Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Let me do it, dear. Tren, you were but a boy when you met Ed’s father, but perhaps you remember him?’

  ‘Quite clearly, yes.’ Mr Geslin had been a jovial man, the sort who expected good things around every corner. Usually the strength of his belief had seemed to be enough to secure them.

  ‘Well, things have been hard since he passed away, you’ll know. To think, if I’d known before about his investments we could’ve been spared all that.’

  Tren blinked. ‘His... investments?’

  Mrs Geslin beamed at him. ‘I never thought of Andrus as one to think of the future overmuch, but turns out I was wrong. He was laying a bit by every year and putting it into one of them schemes that pays interest. We’ve regular money again, and good money too.’

  Tren pondered this. He had to agree: Andrus Geslin hadn’t been bothered about planning for the future. He expected such things to take care of themselves. How curious that he’d been making provision all along.

  ‘You’ve just found out about this?’

  Mrs Geslin nodded. ‘A letter came, oh, four days ago now. Explained the whole matter, and told me how to collect it. I took that letter to the bank, and sure enough they gave me this moon’s money. One hundred osts.’

  Tren whistled. A hundred osts was near enough what he earned - or had earned - as a Night Cloak maintenance officer. It was a healthy sum; plenty to provide for the surviving Geslin family.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said sincerely. ‘Though I wonder how it is that it’s only just come to light?’

  ‘Oh, the letter said something about misplaced files or whatnot. Here, I’ll find it.’ She abandoned her half-eaten dinner and bounced out of her chair before Tren could stop her. She was back half a minute later with a sheet of paper in hand.

  ‘There, Pitren Warvel. What do you think of that?’

  He scanned it quickly. It was from Ayven and Meerch, the biggest bank in the realm of Orstwych. It announced the transfer of Andrus’s previously inactive account into her name and summarised the relevant assets. He was interested to note the nature of the scheme: apparently the late Mr Geslin had been purchasing stock in a local light-globe manufacturing firm, and the profits were tidy indeed. He made a mental note of the company’s name: Lawch & Son.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said again, handing the letter back. ‘Ah... I actually came to offer you some relief... I mean, now that Ed’s money has stopped, and, er...’

  Mrs Geslin understood him at once, in spite of his awkward mumbling. She laid a hand over his with a smile. ‘You’re a good lad, Pitren Warvel. You and Ed are - were - the best men I know. But you needn’t worry about us now. We’re cared for.’

  Tren nodded numbly, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. Her belated use of the past tense brought home to him Edwae’s absence at the table. He had been visiting this house since they were both boys, and he hadn’t yet got used to being at the Geslin house without his friend.

  ‘Will you stay here?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. We’re comfortable here, and it’s home. But how nice to be able to choose, hm? Perhaps we will move.’

  Tren merely nodded. He and Edwae had worked for Lord Angstrun together until Ed had got mixed up in the istore crisis. It hadn’t ended well for him. Coming here always revived Tren’s sadness at Ed’s fate, and his own guilt at being unable to save him.

  Mrs Geslin noticed his distress, for a flicker of pain crossed her own face and she quickly changed the subject. ‘What of that lady friend of yours? I’ve never met such a fine lady in my life. I hope she’s been keeping you company, back in Glour City.’

  ‘Something like that. We’ve been working together on the draykon mystery.’

  Mrs Geslin nodded knowledgeably. Tren had already told her the whole story; he felt she deserved to know, even if some those details weren’t strictly to be released to the public. ‘She might’ve known she was welcome to come with you. I was a mite snappish when we met before, I’ll admit, but she’ll overlook that.’

  Tren smiled inwardly at the idea that Eva had only stayed away out of politeness. ‘I’m sure it’s not that. She’s getting married tomorrow.’ He managed to say it smoothly, without betraying any particular feeling about it.

  ‘Oh?’ Mrs Geslin sat back and looked at him appraisingly. ‘To who?’

  ‘Lord Vale. He’s the chief of Glour’s investigative force.’

