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avevale_intelligencerCHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Pride of Tamland passed through the remainder of the Jags without incident, and the river resumed its gently meandering course, between the woods and fields of Briom and the scrubby, desolate moors of Tsenesh. The sun gently declined ahead of them, and the boatmaster reported that with any luck they should arrive at the next port of call, the Tseneshi town of Gerenna, by early the next morning.
“How is the engine holding out?” Mordecai asked him.
Flood scratched the back of his head. “Well, truth be told, Master Alonso,” he said, “I don't know as it'll hold out as far as Brokenbowes. Never known it run down so fast before. If it do run out completely, then...” He sighed. “It'll be every able-bodied passenger to the ropes and turn and turn about till we can pick up the horse. And that'll mean refunds and I don't know what. But that's Tamland magic for you,” he added, with a rueful grin. “It don't travel well, and that's the end of it.”
Mordecai, who knew why, did not comment. Already his own power was reduced to whatever his body could generate on its own, which, while considerable by human standards, was a fraction of what he was used to. Conscientious training and a regular lifestyle had prevented any such debacle as that of the previous year, in which, totally reliant on the Panergodyne, he had spent several harrowing days utterly without magic of his own; but still...
“Let me see what I can do,” he said. Flood looked dubious, as well he might, but nodded, and Mordecai, receiving a similar nod from Varnak, went below to the engine room, where he examined the glittering, whirling construction before him with care.
Anything magical is half alive, Tam had written, because magic is life. Considered as a living thing, the boat's magical engine was seriously ill. It was already labouring to keep the boat moving at a steady speed, and its store of energy was all but depleted. Mordecai doubted it would last the night, let alone to Brokenbowes.
He performed a few elementary adjustments, trying to extract an ounce or two more performance from the thing, and then, seeing no help for it, fed as much as he could spare of his own energy into it. It brightened at once, and the irregularities of its vibrations smoothed out. Mordecai hoped it would be enough. Hauling this glorified barge along on a rope was not an appealing prospect.
When he emerged on deck, the ap Gavrus sisters were arguing again. Lonira was clutching a handful of papers and looking furious. Maranni was displaying an irritating placidity. Idyla was having none of any of it.
“—and in 'Lord Clatterack Settles The Matter,'” Maranni was saying, “when he and Lord Ambril are trapped in the ice caves of Selderung, there is a clear indication that—”
“Balderdash!” Lonira retorted hotly. “I would remind you, dear sister, that the very essence of that entire book was the romance between Lord Ambril and the ice maiden Pakuna. Lord Ambril is so fascinated by her strange, exotic beauty that to suggest that, even under the most stringent circumstances, he would indulge in a shameful and sordid dalliance with—”
“'Shameful and sordid,' is it? And what about you and Miss Fortelspan? Those dreadful sonnets you inscribed to her all last summer?”
“That is an entirely different matter,” Lonira said, “and I warn you, Maranni, if you persist in this baiting I shall—”
“I am not baiting you, dear sister,” Maranni protested. “I am simply pointing out that there is ample scope within the text for such relationships between the characters as the writers of these amateur publications envisage. The fact that the author chooses not to describe them in detail herself may be ascribed to a nice sense of delicacy on the part of the publishers, who doubtless prefer to sell books that are guaranteed not to bring palpitations to maiden aunts and girls of tender years.”
“Whereas the narratives contained within these rags,” Lonira spat back, “would bleach the hair of a veteran soldier! At least tell me, Maranni, that you yourself are not responsible for any of these effusions. Reassure me on that point, if you will.”
Maranni assumed an expression of over-elaborate innocence. “Why, Lonira,” she said, shocked. “How could you think such a thing of me?”
Idyla snorted, and Mordecai passed on quickly. There was something dangerously soothing in listening to the sisters' quarrels about their phantasmal world, so far removed from anything real.
“Master Stychel,” he said, encountering the teacher near the stern. The cat was still sitting in the same spot. “How is Master Driskil?”
“He's doing rather better, I think,” Stychel said. “The poisons have left his system, and his temperature is back to normal. I'm hoping I'll be able to question him tomorrow. I've tried with the other boys, but Gorol obviously knows nothing, Burlox just looks like a stuffed fish, and Thavaar goes into a flurry of words and, to be honest, wears me out. I don't think any of them have been using drugs, apart from drink, of course.”
Mordecai looked around carefully. They were alone on the stern deck. “May I ask you,” he said, “about your other work? What sort of thing do you do?”
Stychel too looked around, and lowered his voice. “Mostly just gathering information and passing it on,” he said. “All very dull and tawdry, not at all the stuff of adventure stories. I can fight when I have to, but I'd much rather not.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Mordecai said.
He went down the stern ladder and made his way to his and Varnak's rooms, where he found the prince waiting for him with two loaded trays.
“Eat well,” Varnak said. “It may be a long night. I'm sorry about this, Mordecai, but I can't trust anyone else as I trust you. If someone is taking that food, we need to find out where they are, and if possible who. They might lead us to Parrunz's killer, or even to—” He hesitated. “Even to Willibald, maybe.”
Mordecai nodded, and they ate in silence.
*
“Magus!”
Gisel, having uttered the involuntary cry, stopped suddenly, taken aback.
The day was overcast, but Tamshold market was bustling as ever. Farmers from outlying villages and manors sold their produce from the tails of their carts, local traders quitted their shops to set up stalls in the street, and all was colour and movement. And there was Zivano, simply dressed in a plain grey robe, wandering among the stalls, seemingly abstracted.
He looked up and recognised Gisel. “Oh. Hello,” he said.
“What brings you to market, Magus?”
Zivano looked embarrassed. “Nothing. That is, nothing serious. I just...wanted to look. It occurred to me that in all my time here...before...I never actually took any notice of the people I was supposed to be helping to rule.”
“Well,” Gisel said, “that's certainly true.”
