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

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  One thing Pemmick had impressed upon all these gangs was that—unlike his predecessors—he was not going to allow a church meet to occur under his roof without engaging in the process directly. In the past weeks they had grudgingly accepted this fact, and Pemmick hoped they would eventually embrace his council.

  Pemmick took his place in the front of the pews, gesturing to the rest to join him. “Come now, let’s be about this.”

  “Be about this,” muttered the Kicker captain. “What’s the hassle, Prince? You called this.”

  “I don’t know you,” Colin said. “New cap?”

  “Just made. Name’s Right Boot. Neary sends his regards.”

  “‘Right Boot’ could not possibly be your properly christened name,” Pemmick said.

  “It’s the only name you get, priest, and you’ll find out why if you don’t respect it!”

  “Respect the reverend,” Fortill snapped. “You did call this, Prince. What is this? No Rabbits coming?”

  “Rabbits are the reason,” Colin said. “They’ve finally caved, breaking the Pact.”

  This was the first Pemmick had ever heard of a Pact, but the reaction from everyone, save the Princes and Orphans, was so visceral, it must be important.

  “No, not even the Rabbits,” Fortill said. “I can’t believe that.”

  “It’s the truth,” Colin said. “At least, I don’t know if their bosses are fully in, but at least a couple captains have made some sort of deal with Dentonhill.”

  “I heard they were sniffing around the Jellican brewery, between Tulip and Lily,” Yessa said. “But they haven’t been making that much rattle about anything.”

  Fortill growled. “Blazes, that old brewery is right on Waterpath. That would only help them.”

  “I’m telling you, they’ve been making a deal,” Colin said.

  “So we stomp them!” Right Boot said, using his namesake to demonstrate.

  “I do not think that’s constructive,” Pemmick said.

  “But we have to show them that breaking the Pact has consequences,” Yessa said.

  “She’s right,” Fortill added. “If there’s no Pact, then we might as well all work for Fenmere.”

  Colin nodded. “So you agree, we’ve got to do something?”

  “I would prefer it if ‘something’ involved more dialogue and less kicking,” Pemmick said. He paced a bit. “This might be radical, but what if I approach the Rabbit captains in question. Try to persuade them.”

  “I couldn’t let you do that, Reverend,” Fortill said. Bless him, the boy meant it in all seriousness. “It’s too dangerous a risk for you to take.”

  Pemmick was considering telling these children—it was funny that he thought of them all that way, when some of them were only a couple of years younger than him, if even that—about his mission years in Kellirac. He had a few stories of those days that would make even the most hardened of these Aventil street wretches turn pale. “My job is to minister to the souls of this neighborhood, Fortill. Including the Red Rabbits.”

  “So wait,” Hannik said. “Is this why the Thorn started dustups at the Friend the past two nights?”

  “You heard that?” Colin asked. His voice took a prickly edge.

  “Heard a lot of things,” Hannik said.

  “Heard the Thorn got stomped,” one of the Toothless Dogs offered.

  “Stomped hard,” said another. Then they all howled.

  “Gentlemen, please,” Pemmick pleaded.

  “Respect the sanctity of Saint Julian’s!” one of the Knights barked.

  “That isn’t helping,” Pemmick said. “How does what the Thorn did enter into things?”

  “Thorn’s a wildcard,” Yessa said. “All we really know is he hates Fenmere more than we do.”

  “Truth,” offered Right Boot.

  “He’s fighting for us,” said the young Prince by Colin’s side. “You all know that.”

  “How’d you know?” one of the Knights shot at him.

  “I was there the other night when he dusted up the Rabbits. I heard him. Colin knows.”

  Colin’s face hardened. His man clearly revealed things he would have preferred stayed private.

  “What do you know, Prince?” asked the captain of the Toothless Dogs.

  Colin sighed. “Not much. But last month I saw some things, crazy things. I got dragged into a merch drop between Fenmere’s folks and some mages. Real scary bastards, let me tell you—”

  “How’d you get dragged into it?” asked Right Boot.

  “That don’t matter,” Colin said.

  “Like blazes it doesn’t!” Yessa offered.

  Colin looked down to the floor. “My right hand, Hetzer, he snuck his nose places he shouldn’t, and I tried to pull him out. And he got killed anyway. Point is, when things went hairy, the Thorn was there. He did right by me.”

  “And me,” said the younger Prince.

  “I got a cousin across the ’Path who said he helped her once,” an Orphan said. “She’s an effitte-dosed mess, mind you.”

  “Fine, fine,” said the Toothless Dog captain. “The Thorn has the heart of a saint, and brains of a squirrel.”

  “Perfect for fighting Rabbits,” another Dog said.

  “All of you, enough,” Pemmick said. “Here is what’s going to happen . . .”

  “No offense, Reverend, but you don’t get to decide what’s going to happen.” This was Hannik.

  Pemmick put on his best beatific smile. “Allow me to rephrase. Here is what I am going to do. I will go to the Rabbits and speak to them about the consequences of their actions. I am willing to be accompanied by one—and only one—member of each of your interested parties. I expect those who come with me to treat my presence with the same respect you treat this building.”

