Legends and Liars

by Julia Knight

  The archivist hadn’t been too clear on that last detail, probably because by then Cospel had picked his pockets and he was as drunk as ten lords in a gutter somewhere down by the docks. Luckily, locks and combinations had always been one of Vocho’s accomplishments.

  So there it was. Esti had been quite clear: the book was their one and only hope of getting this sodding tattoo off his back, or at least neutralised so that no one could track him through it.

  After a time the furore that their hurried exit from the alleyway had caused died down. Students went bleary-eyed back to their beds, the guards jingled their bronze and leather armour in their usual patrols again, the lights that ranged across the glass exterior of the university dimmed, and Cospel sneaked back into the garden looking smug. Vocho wondered what he’d managed to thieve this time, and how it was he’d ever been caught when he was so good at it. Working for the guild, for them, had been part of his court-ordered rehabilitation after a stint in the Shrive, but Vocho could never stop him thieving. He sometimes wondered if Cospel’s fingers were magnetic but had to admit his talents did come in very handy.

  This time he’d come back with nothing worse than some roast beef and some information, as it turned out. Information, and the getting of it, was Cospel’s speciality. Vocho thought this was because he looked like an exceedingly grubby and underfed spaniel with eloquent eyebrows and pleading eyes. He had the sort of rubbery face you just wanted to tell things to.

  “Almost none of the servants are let out except on their days off, once a month or less, so I never had much of a chance to find one before now. Backstairs servants know everything. Probably why they don’t like ’em going out much. Mind, at least they get a day off.” He looked pointedly at Vocho.

  “Yes, yes, but what did you find out?” Vocho had to work hard to keep his voice down. Maybe it was being this close to so many magicians, maybe it was his imagination, but the tattoo was burning his back like someone was drawing on him with a red-hot poker. He was sure he could feel Sabates’ eyes through the damned thing.

  Cospel slurped down the last of the purloined beef and licked his fingers. “Well, now, looks like Esti may have the right of it. Even magicians got to eat, right? And seems even some magicians get midnight hunger pangs too. So I found out how they get their food. In particular, how they sneak it in and out of the kitchens where they think Cook won’t notice. Even magicians are afraid of Cook, and I don’t blame ’em. I’ve served a few in my time, and they’re terrifying, every last one. You don’t mess with Cook unless you want to live on gruel and piss for the rest of your life. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “Er…” Esti said.

  “Er what?”

  “If I go into the kitchens someone will recognise me. That’s, um, not really a good idea.”

  Vocho gave her what he liked to think was a penetrating look. “I’d have thought it was great–you can order them to show us in. Right?”

  “Wrong. Look, I thought we weren’t going to see anyone, or I’d have stayed at home. If anyone sees me, well, let’s just say I left under a bit of a cloud.”

  “What sort of cloud?” Kass asked.

  “The sort where you’ve kind of accidentally killed a few people, plus all the goats, and the cloud is their ashes blown in the wind?”

  A short silence followed. Half of Vocho had just decided that the sooner they got away from this loony the better, and that he was never asking Cospel to find someone to help them ever again because they always seemed to be mad. Also, never trust a magician. The other half was looking at her in a new way and thinking that he could understand the killing-people-accidentally thing, having done it himself. And that someone who could do that might be a worthwhile ally.

  “I can see how that might be a problem,” Kass said slowly, “but I don’t fancy going into a nest of magicians armed only with a couple of swords. You were going to be our fallback, in case it all went wrong.” Her tone intimated, even if she didn’t say it, that she fully expected it to all go wrong. Vocho couldn’t help but feel stung that she looked at him while she said this.

  “Oh, I can help with that,” Esti said and pulled out a scalpel, a brush and some scraps of paper. Vocho winced as the scalpel sliced her forearm, bringing just enough blood to wet the brush and let her draw some strange twining symbol on the paper. She handed it to Kass, who took it like it was a gun about to go off.

