“Exactly.”
“So your focus … it’s not like a wand that lets you use her power as much as you want, for any reason you want. It’s the key that lets her in, not the key that lets you in.”
“That’s a much better way of looking at it, yes. But if you’ve never used a key before, you’re probably not going to put it in the lock the right way on the first try. You have to understand the shapes and ridges and what they say about where the tumblers are, before you understand why the key needs to be oriented the way it does.”
Keren didn’t feel like she understood much of anything. She felt as if she were spinning in place, unsure which direction was forward anymore. She said as much.
“When was the last time you learned—and I mean mastered—a new skill?” Zae asked, breaking her from her spiraling thoughts.
Keren thought about it. She’d trained Appleslayer about a year before, and that had been the first time she’d trained a dog for a rider. But that hadn’t been a new skill, just a new application of an old one. Before that …
“About five years ago, I tutored one of my father’s students in military history. In return, he gifted me with a flute and taught me how to play it.” She hadn’t thought about that in a very long time, and had only remembered it just in that moment, but now the memory flooded her.
“What were those first few lessons like?”
Keren grimaced. “I see what you’re doing, Pixie. Point taken.”
Zae shifted in Keren’s arms, turning to face her. Her eyes were a shade of pale lavender that Keren had never seen a human possess, and they always betrayed the gnome’s age and wisdom. “When you only do what you’ve already mastered, you forget how to respond to your own imperfection; you forget that it’s okay to fail.”
Keren turned away from that knowing gaze. “Says the collector of new experiences.”
“And why do you think I seek out novelty so vigilantly?”
Keren’s lips turned in a smirk despite herself. “Because you’re a gnome?”
Zae poked Keren in the side, right in the one spot where she was ticklish. “That’s the easy answer and you know it.”
“I do understand what you’re trying to say. Making mistakes gracefully is a skill you deliberately keep up on, and one that I’m going to have to relearn. I know I’m not expected to be perfect at things I’ve never tried, and I have to figure out how to allow myself to fail and not take it hard.” Keren understood this in principle, but in action … all her life, the value of perfectionism had been impressed upon her by her father, by screaming drill sergeants, and by her combat officers. The price of getting something wrong the first time, as Keren had learned, far outweighed the benefit of having a learning experience. On patrol or on the battlefield, there was no lenience.
“Well, you can parrot it, at least. Believe it or not, that’s a start.” Zae sat back and stretched like a lazy cat. “My cognate is being social at their local tavern. I’d meant to collect you and wander over. Will you come? You can pretend to be checking out my new acquaintances and figuring out who the spies are, and in the meantime, maybe get your mind off things for a while?”
The last thing Keren wanted right now was to be social with a troupe of strangers, but she did want to get out of her own head for a while, and she was curious to meet Zae’s new classmates. “All right. But not for too long. I need to get up early tomorrow, with you.” She rose with a sigh to retrieve her mail shirt and sword.
It was dark in the bedroom and she hadn’t bothered to light a candle, so she shrugged into her chainmail tunic in the faint moonlight. Paleness reflected outside the bedroom window. Keren thought she glimpsed a raccoon’s eyes out of the corner of her vision and looked again. It was gone, but she had an odd feeling, similar to when she prayed the small-prayers. If Iomedae was telling her something, or even if there was an outside chance she might be, Keren needed to listen. She turned to leave the room, but instead of passing through the doorway she ducked inside it and waited.
“Did you fall asleep in there?” Zae called.
“Give me a minute. Something’s odd.”
Zae could see better in the dark, but Keren didn’t want an extra presence to make whatever she’d seen run to ground again. There. A rustle of branches, a gleam of moonlight against steel. The presence in the yard wasn’t a raccoon, unless raccoons were man-sized and crawled on their knees.
Keren let out a yell before she could quite help herself. The man’s cover broken, he took off, and Keren sprinted toward the front door. Her instructions not to engage flitted through her awareness as she darted off into the night, trying to buckle her sword belt at a run, but she discarded the orders without guilt. She was halfway down the street before she realized she hadn’t told Zae where she was going, but she heard the presence of gnome and dog behind her and gaining quickly. Satisfied with that, she turned her full attention back to the chase.
