The Traitor and the Chalice

by Jane Fletcher

  Jemeryl dropped into the other chair and rested her elbows on her desk. Her reflection in the window looked back at her, with chin resting on cupped hand and forehead knotted in thought. She considered the rubbish from Vine that had spilled onto her space. It was a long-running but minor source of irritation. Normally, she would have said something, but her mind was elsewhere.

  Vine stopped scribbling. “What’s up?”

  “Neame’s blind to the sixth dimension, isn’t she?”

  There was a long silence. “And the seventh,” Vine conceded eventually.

  “But she ranks as a sorcerer rather than a witch.” Jemeryl merely spoke her thoughts aloud. She was unprepared for the violence of Vine’s response.

  “Of course she does. Only a bigoted idiot would think otherwise. You’ve seen her work. No one’s ever been able to manipulate the fifth dimension the way she does. She’s the most inspired healer there’s ever been in Ekranos. Anyone who says Neame doesn’t—”

  Jemeryl held up her hands. “It’s all right. I’m not—”

  Vine showed no sign of hearing. She stormed on. “They had no doubts in declaring Neame a sorcerer. None at all. From the day she came here, people knew she was the sort of talent you tear up the rule book for.”

  “I wasn’t trying—”

  “Of course some blockheads find it hard to cope with. It’s why she was passed over for principal, though it leaves her free to do what she does better than anyone else—saving people’s lives. Thousands of people are walking around out there who’d be dead without Neame.”

  “I don’t—”

  “She’s as much right to her rank as any—”

  “I’M NOT DISPUTING IT!” Jemeryl was getting heated herself.

  “Oh.” Vine sagged back, deflated once her flow of rhetoric had been disrupted.

  Jemeryl took her chance. “You know I respect Neame. I’ve learned more from her in these past weeks than I did from some of the fully gifted teachers after years at Lyremouth. You don’t need to argue the point. I was surprised; that’s all.”

  Vine’s mouth twitched in a faintly apologetic grimace. “I got a bit steamed up.”

  “Yes. You did.”

  “Sorry. All of us in the hospital are devoted to Neame. And when some pigheaded fool who hasn’t been here five minutes thinks they’re better than—”

  Jemeryl cut in. “I wasn’t—”

  “I know. I wasn’t referring to you. There have been others.”

  “I shouldn’t think it was possible to work in the hospital and not admire her.”

  “Some have managed it.”

  “That would say more about their lack of ability than Neame’s.”

  “True,” Vine agreed. “It also shows a lack of wisdom. It’s not a clever stand to take. Making an issue about her rank is just about the only thing, other than deliberate cruelty, that’ll get Neame screaming for blood.”

  “I suppose she feels vulnerable.”

  “Maybe. It’s caused real trouble in the past.”

  “It was the start of her feud with Levannue?” Jemeryl was struck by the insight.

  “Yes. With a couple of added ingredients.”

  “Such as?”

  Vine hesitated, but discretion never stood a chance. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, although no one was around to hear. “What I’ve heard is, Levannue came here when Neame was finishing her apprenticeship. They were lovers for a while. Very intense and steamy, by all accounts. Then Neame chucked her for someone else. Levannue was heartbroken. Went around crying for weeks. I know it’s hard to imagine when you look at her now. Anyway, when she realised she wasn’t getting Neame back, she embarked on the spiteful stage of a breakup. She started saying loudly, to anyone who’d listen, that Neame was too handicapped to be ranked as a sorcerer, and kaboom!” Vine made an explosive gesture, throwing her hands up into the air.

  “They’re still arguing about it?”

  “Oh, things have moved on. I mean, Levannue’s been with Bramell for decades. Presumably, she’s over the broken heart. But Neame...she doesn’t develop a grudge easily, but once she has, she’ll nurse it. I never said she was perfect. And there’s been enough sniping down the years to keep things boiling nicely.”

