Текст книги "All the Paths of Shadow"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“And I still have shadows to move,” she said, aloud. She pushed an image of the face from the park aside and looked down at the drawings and calculations that covered her desk, and the words she’d scribbled earlier on a drawing of the Tower.

“Vonashon, empalos, endera,” she’d written. “Walk warily, walk swiftly, walk away.”

Spoken by a mad-eyed death’s head from within a broken spell. She looked at Mug and shook her head. I’ll never hear the end of this, if I tell him,she thought. Though I suppose I really should.

In casesomething happens to me.

Meralda rubbed her eyes. What did she see?

She picked up her pen, and shuffled her papers until the Tower sketch was before her. She thought back to that instant of Sight, just before the latch tore and fell away, and she began to draw.

“There,” she said. “What, pray tell, are you?”

She’d drawn a ring about the Wizard’s Flat. Riding the ring were a dozen evenly spaced, barrel-sized, round-ended masses, each circling the flat at a hawk’s pace. She noted the direction of flight about the flat, and guesses as to the size and shape of each dark mass, and then she drew a question mark and put down her pen.

I never actually saw the masses,she realized. She’d only seen their shadows, shadows they cast in the latch, as they flew through it.

A shiver went through Meralda. Not at the thought that she might have actually seen a spellwork cast by the hand of Otrinvion the Black himself, but that her latch might have touched Otrinvion’s spell in the same way his had touched hers.

What if I damaged Otrinvion’s circling masses as badly as they damaged my latch?

“Tervis,” said Meralda, jumping at the loudness of her voice in the silence of the laboratory.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tervis, leaping to his feet.

“Go to the guards in the hall,” she said. “Send one to the park. I want any news of lights in the flat. Real news, mind you, from the watch or the guard.” Meralda bit her lip, considering. “I’ll want hourly reports, all night tonight, delivered here. Compiled and delivered each morning every day after.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tervis frowned at the mirror. “Did you see anything, ma’am?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” she said. “And find me a pillow, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tervis, and then he turned and darted away.

Mug opened a sleepy red eye. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Locusts?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep,” said Meralda. Mug’s eye closed and drooped on its stalk.

Meralda shifted in her chair, put her chin on her hands, and watched the dark, still glass.

“Thaumaturge,” said a voice.

What,thought Meralda, is Tervis doing in my bedroom?

“You might want to wake up, ma’am,” said Tervis, from close beside her. “The captain and the other mages are heading this way.”

Meralda opened her eyes, a drawing of the Tower filling her vision, and realized she was face-down on her laboratory desk.

I’ve a face full of ink smudges,she thought, and then she rose.

Her back popped and twinged. Her right arm, which was beneath her face, was numb and stiff. Her stocking feet were blocks of ice from resting all night on cold stone. She rubbed her eyes with her left hand and shook her right arm and Mug began to chuckle.

“It’s a secret mage waking spell, lad,” he said to Tervis. “In a moment, she’ll stand on one leg and squawk like a bird.”

“Shut up, Mug,” said Meralda. She forced her eyes wide open, pushed back her hair, and sought out the mirror.

“Nothing ever changed, ma’am,” said Tervis. “Kervis and I kept a good watch.”

“Thank you,” said Meralda. Then, in mid-yawn, she recalled Tervis’ earlier warning that the captain and the mages were bound for the lab.

“What mages?” she asked. “All of them?”

“No, ma’am,” said Tervis. “Just Mage Fromarch and Mage Shingvere, as far as I know.”

Thank fate for that,thought Meralda. “I’ll be washing my face,” she said, motioning to the door of the lab’s tiny, dark water closet. “If they get here before I’m done, let them in, and warn them to be careful what they say around the glass.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tervis. “By the way, ma’am, I sent for coffee and pancakes earlier, if you’ve a mind for breakfast.”

“Thank you, Tervis,” said Meralda. For the first time, she saw the smudges beneath Tervis’ eyes, and the wild stand of his short blond hair. He’s probably slept as little as me, even with a brother to spell his watches.

“You’ve done very well,” she said, and Tervis smiled.