  “If you get into trouble, just throw that onto the floor and try to make sure you’re not standing too close.”

  Kass held the damp paper up. “Why? Wait. Stupid question. Don’t answer that.”

  They’d seen the effect a piece of paper like this could have. Vocho really didn’t want to be near another one, but it was the best they were going to get.

  “It’ll be fine,” Esti said. “Magicians aren’t noted for their late nights, so the place should be good and quiet. Hardly any guards even, because most of them get jittery around magicians. I’ll draw a map of where the office is.”

  Vocho and Kacha shared a look, but it wasn’t like they had a better sort of plan or even much of a plan at all because they’d not been able to find out much about the inside of the university. Even Esti knew little about the parts that weren’t ruled by the magicians. Kacha shrugged and Vocho thought, what the hells, and they made their careful way through the gardens until they were close to a door.

  “Are you sure about this, Cospel?” Vocho whispered, but Kacha dug an elbow into his ribs, and he remembered who he was. Vocho the Great, Vocho the duellist, the guildsman, the undefeated. OK, almost undefeated, but Kacha had cheated so that didn’t count. Main point, he was bloody good at what he did, and what he did was beat people with panache. His confidence might have taken a bit of a battering lately, but he could count on that. “Lead on then.”

  Kacha led–of the three she was by far the best at fading into the shadows. They waited till the patrol at the far end of the quadrangle had been and gone, and made their move. After earlier the guards were more alert so they had to be careful.

  It was only as they reached the door, behind a pane of glass that shimmered red, that Vocho realised he was enjoying himself. Weeks they’d spent cooped up in a room over a cobbler’s in Ikaras. Kass had never been one for sitting still at the best of times, and Vocho, despite his recent experiences, wasn’t happy unless someone was watching him be fantastic and sisters didn’t count. Leaving their rooms had been a problem, what with everyone looking for them. They’d only started that business with Bear because they were desperate, and look how that turned out. Now, outside and with the chance of being fantastic even if it was only in front of Kass and Cospel, with the added prospect of this damned tattoo coming off, Vocho had cheered up immensely. He had to stop himself humming.

  The narrow door–Vocho had to go through sideways–led into a corridor that was just as cramped, not to mention musty and slightly damp. It led off in two directions before splitting into more corridors, but Cospel never faltered. Subtle coloured lights played over every glass surface, and inside them too. One wall glowed in intricate geometric patterns, now blue, red, yellow, green, that last making Kass look like she needed to throw up.

  It wasn’t long before the corridor led away from the glass and into the depths of the university. Instead of glowing glass, little lamps lit their way until Cospel motioned he should go first. “And put the swords under your cloaks. We’re supposed to be servants, right?”

  “Servants? But I—” Vocho protested.

  “You keep telling me what a noble and honourable profession it is being your servant,” Cospel said with a triumphant smirk. “Now, are you all mouth and no trousers, or are you willing to show me how true it is?”

  They did their best, but swords weren’t the easiest things to hide, even with a cloak.

  Cospel was greeted in the kitchen like a long-lost friend. Two serving maids, either up early to start the day’s baking or up late to finish clearing from yesterday, giggled and whispered
behind their hands, making eyes at Cospel and making Vocho wonder what he could possibly have done to earn them. Especially as the same two girls didn’t even give him a second glance. A man elbow-deep in suds gave Cospel a bubbly clap on the shoulder, and even Cook–Vocho could see what Cospel had meant about her being fearsome–smiled and nodded.

  No one seemed to mind as they sidled through the chaos, though Cospel muttered something which brought them some sympathetic glances, and then they were through into an even narrower corridor that led off at a right angle. The lamps were few and far between, and the smell of must got worse until Vocho was stifling a sneeze every other step. Finally they arrived at what looked like a dead end with a small door halfway up the wall with odd-coloured staining around the edges.

  “Cospel,” Vocho said with a frown, remembering those sympathetic glances. “What exactly did you tell Cook that we were doing here?”

