“He told me that later. He’d already said that he’d had the master armorer look at the first blades. He said he didn’t want to claim they were cupridium unless the master armorer agreed.”
“Jorhan’s nobody’s fool.”
“Veroyt cornered Cohndar later and said that he didn’t appreciate that Cohndar had made Jhaldrak look incompetent,” added Athaal.
“He told you that?”
“When he came by here. He thought we ought to know,” replied Athaal.
“I didn’t think this would cause trouble for you two.”
Meldryn laughed. “More trouble for Cohndar, I think.”
“Veroyt got him to admit that the blades were perfectly ordered,” added Athaal. “And that you were definitely black, and not white or gray.”
“Do you know what else he said?” Beltur couldn’t help but be worried.
“He admitted you’re black. He claimed that you aren’t black in the right way, more like a mountain cat mimicking a mastiff, or a strong mongrel dog that couldn’t be either a herding dog or a guard dog, too independent to be one and too fierce to be the other, and that you weren’t the kind of black that would do credit to Spidlar. Then Jhaldrak asked how rediscovering how to forge cupridium was a bad thing for Spidlar. In the end, Jhaldrak declared that the Council wasn’t about to rule on fine shadings of how black was black, that you’d done good work with the City Patrol and that the Council had to act in accord with the laws based on acts, not feelings. Cohndar sputtered something about how he was only trying to warn the Council.”
“Warn them about what? That I was a total disaster as a white because I was really a black all along?”
“I don’t think it’s that,” mused Meldryn, drawing out his words. “He didn’t like the way you picked up the silver order in the songs at the Traders’ Rest. Maybe because it came so easily. Or because you healed Claudyt’s grandson.”
“Mostly healed.”
“You saved his life.” Athaal shook his head. “Some people are never satisfied.”
“We can’t change Cohndar,” said Meldryn. “We might as well enjoy dinner.”
Beltur could agree with both of them … and he was hungry. But he still worried. And he didn’t like being compared to a mongrel dog.
XLI
On fourday morning, Beltur left the house even earlier. He definitely wanted to be at Patrol headquarters well before seventh glass. After what had happened on threeday, the last thing he wanted was to be late. As he walked south on Bakers Lane, he kept thinking about Jessyla, even as he kept telling himself that he really knew so little about her, and that she might not want to be more than friends with him, especially if she came to know more about him.
Still … his thoughts were pleasant, at least until he reached City Patrol headquarters, and the duty patroller motioned to him even before he could reach the table desk to sign the duty book. “After you sign in, the Patrol Mage wants to see you.”
“Did he say why?”
“Does he ever?”
Beltur had to smile at the ironic tone. Then he signed the book and made his way through the inner door to Osarus’s study.
The older mage gestured for Beltur to sit down. “Laevoyt told me you knew I was at the market square on sevenday. How did you know? I never dropped my concealment.”
“I could sense you. You have a very distinct and ordered presence. Most times, I have to meet someone several times to be able to recognize them from within a concealment.”
“You did that from within a concealment?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Did you sense what Trader Eskeld’s daughter was doing from within a concealment?”
“No, ser. I was in plain sight. I did sense what she was doing. She was behind me a bit.”
Osarus nodded. “That explains some aspects of the matter.”
“I had no idea who she was. Neither did Laevoyt.”
“That was probably for the best. We talked to all the jewelry vendors. This isn’t the first time this has happened. No one has been caught before. There might be some reasons for that, but that’s not your business. The captain had to go talk to the trader. The trader insisted it was all a misunderstanding, that she just wanted to show it to him so that he would buy it for her.”
“Was he anywhere around?” asked Beltur.
“Of course not. He paid for the ring, and added a gold for the misunderstanding. The jeweler got the ring back and a gold. He’s mostly happy. The captain suggested to the trader that it would be best if future misunderstandings were avoided. He explained that mages and patrollers were rotated and that, if such events occurred in the future, other patrollers and mages might not recognize his daughter. He was careful not to name either of you. I would suggest you avoid Eskeld’s establishment for some time. He’s a prominent mercer.”
