The Magicians' Guild Page 5

  She nodded. “Scared me witless, they did. Looked everywhere, but didn’t see anything, if you know what I mean. The guards did, though. I’m sure they’ll be back, but when they do there’ll be nothing to find.” She chuckled. “Too late then.” She paused as she set water boiling on the stove. “What you here for, then?”

  “The usual.”

  A wicked gleam entered Laria’s eyes. “Planning a few late nights, then? How much you offering?”

  He smiled. “You owe me a favor, if I remember.”

  The woman pursed her lips, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Stay there.”

  She disappeared out the door. With a sigh, Cery dropped down onto the bed, which creaked loudly. “Relax, Sonea,” he told her. “They’ve been here. They won’t look again.”

  She nodded. Her heart was still racing and her stomach was uneasy. Taking a deep breath, she let herself lean back against the wall. As the water boiled Cery helped himself to a jar of dark powder and heaped spoonfuls into the cups Laria had set out. A reassuringly familiar pungent aroma filled the room.

  “Guess we know for sure, Sonea,” Harrin said as Cery handed him a cup.

  She frowned. “Know what?

  “What you did must’ve been magic.” He grinned. “They wouldn’t be searching if they didn’t think it was, would they?”

  With an impatient gesture, Dannyl banished the moisture from his robes. Puffs of steam billowed from the cloth. The guards shied away, then, as an icy gust of wind swept away the mist, the four men returned to their places.

  They walked in formation—two beside him, two behind. A ridiculous precaution. The dwells weren’t stupid enough to attack them. Besides, if they did, Dannyl knew it would be the guards who would look to him for protection.

  Catching a pensive glance from one of the men, Dannyl felt a twinge of guilt. At the beginning of the day, they had been nervous and deferential. Knowing he would have to put up with this for the rest of the day, Dannyl had made an effort to be approachable and friendly.

  To them this was like a holiday—infinitely more entertaining than standing at one of the gates for hours on end or patrolling the city streets. Despite their eagerness to break into smuggler’s stores and whorehouses, they hadn’t been much help in the search. He didn’t need anybody to force locked doors or open shipping boxes, and the slum dwellers had been cooperative, even if reluctantly.

  Dannyl sighed. He’d seen enough to know that many of these people were well accustomed to hiding what they didn’t want found. He had also seen many smothered smiles on the faces that watched him. What chance did a mere hundred magicians have of finding one ordinary-looking girl amongst thousands of slum dwellers?

  None at all. Dannyl clenched his jaw as he remembered Lord Balkan’s words from the previous evening.

  How would it be if one of us was discovered dressed as a grovelling beggar? We would be ridiculed throughout the Allied Lands.

  He snorted. And we’re not making fools of ourselves now?

  A pungent stench filled Dannyl’s nostrils. He glared at the sewage-choked gutter. The people standing beside it shrank away hastily. With an effort, he made himself take a deep breath and school his expression.

  He did not like to frighten people. Impress them? Yes. Inspire awe? Even better. But not terrify. It disturbed him how these people always shied off the road when he approached, then stared at him as he passed. The children were bolder, following him around, but quick to run away if he looked at them. Men and women, old and young, regarded him warily. All looked hard and cunning. He wondered how many worked for the Thieves…

  Dannyl stopped.

  The Thieves…

  The guards skidded to a halt and looked at him questioningly. He ignored them.

  If the stories were true, the Thieves knew more about the slums than anyone else. Did they know the location of this girl? If they didn’t could they find her? Would they be willing to help the Guild? Perhaps, if the rewards were attractive…

  How would the other magicians react if he suggested bargaining with the Thieves?

  They’d be horrified. Outraged.

  He looked at the shallow, stinking trench that served as a gutter. The magicians might look more favorably on the idea after a few days of roaming through the slums. Which meant that the longer he waited before proposing it, the better his chances of gaining their approval.

  Yet, every hour that passed gave the girl more time to hide herself. Dannyl pursed his lips. It wouldn’t hurt to see if the Thieves were willing to bargain before he presented the idea to the Guild. If he waited for the Guild’s approval first, and the Thieves then proved uncooperative, he’d have wasted a lot of time and effort.