  Cospel grinned sheepishly and shuffled his feet. “You wanted to get in, right? And you couldn’t the other way. So this is our only choice. Probably best if we leave it at that for now.”

  “Cospel.” Kass looked like she was on the edge of snapping, but Cospel didn’t answer, only opened the door.

  The smell that came out was indescribable, except in relation to goat shit. Vocho looked more closely. Some sort of compartment, like a dumb waiter with a plain shelf on top and what was undoubtedly a cage underneath. Next to the door was a lever, presumably to work the thing.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Kass said, “but that’s goat shit in there.”

  “Might be, might be.” Cospel fingered his grubby collar. “I didn’t say it’d be a nice way in.”

  “You said even mages get midnight hunger. You did not say, ‘and this involves live goats’.”

  Cospel withered under her fierce look. “Well, not always. See that shelf on top? They seal up some food and put it on there. Head mage is partial to ham and eggs at three in the morning, I’m told.”

  “And the cage?”

  “Is for the, um, other sort of hunger.”

  Vocho and Kacha stared at him until he said, “I don’t know, all right? She said they just need goats sometimes, and it seemed as good a place as any to get in, and sometimes they send people down there in the cage… and… and…”

  “And they don’t come back because mages use blood,” Kacha said in a flat voice. “Are you sure we won’t get minced on the way down?”

  “Well, one of the girls says she goes to clear up sometimes, and there’s no blood at the bottom of the shaft. Mostly.”

  Kacha raised an eyebrow Vocho’s way. He shrugged. “It’s this or nothing, and I want this bastard thing off my back. I say we make Cospel go first. If we hear screams, we can think of something else.”

  For a second Cospel looked like he was going to argue but then his shoulders slumped. “All right. Tell my mum I tried my best to be good, all right?”

  “I’ll tell her you died the king of Five Islands rolling in gold, if you like,” Vocho said. “Let’s go before someone realises their mistake. Is there a handle on the inside of that thing?”

  Cospel got himself wedged inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and looked around. “Aye.”

  “Good. Off you go.”

  It didn’t take long before Vocho and Kacha found themselves in a dank and unlit room.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Vocho asked. It seemed to him there should be something a bit, well, magical about the place, and all he was getting was a strange smell and something crunchy under his boots.

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?” Cospel asked, hurt clear in his voice.

  “How about the time you forgot to mention the magician in the coach? Look how that turned out. Or when you told me that young lady was unmarried? You almost steered me to an early grave.”

  “Look, you can’t expect miracles on what you pay me. How about when you left me up that bloody tree with all them dogs hungering for my blood while you went off drinking? Or the time—”

  Kacha hadn’t said anything while they argued, but now she let out a whispered curse that shut the pair of them up. Finally, after some fumbling she lit one of the lamps, an oil one, and its muted glow showed the room in all its glory.

  Vocho was tempted to curse as well. The whole room was full of bones, was made of bones. A table was made of long straight-ish bones, with smaller ones polished and inlaid on the top. The floor was more polished bones, set in a precise and mind-bending geometric pattern that made his eyes go strange. Just to top it all off, an oil lamp in the corner was made from a human skull with the top taken off. Underfoot lay bones not set into anything, not polished, hence the crunch under his boots. Some of them still had bloody meat on them, which explained the smell.

  “God’s cogs,” he whispered. “Hey, how about we get the fuck out of here?”

  For once Kass didn’t argue and neither did Cospel. The door had a lock, but it was a mundane one this time, no booby traps, and Vocho had it open in moments. Then they were in a dim corridor taking deep breaths.

  “Let’s leave a different way,” Kass said.

  “If we can. Come on, get the map out.”

  She slid the scrap of paper out from under her tunic. Esti’s map was detailed and precise. All they needed to do was work out where they were in relation to everything else.

  After a short time and a whispered three-way argument which Vocho won, they headed right down the passage. The place was quiet as dead mice around them. Not even a snore. They risked moving faster, if not as quietly–it was getting late, or early, and they didn’t want to be caught here once the magicians started waking up. Or at all.

