by P. T. Hylton
He dismounted Pluck and handed the reins to the pageboy waiting near the door.
“You treat the animals with any magics?” Zane asked the boy.
“Of course, sir.” The boy’s voice was a nervous squeak. “We apply a balm that induces a dreamless sleep, and another that revives them so they’re fully refreshed and alert when you need them back. He’ll seem like a fresh horse when you next see him, sir.”
Zane flipped the boy a copper. “No balms. No magics. Just fresh hay, you hear?”
The boy nodded, a curious look on his face, and made the coin disappear into his coat.
“And keep him saddled.”
“Planning on making a quick exit, sir?” The boy had a chuckle in his voice.
“Not planning on it, but not planning against it either.” Zane turned and entered Volst Hall.
Gale was waiting for him near the door. The man seemed to have sobered up a bit, and he had a sheen of nervous sweat on his brow. “Mr. Halloway.”
Zane nodded a greeting. “Not regretting inviting me, are you?”
Gale shook his head. “Of course not. But do understand that, as the one who invited you, I’m held responsible for any rules you break. No weapons may be drawn here.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.” Zane glanced past Gale into the banquet room where at least one hundred guests were seated. “Shall we?”
“Of course, of course.” Gale followed Zane into the hall. “Though, I must warn you I won’t be staying long. Lots to do.”
“That’s fine,” Zane said distantly as he took in the room.
Carafes of wine whizzed through the air from table to table, filling glasses and then floating back to the kitchen. Dozens of servants stood along the walls, their hands folded neatly behind their backs. Again, Zane felt a wave of disgust at the unnecessary use of magic. “Must be a whole mess of glides hidden somewhere in this room to make the drinks levitate like that, am I right, Mr. Gale?”
“Mr. Halloway, please!” Gale hissed at him. “Try to remember you’re a guest in this hall. A guest starts asking questions about how magical devices work, and people start getting nervous.”
“Sorry,” Zane muttered. “Where are we sitting?”
Gale pointed to a table in the far corner, as far from the head table as was possible without leaving the room. “Not the grandest of seats, but still…”
Then Zane spotted her. She stood near the head table, wearing a long, colorful dress that hung loosely on her. Her auburn hair was just the right combination of styled and mussed. But the most striking thing about her was the silver tear-shaped medallion that hung from a chain around her neck. He could tell from the way the eyes of those around the room followed her, this was Beth Farns.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
“Wait,” Gale called after him, but Zane was already crossing the room.
He stopped ten feet away from the woman. He waited for her to notice him and when she did, he approached with a calm, casual smile. “Miss Farns, I presume.”
She nodded. “Beth is fine tonight. We’re among friends.”
He shook her hand, holding on just a moment longer than was polite. “It’s an honor. My name’s Zane Halloway.”
She tilted her head. “Are you an abditus?”
He gave a tiny shake of the head. “Ferox, actually.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a real live ferox. But the stories I’ve heard… Is it true one of your lot killed the pirate Longstrain ten years back?”
His smile widened. “My Society is concerned with finding lost things. Any rumors you’ve heard to the contrary are quite unfounded, I’m sure.”
“Have it your way. But I’ll get more out of you yet.” She turned toward the head table. “Henry, be a dear and set another place.” One of the servants rushed forward and began laying out silverware “Mr. Halloway, you must eat with us. I’m fascinated by your line of work.”
He nodded his ascent.
A short, round man with a thinning crop of hair nudged in next to Beth Ferns. “Isn’t there a proverb about not inviting a ferox to eat at your table? Beth, if it were anyone but you—”
“I’ve learned not to listen to proverbs.” She nodded toward the short man. “Mr. Halloway, this is Eric Warbler. He’s the head of the Society.”
Zane shook his hand. “Then you’re the man to see about returning my magic shoes. The seller promised me I’d be able to leap seven leagues.”
“You’re funny, Mr. Halloway,” Warbler said. “Come. Sit with us.”
The first course was served only minutes after Zane sat down. Gale gave Zane a puppy dog look from across the room, but Zane subtly waved him away. The man had served his purpose.
The food arrived on floating platters. The duck came out cold, which was just an excuse for a magical flame to leap out of thin air and roast the meat ten feet above their heads. Zane frowned. He’d long heard the Abditus Society had grown lax in its disciplines, but he hadn’t expected this level of spectacle. He would have thought the craft would be taken at least a little seriously here.
“How much do you know about the magical arts?” Beth asked Zane between courses. The whole table turned with her every question. She was a star among stars here at the head table.
Zane gave her a thin smile. “Just the bits I learned in school. Glides move objects in a blur. Tangles protect, and balms cure. Shimmers change the way we see, and thorns can hurt your enemy.” He dabbed at his face with his napkin. “Something like that, anyway. It’s been a while.”