  Jemeryl tried unsuccessfully to imagine Levannue as a heartbroken teenager. Perhaps the prickly aloofness had been cultivated as a defence. It must be a strain sharing the same site with an ex-lover who would not drop a grudge.

  “It sounds as if they could have done with putting space between themselves.”

  “Maybe, except they couldn’t leave Ekranos without sacrificing their careers. Neame had to stay at the hospital, and Levannue was training under old Thirese. He was the Protectorate’s leading authority on charms.”

  “I guess it’s one reason to avoid having affairs with other sorcerers.”

  “Maybe, but I wouldn’t recommend using them as an example when Bramell calls you in for a talk about your mercenary.”

  The reminder of the predicted confrontation made Jemeryl groan. “Do you think anyone’s told him about it yet?”

  “Probably not. He’s usually the last person to hear things. You should be all right for at least another ten days.”

  “It’s none of his business.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t recommend telling him that, either.”

  “I was intending to phrase it a bit more tactfully.”

  Vine laughed, her normal good humour restored, until her eyes fixed on her overloaded desk. She glared at the mess as if considering hurling a small fireball. “I don’t suppose you fancy finishing this report for me so I can go to bed?”

  Jemeryl smiled as she got to her feet. “No. Because that’s where I’m headed.”

  Vine sighed. “You know, just once in a while, do you ever ask yourself what we’re doing here in the Coven, writing poxy reports? We could be ruling mighty empires, with thousands of slaves obeying our every whim.”

  Jemeryl stopped in the doorway and looked back. “I can’t see you in the role.”

  “Why not?”

  “Imagine the scene. You, an all-powerful empress, stride into your imperial audience chamber. Ranks of black-clad warriors fall silent. You summon your most trusted warlord to your side and say,” Jemeryl switched to an eager undertone, “Hey, have you heard the latest about—” She got no further. Laughing, she dodged the missile Vine tossed in her direction, and dived into her own tidy bedroom.

  With the door closed, Jemeryl peeled off her outer layer of clothing and slipped into bed. She lay on her back, hands clasped behind her head, and considered the implications of the evening’s disclosures. It was all information, but it did not seem to get anywhere much, except that Neame, blind to the sixth dimension, could neither mind-ride a raven nor read a chalice.

  Jemeryl rolled over and pulled the blanket up. As she drifted off, Vine’s comment about empires echoed in her head. It had been said in jest, but the question it raised was serious. So far, her attention had been fixed on the who, not the why. Speculating about the traitor’s motives was not comforting. Iralin had known the purpose of the spell, and Iralin had been frightened.

  *

  The small cellar tavern was crowded and noisy. The air smelt thick from lantern smoke mixed with sweat and spilt beer. The atmosphere was friendly—extremely friendly, since whores and their customers formed a large section of the clientele.

  In one of the rowdier corners, Tevi sat with Klara perched on her shoulder among a group of mercenaries. A member of the bar staff appeared between the press of bodies with three tankards of beer in either hand. He deposited them on the table, the contents miraculously unspilt.

  “I’ll pay for these.” Tevi’s offer was greeted by loud cheers.

  She stood up, fumbling with the purse at her belt. As she shook out the coins, a brass key slipped through her fingers and clattered to the table. One of the others picked it up.

  “What’s this?” he asked once the waiter
had gone.

  Someone else suggested, “Back door of a...ahem...friend’s house, for use when their partner is away?”

  “No. It’s the key to the customs office. I was supposed to hand it in at the harbour master’s. I must have dropped it into my purse instead.” The words themselves were not untrue, although implying an oversight was misleading. Tevi reclaimed the key and twirled it thoughtfully between thumb and finger. “I’d better take it back.”

  “You can drop it in first thing tomorrow.”

  “It’s not far, and I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “I doubt anyone will notice it’s missing.”

  “Hopefully not, but I’ll do it anyway. Look after my beer. I expect to see a full tankard when I return.”