Meralda heard footfalls in the hall, perhaps upon the stair. She turned for the water closet, then stopped and turned again. “I must have missed the last few reports from the park,” she said.

“Kervis took them while I slept, ma’am,” replied Tervis. “Same as the others last night. No lights, no sounds, nothing. He said he didn’t want to wake you to tell you that.”

No lights. Meralda frowned, recalling her fear that her latch might have affected an ancient structural spell and wondering whether the sudden cessation of luminous activity was perhaps proof of this.

“Is that a bad thing, ma’am?” asked Tervis.

Meralda shook her head and forced a smile. “Not at all,” she said. “Thank you.” Boots sounded again, nearer this time, and Meralda raced for the water closet door. “Tell them to wait,” she said, and she shut the door firmly behind her.

Chapter Ten

“Well, there she is,” said Shingvere, rising to his feet and wiping biscuit crumbs from his loose brown shirt front. “Fresh as a daisy, and twice as fair.”

Beside him, seated in one of the folding-chairs from which the Bellringers had kept watch, was Fromarch. He chewed, swallowed and wiped his lips. “Leave her alone,” he said, gruffly. “I’ve slept in that chair, too, and it doesn’t leave one well disposed toward chirpy early morning Eryan nonsense.”

The laboratory, windowless and lit only by her spark lamps, still seemed dark, as though night hung just beyond the walls. Indeed, Meralda realized the palace was oddly quiet, still gripped in a midnight hush despite the sunrise.

Coffee,thought Meralda. I smell coffee, and if those aging gluttons have left me the dregs I’ll turn them both into toads.She picked up her stride, boots making loud stamps on the cold stone floor.

She emerged from the ranks of shelves, and saw that Tervis was gone, as was Mug, and that the captain was nowhere in sight.

“Your guardsman took the houseplant outside for some sun,” said Fromarch. “And the captain received a message on the stair, and said he’d join us in a moment.”

“Aye, he has stomping to do, people to shout at,” said Shingvere. “Can’t have enough bellowing, you know.”

Meralda stepped around the glittering, moving levers of Phillitrep’s Engine, and smelled the plate of hot pancakes and sausages steaming on her desk. Beside it sat a silver pot of coffee, twin to the one resting on the floor by Shingvere’s right foot. And, Meralda noted with mild chagrin, a single red rose in a fluted crystal vase.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, pulling back her chair, but not sitting, suddenly thankful for the absence of windows and bright morning sun. She’d done what she could with water, soap, and a tattered washing cloth, but she still felt as if she’d slept in a ditch.

The mages nodded. Shingvere sat, smiled, stabbed a sausage with his fork, and waved it toward Meralda. “Eat, before it gets cold,” he said. “We’ll talk after.”

Meralda sat. Her stomach grumbled, and she realized she’d missed supper, in all the excitement over the Tears.

She frowned and bit her lower lip. Missed supper, I did. Supper at the Hang’s table. Supper with Donchen.

“Lass, I thought you liked pancakes,” said Shingvere, his tone injured.

“Oh, I do,” said Meralda, quickly. “I just remembered something I forgot to do yesterday.”

“Anyone who got old Goboy’s glass to do as it was asked deserves a few omissions of memory,” said Fromarch. He stared hard at the mirror, which displayed the same dark room as before, and then shook his head and looked back at Meralda. “I gave up on that thing my first year.”

Meralda ate. A fine ambassador I am,she thought. First I stare at the Hang, then I give insult by not coming to dinner or sending word.She thought of Donchen seated by an empty chair, and her frown deepened. Blast it all,she groaned inwardly. And I can hardly explain my absence with the truth, either.

“You could have called us, you know,” said Fromarch. “We can watch the glass as well as anyone, and we’re not likely to burn down the palace trifling with the trinkets.”

Meralda swallowed a forkful of pancakes and reached for the syrup flask beside the coffee. “It was quite late,” she said. “But now that you’ve volunteered, I thank you.” She lifted her coffee cup, found that it still contained half a cup of yesterday’s brew, and, after an instant of hesitation, she poured it in the half-filled waste basket by her desk.