“I doubt I’ll be buying any cloth anytime soon, ser.”
“One other thing, Beltur. You both did a good job. It could have been very embarrassing. The captain and I told Laevoyt that, but you needed to know as well. Now … go find your partner.”
“Yes, ser.” Despite the commendation, Beltur somehow felt that he’d narrowly escaped being struck by lightning … or a chaos-bolt. He nodded, left the small study, and made his way out in into the duty room, where Laevoyt was waiting.
“You ready to go, Beltur?”
“As ready as you are.”
Once they left headquarters, Laevoyt cleared his throat, meaningfully. “The Patrol Mage or the captain?”
“The Patrol Mage. He said we did a good job in handling the trader’s daughter. I have the feeling that the captain did a better job in handing the trader.”
“That’s what he gets all those silvers for.” Laevoyt offered a sardonic laugh. “I wouldn’t want to have to deal with the Council and the traders. They’re harder than a cupridium copper.”
“If the daughter is any indication…” Beltur shook his head.
“There’s one other thing. One of the councilor’s assistants was asking about you the other day. You want to tell me what that was about?”
That didn’t exactly surprise Beltur. “I’m not exactly a typical black. I learned most of what I know and can do late. And I don’t know many people here. But Athaal knew a smith, and he thought I might be able to help him. I’ve been working for him just a little longer than I’ve been on Patrol duty. We’ve figured out a way to make cupridium for blades and for other things. Someone complained that it wasn’t real cupridium. So yesterday, Councilor Jhaldrak, his assistant, an older black mage, and the Council armorer showed up at the smithy. After going through everything, they decided that we were indeed forging cupridium. I don’t think the mage was very happy about it.”
“That wasn’t Cohndar, was it?”
“Why do you think that?” Beltur asked warily.
“Because I’ve had to work with him. He’s never that happy about anything, except maybe good ale.”
“Anyway, the councilor decided that what we were doing was within the law and that it might even raise some tariff coins.”
“He probably thought about the second thing first. For a young mage, you seem to get stuck in some tight spots.”
“Lack of experience,” Beltur said lightly. “I had a very sheltered childhood.” As they neared the market square, he rearranged the patrol medallion so that it showed and eased the whistle at the end of the lanyard out from under his tunic. He didn’t see Fosset and his ale cart, but seventh glass was too early for many customers.
By sometime after ninth glass, Beltur had caught no sight of any lawbreaking. Nor had he sensed anything, and Laevoyt, when they met at ninth glass, had also seen nothing. Yet Beltur had the vague feeling that there were cutpurses and thieves lurking around the square, possibly even successfully enough to have made off with coins or belt wallets as yet unmissed by their victims. Aren’t you just imagining that?
He didn’t think so.
Rather than continue his irregular atte
mpts at covering the entire market square, he decided simply to go where the crowds were thickest while maintaining a concealment in hopes of sensing more than vague feelings. As he neared the tables and stalls where the crowds were heavier, he could sense an intermittent flickering of chaos but it came and went so quickly that he couldn’t pinpoint it. He’d thought that the crowds would be the thickest around the stalls that offered the higher-priced goods—silks, laces, jewelry, even the rarer spices like saffron and pepper—but there were more people around the tables that held tools, such as pincers, pliers, awls, augers, saws, and, surprisingly, needles.
Still, for all of the crowding and the continuing flickers of chaos here and there, Beltur could sense neither theft nor assaults, and no one cried out. Finally, at first glass, he met with Laevoyt on the corner once more.
“It’s quiet,” offered the patroller.
“There are thieves and cutpurses there. I know it, but…”
“That’s because they know you’re here. Someone passed the word. The next time we patrol together, you should stay concealed from the time we leave headquarters.” A smile followed Laevoyt’s words. “That’s not all bad, you know. Part of what we’re supposed to do is to stop the stealing, not just catch people who do it.”
