Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Seconded,’ she added in her iciest tone.

  Rheas chuckled. ‘You two are as warm as twin blocks of ice.’

  Ynara stood up. ‘Time for me to get back,’ she said to Aysun. He jumped up instantly and followed her into the hallway. She didn’t bother to say goodbye to Rheas.

  ‘Keep this with you.’ Aysun produced a small metal box from somewhere and tucked it into her hand. It was the device he’d used to talk to Rufin. ‘You remember how to work it?’

  She nodded. The process hadn’t looked complicated.

  ‘It’ll make a sound if I’m trying to contact you on it. I don’t know if it will work between the Uppers and Glinnery, but we’ll try it. All right?’

  She kissed him. ‘How would I manage without you?’

  He gave her the boyish grin that still made her heart flutter, even after so many years. ‘No idea.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Devary opened the note hastily, almost tearing it in his anxiety to know the contents. It was addressed in Ynara’s hand; he couldn’t remember the last time she had written to him.

  To his disappointment, the note was very brief.

  He is safe.

  He sighed in frustration, rubbing at his tired eyes. It was good to know that she had got Orillin away safely, but the extreme brevity of the communication was frustrating. Was she well? Had she forgiven him for losing Llandry - at all? Even the faintest note of warmth and support would have lifted his spirits enormously.

  No matter. He would have to manage without her approval. He burned the paper, then stood up. He had an appointment to keep.

  Indren had put him in touch with one of the faculty’s longest-serving members. Ern Greyson proved to be in his sixties, a man as grey as his name and with an uncompromising frankness of manner. He surveyed Devary with suspicion as the younger man sat down opposite his table in one of Draetre’s smaller eating houses.

  ‘I’d better tell you right now,’ Devary began immediately. ‘I’m tracered. We’d better make this quick.’

  Greyson’s eyes sharpened. ‘Tracered means Krays’s boy. You expect me to trust you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dev said bluntly. ‘I’m not promoted, just a minor information agent.’

  ‘Then why the tracer.’

  ‘Have you heard the name Llandry Sanfaer?’

  ‘Huh,’ Greyson spat. ‘That name’s coming up an awful lot lately.’

  ‘I’m a friend of her mother’s,’ Devary said quickly. ‘I was tracered because Krays is trying to find her and he knew she would find me. I need to know what’s being said about her.’

  ‘Word is she’s draykon-kind,’ Greyson countered. ‘That true?’

  ‘Word travels fast. Does that mean something to you?’

  Greyson drained the contents of his earthenware mug in one enormous gulp, then set it down. Devary grew irritated at his leisurely manner, but he made himself sit patiently waiting for the answer.

  ‘It means something to Krays,’ Greyson said at last. ‘Which means something to me.’

  Devary waited for more. Indren had told him that Greyson had no love for Krays, but unlike Indren he obviously didn’t fear the man either. He had been steadily collecting information about the new masters of the faculty for the last few years.

  ‘Couple of moons back,’ Greyson continued, ‘masters issued a general order. All promoted agents - white-hairs, most of them - were sent to Glinnery to investigate Llandry Sanfaer’s enigmatic istore stone. They came back with several examples of the stuff, and to a man they were raving about it. Full of stories about its magical properties and what have you. Soon as Krays got his hands on a piece he was obsessed with it. Diverted all faculty resources onto it on the spot. And I heard that he had his two pet agents on the case.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Woman, a white-hair. Calls herself Ana. Her husband too, also a white-hair.’

  Ana again. This corresponded with what Indren had told him about the faculty’s new bosses. And he had used the same term to describe her.

  ‘Why do you call them white-hairs?’

  ‘Because Krays’s type always are. Him and his colleagues and their most trusted agents. Only, I got the feeling Ana and her hubby aren’t so trusted nowadays.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Used to be in and out of the faculty all the time. Haven’t seen either of them in a while, and Krays is grooming some new favourites. Whatever they did with that stone, it wasn’t what Krays ordered.’

