Fortunately, he had an idea for the latter.
He hurled the handstick at Jackdaw—just as a distraction—while taking the moment to fuel his hand with magic.
“Apologies for this as well.”
Minox grabbed the rope wrapped around the Thorn’s arm.
And the whole world changed.
Veranix didn’t know how he was going to hold off the three Birds, and he wasn’t going to last much longer against them. Any one of them was one solid blow away from putting him down.
Then Inspector Welling grabbed his wrist. Or more specifically, the rope—wrapped around the mage shackle to cancel out its influence as best as possible—with his strange, magical hand.
Suddenly Veranix could feel the flow of numina through his body and Welling’s, as if they were one person. It was a rush of power that made the influence of the cloak and rope seem insignificant.
But Veranix knew it was fleeting. It was a raging fire; they couldn’t hold it long.
Veranix channeled some of that energy into a hard blast out of their bodies. Like a game of Eight Fallen Pins, the Birds went tumbling down to the ground. With the rest, he slowed the world down, down to a crawl.
“Irons,” Veranix said.
Welling was in the slowed world with him. He held up his shackles. “I only have the one pair.”
“We can’t let go,” Veranix said.
Welling nodded, and grabbed the chains from the dead Bird off the ground. With a quizzical look on his face, he channeled numina into the shackles and the chains themselves. They snaked into each other, wrapping around the three Birds on the ground, pulling them together to bind them.
“Did you just make those grow?” Veranix asked.
“I believe I did.”
“I didn’t think that was possible,” Veranix said. The world was still a crawl. The numinic flow between them was almost bled out, faltering. “What happens when you let go?”
“Do you mean magically, or our next choices?”
“The latter,” Veranix said. “Though the former has me worried.” He wondered if he could channel numina to his legs and leap magically the moment they disconnected. But he felt everything Welling had done to the chain; there was no reason to believe Welling wouldn’t be aware of his actions.
“I have a duty I should not ignore,” Welling said, his grip still tight on Veranix’s wrist. “You have several charges to answer for.”
“It was the fraud who killed Emilia and Bluejay. And attacked Inspector Rainey and the others.”
“Are they injured?” A furious rise in numina rushed from Welling to Veranix. It was a vibration, building between them. The connection wouldn’t hold much longer.
“I don’t know,” Veranix said. “Do whatever you have to, Inspector.”
Welling looked torn, uncertain. Looking back at Veranix, he nodded. “Thank you.” With the numina between them on the verge of becoming volatile, he let go.
The world slammed back to normal, and Veranix found himself hurtling at incredible velocity.
Welling hadn’t just let go.
He’d pushed.
Veranix had rocketed out the other side of the alley. The world was no longer slowed down, but Veranix was still moving as if it was.
He only had a second to realize that before he was about to crash into the side of a building.
He shaped the last residual numina from the harmonization into a cushion of air around his body. He collided into the building like hitting a pillow, but it still hurt like blazes. He dropped to the ground, winded but unhurt.
He was a block away from Inspector Welling and the rest of the fracas. He still had the mage shackle on his wrist, and he wanted to sleep for a week, but he was away from all that.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet. He still needed to get back home.
He realized he no longer was masking his face. How long had that been the case? Had Inspector Welling seen his face? He couldn’t remember. The last time he was certain it was still on was before he jumped back down into the alley.
He couldn’t worry about that now. Painfully, exhaustingly, he pulled enough numina through the cloak and rope, over the numbing power of the shackle, and wrapped himself in the illusion of an ordinary U of M student. He’d have to push himself to hold it as he walked back to campus, but it should get him through the gates and home.
Right now, that was all he cared about.
As soon as they got to the safehouse, they dropped the Jester on the floor. Deena washed her hands and face, stripped out of her disguise, put her own clothes on, and left. She had very little to say.
That didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one Colin wanted to talk.
He filled a pot and put it on the stove. He pulled the Jester into the back room, tied him to one of the cots.
“Wass going on?” a sleepy voice asked. Colin looked up. Meaty-armed Bassa, in just a sleeping shift.
“You crash here?” he asked. He wasn’t counting on her being here. He was hoping he’d have the place to himself.
“What’d you think?” she sent back. “Who’s that?”
“The one who hit us.”
“Thorn?”
“Ain’t the Thorn,” Colin said. “I been calling him the Jester, because he thinks he’s funny.”
She looked at the Jester, and then at the pot on the stove. “You seem to have something in mind.”
There was no use in lying to her. “I’m gonna wake him up, and get some answers,” Colin said.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s my job, you know.”
“And you’ll tell the answers to the bosses. But I got my own questions, want my own answers.”
She gave him a look he couldn’t quite figure out. He didn’t know her, despite her obvious years in the Princes. Had she been here, doing Vessrin’s dirtiest work, apart from the rest of the Princes all this time? He had no idea.
“Why?”
“Because I have my own numbers to balance, and I want to know how this guy figures in it.”
Bassa crossed over, looking at the Jester. “He’s a fingers man.”
“What?”