“I—” Zivano looked, if possible, even more lost. “Gisel, may I talk to you for a minute?”
Gisel considered. “By all means. Afternoon magery can't very well start till you're there, so we have time.”
“Oh, but I don't want to be late.” He looked around. “I saw a sort of eating place back there. Would you allow me to buy you a cup of tea?”
Gisel assented, and they wove their way through the crowds to the edge of the square, where rickety-looking tables and chairs sat outside an establishment from which appetising smells emanated. Zivano ordered two cups of the inevitable catterfoil tea, and they sat down
“I know exactly what's been happening,” Zivano said, sounding a little defensive.
“Yes?” Gisel sipped her tea, and found it too hot.
“It's perfectly understandable. Working with the people, face to face with them, using magic to help them, requires a degree of...a degree of understanding that I never allowed myself to have before.” Zivano shook his head. “I never intended to become so...involved, but there was no way to avoid it. When I was Chancellor it was easy. I hardly ever left the palace, and there was always a barrier between me and other people, and—well, anyway.” His eyes were focussed on something in the distance. “One can't live and work in close proximity to people, especially with magic which is so...intrinsically personal, and not start to feel something about them. And what I find myself feeling is...” He waved a hand vaguely.
“Compassion?” Gisel said.
“I know,” Zivano said. “Unheard of. It seems to have happened remarkably quickly as well, in just a week...but I think it began last year, and has only come to a head now. I had schooled myself to eschew all such feelings as foolishness, but once they take hold...”
Steady, Gisel told herself, as she sipped the tea again. It was easier now. Steady. It could still all be an act. Some people can put on a very convincing show. It feels right...but feelings are fallible. Feelings can be fooled.
“So,” she said, deciding to risk it, “what about Mordecai?”
“del Aguila?” Zivano said, and his face hardened. “He is the reason I'm having to go through this. He is the reason why my life just became a hundred times more difficult. And he is still the man who got the job I wanted so very badly. No, Gisel, I still hate del Aguila, and I will still hold King Bran to the bargain we made.” His expression softened again. “But I am sorry for your sake. I know how you feel about him, and I can even see that in some ways he deserves it. But if I were to forgive him...” He shook his head once more, definitely. “I would no longer be who I am.”
“Well,” Gisel said, “it was worth asking.” She thought for a moment. “You do know that if you had got the job as Magus...you would have had to go through this change even sooner.”
“It would have been easier then, when I was younger.” Zivano smiled grimly. “Whichever way round you turn it, Gisel, it comes out the same. del Aguila is to blame, and del Aguila must go.”
“And the Panergodyne?”
“I have already begun searching for a number of young apprentices to train up. One of them is sure to be able to make the Great Link, even if I cannot. And who knows,” Zivano said, with a short laugh, “maybe now it will be more forgiving to me.”
“Not till you forgive Mordecai,” Gisel said firmly. “I mean, it wasn't even he who took the job from you, it was Tudny, his teacher.”
“I know that,” Zivano said sharply, with an echo of his old tone. “Tudny is dead and beyond my revenge. del Aguila is not. There is no point in trying to change my mind, Gisel. The Panergodyne and I will simply have to muddle along on our own, then, till one of my trainees can make the Link.” He drained his tea cup, spat out a stray leaf, and got to his feet. “And now I must return to the magery. Will you walk with me?”
“Yes, of course,” Gisel said, rising also. It's not a pretence, then. If it were he would have been all smiles and forgiveness. It's real...but it won't help Mordecai.
Nothing will help Mordecai.
*
From the doorway of the engine room, Mordecai could see all the way up the corridor that ran the length of the boat. The two empty rooms were at the far end, on opposite sides; between were crew quarters, storerooms for food, lamp oil, material for repairs and such like. Varnak had made sure to tell the boatmaster of their plan, so even in the unlikely event of one of them venturing down here during a meal time, there would be no intrusion.
Mordecai settled down to wait.
Somewhere up above, the bell rang to indicate dinner time. The passengers would be trooping into the dining salon. Soon now, Ollamy would be bringing down two trays for the illusory passengers. Then the fun would begin.
A figure descended the ladder, notably trayless and garbed in close-fitting black. It paused, then crept furtively down the corridor. Mordecai drew back into the flickering shadows of the engine room. The furtive figure paused again just outside the door, then slipped inside and turned round.
In an instant Mordecai leapt forward and grappled the figure. It squeaked and writhed furiously in his grip, startling him. He half released it, and turned it round to stare into the furious face of Maranni ap Gavrus.
“Unhand me at once, sir!” she said in a furious whisper.
“Not till you tell me what you are doing here,” Mordecai responded in kind.
Maranni considered, then acceded. “We heard today from one of the crew that the two rooms on this level were empty and yet that food was disappearing from outside them. My sister Idyla suggested that if one of us were to watch, we might discover who was taking the food and thus be in a position to assist you in your investigation. Lonira refused point blank to do any such thing, because she is a goose, and Idyla herself pleaded the headache, so the lot fell to me.” She looked down. “I suppose we should have realised that you would already have thought of the same plan.”
“Well,” Mordecai said judicially, “yes. Of course, now it is too late for you to go back, so you will have to stay here and watch with me. Please be very quiet and do not move unless I—”
“Get your hands off her, you filthy Sinjaro scum!”
Gorol Felk irrupted into the engine room and immediately wrenched Maranni out of Mordecai's grasp. Maranni squeaked again, and Mordecai, casting a single glance heavenward, or possibly in the general direction of Varnak, separated the two of them in turn and by signs and irate hisses enjoined them to quiet.
“Stay behind me and do not move or speak,” he ordered.
“Yes, but what—” Maranni began.
“I don't know who you think you are--” Gorol blurted.