The man sped around the corner, into the end row house’s garden. Keren approached carefully, but in her mail she wasn’t silent. If anything, her own mail shirt was a disadvantage, keeping her from hearing the jingling of his.
A short sword gleamed out from around the corner just as she turned. Keren deflected it with the mesh of metal rings on her forearm, glad for the armor after all. She lunged for the man and nearly had him, but he dodged her and took another swing. She barely drew her sword in time to block his blade, but his strike was a feint; he reversed the sword and smashed the butt of it into her temple. While she wove on her feet, centering herself, he turned and ran. She gave chase to a dead-end alley where she drew up, panting. Battle rage had her in its grip now. She had the spy cornered and she approached him with her sword raised, but he smiled broadly at her with broken teeth, as if he still had the advantage. He lunged for her, holding her close enough to smell his fetid breath. Too late, she recalled Yenna’s warning about these agents: that they were unafraid to die. The man was shifting his tongue, poking at something in his mouth, and Keren wheeled away, turning and crouching. She pulled up her chain sleeve to her elbow and buried her face in her forearm, in the damp cloth of her tunic. Already, her eyes were burning. She tried not to breathe, exhaling air slowly. Slower. Slower. Dreading the moment when she would need to breathe in again.
Behind her, a bark and growl, and Zae’s voice. “Are you all right? Just lift your hand if you’re all right. There’s a cloud of green mist, but it’s fading. Don’t lift your head yet.”
Keren nodded, remembered the instructions she’d just been given, and raised her free hand.
“He’s very dead,” Zae continued. “Poison cloud is almost gone. You should be able to breathe through your sleeve now.”
Cautiously, Keren inhaled against the cloth. She smelled nothing but her own skin. Her eyes still burned and she was reluctant to lift her head, but she heard Appleslayer’s feet pad up. A cork popped and a cool glass vial pressed against her palm. “Drink up.”
The potion tasted like Zae’s healing potions always did. Keren found herself braced for the worst, the first jarring taste of it, and by the time it resolved itself into something fruitlike and pleasant, it was gone. She peeked her eyes open, one and then the other, and lifted her head for a breath of actual air.
“Well.” She offered the vial back to Zae. “That wasn’t fun.”
The gnome slipped her hand into Keren’s and gave it a squeeze. “Come on. We need a real drink even more now.”
* * *
The night had turned cool against Keren’s face, with a pleasant breeze that ruffled Zae’s curls and brought the occasional hint of the sea. The Duck and Castle wasn’t far from Lumpy Orange Crescent, as Zae had taken to calling their street. Now Keren couldn’t think of it as anything else.
The muted jingling of chain accompanied Keren’s every step. She found the noise and weight of the chainmail tunic strangely comforting now. Perhaps it made her easy to track, but it warned her followers, if any had returned after the chase, that her p
atience with their scrutiny had an end.
The tavern was easy to spot when they turned onto the high street, even before Keren saw its hanging sign. Its windows were aglow with flickering yellow light, suggesting the warmth of fire and company within. As they neared the open door, they were greeted with the reedy plucking of lute strings and the cozy din of voices. Stew was simmering on a fire somewhere, adding a savory base to the wheaty scent of ale. Only now did Keren realize she’d forgotten to eat all day.
Taverns were taverns. This one looked like a tavern in Lastwall, like the tavern in Bladswell where she and Zae had once spent a memorable night, and like every other tavern at which Keren had ever raised a pint. Warped wooden tables that had seen many a spill, a hearth on one end of the large open room, and a bar across from the front door, spanning the entire far wall. Stairs in the back beside the hearth presumably led up to rooms available for rent, and a swinging door behind the bar presumably led to kitchens and the entrance to a cellar.
