The Galactic Mage (17 page)

“One day you’re going to get caught and the teleporters are going to have you whipped. Or you’re going to land inside a pig and that will be the end of it for you.”

“I’ll be fine. I do it in the air anyway. In flight, on Taot’s back.”

“You could land inside a bird.”

“The bird would land inside us. But it won’t. I mean, what are the odds? And I always look before I leap.”

Tytamon started to say something, a word that began with a sibilant sound, but cut it off. “You’ll do what you want, regardless of what I say. I hope you find your book.”

“Me too.”

With that the elderly magician turned and headed for the stairs. He looked tired suddenly, as if the rest he’d gotten from his trip had just been washed away.

“I am careful,” Altin called to his back.

“Transportation Services has ‘clean rooms’ for a reason, Altin,” the old magician said, standing in the door. “The entire system, of which you became a part when you joined the Teleporters Guild, was devised for a reason. The systems in place today were devised over centuries of slow, painful and meticulously wrought understanding. Much of it bought at horrible cost. TG’s policy didn’t just happen by mistake.”

Altin moaned, annoyed. “I know. You think I didn’t pay attention when I was there? I just don’t feel like standing in line. And I don’t want to pay for something that I can do myself, and with far less effort.”

“It’s not your money anyway.”

Altin looked away, cheeks coloring, but then turned back. “You brought me here. I didn’t ask to come.”

“No, they brought you here.”

“Whatever. You could have turned them down.”

Tytamon recognized a pointlessly combative stance when he saw one; he’d seen enough of them in nearly eight hundred years to know. He smiled, a wan, resigned thing, and turned his back to go. “You’ll do what you want, Altin. Good night.”

Altin watched him until his feet, climbing up the slowly winding stairs, disappeared behind the lintel of the door. He blinked into the emptiness, wondering what had just gone wrong. He couldn’t help thinking that he’d just done it again. Whatever “it” was. One thing was sure; he was getting tired of people making him feel like this. Really tired. With a grunt, he turned and stormed out.

Chapter
17

A
ltin appeared two leagues outside of Crown, Taot never having lost a wing-beat and already quite used to teleporting with Altin across the skies. Altin always prepared him for the jump, and the dragon seemed little phased by it anymore. They were very high up, and from this altitude the massive city was little more than a great blur of grays and browns packed into a box and surrounded by a patchwork of assorted fields whose various crops gave the whole scene the look of a giant earth-toned quilt.

Crown City sat at the junction of the bloated Sansun river and its largest tributary, the Decadent Limb, roughly a hundred leagues from Calico Castle. Spreading for fifty measures in every direction around the city were acres and acres of farmland, worked by a quarter-of-a-million serfs and vassals, and overseen by at least a half-thousand lords and barons, many of whom held titles rooted in dubiously royal blood. Inside the city lay the most modern and disparate assemblage of architecture as had ever been gathered in all the history of Prosperion. Where Leekant boasted unity or at least an overall architectural theme across its four quarters, Crown had nothing resembling a unifying style at all. In fact, the only aesthetic trend in Crown was that there was no trend at all. Wood buildings stood next to marble, single-story next to nine. Thatched roofs, tile roofs, brass and beaten tin. It was as if the city’s founders just threw open the gates and welcomed in anyone who had the ability or willingness to construct. That’s not quite how it happened, but it had the same net effect. And yet, despite all this disparity, or perhaps because of it, the city was a uniquely sumptuous whole.

And located at the heart of the city lay the Royal Palace, an opulent undertaking that had required a hundred and sixty years, a thousand magicians and forty-four thousand men to build. Its highest spires reached nearly a half-measure into the sky, and it spanned an area encompassing a full square league. It was, in short, enormous. And there was not one modern amenity that it lacked. No room ever got above or below sixty-eight degrees. Rain never blew through its ever-open windows, and a lightning strike could not catch any of it on fire. In the massive grounds that surrounded it, its trees were the largest anywhere in the land, and it boasted an oak tree that stood over one hundred and eighty paces high and took four full minutes to walk around at the base. In addition, the Royal Gardens swarmed with birds from every corner of the world, including a few species brought from the shores of dangerous Duador and none of which could get past the bird-free wards that were enchanted to keep them on the grounds.

Beyond the palace gates lay the Royal Compound housing King Perfort’s University, over nine hundred years old; the Duke of Dorvost Museum; the Magicians’ Medical Institute; and, of course, the Royal Library, in which was located, among other things, the only collection of magical works larger than the one found in Tytamon’s tower. The Royal Library, however, was not focused on magic alone and comprised a complex of twelve large buildings, each five stories high. It was said that the Queen owned a copy of every book that was ever put into print. And today, Altin really hoped that this was true. He’d wasted over a week trying to find Polar Piton’s spell, and his patience was wearing thin.