“Shut UP!” Mordecai whispered fiercely, and for a wonder they both shut up. Mordecai turned his attention back to the corridor, and was rewarded with a view of the maid Ollamy making her careful way down the ladder with two trays balanced precariously on her arms. She laid them on the floor outside the two doors, then paused, looked around, and suddenly sprinted towards the engine room and hurled herself almost into Mordecai's arms.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you was there.”
Mordecai cursed inwardly. “Did your father not tell you about our plan?”
“He didn't tell me nothing, sir,” Ollamy said. “Mind you, he never do. He don't think it proper young girls should know things. He's a bit old-fashioned that way. Anyway, I thought to myself what with these trays of food vanishing, it might be a good idea to keep watch and see where they go, and—”
“And of course you did not tell your father,” Mordecai said wearily, gesturing for Ollamy to join the other two behind him. “Well, this is marvellous. All we need now is Master Churidang and we shall have the complete set.”
“Actually, I've been here for the last twenty minutes,” Churidang said from behind them, eliciting another set of squeaks and gasps. Mordecai turned to see the lean woman materialise out of the shadows. “I've been quite enjoying the show. Do you go into the song and dance now, or were you planning a few conjuring tricks first?”
Mordecai was about to answer, but a sound from the other end of the corridor stilled the words on his lips. With a quick shushing gesture he turned back to the door and peered round it.
A man, naked but for a loincloth and deadly white in colour apart from his luxuriant black moustache, was descending the ladder. The loincloth was secured with a belt from which various objects hung, and he carried in one hand what appeared to be the shell of a giant clam, bound up with strips of some pale brown substance.
“A ghost,” Ollamy breathed, peering under Mordecai's arm.
“Let's scrag him,” Gorol whispered.
“We need to see where he goes, idiot,” Churidang whispered back.
The white man pulled off the straps, which appeared to be extremely stretchy, and opened the shell. He briskly transferred the contents of the trays into the shell, closed it and stretched the straps over it again, and then turned to go back up the ladder.
“Stay. Here,” Mordecai said with as much emphasis as he could put into a whisper, and as the white man began negotiating his way back up the ladder, with the shell now held flat before him, Mordecai crept out as noiselessly as he could and followed. He waited till the man had started on the upper ladder that led to the deck, and then swarmed up as quickly as he could, in time to hear a splash from the stern. Of the man, and his shell, there was no sign.
Mordecai stayed by the rail, peering desperately about to see on which bank the man would emerge, but no white figure broke the surface. The moon, emerging from behind clouds, limned the landscape in dull silver, and struck glints from the water as the boat ploughed on. There was nothing.
Churidang, Maranni, Gorol Felk and Ollamy joined him at the rail.
“I told you to stay below,” Mordecai said.
Churidang affected puzzlement. “Sorry, and we follow your orders...why, exactly?”
“I said we should have scragged him,” Gorol muttered.
“Please, sir,” Ollamy said, “you can't scrag a ghost.”
“That was not a ghost,” Maranni said with an air of certitude.
“What was it then, miss?” Ollamy inquired.
“Why, what else,” Maranni said, “but one of the dreaded Ice Savants of Zo Dan? They live far to the north, you know. Lord Clatterack's friend, the vivacious Lady Tallemar whose daring manner conceals a tragic secret from her shadowed past, was kidnapped by those monsters in 'Lord Clatterack Breaks The Ice.' She almost escaped on her own, but—”
Mordecai tuned out the chatter. Perhaps the intruder could hold his breath for long periods. He might be sitting on the bottom now, waiting for the boat to round the next bend.
What about that clam shell thing, though? The water would surely have ruined the food by now, and in that case why bother to steal it?
Admit it, fool. You have failed again. You know no more than you did at the start, and you cannot even blame these idiots for getting in the way. You had a clear run, and you made a botch of it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, turning to face his audience, “I apologise. If you wish to try again when breakfast is served tomorrow morning, you are free to do so. I, however, am going to bed.”
Maranni and Gorol made way for him without speaking, and Mordecai returned to Varnak's rooms to find the prince sprawled on the bed in the larger room, fully clothed and sound asleep. Mordecai contemplated waking him, telling him the news and incidentally getting him to move, but it didn't seem worth it. He would be magically useless tomorrow anyway.
He sat down in a chair and brooded, till a restless doze overcame him.
*
“After all, I am an Extricator,” Hudge murmured to himself, as his left hand came free of the ropes.
He was as sure as he could be that Willibald was actually asleep. It had taken her a long time, and even now she tossed and thrashed about as the drug in her system, or rather the lack of it, ate away at her mind. He would have to be very quiet to avoid rousing her. This could be a problem.
He cast about the room for something to put between his teeth, but had to be content with a fold of his shirt. He placed his hand flat against the wall, braced himself, took a deep breath, and pushed hard with his other hand till, in a white-hot explosion of pain, the bones snapped back into place. Hudge breathed hard for a while, and then opened his jaws and let the wet fabric fall.
He turned his attention to the knots securing his feet. His left hand was all but useless and would be for a long time yet, but fortunately the Chotani seemed not to be too expert at tying knots, or perhaps they simply did not care. He freed his feet, and loosened the rope from his right wrist, without too much difficulty and only some pain, and carefully stood up.
The door of the room was not locked. He eased it open, peered through the crack at the tiny space between this room and the next. At the end of it, Zorn was coming down a vertical ladder made of some light, segmented wood, carrying a large shell secured with bands. Hudge moved noiselessly out into the space, till he was standing directly behind Zorn, and then struck with all the science at his command, catching Zorn with his left arm (more pain) as the white-skinned man folded. The shell clattered to the floor, and there was a noise from the other room.
Hudge launched himself up the ladder. There was no point in heroism. Willibald would merely die sooner if deprived of the drug, and he had no desire to encounter anyone else. Zorn had come, he knew, from the outside, and whatever there might be outside, Hudge found it preferable to remaining where he was.