It was the diversity of the crowd that surprised her. Perhaps she’d expected more gnomes, since Zae was the only mechanist she’d ever known. Perhaps she’d expected a mostly human crowd, since that was what she had grown up with back in Vigil. But here, humans and dwarves, a few signs of elven lineage, and some rarer races were all represented, and in a full complement of skin tones, besides. The minstrel who played by the fire was a woman with a thin face and lush, dark hair. She had a voice as gentle as silk, and the song she played was one Keren had never heard. There was something old-fashioned, almost archaic, about its structure. For the second time that evening, Keren thought of the wooden flute tucked away somewhere in her home in Vigil.
Keren steered her way toward the bar, fished a few silver weights from her coin purse, and held up two fingers. Taverns always had their specialties, so while ordering blind was in some ways a greater risk, in some ways it was also safer. Better to get the fresh ale than the one cask of sad, vinegary wine that sat in the cellar just in case some hapless traveler should ask for it someday. Not that she expected a bustling tavern in Absalom to have such issues, but there was no real benefit to breaking a habit born of common sense.
A small brown blur darted out from the crowd and tackled Zae. Keren’s heart pounded for a moment, but the gnome’s happy laugh brought her back down from alert. It was a halfling, shorter even than Zae, with hair that was windblown like a child’s.
“Of course I came,” the gnome was saying. “I said I would! And this is Appleslayer, my dog. And—where’d she go?—Keren! Keren, this is Rowan. He’s in my cognate.”
The moment she and the small whirlwind exchanged pleasantries, Keren knew the calm was over. Rowan led them on a circuit of the common room, introducing them both to everyone—including people whom it seemed Zae hadn’t even met yet. The students were friendly and not too boisterous, but that was easily the result of being just far enough into their cups. And at that thought, she realized she was still holding two mugs, and took a long drink from one. It was dark brown, nutty in flavor, and quite pleasant.
Rowan ushered them to a weathered table and pulled out Zae’s chair for her with a flourish, then did the same for Keren, adding an absurdly low bow. Keren returned a low curtsy, which felt equally ridiculous in her mail shirt and close-fitting breeches. The minstrel playing by the hearth had switched to a jauntier tune, one of merrymaking rather than melancholy. Keren gave the half-full mug to Zae, whose head for ale was slight at the best of times, and kept the full one for herself. Zae caught the maneuver and squeezed Keren’s knee under the table in thanks.
On Keren’s other side was a weathered old dwarf who introduced himself as Renwick. His silvery beard still held a hint of the ginger of his youth, and was intricately braided and ornamented with colored beads. Keren complimented him on them.
“When I was a young potion seller, I braided my beard each morning to reflect the brews I had on hand to sell that day. My customers came to learn the code, and could eye my stock from a glance,” he explained. It was the sort of sensible efficiency that appealed to Keren, and she showed her appreciation of it by signaling the serving boy and buying the dwarf another round.
“The woman playing the lute … she’s excellent.”
“Her name is Pendris,” Rowan cut in, “and she’s my girlfriend.” His cheeks flushed an adorable pink when he said it. Apparently Pendris had good ears, because she rolled her eyes at Rowan from across the room without missing a note. The halfling giggled. Keren hadn’t known many halflings; she suspected they could hold more ale than Zae, but still she wondered how drunk he was. After the flying hug Rowan had given Zae, Keren was ashamed of exactly how relieved she was to learn that the halfling was romantically attached. Still, Rowan had cozied up to Zae rather quickly, and she hadn’t thought to ask how attentive he had been during Zae’s snooping.
Keren nodded toward the musician. “Is she a student, too?”
“No, she’s a performer full time. She plays here, and up at the Barking Swan, and all over the city. Sometimes she plays at posh parties, and once in a while she can sneak me in as her assistant. She pretends to need music, and I turn pages for her.”
Keren’s instinct was to suspect a con job or a pickpocketing team, especially since all she knew about Rowan was that he’d helped Zae snoop around the Clockwork Cathedral earlier that same evening. Her skepticism must have showed in her face. “Oh, no. Nothing like that!” he swore. “I just enjoy sipping fancy wine and daydreaming about living like gentry. If anything untoward were to happen, she’d never be invited back.”