  Devary turned that information over for a moment. ‘You know what it is they did?’

  Greyson shot him a look. ‘Krays’s top agents disappear. Next thing I hear, Krays is acting like they never existed and there are draykons on the scene. Can’t be a coincidence.’

  Devary nodded. ‘She and her husband, Griel, took those stones - draykon bones - and resurrected the beast. You’re saying that wasn’t Krays’s intention?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure not.’ Greyson was looking at him with increased respect. ‘How do you know all that?’

  ‘I’ve talked with an eye witness.’ His source was more complicated than that, in fact; he’d heard Lady Glostrum’s account from Ynara. But it amounted to the same thing.

  ‘Nice,’ Greyson approved. Then he frowned. ‘You sure Griel was the name?’

  ‘Pretty sure, yes.’

  ‘Haven’t heard it. But then I saw less of that one. Didn’t mix with the rest of us as the lady did.’ His face as he said it suggested that the lady’s interactions with the faculty agents hadn’t been pleasant.

  ‘Greyson,’ said Devary seriously. ‘If Krays wasn’t looking to wake up a draykon, what was he doing with those bones?’

  The older man was silent for a minute. ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last, ‘but I got a few leads I can share. What’re you looking to do with them?’

  ‘Krays is after Llandry,’ Devary replied. ‘And possibly others like her. I’m set to find out why, and then - somehow - I have to stop him.’

  Greyson’s lips twitched. ‘Large task you’ve set yourself there.’

  ‘I know,’ Dev said heavily.

  ‘Indren couldn’t help you with that?’

  ‘She knows nothing of it. Which makes me think Krays knew what the stone was immediately; if not, it would have been Indren’s job to study it. The only piece she ever saw, though, came from me.’

  Greyson nodded slowly. ‘Ullarn,’ he said cryptically. ‘Lot of the bones were shipping out to there. Reckon that’s where the imperious Ana hails from also, maybe her husband too. Can’t tell you more than that, I’m afraid. I never was posted out that way.’

  Ullarn. That was it? Ullarn was the largest of the Darklands realms and certainly the most mysterious. If that was all he had to go on, he was very much out of luck.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said anyway. Greyson had been useful, even if he couldn’t answer every question Devary had.

  ‘How are you going to pursue this with a tracer on you? You can’t just go to Ullarn.’

  And that was the other problem. ‘Maybe there’s more I can do here,’ he said. ‘There has to be something around here to tell me what Krays is up to.’

  ‘I find anything, I’ll let you know.’

  Devary shook the older man’s hand. ‘Thanks.’

  Five days passed and Devary heard nothing from Greyson. He spent that period of time combing Indren’s library and the more public collections at the faculty building. The most interesting find was a tumbled stack of research notes without a title or any indication of the author, but what caught Devary’s attention was the repeated use of the word “istore”.

  When he showed them to Indren, she merely nodded. ‘Those are the records from my brief research project on that stone you brought me. I wanted to pursue it further, even after you took back the pendant, but Krays cancelled it.’

  ‘Did he? Why?’ Sifting through the papers, he found three pages of scrawled notes on the so-called stone’s magical properties. It
enhanced summoning ability, amplified sorcerous talents and imparted a sense of well-being even to those humans without a shred of magical talent.

  ‘He said it was a waste of time. Like I told you, I don’t think it was ever a mystery to him.’

  An unpleasant thought occurred to Devary’s habitually suspicious mind. ‘Indren. Greyson told me that Krays’s two favourite agents were sent to take the draykon bone. That would’ve been well before I arrived here with the pendant - and Llandry. Did you know about that?’ He remembered her manner when he’d turned up with that stone. She had been enthused about the project - and, apparently, shocked when Llandry was attacked over it. Had she been acting a part? He now recalled that visiting that restaurant had been her idea; it sickened him to think that she might have colluded with Krays to get Llandry away from her guards.