He fancied it must at very least be raining. Zorn had been extremely wet.
*
Mordecai struggled to wakefulness, with Varnak shaking his shoulder.
“Tam's bones, Mordecai, why didn't you wake me?” the prince was saying. “What happened? Did you see them?”
“I saw everybody,” Mordecai grumbled, waving the prince away. “What time is it?”
“Well after breakfast, I'm afraid, but I'm sure they'll have saved us something. Tell me everything.”
As Mordecai stripped, washed and re-donned his clerk's garb, he recounted the events of the night. Varnak nobly refrained from laughing, and looked appropriately grave at the end.
“There must have been a boat,” he said. “Somewhere. It was dark, maybe you just didn't see it.”
“Maybe.” Mordecai was feeling too tired, and too wretched, to argue.
“And at least we know what one of them looks like now.” Varnak frowned. “I've never seen anyone who was dead white all over. Have you?”
“No,” Mordecai said, and something slid into place in his mind, “but I believe that the man I saw was a Chotani.”
“A Chotani? What makes you say that?”
“Something the girl Maranni said. These people feature in their damnable books, and come from a place called Zo Dan. It is not so long a step from Zo Dan to Chotan. And who else from a far country has any interest in us and our doings at the moment?”
“But we're supposed to be meeting them in Freeport,” Varnak said. “Why bother making us come all this way if they were already in Tamland?”
“To get you and me away from our centres of power? Or perhaps they did not want us to know that they had come to Tamland.” Mordecai punched one fist into the other hand. “I do not know enough. I need more information. I wish I could talk to Gisel.”
“I wish I could talk to Dad,” Varnak sighed.
*
“Magus?” Gisel said, putting her head round the door. Zivano was sitting at his desk, consulting one of Mordecai's magical texts. He looked up.
“What can I do for you, Gisel?”
“A messenger brought this letter,” Gisel said, “addressed to you and marked 'Private and Personal.'” She handed over the envelope and turned to go.
“No, stay, Gisel,” Zivano said. “I have no secrets now.” He opened the letter and read it quickly. “It appears that Lady Anatta Ralitz wishes to see me, this afternoon after magery, at her home,” Zivano said. “Is that normal? Did del Aguila make house calls?”
“Occasionally,” Gisel said, “in cases of great need. He didn't like it, but he did it. Does she say what it's about?”
“Not here,” Zivano said. “Hmmm. It occurs to me that Ralitz was the first to make contact with the Chotani about this úllama substance.”
“I believe that's true,” Gisel said.
“It might be worth attending this interview,” Zivano said slowly.
“It certainly might,” Gisel agreed.
“Of course, she might simply be looking for some sort of magical help.”
“I would say that was unlikely,” Gisel said. “To my knowledge, Lady Ralitz has never set any great store by magic. And you may remember that the last time her husband called on the Magus for help—”
“Things went rather badly wrong,” Zivano finished, smiling.
“Not Mordecai's fault,” Gisel pointed out.
“No indeed,” Zivano agreed.
“So you'll go?”
“I shall write to her accepting her kind invitation,” Zivano said. “And we shall see what we shall see.” He took a sheet of paper from a tray on the desk and began to write. “Thank you, Gisel.”
Gisel took the hint and withdrew. Once behind her own desk in the outer office, she too took a sheet of paper and scribbled a brief note. When Zivano emerged from the inner office and handed her a letter with Mordecai's ornate seal on it, she took both to the door and handed them to two of the young people who were always to be found hanging about the streets in case there were messages to be dispatched.
“Take this one to Lady Ralitz's house,” she said to one, and to the other: “Take this to the King.”
*
Nalleck and Ollamy had indeed saved some food for the slugabeds, and Mordecai and Varnak made a reasonable breakfast in their rooms. Ollamy also brought the news that the scheduled stop at Gerenna, on the Tseneshi bank, had not taken place.
“They wouldn't let us dock, sir,” she said, her eyes wide with dismay. “Said as we had boisterous men on board doing murder and such and they wanted no part of us. Sent us packing, they did.”
“But that's against the code of the river!” Varnak protested. “All riverside towns are required to provide facilities to river traffic. The Witch Queen was a signatory to that agreement. Tam's balls, she'll—oh, I beg your pardon, my dear—but she'll hear about this.”
“I'm sure she will, my lord,” Ollamy said demurely, and left.
“Well,” Mordecai said, “looking on the bright side, the engine is more likely to hold out till we reach Brokenbowes. Stopping and starting take more energy than simply moving forward.”
“Yes, but it's the principle of the thing, Mordecai,” Varnak said. “The world works because people agree to keep to certain standards. Of course it would be Tsenesh. Those damned women—”
“Those damned women,” Mordecai said, “are a mystery. We may never find out what is behind this decision. Maybe the Witch Queen is regretting her agreement to the code. Maybe the Witchring has overruled her because she is in a weaker position, having lost her preferred heir. Or maybe it was just a hasty decision by a local invigilatrix who is even now submitting to discipline for overreaching her authority. It is unwise to judge a whole country by the actions of one person.”
“Of course you're right, Mordecai,” Varnak said after a while. “And we have our own problems to worry about at the moment. What happens at Brokenbowes?”
“We stop for a day and a night. The ap Gavrus sisters leave us to attend this convention or whatever it is called. The engine is turned off and the horse hauls the boat the rest of the way to Freeport.” Mordecai shrugged. “I do not know of anything else.”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing,” Varnak said. “If the Chotani have had the infernal gall to be following us all the way to our appointment to meet them, I'm rather disinclined to go any further. So one thing that will happen at Brokenbowes is that we will find out where they are, and how they are following us, and—and we'll damned well have it out with them.”
“And how will we do that?”
“I don't know yet,” Varnak said impatiently. “I'll think of something.”
“Think of it quickly,” Mordecai said. “We will be there tomorrow.”
