Dangerous Gifts

by Gaie Sebold

  “Well, no, darling, I don’t think we were ever introduced. I’d know him again, though. His hair was the oddest shade of red, I’m almost certain it was dyed.”

  “And what happened after that?” I said.

  “I couldn’t get a ship for love nor money, and I did try both. The captains either told me there was no room, or they couldn’t go where I wanted. I ended up on a tiny little ship out of some place I’d never heard of, and I had to persuade them to go off their course, and I had to dim the whole ship; honestly, I was exhausted.”

  “You had to dim the ship?”

  “Well someone was trying to stop me leaving, darling, it was quite obvious, so I had to be sneaky. Only we nearly got hit by another ship as we were coming out of the harbour, because they couldn’t see us. The captain wasn’t pleased. I had to spend ages making her feel better.”

  “Wait, we’d best talk to Fain.”

  He was in his room, shaking out a shirt. “Did you want something?”

  “I’ve been talking to Laney,” I said. “Someone on the docks found out she was going to Incandress, and I think they were doing something, bribery, intimidation maybe, to stop any of the captains taking her.”

  “Did she know this gentleman?”

  “No, but she’d recognise him again, she said. Dyed red hair, and she’d seen him at a grain merchants’ guild function. What is all this business with grain? Incandress doesn’t even have any.”

  “Oh, no, it makes perfect sense,” Fain said.

  “What do you mean, it makes sense?”

  “Someone planned to tip the balance, as I thought – but not in the way I thought.”

  “But who? And why?”

  “A grain merchant.”

  “And the why?”

  “A disease like the one contained within that spell would certainly be enough of a threat to force the portals to close. And if someone had built up vast stocks of grain, and became the only source of grain... Why, while the portals were closed, that someone would become very, very rich, and very, very powerful.”

  “That’s why bread’s been going up so much. Someone’s been buying up all the grain,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Someone was prepared to kill thousands, maybe millions of people for this?”

  Fain sighed. “It is not the first time such things have been done for money, or for power. It won’t be the last.”

  “So is the redhead our man?”

  “A subordinate, I think. It sounds as though he was planted at the docks to keep an eye open for Laney, or anyone else trying to book passage to Incandress, in order to provide... discouragement. If we can find him, he may lead us to the one in charge. That’s who I need to find, and quickly. Before they realise their hand has been tipped. And someone in the Section is involved. You didn’t trust Bergast from the start. While I think you were unfair in that, since I suspect him of nothing more than incompetence, I do believe that his being made available was deliberate. What better than to send to Incandress a Scholar incapable of detecting so lethal a spell?”

  “You plan to question him?”

  “When we find him, yes.”

  I STARTED TO search the grounds for Bergast, but instead found a wandering warlock. He looked dreadful, like a gargoyle on a frosty day, but he was alive.

  “Mokraine! How are you?” I said. “What happened?”

  “Oh, a folly. I had simply failed to take something into account. It seems I cannot yet rid myself of this troublesome need of mine.” He looked down at the creature that hopped and dragged after him. “When I feed, it feeds. If I decline, it starves. Unfortunately, it seems our spirits are tied together, and if it dies, I die. I have not yet decided that I desire to do so.” He gave a horrible, twisted smile.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I know. Did you know there is a man tied up in one of those buildings?”

  “Oh, yes, Filchis,” I said. “I almost forgot about him.”

  “Yes,” Mokraine said. “You have an... occupied mind, do you not, Babylon? Interesting.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I think, perhaps, we should have a conversation,” he said.

  “Maybe later.” I didn’t know what he wanted, but I didn’t like the look of mingled fascination and concern on his face.

  Having freed a by now somewhat smelly and subdued Filchis, I decided to try the rest of the house, starting with Bergast’s room. Mokraine came with me. Fain joined us. “Ah, First Adept,” he said.

  “Mr Fain.”

  We were in there turning over piles of papers when Bergast opened his door with his elbows, since he was using his hands to hold his head. He looked like the aftermath of three days in one of King of Stone’s worse bars.

