Aeromancer

by Don Callander

  “Correct! And how far away is the missing victim?”

  “Oh, pretty far!” the Otter thought aloud. “Fifty leagues?”

  “You’re guessing,” Douglas accused sternly. “Observe the angle of declination, please.”

  “More than a hundred and fifty leagues!” cried the long, sleek water mammal. “And there are ... what? ... seven miles to a league? Seven times a hundred and fifty miles... at least a thousand miles to the east! Am I right?”

  “Perfectly right,” Cribblon laughed, for the Otter’s figures agreed with his own quite perfectly.

  “And well to the south,” added Douglas thoughtfully.

  He stood and brushed the fine glacial sand from his trouser knees, then glanced up at the pale noonday sun and out over the chill, blue fjord to the fishing fleet.

  “A thousand miles!” the Sea Otter was saying to himself. “East by a good bit south? Isn’t that where Myrn is Journeying to look for old Serenit? Nearer East, as I recall.”

  “It’s where the stones say to seek Frigeon’s lost enchantments,” agreed the Aeromancer, also climbing to his feet. “Perhaps Serenit, too? Is there anything else there, Douglas? Have we missed anything in the portents?”

  Douglas considered. “No, I don’t believe so. Stone-casting gives only compass direction and leagues-distant, remember. There’s no indication of what to look for, once we get there.”

  “Well, the sooner we get going, the better, then,” said Marbleheart, busily brushing sand from his thick coat. “The only question is: how shall we go?”

  The fastest way would be to use the Feather Pin’s magic, Douglas knew. The easiest way would be to find a ship going east and ask for passage. No Westonguer nor Waynessman vessel, nor Highlandorm swift longboat, nor junk of Imperial Choin, nor the sailing canoes of Warm Sea, would refuse, if asked, to carry them wherever they wanted to go on Wizard’s business.

  “But I feel a need for speed,” Douglas told his companions. “Myrn is there well ahead of us. While following our lost king’s trail. It might well be practical to be closer, in case she runs into trouble on her Journeying.”

  “But we’d interfere at some risk to her qualification,” objected Cribblon.

  They returned toward Serenit’s rambling, steep-roofed, log-and-stone house overlooking the confluence of New River and the fjord.

  “I could help her out,” Marbleheart suggested. “As I assisted you in the matter of Coven. And Cribblon could help, also,” he added, remembering past adventures.

  “But I’m a Journeyman myself now,” the Aeromancer objected. “Wouldn’t it disqualify Myrn, if I helped?”

  “Have to ask Flarman or Augurian for a ruling,” decided Douglas. “Although they never objected to your helping me in Old Kingdom, did they?”

  “But I was just a middle-aged Apprentice then,” Cribblon reminded him. “Now I’m a full-rigged, middle-aged Journeyman.”

  “Recall that Flarman and Augurian, when they were Journeymen, cooperated on their own Journeyings,” Marbleheart put in quickly. “How could they object if Cribblon helped Myrn on her Journeying?”

  “But I myself must be careful, mustn’t I?” asked Douglas, waving to Clangeon, awaiting them on the wide front porch of Serenit’s house. “Still... I’ve a feeling Myrn may have bitten off more than she can easily chew, as Flarman says at times of me. It would be ...”

  “... convenient,” his Familiar finished his dangling sentence for him, “for us to be close. Just in case.”

  Douglas was quiet during supper, half-listening to Clangeon’s worried chatter, Marbleheart’s optimistic reassurances, and Cribblon’s calm words of advice. The Steward’s cooking was almost as inspired as that of Blue Teakettle (he was one of her best pupils, when it came to that), and the roast wild duck with black raspberry compote and toasted wild onions were superb.

  “We’ll leave at dawn the second morning from now, gentlemen. Caspar is bringing Donation here. In fact, we should see his topsails down the fjord by dawn’s light,” Douglas announced at last, pushing back from his place. “A magnificent dinner, Clang! You are an apt pupil of Blue Teakettle.”

  “And your goodwife, Myrn, too,” said the Steward, much pleased by the young Wizard’s compliment. “And your good-lady mother, also ... and Mistress Manstar, Myrn’s mother on Flowring Isle, too. In this near-wilderness, being a good cook is very important, as my good master says.”