  He turned to face the eldest of the guards.

  “Captain Garrin. Do you know how the Thieves may be contacted?”

  The captain’s brows rose so high they disappeared under his helmet. He shook his head. “No, my lord.”

  “I do, my lord.”

  Dannyl turned to regard the youngest of the four guards, a lanky young man named Ollin.

  “I used to live here, my lord,” Ollin admitted, “before I joined the Guard. There’s always people about who can get messages to the Thieves, if you know where to look.”

  “I see.” Dannyl chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered. “Find one of these people for me. Ask if the Thieves would be willing to work with us. Report directly back to me—and no other.”

  Ollin nodded, then looked at the captain. The older man’s mouth tightened with disapproval, but he nodded, then jerked his head to one of the other guards. “Take Keran.”

  Dannyl watched the pair stride back down the street, then turned away and continued walking, his mind absorbed with possibilities. A familiar figure stepped out of a house a little farther down the street. Dannyl smiled and lengthened his stride.

  —Rothen!

  The man stopped, the wind catching his robe so it swirled out around him.

  —Dannyl? Rothen’s sending was faint and uncertain.

  —I’m here. Dannyl sent a quick image of the street to the other magician, and a sense of nearness. Rothen turned toward him, then straightened as he saw Dannyl. Drawing closer, Dannyl saw that Rothen’s blue eyes were wide and haunted.

  “Any luck?”

  “No.” Rothen shook his head. He looked at the makeshift houses to one side. “I had no idea what it was like out here.”

  “It’s like a harrel warren, isn’t it?” Dannyl chuckled. “A real mess.”

  “Oh, yes, but I meant the people.” Rothen gestured at the crowds around them. “Conditions are so bad…I couldn’t have imagined…”

  Dannyl shrugged. “We haven’t got a hope of finding her, Rothen. There just aren’t enough of us.”

  Rothen nodded. “Do you think the others have fared better?”

  “If they had, we would have been contacted.”

  “You’re right.” Rothen frowned. “It occurred to me today: how do we know she’s still in the city? She could have fled into the country.” He shook his head. “I fear you are right. I’ve finished here. Let’s go back to the Guild.”

  4

  The Search Continues

  Early morning sunlight bathed the frost-coated windows with gold. The air inside the room was deliciously warm, heated by a glowing sphere hovering behind a clouded glass panel set into the wall. Tying the sash of his robe, Rothen stepped out into the guest room to greet his friends.

  A second panel allowed the heat globe to warm the bedroom and guest room simultaneously. An elderly magician stood in front of this, holding his hands to the glass. Though well into his eighties, Yaldin was still robust and sharp witted, enjoying the longevity and good health that came with magical ability.

  A taller and younger magician stood beside Yaldin. Dannyl’s eyes were half closed, and he looked as if he was ready to fall asleep.

  “Good morning,” Rothen said. “Looks like the weather is going to clear today.”

>   Yaldin smiled crookedly. “Lord Davin thinks we’ll have a few warm days before winter sets in.”

  Dannyl scowled. “Davin has been saying that for weeks.”

  “He didn’t say when it would happen.” Yaldin chuckled. “Just that it would happen.”

  Rothen smiled. There was an old saying in Kyralia: “The sun seeks not to please Kings, nor even magicians.” Lord Davin, an eccentric Alchemist, had begun a study of the weather three years ago, determined to prove otherwise. He had been supplying the Guild with ‘predictions’ recently, though Rothen suspected his rate of success had more to do with chance than genius.

  The main door to the room opened and Rothen’s servant, Tania, entered. She carried a tray to the table and set it down. On it was a set of small cups decorated with gold and a plate piled high with sweet, elaborately decorated cakes.

  “Sumi, my lords?” she asked.

  Dannyl and Yaldin nodded eagerly. As Rothen ushered them to seats, Tania measured spoonfuls of dried leaves into a gold pot and added hot water.

