The Thief Who Pulled on Trouble's Braids (19 page)

I woke the next morning. Holgren had left a tray of nuts and a bowl of blood oranges next to me, and a note in spidery silver letters in the air above my head:

See you here, midday

The letters faded as I read them. I dug up fresh clothing and headed for the baths.

~ ~ ~

The morning was hot and bright, and the streets steamed as they dried under the indecisive spring sun. Time was passing too quickly. I knew of at least three expeditions that had already set out for the lost city. There was no telling if they were headed in the right direction, but our delays had begun to worry me. If it did exist, I didn’t want to get there only to find it plundered.

At the baths I paid my penny and soaked for an hour, ignoring the comments muttered behind milk-white hands about my scarred hide. It was a little knitting circle of five women. Whenever I looked at them directly, their eyes would slide away, and the whispering would die down, for a time. Then it would slowly pick back up again.

“—figure like a boy.”

“Such short hair, and all those scars. Perhaps she’s just come from prison.”

I was very good. What did they know of the world beyond their familial villas or their fathers’ shops, beyond spinning, weaving, and making babies? I knew as little of their life as they knew of mine—I understood that. It’s just that I didn’t think their difference gave me a right to talk about them, whereas they obviously did. But of course it’s always that way when you have the numbers. Men don’t hold exclusive rights to bullying.

The idea of being physically ejected from the public baths for brawling wasn’t appealing, so I decided to settle for flattening their purses when I left.

I put a washcloth over my eyes and turned my thoughts to Thagoth, and whether Holgren had actually located it.

~ ~ ~

Holgren arrived a few minutes late, a bundle of parchments and scrolls under one arm and a look of grim determination on his face. He cleared off the delicate Helstrum-made table I used for dining and spread out a map he had sketched and inked himself.

“Here we are,” he said, stabbing the east coast of Lucernia with a forefinger. “Thagoth is almost certainly here.” He moved his finger a huge distance west—about two feet on the map, which worked out to roughly two thousand miles.

“Well, that’s it,” I said. “We can’t go after it, not if it truly is that far. If you’re wrong about the location or if there’s nothing left of it, we’ll have wasted almost a year, maybe more, getting there and back. Be reasonable, Holgren.”

“I am. I agree, the distance is daunting. Which is why I am going to attempt to gate us there.”

“What?”

“According to the Bosk texts you acquired for me, Thagoth was built at the nexus of several powerful ley lines. I will transport us to that nexus. The process should be instantaneous.”

“Whenever you say things like ‘attempt’ and ‘should be,’ my blood runs cold.”

“Your worries are baseless. If I fail, the magics will dissipate and the gate will not open. There is no possibility of you suffering any ill effects, I’ll make certain of that.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Spoken like a true liar. Tell me.”

“Honestly? I don’t know. There’s a chance nothing will happen. There’s also a chance for a whole range of effects, from the merely uncomfortable to the wholly unpleasant.”

“The worst of which would be . . . ?”

“The worst of which would be my being blasted to cinders. It’s a very outside chance.”

“Wouldn’t that sort of be missing the point of trying to find immortality?”

“Amra, if I spent my entire life avoiding danger, I would have no life at all. If I risk nothing, death and retribution will still come. Given the choice, I would rather die trying to alter my situation. I assure you, I have taken and will take every precaution I can think of to ensure my safety and your own.”

I sighed and shook my head. “When do we go?”

“We could leave tomorrow, but I think I might better do a bit more research. There are indications from what I’ve read so far that the city is... contained, I suppose, is the best word.”

“Eh?”

He leaned back, spread his hands. “When Thagoth fell, it was to a powerful sorcerer-king, perhaps the most powerful mortal the world has ever seen. He laid death magic on the environs around the city. According to the accounts of Mumtaz El Rathi, that magic was still potent a century ago when he lead an expedition there.”

I began to pace. “Describe these death lands. Place-names with the word ‘death’ in them tend to make me very wary.”

“In practical application, everything of the death lands will attempt to destroy anything not of the death lands that enter them. Grasses will reach out to bind you while more mobile creatures finish you off. Everything has some ability to kill, be it quick or slow. Or so wrote El Rathi.”

“Lovely. You’re sure we won’t have to deal with this? Why hasn’t the city been swallowed up?”

“I can only assume the residual power of the Twin Gods keep it at bay. The city had not been overtaken at the time of El Rathi’s expedition a century ago. He records seeing the golden domes of what he calls ‘the Tabernacle’ and other structures from the ridge above the valley itself. The death lands seem to border the remains of the city in a precise circle, with the Tabernacle at the center of that circle. Could you stop pacing? It makes me nervous.”

“No. This nexus you’re going to magic us to, tell me about it.”

“It should be well within the city, and completely safe if I manage to raise the gate.”

“I hope you’re right, Holgren.”

He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder slightly. “I’ve made my calculations with the best data available. We should be fine.”

“Let’s leave that for the moment. What do we do once we’re in the city?”

“Well, that’s really more your end of things, isn’t it?”

I stopped pacing, tilted my head. “I spent a month getting you research material. There was nothing in all of that to indicate what you’re looking for?”

He sighed. “Amra, how often are you handed maps that say ‘Valuable Object Located Here’?”

“I know a sailor down on the docks that could sell you one for every day of the month.”

“My point precisely. I imagine the best place to search would be in the Tabernacle that El Rathi mentions, since there appears to be some power there holding the death lands at bay. But I will know it when I find it, not before. I am quite certain it will be a difficult, possibly deadly task to locate and retrieve it. I need your skills. I know no one better at what you do.”