Shingvere guffawed. “You used to scold me for doing that,” he said.

“You hadn’t been up all night watching scrying glasses,” said Meralda, as she poured a fresh cup and savored the aroma. “Now then,” she said, after her first sip. “Aside from the free breakfast, what brings you gentlemen here this morning?”

The mages exchanged a brief glance Shingvere poked Fromarch in the ribs with his elbow, and Fromarch glared and hissed. “You tell her, you confounded hedge mage, even though she’s already figured it out.”

“Tell me what?” said Meralda, warily.

“We think we might know where the Tears are,” said Shingvere, nodding at Goboy’s Glass. “’Tis clear you do as well.”

Meralda lifted an eyebrow, and carefully kept her face blank. “They’re in the safe room, of course,” she said. “Right where they’ve been since this small calamity began.”

Fromarch smiled, if only for a moment.

“Well done, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Well done.”

Shingvere slapped his knee. “Rake me with a cat’s claws,” he said. “I knew we wouldn’t surprise you, lass.”

Meralda sipped her coffee, and kept her expression serene.

“We think someone wants to break up the Accords,” said Fromarch. “We don’t think it’s the Hang.”

“Neither do I,” said Meralda. “Though Mug has raised some good points against such a surmise.”

“It’s the Vonats, of course,” said Shingvere. “They’ve got people here, in the palace, and they’ve intentionally delayed their arrival to remove their entourage from suspicion,” he added. “Deplorable condition of the roads in Fonth. What nonsense.”

Meralda took another bite of a sausage. “The Hang,” she said, after a moment. “Why don’t you suspect them?”

“We’ve been keeping company with their wizard nearly the whole time,” said Fromarch.

“He means we’ve been drinking,” added Shingvere, with a wink.

“He’s a talkative fellow, once you get to know him,” said Fromarch. Then he snorted and lifted his hands. “Harmless, really. Not that he can’t do a bit of magic. He can, and don’t be fooled. But stealing jewelry and interrupting trade talks? Ridiculous.”

“Mug reminded me that good manners don’t necessarily reflect good intentions,” said Meralda. “What do we really know about these people?”

The mages, as one, took a deep breath and exchanged a sidelong glance. “Well,” said Fromarch, “this is just speculation, mind you. But we think that the Hang may have opened diplomatic channels with Tirlin ten or more years ago.”

Meralda swallowed, kept her face blank, and carefully put down her fork.

“We think Yvin may have even invited them to the Accords,” said Shingvere. “We think the Hang may be here to join the Five Realms as a trading partner,” he said. “That’s what we think.” He smiled, set his empty plate down on the floor, and lifted his coffee cup to rest on the arm of his chair. “We think the Great Sea is about to be crossed, Meralda. After all these years of wondering, or trying and failing and trying again, we’re about to see the whole wide world, Great Sea and Hang and who knows what else. Marvelous, isn’t it?”

Meralda was silent, sorting out Shingvere’s words. It does make sense,she thought. The king’s nonchalance concerning the Hang’s arrival. His instructions to consider the Hang above suspicion. The Hang’s flawless command of New Kingdom. She suspected Yvin knew things he wasn’t sharing with the full court, but nothing like this.

Fromarch met her eyes, and nodded. “Which makes all this nonsense with the Tears more than a mere inconvenience,” he said. “Say the Alons pull out. Any agreements four of the Realms make with the Hang will be forever contested by the fifth. And who knows? The Hang might leave, too, rather than have any dealings with a factious lot of simpletons who can’t all sit down long enough to sign a few pieces of paper.”

“That’s why we’re here, lass,” said Shingvere. “Not that we think you can’t handle it, mind you. Not at all. But you’ve got a heavy pack, these days. We’re only here to help you bear the load, if you’ll have us. And watching this mirror while you go off and save the kingdom seems like just the chore for two grumpy old wizards, now doesn’t it?”

Meralda pushed back her chair and stood. I’ve got to walk around a bit,she thought. My feet are still cold in my boots, and my joints still ache from sleeping in that torture chamber of a chair.“What makes you think Yvin asked them here?” she said, stretching.

