Competitions

by Sharon Green

  “And when the servant got no answer, he probably just walked right in,” Kambil said, leaning back in his chair again. “It would have been out of character for Lady Elfini to lock a door in her own house. I wonder if the servant went searching because he was worried about her, about his lord and master—or about his job.”

  “You seem rather cynical this morning, but I suppose disappointment does produce cynicism,” Oshin said, studying him with calm blue eyes. “And you are disappointed, but I’m afraid I don’t understand why. Would you care to explain?”

  “It’s … idealistic foolishness,” Kambil apologized with a vague wave of his hand. “I know we’re all human rather than perfection incarnate and that ordinary humans have problems, but this—I can’t bring myself to believe that someone in my world would do such a thing. Was she really … chopped into pieces?”

  “She was killed with some edged weapon and was cut up rather badly, but not chopped up in any manner,” Oshin said, compassion flowing from him again. “The investigators are calling it ‘thorough’ rather than ‘enraged’ or ‘insane’ or anything like that. It’s perfectly possible that some vagrant broke in with the idea of forcing Elfini to tell him where the gold and silver was hidden. She thought she could handle him herself and therefore made no effort to ring for help, but she was mistaken, He realized he would get nothing out of her, so he simply killed her.”

  “And that way it wasn’t done by anyone from our world,” Kambil said, trying not to send too much depression at Oshin. “We’ll all be able to go back to our comfortable little niches without needing to suspect our next-door neighbor of being a monster, but I wonder how true that explanation is. Could it really have been a vagrant, who is hopefully miles away from here by now?”

  “I hope fervently that the answer to both parts of that is yes,” Oshin said, faintly echoing Kambil’s depression. “I think my friends mean to recommend adopting the conclusion in the report they give to the Advisors, and if the recommendation is taken, that will be the end of it.”

  “We hope that will be the end of it,” Kambil corrected, then he stirred in his chair. “I suppose you’d like to get to the practice now. I’ll do my best, of course, but don’t expect anything extraordinary in the way of results—at least as far as a good performance is concerned.”

  “I think we can afford to let you pass one day without practicing,” Oshin said, waving him back into his chair. “Our aspect has to be the most heavily touched by a tragedy like this, so take the day to regain your balance. And if you think more conversation on a different topic would help, I’ll be glad to stay for a while.”

  “I’d be very grateful for that,” Kambil said, working to produce a normal smile while he shoved all his previous emotions aside. “There’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask, but the opportunity never seemed to arise. Would you mind if I asked it now?”

  “Since we may never again have the leisure for casual conversation, you might as well,” Oshin agreed with a better smile than Kambil’s. “If it turns out to be too personal or too embarrassing, I’ll simply refuse to answer.”

  “It’s not really anything like that,” Kambil said, letting Oshin’s amusement touch him. “It’s just that I noticed right from the first how really strong and capable you are with Spirit magic. That led me to wonder why you’re instructing me and the others, rather than being part of a group yourself. Or does that come under the heading of too personal and/or embarrassing?”

  “Actually it’s neither,” Oshin said, refilling his cup after having drained it. “I thought you knew, but since you obviously don’t I’ll have to explain. Not everyone is able to become a member of a Blending, and it has nothing to do with strength. There are other factors involved, and one of the most rigid is age. Haven’t you noticed that you and the other members of your group are approximately the same age?”

  “Well, I noticed we were all from the same generation,” Kambil answered slowly with a frown. “Is that the same thing, or am I missing the point?”

  “The point is that people of the same age have a much greater chance of successfully Blending,” Oshin said, now reaching for one of the small cakes displayed on a plate near the tea service. “Widely mixed age groups have the smallest chance, and those beyond the age of thirty or so have no chance at all unless they’ve Blended before that. Your group and the others are all expected to manage it, so it’s nothing for you to really worry about.”

  “I think my worry-compartment is too full at the moment to add anything else,” Kambil told him ruefully. “Tomorrow or the next day will probably be another story, but right now I intend to take your advice. I’m going to put everything unpleasant out of my mind, and enjoy my day off. Do you expect to turn the rest of your students loose as well?”

  “Probably not,” Oshin said, using one of the linen napkins to wipe crumbs from his chin. “You heard about what happened so quickly because you live right in the neighborhood, so to speak, as do the rest of the members of your group. My other students live progressively farther away, so I ought to reach them before the news does. Which tells me I really should be on my way now.”

  Kambil knew Oshin really had decided to leave, so he saw the older man to the door and then stood and watched his carriage drive away. He felt a lot better now, thanks to Oshin’s conversation, but was glad he hadn’t had to practice. He might not have been able to control the results properly, and that was very important now. Bron had repeated that to him at least three times the day before, so he couldn’t have forgotten even if he’d wanted to.

  But there were things he did have to make himself forget, so he went back into the house and directly to his apartment. His life could very well depend on how good a job he did, since the results would affect the performance of his talent. And considering the other members of the group, he’d better do a very good job indeed…

  * * *

  Delin was finally able to return to his apartment once Homin was gone. The furor had continued for hours after the guardsmen had first appeared with their news. Homin had been sound asleep in one of the guest apartments, and it took a while for the servants to rouse him and bring him down to speak to the guardsmen. Delin had already come down to find out what the commotion was about, and so had been there to witness Homin hearing the news and promptly fainting.