The Pride of Tamland passed through the remainder of the Jags without incident, and the river resumed its gently meandering course, between the woods and fields of Briom and the scrubby, desolate moors of Tsenesh. The sun gently declined ahead of them, and the boatmaster reported that with any luck they should arrive at the next port of call, the Tseneshi town of Gerenna, by early the next morning.
“How is the engine holding out?” Mordecai asked him.
Flood scratched the back of his head. “Well, truth be told, Master Alonso,” he said, “I don't know as it'll hold out as far as Brokenbowes. Never known it run down so fast before. If it do run out completely, then...” He sighed. “It'll be every able-bodied passenger to the ropes and turn and turn about till we can pick up the horse. And that'll mean refunds and I don't know what. But that's Tamland magic for you,” he added, with a rueful grin. “It don't travel well, and that's the end of it.”
Mordecai, who knew why, did not comment. Already his own power was reduced to whatever his body could generate on its own, which, while considerable by human standards, was a fraction of what he was used to. Conscientious training and a regular lifestyle had prevented any such debacle as that of the previous year, in which, totally reliant on the Panergodyne, he had spent several harrowing days utterly without magic of his own; but still...
“Let me see what I can do,” he said. Flood looked dubious, as well he might, but nodded, and Mordecai, receiving a similar nod from Varnak, went below to the engine room, where he examined the glittering, whirling construction before him with care.
Anything magical is half alive, Tam had written, because magic is life. Considered as a living thing, the boat's magical engine was seriously ill. It was already labouring to keep the boat moving at a steady speed, and its store of energy was all but depleted. Mordecai doubted it would last the night, let alone to Brokenbowes.
He performed a few elementary adjustments, trying to extract an ounce or two more performance from the thing, and then, seeing no help for it, fed as much as he could spare of his own energy into it. It brightened at once, and the irregularities of its vibrations smoothed out. Mordecai hoped it would be enough. Hauling this glorified barge along on a rope was not an appealing prospect.
When he emerged on deck, the ap Gavrus sisters were arguing again. Lonira was clutching a handful of papers and looking furious. Maranni was displaying an irritating placidity. Idyla was having none of any of it.
“—and in 'Lord Clatterack Settles The Matter,'” Maranni was saying, “when he and Lord Ambril are trapped in the ice caves of Selderung, there is a clear indication that—”
“Balderdash!” Lonira retorted hotly. “I would remind you, dear sister, that the very essence of that entire book was the romance between Lord Ambril and the ice maiden Pakuna. Lord Ambril is so fascinated by her strange, exotic beauty that to suggest that, even under the most stringent circumstances, he would indulge in a shameful and sordid dalliance with—”
“'Shameful and sordid,' is it? And what about you and Miss Fortelspan? Those dreadful sonnets you inscribed to her all last summer?”
“That is an entirely different matter,” Lonira said, “and I warn you, Maranni, if you persist in this baiting I shall—”
“I am not baiting you, dear sister,” Maranni protested. “I am simply pointing out that there is ample scope within the text for such relationships between the characters as the writers of these amateur publications envisage. The fact that the author chooses not to describe them in detail herself may be ascribed to a nice sense of delicacy on the part of the publishers, who doubtless prefer to sell books that are guaranteed not to bring palpitations to maiden aunts and girls of tender years.”
“Whereas the narratives contained within these rags,” Lonira spat back, “would bleach the hair of a veteran soldier! At least tell me, Maranni, that you yourself are not responsible for any of these effusions. Reassure me on that point, if you will.”
Maranni assumed an expression of over-elaborate innocence. “Why, Lonira,” she said, shocked. “How could you think such a thing of me?”
Idyla snorted, and Mordecai passed on quickly. There was something dangerously soothing in listening to the sisters' quarrels about their phantasmal world, so far removed from anything real.
“Master Stychel,” he said, encountering the teacher near the stern. The cat was still sitting in the same spot. “How is Master Driskil?”
“He's doing rather better, I think,” Stychel said. “The poisons have left his system, and his temperature is back to normal. I'm hoping I'll be able to question him tomorrow. I've tried with the other boys, but Gorol obviously knows nothing, Burlox just looks like a stuffed fish, and Thavaar goes into a flurry of words and, to be honest, wears me out. I don't think any of them have been using drugs, apart from drink, of course.”
Mordecai looked around carefully. They were alone on the stern deck. “May I ask you,” he said, “about your other work? What sort of thing do you do?”
Stychel too looked around, and lowered his voice. “Mostly just gathering information and passing it on,” he said. “All very dull and tawdry, not at all the stuff of adventure stories. I can fight when I have to, but I'd much rather not.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Mordecai said.
He went down the stern ladder and made his way to his and Varnak's rooms, where he found the prince waiting for him with two loaded trays.
“Eat well,” Varnak said. “It may be a long night. I'm sorry about this, Mordecai, but I can't trust anyone else as I trust you. If someone is taking that food, we need to find out where they are, and if possible who. They might lead us to Parrunz's killer, or even to—” He hesitated. “Even to Willibald, maybe.”
Mordecai nodded, and they ate in silence.
*
“Magus!”
Gisel, having uttered the involuntary cry, stopped suddenly, taken aback.
The day was overcast, but Tamshold market was bustling as ever. Farmers from outlying villages and manors sold their produce from the tails of their carts, local traders quitted their shops to set up stalls in the street, and all was colour and movement. And there was Zivano, simply dressed in a plain grey robe, wandering among the stalls, seemingly abstracted.
He looked up and recognised Gisel. “Oh. Hello,” he said.
“What brings you to market, Magus?”
Zivano looked embarrassed. “Nothing. That is, nothing serious. I just...wanted to look. It occurred to me that in all my time here...before...I never actually took any notice of the people I was supposed to be helping to rule.”
“Well,” Gisel said, “that's certainly true.”