Beltur nodded. Except he had looked forward to earning a few more silvers.
“Stay in plain sight. Go get an ale from Fosset. Let them see you. Then disappear.”
Beltur took Laevoyt’s advice and made his way down West Street to where the innkeeper’s nephew had his cart. “I think I could stand an ale, Fosset, if you could spare one.”
“I can do that, Mage, that I can.”
“Thank you,” said Beltur as he took the small mug. “It’s warm. Not so warm as it has been, but warm enough.”
“You’ll be wanting it warm when you’re patrolling here in winter.”
“Does anyone sell anything in winter?” asked Beltur.
“More than you’d think, but only in the afternoon, and only when there’s been time to clear the snow.”
“It’s been quiet today.”
“It is when they know a mage is around. Unless they know he’s not that good a mage.”
Beltur nodded, deciding not to comment, and finished the ale. He handed the mug back to Fosset. “Thank you, again.”
“Happy to do it.”
Beltur returned to patrolling the square, largely under concealment. While he still sensed the flickers of chaos, as Laevoyt had suggested, there didn’t seem to be a single instance of theft for the remaining three glasses of his duty, at least not one that he or Laevoyt found or that any vendor reported.
So much for any additional silvers, reflected Beltur as he and Laevoyt walked back west on Patrol Street toward headquarters.
When he signed the duty book at the end of his tour, the duty patroller said, “Starting after eightday, Mage, for the next two eightdays, you’re to be here on threeday and sevenday.”
“With Patroller Laevoyt or someone else?”
“You have the same patroller for the whole ten eightdays.”
“Thank you.” Beltur straightened to say something to Laevoyt, but the tall patroller had already left the headquarters building.
Beltur hurried out and strode briskly to Hill Street and up to the Council building, immediately making his way to Raymandyl’s table desk.
The clerk smiled ruefully. “Mage, you’re cutting it close. We close at half past fourth glass.”
“I’m sorry. I had duty today. Oh … and there are also these.” Beltur handed over the three leather token disks.
Raymandyl’s eyes widened. “I don’t often see that many of these at once.”
“That’s for three days of patrolling. We got a team of cutpurses one day and a swap thief on the other day.”
“Oh … you came late, and this includes today?”
“No. We didn’t find any thieves today.”
Raymandyl brought out two ledgers. “This one is for your pay. Sign there.”
Beltur signed.
“And this one you’ve seen.”
After Beltur signed in the second ledger, the clerk added his seal and said, “You get two silvers for the last eightday, and six for the disks. Eight silvers. That’s not bad for your first eightday. That doesn’t even count the two you got before you went on patrol duty.” Raymandyl unlocked the side cabinet and counted out the silvers, then put them on the table desk before Beltur.
Beltur took them and carefully placed them in his belt wallet. “Now I can begin to repay Athaal and Meldryn for everything.” Sensing a certain puzzlement, Beltur added, “I had eight coppers to my name when I got to Elparta. They took me in until I could earn enough because a healer who knew them asked.” Again, that was a great oversimplification.
“I wondered…”
Beltur had thought he might have. “They’re good people, and I respect them both, but we are different.”
“That’s good to know. They’re both very good people.”
“They are,” Beltur repeated, “and Meldryn makes eating there a pleasure.” He nodded. “I’ll see you in another eightday, and I’ll try to be earlier.”
“You could come in the mornings.”
Beltur smiled. “Right now I’m fortunate to be working most days, and I have to be there early. I might be able to come in the afternoon, though.”
“Working? At regular times?”
“I’m helping a smith.” Before Raymandyl could question further, Beltur added, “There are a few other people I need to repay for their help and kindness.”
The clerk shook his head. “Some of you blacks … you have to, don’t you?”
Beltur nodded, although he’d never felt compelled, but what was right was right.
“Better you than me. Give my best to Athaal.”