  “He’s right!” cried Marbleheart, scrubbing stray raspberry seeds from his whiskers with a napkin. “Now, old Clangeon, you can place the whole matter safely in our hands. Why, with two Journeymen and me, the world’s greatest Familiar, working on his kidnapping, old Serenit’s as good as rescued.”

  “I feel a great deal better knowing Mistress Brightglade is looking for him,” admitted Clangeon, smiling gratefully at the Otter. “And that you will be near to hand, should she need help, Douglas.”

  “We must get some sleep,” decided Douglas, patting the Steward on the shoulder. “We’ll be hot on the trail of the missing spellbound victims in a few days.”

  “Could I go with you?” begged Clangeon, “Maybe I could help your beautiful wife?”

  “Better stay here and take good care of your pioneers and the Stones,” Douglas recommended, referring to the tribe of warriors who’d recently settled in the glacial valley. “If Myrn needs help, ‘twill be the kind Wizards—and their Familiars—can best provide.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Clangeon, sighing. “Let me bring some lanterns to light you to your beds, sirs and Otter.”

  ****

  As soft evening fell over the Port of Samarca, Mallet and Simon drifted away from the crowd leaving Merchant’s Hall and made their way up the slope of the shore into the heart of the lower city.

  Torches and lamps lighted the streets, and the smells of spicy cooking and strong coffee filled the warm evening air. The Port Watch from Encounter filled smoky taverns and gaudily decorated cafes; their boisterous laughter and applause for scantily clad dancers shook the air and made the townspeople pleased and friendly.

  Beyond a certain point the street they followed became lined with shuttered shops and offices guarded by men in black khaftans hefting heavy, curve-bladed scimitars, and eyeing the pedestrians silently.

  Mallet thrust his cloak aside to show the quality of his clothing and weapons.

  “Think they’ll stop us?” inquired his young clerk, uneasily.

  “Not if they’re like policemen everywhere,” muttered his Captain. “They’ll allow Quality to go unchallenged, for fear of reprimand if they get in the way of someone important.”

  It proved so. The guards noted the passage of the two Westonguers with polite nods but without comment. Climbing the steep street to another level, Mallet and Simon found themselves passing taller, more severely decorated buildings—banks and counting houses—interspersed with the offices of wealthy lawyers and importers’ showrooms.

  “Up the next street,” whispered Simon, who had gotten directions from a servant at the Hall. “Near the top of the hill. Red-brown-and-blue-striped flag out front. House of the Camel Merchant.”

  “There ‘tis!” cried Mallet, who detested whispering anywhere. “Yes, the cressets on the roof light the house flag quite well.”

  He strode to the closed and barred iron gate in the center of the Camel Merchant’s house facade and jerked on a bell-rope hanging from the balcony overhead.

  Muted bells tolled far within. Soft footsteps sounded, slippers on stone flooring beyond the gate, and a woman’s voice through a wicket asked their business.

  “Seacaptain Mallet of Encounter schooner,” Mallet announced firmly. “To see your mistress, the wife of the Camel Merchant Farrouk ... at her own invitation.”

  “And who accompanies you, brave Captain?” asked the female voice.

  “My clerk, one Simon Threadneedle of Wayness Isles,” replied Mallet. “Oh! Please... come within,” said the servant, and the gate swung silently open,
allowing the men to cross the threshold into a small, tiled, lantern-lit vestibule.

  “Please wait here momentarily,” requested the veiled maid when the gate was closed again.

  She disappeared into the shadows at the other end of the anteroom.

  “Did you notice how she was dressed?’ murmured Simon, his voice betraying shock and surprise.

  “Normal for women in this place,” grunted his more experienced Captain. “Rather sensible, if you think of it. It’s bloody hot!”

  He would have taken off his wool Sea cape if there had been anywhere to hang it.

  “I’m not sure they’d allow such skimpy covering in Westongue, even if it was warm enough,” said his clerk with a nervous chuckle.

  Before the Seacaptain could reply, the young woman returned.

  “Please come within, Seacaptain Mallet and Clerk Thread-needle of Encounter,” she said, pointing the way through the inner doorway.

  They followed her into a wider, well-lighted hallway beyond the vestibule. As the curtain fell into place the woman’s great, dark eyes smiled welcomingly at them.