“I—” Zivano looked, if possible, even more lost. “Gisel, may I talk to you for a minute?”
Gisel considered. “By all means. Afternoon magery can't very well start till you're there, so we have time.”
“Oh, but I don't want to be late.” He looked around. “I saw a sort of eating place back there. Would you allow me to buy you a cup of tea?”
Gisel assented, and they wove their way through the crowds to the edge of the square, where rickety-looking tables and chairs sat outside an establishment from which appetising smells emanated. Zivano ordered two cups of the inevitable catterfoil tea, and they sat down
“I know exactly what's been happening,” Zivano said, sounding a little defensive.
“Yes?” Gisel sipped her tea, and found it too hot.
“It's perfectly understandable. Working with the people, face to face with them, using magic to help them, requires a degree of...a degree of understanding that I never allowed myself to have before.” Zivano shook his head. “I never intended to become so...involved, but there was no way to avoid it. When I was Chancellor it was easy. I hardly ever left the palace, and there was always a barrier between me and other people, and—well, anyway.” His eyes were focussed on something in the distance. “One can't live and work in close proximity to people, especially with magic which is so...intrinsically personal, and not start to feel something about them. And what I find myself feeling is...” He waved a hand vaguely.
“Compassion?” Gisel said.
“I know,” Zivano said. “Unheard of. It seems to have happened remarkably quickly as well, in just a week...but I think it began last year, and has only come to a head now. I had schooled myself to eschew all such feelings as foolishness, but once they take hold...”
Steady, Gisel told herself, as she sipped the tea again. It was easier now. Steady. It could still all be an act. Some people can put on a very convincing show. It feels right...but feelings are fallible. Feelings can be fooled.
“So,” she said, deciding to risk it, “what about Mordecai?”
“del Aguila?” Zivano said, and his face hardened. “He is the reason I'm having to go through this. He is the reason why my life just became a hundred times more difficult. And he is still the man who got the job I wanted so very badly. No, Gisel, I still hate del Aguila, and I will still hold King Bran to the bargain we made.” His expression softened again. “But I am sorry for your sake. I know how you feel about him, and I can even see that in some ways he deserves it. But if I were to forgive him...” He shook his head once more, definitely. “I would no longer be who I am.”
“Well,” Gisel said, “it was worth asking.” She thought for a moment. “You do know that if you had got the job as Magus...you would have had to go through this change even sooner.”
“It would have been easier then, when I was younger.” Zivano smiled grimly. “Whichever way round you turn it, Gisel, it comes out the same. del Aguila is to blame, and del Aguila must go.”
“And the Panergodyne?”
“I have already begun searching for a number of young apprentices to train up. One of them is sure to be able to make the Great Link, even if I cannot. And who knows,” Zivano said, with a short laugh, “maybe now it will be more forgiving to me.”
“Not till you forgive Mordecai,” Gisel said firmly. “I mean, it wasn't even he who took the job from you, it was Tudny, his teacher.”
“I know that,” Zivano said sharply, with an echo of his old tone. “Tudny is dead and beyond my revenge. del Aguila is not. There is no point in trying to change my mind, Gisel. The Panergodyne and I will simply have to muddle along on our own, then, till one of my trainees can make the Link.” He drained his tea cup, spat out a stray leaf, and got to his feet. “And now I must return to the magery. Will you walk with me?”
“Yes, of course,” Gisel said, rising also. It's not a pretence, then. If it were he would have been all smiles and forgiveness. It's real...but it won't help Mordecai.
Nothing will help Mordecai.
*
From the doorway of the engine room, Mordecai could see all the way up the corridor that ran the length of the boat. The two empty rooms were at the far end, on opposite sides; between were crew quarters, storerooms for food, lamp oil, material for repairs and such like. Varnak had made sure to tell the boatmaster of their plan, so even in the unlikely event of one of them venturing down here during a meal time, there would be no intrusion.
Mordecai settled down to wait.
Somewhere up above, the bell rang to indicate dinner time. The passengers would be trooping into the dining salon. Soon now, Ollamy would be bringing down two trays for the illusory passengers. Then the fun would begin.
A figure descended the ladder, notably trayless and garbed in close-fitting black. It paused, then crept furtively down the corridor. Mordecai drew back into the flickering shadows of the engine room. The furtive figure paused again just outside the door, then slipped inside and turned round.
In an instant Mordecai leapt forward and grappled the figure. It squeaked and writhed furiously in his grip, startling him. He half released it, and turned it round to stare into the furious face of Maranni ap Gavrus.
“Unhand me at once, sir!” she said in a furious whisper.
“Not till you tell me what you are doing here,” Mordecai responded in kind.
Maranni considered, then acceded. “We heard today from one of the crew that the two rooms on this level were empty and yet that food was disappearing from outside them. My sister Idyla suggested that if one of us were to watch, we might discover who was taking the food and thus be in a position to assist you in your investigation. Lonira refused point blank to do any such thing, because she is a goose, and Idyla herself pleaded the headache, so the lot fell to me.” She looked down. “I suppose we should have realised that you would already have thought of the same plan.”
“Well,” Mordecai said judicially, “yes. Of course, now it is too late for you to go back, so you will have to stay here and watch with me. Please be very quiet and do not move unless I—”
“Get your hands off her, you filthy Sinjaro scum!”
Gorol Felk irrupted into the engine room and immediately wrenched Maranni out of Mordecai's grasp. Maranni squeaked again, and Mordecai, casting a single glance heavenward, or possibly in the general direction of Varnak, separated the two of them in turn and by signs and irate hisses enjoined them to quiet.
“Stay behind me and do not move or speak,” he ordered.
“Yes, but what—” Maranni began.
“I don't know who you think you are--” Gorol blurted.