  Yaldin sighed and shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know why I volunteered to go today. I wouldn’t have if Ezrille hadn’t insisted. I said to her ‘With only half of us out there, what chance do we have?’ She replied, ‘Better than if none of you went.’”

  Rothen smiled. “Your wife is a sensible lady.”

  “I’d have thought more of us would be interested in helping after the King’s Advisers announced that, if she isn’t a rogue, he wants her trained,” Dannyl said.

  Yaldin grimaced. “I suspect some withdrew their support in protest. They don’t want a slum girl in the Guild.”

  “Well, they have no choice now. And we’ve gained one new helper,” Rothen reminded them as he accepted a cup from Tania.

  “Fergun.” Dannyl made a rude noise. “The girl should have thrown harder.”

  “Dannyl!” Rothen shook a finger at the younger magician. “Fergun is the only reason we still have half the Guild looking for her. He was very persuasive at last night’s Meet.”

  Yaldin smiled grimly. “I doubt he’ll stay that way for long. I went straight to the baths when we finally came in yesterday, but Ezrille said she could still smell the slums on me afterward.”

  “I hope our little runaway magician doesn’t smell that bad,” Dannyl sent Rothen a crooked grin, “or I think the first lesson we’ll have to teach her is how to wash.”

  Remembering the girl’s starved, dirty face, eyes wide with realization, Rothen shivered. All night he had dreamed of the slums. He had roamed through thin-walled hovels, watched by sick-looking people, or old men shivering in their rags, or skinny children eating half-rotten food, twisted cripples…

  A polite knock interrupted his thoughts. He turned toward the door and gave a mental command. It swung inward and a young man in the garb of a messenger stepped into the room.

  “Lord Dannyl.” The messenger bowed low to the younger magician.

  “Speak,” Dannyl ordered.

  “Captain Garrin sent a message for you, my lord. He said to tell you that the guards Ollin and Keran were found robbed and beaten. The man you were seeking does not wish to speak to magicians.”

  Dannyl stared at the servant, then frowned as he considered the news. As the silence lengthened the young man shuffled his feet uneasily.

  “Are they badly injured?” Rothen asked.

  The messenger shook his head. “Bruised, my lord. Nothing broken.”

  Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “Thank the captain for his message. You may go.”

  The messenger bowed again and left.

  “What was that all about?” asked Yaldin when the door had closed.

  Dannyl pursed his lips. “It seems the Thieves are not well disposed toward us.”

  Yaldin snorted softly, and reached for a cake. “I should think not! Why would they—?” The old magician stopped and narrowed his eyes at the younger magician. “You didn’t…”

  Dannyl shrugged. “It was worth trying. After all, they’re supposed to know everything that goes on in the slums.”

  “You tried to contact the Thieves!”

  “I didn’t break any laws that I know of.”

  Yaldin groaned and shook his head.

  “No, Dannyl,” Rothen said, “but the King and the Houses will hardly look kindly on the Guild conducting business with the Thieves.”

  “Who said we were conducting business?” Dannyl smiled and took a sip from his cup. “Think about it. The Thieves know the slums far better than we could ever hope to. They’re in a better position to find the girl than we—and I’m sure they’d prefer to look for her themselves than have us snooping around in their domain. We have only to make it appear to the King that we have persuaded or intimidated the Thieves into turning the girl over and we’ll have all the approval we need.”

  Rothen frowned. “You’ll have a long and difficult time convincing the Higher Magicians to agree.”

  “They don’t have to know for now.”

  Rothen crossed his arms. “Yes they do,” he said firmly.

  Dannyl winced. “I suppose they do, but I’m sure they would forgive me if it worked, and I gave them a way to justify it to the King.”

  Yaldin snorted. “Perhaps it’s just as well it didn’t work.”

  Rising, Rothen walked to a window. He wiped a little frost away and peered through at the neatly laid out, carefully maintained gardens. He thought of the shivering, hungry people he had seen. Was that how she lived? Had their search driven her out of the dubious shelter of some hovel and into the streets? Winter was coming, and she could easily die from cold or starvation long before her powers grew unstable and dangerous. He drummed his fingers on the window sill.