  They’d had to send for a physician then, but Delin could have told them that Homin was all right. The man’s muscles had all tensed at once when he’d seen the guardsmen, probably thinking that Elfini had sent them to drag him home. When he learned that Elfini would never bother him again, his relief had undoubtedly been so great that he’d fainted.

  Delin walked to a chair and sat, the smile on his face wide and finally out in the open. Homin should have thanked him for the relief he’d felt, since it had been his efforts which had caused it. He’d left the house last night after everyone was asleep, returned to the Weil estate, and then had done what he’d had to. His group was now safe, and before Homin had left, the pudgy man had whispered that he meant to practice for the rest of the day—as soon as all the investigators and guardsmen were gone. He had to be at home to make sure his father was properly cared for, but aside from that he would spend his time practicing.

  Which was just what Delin wanted him to do. Their progress as a group was the most important thing right now, so nothing could be allowed to stand in their way. There was just one regret…

  Delin lost his smile when he thought about that, and frustration rose up to choke him with anger. He remembered leaving his own house, remembered reaching the terrace doors of Elfini’s “sanctum” again, and remembered starting to go in. But from that moment until he found himself leaving the estate again, nothing but blankness filled his memory. He’d finally managed to do what he hadn’t been able to do earlier, the blood on his clothing and on the long knife he’d held testifying to that, but he couldn’t remember the act itself. He’d suffered brief periods of blackout before in his life, but
never at such an inconvenient time!

  It was necessary to take a deep breath to calm himself, and much of the frustration remained even afterward. He really wanted to remember the most glorious moment of his life, and maybe after some time had passed he’d be able to. In the meanwhile he’d removed every trace of blood from his clothing, and had buried the knife on the Weil estate in a place only he would be able to return to.

  After all, he’d probably need the weapon again, and the second time he’d certainly remember…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Who has the visitor at the door come to see?” Jovvi asked the servant who’d come out to the garden. By rights I should have been the one to ask, since it was still my house; but I’d somehow gotten the idea that if I didn’t bring myself to the world’s attention by speaking, the visitor would turn out to be someone other than my father. And to make matters even worse, Vallant Ro had seemed about to approach me again. I wasn’t quite up to the point where I would rather face my father than speak to the tall, blond ex-sea captain, but I had the sinking feeling that that point was not very far away.

  “The caller at the door and his companions have asked for Dom Coll,” the servant answered, looking around at the men. It became clear then that he didn’t know which of them Lorand was, and that’s why he’d made a general announcement. He was one of the extra servants put on by the testing authority to keep the residence running smoothly, and I didn’t know his name either.

  Everyone but Lorand relaxed at hearing the answer, and for a brief moment that included me. But then I realized that I was still in danger of needing to deal with Vallant Ro again, so I made the fastest decision of my life. Putting my teacup back down on the table took only an instant, and then I hurried over to a still-hesitating Lorand before Vallant Ro could cut off my escape.

  “It might not be that former friend of yours again,” I said softly to Lorand, looking up at his expressionless face. “But in case it is, why don’t I go with you again?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked at once, partial relief filling his dark and pretty eyes. “I know Hat needs my help, but I can’t give it to him yet—and I really hate having to admit it.”

  “What makes his refusal to accept reality something you have to feel guilty about?” I asked, honestly curious. “Did you do anything to cause him to be like that? Are you responsible for his having failed the test?”

  “The answer to both questions is no, but it also isn’t quite that simple,” he replied, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Hat is my friend, and you owe help to a friend if you’re in a position to give it. I know he’d do the same for me.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, but I don’t know the man as well as you do,” I granted him, then gestured toward the house. “Well, shall we go to see if it really is him?”

  Lorand’s nod was a bit on the reluctant side, but he still began to move toward the house with me. He also still held his brandy glass, so I took it from him gently, gave it to the servant stationed near the house, and asked the man to put it on the table. Lorand was a big man and obviously very capable, but in this instance I had the definite feeling that he needed protection as well as support. The idea of me protecting a man his size was laughable, but somehow that laughter felt extremely good.

  The servant who had announced the “callers” led the way back through the house to the front door, which had been closed again with the visitors still on the outside. That made me wonder about what they must be like, but I didn’t have to wonder long. The servant opened the door to reveal Lorand’s friend Hat—looking more disreputable than the first time—flanked by two husky men who simply looked dangerous.

  “That’s him,” Hat said at once, pointing a trembling finger at Lorand. “He’s the one who’s responsible, so talk to him.”

  “Responsible for what?” Lorand asked in confusion. “Hat, what’s going on?”

  “Guess that shows he knows ’im,” one of the husky men said, obviously speaking to the other, then he continued to Hat, “But you ain’t off th’ hook yet, shorty, so don’t try t’disappear thinkin’ I won’t be lookin’. Now you c’n tell the man how much he owes us.”

  “What does he mean, how much I owe him?” Lorand demanded of a Hat who seemed to be groping for words—and who also seemed to be looking for a chance to run. “What did you tell these men?”

