*
The windows of the upstairs room were flung wide open. Tevi sat on the deep wooden sill with her feet up, enjoying the sun on her face and the gentle breeze carrying the sounds and smells of the city. In the square below, people moved about their business, but the pace was slow and lazy in the late afternoon heat.
It was easy to fall into the unhurried rhythm of Ekranos, to sit and watch the world go by. Tevi yawned and looked back into the dimness of the room. The solid furniture had seen better days; time had left the surfaces pitted and stained. A fresh coat of paint would have improved the walls, and the green window glass was poor quality. However, the room was clean and comfortable.
Just inside the window, Jemeryl sat writing at a small table. Her face was serious in concentration as her hand flew across the page. The sun caught on the sharp lines of her cheekbone and jaw, emphasising the texture of her skin and making a soft shadow where her shirt hung open at the neck. Tevi sat studying her lover. Her life had changed so much since leaving Storenseg. It was barely over a year but seemed a lifetime. She felt as if some other woman had been entrapped, betrayed, and exiled that evening in the hay barn.
Tevi slipped down from the windowsill and stood behind Jemeryl. She leaned against the back of the chair and watched the lines of writing appear under the pen. Four columns were forming, one wide and three narrow, marching steadily down the page. The numbers were familiar, thanks to lessons with Marith. The letters were a complete mystery.
At the back of the table, Klara was frozen in a trance. Only the ruffling of her feathers in the breeze showed that she was not a painted statue. Where bright sunlight fell across her plumage, it shimmered metallic blue-black, set against crisp white. Abruptly, Klara stirred. A twitch of the head and neck spread down her back, growing into several full beats of her wings.
Jemeryl sighed and put down the pen. She leaned back and rested her head against Tevi. “Well, that’s the information I needed.”
“I got the right page?”
“Spot on.” Jemeryl pulled Tevi’s head down for a quick kiss. “All I have to do now is find out how much nectar can be accounted for in the school records.”
“Anything else you want me to do?”
“See if you can pick up any more gossip in town.”
“There’s not much chance of that. Most ordinary people don’t concern themselves with the doings of sorcerers.”
“I suppose I should be pleased you’re not ordinary.”
“Even I’m not very interested in sorcerers in general. Just two in particular.”
“Two?” Jemeryl raised her eyebrows.
“You and our traitor.”
“Oh.”
Tevi returned to the windowsill. “You’re sure Neame is in the clear?”
“Yes.” Jemeryl swivelled to face Tevi, resting her arms on the back of her chair. “The fifth dimension holds the spirits of life; they’re called auras. Neame is able to manipulate them like no one else in the Coven. But to mind-ride, you have to control both auras and power tensors, and that needs access to the sixth dimension. She couldn’t have sent the raven to your island.”
“Maybe she tricked Aris into doing it for her.”
“Even if she had, Neame would be incapable of reading the information from the chalice.” Jemeryl stared through the window, frowning. “Nobody outside Walderim could have got the raven to the island. Aris was the only person in Walderim capable of mind-riding, but she’s obviously not a suspect now.”
“You seem to be saying that the party in Walderim wasn’t able to take the chalice, and nobody else could either.”
“Yes, if they used the ravens, but there’s another possibility. Neame’s golem bird. Erlam claims that it was functional, but Bramell had it under lock and key.”
“Why?”
“Safety, so he claimed. He was very keen to get his hands on it.” There was no need for Jemeryl to spell out the implications.
“Could anyone else have got to the...what did you call it—golem bird?”
“Unfortunately, yes. At the time the chalice was taken, the entire school was in chaos due to plague. Moragar was in charge and free to do anything he wanted. Levannue also recovered quickly, and since she shares Bramell’s quarters, she’d have no trouble helping herself to his property. However, given the state of anarchy, virtually anyone capable of standing could have done the same. The only two we can eliminate are Neame, who was out in Walderim; and Uwien, the master of apprentices, who was still in Denbury. He was never a strong candidate anyway.”