Fromarch shrugged. “It’s simple, really. I don’t think they’d have come unless they were asked.”

“They certainly wouldn’t have loaded their entire royal family onto a boat, not knowing what sort of reception to expect.” Shingvere filled his fork with more pancake. “Which means this was all arranged well beforehand.”

“Oh, Yvin wouldn’t tell anyone, of course,” said Fromarch. “Best to get the Hang all here and just spring it on the Realms. That way no one gets worked up into a frenzy too soon, and we don’t have foreign troops hiding all along the Lamp.”

“He could have told us,” snapped Meralda.

“Hmmph,” snorted Fromarch. “Since when have kings sought advice from their betters? Mark my words, though. If this bit of scheming goes bad, we’ll be the ones who’ll have to sort it all out.”

Meralda glared. He didn’t tell because he doesn’t trust,she thought. And he doesn’t trust,said a voice within her, because I’m a woman.

“He wouldn’t have told me, either,” said Fromarch, gently. “I once heard Yvin tell someone, doesn’t matter who, that magic and mages were best left to the guilds, and the tradesmen. He said the age of the wizard was over, and done, and the Realms were better for it.” Fromarch sighed. “He’s wrong, of course,” he added. “But he’s the king, and that’s that.”

Meralda found her chair again. Her head began to pound, and her clothes, wrinkled and ill-fitting from a day and a night of constant wear, rubbed and stuck and sagged. She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes and sighed.

“Perhaps I should just send Yvin a message,” she said. “Perhaps I should tell him that since the age of wizards is done, he should seek the help of the guilds and the tradesmen in recovering the Tears.”

Shingvere chuckled. “I dare you,” he said.

Meralda heard Fromarch set down his cup with a small sharp click and rise slowly to his feet.

“Agree or not, the world is changing,” he said. “And we will have a hand in it, for good or ill. Might I suggest we all get to work? For the good of the realm, if not its shortsighted nitwit of a monarch?”

Meralda opened her eyes. “I’m for a bath,” she said. “Now, and Yvin be hanged.”

Shingvere crowed. “At last, our battle cry,” he said. “A bath, and the king be hanged!” he shouted, brandishing his fork. “Clean clothes, then victory!”

Meralda found a brief laugh. “Vonats,” she said, after Shingvere bowed and sat. “If you two are correct, they’d be the obvious choice for our scheming villains,” she said. “If the Hang enter the Accords as a sixth realm, Vonath will have to mind its manners. Forever.”

“Perhaps,” said Fromarch. “Or perhaps this is mere coincidence. The Vonats do love to make trouble at Accords, if you’ll recall.”

Shingvere snorted. “But this smacks of mage-cast mischief, not some bugger sneaking around with a dagger,” he said.

Boots sounded in the hall outside. “All of this is mere speculation, though,” said Fromarch, hastily. “We have discussed it with no one but you, Mage. Make of it what you will.”

A knock sounded at the door. Meralda started toward it, but Shingvere darted ahead and bade her to sit down.

“I’ll see to this,” he said, hand on the handle. “From now on, Meralda, we’re the hired help. Let us do the chores. You’ve got better things to do.”

He swung the door open. “Yes?” he inquired, managing somehow to convey through his tone and bearing that the caller was neither welcome nor, most likely, even in the right neighborhood. “Who is calling, pray tell?”

“It’s me, as you bloody well know,” said the captain, from the hall. “Are you going to get out of the way, or not?”

Shingvere flung the door open, and stepped aside with a bow and a flourish. “May I present Captain Ernest Ballen,” he said. “Late of a kitchen, somewhere,” he added.

“Eryans,” muttered the captain, stamping past Shingvere without a backward glance. “Morning, Thaumaturge,” he said, moving to stand beside Meralda. He squinted into the mirror and frowned. “Any luck?”

“No one has been in or out,” she said. “Have the mages explained our suspicions to you yet?”

