by Dan Koboldt
Step one, get her talking. “So, how did you become a chandler?” he asked.
“Are you looking to change professions?”
“I’m just curious about what makes someone wake up and say, ‘I want to make candles for a living.’ ”
“It’s a little more involved than that. I apprenticed under the former chandler, who was called Aleria.”
“How come I’ve never met her?”
“She’s been dead five years.”
“Whew.” He shook his head. “Don’t get in your way, huh?”
Jillaine gasped. “She died in her sleep, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure. But just so you know, I’m not a competitor.”
“You’re terrible,” she said, but with a tiny smile.
They didn’t talk about the elephant in the room. Anton had confirmed that the Pireans gave her name to the council. Moric still hadn’t returned. The future of the Enclave lay partly in Jillaine’s hands. Instead, they talked about candle-making and beekeeping. She was polite, but not warm. And she still didn’t take his arm. The uncovered lie hung between them like an icicle.
“Look, I’m sorry I pretended to be from Landor,” Quinn said at last. “It’s what I told Moric when he captured me, so I just ran with it.”
“Why did you lie to him, though?”
“Honestly, I was terrified. Where I’m from, we had no idea that the Enclave even existed. Or what the magicians here might do to us.” So far, so good. Everything he’d told her was true.
“Oh, you’re from the Tip now?” she asked with a touch of scorn.
“No, not the Pirean Tip. But a place like that. When Moric offered to bring me along on his job, I thought I could go back home and change some minds.”
“That was your grand adventure? Going home?”
“Going home was more of a duty. Coming back is the grand adventure,” he said.
She gave him a dubious look. “To the Enclave.”
“Well, back to you. The Enclave is just a bonus.”
She laughed softly. “Is that the order of things?”
“Well, don’t get me wrong. It’s a pretty nice bonus. In fact, I’m not sure why you’re so bent on leaving.”
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’m not bent on leaving. I’d just like to see some of the world other than our island.”
The grass is always greener. “So why don’t you go?”
“What?”
“Go have some adventure, before your father turns up.”
“Now? It’s the worst possible time.”
“It’s the best possible time.”
“I have to cast my vote in the council. That’s all I can think about at the moment.”
He almost told her, Screw the vote, but without her, his entire mission would be a failure. Kiara would have no reason to let him stay on the island, if he didn’t produce results. Sure, he could refuse the order to return home, but that was a decision there was no coming back from. A decision I’d just as soon put off as long as possible. So he made his voice casual. “I think the vote is pretty simple. Either you want to preserve the status quo, or you want to try something new.”
“My father thinks our agreement with Valteron is important.”
“I know.” Quinn held his tongue for a moment. “But he also thinks you shouldn’t leave the island.”
“And that I can’t take care of myself,” she added.
“That’s why I think you should cast your vote today, and then go.”
Her fingers slid off his arm. He hated the cool emptiness they left behind.
“So, you said that you came back here to see me,” she accused. “But now you’d like me to leave?”
“I want you to be happy.” He looked away and added quietly, “Even if that means you’ll be gone.”
She pursed her lips and said nothing, but took his arm again.
“Besides, I might just follow you,” he said. “After all, I’m a magic user myself.”
A smile played at the edge of her lips. “A magic student.”
“I’m a person of means,” he said with a hint of smugness. Then he felt his purse and feigned surprise. “Well, I thought I was.”
He loosened the drawstring and shook the purse out into his open palm. Nothing came out. He gave her a side-eyed look. “Did you do this?”
“Do what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You took my jewels.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then you won’t mind a little search.” He lifted her hand from his arm, where a dark red stone glittered. “Oh, well, look here.”
She made a surprised little sound. “I have no idea—”
He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “What else are you holding?”
In short order, he found a diamond in her waistband, an emerald in her shoe, and a thumb-sized sapphire tucked behind her ear. She laughed and protested her innocence with each revelation. That was the best part of this kind of up-close magic: it was a perfect excuse to put his hands on her.
Finally, he poured the recovered gemstones back into his purse and pulled the drawstring tight. “I’m still missing a few, but I guess I can look for those later.”
“Oh, you think so?”
He winked at her. “I’d sure like to try.”
They came to the high point of the island, at the base of the boulder pile where they’d first met. Which would be great if she weren’t wearing a gown and slippers.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
“I meant for us to climb up there. I should have asked you to wear different shoes. I meant to, but I kind of . . .”
“Kind of what?”
Might as well be honest. “Kind of forgot the plan when I saw you.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to be telling her that more and more often.
She tsked him and smiled. “Silly man.” She closed her eyes.
Don’t mind if I do. He’d just started to lean in when invisible arms wrapped around his chest. The pressure startled him. He couldn’t move. “What the—”
Then he was floating, and she was, too. Rising up like a goddamn hot air balloon to touch down gently on the uppermost boulder. The pressure dissipated as suddenly as it had come. He could breathe again. Jillaine lowered herself to the boulder in a single, graceful movement, her skirts settling about her like a snowdrift.
