If only I knew more of foresight.
What he had experienced had felt real enough for that moment, though. I did share feelings once, with Master Mechanic Mari, when I knew that she too did not want to appear too young or too weak. That was very different, and yet… He tried to recall what he had just experienced, to recreate the moment of darkness and pain, in hopes of gaining more understanding. Instead, Alain felt something like a thread, thin and insubstantial. The thread wasn’t real, either, but it ran from him, going out into the night, toward the looming, silent bulk of the Ringhmon Hall of City Government. He studied the thread that wasn’t there, and somehow knew that it did not go somewhere, but to someone. He was linked to a shadow in some mysterious way.
As he examined the thread that wasn’t there, Alain realized that in an indefinable way it felt like the Mechanic.
This was worse than he had thought.
Was the thread the means by which she had kept his thoughts on her, and caused him to act in ways contrary to his training? But he could feel no power running through the thread. It simply was. Without power there could be no spells.
A strange road this offers, indeed. No elder ever spoke of such a thing as a thread between a Mage and another. Mages can feel each other’s presence at a distance. Not like this, not in any way like this, but perhaps the things are related. Alain hesitated, torn between his training, his curiosity, and that strange thread leading into the night. Up until this moment he could observe, seeing where the road led, putting off any decision. Now he saw two roads, one leading back to the Mage Hall and away from the thread, and the other following the thread. Would the thread break with increasing distance? How to judge the strength of something that was not there?
One road to safety, to the certainty of the wisdom his elders taught, and the other road into the dark, in every sense of the word.
The Mechanic was surely in trouble.
That did not matter at all. She did not matter at all.
If she died, would the thread break?
Alain felt a strange sensation as he thought about that. He had felt her pain. If she died, would he feel…?
His eyes stung in a strange way. Alain lowered his head and raised the cowl of his robes to shadow his face. He blinked several times, unable to understand why his eyes were watering. It had started when he thought of feeling the Mechanic die—
There it went again. The two things were somehow related.
Memory. Little girl Asha looking at little boy Alain on the first night after they had been brought to be acolytes. Her face streaked with…tears.
Crying. They had learned not to cry, to deny anything that might bring betraying tears and the punishments that came with them. They had striven to forget everything about tears.
The Mechanic had made him remember this, too.
He did not want her to die.
I could not save my parents. I could not save the commons with the caravan, the master or the commander of the guards or any of the others. I can save the Mechanic. I can try. Perhaps when I do so her spell on me will be lifted, the thread will break, and I can seek wisdom anew. If her uncanny influence has not already crippled my ability to work spells.
He should ask advice on this. Ask older and wiser Mages what the thread might mean, whether the Mechanic’s effects on him could be reversed. But it would take a long time to return to the Mage Guild Hall, ask of the elders, and return. What if the Mechanic died in that time?
What if the elders would not let him return? What if they were watching when he felt the Mechanic die?
I must act. I must do what I think should be done. My elders already believe me to be a fool, too young to be a Mage, too young to follow wisdom. Alain stood up, looking into the darkness where the thread ran invisibly. Perhaps they are right. The only way I will know, the only way I will learn, is by following this new road. I am young, but I know this.
She may be only a shadow, but I will not leave her to the dark. I will not feel her die if I can prevent that, even though I do not understand why I am so resolved.
* * * *
Something very large seemed to be trying to beat its way out of Mari’s head. She clenched her eyes tightly against the pain, slowly becoming aware that she was lying on something rough. Forcing herself to open her eyes, Mari waited until they could focus on her surroundings, gradually making out stone walls decorated only by strong metal rings set into them at various heights, and a ceiling made of heavy wooden beams. Weak light which flickered like that from an oil lamp filtered into the room through a small grating in a hefty wooden door which was reinforced by metal bands and bore an impressively large lock mechanism.