  He looked up and saw the three of us. His face froze, mouth dropping and eyes widening. He turned to run and I grabbed his forearms, slammed the door shut with my foot and pushed him against it with his hands against his chest.

  “What...? Get off me!”

  “Don’t try my patience, Bergast. I hope you never gamble, because guilt was written all over your face the second you walked in here.”

  “But I haven’t... I didn’t... Let go... I’ll make you!” Blue fire flickered over his hands and I felt an unpleasant slippery tingle in my fingers.

  “Really?” I said. “You have met First Adept Mokraine, have you? Or, for that matter, me?”

  The fire went out, the slippery sensation dissipated. Bergast slumped. “All right. All right. Can you please let go? You’re breaking my hands!”

  “I’m not, my lad. If I were, you’d know it. Let’s have those hands behind you.” I bound his wrists together.

  “First, where have you been?” Fain said.

  “I fell asleep,” Bergast said sullenly.

  “You fell asleep.”

  “Yes! I was talking to Lady Selinecree about some of the work I’d been doing on the language – oh, I need to tell you about that – and she gave me a drink and I fell asleep.”

  “For an entire day?”

  “Yes. I woke up a few minutes ago out in the grounds.”

  “Lucky,” I said.

  “Lucky? I got soaked through!”

  “You’re lucky that Selinecree either couldn’t find, or didn’t bother using, a lethal potion instead of one that merely knocked you out. Considering what she was planning.”

  “What do you mean? What was she planning?”

  Fain told him. Bergast’s mouth opened and shut a few times as he considered the implications. “You thought I was involved?” he said.

  “You’ve been hiding something,” I said. “Right from the beginning. From me, from Mokraine...”

  Bergast flicked a glance at Mokraine, then looked away, as though afraid it would burn him to look longer. There was hot colour in his cheeks, and a sulky set to his mouth. He looked like a boy about to be scolded for breaking a window.

  “Guilt,” Mokraine said. He moved closer to Bergast; a horrible eagerness beginning to dawn in his eyes. “Resentment.” He reached out one thin hand, and traced a line across Bergast’s flushed cheek with one cold white finger. Bergast flinched and shuddered. “I could see more... and I could take all this fear and shame and anger, and make it gone... at least for a little while.”

  “Mokraine...” I said, and he shot me a murderous glare. I shut up.

  “I could,” he said, looking into Bergast’s wide brown eyes, cupping his face with his clawlike hand. “I could...”

  “It would be helpful if we could question him afterwards,” Fain said calmly. “Time, after all, is short.”

  Mokraine turned away, and I caught, for the briefest moment, the brute effort of that denial written on his face. Then he looked at me, calm and smiling. “Resentment, shame, and books. Piles of books. That’s all, Babylon.” He walked away and stood with his back to us; I saw him rest his hand against the cold plaster.

  “Books?” I said. “Wait a minute. On the boat. You were
studying... You looked embarrassed. I remember I couldn’t work out why. I thought you might... Never mind. What have you been studying, Scholar Bergast? What are you up to? If you’re dabbling in something you shouldn’t be...”

  “All right!” he shouted. “The first stage of the exams. I was... There was so much, and I was tired, and I’ve always been good, I knew I could make it up, and plenty of people do it. So what?”

  “Tell me what you’re talking about,” I said, grabbing the front of his robe, “or suffer the consequences.”

  “The exams. I had a bit of help.”

  “The what? You what?”

  “It’s not cheating,” Bergast protested, somewhat breathlessly. “I just got someone to help me with the sections on detecting hidden magic. They needed the money. I was helping them.”

  “Oh for the love of the All,” I said, dropping him. He fell back against the door. “And I was wasting time on you.”

  “Am I right,” Fain said, “in understanding that you cheated on your exams?”

  “It wasn’t...”

  “Scholar,” Fain said quietly. “Language is a precise instrument. As a magician, this is something of which you should be particularly aware. Cheating is precisely what it was. For such behaviour there are consequences. Because you cheated, you were considered adequate for this mission, which you were not. If it were not for the fact that we had a much more able practitioner turn up, your incompetence could have resulted in thousands, perhaps millions, of deaths. You understand?”

