by Juliet Kemp
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Cato scowled down at the tabletop.
“I’ve changed my mind. Why didn’t we just invite the woman to my rooms.”
He looked up at Reb just as she rolled her eyes. “You don’t even slightly mean that. Stop being annoying.”
“Or yours.”
“You wouldn’t be any happier in my rooms than you are here. And I’m not having that woman know where I live.” Her jaw set, suddenly and firmly, and Cato looked speculatively at her, almost distracted from his complaints.
“Anyway,” Reb said. “You didn’t have to come, if you didn’t like the meeting or the venue.”
They were in a tediously respectable pub on the Marekhill side of Old Bridge, just off Marek Square. Reb had bespoken a private room, with some nonsense about how the Teren Lieutenant deserved a little privacy. Fine, Cato wouldn’t have wanted to have this conversation in public either, but he didn’t really hold with hierarchy. The one thing both of them had agreed was that they weren’t going to go to Selene, as if Marek’s sorcerers were there to be summoned by this dignitary or that. She would have to come to them. Almost annoyingly, she hadn’t seemed at all perturbed when Reb had messaged to that effect.
Reb had wondered whether they should be bespeaking dinner rather than merely infusions – or in Cato’s case, a beer – but Cato had put his foot down. If he’d wanted to have polite conversation over indigestible food, he’d have stayed in bloody Marekhill.
“Oh, but I am a crucial part of this bloody Group of yours, aren’t I?” Cato said. “So I did have to come.”
Reb, he could tell, was absolutely desperate to tell him to shove off out of the Group if he wanted to, except that he also knew she didn’t want him to do anything of the sort, both because she could hardly claim to have oversight of Marek’s magic all by herself; and because Beckett seemed convinced that it needed both of them. Seeing just how far he could push her towards regretting the whole business was entertaining by itself.
Although if he got as far as annoying Beckett, it might be slightly less entertaining.
What, though, had Reb so strangely-tempered about the Teren Lieutenant.
“Oh! I remember! You’re Teren, aren’t you?” She’d said something about it, years ago, during one of their run-ins back in the day, when he’d done something that had aggravated the Group. “That’s why you’re irritable about the woman before we’ve even met her.”
Reb eyed him with great and evident dislike. She didn’t agree, but she didn’t disagree either, which was basically as good as proof.
“When did you come to Marek?” Cato asked. “Why did you come to Marek? I mean, obviously, it’s a delightful city and so on, clearly far superior to anywhere in Teren…”
“How would you know? You’ve never so much as set foot outside the city boundaries,” Reb said, with unfortunate accuracy.
“Marek doesn’t have boundaries. We have swamp,” Cato said. “And the Oval Sea. That’s the whole point of Marek, no? In any case. I’m guessing it was magic.” Another thought occurred to him, with what felt like blinding insight. “You’ve practised Teren magic, haven’t you. How interesting.”
Reb slammed a hand down on the table.
“None of that is any of your damned business, and I am not going to speak to you of it, do you hear me?”
Cato looked at her, carefully, and decided to back off. He raised his hands, considering whether he might go so far as something that sounded a bit like an apology, when there was a knock on the door.
“Your visitor’s here, honoured ones,” the innkeeper said. She was obviously uncomfortable to be housing two sorcerers at once. She showed the visitor through with almost excessive haste, and departed again even faster.
The Teren Lord Lieutenant was a short, dark-skinned woman. Her long hair was done up in a complicated plait and wound around her head in a way that spoke of someone used to having a maid assist her. Her dress was richly embroidered. If Cato were inclined to think that way, he might have felt slightly uncomfortable about his own somewhat grubby clothing.
As it was, he smiled widely at her and slouched back in his chair.
“Lord Lieutenant.”
Reb had stood up to greet her with a nod of the head. Sorcerers did not shake hands, something which he ought to remember to explain to Jonas.
“Selene will do.” She sat down in the other chair, and Reb sat down with her.
“I’m Reb. This is my colleague Cato.”
Cato raised a casual hand, and the Lord Lieutenant – Selene – nodded over at him.