Wincing at the pounding in her head, Mari used one elbow to lever herself carefully to a sitting position. She had been lying on a wooden cot covered only by a thin mattress made of coarse fabric that had apparently been stuffed with straw a long time ago and never refreshed. She was still wearing everything she had before, including her Mechanics jacket and her empty shoulder holster under it, but her tool kit was nowhere to be seen. Reaching up, Mari gingerly felt the back of her head, her fingers encountering a lump surrounded by hair matted with what she assumed was blood.
A fresh wave of agony in her head made Mari decide to lie down again, staring at the heavy door across from her. She didn’t see any sense in trying the door, since it was surely locked. As far as she could tell, that door marked the only entrance or exit from the room.
She rubbed one hand across the front of her Mechanics jacket. I thought this jacket was the sort of armor no sane common would dare try to challenge. That’s what the Guild always told me. “The Guild is your family. We’ll always protect you.” But here I am. At least I’m not dead. Why not?
Think it through, Professor S’san always said. They still need me. If that Model Six breaks again they want me handy to fix it. What makes them think I’d help?
Mari thought of the torture methods she had heard about, things that rulers inflicted on commons, things she had never expected to worry about being done to her. Maybe she would be able to hold out. Hold out until they killed her, anyway. I’m still supposed to be planning everything I’ll do in my life, not trying to imagine how soon it’ll come to an ugly end.
Would Stimon bring the resources of the Mechanics Guild to bear on her behalf? If he did, she would be free before morning. But would he? What if Polder and his allies swore that Mari had left? A too-young Master Mechanic, wandering alone through a strange city after dark—and never mind that Stimon had set that up—he would accept that her disappearance was her fault.
No one here would want to rock the boat for Mari. Ringhmon was clearly spending a lot of money on Mechanic devices, everything from rifles to what must be a huge contract for that secret Model Six. How much profit would the Guild Hall here in Ringhmon, and the Guild as a whole, sacrifice in the name of questioning a perfectly reasonable story told by the oh-so-respectable rulers of Ringhmon?
Why hadn’t any other Mechanics already noticed how Ringhmon was using that Model Six? If they had, why hadn’t Mari been told? Why hadn’t something been done? Commons couldn’t do the work of Mechanics, but still it was forbidden for them to try.
As she lay there, Mari remembered whispers in the dark. She, Alli and Calu, sneaking out of the apprentice barracks in the middle of the night and climbing up onto the roof to share a few moments of pretend freedom from the oversight of older apprentices, Mechanics, and most of all Senior Mechanics. Calu, frowning up at the stars as he spoke in a voice so low only Mari and Alli could possibly hear. If commons can’t do Mechanic work, why is Mechanic work secret? It’s like forbidding horses to learn algebra. What’s the point? They can’t. You only need to keep secrets from someone who can use those secrets. So why do we have to prevent commons from learning Mechanic secrets?
Alli had punched him in the side. Shut up, you idiot! Are you planning on asking some Senior Mechanic that question?
No! But what
And, as Mari had already become used to, both Ali and Calu looked at her for an answer. She had pretended indifference. I bet the answer is that if you ask the question you end up catching blazes and getting demoted back to entry-level apprentice. You guys want to bet on another answer?
They hadn’t, going on to other topics, like who was the stupidest Senior Mechanic, or who Mari should try dating because you really are hopeless with boys, Mari. But she had remembered Calu’s question. It had nagged at her, even as she accepted what the Mechanics Guild told her about commons.
She lay there, her head pounding with pain, thoughts bleak, for how long she didn’t know. The pain gradually lessened, and a stubborn flame of determination grew. I am a Master Mechanic. I’m Master Mechanic Mari of Caer Lyn. I’m the youngest person ever to qualify as a Mechanic and the youngest ever to qualify as a Master Mechanic. I won’t let anyone do this to me. Not Stimon and not Polder. Not anyone. I won’t just lie here helpless until somebody comes for me. Im going to get out of here and get some answers.