Admirable rationality seemed to be a common trait in engineers and artificers, if Keren’s experience with a whole three of them could be considered any guide. “How long have you known each other?” she asked.
Before Rowan could answer, Zae spluttered, spitting ale. By the time Keren could make sense of things, an ale-soaked toad had hopped out of the gnome’s mug and was floundering, confused, on the table. Zae wiped her face with her sleeve, then calmly scooped the creature up in both hands—which moved through thin air. It was an incredibly lifelike illusion. The gnome giggled and glanced around.
The only one intently avoiding looking in their direction was a gangly young man across the room. Keren asked for an introduction, so Rowan signaled the lad, whose name turned out to be Jesper, to join them. When he excused himself after exchanging a few pleasantries, he landed flat on his face behind Keren’s chair. Rowan pulled his foot back in under the table and fluttered his lashes at the sprawled young man. Keren extended a hand to him, he clasped it, and she helped him to his feet.
“Sorry about all that,” Renwick said from Keren’s other side. She turned and found him wearing a look of genuine concern “It’s tradition to haze the new student. No disrespect intended.”
“None taken,” she assured him. “I was raised at the War College in Vigil. Barracks pranks were the order of the day.”
“So, how does a knight from Vigil end up traveling with a tinkering gnome?” Renwick asked, as though they hadn’t been interrupted.
Without looking, Keren slid her fingers between the gnome’s and squeezed warmly. “She availed upon me to reach something from a high shelf in the market one day. And I kept her.” It was the shortened version, but true all the same.
A smattering of applause broke out, and Keren’s cheeks burned crimson.
“Thank you all!” It was the bard, Pendris, who rose, set down her lute, and strolled over to join them at the table.
“What are you drinking?” Keren asked her, rising, to cover her embarrassment—and her relief that the applause hadn’t been a teasing response to her show of sentimentality. She offered her chair.
“A Blue Lady, please.” Pendris took the seat with a half-bow of thanks. “They know how to make it.”
Keren drained her tankard on the way to the bar, where she ordered another round of drinks. The concoction that was passed across the counter was, indeed, as blue as advertised. When Kere
n queried as to its contents, she was informed that it was hard cider flavored with thick blueberry liqueur, which added even more sweetness and gave it the lovely cobalt color.
She brought the drinks back to the table. Pendris started to thank her, but something caught her eye and she straightened a bit. Keren turned, following her gaze.
A familiar figure in monk’s robes had just strolled in. He wove his way with a dancer’s grace through the growing crowds. Keren grunted in surprise.
“Do you know him?” Pendris asked.
“Not well, but we’ve met. You?” She tried to avert her gaze, but he spotted the pair of them looking his way and waved with a self-assured smile.
“I see him in various taverns around the city. He never drinks, but he’s trying to commission a bard to write the tale of his ascension, like it’s all but assured, and it feels like he’s picked me for the task, lucky me. It can’t be a coincidence that he shows up no matter where I perform. I’ve thought about taking him up on the commission just for the money, but he’s so confident that he refuses to pay in advance.”
Keren laughed out loud. By the time she’d recovered her composure, the monk had reached their table.
“Lady bard with the Azlanti eyes; Master Renwick of the gears; Evandor’s lovely student,” he said, bowing in greeting, and helped himself to an empty chair. Appleslayer sniffed at his trousers, then settled back down under the table on Keren’s feet.
Zae, drawn by curiosity about the newcomer, drifted nearer. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Zae.”
“Omari.” He sketched a half-bow from his seat.
“Ruby, Rowan,” Pendris finished the introductions.
Keren hadn’t noticed Ruby joining them, but then wondered how she could have missed her. She had an inviting smile and large, round eyes.
“Omari is an aspirant to the Test of the Starstone,” Keren explained to Zae. “He intends to become a god.”
“And he’s a former student of the Clockwork Cathedral,” Renwick added.
Pathfinder Tales--Gears of Faith Page 14