“Look at the nails on him. He takes care of them. He values his fingers.”
That was right. He said something like that in the fight.
“Thanks.”
“I’m going back to sleep. Anyone asks, I didn’t wake up when you came. I never saw you.”
Colin couldn’t help himself. It didn’t make sense. “Why?”
She glanced back at him. “Because I owed your pop from way back. He never got to call that marker.” She went back into her room.
Colin went to the water on the stove. It was hot. Not scalding: he could stick a finger in there for a moment. Hot enough. He took the pot over to the Jester. Unmasked, decloaked, he was just some guy. More Colin’s age than Veranix’s. Nothing very remarkable about him.
Colin threw the water in his face.
The Jester woke up, sputtering invectives and curses.
“Welcome back,” Colin said. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
“Oh, the Prince has questions. Lovely.”
Colin grabbed one of Bassa’s sharp tools. “I do. And if I don’t get answers, you lose a finger.”
“I lose what?”
“So, first off, are you acting on your own, or were you working with someone?” He slid the blades of the tool around the Jester’s first finger.
“Oh, saints,” the Jester said. “Leave it be. I was hired. And not paid enough for this.”
“Really?” Colin asked, leaving the tool right where it was. “Who hired you, and to do what, exactly?”
“I did what I was asked. Play the Thorn. Go after the old Red Rabbits. And hit the constables so they would go after him.”
>
“The plan was as simple as that?”
“As far as he cared to tell me.”
“Who’s ‘he’?”
“A bloke by the name of Bell.”
Bell. That was interesting. One of Fenmere’s lieutenants. The one Vee liked to taunt.
“All right, Mister—”
“Don. Erno Don. Wandering troubadour and bow for hire.”
“And mouthy bastard.”
“Make no claims to the contrary. Blazes, that’s what Bell liked about me.”
“So you were the one who attacked the constables? Including the lieutenant?”
“I can tell you, Prince. It ain’t gonna go to a court or nothing. That was my job. The whole neighborhood thought I was the Thorn. Quite the performance.”
“You’re quite pleased with yourself.”
“I did what I was hired to do, and I did it well. Who wouldn’t be pleased by that?”
“You think the Princes are going to let you live with what you did?”
Erno raised an eyebrow. “You talk like you’re not one of them.”
“Not one of the bosses. I don’t think they’ll be as . . . gentle as I’m being.”
“Look, I need my fingers. They’re my real livelihood.”
“This the troubadour thing?”
“These fingers are magic on the guit-box and viol.”
“Well,” Colin said, sliding the cutting tool so it almost sliced the skin on Erno’s first finger. “Then let’s talk about where I’ll find Mister Bell.”
Kaiana was done waiting. It was enough after two bells to be worried. She dug out a pair of work boots, slacks, and leather apron. She dressed quickly and quietly, and went back out into the stables of the carriage house.
Delmin had dozed off in a corner, while Jiarna was hard at work at her table. Kaiana was astounded at how quickly Jiarna had taken to everything they did, how fully she embraced it. She was still working at her method of tracking the drug—which may not have been effitte, a point that troubled Kaiana—despite it being the middle of the night.
Phadre had gone off for supplies and food. Where he was going to procure those things in the middle of the night was a mystery to Kaiana, but he had left with such confidence she wasn’t going to question it.
“Are you the Gardener?” Jiarna asked, not looking up from her notebook.
“I was going to bring the big shovel with me,” Kaiana said. “It’s a solid weapon.”
“I think it’s a mistake.” Jiarna pushed the book away and rubbed at her eyes. “I mean, I understand why, don’t get me wrong. But if Veranix is in trouble, all you’ll accomplish is getting yourself in a similar mess.”
“If I believed that, he’d have died in the brewery and the campus would have burned.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled ruefully. “Truth is, I wish I had something here in all my work I could give you to help. But I’ve been so focused—”
“You’ve done amazing things here, Jiarna,” Kaiana said. “I’m still wondering why.”
“I spent four years here, studying and fighting to be noticed. Fighting for my work. Professors ignored me, scoffed at my ideas. Veranix didn’t. Of course, he thought I was the Prankster, but that was kind of flattering. He believed I was capable of that.”
“Aren’t you?”
“In terms of the science? Not yet. I would love to look at Cuse Jensett’s notebooks. He figured out things . . . But that’s not the point. You all take me seriously. And there is something positively thrilling in what he does.”
Kaiana picked up the shovel. “Thrilling, but very stupid. Which is why I’m going to have to—”
The doors opened, and Phadre poked his head in. “A little assistance, if you would.” He came in the rest of the way, half dragging Veranix along with him.
“What the blazes happened?” Kaiana asked, coming to help take Veranix off of him. “Is he hurt?”
“No,” Veranix muttered. He looked up with effort, as if his head was too heavy for his neck. “Just exhausted.”
“I found him on the grass, crawling,” Phadre said. “Lucky it was me, and not campus cadets.”
“Getting over the wall took it out of me,” Veranix mumbled.
