The Scofflaw Magician (The Artifactor Book 3)

by Honor Raconteur

  Sevana sent a prayer up to heaven that Master was as ancient as the hills. It was only his memory of events that saved her sometimes. “Well, that is understandable, but I highly doubt the Fae gave ink to some evil magician so he could use it to spirit people away. So how did a human craft this?”

  “It’s not possible to do so, sweetling. Not so precisely that even a diagnostic wand would be fooled into thinking it was the same thing. No, I think someone stole ink from the Fae.”

  “Master, that’s even less possible,” she objected. “Do you know how hard it is to enter Fae territory without being spotted? Even Baby can’t manage it.”

  “It’s the only possibility,” he insisted. “No human can craft this. We don’t even know how the Fae make it.”

  Well, that part was more of a given. The Fae were not known to give up their secrets. “What do you suggest I do? I can’t begin to unravel how to get this boy out of the portrait until I know how this spell worked. And knowing how the ink was made plays a very large part in that.”

  “You’ve created closer bonds with the Fae than any other human I know of. Ask them for help.”

  True, she had, but she didn’t think their bond was strong enough for her to be begging for favors, either.

  Seeing the doubt on her face, he gave her an encouraging nod. “They’ll want to know that their ink is being used for evil. Trust me. Tell them. They’ll help if for no other reason than to stop the man from abusing their work.”

  He might have a very good point there. “I’ll try, at least.”

  Master glanced over his shoulder, another voice that was muted and garbled in the background. “I’m in the middle of something serious too, sweetling, otherwise I’d help more. But there’s something going wrong in Belen with the royal family, and they’re calling for me. I’ll talk to you again, later, when I have a moment to spare. But keep me updated as you can. This is too serious for you to handle alone.”

  Sevana was inclined to agree, although she wasn’t about to say that out loud. “You’ve helped me plenty. Go, go.”

  Reluctantly, he did so. When the Caller went still, she stared hard at the portrait for a long moment. So, she had to go asking for help from the Fae, eh? That wouldn’t go over well.

  But before she did that, she might as well go and talk to the royal family here. There was still at least one portrait to be found, after all.

  Malia stared at her with horror, a hand over her mouth. “There’s more?”

  Sevana sat at what was becoming her customary place at the low table with both royal parents, Farah, and the only other child still living at home—Xinon, the youngest prince. He was twelve, and at that awkward stage where he was old enough to understand what was going on but powerless to do anything about it. Sevana saw him sneak closer and closer to his older sister for comfort as Sevana explained things.

  “I know there’s at least one more—I suspect it’s not the only one,” Sevana clarified. “Firuz, you said to me the first day that there were reports of other people missing. How many?”

  Firuz’s face was ashen and he had to start twice before the words would leave his mouth. “I don’t remember the exact number. Higher than usual, which is why it attracted my attention. I’ll get the report for you.”

  “That will help, yes.” A part of Sevana wanted to end her report there so she could crawl into bed. She desperately needed the sleep. But there were still things to set in motion before she could follow the selfish impulse. “I need you to search for any ink drawings. He took your daughter’s portrait with him, correct? Yes, I suspected as much. But he left the boy’s behind, and he might have done that with others. Some of them might have even been traded on the market. Regardless, I need them all to be found.”

  It was Farah that dared to ask what her parents could not. “How many do you think we’ll find?”

  Sevana put two fingers in the corners of her eyes and pressed hard, trying to stay awake and alert to answer all of these questions. “When I make something, I usually go through about a dozen trials before I have a working model.”

  “A dozen,” Firuz repeated hoarsely, his tone hollow.

  “Let’s hope he didn’t have to try that many times before he got it to work. For one thing, it might be impossible to track that many down. Firuz, with your permission, I want to bring in my business partner. Kip’s used to tasks like this, he has many contacts, and a good idea of what to look for.”

  Firuz nodded instantly. “Of course. Do whatever you need to.”

  “Also, I’ve spoken with my master about this case, and he’s requested to be kept in the loop. I’ll be borrowing his help heavily to unravel this.”

  “This is…complicated enough to require his help?” Malia asked in a trembling voice.

  Sevana eyed her. The woman looked like she was ready to pass out any moment. Was it really wise to explain everything that she knew at this point? And how would they take the knowledge that part of this hideous magic was Fae ink? No, better not to mention that. They’d go to battle with the Fae again over another misunderstanding and Sevana didn’t have the energy or inclination to stop them a second time.

  “Complicated is not quite the right word. It’s just very, very strange. We’ve never seen anything like this before. We’re trying to figure out how exactly it was done. If I can backwards engineer this, then I can undo it.”

  “You can do that.” Firuz’s expression made this a question instead of a command.

  “I can,” she agreed easily. “The process of figuring out a spell isn’t new to me, I do that all of the time; it’s just the setup that’s throwing me off. Once I figure it out, we’ll be fine. Firuz, Malia, I will work here for a while longer and try to sort out as much as I can, but I must tell you I can’t do all of my work from here.”

  Both parents looked panicked by this.