  “Of course,” Fortill immediately offered.

  “Stop milking his teat, Four-Toe,” Yessa snapped.

  “You might not respect anything, slan, but the Knights do.”

  “Knights don’t respect corners,” said the young woman Prince.

  “Don’t need to respect when you can’t hold them.”

  “You want to see what we hold?” the young Prince asked.

  “Ease off!” Colin snapped. He waved away his two escorts. “Step off, the both of you.”

  “But, Colin—”

  “Not another sound, Jutes.”

  The boy slunk away to the far side of the church, the girl with him.

  Colin held up his hands. “Look, I don’t want to start a war with the Rabbits or any of the rest of you. None of us need that. And we don’t need Fenmere and the rest of Dentonhill getting a toehold on our side of Waterpath.”

  “Truth,” said Right Boot.

  “I think the reverend has a good idea,” Colin said. “The Rabbits have to be a little spooked with the Thorn pounding on their door. Maybe a solid talk—from him, but with all of us with him—that will push the Rabbits the rest of the way.”

  “I’m coming with the rev,” Fortill said. “Regardless.”

  “I’ll go,” Yessa added.

  “In.” Right Boot.

  “I’ll go,” the Toothless Dogs’ captain said, pointing at Right Boot. “But I won’t stand near his stinking feet.”

  All of them looked to Hannik.

  “What, now?” Hannik asked. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It works best if all six of us seem united on this,” Colin said. “That might put the fear of God into them.”

  “Choice of words,” Pemmick said lightly.

  “Sorry, Rev,” Colin said.

  “I don’t need to do this,” Hannik said.

  “Of course you don’t,” Pemmick offered. “Because your gang mostly holds the west side of the neighborhood. You would be least affected by any sort of
incursion by Fenmere, yes?”

  “It’s not like that, Rev.”

  “Make your choice and live with it,” Pemmick said. “I, however, will be at Cantarell Square at six bells this evening. I welcome any and all of you.”

  He gave them a small gesture, and they began to disperse. And that was for the best. Over by the statue someone was making the show of dropping a token and saying a quick prayer to Saint Julian, but Pemmick saw through the charade. He knew the man was a constable. Specifically, one of the ones loyal to the new lieutenant.

  This meeting tonight might have more interested parties at it.

  Veranix followed Phadre’s instructions, but his mind was on Jiarna, the Prankster, the Red Rabbits, and tomorrow’s Rhetoric exam. He needed to clear at least a little of that out of his skull before he could continue.

  They finished one instrument, and Veranix used the opportunity. “Quick breather now.”

  “What?” Phadre asked. “But we’ve still got . . .”

  “I know, I know,” Veranix said. “Mind you, this takes more out of me than either of you. Just give me a few minutes to walk it out a bit.”

  “Let him,” Delmin said with a sigh.

  “Fine,” Phadre said. “But only a few, then we have to pound through the rest of this. Got it?” He was sweating and stressed, that was clear.

  “Not a problem.” He went to the door. “Hey, Del. Last chance for Alia Matthin.”

  “Shut it!” Delmin snapped as Veranix went down the stairs.

  He bolted across the lawn, about to run to the carriage house, but he spotted Kai pushing a wheelbarrow down a lane near the wall. He headed over to her.

  “Hey,” he said. “Busy?”

  “Quite,” she said. “Flower beds need to be weeded, new mulch added. A lot going on today.”

  “Same here, but I need a few minutes.”

  “Oh, you need a few minutes.” She lowered the barrow to the ground and took off her gloves. “Since you need it, I guess I can just stop everything. Master Jolen might not threaten to beat me anymore, but he still might fire me. Just so you know.”

  “Sorry,” Veranix said. “I just want to know what you think about something.”

  Her face softened. “All right. What is it?”

  “You know about the crazy, dangerous pranks that have been happening?”

  “I’d say ‘attacks,’ but yes.”

  “I have a theory who it might be. Just a theory, though.”

  “So what are you going to do about that?”

  “Right now, keep an eye on this person. But . . . that’s what I need to know. Do I do something about it? I mean, is that something that the Thorn needs to worry about?”

  She frowned, and put her gloves back on. “That’s a very stupid question, Veranix.”

  “It is?” She had picked up the wheelbarrow and started pushing it again. He chased after her. “How is it stupid?”

  “How is it—” She shook her head at him. “Look, you may have started doing this to smack around Fenmere and effitte dealers, and I am all for that. But you—” She pointed to the east wall of the campus. “Out there is Waterpath. You said that was the line. You were going to hold it. You.”

  “Right,” Veranix said, not sure what she meant.

  “So it doesn’t matter what it is. Effitte, crazy mages, or one dangerous prankster—doesn’t matter. When something beyond the scope of what prefects or cadets or Constabulary are capable of handling rears its head, someone has to step up.”

  “So I should make this prankster my problem?”

  “Yes, by the saints, you blazing well should.”

  He smiled. “That was exactly what I needed to know. You’re the best, Kai.”

  She gave him the barest of smirks back. “Don’t you have things to do? I know I do.”

  “Back on them. Keep my gear where I can get it quick.”