  “There’s an optimist for you.” The speaker was teasing. There was no doubt that Tevi’s drink would be safe and untouched on her return. Stealing from your comrades, no matter how trivial, was unthinkable.

  Tevi squeezed her way to the door, edging between the drinkers. Once outside, she leapt up the flight of steps to street level and expelled the thick air from her lungs. The tavern was in the run-down section of town backing on to the docks. Given the late hour, a surprising number of people were about. The hubbub from the tavern followed her down the street.

  A brisk pace took her through the maze of alleys to the customs office. Before opening the door, she hesitated and looked up and down the street. Three drunken sailors were staggering back to the harbour. They were attempting to have a repetitive conversation, although they did not all seem to be discussing the same thing. In the other direction, two merchants were talking far more purposefully in a warehouse doorway. No one paid any attention as Tevi inserted the key in the lock.

  A lamp and flint stood on a shelf just inside the door. It was the work of seconds to find the right book and carefully count out the pages. Tevi propped the import records open on the desk and lifted Klara down from her shoulder.

  “Read, Klara. Go on. Read for Jem.”

  The magpie’s beady eyes glittered. Her head bobbed twice; then she stepped close, her beak almost touching the paper. Tevi hoped it would not take her long to memorise the page.

  Tevi wandered to the front of the office and peered through a window. Sneaking Klara in during the day had been impossible. Pets were not allowed on duty, and the office was rarely left unoccupied. She had eagerly seized the chance to take the key. The scene in the tavern had been staged to provide witnesses to her “accidental” discovery of her mistake. When she handed it in, she would also say that she had popped into the office to check that nothing else had been left undone—just in case signs of her visit were discovered in the morning.

  A soft squawk from Klara announced that she had finished. Quickly, Tevi replaced the book and blew out the lamp. Only a couple of minutes after entering, she was again outside, locking the door and fighting hard to keep a self-satisfied smile from her face.

  The two merchants were still in the doorway. If asked, they could confirm that she had been alone. But surely nobody would suspect her of deliberately taking the key to a room containing nothing but books she could not read.

  *

  The school bell was just striking noon as Jemeryl swung the bag over her shoulder and closed the study door behind her. She hurried along the veranda and leapt down the staircase, eager to be gone. She was missing Tevi even more than she had expected. At the stables, a horse was already saddled and waiting. Within minutes, she was outside the school and trotting along the dusty road into town.

  The midday sun bleached the colour from the landscape. Spring was turning to summer, and the transient green was fading to parched brown. The horse’s hooves sent gravel bouncing through the dry dust. A sprinkling of traffic was also on the road, mainly farm carts.

  Before Jemeryl had covered a quarter of the distance, sweat was flecking the horse’s flanks. Despite her impatience, she would have to slow her pace. She was just about to rein back when she overtook Erlam, who was travelling on official business, judging by his formal clothing.

  Jemeryl hailed him and brought her horse to a walk. “You heading into Ekranos?”

  “Yes. A meeting with the town council.”

  “Anything exciting?”

  “Have you met the town council?” The ironic edge answered the question.

  “Nearly as much fun as working with Tapley?”

  “Exactly. Though I hear you made quite an impression on him.”

  “I did?” Jemeryl was surprised the raven keeper could even remember her.

  “Vine hasn’t told you?”

  “No.”

  “Apparently you’ve got real talent for mind-riding, which is rare in the school, apart from those in Levannue’s section.”

  “So why do all sorcerers train with them? Why not just one or two who have the talent? I can’t see that they’re used very often.”

  “Sorcerers’ pride. You know what we’re like. None of us wants to lose face in front of the witches by having to ask another sorcerer to do something for us.”

  “I’m sure that...” Jemeryl stopped. Erlam was not so far from the truth. It made her think of Neame’s sensitivity about her limitations. “I suppose that’s why Neame wanted to make an artificial bird?”

  “You’ve heard about it?”

  “Tapley told me. He was outraged.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “He didn’t think it could work.”

  “It should have. In theory.”

