The Dagger of Trust

by Chris Willrich

  "It's the right thing to do," Gideon insisted, getting behind a chair.

  "What kind of assassin are you?" Leothric gasped.

  "He isn't," said Ozrif. "And we aren't. Not precisely."

  "If you say so."

  We say so, Gideon thought. We're Lion Blades. He began his growl, inspiring himself with the thought of his comrades beside him. Even Headmaster Xeritian seemed to be there in spirit.

  This time he was ready.

  He shifted from his growl to the love song of Wickham, the doomed cabin boy from Wanderloss. He sang of a hopeless love that defied death itself. As he did so, he called up within him that magic that was no spell, but rather a bard's gift to weave within a performance itself. And the maniacs responded, just as Gideon had guessed. They stood transfixed, held in place for the moment by his voice, just as Corvine's song had kept them motionless until the end of her performance.

  Whatever it was that impelled them, it could be steered. Song could battle hate. There was hope.

  He paused, and the misty-eyed ones studied him expectantly, spittle dripping from several lips.

  "Get them," he said, grabbing a chair.

  Corvine, Viridia, Ozrif, and a handful of Leothrics responded, along with some braver members of the crowd. The foes were clubbed, tackled, kicked, and punched, and though the fray was fierce, it was brief. The maddened ones lay battered into unconsciousness.

  The fog dispersed upon the morning breeze.

  Corvine panted, a chair held over her head. She turned and stared at Gideon. Gideon had lost his own chair a while ago. She kept hers raised.

  "So," she said.

  "Indeed."

  She seemed to think something over, then set her chair down onto the red-stained grass.

  "Have a seat," she said. "We should talk."

  Chapter Seven

  Duet (with Dissonance)

  Of course, like most such gestures, it was not as neat and tidy as all that. Corvine immediately recognized a duty to the injured, and as she and Ozrif possessed healing spells, she saw to their needs, as did the local guards from the post in Threegates, who'd heard the battle and come charging in just after the nick of time.

  Gideon made the antler-sign of Erastil when he heard no one had actually died, though it was a close thing. In a smaller town, without healing magic, the story would have been very different.

  The bards were on the verge of being dragged to Grayguard Castle on general principle when a messenger arrived proclaiming Admiral Kasaba herself vouched for the crew of Riposte. It would be sufficient to appear before the admiral by nightfall.

  Thus, with the sun rather higher in its track than when Corvine planted her chair, she again suggested Gideon put a seat beside her. The gesture still impressed him. Sometimes style was all.

  "So," he said.

  "So," she replied. "You might have written."

  "I've been busy. Assassins. Mind control. Fog."

  "Blaming the fog? Truly a fair-weather friend."

  "There were exams. In fact, I've missed several."

  "Out carousing no doubt."

  "I don't do that. Much. Expenses."

  "You could find honest work."

  "You'd lose all interest."

  "Perhaps you know me after all." Corvine looked around at the wreckage of the concert. "Perhaps I should thank you for saving my life."

  "That would be nice."

  "Thank you for saving my life."

  "You're welcome."

  "Though it's not entirely clear I couldn't have handled it. If they hadn't gotten so close, I could have employed my spells earlier."

  "I quite sympathize. I'm sure you could have. All we really did was provide distraction."

  "You frequently do provide distraction. Now you need to introduce me to your friends."

  Gideon waved over the others. "Ozrif, Viridia, Leothric, this is Corvine Gale. Corvine, my school friends."

  "Charmed," Corvine said.

  "You have a marvelous voice," Ozrif said, bowing.

  "Even when you're screaming," said Viridia. "You've got fine timbre."

  Leothric, looking shy, made the ragged Sir Gothmoor wave.

  "Puppets!" said Corvine. "I love puppets."

  "You do?" This time it was Leothric, not Sir Gothmoor, who responded.

  "Yes! You know, as a girl, I wanted to be a puppeteer."

  "Really," said Gideon.

  "Really?" echoed Leothric. "It's my primary area of study. Not many people understand the complexity of the art."