  That statement seemed to remind her of the vast gulf in status between herself and Lady Glostrum, for she dropped her gaze and nodded. Lady Glostrum was not just another of her son’s friends; she was a peer in her own right. It was a distinction that Tren had never managed to forget, in spite of the friendly way Eva herself always treated him.

  ‘I just hope she hasn’t misled you, my Tren,’ Mrs Geslin said finally. ‘These white-haired girls...’

  She didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew that Ed himself had been thoroughly misled by Ana, the white-haired sorceress who had woken the draykon.

  Tren shrugged, not liking this turn in the conversation. ‘She’s happy. Is there somewhere I can sleep tonight? The sofa will be fine. I’d like to be off at moonrise.’

  ‘Of course. Mindra will find you some blankets.’ Her eldest girl nodded enthusiastically and was gone in an instant. The other two stopped squabbling and grinned at him in a manner he found mildly unnerving.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Mrs Geslin began clearing plates and he stood to help her.

  ‘Ah, well... it’s about the draykon research. When we were in the Lowers, we found some interesting things that I never got chance to look into.’

  ‘Tren Warvel. Never tell me you’re going back into the Lowers, and without her ladyship?’

  ‘It’s important,’ he said defensively.

  ‘So important that it can’t wait until after her wedding?’

  ‘Yes.’ It sounded lame as he said it.

  He followed her as she walked back to the kitchen, a stack of plates in her hands, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘I never understood why some young men are so anxious to get themselves into trouble.’

  ‘I won’t get into trouble. I know how to manage down there.’

  She fixed him with a hard stare. ‘All I’m saying, Tren, is if you get yourself killed too I will... Well, I...’ she trailed off, looking suddenly so sad and afraid that Tren almost lost his nerve.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ he said, giving her what he hoped was a confident smile. ‘And I won’t stay long. I’ll come right back, I promise, and let you know I’m still alive.’

  She nodded, subdued. ‘Mind you do. I’ll be waiting.’

  Leaving the Geslin house early the next morning, Tren didn’t proceed immediately with his plan to return to the Lowers. He had another errand to complete first.

  He took a public carriage to the other side of the populous town of Westrarc. On the outskirts of the settlement was the premises of Lawch & Son, the light-globe manufactory that Mrs Geslin was now involved with. The establishment proved to be a large one, but it didn’t take him long to find the information he needed. Stepping inside the office, he introduced himself to the dapper clerk as a representative of the Glostrum Estate.

  The man’s face lit up with instant recognition. ‘Ah, marvellous! It’s some time since we received word from her ladyship.’

  ‘She has had much on her mind of late,’ Tren replied. Glancing about the office, he saw several examples of the artistic light-globes that Eva used in her own house. How like her, he thought; if she admired a company’s product she would simply buy the company.

  ‘I have the regular reports,’ the clerk offered. ‘Perhaps you can deliver them directly, Mr Warvel?’

  ‘Ah - no. I have some other business to perform for her ladyship before I am permitted to return to Glour City.’

  The man nodded briskly. ‘Please convey our continued regards. Her recent investment has allowed us to expand the business considerably. Please also inform her that the new style of
globe she suggested has proved very popular. She’ll be pleased to know it.’

  The clerk’s attitude was beginning to prove too oily for Tren’s tastes, but he stood his ground. ‘I will ensure that she knows. She particularly asked me to check on the progress of her share transfer. I believe Geslin was the name?’

  The clerk donned a gleaming pair of spectacles and rustled papers for a few minutes. At length he looked up with a triumphant exclamation.

  ‘Here it is. Geslin, 35th house Ruarch Street? Yes. Those shares were transferred successfully. We are delighted to have her ladyship’s friends among our shareholders.’

  Tren sighed inwardly, suffering some conflicted feelings. Part of him felt that it ought to have been his responsibility to care for the Geslins; he was practically a member of the family after all, and if he hadn’t been able to save Ed, at least he could make up for it by taking over where he had left off.