“You are the representatives of Marek’s sorcerers?”
They were Marek’s sorcerers – well, if you didn’t count Jonas – but he wasn’t surprised when Reb just nodded.
“I gather you have a problem that you wished to talk to us about?” Reb said.
“Yes. Well. I will keep it brief. A demon was raised, close to Ameten, a few weeks ago.”
“That’s a regular part of Teren sorcery, isn’t it?” Cato asked.
“Indeed.” Selene’s voice sounded tight. “However, as a rule, the sorcerer raising the spirit, of whatever type, takes steps to return it to its own plane after their work is completed.”
“And this one didn’t,” Cato guessed. “Oh dear.” He couldn’t see what the problem was; couldn’t someone else just return them?
“There are ways of dealing with that, too,” Reb said. She sounded more uncompromising than usual, and when Cato looked over to her, her arms were tightly folded.
“Indeed,” Selene said again.
“Which are?” Cato asked.
“Sacrifice the sorcerer,” Reb said.
Cato’s eyebrows went up. Possibly he should know a little more about Teren sorcery, but it had never seemed particularly relevant. “Kill them?” It seemed… excessive.
“Yes,” Selene said, impatiently. “We could not do that in this case.”
Cato was definitely regretting not knowing more about Teren sorcery. Both Reb and Selene were several steps ahead of him, and he hated that feeling; but he would hate it even more if he had to ask. He could ask Reb, later, maybe, if he absolutely had to, although doubtless she would gloat over it. Not out loud – quietly, where he couldn’t see – but he would know. In any case, he certainly wasn’t going to ask here and now. He settled for slouching back a bit further and nodding slightly, to suggest that he knew what they were on about.
“Why not?” Reb asked.
“The sorcerer ran,” Selene said. “We have not tracked them down since, despite our best efforts.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. She wasn’t happy, having to ask for assistance.
“And what of the demon?”
“A group of the Academy’s sorcerers trapped it, but they weren’t able to return it, and it escaped again. At present, it is roaming – we assume, looking for the original sorcerer.”
“Roaming where?” Reb demanded.
“We do not know. There is no word of it.”
Reb’s eyebrows flickered upwards for a moment. “No word of it? Then it isn’t causing any real problems?”
“Perhaps not yet,” Selene said, “but I hardly feel…”
“Yes, yes, certainly,” Reb said. “However. I understand your concerns, but what do you intend us to do about it?”
“Two things. Firstly – well. Marek has its own spirit.” She looked uncomfortable.
“You wondered if the cityangel could help,” Reb concluded.
“Why should they?” Cato demanded. He didn’t have to know exactly what was being asked to bristle at the idea of Beckett being hassled by Teren. “And, come to that, why should they be able to?”
“The Marek cityangel does not tolerate other beings within the city,” Selene said. “That is well known.”
That was mostly accurate. There were ways around it – that stupid business Marcia had got herself tangled up in back when they were teenagers – but Beckett had reacted pretty strongly to that, not to mention succ
essfully, via Reb and her then-mentor Zareth. At the cost, of course, of Zareth’s life.
It had never occurred to Cato before now to wonder what would have happened if Reb and Zareth hadn’t succeeded. But that wasn’t something to bring up right now. Instead he nodded, and repeated, “But that’s in Marek, not out in Teren. Bluntly, this is your problem, not ours.”
“Marek is a part of Teren,” Selene said “And it would perhaps be useful to both Marek and Ameten if our sorcerers could work together, rather than apart. I would be very happy to see the bonds between us strengthened.”
Beckett couldn’t go outside the city’s boundaries, which would make collaboration difficult; and Cato didn’t particularly want closer bonds with Teren. If anything the opposite. However, he wasn’t going to give away the former piece of information, and although getting into the latter argument might be entertaining, it wouldn’t get them anywhere useful. He settled for a distant nod.
“Additionally,” Selene said, “our information indicates that the sorcerer who raised the thing is moving towards Marek. Seeking, we believe, to hide here. They may, indeed, already be here. Even if you are unwilling or unable to assist with the demon, we would ask for your help in locating the sorcerer.”