  "We must discuss it sometime," Corvine said, and Gideon could see Leothric blushing. This annoyed Gideon more than he wished it did. Corvine said, "We've a great deal to discuss, I think. This fog business is getting serious. I'm wise enough to know my moment of fame in Cassomir won't last forever, and I'm annoyed that this apparition keeps interrupting. Well. I take it Gideon has brought you all here to help us. A school holiday?"

  "A bit more than that," Gideon said. "Sebastian Tambour's with us."

  "Good!" Corvine smiled, and Gideon found himself wishing she wasn't quite so enthusiastic. "This is welcome news. I've long suspected Sebastian was well connected."

  "You have no idea," Leothric said.

  Gideon threw Leothric a warning look. "Perhaps it's best we discuss this with more privacy."

  "You should all come to my home," Corvine said. "My roommate's visiting relatives in Old Sehir. There's plenty of space."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Welcome to Gale Estates." Corvine gestured grandly at the cluttered apartment with its music stands, flute and lute, bookshelf and straw bed, and little fireplace with a cooking pot hanging within. The joke was two-edged, for all of them (save perhaps Leothric) knew that for most performers even a dwelling such as this was a prize. There was only a pair of chairs, but the low shelf against two of the walls was covered in embroidered pillows, and served to seat more guests. Gideon sat beside a pillow decorated with a grave marker, daisies growing beside. Remember, said the message in cheerful red letters, nobody's tombstone ever read, "She kept a clean house."

  "Wait here. I've nothing for guests, and the baker next door gives me a discount."

  "We must give you some assistance," Leothric said. "Or some coin, at least."

  "Nonsense. You may have saved my life. That's worth some bread and cheese."

  "I'll help you carry," Viridia said.

  "Thank you."

  The three men were left alone.

  "Why does Viridia get to help, but not me?" said Leothric, lightly shoving the cook pot.

  Gideon grunted.

  Ozrif said, "You're male. Viridia's female."

  "What does that have to do with it?"

  "As I see it, women are smarter than we are. At times they communicate better without us around. Viridia and Corvine will swiftly take each other's measure, conclude that each can trust the other, and return to us reassured. With food, I hope."

  Gideon chuckled.

  "Also," Ozrif continued, "it might be inappropriate for you to escort Mistress Gale, seeing as she and Mister Gull here are engaged in some bizarre manner of quasi-courtship that only they understand."

  "Well," said Leothric, "you'd know all about that."

  "Have a care," Ozrif said as he studied the bookshelf.

  "Right," said Leothric. "You don't want to talk about you and Viridia. No one knows anything, it's just an invisible elephant in the room, eating all the straw from the bed. What I want to know, gentlemen, is where I can find a quasi-romantic, highly deniable non-relationship of my own. It looks fun."

  "Well," Gideon said, feeling a trifle evil, "Corvine's roommate is away. That's perfect. You can start spying on her things, here, and inquire with Corvine about her. Maybe Corvine will make a good report of you. You could leave a token of yours by accident, an excuse to return. There are so many possibilities."

  "That's pathetic," said Leothric. After a while he shifted surreptitiously from the cook pot and began looking at
various objects around the apartment.

  Gideon didn't feel proud of himself. But at least it was quiet. It was pleasant to sit in a comfortable spot that was neither rocking nor the site of a battle.

  "Intriguing," Ozrif said as he continued his survey of the bookshelf. "Judging by these books, Corvine seems to have quite the interest in Andoran. Unless it's the roommate..."

  "No," Gideon said. "Corvine's the reader. Thea can only read music. Not that I'd mock her for that; I only learned to read notation at the Rhapsodic. What books do you find so interesting?"

  "Jubannich's On Government. Grayflint's No Other Time. Alysande Benedict's war journal. Fierce stuff. Perhaps your paramour should get a visit from the Royal Adjunct Vice-Critic for Moral Suasion in the Fine Arts."

  "That's not funny."

  The door opened, admitting the laughing Corvine and Viridia and the smell of bread, cheese, and cream biscuits. Neither was a juggler, but somehow they'd wrangled a pail of hot Sargavan coffee up the stairs.