  If she had, then she was still acting a part now.

  ‘No!’ Indren blurted. ‘I swear, I knew nothing about it at the time save what I heard in the papers. And I had precious little time even to read the news during those weeks. Whatever Krays and his friends were doing at that time, I wasn’t involved in it. Not until later.’

  Her face was white with alarm and she stared at him with such horror that he was inclined to believe her. Indren was one of those women who was rarely discomposed, and it took a lot to shake her.

  ‘When were you involved?’

  ‘Only recently, truly. This genealogy project is the first assignment I’ve been given that has any direct relationship to the draykon bone.’

  Devary sighed. It was becoming harder than ever to choose allies that he could trust.

  ‘You wouldn’t lie, Ren, would you?’ They had been closer friends, once, before Indren had been promoted so far above him and he had been sent across the Seven. Ren was the name he used to have for her. He hoped it would encourage her to be sincere.

  ‘I lie, Dev. All the time, these days - I have to. But I wouldn’t lie to you. Please believe me.’ She caught his hand in a pleading gesture.

  He frowned, letting out a long sigh. Life had truly become impossibly complicated of late - dating precisely from his return to the Sanfaer home in Glinnery.

  Though if he could turn back and undo that action, he still wouldn’t.

  He summoned a smile for Indren, watched her face relax in relief. ‘What of Greyson? Where did you find him?’

  She gave a crooked smile. ‘The white-hairs aren’t popular within the faculty. Last year some of the agents formed a co-operative to share information. The ultimate goal, I suppose, is to be rid of them, though I don’t see how that is to be achieved. Greyson is their leader.’

  ‘Oh?’ He looked narrowly at her. ‘Are you a member?’

  ‘I joined.’ She paused. ‘Recently.’

  He looked a question; she fixed her gaze on the floor.

  ‘When I was given the genealogy project, I realised... it wasn’t hard to guess who was behind Llandry’s attempted abduction. I felt awful. I might not have known beforehand but it was me who took the two of you to that restaurant. I had been serving Krays’s purpose without even realising it. And I was so full of myself.’ She raised her eyes at last. ‘I was awful to her, wasn’t I?’

  He shrugged one shoulder slightly. ‘I don’t think I noticed if you were.’

  She rolled her eyes and gave a quick laugh. ‘How like you. Yes, I was perfectly horrid to her. I can scarcely remember why, only... I hadn’t seen you in so long, and then for you to arrive with...’

  She trailed off, then shook her head with an air of finality. ‘No matter. I joined soon after that. I have no love for Krays’s methods or his agenda, and I am tired of being manipulated by him and his friends.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re a better woman than I thought, Ren.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She spoke the word in a flat tone, and he realised the statement hadn’t emerged as he’d intended.

  He hastily changed the subject. ‘Ah, so, Greyson. He’s trustworthy then?’

  Indren shrugged. ‘You know as well as I do that it’s hard to be sure. But if we can’t trust Greyson, we can’t trust anyone. He has my confidence, if that helps at all.’

  ‘Thank you, Ren.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it lightly, smiling his thanks. A light appeared in her eyes for an instant, then faded.

  ‘Anything for you, Dev,’ she said lightly.

  A few days later, Devary was walking through Draetre’s eventide market when he felt a light touch on his arm. Thinking of pickpockets, he was instantly on his guard. Checking his pockets, he found his money whole and untouched - and a scrap of paper.

  Astendre Wharf 17.

  He knew that area, though not well. It was near the river that marked the city’s south-eastern boundary. The area was mostly occupied by tradesmen’s storage buildings.

  He stopped and looked about himself, knowing it was already too late. Nobody waited to see if he found the message. He saw nothing but crowds of shoppers moving briskly from stall to stall. Puzzled, he folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket.

  ‘That’s Greyson’s writing,’ Indren confirmed later.

  ‘You two have been writing to each other, have you?’

