The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  “Don’t forget, we need tools to open the grate,” she reminded me.

  “Right. One moment.” I dashed upstairs to grab my bag of artifice tools. My ears strained for any sign of Ignazio waking, but the rest of the house remained silent while I thundered back down to where Zaira struggled to hold up Marcello against his inexorable slide toward the floor. We made quite a set as we staggered into the foyer, heading for the door.

  Beatrix stood before us, a dagger shaking in her hand.

  “Stop,” she squeaked. “You’re not to leave. The master’s orders.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Zaira snapped. “Release me, and I’ll burn her down.”

  Beatrix dropped the knife with a clatter and bolted. We limped to the door and threw it open.

  Waiting for us in the street were my broken-nosed friend and an overmuscled colleague, both with swords drawn.

  “Still no time!” Zaira cried in disgust. “Say it, Cornaro!”

  A loud crack jolted straight through my bones, and a flash in my face nearly blinded me. Broken-nose dropped with a gurgling cry, a bloody hole in his chest. Marcello swayed, smoke rising from the muzzle of his flintlock.

  The other scoundrel swore, threw down his sword, and ran.

  Together, the three of us stumbled out into the chill of the deepening night.

  The fresh air seemed to help Marcello and Zaira revive more quickly, and soon we could move at a brisk pace. It was an hour for lingering over the remains of a meal with cheese and wine, so the streets were free of crowds. Only occasional tradesmen heading home late, young gentry flitting from one evening engagement to another, and the carved Graces staring down blank-eyed from the frieze of a temple bore witness to our passage.

  It must have been nearly two hours since I took my grace vial. That left me an hour—maybe three or four, if I could keep going through the early poison symptoms—to rescue the children, discredit Savony, and avert a war. Afterward … I couldn’t think of it. I was too alive now for death to be so close, and so real.

  A sharp command sounded from around the corner, along with the tramp of booted feet. Zaira swore. “They’re coming to arrest us.”

  “They don’t have the authority,” Marcello objected.

  “Do you think that will stop them?” Zaira pulled us into a deep, shadowed archway that led to a gated town house garden. We waited tensely as a dozen soldiers passed our hiding place, armed with flintlocks and sabers.

  “Looks like we’d better move quickly,” I said once they were gone. “Before those soldiers come looking for us.”

  Before I ran out of time.

  With storehouses and workshops locked and shuttered for the night, the street lay in black shadow. I would have passed Savony’s warehouse, but Zaira recognized it. She had the lock open in minutes, and we crept down the entry hallway under the round mirror eyes, in the flickering lamplight. The clink and creak of Marcello’s rapier-and-pistol harness seemed loud as a shout in the pressing silence.

  My bloody rune still marked the artifice circle on the far door. I pushed it open, the raw wood rough under my fingers. Ignazio couldn’t possibly have beaten us here, but I was still fearful of what we might find.

  The storeroom opened before us, its looming space palpable, but only the gray trace ends of starlight filtered down through the high windows. The golden rectangle cast on the stone floor from the lamplit hallway didn’t reach far. Those poor children must spend every night in utter blackness. I shuddered.

  “Jaslyn?” I called softly.

  A rustle and faint “Hello?” rose up from below, hollow and uncertain.

  “Grace of Mercy,” Marcello breathed. “They really are under the floor.”

  I couldn’t make out the drain in the grainy shadows, but we headed toward the center of the room, our footfalls startling echoes off the walls.

  “It’s me, Amalia. We’re here to set you free.”

  “You came back!” Hope lit up Jaslyn’s voice.

  I found the drain and slid my fingers between the metal bars. Small cold hands touched mine. Jostling and whispers sounded from the cellar.

  “They came back!”

  “She’s going to let us out of here!”

  “Give me those tools,” Zaira commanded, her voice hard with purpose.

  I passed her my satchel. A few clinks sounded in the darkness, and then a frustrated grunt.

  “I can’t see a cursed thing. Do we have any light?”

