The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  He went to the back door, as he always did. Mister Fenmere always insisted that Bell and people on his level were, for all intents, deliveries, and had to enter the house as such. He was welcomed as warmly as he ever was—which was not at all, but cordial enough—and escorted to the sitting room.

  Bell took his pipe out of his coat pocket and stuffed it with Fuergan tobacco. He wanted his phat, but he knew Fenmere wouldn’t stand for him smoking that in his sitting room. Tobacco, though, he was fine with.

  He finished two pipes before Fenmere finally came in, with Gerrick and Corman at his side. Two of them carried glasses of Kieran wine. Corman as usual abstained.

  “Mister Bell,” Fenmere said coldly as he took a seat. “You show up at a late hour looking like a cat ate your shoe. I trust from your expression that this is yet another occasion where you have let me down?”

  “I was doing as you said, sir. Going to Nevin’s old sellers, bringing them back into the fold. Getting sales going again.”

  “Good, good. So you’ve gotten that going? That isn’t the problem that’s so clearly on your face?”

  “One drop didn’t go as planned.”

  “Really?” Fenmere asked. He took a sip of his wine. “Would this be our uncommonly incompetent friends at the charmingly named Dogs’ Teeth? What are their names again?”

  “Lemt and Jendle,” Gerrick offered.

  “Lemt and Jendle,” Fenmere said. “It really rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? It would be an excellent title for one of those Idiot plays. Do you go to the Idiot plays, Bell?”

  Bell wasn’t sure where Fenmere was going, and that made him more afraid. Usually when Fenmere talked in circles, it was right before someone lost a thumb. “I’ve always been more partial to the Romances, myself.”

  Fenmere stopped his glass an inch from his lips and stared at Bell. For just a moment, the old man looked genuinely surprised. “I would not have guessed that, Bell. I’m pleased that you are not entirely predictable. However, Misters Lemt and Jendle are quite predictable, in that they will fail. They were the ones who betrayed Nevin in the first place, after all.”

  So Fenmere did know that already. That was a surprise.

  “Which made them an excellent lure. That was the only reason you were to include them in your rounds. So answer me, Bell. Is the Thorn still a problem for us?”

  It was the first time he had said the name, at least in Bell’s presence, for a month.

  “Yes, sir,” Bell said. “He was there, and he destroyed the effitte I was going to give to Lemt and Jendle.”

  Fenmere sipped at his wine again. “A calculated loss. In fact the vials you delivered today were low-grade dregs. So that, in and of itself, is little to worry about.”

  Fenmere didn’t seem to be angry. This made Bell far more nervous than getting screamed at.

  “There’s something else,” Bell said. “He took my notebook.”

  “Oh, did he?” Fenmere asked in mock surprise.

  “What a shock,” Corman said flatly.

  Fenmere finished his wine and stood up. “Looking back over his activities in the past months, it became clear that he was looking for any information he could find about deliveries and drop-offs. That led to him stealing the Blue Hand’s merchandise from you.”

  The man really was not going to let that go. Bell didn’t care. After that screwup, Bell counted himself lucky to have both his ankles intact.

  “You did have your contact with the Red Rabbit patsies in there, correct?”

  “I had everything for this week in there,” Bell said. “Just like you told me when you . . . gave it to me.”

  “Ah,” Fenmere said, pointing at Bell in mockery. “You see it, Gerrick? That faint light of comprehension in his eye.”

  “I was your bait, sir?”

  “Of course you were, you moron,” Fenmere said. “And you handed over to the Thorn exactly what we wanted him to have. A few disposable sellers in Dentonhill, and a target to strike at across Waterpath.”

  Bell got on his feet. “I was your rutting bait, sir?”

  Fenmere’s hand slapped his face before Bell even realized he had crossed close to him. “You do not raise your voice in here, Bell. If I want to use your belly fat to make candles, you’ll be the one cutting it off. Am I clear?”