“Shut UP!” Mordecai whispered fiercely, and for a wonder they both shut up. Mordecai turned his attention back to the corridor, and was rewarded with a view of the maid Ollamy making her careful way down the ladder with two trays balanced precariously on her arms. She laid them on the floor outside the two doors, then paused, looked around, and suddenly sprinted towards the engine room and hurled herself almost into Mordecai's arms.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you was there.”
Mordecai cursed inwardly. “Did your father not tell you about our plan?”
“He didn't tell me nothing, sir,” Ollamy said. “Mind you, he never do. He don't think it proper young girls should know things. He's a bit old-fashioned that way. Anyway, I thought to myself what with these trays of food vanishing, it might be a good idea to keep watch and see where they go, and—”
“And of course you did not tell your father,” Mordecai said wearily, gesturing for Ollamy to join the other two behind him. “Well, this is marvellous. All we need now is Master Churidang and we shall have the complete set.”
“Actually, I've been here for the last twenty minutes,” Churidang said from behind them, eliciting another set of squeaks and gasps. Mordecai turned to see the lean woman materialise out of the shadows. “I've been quite enjoying the show. Do you go into the song and dance now, or were you planning a few conjuring tricks first?”
Mordecai was about to answer, but a sound from the other end of the corridor stilled the words on his lips. With a quick shushing gesture he turned back to the door and peered round it.
A man, naked but for a loincloth and deadly white in colour apart from his luxuriant black moustache, was descending the ladder. The loincloth was secured with a belt from which various objects hung, and he carried in one hand what appeared to be the shell of a giant clam, bound up with strips of some pale brown substance.
“A ghost,” Ollamy breathed, peering under Mordecai's arm.
“Let's scrag him,” Gorol whispered.
“We need to see where he goes, idiot,” Churidang whispered back.
The white man pulled off the straps, which appeared to be extremely stretchy, and opened the shell. He briskly transferred the contents of the trays into the shell, closed it and stretched the straps over it again, and then turned to go back up the ladder.
“Stay. Here,” Mordecai said with as much emphasis as he could put into a whisper, and as the white man began negotiating his way back up the ladder, with the shell now held flat before him, Mordecai crept out as noiselessly as he could and followed. He waited till the man had started on the upper ladder that led to the deck, and then swarmed up as quickly as he could, in time to hear a splash from the stern. Of the man, and his shell, there was no sign.
Mordecai stayed by the rail, peering desperately about to see on which bank the man would emerge, but no white figure broke the surface. The moon, emerging from behind clouds, limned the landscape in dull silver, and struck glints from the water as the boat ploughed on. There was nothing.
Churidang, Maranni, Gorol Felk and Ollamy joined him at the rail.
“I told you to stay below,” Mordecai said.
Churidang affected puzzlement. “Sorry, and we follow your orders...why, exactly?”
“I said we should have scragged him,” Gorol muttered.
“Please, sir,” Ollamy said, “you can't scrag a ghost.”
“That was not a ghost,” Maranni said with an air of certitude.
“What was it then, miss?” Ollamy inquired.
“Why, what else,” Maranni said, “but one of the dreaded Ice Savants of Zo Dan? They live far to the north, you know. Lord Clatterack's friend, the vivacious Lady Tallemar whose daring manner conceals a tragic secret from her shadowed past, was kidnapped by those monsters in 'Lord Clatterack Breaks The Ice.' She almost escaped on her own, but—”
Mordecai tuned out the chatter. Perhaps the intruder could hold his breath for long periods. He might be sitting on the bottom now, waiting for the boat to round the next bend.
What about that clam shell thing, though? The water would surely have ruined the food by now, and in that case why bother to steal it?
Admit it, fool. You have failed again. You know no more than you did at the start, and you cannot even blame these idiots for getting in the way. You had a clear run, and you made a botch of it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, turning to face his audience, “I apologise. If you wish to try again when breakfast is served tomorrow morning, you are free to do so. I, however, am going to bed.”
Maranni and Gorol made way for him without speaking, and Mordecai returned to Varnak's rooms to find the prince sprawled on the bed in the larger room, fully clothed and sound asleep. Mordecai contemplated waking him, telling him the news and incidentally getting him to move, but it didn't seem worth it. He would be magically useless tomorrow anyway.
He sat down in a chair and brooded, till a restless doze overcame him.
*
“After all, I am an Extricator,” Hudge murmured to himself, as his left hand came free of the ropes.
He was as sure as he could be that Willibald was actually asleep. It had taken her a long time, and even now she tossed and thrashed about as the drug in her system, or rather the lack of it, ate away at her mind. He would have to be very quiet to avoid rousing her. This could be a problem.
He cast about the room for something to put between his teeth, but had to be content with a fold of his shirt. He placed his hand flat against the wall, braced himself, took a deep breath, and pushed hard with his other hand till, in a white-hot explosion of pain, the bones snapped back into place. Hudge breathed hard for a while, and then opened his jaws and let the wet fabric fall.
He turned his attention to the knots securing his feet. His left hand was all but useless and would be for a long time yet, but fortunately the Chotani seemed not to be too expert at tying knots, or perhaps they simply did not care. He freed his feet, and loosened the rope from his right wrist, without too much difficulty and only some pain, and carefully stood up.
The door of the room was not locked. He eased it open, peered through the crack at the tiny space between this room and the next. At the end of it, Zorn was coming down a vertical ladder made of some light, segmented wood, carrying a large shell secured with bands. Hudge moved noiselessly out into the space, till he was standing directly behind Zorn, and then struck with all the science at his command, catching Zorn with his left arm (more pain) as the white-skinned man folded. The shell clattered to the floor, and there was a noise from the other room.
Hudge launched himself up the ladder. There was no point in heroism. Willibald would merely die sooner if deprived of the drug, and he had no desire to encounter anyone else. Zorn had come, he knew, from the outside, and whatever there might be outside, Hudge found it preferable to remaining where he was.