“So you think it was Bramell, Levannue, or Moragar?”
“I suppose there are a few weaker bets.”
“Such as?”
“Erlam. He’s not a senior sorcerer, but since Neame’s blind to the sixth dimension, she can’t supervise him as tightly as I’d assumed. He might have used the golem bird to get the chalice himself, or he might have been working with Aris...or not.” Jemeryl corrected herself. “She couldn’t have returned it to him.”
Tevi’s head shot up. “Perhaps Aris did take the chalice. The only thing we know for certain is that it went from Storenseg. There’s no evidence it ever got to Ekranos. It might be buried with Aris, for all we know.”
“It’s possible. But I’ve got this gut feeling it’s here. We need proof, which is where cross-referencing the import list will be useful.”
Voices and laughter from the square were getting louder as the sun dropped. A breeze stirred the warm air. Jemeryl left her chair and put her arm around Tevi’s waist. Early evening sunlight dusted the city with yellow. The first groups were congregating on the benches in front of the tavern. Distant flocks of seagulls circled above the harbour.
Jemeryl rested her head against Tevi’s. “It’s going to be difficult getting access to the dispensary. The trouble is I’m not senior enough. I wish Iralin had been sent to investigate here.”
“She couldn’t be allowed to.”
“Why not?”
“She must be under suspicion herself.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not. Surely you realised that since Iralin knew all about Lorimal to start with, she’s right up with the rest of the suspects. The Guardian said the three seniors were going to investigate in Lyremouth. I bet they started by investigating one another. The last thing any two would allow is letting the third one out of their sight.”
“You may be right. Except I can’t imagine Iralin breaking the rules.”
“But we don’t know just how much of a temptation this spell is.”
“True.”
“Have you really no idea what it does?”
Jemeryl shook her head with a sigh.
“What sort of things aren’t you allowed to try doing?”
“Reversing death is a big one—like creating zombies. All experiments have failed, but some very nasty things have happened along the way. Searching for immortality is also banned since it involves trying to steal someone’s life essence or playing horrendous games with time.”
“What else?”
“We aren’t allowed to enslave the ungifted, and anything which might undermine the Protectorate’s economy or cause wide-scale destruction is out. I’d say the most tempting violation is changing the past, which is theoretically possible, but insanely dangerous.”
“Do sorcerers outside the Coven ever try to do it?”
“Some have. The spots where they made the attempt are usually marked by rather large craters.” Jemeryl’s normal grin returned. “After that you get to esoteric experiments, like infinite loops impinging on physical space, but you’d have to be a bit unbalanced to even want to try those.”
“You’re a young ambitious sorcerer, like Lorimal. What would tempt you to break the rules and poke into things you shouldn’t?”
Jemeryl scowled in mock outrage. “Would I do a thing like that?”
“I know a hundred villagers who’d say yes.”
“I thought we’d agre
ed they misunderstood me?”
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, it’s not the same. Lorimal was an herbalist, which is my weakest discipline. It’s certainly not straining my acting, playing the part of someone who needs to improve her skill.”
“So where does this leave us?”
Jemeryl chewed her lip. “If I had to make a guess, I’d go for Lorimal’s spell being a method of mind control. There are several drugs that make people more malleable, and her speciality was formulas producing permanent physical or mental effects. She may have produced a potion that would turn people into willing slaves.”
“Is that likely? I thought the Guardian said she wasn’t malicious, just naïve.”
“I’m afraid some sorcerers are convinced the world would be a happier place if everyone obeyed the Coven without question.” Jemeryl shrugged and pulled Tevi from the window ledge. “But it’s all just guesswork on my part. Come on; it’s cooling down. Let’s go for a walk before dinner.”
Arm in arm, they left the room.
*
Jemeryl awoke in the middle of the night. In deference to the heat, the shutters and windows were open, but the weather had changed. She could hear the rustle of light rain hitting the leaves outside—a rare occurrence in the Ekranos summer. The soft sound was carried on a current of fresh, sweet air.