  Bell sat back down. “Clear.”

  “Our scouts report that the Thorn has already caused disruption to the Red Rabbits,” Gerrick said. “As well as at the Dogs’ Teeth.”

  Fenmere gave a dramatic nod before glaring back at Bell. “Please do not presume I am some idiot waiting for you to report to me, Bell.”

  The butler came in with a woman waiting at the door. “As you expected, sir.”

  “Yes, of course,” Fenmere said. His whole demeanor shifted to warm and welcoming as the woman approached. She was about Fenmere’s age, steel gray hair, dressed like a woman of standing. Even still, there was a quality in the way she held herself, like she was standing on razors. “Laira, it has been far too long.”

  “Willem,” she said crisply. “It is inappropriate for you to use that name.”

  “Of course,” he said, moving in for a polite embrace, which she accepted. “So I should call you Shrike?”

  “Please, Willem. I haven’t been Shrike in ages. You know I’m Owl now.”

  “I can’t get used to that, frankly. It means we’re both too old.”

  With a signal from Fenmere, the butler had brought over more wine. Fenmere and Owl took theirs, and she took a seat. Who was this woman? Shrike? Owl? Why would she be called those things? It made no sense unless she was—

  “Oh, blazes.”

  Bell didn’t even realize he said it out loud.

  “Did you see it again there, Gerrick?” Fenmere asked. “It really is amazing when he understands what is happening. But we should be glad; most of our fellows don’t even have that.”

  “I know the type,” Owl said. “Fortunately for me, the dull ones do not last long.”

  “You’re one of the Deadly Birds!” Bell blurted out. He had heard plenty about that group of assassins, but he had never met one.

  “I was, dear boy,” Owl said. “At my age, I just do the business.”

  “Well, I asked you here for business, old friend.”

  “Which quite surprised me,” she said, sipping at her wine. “Oh, Willem, you do spoil me.”

  “You are worth it.”

  “I am,” she said. “So, business. You know we do not do a typical assassination contract. If you just want someone in the ground—”

  “I know how you work, that’s why I called for you. I don’t just want him dead. I want him defeated, publicly. I want showmanship.”

  “Then we’re your girls,” Owl said. “You pay two thousand per girl, per day. You determine how many days they hunt, and payment is based on that term, not when they kill the target. If the term of the hunt expires and the target is never engaged, your money is returned. If your target is engaged but not killed by the end of the term, double your money is returned.”

  “It’s like the best kind of gambling,” Fenmere said with a large smile. “I win every way. Corman, what can we engage?”

  The accountant bit his lip. “For what we can reasonably spare for this project, I would say eight days total. How you would want to break that up, I couldn’t say.”

  “Two girls for four days,” Fenmere said. “That should give all of Aventil an excellent show, don’t you think?”

  “Do you have a preference?” Owl asked.

  “If I can’t get the Shrike, then I don’t even know,” Fenmere said with a flirtatious grin.

  “She’s long retired.”

  “Then your discretion,” Fenmere said. The Owl nodded and took another sip of wine.

  Bell sat in stunned silence. He had actually
hired the Deadly Birds. Fenmere wasn’t just going to kill the Thorn. He was going to destroy him.

  Chapter 4

  AT SOME POINT in the night, after prefects, cadets, and whoever else got involved did what they could to clear out Almers Hall, it was decided that, at least for the remainder of the night, no one should return there to sleep. Boys were gathered up off the lawn and brought to Holtman Hall, where they were bedded down on the floor of the dining hall. Quite a few grumbled and whined as blankets were handed out, but Veranix paid them no mind. He had barely roused himself from his nap on the lawn and let himself be led into Holtman, where he dropped back down to sleep as soon as he was able. A childhood of sleeping in wagons, in tents, on the ground under the wagon, or wherever else had long inured him to any difficulty in falling asleep anywhere.

  He felt he had barely fallen back down when he was being nudged. “Wake up, Vee.”