He fancied it must at very least be raining. Zorn had been extremely wet.
*
Mordecai struggled to wakefulness, with Varnak shaking his shoulder.
“Tam's bones, Mordecai, why didn't you wake me?” the prince was saying. “What happened? Did you see them?”
“I saw everybody,” Mordecai grumbled, waving the prince away. “What time is it?”
“Well after breakfast, I'm afraid, but I'm sure they'll have saved us something. Tell me everything.”
As Mordecai stripped, washed and re-donned his clerk's garb, he recounted the events of the night. Varnak nobly refrained from laughing, and looked appropriately grave at the end.
“There must have been a boat,” he said. “Somewhere. It was dark, maybe you just didn't see it.”
“Maybe.” Mordecai was feeling too tired, and too wretched, to argue.
“And at least we know what one of them looks like now.” Varnak frowned. “I've never seen anyone who was dead white all over. Have you?”
“No,” Mordecai said, and something slid into place in his mind, “but I believe that the man I saw was a Chotani.”
“A Chotani? What makes you say that?”
“Something the girl Maranni said. These people feature in their damnable books, and come from a place called Zo Dan. It is not so long a step from Zo Dan to Chotan. And who else from a far country has any interest in us and our doings at the moment?”
“But we're supposed to be meeting them in Freeport,” Varnak said. “Why bother making us come all this way if they were already in Tamland?”
“To get you and me away from our centres of power? Or perhaps they did not want us to know that they had come to Tamland.” Mordecai punched one fist into the other hand. “I do not know enough. I need more information. I wish I could talk to Gisel.”
“I wish I could talk to Dad,” Varnak sighed.
*
“Magus?” Gisel said, putting her head round the door. Zivano was sitting at his desk, consulting one of Mordecai's magical texts. He looked up.
“What can I do for you, Gisel?”
“A messenger brought this letter,” Gisel said, “addressed to you and marked 'Private and Personal.'” She handed over the envelope and turned to go.
“No, stay, Gisel,” Zivano said. “I have no secrets now.” He opened the letter and read it quickly. “It appears that Lady Anatta Ralitz wishes to see me, this afternoon after magery, at her home,” Zivano said. “Is that normal? Did del Aguila make house calls?”
“Occasionally,” Gisel said, “in cases of great need. He didn't like it, but he did it. Does she say what it's about?”
“Not here,” Zivano said. “Hmmm. It occurs to me that Ralitz was the first to make contact with the Chotani about this úllama substance.”
“I believe that's true,” Gisel said.
“It might be worth attending this interview,” Zivano said slowly.
“It certainly might,” Gisel agreed.
“Of course, she might simply be looking for some sort of magical help.”
“I would say that was unlikely,” Gisel said. “To my knowledge, Lady Ralitz has never set any great store by magic. And you may remember that the last time her husband called on the Magus for help—”
“Things went rather badly wrong,” Zivano finished, smiling.
“Not Mordecai's fault,” Gisel pointed out.
“No indeed,” Zivano agreed.
“So you'll go?”
“I shall write to her accepting her kind invitation,” Zivano said. “And we shall see what we shall see.” He took a sheet of paper from a tray on the desk and began to write. “Thank you, Gisel.”
Gisel took the hint and withdrew. Once behind her own desk in the outer office, she too took a sheet of paper and scribbled a brief note. When Zivano emerged from the inner office and handed her a letter with Mordecai's ornate seal on it, she took both to the door and handed them to two of the young people who were always to be found hanging about the streets in case there were messages to be dispatched.
“Take this one to Lady Ralitz's house,” she said to one, and to the other: “Take this to the King.”
*
Nalleck and Ollamy had indeed saved some food for the slugabeds, and Mordecai and Varnak made a reasonable breakfast in their rooms. Ollamy also brought the news that the scheduled stop at Gerenna, on the Tseneshi bank, had not taken place.
“They wouldn't let us dock, sir,” she said, her eyes wide with dismay. “Said as we had boisterous men on board doing murder and such and they wanted no part of us. Sent us packing, they did.”
“But that's against the code of the river!” Varnak protested. “All riverside towns are required to provide facilities to river traffic. The Witch Queen was a signatory to that agreement. Tam's balls, she'll—oh, I beg your pardon, my dear—but she'll hear about this.”
“I'm sure she will, my lord,” Ollamy said demurely, and left.
“Well,” Mordecai said, “looking on the bright side, the engine is more likely to hold out till we reach Brokenbowes. Stopping and starting take more energy than simply moving forward.”
“Yes, but it's the principle of the thing, Mordecai,” Varnak said. “The world works because people agree to keep to certain standards. Of course it would be Tsenesh. Those damned women—”
“Those damned women,” Mordecai said, “are a mystery. We may never find out what is behind this decision. Maybe the Witch Queen is regretting her agreement to the code. Maybe the Witchring has overruled her because she is in a weaker position, having lost her preferred heir. Or maybe it was just a hasty decision by a local invigilatrix who is even now submitting to discipline for overreaching her authority. It is unwise to judge a whole country by the actions of one person.”
“Of course you're right, Mordecai,” Varnak said after a while. “And we have our own problems to worry about at the moment. What happens at Brokenbowes?”
“We stop for a day and a night. The ap Gavrus sisters leave us to attend this convention or whatever it is called. The engine is turned off and the horse hauls the boat the rest of the way to Freeport.” Mordecai shrugged. “I do not know of anything else.”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing,” Varnak said. “If the Chotani have had the infernal gall to be following us all the way to our appointment to meet them, I'm rather disinclined to go any further. So one thing that will happen at Brokenbowes is that we will find out where they are, and how they are following us, and—and we'll damned well have it out with them.”
“And how will we do that?”
“I don't know yet,” Varnak said impatiently. “I'll think of something.”
“Think of it quickly,” Mordecai said. “We will be there tomorrow.”