  A sort of magic happened as they chattered and dug in, both like and unlike the magic of spells or bardic performances. This apartment was no luxurious faux-castle, no prestigious city school, no shadowy headquarters. But that morning it became something just as wondrous—a place of lively talk, of equanimous interest in music, jokes, history, and good food. Gideon felt at ease for the first time since the strange voice had rattled his mind on the Rhapsodic rooftop.

  Corvine did not so much create this atmosphere as allow it to unfold. While the Seasick Troubadours might snipe at each other on their own, Corvine had a knack for sensing when someone was feeling left out of the conversation, or when someone had built a bridge of words over some social precipice and needed hauling back.

  In this way she seemed to gently polish the group, until everyone shone. Ozrif seemed endlessly sophisticated, Viridia hilarious, Leothric full of pungent insight. Gideon, oldest among them, felt himself wearing a sort of gravitas he probably didn't deserve. He enjoyed it anyway.

  "Is your troupe still together?" he wondered out loud, for he realized for the first time how natural a leader of musicians she was. Perhaps a leader of more than musicians.

  Corvine shook her head. "Life's tugging us elsewhere. And the fog and the frothers encouraged them to leave town. I can't blame them."

  "Frothers?" Viridia asked.

  "That's the name people give to the ones driven fog-crazy." Corvine frowned. "Thank you again for the rescue. I see Gideon has good friends. Now, Gideon, you hinted there were things about Sebastian, and your mission, you wanted to keep private. May you share them now?"

  "Sebastian!" Gideon said. "He'll be wanting a report. I was enjoying myself so much, I forgot." He looked around the room hopefully. "Perhaps someone could run a message to him?"

  Viridia rose, "I think, Ozrif and Leothric, that the three of us should all go report. Captain Tambour will appreciate a complete picture." She smiled. "Let's let Gideon debrief Mistress Gale in his own inimitable fashion."

  "You make that sound so dirty," Ozrif said.

  "I love a good debriefing," Viridia said.

  "What?" Leothric said, but the other two led him away.

  Having his fellow students depart paradoxically made Gideon feel more, not less, awkward. It was hard to know where he stood.

  Corvine came to his rescue. "Perhaps a turn at a tavern?"

  "I'm buying. The Pious Knight?"

  "You're sure?"

  "I think I owe you a hundred rounds at this point."

  "The Pious Knight would make up for at least ten."

  "It's all right." He took a breath. "Before we go, though, I think I should probably explain a few things."

  And so he told her, in the vaguest terms, of his doings. The sun moved on past noon before he was done. The storm front outside seemed to wrap itself around two-thirds of the sky, and it felt nearly like evening.

  As such, when they left, it almost felt like an evening walk.

  They didn't stroll arm in arm, but they did walk closely together. The clouds blotted out Cassomir's sun like cloth over a nasty wound, spreading scarlet across the sky. They neared the sign of a knight draining a foaming stein.

  Gideon noted a number of people across the street, entering an establishment sporting the sign of a spooky house, bat fluttering out of the attic. Something about the manner of the group—agitated, gesticulating, scowling—tickled his instincts.

  "Perhaps we could start over at the Belfry Bat," he said. They'd spent many an hour at the Bat.

  "If you're worried about prices..."

  "No, it's merely nostalgia. We can move on to the Knight later."

  "Do they pay you well," she asked as they crossed the lane, "these mysterious government not-assassins?"

  "Well, they feed us."

  "Sounds familiar."

  "But I do make a little money busking."

  "That doesn't surprise me. You were always good."

  "Thanks. I never could call myself a bard, though, until the training at the Rhapsodic. I'm grateful to you and Sebastian."

  "I put in maybe one good word. He's your real patron." She looked thoughtful. "An interesting man. I once assumed him an unserious, smooth-talking lout, but it turns out he's a power."

  "Do you correspond with him often?"

  "Not often. Why do you ask?"

  "Merely curious."

  In silence they entered the Belfry Bat. Despite the patrons Gideon had spotted, it was uncrowded now, for most laborers were still at work. They were able to claim a table with a window, near the agitated group that had caught his eye.