  “But not so easy in practice?” Jemeryl suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  “Were you one of the people working on it?” It seemed a likely bet for Neame’s assistant.

  “I helped.”

  “Was it a true golem, with a pseudolife of its own?”

  “That was the intention.”

  “So as long as you told it what to get, it could have gone to the ends of the earth and back?”

  “Again, in theory.”

  “How far had the project got?”

  “Hard to say. It seemed as if it was almost done. Then there were a couple of minor accidents. They might have been teething problems, or they might have been serious design flaws. We never got the chance to find out.” Erlam sounded annoyed. “Bramell took fright and ordered Neame to stop. It was unpleasant. He marched in, confiscated everything, and locked it up in his office. Neame was furious.”

  “So she took herself off to Walderim for a while to calm down?”

  “That was about it.” Erlam’s voice tightened noticeably.

  Too late, Jemeryl remembered that mentioning the expedition to Walderim was not diplomatic. Understandably, his partner’s death was a painful subject for Erlam. By mutual consent, the subject was dropped. For a while, they discussed general school matters until, at the outskirts of Ekranos, Erlam changed topic.

  “I hear you’ve got yourself a lover in town.”

  “I guess there was no chance keeping it secret when I share a study with Vine.”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “I’ve been warned I’ll be in for a lecture when the news gets to Bramell. I know they prefer for us to stick to Coven members, but it’s not as if affairs between sorcerers haven’t caused problems in the past.” Jemeryl was thinking of Neame and Levannue; however, Erlam took her statement more personally.

  “You’ve heard about me and Aris.” His voice was strained.

  Again, Jemeryl cursed her own tactlessness. “Um...yes.”

  “It’s all right. I can talk about her. It’s supposed to be good for me.”

  “Oh.” Jemeryl was at a loss. The grief in his voice was overwhelming. She could not bring herself to probe at the raw wound, but Erlam seemed suddenly eager to talk.

  “The relationship was trouble from the start, but if I had my time again, I’d—” He broke off. “She used to say she needed me, but often, it seemed like I only made her worse. Anything could send her into a depression, crying. And then ot
her times...I never knew how she’d be from one day to the next. She was impossible to live with, but I miss her.”

  “Could nothing be done?”

  “Not without going back in time and blasting her parents to ashes. It was their fault. I know our families have a hard time, but my parents still loved me, even when they realised I was a sorcerer. Hers were vicious. They were frightened of her. From when she was a baby, they used every cruel, spiteful trick to keep her under their thumb. They made her hate herself.” His voice dropped so that it was barely audible. “That’s why she did it. Climbed to the top of a tower and jumped off. I keep telling myself it wasn’t my fault, but she needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

  “Couldn’t Neame...” Jemeryl began, although she was not sure what anyone could have done.

  “Aris was alone at the time. The expedition to Walderim was just her, Neame, and two witches. The others went off for a few days to get samples. They left Aris behind to do the processing. When they got back, she was...” Erlam did not finish the sentence. “I know Neame curses herself for leaving Aris alone. But she had been getting so much calmer, and they thought a break from the school would help.”

  By now, they were riding through the streets of Ekranos, but Erlam seemed unaware of the bustle around them. His eyes were fixed on the distance. “I was sitting here waiting for her to come back, counting the days and watching the boats sail into harbour, and all the time she was already dead and gone.”

  Jemeryl searched desperately for something to say that was neither trite nor hopelessly inadequate. Nothing felt right, yet silence was the worst response of all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge this up for you.”

  “It’s all right. I’m starting to come to terms with losing her. Maybe another few years...” Erlam’s bitter smile looked more like a grimace. “Perhaps the talking will help.”

  The junction where their paths separated was close. After a few parting words, Jemeryl turned onto the side street. She was ashamed of her relief. Erlam’s misery was infectious, but the feeling did not last. With rising spirits, she headed for her rendezvous with Tevi at the Inn of Singing Birds.