  Sevana held up a hand, delaying their protests. “There are certain…elements…from Noppers Woods that will help me get to the bottom of this. And there are a few experts I’d like to talk to as well that I can’t easily contact. I have to go to them if I want to speak with them. I will stay here for a few more days, see how many portraits that we can find, because the more they have to look at, the better. But I can’t delay for long. I have a bad feeling I’m racing against time.”

  “The more time you give that magician, the better he can hide himself.” Farah looked at her squarely. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. I don’t want this man getting away, do you?”

  Every person at the table spoke at once, vehemently. “No.”

  Sevana gave them a wolfish smile. “I thought not. Firuz, one more thing. I want a description of the painter. He might well have been in disguise, but I want one anyway. We have nothing to go off of right now.”

  “Consider it done,” he promised. “Do you still need Xald?”

  She pondered that for a moment. “I don’t believe so. But I’ll tell you if that changes.” She ran through a mental checklist but couldn’t think of anything else to discuss. “I think that’s it. Now, I need sleep.”

  “I’ll show you to a room.”

  “I’ll do it, Father,” Farah volunteered. “Come this way, Artifactor.”

  Sevana gratefully did just that.

  ~ ~ ~

  After several nights of having basically no sleep, Sevana completely collapsed that night. Farah had her escorted to a very nice guest room, but the details were fuzzy on what it looked like, as she had only focused on the fluffy bed in the middle of it. The mattress swallowed her whole as soon as she landed on it and Sevana didn’t even get her head onto a pillow before her brain shut off completely.

  She was likely comatose for several hours (possibly days) before Grydon woke her up. His method of doing so was to pounce on the bed and then sprawl over her back. This not only suffocated her, but cut off any attempts of her fighting back until she was awake enough to negotiate with him. The wolf had learned after his first attempt at g
etting her out of bed. He never gave her leverage after that.

  This time, though, he had one of her inventions in his mouth, dangling off to the side. Sevana thought of it as a mini-Caller, as it was made of the same stone and spell elements, but with enough tweaks to it so that it worked for the non-magical. At least for a time. Until the magic in it ran out and it went back to being stone. She was still working on it, trying to make it viable for the public at large.

  “Grydon, did you take me to Sevana?”

  Morgan. She rolled her eyes. “Kip, I sent you a message last night so you wouldn’t disrupt me.”

  He puzzled on this for a moment. “You sound like you just woke up. It’s the middle of the day, why aren’t you awake and moving already?”

  “Because I’ve been working on this case for several days with no rest? Any other stupid questions you want to ask me?”

  She could hear the grin in his voice as he asked, “What are you wearing?”

  Why would he even care? “The scalps of men that annoyed me when I was trying to sleep.”

  “Allow me to rephrase. Are you decent? By Sa Kaon standards?”

  Ah, that was what he was worrying about. “No. I will not allow you. Allowing you means you can interrupt me while sleeping, and that I will not allow.”

  “Sevana.” Her name resounded with forced patience.

  “Argh, fine. What? What is so important that you’d call me and use up your precious magic in the mini-Caller?”

  “Your instructions are impossible. Or I should say, the instruction to go find portraits is perfectly reasonable, but your description of what I’m looking for is too short on details. Do you know how many ink portraits are on the market? This is the definition of looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Sevana negotiated getting a wolf off her back, squinting as she tried to remember what she had written to him last night. She remembered shooting off a quick message to Morgan, asking him to hunt down the ink portraits using his contacts, but only in the most vague way. What had she said? It escaped her and she gave up on trying to recall. “Fine. What do you want, a more accurate description?”

  “I want to actually look at the portrait. If I can see it with my own eyes, I’ll be able to recognize the artist’s style.”

  “That might be impossible. In the immediate sense. I am not willing to take that thing through a clock portal. I don’t know what it’ll do to the person trapped in the painting.”

  “It’s that unstable?” Morgan responded, startled.

  “No, I think it’s very stable, I just don’t trust evil magicians. Right now, I’m not willing to take risks with people’s lives. I’m not taking that portrait to you. If you want to see it, you’ll have to come here.”

  “Sev,” he said slowly, as if spelling something out to a young child, “the only way for me to do that quickly is to use one of your clocks.”

  “I’m sleep-deprived, not an idiot. That’s what I’m telling you to do.”

  “Didn’t you say that you’d sell me to trolls for soup stock if you ever caught me in your clock room again?”

  “You had just scraped the clock and almost gotten yourself lodged in a magical no-man zone, how did you expect me to react?” That had been one of the most heart-stopping moments of her life. Sevana had been convinced, for a split second, that she had killed her best friend. Again. Only this time, she might not have been able to bring him back to life. It had taken two months before she had even let him back in Big unsupervised, it had scared her so badly. “Don’t bring anything with you, not even a bag, and DON’T, for the love of mercy, don’t jostle the pendulum.”

  “You think I’m going to risk going through that again?” Morgan tried to make his voice flippant, but missed, as the memory was still fresh enough in his mind to make his words shake. “Believe me, I’ll be careful. The clock is running, I assume.”

  “You assume correctly. Get over here.”

  “Coming. Oh, and get dressed before leaving the room. I’d avoid shocking your guests.”