“Not who’s willing to help you with this, at any rate. No, I’m sorry, that was mean-spirited and uncalled for. I apologize.”

He shook his head. “No apology necessary. You’re right. No one else would be willing to attempt this. I need to keep that in mind and show my appreciation more.”

“You can start by feeding me.”

~ ~ ~

After an elaborate midday meal at Fraud’s we took a walk down the Promenade, the wide, straight avenue of brick that ran from the Ministry buildings to Harad’s Square. It was lined on both sides by the marble-fronted, slim-columned manses owned by minor nobility and powerful merchants. I had promised myself the first day I’d arrived in Lucernis that I’d own one of them, someday. I’d stumbled down the Promenade—penniless, starving and sick, and bitterly envying those who lived in such luxury. I must have stared at those great houses with real glass in their windows for an hour before the watch had moved me along. Then I went and stole a half a loaf of bread. That had been a long time ago. I didn’t have to steal bread anymore. I didn’t own one of those manses, either.

The Promenade was wide enough to accommodate four carriages abreast, although no hoof traffic was allowed on it. Wealthy merchants and their wives, government functionaries, and minor nobility took to it to socialize and be seen. Much subtle business was also conducted on the Promenade—important decisions were made here, between principals, and finalized elsewhere. I’d done a fair amount of business in this fashion myself.

The Promenade was also well policed. Lord Morno, governor of Lucernis, liked to drill his troops here. A small contingent of arquebusiers in fine new crimson uniforms was being marched around by a grizzled sergeant as Holgren and I strolled. The old campaigner kept trying to rest his hand on a nonexistent sword pommel as he barked commands.

“You see those weapons?” asked Holgren. “They are the future of warfare.”

I laughed. “Those are toys. The only way to kill someone with an arquebus is to beat them with it. A good bowman could kill five times over in the time it takes just to load one.”

“Ah, but how long does it take to become that good with a bow? Five years? Ten? One can become proficient with firearms in a matter of weeks. Someday they will be perfected; their rate of fire, range, and accuracy will be improved. People will die by the thousands without ever seeing their foe.” He put a friendly arm around my shoulder. “Inventions such as these will be what drives the world, Amra, not magic.” He stopped and looked at me with those piercing eyes of his.

“I want to tell you a secret,” he said.

“All right.”

“Magic is fading. The most powerful mages today cannot do half of what mages even a century ago could. Two thousand years ago wars such as the one that destroyed Thagoth were commonplace. Entire empires were laid waste in a matter of days. Now, the Laws of Thaumaturgy are being superseded by the laws of the physical world. Who knows how long it will be before magic disappears completely?”

“You sound almost cheerful about it.”

“Do I? Perhaps I am. Since I am in the secret-telling mood, I’ll tell you another. I’ve never particularly liked being a mage.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Truly. Once Yvoust was dead, I lost the interest I’d had in the Art. What else was I to do, though? I spent a decade trying to find some way out of the doom I’d created for myself. There were none—none I’d consider satisfactory, at any rate. By that time, it was the only profession I knew.”

“Wait. You’re saying there are other solutions to your problem besides haring off to Thagoth?”

“No, I’m not. Believe me, the cures I found were all worse than the disease.” He stopped and turned to face me directly. “I have a bit more research and preparation to do. You won’t see me for a few days. Will you prepare what we will need for two weeks in the field?”

“How long do I have?”

“Four days.”

“All right. Will we need pack animals?”

“No. I wouldn’t want to try to gate them as well as us.”

“I’ll have it all ready.”

“Thank you. Sincerely, Amra.”

“You’re welcome.”

He walked away then, a tall, almost gangly man in funereal black, black hair swept into a ponytail secured with a black velvet ribbon. Holgren had never much been one for fashion.

I walked a while on the Promenade, staring at the houses, trying to imagine what sort of ‘cures’ he might have found in the past, and how they could be worse than some demon keeping your soul as a plaything for eternity.

My imagination wasn’t up to the task.

~ ~ ~

Holgren appeared at dawn on the fourth day. We lugged the packs down my narrow wooden stairs to the carriage waiting below. It was a gray, foggy morning. The driver looked like a wraith perched on the front of the carriage; the horse, with tendrils of breath writhing from his nostrils, looked like a nightmare.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Just outside the city proper. There’s a sparse grove of alders a short distance off the Jacos Road. It’s a suitable place to open a gate—not too distant, and no dwellings within a mile.”

“Afraid you might cause some destruction?”

“No. I’ve already told you there is no possible danger to anyone but myself. I simply don’t want to attract attention.”

I grunted, and tried to find a comfortable position. I intended to sleep the carriage ride away if possible. I’ve never been much of a morning person.

Sleep was a vain hope. The best of Lucernis’s streets were far from smooth, and the carriage bounced and jostled us brutally. I don’t know if it was him or me or the fool’s errand we were about to embark on, but I was in a foul mood that morning. Later, I thought about every little detail of the ride—the smell of Holgren’s soap, the low mutters the driver occasionally made, the clop-clop of horse hooves on cobblestones, and then the muted thud of them on the dirt of Jacos Road—I thought about all the insignificant details and wondered if I would have done anything differently, had I known what was going to happen.

The hack dropped us off in the middle of farmland. The morning fog had burned off during the ride. It promised to be a warm, sunny day.

The grove Holgren had decided upon was more than a mile distant. The only way to reach it was through fields of waist-high plants. I have no idea what they were, but they smelled horrible and attracted insects in droves. I made Holgren carry two of the packs. By the time we got there most of the morning had fled. I was sweating profusely and had half a dozen uncomfortable insect bites. Holgren seemed unaffected. I dropped my pack and took a long swig of water, cursing all mages silently.