  “Hold on.” A soft glow flared in Marcello’s hand as he shook a pocket luminary awake. “This won’t last long,” he warned.

  “Long enough.” Zaira bent over the drain, blocking my view of dark staring eyes and wan faces below.

  “Hurry,” a boy pleaded.

  “I’m working on it, brat. Stop grabbing at the bars, or I’ll never get this off.”

  Marcello held up the luminary, giving it another shake to give the spark of light a bit more time as it faded. I sidled up to him until our shoulders and hips touched, and his free arm went around my waist. I drank in his warmth, too aware it could be my last chance.

  I should tell them, Graces help me. If I was going to be dead in several hours, that was relevant information.

  “Listen …” I began.

  “Got it!” Zaira crowed. She cast the grille aside with a clang.

  Hands strained to reach out of the hole, fingers waving like seaweed. An excited babble rose up from the cellar.

  “It’s open! We’re free!”

  “Padric, quit shoving!”

  “I can’t reach! Let me out!”

  Marcello’s arm tightened around me in a brief spasm of sympathy or pain. Then he strode to the drain without looking back. He plunged both arms into the hole and pulled up a child, quick as a conjurer’s trick. The boy shrieked and wriggled; the moment his toes touched the floor, he took off and started running in circles.

  “I’m going home! I’m going home!”

  My eyes stung. No matter what might happen in the next hours, in this moment we were doing exactly the right thing.

  “So much for stealth,” Zaira grumbled.

  Marcello hauled up another child, a girl not more than four. When he put her down, she threw herself headfirst into my stomach and squeezed her arms around my waist, knocking the breath out of me. I smoothed her hair as she sobbed.

  “It’ll be all right. You’re free.”

  Shoulders straining, Marcello heaved another child out of the cellar, and another. When he got tired, I took a turn. Some of them burst out laughing, full of energy and joy; others clung to us, or to each other, tired and afraid. Soon a whole pack of them tore around the empty space like dogs let loose after a rainy week, shrieking and playing. I had to admire their resilience.

  When we’d lifted up fourteen children, I leaned over the hole and at last saw nothing but deeper shadow below.

  “Is this everyone?”

  “I think so,” came Jaslyn’s thin voice. She counted them aloud, calling names, starting over a few times.

  Marcello crouched next to me, peering down into the drain to make sure. I leaned my forehead against his. We stayed that way, for a few heartbeats. I closed my eyes, wishing I could stay in this moment, this small fragment of peace.

  “We need to get this circus out of town,” Zaira said.

  “Where should we take them?” Marcello rose. A small boy grasped my hand, and a girl clung to my coat. “The garrison?”

  “No. We need to get them back to their families.”

  “We don’t have time to deliver these brats door to door all over the city,” Zaira objected.

  I bit my lip. The garrison was no good; they would look like our prisoners. The River Palace certainly wasn’t safe right now.

  “Domenic,” I decided. “His town house isn’t far from here, and we need to talk to him anyway. He’s got the influence to turn the other nobles of the Council of Lords against Savony once they know the truth, and the Ardentine military wi
ll listen to him. If we get him the children, he can help us stop the war.”

  “Right.” Zaira handed me back my satchel. “Let’s get these villains rounded up and go.”

  It took precious time to gather all the children in the darkness and explain to them the importance of staying together, keeping quiet, and ducking under the mirrors in the hallway. Twice I had to chase down Padric, a sturdy boy of perhaps six with far more energy than anyone should have after being imprisoned in a cellar for two weeks, because he kept bolting for the door. The effort left me short of breath. Finally, we had them lined up between me and Marcello.

  Zaira went first, to check if the way was clear. She paused before entering the hall, her wild curls backlit by the lamplight.

  “All right, brats. Remember—heads down.”

  She crouched low and made her way down the mirrored corridor. The lamps glowed on, the mirrors staring blankly back at them. At the far end, she straightened, then cracked the door and peered out. The child behind me started forward, but I stuck out an arm to hold him back.