  “I can’t traipse through the halls in nothing but a shift?” she drawled. “Imagine that.”

  “Sev. Behave.”

  It was her turn to grin as she proclaimed, “Never.”

  Laughing, he promised, “Be there soon.”

  “Fine, fine.” The mini-Caller went silent and she rolled out of the bed, feeling a decade older. Hopefully clean clothes and some food would wake her up enough to answer the multitude of questions that Morgan surely had for her.

  ~ ~ ~

  By the time she made it into the workroom, Morgan was already there, sitting on a windowsill and looking out over the garden. He seemed none the worse for wear from the trip, every hair in place and immaculately dressed as usual. Sevana did note in amusement that he was carefully positioned away from everything that was even remotely magical. Being in her workrooms, no matter how temporary, had engrained caution into his very bones.

  She wasn’t about to dissuade this. It let him live longer.

  Morgan must have heard her come in, as he shifted so that he could face her. “Morning?”

  “Afternoon, more like.”

  He pointed to a tray sitting on a corner table. “I had them bring something up for you.”

  “Bless you.” Sevana headed straight for it, poured herself a cup of hot tea, and drained it. Only then did she feel more alive. Mercy, but she had to stop doing these all-nighters. They aged her a decade.

  Pointing at the portrait, Morgan said, “I assume that’s the one you were talking about.”

  “That’s it.” Pouring herself another cup, Sevana snagged something that looked like flat bread wrapped around sliced fruit. Biting into it, she found it to be sweetly delicious. Now where had this been on the breakfast menu the past week she’d been here? “What do you think?”

  “Slightly amateurish, but well done. I would say not a professional painter by any means, but someone who could scrape out a living with those skills.” Standing, he crossed to it, and leaned in slightly to get a better look. His arms were carefully crossed behind his back to avoid any accidental brushes, which Sevana appreciated. She herself wasn’t really keen on touching it. “His shading is subtly off, but the proportions are good, as is the composition. The thing that puzzles me is, why is the name spelt backwards?”

  “I’ve been wondering that ever since I saw it,” Sevana sighed before popping the last of her breakfast into her mouth. “I’ll welcome a good theory on that.”

  “None to offer, sorry. But what’s your working theory?”

  Sevana gripped the back of her neck, kneading out a kink there. “Not sure I have one. Here’s what I know: people are disappearing, there are portraits of the missing people, an evil magician is responsible for it.”

  Rubbing at his jaw, he gave her a funny look. “I thought you were just being cryptic in your note, but is that really all you have to go on?”

  “Right now, yes. Unfortunately. There is, however, something very strange about this portrait.” Putting a finger to her lips, she cautioned, “And this stays between me, you, and Master right now.”

  Morgan’s brows rose. “Sounds serious. Alright, what?”

  “The portrait was done with Fae ink.”

  His eyes went so large they almost fell out of his head. “W-what?!” he croaked.

  “You heard me.” She sympathized with his reaction. “But I can’t say that yet, not to anyone here. They already blamed the Fae with the princess’s disappearance once, they’ll be happy to jump to that conclusion again. I don’t want to be in the middle of that war again.”

  Wincing, he agreed, “Sound idea. Don’t tell them. But how did an evil magician get ahold of Fae ink?”

  “That is a question I’m dying to have an answer to. I have a feeling that if we knew that, half of this riddle would be solved.” Well, perhaps not half. “Kip, I need to go into Fae territory and talk to them about this. The conversation will not go well.”

  �
��I think that’s a very dangerous understatement, Sev.”

  “You’re telling me,” she grumbled. “But I have to talk to them about this. Not only because something was stolen out of their territory, but because I have to know how the ink was made before I can even begin to unravel this. They’re the only ones that know.”

  He stepped away from the portrait entirely and rubbed at his face in a tired gesture. “You do have a better working relationship with them than anyone else I’ve heard of. Maybe you really can go in and talk to them about this. But is that why you’re rushing me into finding portraits?”

  “The more I can bring to them, the better.”

  “Understood.” Morgan took one long, last look at the portrait before nodding to himself. “I think I can recognize the style now. I’ll get to work. Anything you need here?”

  “Besides the rest of the portraits? Answers.”

  “Those are on you,” Morgan snorted. Halfway through the door, he stopped and turned back. “How many am I looking for, anyway?”

  “I can only give you a guess, but I would say about a dozen.”

  “A dozen. Oh boy.” Puffing out his cheeks, he blew out a breath, squared his shoulders, and headed back out.

  This time, she tracked him by ear, following the sound of his footsteps until she heard him enter another hallway. Only then did she turn her attention to the portrait.

  Why, oh why, did Fae magic have to work so differently than human magic? Nothing in her tools would even register it as a compilation of different elements, that’s how naturally the ink was blended together. No matter how she tried to analyze it, it always came back as the same result: Fae ink.

  It drove her mad. Well, madder.

  That variable she would have to leave alone for the time being. Sevana didn’t have any choice on that. For now, she had to focus on the rest of it, as much as she could. How exactly did the magician craft the spell? Was this portrait a transmuting spell, or a transportation spell? Was this poor boy literally a painting now, or was the painting simply the means for sending one to some other plane?