  “I may have better things to do,” she said. “But I’ll see what I can manage.” She waved him off, and went back down the lane. Knowing that Delmin and Phadre were probably climbing the walls, he ran back. Still plenty on his shoulders, but now, he wasn’t worried.

  By four bells in the afternoon, the instruments had been recalibrated to be appropriate for the following afternoon, when Phadre’s defense was scheduled to take place. They had even had the opportunity to run through the entire demonstration of the defense once. Veranix honestly didn’t understand what was going on, but he knew how to follow his cues in a performance, and he hit his timing well enough. Delmin had the unenviable role of having to write down key terms and numbers on the slateboard while Phadre spoke.

  As for Phadre’s speech, he did have a certain flair in delivering his points, more than Veranix had thought him capable of. Perhaps that had been Kaiana’s doing.

  When they were finishing up, a knock came at Professor Alimen’s workroom door. A female professor was there, in impeccable robes hemmed in blue and violet, valise in hand. Six male students were with her, all with scarves matching her hemming. Three of them stood at attention, while the other three carried several boxes each.

  “Can we help you?” Phadre asked.

  “Madam Gosalyn, from the College of Protocol,” she said. “Am I to understand that the three of you have been invited to attend the Professorial Dinner of High Service this evening? Misters Golmin, Sarren, and Calbert, yes?”

  “That’s right,” Veranix said.

  “Very good,” she said. “I have your dress uniforms and your valets for the evening. They will prepare you. I trust you have secured escortment?”

  “Not actually,” Delmin said.

  “Hmm.” She looked at him as if he had offended her deeply and personally. “The rest of you?”

  “I have,” Veranix said, as much as he wasn’t pleased about it.

  “Very well,” she said, reaching into her valise. “If you could inform me—”

  Veranix started telling her, hoping to get it out of his mouth before he hated saying it too much. “Jiarna Kay, she’s—”

  “Do not just blurt it out, Mister Calbert. It’s terribly uncivilized.” She produced a card from her valise. “Please write it there. Neatly.”

  Veranix took the card and wrote Jiarna’s name, year, and school. He handed it back to her, as she was taking a card back from Phadre as well. She regarded both cards with a raised eyebrow. “Highly unorthodox.”

  “I suppose so,” Veranix said.

  She turned to her students—presumably their valets. “Gentlemen, you know your charges. To work.”

  The Protocol students split into pairs, two coming over to Veranix.

  “So what do we do?” Veranix asked.

  “Terrible,” the unburdened one muttered. He turned to his companion, carrying the boxes. “Meet us at the dormitory and get the uniform unpacked. I’m going to need to take him to the bathhouse.”

  Chapter 10

  THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME in the three years at the University of Maradaine that Veranix had had cause to wear his full dress uniform. He absolutely hated it.

  The regular school uniform he had to wear on a daily basis was bad enough, but this was truly an atrocity. It would have been impossible to even get into it without the valets from the College of Protocol. These were clothes that were, in fact, impossible for someone to dress themselves in.

  The pants, apparently by design, were tight and restrictive. They were made with wool that was far too hot for this weather and far too itchy for any person to wear for a significant length of time without approaching insanity. The coat had buttoning down both sides, and was also far too tight. It actually made breathing a challenge, which Veranix thought was quite an impressive feat given how lean he was. In addition to the cap—now a short-brimmed velvet one—and the scarf, there were further elements of frippery that boggled his mind. First there
was the sash, which appeared to serve the same purpose as the scarf, identifying him as a magic student. But in addition to the colors of the school he was associated with, the sash was covered in badges for each course he had taken.

  There was also a capelet. Veranix had to admit, he liked the capelet.

  There were also special shoes—hard leather with a complicated series of buckles. “Complicated” was the description that fit every element of the ensemble.

  The valets had finished their job, with a minimum of conversation besides sighs of despair. Wordlessly they packed their cases and supplies and left Veranix and Delmin alone in their frippery. Veranix knew he must have looked ridiculous, but at least Delmin did as well.

  “Who even has time to make these?” he asked Delmin, looking at his sash. “I mean, do they have them for every student, waiting in boxes for the day they need to wear them?”

  “They do,” Delmin said. “Because for all of us, at least, that day is commencement. But our invitation tonight means they bring them out of storage.”

  “Wait a moment,” Veranix said. “All of your course badges are lined in white. Mine are a mix of yellow and green and white.”

  “Mostly yellow and green,” Delmin said. “It’s noting our marks in those courses. I received top marks in all of mine. You didn’t.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  They left their room to the hoots and calls of the entire third floor of Almers.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Rellings said. He stood in the middle of the common room with crossed arms and a strange grin, several of the rest of the third floor fellows gathered behind him. “I must say I’m impressed how well you clean up.”

  “We live to impress, Rellings,” Veranix said.

  “Quite an honor you have here,” Rellings said. “Up until now, I was the only person from our floor who had been to High Table.”

  That had been at the beginning of the semester, and it was the only thing anyone had heard about for the month that followed. Never details, simply the vague bragging that it happened. Veranix wondered if there was a secret oath students were forced to take to never divulge what occurred.