  “Delmin, it can wait until morning.”

  “It is morning.”

  Veranix opened his eyes a crack. Sunlight was already coming through the windows of the dining hall.

  “What blasted time is it?”

  “Half past six bells,” Delmin said.

  “I cannot believe that,” Veranix said. He got to his feet and started to stretch his neck and shoulders. Around him other boys were rolling up their blankets. “They want us out so they can serve?”

  “On the nose.” Delmin picked up Veranix’s blanket and handed it to him. “You going to be all right?”

  “Fine.” Veranix rubbed his eyes. “Nothing a strong tea won’t fix. I don’t suppose they’re going to serve us straight away?”

  “Don’t be absurd. We need to clear out so they can set up. Nothing as sensible as what you’re suggesting.”

  They followed the stream of boys back outside and into Almers. There was no longer a haze of any sort. In fact, other than lingering scent, there was barely any trace of what happened last night.

  “Everyone is saying prank,” said a second-year at Veranix’s elbow. Theology student whose named Veranix never remembered. Oaves? Owens?

  “A prank from whom?” Veranix asked.

  “Elemental studies?”

  “I wouldn’t bet,” said another second-year stumbling along with them. Prens, who was close mates with Oaks. Oaks! That was his name. “Over in Rentin Hall, it’s all elemental and natural sciences and mathematics boys. They could do it.”

  “Could and would are two different things,” Delmin said.

  Eittle came up along with them. “Frankly, I’m stumped on ‘could.’ I’ve taken three semesters of elemental, and I can’t even begin to guess how you would do this.”

  Prens shook his head. “Rentin has a whole pack of fourth-years, living right on their ground floor. Those troublemakers would have no qualms with such a prank.”

  Veranix gave a glance to Delmin, who returned a worried look. He was probably thinking the same thing: this wasn’t something elemental, it was magic. But what kind of magic, done by whom; these were the big questions they had no answer to. Followed by why.

  The idea that Veranix couldn’t shake was that there was still some remnant of the Blue Hand Circle out there. If Sirath had recovered, he could do this.

  They all made their way back to their rooms. The water closet was crowded with everyone trying to wash up at once, so Veranix gave himself the luxury of taking twenty more minutes with his eyes closed on his own bed.

  The scent that remained was faint, just a memory of putrescence, but it was still enough to make serious sleeping almost impossible. Veranix never got deeper than a light doze, roused when Delmin had returned from washing up.

  Delmin held his uniform jacket up to his nose. “I can’t tell if it infested our clothes or not.”

  “Most likely,” Veranix said. “And laundry service isn’t for another week.”

  “Joy.”

  Veranix went to take his turn in the water closet. Twenty minutes later, he returned to find Delmin in his uniform, which had turned completely white.

  “I tried to clear out the smell.”

  The rest of the room had not turned white as well, which was Veranix’s first instinct to check. “I don’t even know how you did that.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Maybe,” Veranix said. He first went to put on his own uniform. Delmin was right, the stench was embedded into the fabric. Quite noticeable as he dressed.

  “Help me,” Delmin pleaded. “If I go out there like this . . .”

  “Yes, you’ll be roundly mocked.”

  “And Professor Alimen will probably fail me on Practicals.”

  “Hold on,” Veranix said. “I needed my own uniform to give myself a color reference. And to get dressed.”

  “Fine, just hurry.”

  Veranix tied on his scarf, then looked at Delmin, all in pure white. He drew in numina, and focused on the colors of his own uniform. Then he channeled the energy into Delmin’s clothes, hoping that his instincts on matching the two would work.

  Delmin’s uniform was back to the regular deep blue coat, red-and-gray scarf. It seemed right.

  “You’re going to have to explain how you did that,” Delmin said.

  “There’s nothing to explain. I just . . . did it.” With another draw and release, he purged the scent from his uniform.

  “I hate how easy it comes to you.”