  She announced politely, “My mistress takes her ease in the fountain court in the early evening.”

  Their guide led them down the hall toward the back of the house. Mallet had little time to glance at the rich tapestries and sculptures and paintings that adorned the walls and cubbies they passed. The overall impression was one of quiet, comfortable wealth, without undue show.

  The servant girl opened a solid door which let out a spill of brighter lantern light to dazzle them for a moment. When the two Seamen stepped through, blinking, they were met by a smiling Myrn, a second lady, and two small children who looked up at the rough-looking sailors in some awe.

  “Here’s my old shipmate, Mallet of Wayness!” cried the Journeyman Water Adept. “Welcome, welcome! This is Farianah and this is my young friend Farrouki, children of our host and hostess. Greet Lady Shadizar, whose house this is. It’s so good to see you, Seacaptain. Hello, Simon! I remember meeting you at Westongue. Come in and shed shoes and your hot cloaks.”

  Myrn gave them both a firm hug and the Captain a kiss on the cheek.

  “Mistress Brightglade!” Mallet exclaimed. “How came you here? I heard from Thornwood Duke just before I last sailed from Westongue that you had borne two lusty young-uns. Congratulations!”

  “I forgot; you’ve been at Sea for long months, Mallet,” said Myrn. “Yes, Douglas and I are proud parents. We named them Brand and Brenda, in honor of Douglas’s Fire Mastery.”

  She waited while the children politely bowed and greeted their guests, then led them all out into the fountain garden. A supper had been laid upon a low table, awaiting them, and three young men dressed in green livery strummed guitars and hummed pleasant evening melodies intended to fill the background but not to distract attention from conversation.

  “A very great pleasure and an honor, ma’am,” said Mallet with a surprisingly graceful bow to Shadizar. He introduced the ship’s factor.

  “Your business is going well?” inquired Shadizar, knowing from long experience how to put men at ease in early conversation. “I heard last evening an account of your first meeting with our Merchant Princes, from a friend. They say, in the marketplace, that the Princes were very pleased with what you brought to sell.”

  “I’m certain of it, ma’am,” said the Seacaptain, accepting a seat on a stone bench near the fountain basin. It was cool and pleasant in the water garden, and the sound of the softly falling spray allowed them to talk without fear of being overheard from without, or even by the servants.

  “What shall I eat first?” Myrn asked Farianah and Farrouki. “It all looks so delicious and lovely!”

  “Don’t let the fancy things distract you, Myrn,” advised the boy, earnestly. “I like the honey-barbecued morsels of lamb, myself. Cook makes them so very tender and good!”

  Myrn, allowing Mallet and his clerk time to feel at ease in a strange situation, tried some of the lamb rolled in savory, tender leaves, and pronounced it to be absolutely delicious.

  “Try this sukki,” urged the little girl Farianah, presenting a tray to her new friend. “Taste it first and then I’ll tell you what’s in it... and who made it!”

  Myrn accepted a tidbit from the proffered plate and popped it into her mouth.

  “Oh! Ah! Hot!” she gasped, sucking air into her mouth in quick gasps. “But delicious, nevertheless! What is it? May I have another?”

  The little girl flushed with pleasure and her brother laughed delightedly.

  “ ‘Tis spiced and marinated tongue,” explained Farianah, “and I made it myself.”

  “I don’t like it,” exclaimed Farrouki.

  “I can see why you might not, being so young and tender,” laughed Myrn. “But an old, toughened Wizard like me ... I think it’s wonderful!’’

  She asked Farianah for the recipe, intending to prepare the dish for her young husband, who didn’t usually like tongue, first chance she got. Douglas did love fiery foods, being a Fire Wizard by profession.

  When the evening grew dark outside and the modest feast was consumed down to the fruit ices and candied figs and dates, the children were wafted away on a cloud of satisfaction and goodwill to their beds. Myrn, Shadizar, and the Westonguers sat near the fountain, enjoying the cool, moist air.

  “May I ask what you do here, Mistress?” asked Mallet, sipping the thick, strong coffee flavored with clove.