The light was just sufficient for Jemeryl to see the woman lying beside her. Tevi’s face was relaxed and artless in sleep. Strands of dark hair fell across her cheek. One arm was flung over the covers. Her soft breathing made an undertone to the rainfall. At the sight of her lover, Jemeryl felt her insides melt into a soft gooey mess with a small hot fire at the core.
Jemeryl resisted the temptation to wake Tevi. Instead, she rolled onto her back, listening to the patter of water. Restless thoughts pushed sleep away. Tevi’s comment about the seniors in Lyremouth not trusting each other was an obvious point that had not occurred to her before. In Jemeryl’s mind, Iralin personified the integrity of the Coven, but of course, Tevi was right. The world was out of kilter. Jemeryl shook her head at her own naïveté; maybe if she were more cynical, she might make better progress.
Despite all she had learned, she had no evidence implicating anyone. Jemeryl knew she was pinning a lot on the dispensary records. Not that she thought the renegade sorcerer would have boldly signed out large quantities of the drug. An unaccountable shortfall was all she hoped for, but it would confirm her belief that the traitor was in Ekranos and working on the forbidden spell.
It was not going to be easy. Jemeryl stared into the darkness, contemplating her chances. Even if the dispensary records had been in immaculate order, she had no hope of being allowed to peruse them at her leisure. Sneaking in after dark to study Orrago’s data seemed hardly worth the risk.
A harder belt of rain hit the window. The rhythm of Tevi’s breathing faltered and then resumed with a sound halfway between a cough and a snore. Jemeryl sighed and adjusted her pillow. She was about to attempt a return to sleep when a flash of inspiration struck her, the beginnings of a plan—one that would take a degree of luck but might just work.
A grin crossed Jemeryl’s face. Her scheme contained no serious risk and even a degree of entertainment. She was sure that Bramell’s face would be a picture. Jemeryl rolled onto her side and snuggled against Tevi, pulling her lover’s arm around her. The fine detail could wait until morning. She had the basic plan.
Chapter Seven—A Discovery
in the Dispensary
The time for the library to close was getting near. Jemeryl wandered aimlessly, trailing a hand along the book spines. She was supposedly there to find a work recommended by Neame but was expending more effort in brooding on her lack of progress. From the start, she had known her plan to gain access to the dispensary records would require a combination of luck and timing. Over the previous six days, she had put a lot of ingenuity into manipulating events and got nowhere.
The drifting took Jemeryl to a balcony overlooking the main hall. Nearly everyone had departed the upper floors. Only two apprentices were visible, gossiping in the room opposite, and a lone set of footsteps echoed from above.
Jemeryl rested her arms on the rail and gazed down on the central body of the hall. Rows of bookshelves stretched across the black and white mosaic floor. The number of people visible between the shelves could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Abruptly, Jemeryl froze, arrested by the sight of the very situation she had been trying to contrive.
Bramell was seated at a side table, running his finger down a ledger, engaged in his favourite pastime of checking records. Slightly behind him stood Moragar, looking peeved and obviously unappreciative of the principal’s interest in library affairs. Not twenty feet away, in an aisle between two bookshelves, Vine was flipping through a volume. She was obscured from the sight of the other two but not out of earshot.
There was no time to waste. Jemeryl scuttled to the stairway as quickly as possible without attracting attention. On the ground floor, she stole around the edge of the hall so as to approach Vine without encountering Bramell.
One by one, the deserted aisles slipped by. She reached the final row. Vine had not moved. The plan required that Bramell also still be in place, but she dared not peer around the corner or disturb the ether by scrying. Jemeryl slowed her steps to a sullen prowl and entered the aisle. A few nagging doubts were summarily dismissed. Now was not the time to worry about the chances of success.
The first part of the plan required adopting a demeanour of angry irritation.
Vine glanced up. Her smile of greeting faded as she registered Jemeryl’s expression. “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?”