  Breakfast was far more lavish than they were used to for Exams session. Typically at the end of the semester, it seemed like the kitchens were scraping at the edges of their larder. Veranix wasn’t sure why—perhaps pity for the stench last night—but they went full out with biscuits and bacon and hotcakes. Veranix greedily ate servings equal to three of his fellows. He was already famished, and the bit of magic to fix Delmin’s uniform had pushed him even further.

  “The sciences crew over in Rentin aren’t denying it,” Oaks reported as he joined them at the table.

  “That means nothing,” Veranix said. “In fact, they probably are spooking you. They didn’t do it, but if you think they might have, that’s funny enough.”

  “You think you know who did it?” Oaks asked.

  “I don’t, but I think the Rentin crew are just making the most bread from the flour, you know?”

  “Maybe,” Oaks said.

  Veranix downed several cups of tea, which barely pulled the fog out of his head. “Almost eight bells. Time to see the professor.”

  Delmin scarfed down a few more bites himself, and the two of them headed out across the lawn to Bolingwood Tower.

  “You know,” Veranix said while glancing at Delmin. “In the sunlight, I wonder if I got the colors right.”

  “Do not do this to me, Vee.”

  “I don’t know, it just seems brighter on you.”

  “Well, maybe it’s because mine is clean now. Completely.”

  “It was certainly devoid of color.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “All right, something serious before we get in there,” Veranix said. “Let’s presume that it was a prank and a mage was involved. Who?”

  Delmin stopped. “A mage was involved, I’m quite certain. Numina was moving, and it was a sudden, subtle change right before things happened.”

  “Fair enough. So who could pull it off? How many magic students are there, in total?”

  Delmin thought for a moment. “Let’s say around eighty. Well, the kind of subtle work we’re talking about, we should probably exclude the first- and second-years. So maybe forty.”

  “That include the girls’ school?”

  “You think they would prank Almers like that?”

  “I’d say, besides you and me, we can’t rule anyone out.”

  “Probably true. That brings us to, I don’t know, fifty or fifty-five.”

  Veranix nod
ded. “We should work on narrowing that down.”

  “We should? Shouldn’t we tell Professor Alimen?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’re going to have to give me a really good reason for that.”

  Veranix sighed. “My gut is telling me this wasn’t a prank. And if it was something else, something targeted at me somehow, then . . . I don’t want Alimen in the mix at all. He was almost killed last time, and I can’t have that on me.”

  “That’s why we tell him now.”

  “Just . . . let’s wait. Look into it ourselves. For now.”

  “In the midst of our exams.”

  “Or maybe it was just a stupid prank, I don’t know,” Veranix said.

  “The prefects, cadets, and professors will handle it. That’s their job. We will take our exams and do our best to pass. That is our job, Vee. Our only job.”

  “Fine.”

  “Our. Only. Job.”

  “I said fine.”

  Delmin stared him up and down for a moment, appeared satisfied, and continued on to Bolingwood Tower. Veranix followed him up the several flights of stairs to Professor Alimen’s office.

  When they entered Professor Alimen was behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his feet up, reading the newssheet. “I made a little bet with myself as to which would arrive in a more timely manner: the morning news or my two appointed third-years. I lost the bet.”

  “Anything of note in this morning’s news, sir?” Veranix asked.

  “If you are interested in the minutiae regarding special elections for the Parliamentary seats of members killed during the last session, and the analysis of political partisanship that arises from that, then yes. However, I am not interested in those things.” He slammed the sheet down and got to his feet. For an older man, he was wiry and spry. Veranix imagined that he could have been a good acrobat in his youth, with the training.

  “We are here more or less on time, sir,” Veranix said.

  “Mister Calbert, when it comes to punctuality, I have learned to tolerate ‘more or less’ from you. I will accept that you have both arrived within an acceptable margin of error. Mister Golmin, however, was quite punctual.” He gestured to someone who was sitting unobtrusively in the side of the office.