He sent Taot a down request and the dragon began to slowly spiral towards the ground. Altin directed him to a little copse of trees roughly a measure down stream from the nearest farm and a spot that a quick sweep of a seeing spell had assured him was out of range of any curious eyes. If the locals became alarmed by the sight of a dragon swooping down, the Royal Guard of Crown would be called immediately. Altin knew for a fact that the Queen kept at least four N-class conjurers on duty at all times. He didn’t want to dodge fireballs that big, and he was sure Taot felt the same. He just wanted to find a book.

Once they landed, he sent Taot a query as to whether the dragon preferred to be teleported home or to be left to hunt in the surrounding countryside. The dragon’s reply was a general sense of aversion to the smell of so many people in a single place. Altin laughed, sending back an agreement with Taot’s olfactory assessment of the human race. He cast a quick seeing spell to make sure Taot’s lair was empty and then sent the dragon home.

Satisfied that Taot was taken care of, Altin began to walk towards the river, finally coming to the well-paved road that arced in from the fields beyond. The highway ran parallel to the water for a time before veering off once more towards the city gates, and as Altin trod upon it, he could not help but appreciate how good the workmanship in such matters had become. The paving stones were set evenly the entire way, perfectly cut and tightly fit with no rounded cobbles to bruise his feet, unlike back at home—although he had remembered to wear his shoes for this particular trip. The surface was smooth, leveled by magical planes, and the numerous carts and wagons trundling along made a fraction of the noise that they would had they been bumping over Leekant’s cobbled streets. The progression of workmanship and magic was moving forward at an amazing rate these days.

A teamster passing by had seen Altin emerge from the copse of trees along the road and made some laughing remark about having to urinate himself but being more willing to wait than Altin was. Altin smiled and waved as the wagon passed him by. There was no point in pointing the error out.

It wasn’t long before Altin had made his way into the city and through the busy streets leading into the Royal Compound. He went to the library’s main building first and found a vacant catalogue mirror right away. He grasped the beautifully carved rosewood frame and let the words “Polar Piton” play across his mind. He had no need for divination of his own—the enchantment placed upon the mirror did all the work—and in a moment, behind himself in the reflection, he saw the building to which he needed to go. As he looked at the building in the mirror, its reflection shifted from a view of its façade to one of its interior, indicating a stairwell and a landing upon whose wall was a bronze plaque engraved with a large numeral four. As he made out the number on the plaque, the view in the mirror shifted once more to a row of shelves, showing the end of a row, and once more a bronze plaque, this one marked T.1037.a-T.4909.s. That was all Altin needed to see. The image remained for a few moments after he released the mirror frame, playing through the sequence once again, giving him time to take a strip of parchment from a stack beneath the mirror and quickly jot the numbers down. He replaced the quill in its inkwell and headed back outside.

Five minutes later found him standing at the shelves he’d just seen in the mirror, slightly out of breath for having run the entire way. Even with the directions from the enchanted mirror, it still took him almost an hour to find the right book. There were several with references to Polar Piton, but only one of them ended up having a spell that looked like it might work. The source, an autobiography in the man’s own hand, included a spell titled, lamely enough, “Polar Piton’s Perfect Parabolic Protection.” Altin mused that it was the oddball explorer’s penchant for such things that prevented his work from having become more mainstream—his writing was entirely absurd in many places and prone to rambling about his dogs and a woman named Euridia, whom he had apparently loved at some point in his distant youth, and who had clearly cost him any degree of fame because of the obsession that she had inspired, further evidence for Altin of the danger of forming that sort of deep personal bond. However, painful as the reading was, Altin did find the spell and, with some modifications of his own, he was convinced that he could make it work for his purposes.

He took the book to a copying room and began the arduous task of transcribing the spell. It was a seven-page spell and several of the sigils were worn with age. Copying it was the labor of nearly four hours, made so by Altin’s decision to have the entire chapter that the spell was in rather than just the notes and by the fact that he took some rather copious notes from other chapters too.

When he was done at last, he could see through the window that the sky had grown dark outside. He sighed. He wouldn’t have time to use it now. But he knew that that was best. He was tired anyway, had been tired before he came. No sense getting in a rush and making a “fishbowl” that might leak.

As he contemplated the long walk out of the city that would take him far enough away to teleport back home, he realized that he really should pay a visit to his friend Aderbury first. If Aderbury, or more specifically his wife Hether, found out that Altin had been here and not stopped by, the couple would never let him live it down. Aderbury was a gifted young transmuter that Altin had met during his mandatory service in the Queen’s army a few years back. Of all the magicians in his regiment, Aderbury was the only one Altin still kept in contact with, and even that, admittedly, was not often enough. Altin was just too busy most of the time. However, it was still relatively early, and Aderbury wasn’t too far out of Altin’s way, so off he went.