She managed to sit up again, finding the hammering in her head stayed manageable this time. Moving very cautiously, Mari stood up, her feet a bit unsteady. Taking each step carefully, she crossed to the door, confirming that it was indeed locked. She knelt to examine the lock, discovering that it was tightly sealed behind a heavy armor plate so she couldn’t have accessed its workings even if she had possessed her tools. Odd. Why so much trouble when commons couldn’t crack a lock? Am I not the first Mechanic who’s disappeared in Ringhmon? But how could they hope to get away with having more than one Mechanic vanish after coming to the city hall? Surely they would have been smart enough to plan on a kidnapping that couldn’t possibly be tied to them.
That ambush. Mari, you idiot! The so called bandits equipped with lots of expensive rifles. The same type of rifles that Ringhmon has bought for its army. You fool. Why did it take you so long to figure out that connection? Who else even knew a Mechanic would be coming in on that caravan? They planned to kill everyone but me and probably bring me into the city with a hood over my head and a gag in my mouth, just one more anonymous prisoner. My Guild would’ve searched the Waste in vain for any trace of me. No wonder I saw some of those ‘bandits’ in the city. They were probably soldiers of Ringhmon, back from trying to find me, and once I made it to the city I bet they had orders to let Polder’s guards handle it.
She had figured it out too late, though Mari suspected that even if she had realized the truth sooner no one would have listened to her. Just a nervous girl, promoted too quickly, not really ready to do her job, and finding excuses to avoid it. Right. Well, water under the bridge. Now the problem is how to get out of here. She stood up again, going over the door and walls in search of any feature that might offer something she could use.
There was nothing. Just that extremely solid door and walls made of closely fitted blocks of extremely solid stone. Mari looked upward, staring at the ceiling. The beams of wood offered no signs of help, either. Hardwood, thick and massive. Even an axe would have trouble biting into them, and she didn’t have an axe.
Mari squinted, spotting what seemed to be a large knothole in one beam. Something about it didn’t look right. Grabbing the cot, she pulled it under the knothole, cautiously stood on the cot, and raised her hand to probe inside.
Something metal rested in the hole, concealed from sight in its shadow. Mari got her fingers around it, blessing the fact that her hands were small enough to allow that purchase, and twisted the object free. She started to pull it out, finding it resisting like something attached to wires. Yanking viciously, Mari pulled the object out, hearing and feeling wires snap. Then she stared down at what she had found.
A far-listener. Someone had installed a device in this cell that would detect any sounds made and send them along the wires to a place where someone else would hear them. She knew Mechanics produced such things. She had never imagined a common cell apparently designed to hold a Mechanic would include such a device.
Mari examined the far-listener closely, seeking clues to where it had been made. To her bafflement, she couldn’t find any of the telltale makers’ signs that should have provided a guide to which workshop in which city had crafted the thing. It’s as if this were made by Mechanics who aren’t in the Guild. But that’s impossible. All Mechanics are in the Guild. All Mechanics are trained by the Guild. No one is allowed to work outside the Guild. Someone trained by the Guild who tried freelancing would face death, and those who hired them would be banned from receiving Mechanic services.
The far-listener couldn’t exist. But it did.
Mari stuffed the broken far-listener into a pocket and sat down on the cot, staring at the stones of the wall. First she’d seen a Mage do things which Mages weren’t supposed to be able to really do, then commons attacked her and imprisoned her, and now she had evidence that unauthorized Mechanic work was being done. Three “impossible” things. My education wasn’t nearly as thorough as I thought it was. I can’t be the first Mechanic to experience this stuff. What the blazes is going on? If Professor S’san suspected enough to insist on giving me a pistol as a graduation gift, why didn’t she tell me more?
What else haven’t I been told?
The light changed slightly. Mari looked up and over at one wall. There was now a narrow, roughly door-shaped hole in it. Standing in that hole was Mage Alain.