  “Not yet,” I murmured. My pulse surged quickly in my veins. If Savony’s ruffians waited outside, we’d have to fight.

  After a long moment, Zaira stepped outside the warehouse and glanced around. She beckoned to us from the open doorway, the night at her back. It was safe to go.

  “Stay low,” I told the children lined up behind me. Wide eyes and solemn nods came in reply.

  I bent over and started down the hall. A wave of dizziness surged through me with the change of position. Not now. I ran my hand along the wall to steady myself.

  The children followed, with Marcello at the rear to make sure no one got left behind. Zaira waited in the doorway, candlelight warming her back as she stared into the stark night outside, tense and poised as a gull ready to take flight. I stepped past the last mirror to meet her, straightening.

  A whisper and a scuffle came behind me. Jaslyn called, “Padric, no!”

  I spun, finger raised to my lips, but it was too late. Padric strained on tiptoe, trying to see into a mirror, while Jaslyn and a couple other children lunged at him to drag him down.

  The runes circling the mirror flashed with blue light.

  A squealing clamor tore the air. Something dark and massive crashed down from the ceiling.

  I shrieked and leaped back. The heavy iron portcullis barely missed my nose, striking the stone floor with a dreadful clang. Its thick bars framed the pale, shocked faces of the children, now trapped behind it. Marcello stood beyond them, hand falling back from his rapier hilt, eyes wide.

  Chapter Thirty

  Zaira swore. “We were so close. So damned close.”

  I grabbed at the metal bars, trying to heave the gate up. More blue light flared along the portcullis’s iron frame. It was locked in place, by an artificer far more competent than the one who’d added the slapdash circle on the far door.

  My breath came too quickly, and I couldn’t pretend it was only with agitation. No. Everything was going to the Nine Hells again.

  One of the children punched Padric’s shoulder. “Stupid! Look what you did!”

  I couldn’t bring myself to contradict him, even when Padric burst into tears.

  Marcello grimaced, in a comfortable sort of way that denied how bad our situation had become. “Now what?”

  Zaira grabbed my arm. “Can you do something like you did for that circle on the door?”

  I shook my head. This was a disaster. Marcello and the children were trapped, and Ignazio must be on his way, unless he’d sent hirelings ahead. Everyone looked at me expectantly, hopefully, but all I had was a satchel of artifice supplies and a complete lack of magical talent to defeat a well-crafted device.

  I took a breath. “I don’t know. Let me think.”

  The mirrors detected intruders, but their runes said nothing about dropping the trap. The portcullis itself bore no runes, nor artifice wire or beads. Something had to dictate the terms of the spell.

  I hooked a hand over a rough iron bar for support and glanced upward. The top of the portcullis disappeared into the hidden slot through which it had dropped. The arm-wide gap was too full of shadows to see what was up there.

  “There has to be another room above us, with a way to unlock the magical seal and reset the trap. With a mundane winch, too, for that matter.” I had to pause, gathering breath. “The portcullis would drop any time one of the lamps went out, so they must need to reset it often.”

  “I saw another door on the side of the building,” Zaira said. “Let’s go.”

  I eased my weight back onto my own legs, which threatened to fold. For a moment, I couldn’t let go of the portcullis. The children crowded against the bars, reaching through, tugging at my clothes with their tiny hands. I wanted to reassure them, but I had to focus on finding my balance again.

  Marcello moved through them up to the bars, worry furrowing his brow.

  “Amalia? Are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry.” My voice came out weak and shaky. “I know we don’t have time for this. I’ll go.”

  I straightened, fighting back another rush of dizziness. But Marcello reached through the bars and caught my elbow.

  “What’s wrong? You’re not well.”

  By morning, I would be dead. But I couldn’t think about that now. “I’ll manage.”

  “Come on,” Zaira urged. “If they catch us like this, I’ll die of embarrassment before they can shoot me.”

  Marcello’s grip on my arm tightened. “You’re going nowhere until you tell me what’s wrong. You’re sick, or hurt. Do you need a physician?”