Reb nodded. “I see.”
Cato saw, too. And he didn’t like the idea of turning another sorcerer over to be executed, regardless of what they’d done.
“We’ll have to consider it,” Reb said. “And I can tell you that, so far, I haven’t heard of any such person. But we may be able to look for them.”
“When do you think you will be able to give me an answer?”
“I will send word as soon as I can,” Reb said. “Tomorrow, if possible.”
“My thanks.” Selene rose. “I won’t take any more of your time.” She nodded towards both of them. “Sorcerers.”
The door shut behind her, and Reb let out an explosive noise.
“A demon in Teren, uncontrolled. Storms and angels.”
“Well, it’s not up to anything at the moment, apparently,” Cato said. “So maybe it’s not that much of a problem.”
“That it hasn’t done anything so far doesn’t mean it won’t.” Reb paused. “How long could you control something like that?”
“A while,” Cato said, which was a bit of a lie. “If I worked that way. Which if you recall, I don’t. I do deals, between planes. I don’t bring spirits over here, still less bind them, because that’s a stupid idea, not to mention far more work. Honestly. Bloody Teren. Does this really have to be our problem?”
“Well, no, it doesn’t.” Reb shrugged. “If it does come here, Beckett won’t let it in. It might take a fair bit to keep it out, though.”
“It could come here?” Cato sat up in a hurry.
“Of course it bloody could,” Reb said. “I thought you were supposed to be the expert in spirits?”
“Well, I know it could, but why would it? If it’s wandering around Teren, why wouldn’t it just stay there?”
Reb shrugged. “Following this sorcerer, for starters. But in any case, we’re part of the same land-mass. The swamp’s not going to stop a demon.”
Cato shuddered. “Well then. Fine, I see why we might want to do something about it, if it does get closer. Where by ‘we’ I mostly mean ‘Beckett’.”
“If Beckett will,” Reb said. “But there’s no point in thinking about it unless and until it happens. Beckett can’t act outside the city.”
“If it does come here,” Cato said, “you can talk to Beckett. They like you better.” It was true. Slightly annoying, but true. Beckett made Cato nervous, now that they were actually moving around in Marek as opposed to just… being there, in some kind of abstract hypothetical sense, making magic work. On the whole, Cato had preferred the latter state of affairs; but there was no point in wasting time sighing over that, especially since, arguably, he had been partly responsible for the change.
“Anyway,” Reb said. “What Selene asked directly was, are we prepared to track down a Teren sorcerer and hand them over?”
“To be sacrificed,” Cato said.
Reb grimaced. “Yes. I didn’t think you liked the idea of that, the face on you when she mentioned it.”
“I don’t,” Cato said, fervently. “But it would get rid of the demon, apparently, and I like even less the idea of a demon coming here. I could well do without seeing a fight between spirits ever again. Whoever did this was an idiot. I’d rather they paid for it than me.” He swung his feet off the table and onto the floor.
“Are you saying that we do track them down, then?” Reb demanded.
“Ugh. I don’t know. Can we leave it for a day or two, see if Teren manages to track them down without us?”
“You’re putting off the decision in the hope that you don’t have to be responsible for it,” Reb said, flatly.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“For the love of the angel, Cato. Have you no sense of duty?”
“Uh. No. I haven’t. Have you met me?”
Reb pressed her lips together, obviously keeping in any one of a number of things she was considering saying. After a moment, she said, tightly, “Very well. When are you willing to revisit that?”
Cato gave an enormous sigh. “Two days from now, I suppose.” And once two days came, he could probably put it off for at least a couple more.
“What if something happens? The demon comes here, or we hear of it acting in Teren?”
“Fine, if something happens, I’ll think about it again. Happy?”
“Not really,” Reb said. “But very well. Two days.”
“Are we done now?”
“Yes,” Reb said, rolling her eyes again. “Off you go, back to your den of iniquity.”