The captain turned and glared. “All they’ve done is puff and moon like a pair of hoot owls,” he said. He looked back to Meralda. “I knew I’d have to ask you before I’d get an answer.”

“We believe the Tears are still in the safe room,” she said. She explained her theory to him, from her doubts concerning the Tear’s post-theft value to Mug’s joking query of the mirror and its sudden display of the safe room, and the implications she had drawn.

Halfway through it, the captain asked for a chair, and Shingvere scooted his over to him. The captain sat, and Meralda watched him sag and go nearly limp.

“You haven’t slept a wink, have you?” she asked, at last.

Shingvere stuck a fresh cup of coffee in the captain’s hand. “He’s not likely to, for a while, either,” he said.

“That’s the truth,” muttered the captain. “Interviewing doormen. Interviewing night watchmen. Listening to the Watch interview jewelers and fences and petty thieves. Bah.” He looked up at Meralda with bloodshot eyes, and smiled a crooked smile. “I came here hoping you’d have some news for me, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Thank you.”

Meralda felt her cheeks redden, and she looked away. “You’re welcome,” she said. “But until I can get back in the safe room, I haven’t done a thing,” she said.

The captain sipped coffee and frowned. “Won’t be easy,” he said. “The Alon wizards are making a big fuss. They’ve all but accused each and every mage in Tirlin,” he said. “Even the Hang.” He hesitated. “Even you, Thaumaturge.”

Meralda whirled back to face the captain. “They’ve done what?”

“They’ve bawled to Yvin that only a mage could have done such a thing,” he said. “Around sunrise, they demanded that all the mages be hauled in before the Alon queen and put to the question,” he said. “You and Loman included.”

Meralda felt her heart begin to race, and the red of her cheeks spread. “How dare those posturing wand-wavers accuse me of theft,” she said. “If any mage stole the Tears, it’s likely one of them.”

“I know, I know,” said the captain, lifting his hand. “And Yvin told them to go soak their heads. Said he’d not be delivering anyone to Alon law before Tirlish law was done with them,” he said. “He also suggested that accusing real mages of petty theft was just the sort of thing that left scorch marks on the carpets and bad smells in the halls,” he added. “You should have seen their faces when they worked out the implications of the real mages’ comment,” he said. “Priceless, really.”

Meralda returned the captain’s grin. “All right,” she said, after a deep breath. “We won’t know if I’m right until I can return to the safe room, Captain. From what you’ve just said, I might not be welcome.”

“You won’t be.” The captain frowned. “But if that’s what you need, I’ll see it done.” He drained his cup, set it down, and stood. “I’ll see it done,” he repeated. “When do you want to go?”

Meralda brushed back a lock of hair. Her body still ached. Her head hurt, a dull pain that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She was bone tired, though barely awakened. Tired from a day of spellwork, followed by a night of scant and fitful sleep. If my Sight returns at all today,she thought, I’ll be fortunate indeed.

“Late this evening, at the earliest,” she said. “Though perhaps tomorrow morning would be best.”

“I’ll get you in, Mage,” said the captain. “Somehow. Is there anything else you need?”

“Hourly reports from the Tower,” said Meralda. “Were you told I requested them last night?”

“No,” said the captain. “But you’ll get what you asked for, or I’ll have their heads on a string.”

Meralda smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, you never know,” said the captain. “It feels like that kind of day.”

And then he turned, and was at the door, and gone.

Shingvere closed the door behind him.

“Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll watch the mirror, and send a lad if anything happens. Why don’t you go home, have that bath of yours, and then come back here and find the Tears?”

Meralda stood. “I’ll do that,” she said. “How,” she added, “I don’t know. Yet. But I will.”

Age of wizards is done, is it?

She marched for the door. “Tell the Bellringers and Mug to wait for me here,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

“We will,” said Fromarch. He refilled his coffee cup, and as Meralda passed him he spoke. “Tradesmen,” he snorted. “I should have turned all his teeth backwards and filled his ears with hair.”

Meralda laughed, squeezed the old man’s shoulder, and made for the street and the sun.