“I was not expecting that,” he admitted.
“Oh, did I scare you?”
“Maybe a little.” He sat cross-legged across from her. But like any good magician, I excel at preparation.
Earlier in the day, he’d traded every bit of social capital for the meal inside the basket. Not that he couldn’t cook himself, but he wanted a taste of nostalgia. There was pan-seared whitefish, a dark brown loaf of bread, and some kind of crustacean soup. All of it should still be warm, too. Leward had promised as much, with the enchantment he’d put on the basket.
Just don’t open it until you’re ready, he’d warned.
Quinn pried up the basket’s lid, and a fireball nearly engulfed his face. “Gah!” He reared back and nearly fell of the boulder. A little much, Leward.
The fire petered out. Inside, the crockery looked unharmed, but the soup was boiling. He shook his head. “Well, I guess we should let that cool off.”
Jillaine was biting her lip, probably to keep from giggling. She eyed the food. “This looks familiar.”
He played it nonchalant. “Does it?”
“Where’d you learn a Pirean recipe?”
“Right from the source.”
She pursed her lips. “One of your many Pirean friends.”
“Not a bad guess.”
“What did all of this cost you?”
He chuckled. “You don’t want to know.”
The food was incredibly good, but Quinn hardly noticed. It only provided a backdrop to Jillaine. Being alone with her felt hazy
and warm, like a dream. They talked well into the afternoon, until the shadows of the rocks and trees stretched out below them.
“I should get back,” she said finally. “The vote is at sunset.”
He piled the crockery back into his basket. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
“I still don’t know.”
He stood and offered her a hand. She took it and rose, but stumbled and lost her balance.
“Whoa!” He caught her against him.
“Thank you.” She looked up at him from so close, beckoning. She closed her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her.
Then the invisible hand wrapped around him.
Oh, come on. “Again?” he asked as she floated them down to the ground like leaves falling from a tree. She spun away from him, but took hold of his arm.
“That was just mean,” he said.
She giggled, and made no apology.
They walked at a brisker pace as the sun dipped down toward the horizon.
“Where do you need to go?” he asked.
“The amphitheater.”
“Oh, one of my favorite places.” As long as you don’t count the fire pit outside.
They weren’t alone for much longer, as a steady stream of Enclave residents flowed toward the amphitheater from all directions. Apparently the vote was a public event. Jillaine let go of his arm, which he didn’t like, but he understood.
“You should probably return that basket to the Pirean tower,” she said.
“Eh, I can do that later.”
“What if someone needs them?”
She wants to get rid of me. That wasn’t a good sign for how she’d vote, but he didn’t want to press. “All right. Good luck in there.”
“Thanks for the soup.”
He halted and watched her walk in. Then he turned left, and made for the Pirean tower. Twilight began to fall across the island. He jogged up the steps to the tower and hurried in. The common room was totally empty, which meant that everyone had gone to see the vote. He gave the crockery a quick scrub in the sink, shoved the basket under a table, and ran back to the amphitheater. He could hear Sella’s voice echoing off the walls even before he got inside.
The place was full to the brim with Enclave magicians and their families. Torches lined the wall, their flames a dizzying combination of unnatural colors. It had the feel of a medieval circus. Quinn squeezed himself on the end of the nearest bench.
“. . . in exchange, the Enclave grants the Prime certain protections on his person, and a complement of young magicians to attend him in Valteron City,” Sella said. She stood at the front, addressing the crowd, with an opaque circle in front of her that amplified the sound of her voice.
The sight of it brought butterflies to Quinn’s stomach. A few months ago it was me and Moric up there.
He couldn’t see Jillaine or Anton. They were probably somewhere near the front.
“A motion has been made to end this long-standing agreement.” Sella gave a cool look at someone in the front row. “The council will now vote on that motion.”
A murmur of anticipation swept across the crowd. Sella waited until silence returned, then held out an arm to her right. “Those in favor of rescinding our agreement with Valteron.”
Anton stood up from the front row, his cloth-of-silver jacket glittering in the torchlight. He walked over to Sella’s right, casual as a gentleman on an evening stroll, and turned to face the audience. Two others, an older gentleman and a matronly woman, followed and stood beside him.
Not enough, Quinn thought. It might have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn that Sella had a little smirk of satisfaction on her face.
She held out her left arm. “Those who wish to maintain the agreement.” The two men who’d been with her in Moric’s apartment rose and walked over. Sella lowered her arms and took three steps to join them, making it three to three.
Jillaine stood from the third row, and made her way to the front. Quinn couldn’t see her face. Sella looked at her and smiled.
Damn.
Then Jillaine glided over and stood with Anton’s group. A collective gasp came from the audience.
“Look at that,” Quinn whispered. He clenched a fist in restrained victory. That’s my girl.
Sella looked like a deer in headlights. She recovered herself, and returned to the magic microphone. “The motion passes.”
Quinn slipped off the bench and hurried out. Take that, Richard Holt.