“I quite like that,” Cato said, standing up. “Den of iniquity. Sounds good. See you in two days, then, unless Teren manage to sort out their own damn problem before then. Let’s hope, eh?”
ELEVEN
Marcia left the bank the next morning in a very cheerful frame of mind; the stones Captain Barcola had brought back were excellent, to her eye. She took a couple of samples to show to the Jewellers’ Guild representative she was due to meet with, and withdrew enough money to pay the soldiers, who invariably preferred hard cash to bankers’ notes. Hard cash sufficient to pay a dozen soldiers was heavy enough, and worth enough, that she’d brought a couple of the House servants with her. Gen, one of the footmen, carried the bag, and Hetta walked beside him and Marcia, the thick stick swinging in her hand and her stern face hopefully enough to put off the casual footpad.
Once she’d delivered the wages at the barracks – Captain Barcola looked well enough, and had her reports ready, but some of the soldiers Marcia saw slumped over their breakfast looked more than a little green about the edges from their night out – she sent Gen home again. After a moment’s thought, she dismissed Hetta too. It wasn’t likely that someone in half-formal House dress (she’d even painted her face, just at the cheekbones, enough to emphasise her status during the discussions with the Jewellers Guild, not so much that it wasn’t clear that this was a friendly arrangement) would be attacked mid-morning in broad daylight in the middle of Marek Square, and the pocketful of stones she was carrying weren’t obvious. If anything, Hetta’s presence would make them more so. Hetta evidently thought otherwise, but inclined her head and went with Gen.
The Jewellers’ Guildhouse was one of the oldest buildings on Marek Square. It was relatively small compared to some of the newer Guildhouses, and plain on the outside; but inside, niches in the walls held glass-fronted strongboxes with examples of particularly beautiful pieces of mastery-work, and the lavish gold paint highlighting parts of the beautifully painted wallpaper demonstrated the Guild’s wealth.
Master Ilana was already waiting for Marcia in the meeting room that she was shown to, with a steaming infusion pot on the table and biscuits on a plate. The Master’s long grey hair was braided back around their narrow face, and their tunic and t
rousers were a rich deep blue under the silver of their mastery cloak.
“Marcia, how delightful,” Ilana said, clasping Marcia’s hands with theirs. The two of them had been working on the mountain-pass trading project for a while now; they were past the formalities.
“Ilana. A pleasant afternoon to you too.”
Infusions in hand, and pleasantries over with, they both took their seats.
“I think you’ll like what the Captain brought back,” Marcia told Ilana, taking the small velvet bag out of her pocket. “I brought a sample, for you to check my eye.”
Ilana pulled a loupe and a cloth out of their cloak pocket, spread the cloth on the table, and gently tipped the stones out onto it.
“Mm. Yes, indeed,” they said, peering at the stones. “Excellent. This is a fair sample?”
“Entirely,” Marcia said. “At least, to my knowledge. I can send word to the bank to allow you to inspect the whole batch, if you’d like.”
“Mm. Yes, please do,” Ilana said. “Excellent though. Well worth what we sent over.” They nodded happily. “Very interested in collaborating again.”
“I’ll keep you informed,” Marcia said. “We may be able to fit another trip in before the weather gets too bad, but I’ll have to consult with the captain.” Though there were many reasons why that hadn’t worked out as planned; the season was only one of them.
“Yes, do keep me informed. Delightful working with you.” They glanced up at the clock. “Do you have time to stay and talk, or do you need to be away to the Council Opening?”
“I’ve a little while before that,” Marcia said. It wasn’t until after noon, though she needed to allow enough time to get into full formal. But while she was here, she wanted to sound Ilana out on the matter of the Council. She sipped at her infusion, and thought over what she wanted to say next.
“Since you mention it,” she began, lightly. “I’ve been thinking about the Council, of late.”
“Ah yes,” Ilana said, in tones so obviously non-committal that it raised Marcia’s interest.
“I…” she paused. “I say this in confidence, you understand.” She wished, suddenly, that she could wipe the face paint off. It itched slightly under her eyes.