  “I need an alchemist,” I admitted. “But we have to get the children to safety first.”

  “An alchemist! Did Ignazio poison you?”

  I laughed bitterly. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Long ago. But he also kept me alive, until now.” There was no more point keeping it secret. “Demon’s Tears. He smashed my elixir bottles. My last dose is wearing off.”

  Marcello swore. He pulled me close, his arms going around me through the bars. I leaned against the portcullis for a moment, my hands seeking the warmth of his chest through the gaps. The cold iron gate pressed between us, unyielding.

  “We have to get you more elixir somehow.” Desperation strained his voice taut. “There’s no alchemist in the garrison, but maybe we can find one in the city.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed wearily. I didn’t have the heart to tell him what Ignazio had told me. “We can talk about it after we get the children to safety and save the city from war. I should go.”

  His throat jumped. “Promise me you’ll be all right until then.”

  The words stuck in my throat. My mother always told me never to give promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.

  Instead, I slipped a hand around the back of his neck through the bars and pulled his mouth down to mine. By all the Graces, if I might be dead by morning, I was going to kiss him first.

  His lips went taut with shock. But then they melted into mine, warm and tender, between the hard metal pressing into my cheekbones. For a moment, we lingered like that, and the night was safe and beautiful, free of terror. I had to come up for air too soon, my breathing harsh and shallow.

  The children laughed, squealed, and poked each other. I couldn’t muster a blush.

  “Take care of them,” I said. “I’ll get this gate open.”

  He squeezed my hand so tight it hurt. Then he released me, nodding. “I know you will.”

  I followed Zaira out into the chill night air. I stumbled twice on the way around the side of the building, my knees weak and trembling. Not now. I slapped my face to keep my mind focused and sharp.

  The side-door lock took Zaira longer than the front door had, which gave me hope there might not be magical wards backing it up. She cursed softly once or twice. I bit my lip to keep from telling her to hurry. I glanced around constantly, but the street remained deserted.

  Finally, Zaira rose, and the
door swung open onto a flight of plain wooden stairs.

  “And there it is.” Zaira stepped aside for me to go first. “Just like you said. Maybe you’re not always an idiot.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped through the door into the gloomy stairwell. Grime darkened the interior to a hopeless, gritty charcoal. Even with the wall to lean on, by the time I got to the top, my vision swarmed with golden sparks at the edges.

  A short hallway brought us to another locked door, which Zaira had open soon enough. No windows shed light within, but I could dimly make out the bulking rectangle of a desk, some shelves and crates—and, along one wall, the low bulk of a winch, and the top of the portcullis grating rising out of the floor.

  I hurried over to the winch, but I could barely make out the ropes leading from it, let alone whether any runes or wirework adorned it.

  “I need light,” I told Zaira. “Can you go see whether Marcello has another pocket luminary? Or better yet, get one of those oil lamps?”

  “All right. But don’t get any idea I’ll fetch and carry for you when this is over.”

  I didn’t wait to watch her hurry out, but turned back to the portcullis in the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I made out something round on the wall behind it—another mirror? And was that spell wire running from it to the portcullis?

  My fingertips brushed it in the dark. Yes, and another wire braid ran to the winch. The mirrors below must be linked to this one. When the trap was sprung below, the upstairs mirror received the signal, dropped the portcullis, and activated the seal.

  Heavy boots clomped on the stairs. That wasn’t Zaira, unless she’d grown several new legs and gained a few hundred pounds. A flutter of lantern light raced up the stairs ahead of them, throwing wild shadows into the hall.

  Hells take it. I hadn’t figured out how to unlock the seal yet. I shoved my satchel behind a crate, hoping at least to hide what I was doing. Then I drew my dagger and faced the door, blood pounding.

  Four armed men crested the stairs and approached the door. The foremost held a lantern, its ruddy light picking out gleams from swords and flintlocks. I made out the Bergandon crest pinned to their chests, but their poorly made uniforms didn’t match.