  “There are several groups of Thieves, aren’t there?”

  “Yes,” Dannyl replied.

  “Does this man you tried to contact speak for all of them?”

  “I don’t know,” Dannyl admitted. “Perhaps not.”

  Rothen turned to regard his friend.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to find out, would it?”

  Yaldin stared at Rothen, then slapped a hand to his forehead. “You two are going to get us all in trouble,” he groaned.

  Dannyl patted the old man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Yaldin. Only one of us need go.” He grinned at Rothen. “Leave it to me. In the meantime, let’s give the Thieves a reason to help us. I’d like to have a closer look at those underground passages we found yesterday. I’d wager that they’d prefer we had no reason to be snooping around down there.”

  “I don’t like these underground rooms,” Donia said. “They got no windows. Makes me feel all creepy.”

  Sonea frowned and scratched at the tiny bites that she had gained during the night. Her aunt regularly washed their beds and blankets with an infusion of herbs to rid them of bugs, and for once Sonea missed her aunt’s fastidious ways. She sighed and looked around the dusty room.

  “I hope Cery won’t get in any rub for hiding me here.”

  Donia shrugged. “He’s been doing stuff for Opia and the girls at the Dancing Slippers for years. They don’t mind you staying in their storeroom for a few days. His ma worked here, y’know.” Donia placed a large wooden bowl on the table in front of Sonea. “Put your head down.”

  Sonea obeyed, and winced as icy cold water rushed over her head. After several rinses, Donia took the bowl away, now full of cloudy green water. She rubbed at Sonea’s hair with a threadbare towel before standing back and examining her work critically.

  “Hasn’t done a thing,” Donia said, shaking her head.

  Sonea lifted a hand to touch her hair. It was still sticky from the paste Donia had applied. “Nothing?”

  Donia leaned closer and plucked at Sonea’s hair. “Well, it’s a bit lighter, but not that you’d see straight away.” She sighed. “It’s not like we can cut it much shorter. But…” she stepped back and shrugged. “If the magicians are out for a girl, like people are saying, th
ey might not pick you, anyhow. You look like a boy with your hair like that, at least at the first look.” She put her hands on her hips and stepped back. “Why’d you cut it so short, then?”

  Sonea smiled. “So I look like a boy. I don’t get hassled so much.”

  “In the stayhouse?”

  “No. I did most of the picking up and delivering for Jonna and Ranel. Ranel’s leg made him slow, and Jonna was better at the work. I hated being stuck in the stayhouse all the time, so I went instead.” Sonea grimaced. “The first time I had to deliver stuff to a merchant, I saw a couple of crafters and stablemen hassling a baker girl. I didn’t want to put up with that, so I started dressing and acting like a boy.”

  Donia’s brows rose. “And it worked?”

  “Most of the time.” Sonea smiled wryly. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay to look like a boy, either. I had a maid in love with me once! Another time I was cornered by a gardener and I was sure he’d worked out I was a girl, until he grabbed me. He nearly fainted, then he got all red-faced and made me promise not to tell. There’s all kinds out there.”

  Donia chuckled. “The girls here call those men gold mines. Opia charges more for boys, because if the guard found out they’d hang her. No law against girls, though. Remember Kalia?”

  Sonea nodded as she recalled the thin girl who had served in a bolhouse near the market.

  “Turned out her father’s been selling her to customers for years,” Donia said, shaking her head. “His own daughter! Last year she ran away and started up with Opia. Says at least she sees some of the money this way. Makes you realize how lucky you are, doesn’t it? Father makes sure nobody hassles me more than what’s polite. The worst I’ve—”

  She stopped and looked at the door, then hurried to the keyhole and peered through. A smile of relief lit her face and she opened the door.

  Cery slipped into the room and handed Donia a bundle. He eyed Sonea critically.

  “You don’t look any different.”

  Donia sighed. “The dye didn’t work. Kyralian hair don’t change easy.”

  He shrugged, then nodded at the bundle. “Brought you some clothes, Sonea.” He moved back to the door. “Knock when you’re done.”