  Kass ghosted ahead, always quieter than Vocho could ever hope to be. Around corners, down steps, up steps, past open doorways with strange shadows and odd smells emanating from them. Their earlier escapade had obviously stirred something up because as they came to an unexpected cloister–unexpected because Vocho was looking at the map wrong–movement swirled in the centre.

  A paved courtyard lit by a large lamp at the top of a stumpy pole was surrounded by arched walkways. Fountains tinkled somewhere in the shadows, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the six guards looking alert in the centre of the courtyard, where they could see in all directions, along with what looked like a magician if the gloves were anything to go by.

  The three intruders faded back into the corridor they’d just come from, and a hasty whispered conversation ensued.

  “How far have we got to go?” Kass asked.

  Vocho consulted the map, squinting in the dim light. “Other side of the courtyard. They’ll be protecting the head mage’s rooms, probably. We’ve got no chance of getting past them unnoticed, and there’s no way around.”

  They both turned to look at Cospel.

  “Don’t go looking at me. You don’t pay me enough.”

  “Think of it as recompense for the goat shit,” Vocho growled. He was never going to get the smell out of his tunic.

  Cospel’s eyebrows wiggled all over his face, but finally he said, “Fine. But I get a day off. Deal?”

  “If you live, you get a day off, after you’ve got the goat shit off my clothes,” Vocho said. “Now look at the map. Draw them off and then see if you can make it to where we were supposed to come in. Here.” He jabbed at what he hoped was the right point on Esti’s map. “We’ll meet you there. I’m betting we can open that door from the inside without an alarm going off. From there it’s just a hop over the walls, and we’re out of here. Easy for a man of your talents.”

  “Easy, he says,” Cospel muttered. “Just draw off a load of guards and a magician and try not to die while you’re about it. Easy-peasy. Do I have a choice?”

  “Well I would do it, obviously, but Kass will need my help. I mean, there could be anything in that office, and two swords are better than one. You, Cospel, do not have a sword.”

  “Them guards do.”

  “But you can run
faster than them. Good man. Off you go.”

  With a sour look Cospel straightened his shoulders, loosened his knife in its sheath and walked out into the courtyard as though he had every right to be there.

  “Hey, you,” the magician called, but Cospel didn’t even wait for the “you” to leave the man’s mouth before he was haring off down another corridor, away from where Vocho and Kacha needed to be. Cospel had a swift turn of speed, and the guards were caught by surprise so he had a good lead as he turned a corner and was out of sight.

  Sadly, he didn’t draw them all off–two guards stayed right where they were. Still, Vocho wasn’t a bloody good swordsman for nothing, and when it came to it, there were only two of them, and they weren’t up to much. A thrust, a clumsy parry from the first that almost tipped him over as he followed Vocho’s line. A crunching elbow as he lost his balance, a twist of a wrist and a smack on the back of the head. Disarming them and rendering them unconscious, if slightly bloody, was an easy night’s work.

  They stashed the two guards out of sight and hurried away from the fading noise of the rest chasing Cospel. Around one corner and, “There. That one.”

  Surprisingly, and a little worryingly, the door wasn’t locked. It should have been–it always was, according to Esti, especially when Sabates was away. Something didn’t smell right, and it wasn’t blood.

  Kacha got out the little broad-bladed knife she’d found to replace her stiletto–she complained about it, but it was better than nothing and she’d always preferred the two-blade approach. Vocho hefted his own sword. One was more than enough for him, a point of pride that he only needed the one, as he reminded Kass at regular intervals.

  “Stop posing and open the sodding door,” Kass hissed.

  Really, she had no sense of style at all. He opened the door. Quietly.

  The first hint of daylight filtered in through a high window but didn’t illuminate much. The lamp on the desk did, and it showed Vocho someone sitting behind it, scrabbling in its drawers like a mad rat, short dark hair falling over her face.