“Why is he—what’s wrong with him?” Kaiana asked.
Delmin had roused. “What’s going on?”
“Vee’s back, but he’s a mess.”
“Just need to rest.”
Delmin came over. “Saints, what all is that?” He pointed to Veranix’s left arm. The cloak was wrapped around it. “Get it off him. The numinic swirls, they’re . . . mad.”
Kaiana and Jiarna unwrapped his arm, finding the rope under the cloak. Taking that off, there was a shackle bound to his wrist.
“Great saints,” Delmin said. “That’s—”
“A mage shackle,” Veranix said. “Can someone get it off of me?”
“The rutting blazes?” Delmin shouted. “How the rutting blazes do you have a blazing mage shackle on your wrist? Were you arrested?”
“Things—things didn’t progress that far. Some interruptions.”
“Interruptions.” Delmin stalked off. “This is all too much. What am I doing here? Why am I—”
“Ease down, chap,” Phadre said. “This looks bad, but—”
“Looks bad? It looks like he was a hair away from being dragged off to Quarrygate! And what do you think would have happened when it went to trial? You think it wouldn’t have ended with each of us being dragged out in irons?”
Phadre nodded, trying to reach out to Delmin. “It didn’t, though, so let’s stay calm.”
“Everything is falling apart. Everything. You, the professor, the department.”
Kaiana didn’t have time to deal with Delmin’s panic. She dug a hammer and trowel out of her tools. “Let’s get that off him.”
“Delmin,” Veranix wheezed. “Come over here.”
“You think you can get it off with that?” Jiarna asked Kaiana quietly. “Phadre and Delmin wouldn’t be able to magic it off.”
“I presumed,” Kaiana said. “I think I can break it.” She knelt down next to Veranix.
“I cannot handle this,” Delmin said.
“Talk to him,” Kaiana said. “Distract him while I do this.” She looked at the shackle, finding the seam.
“Is it going to hurt?” Veranix asked. He looked so exhausted.
“I can’t promise that it won’t. Delmin.”
Delmin came over. “This is getting too dangerous. I don’t think you should—”
“You said something, Del. The professor. The department. What’s happening?”
Kaiana wedged the tip of the trowel into the crack of the shackle. “Tell him.”
“I was at the professor’s office,” Delmin began. “I was supposed to have another interview with Inspector Rainey, under the professor’s supervision.”
“Inspector Rainey,” Veranix said. “She was there tonight . . .”
“She’s not important, not entirely,” Delmin said. “When I got there, the professor was meeting with someone from Druth Intelligence. A mage.”
“What for?”
Kaiana had the trowel in place. She lined up the hammer to the handle.
“I only heard a bit,” Delmin said. “But, from what I understood, the department is lacking in funds, or is being pressured financially—”
Veranix nodded weakly. “That’s why he was being amicable with the Blue Hand Circle.”
Kaiana gave Delmin a hard look. She was ready to hit the shackle.
“So this Intelligence officer is going to be a professor,” Delmin said. “But he’s going to be part of some special projects. Alimen was very upset about it.”
“What kind of projects?” Veranix asked.
Kaiana brought
down the hammer.
“Rolling rutting blazes!” Veranix shouted.
The shackle cracked a little, but didn’t open.
“Going to have to do it again,” Kaiana said.
“Do what you have to.” Veranix turned back to Delmin, keeping his eyes on him. “What kind of projects?”
“I’m not sure. But—this was the really strange part.”
Kaiana brought the hammer down again. Veranix screamed again. The shackle loosened a bit more.
“The officer, he was upset that Alimen had failed to hold on to Golmin and Kay.” He nodded over to Phadre and Jiarna. “That their work was the sort of thing he needed for the Altarn Initiative.”
“Professor Salarmin made us a very generous offer,” Phadre said. “I was quite surprised that word of our work had reached Trenn College.”
“I had been writing him for months,” Jiarna said. “But he hadn’t paid attention until after we got our letters.”
“This officer really laid into Alimen over you two going to Trenn,” Delmin said.
“Well, we are quite a loss to U of M,” Jiarna said. “I’m glad that’s appreciated.” She clicked her tongue. “Did you say Altarn Initiative?”
“That mean something to you?” Delmin asked.
“It’s familiar,” Jiarna said, shaking her head. “I can’t recall where I read it, though.”
“One more blow,” Kaiana said.
“Do it,” Veranix said. He reached out and grabbed Delmin’s hand, squeezing tight.
Kaiana brought down the hammer hard.
The shackle cracked off.
Veranix cried out, pulling Delmin in close to him.
“That’s such a relief,” he said after a moment, releasing Delmin.
“Did I break your wrist?”
“No,” he said. “But it hurts like blazes.”
“And the rest of you?”
“Sleep,” Veranix said drowsily. “Can I just fall here?”
Kaiana nodded. “Of course.”
“I didn’t ask,” Veranix said almost inaudibly. “How did it go for you?”
“I played crownball,” Kaiana said.
“That’s dangerous,” he mumbled.
The Imposters of Aventil Page 31