  “Just the truth,” Hat finally responded, sounding both defensive and aggressive as he wiped his mouth on the back of one grime-covered hand. “Those tests for High are fixed so that only one applicant is accepted at a time, so we agreed that that one would be you. In return you’re supposed to be responsible for any … debts I incur while I wait for my chance, and now you have to pay up. I owe these men two gold dins, but you might as well make it three. I’ll need something to live on for the few days before I go to pass the test myself.”

  “That’s your idea of the truth?” I asked in outrage as Lorand just stared at the man open-mouthed. “At least your claims are more logical this time, but they’re still just as ridiculous. When are you going to grow up enough to admit that you didn’t delay taking the test, you failed it? And even if they gave people second chances normally, you’d still be too late. Everyone able to qualify for the competitions has already done so, and after this week’s end no one will even be allowed to try. All the testing is over for the year, and won’t start again until after the competitions.”

  “No, that isn’t true!” the small man shouted hoarsely, a wild look now in his eyes. “I’m going to test again in just a few days, and this time I’ll pass! You don’t know anything about it, slut, so why don’t you just go back to codding Lorand the way you’re supposed to, and the rest of the time keep your mouth shut!”

  “Hat!” Lorand barked while my cheeks flamed red over the disgusting man’s language. “You know better than to talk to a lady like that, and Tamrissa is a lady! She also happens to be one of the successful applicants in this house, so you’d better watch your mouth. Since you obviously can’t read or can’t see what her identification says, I’ll mention that her aspect is Fire.”

  The two husky men paled and took a step back, which probably meant they couldn’t read. Hat looked nervous as he tried to focus on my identification card, but he still seemed to be too full of alcohol to manage the feat. He shook his head a little, possibly to clear it, then looked at Lorand again with the belligerence back stronger than ever.

  “What difference does it make what her aspect is?” he demanded. “She isn’t allowed to do anything to me, so I won’t let her get away with lying. And I won’t let you get away with it either. You said you’d give me money, so I want those three gold dins now.”

  “I said I’d help you all I could when I could,” Lorand corrected, his voice now stiffer than it had been. “I never agreed to pay your gambling debts, and it isn’t my fault that you failed the test. Telling yourself fairy tales won’t change the truth of the world, Hat, and you’d know that if you ever let yourself sober up. Right now all I have is silver, and barely enough for my own needs. If I start to win during the preliminary competitions that will change, but until then I guess I can spare one silver din—”

  “Charity!” Hat snarled, then he spit. “That for your charity, when you know how much you owe me! Keep your codding charity, I don’t want it or need it! In a couple of days I’ll be qualifying for all those competitions, and then you can come crawling to me! But he’s still the one who owes you that gold, Meerk, so get it from him or forget about it. I made a deal in good faith, and I mean to stick to it!”

  With that he turned and pushed between the two big men, then stalked away up the drive. He ignored the hired carriage standing near the steps, and the two men he’d been with watched him go with frowns on their faces. Then they turned back to Lorand, and Meerk, the one who’d done the previous talking, nodded.

  “Just when’s all this gold comin’ t’ya?” he asked, inspecting Lorand with his gaze. “I ain’t gonna
wait long, so you better come up with it real fast like.”

  “Why are you making it sound as if I’m the one who owes it to you?” Lorand asked with his own frown. “Hat’s apparently been drunk ever since he failed the test, which hasn’t helped him to accept the truth. I told him I’d give him as much of a hand as I could and that still goes, but—”

  “Look, jobby, I don’t care what th’ truth is,” Meerk interrupted, his dark, dull eyes unmoving from Lorand’s face. “That chump who just left owes me gold, an’ if I can’t get it from him then I’ll get it from you. If I don’t, then maybe you won’t be in any shape t’be in them competitions, get what I mean? You think about it, an’ I’ll be back.”

  The two men stopped staring at Lorand darkly and turned to leave, heading for the waiting carriage. The way they’d acted had disturbed me, but Lorand’s behavior disturbed me more.

  “Why didn’t you tell them not to be absurd?” I asked as he began to close the door, the expression on his face distantly troubled. “You don’t owe them a thing, so there’s no reason for them to come back here. And if that’s the way a friend is supposed to behave, I’m glad I never had any.”

  “Hat’s not normally like this, and the trouble he’s in is worse than anything he’s been in before,” Lorand answered, sounding distant and disturbed. “But he’s still a friend, and I don’t believe in abandoning friends when they’re in trouble. If I don’t pay off his debt those two might kill him, since it’s perfectly obvious that he’ll never be able to pay it off. I’ll just have to … make sure I do win the gold.”

  “Lorand, what world are you living in?” I couldn’t help asking, well beyond exasperation. “You claim you don’t believe in abandoning a friend in trouble, but you’re doing all this for someone who brought you trouble, then walked away leaving you to cope with it alone. And no matter what those two said, they won’t kill the idiot. At worst they’ll beat him up and then force him to take a job, so what you’re really saving him from is having to pay for his stupidity with a little pain and a lot of sweat. If you don’t believe that pain teaches a very thorough lesson about what not to do again, just ask me about it.”