Aderbury worked in the industrial section of Crown in a large building owned by an architectural firm called Castles, Inc. Aderbury was the firm’s fortification pro and there were few men on Kurr who could match his skill for melding stone. The man was an artist, and he was a favorite of the Queen. He was a pretty decent conjurer too, and he and Altin had had a great time showing up the rest of their regiment in casting fireballs the size of houses and ice storms that could make a snowman cry.

Like Altin, Aderbury was a workhorse, and it was no surprise that Altin found him still hard at work in his small office at Castles, Inc., when he arrived.

“They still have you stuffed in this little room?” Altin said as he walked in without bothering to knock.

Aderbury looked up from his design, an expression of delight expanding on his tanned face. “Altin! What an unexpected surprise. What brings you to town?”

“A book. What else?”

Aderbury stood and rushed to clutch Altin in a great bear hug, pounding him roughly on the back. “All that reading’s why you haven’t got yourself a woman yet,” Aderbury said, holding Altin at arm’s length to look him up and down. “You could definitely use some sun.” He laughed and let Altin go, but then his thick eyebrows rose suddenly above his large brown eyes as inspiration struck. “Dorianna! You have to let me set you up with Hether’s new friend. You should see this woman, Altin. By all the gods, you’ve never seen a bosom so spectacular.” Aderbury made a rounding gesture way out in front of his own chest to amplify his point. “And she can cook too. She’s almost as good as Hether. Probably be as good if she had someone to practice on.” He gave Altin a wink and then, turning, grasped a chair from a desk that sat opposite the one he’d been working at. Altin gave the empty desk a withering look.

“You still have to work with Thadius in here?” he asked as Aderbury offered him a seat. “You built the Queen’s private bathroom, for heaven’s sake. Why don’t they give you your own space?”

“Because Thadius is the boss’s nephew. You know that. And he’s a Four. I’m just a Two.”

“You’re a Y-class transmuter. Thadius is what, a C?”

“He’s a G. And he’s still a Four, my friend. You know how it works. It’s letters
around
the dial in this town. That and who you know.”

“Well, you do know the Queen.”

“Yes. I do. I thought she was going to ask me to work at the Palace full time after the bathroom job. That would have been a nightmare.”

“Why? You’d be rich.”

“Until I died of boredom. I don’t want to spend my life walking around fusing cracks and making miniature castles for little princelings to play war in. No thank you. At least here we get real work sometimes. And, you’ll love this, I heard that the Illusionists are going to build an amusement park down in Murdoc Bay. The old man is supposed to put in a bid. I don’t know who besides us could build it, except maybe Parson’s Palace down in Hast. But those guys are terrible corner-cutters.”

“An amusement park in Murdoc Bay? Why down there? That’s a pirates’ den.”

“Pirates have kids too.” Aderbury let out a hearty laugh and jumped out of the seat he had only just resumed. “Let’s go have an ale or five. I’ll send a lizard to Hether and let her know I’m going to be late. Maybe I’ll tell her to call Dorianna too.” He grinned lasciviously. “They can make us something to eat afterwards, to soak up the ale.” He stooped and scribbled something on a scrap of parchment and then crossed the room to a small cage sitting atop a cedar filing cabinet.

Altin rose and pointed in the direction of Aderbury’s slightly bulbous belly. “I know what you’re thinking, and, no. Besides, I don’t want a woman. I’d end up looking like you. I think not. Kettle’s bread is bad enough.”

Aderbury looked as if he’d just been struck a mighty blow. “What? This is pure muscle.” He rubbed his belly for a moment then made a show of flexing. He really was a burly man. His arms, shoulders and back were broad and strong from lifting so much rock. Exquisite transmuter as he might be, his work did not allow him to levitate every stone. “Besides, you can’t say no because Hether already expects you. Don’t be rude.”

“No she doesn’t. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Aderbury just snorted and reached into the cage, pulling out a small mottled-brown lizard, not much longer than an unclasped woman’s bracelet and with a body hardly thicker than one of Altin’s middle toes. Aderbury deftly tied the note to the lizard’s back with a piece of string taken from a jar sitting near the cage. When the note was secure, Aderbury whispered something to the lizard that was too low for Altin to hear. “She does now,” said Aderbury with a triumphant expression as he tossed the lizard to the floor. The instant its tiny suction-cupped feet struck the wooden planks, it was gone from sight, leaving Altin to wonder if it had run out, gone invisible or cast some animal version of a teleporting spell. “Homing lizard,” Aderbury said, grinning at Altin’s quizzical look. “What will they think of next, eh?”

Altin was staring at the floor where the lizard should have been. “Where on Kurr did you get that thing?”