I dispatched Nameless and Faceless to that area as soon as I detected the intrusion,” said the Tower. “Their absence during your difficulty was thus my fault. I apologize.”

“Well. Finally.” Mug tossed his fronds. “Was that so hard?”

“The staves.” Meralda thought for a moment. “Have they returned?”

“No. I can attempt to recall them now, if you wish. Though I cannot guarantee their timely obedience.”

Meralda paused in her pacing. “No. Let them be. Though I would like to hear what they found, when they return.”

“As you wish.” The Tower fell silent for a moment. “Have you considered the matter of the curseworks, Mage Ovis?”

As if I’ve considered anything else,
thought Meralda. “I have. Tower, a question. This unique new magic you encountered, could it be Hang magic?”

“I have considered that. I simply have no knowledge of the Hang or their arcane traditions. But given the presence of the Hang, it seems likely. You suspect collusion between Hang and Vonath?”

“I suspect a few rogue elements within the Hang may be involved. And all of Vonath, including the rats, the crows and the crickets.”

The Tower hesitated.

“Humor.”

Meralda chuckled. “An attempt. But if we face Hang magic, we need to know something about it. And who knows? There might be something in the Hang traditions that can help repair the spokes.”

“A possibility.”

There came a knock at the door. The image in the glass shook, and became nothing but a simple refection of Meralda and Mug.

Kervis stuck his head in the door.

“Ma’am,” he called. “It’s Mr. Donchen. He says he doesn’t have an appointment, but he needs to see you.” Kervis grinned. “He’s brought more food, too. They have two kinds of breakfast over there, and he’s brought both.”

Meralda pushed back her hair, wished she’d had time to comb it, and forced a smile.

“Well, show him right in,” she called. “He’s just the man I wanted to see.”

“That was excellent,” said Meralda, pushing away her empty plate.

Donchen smiled and made a little bow with his head. Meralda caught herself staring again, trying to guess his age. There were no wrinkles at the corners of his almond-shaped grey eyes. His short-cropped hair was a uniform inky black. His teeth were perfect, and a brilliant white.

He grinned back, and Meralda blushed.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Though I must confess, I did not prepare any of this. Chef Inglee did all the work. I merely stole the serving cart.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I’ve had nothing but coffee in ages.”

Donchen nodded. “You are a busy woman, Mage Ovis. Dining with possibly nefarious foreigners. Being attacked on the palace steps by vanishing Alons. It’s a wonder you ever dine at all.”

Mug bunched his eyes.

“You know about that.”

“I was there.”

“Didn’t see you rushing to anyone’s aid,” muttered Mug.

“I was too far away,” replied Donchen, nonplussed. “But not so far away that I couldn’t confirm the use of a very familiar charm. I did in fact make an effort to track your assailant, Mage Ovis. I fear I failed in that effort, shortly after commencing it.”

“Was he heading south, when last you saw him?”

Donchen nodded. “He was. This is significant?”

Meralda shrugged. “It’s suggestive. The Vonats have rented a pair of boarding houses south of the palace.”

“Hmm. I see.” Meralda watched the man’s face. He kept it blank, but she didn’t need Sight to see his mind working behind his eyes.

“You said I could ask you anything, yesterday,” she said. “Did you mean that?”

“I did.”

Meralda leaned forward. “All right. Then I have a question. Who are you?”

“And none of that friendly cook business, either,” added Mug. “You know what she means.”

Donchen smiled. “I do. I will answer, though you may find it troubling at first. I am a ghost.”

Mug snorted. “You eat a lot for a specter.”

“That’s not what he means,” said Meralda. “Is it?”

“No. It is customary, you see, for persons of my position and background to spend a certain number of years as a
sohata
. A ghost. As a
sohata
, I may walk where I will, speak as I will, act as I will. No one of the House of Chentze sees or hears me. Thus, I am a ghost.”