Tomorrow morning, nine of the clock,said the captain’s note. And the Alon mages insist on being there. I told them your spell would require them to stand at the door. So put a bit of flash it in, if you will. Can’t have these hedge wizards getting in your way, now can we?

Meralda folded the note. Tervis stood by her desk and looked expectantly down at her. “Was it good news, ma’am?” he asked.

“Of a sort,” said Meralda. She shoved the note in a stack of papers held down by a molten blob of blue-green glass and sighed. “We’ll be visiting the safe room again, tomorrow morning,” she said. “Looking for the Tears.”

“Oh,” said Tervis, and his half-smile vanished. “In the Alon wing.”

“Yes,” said Meralda. “Has there been trouble?”

“A bit,” said Tervis. “Some of the lads got into a scuffle on the second floor. Something about a copperhead shoving a floorsweep. The guard broke it up.”

“They weren’t playing football in the park today, either,” added Kervis, from his post at the door. “People are beginning to wonder.”

Meralda nodded. “I imagine they are.”

Tervis joined Kervis at the door. “We’d best get back to our posts,” he said. “Yell if you need us,” added Tervis.

Meralda nodded, and the lab doors shut, and aside from the soft clicking and whirring from the shelves, the laboratory was silent.

Silent, as it had been all afternoon. The mages watched the mirror, exchanging whispers at times, but never once breaking into spates of name calling or joke telling or, as Meralda had feared, advice giving. They’d watched the glass and kept Meralda in tea and fresh paper and that was that.

Even Mug had barely spoken, though Meralda noted his blue eyes were always upon her. Silent Mug, silent mages. Heavens,mused Meralda, perhaps the world is changing, after all.

Meralda stretched, rubbed her eyes, and counted rings on Opp’s timepiece. Seven of the clock? Already?

The Brass Bell began to peal out, and Meralda went back to work.

She’d been at home, soaking in a hot bath, her headache gone, but her mind awhirl from the events in the park and the daunting task that lay ahead. How will I find the Tears,she had wondered , as she sank into the hot bathtub. How will I?

And then she’d remembered the park. Remembered the latch breaking and falling, recalled discovering the outlines of a spell that had been flying above Tirlin, unseen for perhaps a millennia. She had leaped from the tub so fast she’d sent water sloshing across her water closet, soaking her towels and her bathrobe in the process.

“That’s how,” she’d said, her voice a near shout. “That’s how!”

And then, of course, Mrs. Whitlonk had banged on the wall, and Meralda had laughed and clapped her hands and slipped smiling back into the bath.

That, and a day’s work at the lab since, and she was nearly done.

A few more pen strokes, another set of twisting Foumai folded space calculations, and then Meralda put down her pen, and took a breath.

“There,” she said. “There!”

Mug swung more eyes toward her.

“Mistress?”

“It’s done,” she said. “If the Tears are there-”

“They are,” chimed Shingvere.

“-this will find them,” she said. “It must.”

Mug swung a pair of eyes down upon her papers. “Hmmm,” he said. Meralda heard Shingvere’s chair creak, and Fromarch mutter something, then Shingvere sighed and settled back into his chair.

“Oh, come and have a look, both of you,” she said. “If you see a flaw, I want to know it now, not after the Alons start snickering.”

The wizards rose and hurried to Meralda’s desk. “Well, if you insist,” said Shingvere.

“Hah! I see it!” said Mug. “You’re not looking for the Tears,” he said. “You’re looking for…what? A weak spell interaction?”

“Exactly,” said Fromarch. “This bit here,” he said, pointing. “This bit here. It’s a repeating latch, isn’t it?”

Meralda smiled. “You’re correct,” she said. “I’ll go over every inch of the safe room. Latch the spell, spin the latch, watch the illuminators. Any spell interaction will cause polarized hue shifts.”

Fromarch, who had been leaning close to the drawings, rose. “How small an interaction can this detect, Meralda?” he asked.

“Ten to the minus eight,” she said. “Ten to the minus ten, if I have time to halve the spinner diameter.”

“You’re a genius, Meralda Ovis,” he said. “I never said that before, but I should have, and I’m sorry.”