  But he knew that attitude was essentially selfish. Eva had found a simple and direct way of providing for them in the long-term, and she’d done it without mentioning a word to anyone. She had also found a way to protect Mrs Geslin’s pride. It was a deeply decent thing to do and also a sensitive one, and he felt a brief pang in reflecting on it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to the clerk and rose to leave.

  ‘Ah - a moment, Mr Warvel. It occurs to me that her ladyship might enjoy a sample of our newest product. Would you care to see it?’

  ‘I - yes, all right, but I have a great deal more to do this morning.’ Tren affected the harried and self-important air of a middle-rank official with surprising ease.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ the clerk replied. Moving with bustling speed, he unlocked a cabinet that stood behind his desk and took out a light globe. It was larger than any Tren had seen before, as large as the chandelier that graced Eva’s drawing-room. It was encased in a gracefully wrought silver cage; Tren could see at a glance that the globe would throw light onto nearby surfaces in the pattern enforced by the metal.

  ‘Remarkable,’ he said honestly.

  ‘That’s not all, sir! When activated, this globe will change the colour of the light with every rotation.’

  Tren blinked. ‘Truly? May I try?’

  ‘Please!’ The clerk placed the globe gently on the desk. Tren summoned his sorcery and activated it; the ball rose gently into the air and began to slowly rotate, emitting a soft white light. After about a minute, the light changed to blue.

  Tren had seen coloured globes before, but the colours were either embedded into the glass and therefore fixed, or they had to be changed manually by the sorcerer. A colour-changing globe was perfectly possible, as long as a sorcerer was prepared to stand by it and alter the hue of light every few minutes. This globe operated autonomously.

  ‘How does it work? An embedded enchantment of some kind?’ Tren made the suggestion knowing it didn’t make sense. Embedding enchantments was, again, the province of the sorcerer; Lawch & Son couldn’t advertise the properties of the product unless those properties were bound to the globe in some way.

  ‘It’s more a matter of science. We had an inventor come in from Ullarn - mighty difficult fellow and the consultancy fees were enormous, but he did a marvellous job, so I’m told. You couldn’t ask me to say more than that. I’m an administrative man, not a scientist.’

  ‘Of course,’ murmured Tren. ‘Fascinating. Has Lady Glostrum seen this yet?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Do you think her ladyship would enjoy a sample? It’s her money as made it possible, after all.’

  ‘Oh, certainly. Do send one right away. A wedding gift, perhaps.’ He paused. ‘If you could note that you sent it on my recommendation, I’d be grateful.’

  The clerk winked, entirely understanding the apparent attempts of a middle-grade lackey to get ahead. ‘I’ll do that, sir.’

  Tren left the factory feeling thoughtful. He was surprised to hear of the involvement of an Ullarn inventor. It was not common to hear of the Darklands engineers hiring themselves out that way. He had no doubt that the consultancy fees were, indeed, enormous.

  What puzzled him most was the mechanics of it. A new type of glass? How could that possibly work? The colour change reminded him of the way the light changed in the Lower Realm as the moons turned. Instinctively he would have said that this new technology owed something to the world of Ayrien, as he supposed he must now call it. But if there was a link, the probable nature of it escaped him entirely.

  He dismissed the problem. He couldn’t get side-tracked by new technologies, however interesting they might be; he had a more pressing task.

  He was planning to journey south of Westrarc, close to the Ullarn border in fact. When he had travelled that way with Eva some weeks before, they had stepped through a rogue gate into the Lowers - a curious type of gate that remained stable unless it was deliberately closed. Even then, the gate would reopen itself in the same place sometime later.

  He had a theory that the gate was not a rogue at all, but placed there and maintained by the sorcerer Griel. He hoped to find it still in place when he arrived, and if it was... going through it would return him to the same vicinity he’d visited with Eva.

  In that area had been the tall and highly peculiar tower in which they had found Andraly Winnier’s memoirs. They had lost the book, so instead he would go back to the book’s source and try his luck there.

  And if it got him out of Glour City before Eva wed herself irrevocably to a man she didn’t love, all the better.