It was well past dusk already, but he still had enough light to see by. The minute Quinn got clear of the crowds spilling out across the open spaces, he activated his comm unit. “This is Bradley, reporting bingo.”
Kiara came back a few minutes later. “You’ve got Kiara and Logan. Did you say ‘bingo’ just now?”
“The council just voted to rescind their agreement with Valteron. In other words, bingo.”
Logan came on. “How did you manage to pull that off?”
You don’t even want to know. “I’m good with people, remember? And I’m a finisher. In fact, I’d like to request ‘The Finisher’ as my new code name.”
“Denied,” Logan said.
“Well done, Bradley,” Kiara said. “When will it happen?”
“I assume pretty soon.”
“Find out, and then sit tight. We’re going radio silent for twelve hours while we go after the package,” Kiara said.
The backpack. Things were about to get serious. “Understood,” he said. “Be careful out there. And if you see a guy who looks like Mr. Clean, run.”
“Roger that. Kiara out.”
Quinn switched off the comm unit and savored the moment of his small victory. He’d never forget the look of shock on Sella’s face, that was for sure. He still couldn’t believe he’d managed to sway Jillaine. Maybe she would take a little adventure with him after all. Things are looking up for Quinn Bradley. He started humming, “Oh, Sherrie,” one of his favorite songs, as he strolled back toward the Landorian tower. He even sang it a little, because it was that kind of glorious night.
He heard a sound behind him, a footfall. Maybe that’s her right now. He smiled and looked back, but no one was there. Then he turned around and a dark figure in a hooded cloak stood before him. A wooden club slammed into his temple. Fireworks of pain exploded across his vision, and then everything went dark.
Chapter 37
Breach
“Friendship brings more loyalty than favors. Alissians don’t like owing one another.”
—R. Holt, “Understanding Alissian Ethics”
Logan had to admit that Kiara knew how to pick a decent ship. The cog sat comfortably in the water, and the long tiller could practically turn it on a dime. He’d gotten in some practice on his way from the wharf to the rendezvous point, just in case the lieutenant changed her mind about piloting.
The fact that she’d be going along at all was a break from tradition. Kiara usually liked to let him run point on in-world operations, preferring to quarterback everything from a safe distance. Logan tried not to view her personal involvement this time as a no-confidence vote in his leadership. Maybe it’s because of the backpack. The lieutenant had taken some heat after the first failed mission. If she came back empty-handed a second time, CASE Global might start looking for new leadership.
It took an hour to outfit the ship for the operation. The twin electric motors ran from a next-generation fuel cell about the size of a toaster. A steering rod connected both of their pivot handles to allow simultaneous operation. Logan and Mendez clamped them to the transom of the borrowed ship while Kiara and Chaudri prepped the navigation equipment. Logan didn’t like bringing the anthropologist on the mission, and had shared that opinion in private earlier that day.
“Why not?” Kiara had asked. “We might need her expertise, once we’re inside.”
“We can use the comms for that,” Logan said.
Kiara shook her head. “We may not be able to rely on those while we’r
e in Holt’s backyard.”
“She’s not a soldier.”
“You trained her, didn’t you?”
“We both know it’s not the same, Lieutenant.”
“Bottom line, we’re going up against an unknown force, so I need all able hands,” she said. Her tone signaled that the decision was final.
Logan bit his tongue. At least we’ll be well armed. The company executives still wouldn’t allow modern firearms, but pneumatics were on the table. Everyone got a 16 mm, semiautomatic tranquilizer pistol with two refill clips. The darts would drop a fully grown man in about three seconds, if that.
Logan himself had the real beauty, though: a prototype pneumatic sniper rifle from the tech lab. It had a range of eighty yards, wind permitting, and the only wide-angle scope permitted on this side of the gateway. He and Mendez had nicknamed it Slippery Pete.
There was no disguising such a weapon if it fell into the wrong hands, but he could break it down in less than twenty seconds into a bundle that looked like scrap wood. If someone captured them and there wasn’t enough time to hide it, Logan had standing orders to toss it into the ocean.
They set off against the breakers at 0200, heading due south for the admiral’s island. The sea was quiet except for the wind, and the splashes beneath the hull, and the quiet hum of the motors. Clouds obscured the three-quarter moon, and their destination wasn’t exactly lit up with neon signs. Earlier in the day, Kiara had taken a positional fix with a laser-optic range finder. CASE Global’s Automated Dead Reckoning (ADR) system did the rest: took measurements from the water and air speed sensors, integrated that with the magnetometer, and estimated their approximate distance and direction to the target. All in real time, and on Kiara’s tablet. It even had a rough geo-map of Valteron Bay, based on some of the preliminary coast mapping data.
The ADR was critical, because they couldn’t make a straight shot for the island itself. Bow lanterns were required for any ship out after dusk, and that made their trajectory easy to watch. So they pretended to be one of the night fishermen who worked the bay—starting and stopping in a zigzag pattern, as if working their way along a line of traps.
“ETA twenty minutes,” Kiara said. “Let’s review the operational plan.”