  “It’s no secret, Seacaptain,” answered the Journeyman Aquamancer. “I’m Journeying in my Craft... that is, I’ve accepted the task of finding our old friend, Serenit of New Land, who’s gone missing. We fear he was kidnapped by someone, but so far I don’t know to where or by whom.”

  “A serious undertaking for one so young and pretty,” said Mallet, shaking his head.

  “Not for Myrn,” spoke up his ship’s clerk. “She can do anything!”

  “Ah, you have an ardent admirer in my young factor here.” Mallet laughed.

  “We’re old friends,” said the Flowring lass.

  “She got me my first berth aboard a Westongue ship,” Simon explained proudly.

  “Well and well!” exclaimed Mallet. “We have you to thank for Simon then, mistress? He’s been more than just able aboard my ship. On this voyage alone his efforts will increase our profits by ten or twelve percent.”

  “I’m not surprised,” murmured Myrn, smiling at the young man. “He’ll be one of your best captains, one of these days.”

  The four of them sat in friendly conversation for an hour or more longer before Shadizar rose and excused herself.

  “You have things to discuss with Captain Mallet, I know,” she said to Myrn. “I’ll go see to the children and leave you alone as long as you like.”

  “No, no!” Myrn protested. “We’ll need your advice and ideas, Shadizar. See to the little ones, then return to us; you have better information about local conditions than any of us, I know.”

  So, when the young mother had tucked her little ones safely into bed and come back to the quiet garden, Myrn explained her mission to them all.

  “Serenit was obviously kidnapped... by someone we haven’t yet been able to name,” she ended her story. “I have reason to believe he passed through Port here, and that’s the last I know of him.”

  “There’re a lot of places his captors could have dragged him from here,” said Shadizar. “But the most likely, I think, would be into, or across, High Desert. Tis an empty, wide, hot, dry, and sometimes dangerous land. I know, for I lived on its edges all my childhood.”

  “Empty? How?” asked Mallet.

  He had traded several times in New Land and liked the First Citizen, for all that he drove stiff bargains for his timber, barrels of pitch, and fine building stone.

  “As empty as Sea,” replied Shadizar, smiling at him, “but much, much drier. Little or nothing lives there other than snakes and lizards and a few tough horses and wild camels which my kinsmen captu
re to tame and ride.”

  “That’s how they live, then, your kinsmen?” wondered Simon. “Raising beasts of burden, I mean?”

  “That... and by robbing each other, mostly,” admitted Shadizar. She shook her dark head rather sadly. “Or they sweep down on caravans going to the mines on the far side of High Desert. Westbound caravans are seldom bothered, for they carry heavy ingots of smelted copper and pigs of tin and a little gold and silver from the Darkest Mountains mines. No, the marauders usually seek to waylay the eastbound caravans loaded with food and tools to support the mines in the barren mountains. Little grows there. Water’s very scarce and scarcely palatable.”

  “See?” cried Myrn, “I knew I needed your advice and experience in my quest. Thank you, Shadizar-sister!”

  “From my short experience at trading here,” said Mallet, “I would say all metals are quite scarce and very dear here in the Nearer East, as we call this shore.”

  “That’s true,” the lady of the house nodded. “Iron is almost as dear as silver. When you offer iron implements for sale in Merchant’s Hall, the Princes see yours as a better, cheaper alternative to the far-off mines under the Darkest Mountains.”

  “But that area,” put in Simon thoughtfully, “sounds like a good place for a... twisted Magician, for example, to hide himself.”

  “What are you thinking, Clerk?” his captain asked.

  “Such a lonely place would have beckoned to, say, a Dark Enemy fleeing Last Battle.”

  Myrn arched her black eyebrows but said nothing for a moment.

  “Well, that suggests a connection with Serenit, who has been kidnapped to somewhere beyond the desert, I now believe. As the Air Wizard Frigeon he was a feared enemy to the Darkness, two centuries back. Might some creature of the Darkness have captured him, Captain?”

  “You must know more of such wicked things than I, my dear Journeyman. Ask Lord Augurian or Flarman Flowerstalk. Wizards have more information on the Enemy following Last Battle than ever I heard.”

  Myrn sighed. “Well, I must find out as much as I can and, if necessary, I can call on the Fellowship for assistance. But I’d like at least to rescue our friend Serenit... for that’s my assigned task, you know.”