  White-faced, Bergast nodded.

  “On our way back to Scalentine, you are going to go over with me, in minute detail, the process by which you achieved this post. Who was your supervisor, who dealt with your paperwork, everything you can remember. And strive to be precise, and clear, and honest...” – he paused, and Bergast’s pallor disappeared under an ugly flush – “and you may avoid the most extreme consequences of your behaviour. In the meantime, you will strive to make up for your idiocy.”

  “Yes!” Bergast nodded, eagerly. “I was going to tell you! I realised. The whole thing about the sacrifice maiden, it’s a mistranslation!” He nodded at his notebook.

  I opened it, and peered. “I can’t make head or tail of this.”

  “Look.” He pointed with his chin. “Oh, look, please untie me, I’m sorry, but this is really important.”

  “Fain?” I said.

  “Yes, untie him. I am sure we would all find it enlightening and entertaining should he try and run away.”

  “What do you mean about a mistranslation?” I said.

  “Itni,” Bergast said. “It’s still used by the Gudain for ‘girl,’ or ‘little girl.’ But in Old Andretic, acliss means ‘sacrifice.’ I think as the language changed, when Ikinchli talked about the maiden who calms the world, what the Gudain heard was ‘the maiden who is sacrificed.’ See?”

  “And why did you think this was sufficiently important that you spent time on it instead of on the job you were hired to do?” Fain said.

  “I...” Bergast shrugged. “Well, I thought if people knew, they’d stop, you know, believing it. That would be good, wouldn’t it? I mean, for the Ikinchli.”

  “I am charmed by your belief in the healing power of etymology,” Fain said. “Or would be, if I believed it. I suspect you hoped this discovery would bring you academic honours, and the respect of your peers. A not unreasonable aim, and at least in this case you would have earned it. However, it is not what you were appointed for.”

  Bergast looked away.

  “Let me see,” Mokraine said. He took the notebook from my hand. “Old Andretic. Of course, this is the right area...” He pored over the pages, his ancient eyes alight with interest. “I have not studied Ikinchli dialect. Interesting. Itnun, ‘maiden,’ yes; ack – what is that word? Your handwriting is a disgrace, Scholar.”

  “Ack is ‘whole,’or ‘both,’” Bergast said.

  “The One who is Both,” I said. “I’ve heard her referred to that way, too.”

  “And li is ‘to calm’ or ‘soothe,’ and esh is ‘the world,’” Mokraine went on.

  “It’s a contraction,” Bergast said.

  “Yes, Scholar, that is obvious even to my mean intelligence.”

  Bergast swallowed.

  “You think people will listen?” I said. “They’ve got other things than language on their minds right now.”

  Fain was looking thoughtful. “The right words, at the right time, can be powerful even when people are terrified or starving. Perhaps especially then. But first, we must deal with Selinecree, and find out what she knows.”

  “Oh, and Filchis,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, Filchis. What a tedious little man he is.”

  “I WILL ASK the Ten Families to consider exile,” Enthemmerlee said.

  “Exile?” Selinecree’s face drained of all colour. “No! No, you can’t!”

  “Aunt, the choice will be exile or execution.” Enthemmerlee closed her eyes for a moment, weariness dragging at her face. “Do you have any conception of what you did?”

  “It didn’t work,” Selinecree said. “So I didn’t do anything.”

  “If it had worked, you would be dead in about three days. So would almost everyone else in Incandress,” Laney said.

  “It was only supposed to kill whoever was in the cave, close to it,” Selinecree said. “That was all.”

  “Your own brother. The family guard, who we are sworn to,” Enthemmerlee said. “And who knows how many innocent Ikinchli. All to get me out of the way?”

  “You’ve ruined everything, you stupid, stubborn child! And Enboryay is as bad, all he cares for is those wretched disti. Do you know, any of you, the trouble I’ve gone to, to maintain our position? And you don’t care, none of you care a bit. I did it all for Chitherlee, so she’d have a future, but you don’t even care about her!”