“Orrago,” Jemeryl snapped at the maximum volume acceptable in the library. “The dispensary is a pigsty.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“No, it’s worse. Pigs would be more organised.”
“But it’s not your problem.” Vine’s voice dropped to a warning hiss.
Jemeryl ignored the hint. “It is my problem when I’ve wasted an hour learning we’re out of the thing I want. Of course, I feel sorry for Orrago, but the dispensary is beyond a joke. Which idiot had the idea of putting her in charge? I hope if ever I turn senile, they’ll have the discretion to hide me somewhere where I won’t be an embarrassment.”
Vine made a damping-down gesture and said pointedly, “You don’t really mean that about Orrago.”
“You’re right. It’s not Orrago’s fault. Bramell’s the one who needs a good kicking. I don’t understand him; he’s usually so keen to stick his nose into other people’s business. Surely he could get off his arse and get someone to sort it out. He’s supposed to be good at ensuring that things are organised into neat little rows. Nobody can be useless at everything.”
Vine was now frantically trying to point through the bookcase and mouthing Bramell’s name.
Jemeryl acted as if she did not understand the gesture. If anything, she raised her voice. “I suppose you can’t expect someone of Bramell’s ability to understand the importance of having the dispensary in order. But maybe it’s deliberate. Perhaps he hopes if nobody else can get the things they want, it won’t be so obvious that he needs three attempts to guess the name of a buttercup.”
Vine opened her mouth, although all that came out was a faint squeak.
“I’ve always thought Bramell was a waste of space. And it’s not as if it requires any ability or initiative on his part. He just needs to delegate someone to help Orrago. The dispensary is a total disgrace.”
“And that is a disgraceful way to refer to senior members of this school.” Bramell’s voice rang out from the end of the aisle.
Jemeryl had to make a conscious effort to hide her relief. She had been starting to fear that Bramell had left the library. Her eyes dropped while she composed her expression into one of shocked dismay. She almost lost her self-control again when she caught sight of Vine’s pitying look.
“Jemeryl
,” Bramell snapped.
Slowly, Jemeryl turned to face the furious principal. “Er...yes, sir?”
“What were you saying?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?” Bramell’s voice cracked like a whip. He was shaking with outrage.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I heard quite a bit of your nothing. And I think we should go to my office and discuss this nothing in more detail.”
Jemeryl was unceremoniously marched across the main quad. Bramell’s manner was such that Jemeryl half expected him to take hold of her by the ear. She felt a rising indignation. After all, she was an amulet-wearing sorcerer, not an unruly apprentice. Nothing in the Coven rules forbade her having, or expressing, critical views about the seniors.
Bramell strode into his office. Jemeryl stopped on the rug in the middle of the floor and looked at her feet. She was quite literally on the carpet. The door shut with a firm, deliberate clunk, and Bramell stalked around the desk to his chair. His eyes fixed her with a frosty stare; his lips were firm in righteous condemnation. Even his nostrils were flaring.
The silence stretched out, and even though things were going to plan, Jemeryl felt her stomach knot. Eventually, Bramell took a deep breath. “Now. Perhaps you would like to explain exactly what you meant?”
*
It was an hour before Jemeryl left the office with a very clear understanding of Bramell’s opinion concerning her. He had also used the opportunity to include the anticipated lecture on relationships with the ungifted. On his words of dismissal, Jemeryl fled across site to her room.
Since Vine had witnessed the incident, it was certain that half the school would already know what had happened. Those who saw her running from Bramell’s office might well interpret it as distress and assume that she was seeking somewhere private to cry. Jemeryl was not about to correct the misconception.
She leapt up the stairs of the junior’s quarters, burst into the study, and dived into her bedroom. With her shoulder, she slammed the door shut and then leant her weight against it. At last, she could give vent to her elation. Both fists punched the air. Bramell was so predictable, once you got the measure of the man. She had been sentenced to spend all her free time tidying the dispensary.
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 12