  Chapter Twelve

  They had not been long in the air when a wave of excitement swamped Llandry’s senses, emanating from Pensould. It was never easy to keep pace with a draykon so much bigger than she was, but by beating her sail-like wings at an unsustainable pace she was able to draw level with him. Glancing down, she saw nothing to explain his enthusiasm.

  Pensould? What is it?

  He banked abruptly and circled around, gradually descending towards the ground.

  Another draykon grave, he replied. Open your mind, Minchu. You will feel it.

  Open her mind? As instructions went, this was vague to say the least. Llandry wasted a few seconds feeling irritable, but with an inward sigh she put that aside.

  She knew how the draykon bone felt. She had sensed it before, but then she had been in human form and on the ground. She had felt it pulse through the earth beneath her feet. Could she feel it from the air?

  She cleared her mind with a deep breath and tentatively began to search. She promptly lost her concentration on her flight and descended with unseemly haste towards the ground. A flash of panic froze her body and she failed to right herself. The ground rushed towards her face...

  With a grunt of irritation, Pensould darted beneath her and she landed on him instead. They both hit the ground with a sharp impact and she felt a stab of pain from him.

  Sorry, sorry.

  Pensould’s voice in her mind was gruff with exasperation. You must stop trying to fly like a human. These things? These? He righted himself, flapping his wings ostentatiously. They are not arms! You fly as though you are trying to grab the air and pull yourself forward. You must let the currents do the work for you.

  Um, right. Sorry. She stretched out her crumpled legs, mortified. Really, she made a liability of herself. Pensould would do better to leave her behind.

  Now, Minchu. I love you still. Pensould nudged her with his nose, sending her a wave of affection that made her instantly feel better.

  Until she remembered Sigwide. Oh no, Sig!

  Pensould’s nostrils twitched. If you will insist on bringing tiny passengers...

  Frantic, she cast out with her summoner senses, looking for the imprint Sigwide’s presence made on the world. She knew it better than she knew her own, but she couldn’t sense him.

  Sigwide! She roared the name with the full power of her will. To her surprise and alarm, the cry was amplified beyond all reason. She knew the limits of her own, untrained summoner abilit
ies; she should not be able to reach so far, to quest so powerfully for her orting’s presence. The depths of her own power frightened her.

  A thin, answering cry came from somewhere above. She launched herself into the air, hurling herself in the direction of that call. She discovered Sigwide at last, sitting in the branches of one of the tall, red-leaved trees in this part of Iskyr. He was clinging desperately to the branch as it swayed in the wind, his short grey fur standing on end. His desperation was palpable as she neared him; he screamed again, and to her shock she understood him.

  Help.

  The word formed clearly in her mind, though she recognised it as an interpretation of his actual utterance. She read his speech in the same way that she understood Pensould when he spoke to her without words.

  Help!

  Tentatively, she sent a thought back to him. Coming!

  Carefully, she descended until she hovered near Sigwide’s branch. Reaching out with one alarmingly large leg, she delicately closed her claws around Sigwide and snatched him up. The orting screamed with fear and relief as he was borne back to the ground. She released him and immediately transformed back into her human shape so she could pick him up. He nuzzled her face, calming rapidly in her arms.

  Siggy?

  It was harder to do it outside of her draykon shape. She knew that from Pensould, though it was growing easier the more she practiced. Nonetheless, she caught Sigwide’s brief reply.

  Food?

  She laughed. ‘You foolish creature,’ she muttered aloud. Try not to fall off again, Siggy.

  Yes. No. Food?

  If we are finished, perhaps we can proceed?

  She was learning that Pensould could be a grouch.

  Nearly, she returned. I don’t understand, Pensould. How am I hearing Sigwide?

  She felt his surprise. You could not before?

  No, though I began to feel his emotions more clearly when I carried one of your bones. And now, when I am draykon-shaped.

  Pensould sniffed disapprovingly at the mention of his bones. The connection ought to be obvious.