Mari stood up, realizing that her mouth was hanging open. That wall was solid. I felt it. There wasn’t any opening. She watched as the Mage took two shaky steps into the cell, then paused, some of the strain leaving his face. She blinked, wondering what she had just seen, as the hole in the wall vanished as if it had never been. One moment it was there, the next it was gone.
Mari walked rapidly past the Mage and slammed her hand against the wall where the hole had been. The stone stung her palm, as hard and unyielding as it had been when she had checked it earlier.
Mari whirled back to face the Mage, the sudden motion making her still- throbbing head dizzy. “How did you do that?” she demanded, pointing at the wall, shocked by how ragged and hoarse her voice sounded.
The Mage looked at her with that unrevealing face. “I have come to…help,” he said in an impassive voice tinged with weariness.
“Help? You’ve come to help me?” Mari felt a wave of weakness and leaned back against the solid stone for support. “A Mage has walked through a wall into my cell to help a Mechanic.” She couldn’t suppress a shudder. “My head. They hit me and now I’m seeing and hearing things.”
The Mage came closer, peering at her. “You are hurt, Mechanic Mari?”
“Master Mechanic Mari,” she muttered automatically, then reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’m not imagining this. You’re real.”
“Nothing is real. All is illusion. But I stand here,” the Mage agreed.
“Don’t confuse me. I can’t handle it right now.” Mari worked to control her breathing and to calm her nerves. Realizing she was still holding Mage Alain’s arm in a tight grip, she let go. “Never touch a Mage.” “Why would I want to?” “How did you get in here?”
“I learned that something ill had befallen you,” he explained without apparent feeling. “I felt your pain.”
“You felt my pain? You’re not talking empathy, are you?”
“Empathy?” Mage Alain shook his head. “I do not know that word. No. It hurt. In this place.” He reached up to touch the back of his head.
Mari staggered back to the cot and sat down. All right. Stop and think. A Mage felt me get hit on the head. Then he walked through a wall to find me. But either I’m crazy, or it happened. If it happened, then I can analyze it, figure it out. “Let’s take this one step at a time. How did you know where I was?”
“I could sense your location,” the Mage said dispassionately. “A thread connects us.”
She looked down at herself. “A thread?”
“That is…a metaphor. I sense it as a thread. It is not real, but it is. I do not know why it exists, or its purpose.” Something about the way the Mage said that made it sound…accusing? She must be imagining that.
I don’t think I’m ready to examine the question of why there’s a metaphorical thread connecting me to this Mage. Or why he thinks there’s some thread. “I’m sorry, but I know nothing about Mage stuff.”
“The thread is not the work of a Mage,” Alain said.
“Then who—?” Her head pounded again. “Never mind. Next topic. Where are we? Still in the city hall?”
“Yes,” Alain confirmed. “A city hall with a dungeon. It is what would be expected in Ringhmon.”
“You’ve noticed that about them, too, huh?” Mari swallowed and pointed to the wall. “How did you do that?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Mage secret?”
“Yes.”
Mari took a long, slow breath. “They use smoke and mirrors and other ‘magic’ to make commons think they can create temporary holes in walls and things like that. It’s all nonsense.” “Mages actually can make real holes in walls.”
“No.”
Her head hurting with increased intensity, Mari glowered at the Mage. “You didn’t make a hole in the wall?”
“I made the illusion of a hole in the illusion of the wall.”
Mari looked at Mage Alain for what felt like a long time, trying to detect any sign of mockery or lying. But he seemed perfectly sincere. And unless she had completely lost her mind, he had just walked through that solid wall. “If the wall is an illusion, why can’t anybody walk through it?”
“It is a very powerful illusion,” Alain explained.
“But you made it go away, so you must be more powerful than that illusion.”
“No,” Mage Alain said, shaking his head. “Even a Mage cannot negate the illusions we see. What a Mage does is overlay another illusion on top of the illusion everyone sees.”
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