“I’ll do that.” Beltur easily managed a friendly smile before he turned and left the Council building.
As he made his way to Bakers Lane, he found his thoughts centering on Jessyla, wondering if and when she and her mother would be leaving Elparta, since Margrena had implied that she’d prefer any city or town in Spidlar but the one in which her older sister lived. Or are they stuck here for the same reasons you are? That was all too likely, he suspected.
When Beltur finally entered Athaal and Meldryn’s house and reached the kitchen, Athaal rose from where he’d placed something in one of the hearth ovens. “Veroyt sent me a message. The Gallosian army is only about an eightday away. I’ll be shielding the command group. It’s about all I can do. I can’t juggle as many containment shields as you can. He asked me what you could do, besides help forge cupridium.”
Denardre’s actually going to attack Spidlar? For a moment, Beltur didn’t know what to say, but finally managed a few words. “Besides that, the only magery I’m good at—I mean—in terms of battles and fighting—is the same as you. That’s shields.”
Athaal nodded. “Good. That’s what I told him.”
“Do you really think they’ll want me in the army?”
“They don’t want any of us in the Council forces. They want us there to protect those forces, especially against Wyath and his chaos-mages. The Council will need every mage it can find.” Athaal paused. “Are you certain you can’t do anything else?”
“I wasn’t much good with chaos, even with Uncle instructing me. I told you that.” Beltur thought about the one time he’d managed to half create a lightning bolt. “He once said that some black mages could create lightning bolts.”
“He did? Did he say anything about how they did it?”
“Only that it involved order, and that it wasn’t that much different from regular lightning bolts. I think he meant that there had to be clouds and some sort of storm.” His uncle hadn’t so much said as implied that.
“That doesn’t sound all that useful. No one’s going to attack in the middle of a storm.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You can’t c
hange what he said.” Athaal shook his head. “Would you go tell Meldryn that dinner’s almost ready?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Athaal turned to the worktable.
Beltur headed for the bakery. Could you call a lightning bolt again? Should you try? Even as those questions crossed his mind, they made him feel uneasy, very uneasy.
XLII
Fiveday morning Beltur again rose early, this time because he wanted to catch both Meldryn and Athaal in the kitchen before Meldryn returned to the bakery.
“You’re up early,” offered Meldryn from where he sat at one end of the kitchen table as Beltur hurried into the kitchen. Athaal, seated at the other end, just nodded, with a bemused smile on his face.
“That’s because I wanted to talk to you both.”
“This must be serious.” Meldryn’s smile belied his deep and serious voice.
“It is. I’ve thought this over. I just can’t do this the way you suggested.” Beltur laid two silvers on the table. “Even two silvers a week won’t cover what you’re feeding me, but it will help more, and so long as I’m working with Jorhan and getting paid by the Council as a patrol mage, I can at least do this.”
The two exchanged glances.
Then Athaal grinned. “I told Mel you’d do something like this. You can’t not be fair.”
“Or at least as fair as I can afford,” Beltur added ruefully, although he knew he could afford a bit more. But only for this eightday and perhaps the next. One thing he had learned was not to count on anything promised until it was in hand.
“For now,” said Meldryn. “If you make fewer coins, then pay us less … or nothing.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“We all do,” replied Meldryn, “but the world doesn’t respond to hope. Sometimes, it even ignores hard work and great effort.”
“Sometimes,” added Athaal sardonically, “those who are evil are the hardest workers, and everyone wonders why they prosper.”
“Enough philosophy,” said Meldryn, rising from the kitchen table. “I need to get to the bakery, and you two have work to do.”
Beltur took a mug out and tapped some ale from the small keg, then took a platter and seated himself at his place at the table, noting that Athaal had not quite finished eating. There was more than enough of the ham and cheesed eggs left on the serving platter, and a small loaf of bread was beside his place as well. He smiled. “Meldryn bakes the best bread. The best everything, really.”
The Mongrel Mage Page 39