Meralda turned to face Fromarch, but he turned quickly away. Shingvere shook his head when she reached for Fromarch’s sleeve.

“It’s a brilliant design,” said the Eryan, quickly. “It won’t matter how well concealed the Tears are, if you’re looking for the concealment spell itself.”

“Unless the Alons took the Tears away with the broken jewel box,” said Meralda.

Fromarch snorted, and turned once again to face Meralda. “I know them both,” he said. “They aren’t that clever. And anyone clever enough to hide the Tears wouldn’t just hide them in the jewel box, knowing that pair of buffoons will spend all their time aiming who-knows-what spells at it,” he said.

“I hope you’re right,” said Meralda.

“I am,” said Fromarch. He nodded toward the drawings. “You’ll have the Tears in hand by lunchtime,” he said. “A hero of the realm.”

“Not unless she gets this built and cast,” said Shingvere. He frowned. “What are you going to call it, anyway, lass?” he asked. “Meralda’s Marvelous Locator? The All-Seeing Lamp of Mage Ovis the Great?”

“Mage Meralda’s Optical Alon Embarassor?” said Mug.

“It’s a weak charge interaction detection device,” said Meralda. “Or it will be, by midnight.”

Mug sighed. “Weak Charge Interaction Detection Device,” he said. “Rolls lyrically off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

“Quiet, you two,” said Fromarch. “The thaumaturge has work to do.” He glared at Shingvere, who shrugged and ambled back to his chair.

“You’re right, of course,” Shingvere said. “It’s going to be another long night.” He sat, and fumbled in his pockets. “Penny-stick?”

Fromarch followed, waved away the candy, and sat. Meralda gathered her papers, eager to move from the desk and her pens and Foumai calculations and onto the workbench and its copper ropes and charged banks of holdstones.

“Will you need me, mistress?” asked Mug. “I can help with the latch, if nothing else. Save your Sight for the morning.”

“I’d rather you watch the glass, just now,” said Meralda. “This isn’t a terribly complicated spellwork, and your eyes are better than any of ours.”

“Aye, Captain,” said Mug. “As you wish.”

Meralda caught up her papers and hurried away. Mug sighed, turned all but a pair of his green eyes back to the dark, still image in the mirror, and softly began to play Meralda’s favorite Eryan bagpipe piece. Shingvere hummed along, his voice soft and mournful, long into the night.

Yvin himself met Meralda and Mug on the west stair. “Good morning, Thaumaturge,” he said. “I understand you’re going to pay the Alons a visit.”

Meralda nodded. She’d finished the detector around midnight, had been home by one, had slept until six. Now she had but an hour to check the detector’s latch, charge the illuminator, try her Sight, and gather her wits.

What I don’t have time for is this,she thought.

“I am,” she said. “But first, I have certain preparations to make.”

The king, who stood with his six-man guard blocking the stair, nodded but didn’t move. “The captain tells me you think you can produce the Tears today,” he said. He glanced around, lowered his voice. “Can you, Thaumaturge?”

Oh, now you need a wizard, do you?Meralda bit back the words, and merely nodded.

“I hope so,” she said. Mug stirred in his bird cage, and Meralda gave it the tiniest of swings.

Yvin’s face reddened, and he sighed. “I suppose that’s all you’re willing to say, isn’t it?” he said.

“It is,” replied Meralda, amazed at her temerity. Must come with the title,she thought. “For the moment, Your Highness.”

“Then I’ll wish you good luck,” said Yvin. “We’ll get out of your way. Oh, and Thaumaturge? We’ll be just outside the Alon wing, with two hundred house guards and a door ram. If we must make war with Alonya I’m willing to start it here and now, so if they lay a finger on you call out.”

Meralda nodded. “I will,” she said. The king looked her in the eye, and his scowl softened, and he held out his hand. “Thank you, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Come what may, we thank you.”

Meralda took his hand, and shook it, and then Yvin stamped off down the Hall, his guardsmen on his heels.

“Well, you certainly told him,” said Mug, when they were gone. “He won’t soon forget that fire and lightning comeuppance.”