  The window opening had no wax, horn, or glass, but was thickly shuttered. They pulled the shutters open, letting in cool air. It conveyed the nearness of the storm.

  "I love that feeling," Corvine said.

  "What?"

  "The feeling that something is about to start. Don't you?"

  "It depends greatly on what's about to start."

  "You don't like a little mystery? A little danger?"

  "I never seem to get a little mystery or danger." He thanked the server and paid for the gnome whiskey and lemon water. He listened for trouble from the peculiar group nearby, but nothing was audible. "My cup's either dry or overflowing. Sometimes I'd love to have just the excitement of a life of music." He raised his mug. "To your success."

  They clacked and drank, but she said, "Success has its own dangers."

  "Disorientation? Pride? Exposure?"

  "Food. Never eaten so well in my life. Cassomirites these days like their divas dainty. I must always tell myself, 'You needn't have that last cream biscuit, Corvine. Pastry is not destiny.'"

  He laughed. "I think you have little to worry about." He sipped. Perhaps he was wrong about the neighboring table, although he had the intuition they were waiting for something. Whatever it was, he could relax a while.

  "Men say that sort of thing." Corvine watched him drink his lemon water. "Perhaps you're trying to restrain yourself, too?"

  "Say what you'll say."

  "I'm surprised you'd get me a bog whiskey and not even order a Bellis Mead."

  "I have trouble with the strong stuff. You don't."

  "You've never been so direct about it."

  "Life is short. You drink strong drink, you hone your talent, get gigs, and all's well. I drink strong drink, I end up facedown on the deck of a ship bound for Sargava." He shrugged. "Some people have difficulties with this aspect of life, and I am one. I accept it. I don't make the mistake of believing that what's an ill for me is an ill for everyone."

  "My. Gideon Gull. You've changed."

  "So have you. You're more confident. Freer of fear."

  "I was always confident."

  "Not like this."

  She smiled. "Then I truly am in danger. No one should fear disaster more than the arrogant."

  "I assure you, we pessimists encounter plenty of disaster."

  "How are your disasters, Gideon? I feel you're carryin
g a weight."

  "They have good food in Oppara, too."

  "Be serious. The fog. Your headmaster's death. These things must affect you."

  "Levity keeps me going. That and your eyes."

  "Oh, it's my eyes you're looking at? Stay focused, man. What do you think's happening?"

  "I don't know." He sipped cold water, thinking cold thoughts. "This fog bends minds, that's for certain. I saw it bring visions of fear and woe. And we've seen it turn ordinary folk into madmen. But you've experienced more of it..."

  "I don't know what it is any more than you, Gideon. I've had a couple of run-ins, but they weren't very illuminating. I have the feeling you know more you haven't confided."

  "I don't know more. But I suspect more. I just don't know if my suspicions are based on evidence or madness."

  "Tell me. I may just trust your madness."

  He looked out at the darkening street. When they'd entered, it had appeared a charming and homey lane. Now it seemed to hide sinister shapes, just out of sight. What a difference light could make.

  He told Corvine about Bellis, as he had told his colleagues in the gaol.

  "Gideon." She reached out and gripped his hand. "I never knew. I'm so sorry."

  "It was long ago. I rarely think of it. But that fog—it touched me somehow. My memories of that time are confused. I saw, or dreamed, a monster, and a ghost ship."

  He looked out at the sky. More so than in Oppara, in Cassomir you could hear the sounds of the coast, the birds shrieking, the surf, the wind whistling through the lanes. These things comforted Gideon. Immersed in music, he'd missed the choir of nature. "Well, I've seen that ghost ship again, heard its strange music. I think the fog of my childhood's returned."

  "If so, what then?"

  "Then something that attacked Bellis years ago is back. And it's a threat to Taldor as well as Andoran."

  They were silent for a time. More people filed into the tavern as shipyard shifts came to an end.

  "Did the Andorens not investigate the fog?" Corvine asked. "They might know something useful."

  "I think the Eagle Knights did follow up. But I was a boy, with my own problems. I don't remember anything about it. Perhaps they didn't try very hard."

  "I doubt that. You sound bitter."