  “Yes, I do,” Enthemmerlee said. “I care about all our futures.”

  “You only care about the wretched scalys. They won’t thank you!”

  “I don’t want their thanks,” Enthemmerlee said. “Selinecree...”

  “What?”

  “Who was it?”

  “Who was what?”

  “You know. Who sold you the spell?”

  “No one sold it to me. I was sent a message saying a friend had heard of my troubles, and wanted to help. They told me where to collect it, and how it worked; that it would get rid of anyone standing close. That’s when I decided how to use it.”

  “At the ceremony,” Enthemmerlee said.

  “Well, of course. Not here, with Chitherlee here!”

  “So you just accepted it? You didn’t question it?” Enthemmerlee said.

  “Well, anyone in their right mind could understand my position!” Selinecree said. “I thought, perhaps, that one of the other families had arranged it. They’ve shown me a great deal of sympathy, you know.”

  “I think you may find that is no longer the case,” Fain said. “Guards? Would you be kind enough to bring in Mr Filchis?”

  Filchis had been given a plain Gudain gown to replace his Fenac uniform, which by the time we got him out of the hut was more than a little soiled. We hadn’t yet told him about the Ipash Dok.

  “Do you know this man?” Fain said.

  “What? No,” Selinecree said. “Him? Wasn’t he at one of those ceremonies? He was talking to me about something, I don’t remember what.”

  “I feared that was too easy,” Fain said. “Babylon?”

  “You’re all going to regret this,” Filchis said. “And you, Madam Steel, you should be in jail!”

  “And you should be upside down in a privy, you little scrote. Tell me, do you know the name Mokraine? First Adept Mokraine?”

  “No,” Filchis said. “Why should I?”

  “First,” Fain said, “a few questions. Mr Filchis? Who sent you here?”

  “No one sent me. I came of my own will.”

  “Indeed. Then who suggested you
come?”

  “A friend.”

  “A friend. And yet, he sent you here to die.”

  “What?”

  “You see, it was planned that most of the population of Incandress would die, and you with them, Mr Filchis. You know who was behind it. You had to be got out of the way. Are you going to tell us who sent you?”

  “I don’t know his name, he never told me.”

  “Then,” Fain said, leaning close, “you will tell me what you do know.”

  “You can’t force me to anything! I’m a citizen of Scalentine!”

  “Something you are eager to claim for yourself and deny to others.”

  I opened the door. Mokraine walked in. The familiar dragged itself after him as he walked, with painful slowness, towards the chair where Selinecree sat. She had twisted around to look at him.

  “You can’t do anything,” she said. “I’ve told them everything. They know it all, so do your worst.”

  “My worst...” he said thoughtfully. “You poor creature. You haven’t the faintest conception of my worst.”

  “What is all this?” Filchis said. “What’s going on? I demand you tell me what’s going on!”

  “Oh, do shut up, you vile little man,” Laney said. “Or I’ll turn you into even more of a toad than you are already.”

  “You can’t talk to me like...”

  She flicked her fingers at him. There was a slippery blue-pink tingle, and Filchis’ jaw shut with a snap.

  “Be quiet,” Laney said, “or I’ll fill your mouth with worms.”

  “Well?” Mokraine said.

  Enthemmerlee looked from him to Selinecree, and nodded.

  “I can’t promise I will find anything of use,” Mokraine said.

  “And afterwards?” Enthemmerlee said.

  “Afterwards... Peace. For a little.”

  Enthemmerlee glanced to her left. Where Lobik had always stood. Then she looked at Mokraine. “Do it,” she said.

  The familiar leaned against Selinecree’s gown. She made a disgusted face and tried to move her leg away; while she was looking down, Mokraine put his hand on her shoulder.

  The change in him was immediate, shocking. It flowed into him like new wine, straightening his back, putting colour in his cheeks. Even the familiar’s loathsome hide gained a faint sheen.