  Her cheeks flushed slightly and she spoke with infinite dignity. ‘He has communicated with me on occasion.’

  ‘Always by letter?’

  ‘Don’t forget the tracers,’ she reminded him tartly. ‘It’s unwise to keep too many meetings with the same agents. It arouses suspicion.’

  He grinned at her. ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with me. Is that not then a risk?’

  ‘That is different.’

  ‘Is it? How?’

  She ignored the question. ‘Are you going?’

  He frowned, smoothing the paper in his fingers. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it before. That doesn’t mean much, you understand. I’m viewed in some circles as a higher-up but I’m not given access to much.’

  ‘I must investigate,’ he decided.

  ‘Dev, those tracers aren’t to be just ignored. If he looks for you while you’re there, I don’t know what will happen to you but it won’t be good.’

  ‘Do not be worried about me,’ he smiled.

  She snorted. ‘Someday, Mr Kant, that abominable overconfidence will get you killed. I am coming with you.’

  His smile faded. ‘Two tracered agents in the same - very secret - building? Will that not merely double the chances of our both being caught?’

  She glared at him. ‘Two of us can cover the area faster, meaning we can be out again sooner.’

  ‘Flawed logic.’

  She was adamant, immoveable and would not be argued down.

  In the end, he simply left without telling her.

  The seventeenth building on Astendre Wharf was tall, narrow and squashed haphazardly between two much larger warehouses. No windows adorned the front, so he couldn’t immediately tell whether the building was occupied.

  He paused to check the position of his weapons. He had given up carrying them for a time; having learnt about the tracer, he’d felt such hopelessness about his situation that he’d lost faith in his ability to control his own fate. But he shouldn’t have allowed those events to affect him that way. His daggers, sometimes so repulsive to his essentially pacifistic nature, now imparted a feeling of confidence that he hadn’t felt in some time.

  He jogged down the street, darted through the first alley he found and circled around to the back of the buildings. He had opted to go at night in the hopes of finding the area deserted, and so far he was in luck.

  The darkness, though, was a problem. Heavy clouds covered the sky, hiding the light of the moon, and this part of Draetre wasn’t worth the trouble of lighting at night. It took him a few minutes to find his way to the rear door of building number seventeen.

  It was, as he expected, firmly locked. Far from feeling discouraged, he felt a thrill of anticipation. Something important was here; no sens
e in using locks otherwise.

  He hadn’t picked a lock in at least a year, but the skill hadn’t faded. He had it open inside a minute. He entered, moving with soft, silent steps into the building.

  The interior was so dark he could see nothing at all. With an inward curse, he fished a small, portable light-globe from the pack he carried. He had no wish to draw attention to his presence, but he could investigate nothing without light. He activated it with a swift thought, dampening its radiance down to a gentle flicker of white light. It was just enough to illuminate his surroundings, but it wouldn’t carry far. Or so he hoped.

  His heart sank on finding himself standing in nothing but a cramped and empty antechamber. Ahead of him loomed another door, bigger and no doubt much more securely locked. He released the globe, guiding it to hover a few inches above his head, and set to work.

  Half an hour later, tense and sweating, Devary finally found his way through the maddening door. No less than three locks secured the portal, two of which were operated by codes rather than keys. More evidence that something here was not intended for general access.

  The building was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. A long hall stretched before him, and he guessed that three more storeys of similar size rose above. The room in which he stood was furnished with benches set at regular intervals, each spacious and, he guessed, well-lit when they were in use. The exterior looked ramshackle, but the interior had the polished air of a professional setup.

  All of the benches bore clusters of objects. Devary bent over the first, drawing his light-globe down close to the surface. It didn’t avail him much; he recognised nothing in the complex structures of metal and glass that he saw.

  But he did recognise the smooth indigo substance that was securely clamped into place in the centre of the contraption. Opaque and glowing faintly silver under his light, it was undoubtedly draykon bone.