“Good heavens,” Warbler said with a laugh. “I haven’t heard that poem in forty years!”
“What types of magics do you use in your line of work?” The question came from an older woman with an impossibly long neck. She sat on the other side of Warbler. “Shimmers, I’d imagine. And thorns, surely. Do you use glides?”
“None at all, actually,” Zane said.
“No glides?”
“No magics.”
The table went silent.
After a moment, Warbler said, “He’s just protecting his trade secrets. No shame in that.”
“No, it’s the truth,” Zane said.
Beth leaned toward him. “Why would a ferox avoid using something that would give him a clear advantage? The way I understand it, you lot are always sneaking around, trying to go unseen.”
Zane silently cursed himself for getting sucked into this conversation. But he couldn’t help himself. “If I were to use a shimmer, for example, I would need to worry about counter magics. And the limitations of my shimmer device. And any unexpected side effects.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” Warbler said. “But that’s a bit like saying, I think I’ll walk across the country because if I had a horse I’d have to worry about the possibility of it throwing a shoe.”
Zane shrugged. “I understand your point of view, but I find there are simpler and easier ways. I’d prefer to find the right shadow to hide in rather than trusting my fate to some illusion.” The silence at the table told him it was time to change the subject. “My turn. Is it true what the legends say about the old abditus? That they used to be able to perform magic with their bare hands? Without embedding the magic into an object?”
A wave of laughter ran up and down the table.
“Every Society has its legends,” Warbler said. “And I suspect they’re all equally false. Or, is there actually a ferox who can look into your eyes and make you jump out a window?”
“Why don’t you look into my eyes and find out?” Zane asked.
This time the laughter at the table was a roar.
“In truth, magic isn’t as exciting as people think,” Warbler said. “It’s mostly reading books and combining elements. Of course, the resulting pure magics are far too volatile for humans to control, so they have to be diluted into a sort of paste. Then it’s a matter of figuring out new ways to apply that paste to imbue objects with magical powers. You pick your
branch, be it thorns or shimmers or whatever, you read everything ever written on the subject, and—if God smiles on you—maybe you add a paragraph or two of your own to the body of work by the time you’re done.”
“Unless you’re Irving Farns,” the woman with the long neck said.
“Hear, hear,” Warbler said. “Mr. Halloway, it’s your lucky night. Miss Farns has agreed to a demonstration of one of her father’s new tangles.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. “I think I’d like to see that.”
“You and everyone else in this hall.” Warbler waved to a servant. “Clear the tables, please.”
The servant nodded, and reached into his jacket. The plates, silverware, and cups all levitated off the table and drifted toward the kitchen. The dishes at the other tables did the same.
“I hope they were finished,” Zane said to Beth.
“They’re not here for the food. Most of them barely touched it. They’re too excited.” She looked a bit paler than she had a few moments ago.
“You nervous?” he asked.
She turned to look at him. “Yes.”
Her blunt and honest answer surprised Zane. “If these new tangles are everything they say—”
“It’s not that.” Beth nodded toward Warbler and spoke softly. “Our host has been tinkering with a thorn of his own invention for the better part of twenty years. It’s just a minor twist on a very old idea, but he thinks it’s revolutionary. He’s planning to use it tonight in the hopes of overpowering my new tangle.” She put her hand on Zane’s leg and leaned close. “He wants to prove he’s more than just a politician.”
“He told you all this?”
Beth looked away. “No. But it’s a poorly kept secret. His mistress likes to talk. And now I’m left in the awkward position of having to embarrass the head of the Society.”
Before Zane could reply, Warbler stood up and said in a booming voice, “If I could please have everyone’s attention!”
The room grew still.
“As you all know, Miss Farns has traveled a long way to be with us. As if her conversation wasn’t enough, she’s also made some rather exciting claims about her father’s latest work.” He paused for a long moment, a poorly hidden smile on his face. “I’m thrilled to say she’s agreed to demonstrate one of those new tangles tonight.”
A collective murmur of approval ran through the room.
Warbler continued. “The great difficulty in demonstrating a tangle is you need an equally impressive thorn to test it against. That’s why I will serve as the thornsman.”
This was met with a polite smattering of applause. The tight expression on Warbler’s face showed he’d been expecting more. “Right. Miss Farns, would you join me, please?”
Beth nodded and both parties moved to the large open area in front of the table.
Warbler held aloft an object that looked like a small stone. “In the grand tradition of the Society heads of yore, I will be using a thorn of my own design.” He looked at Beth, and Zane saw her lame attempt to feign surprise. “This thorn delivers a wave of concussive force that knocks the opponent across the room. Most tangles simply seek to dull a blow, so they’re ineffective against the wave of power this thorn delivers. I have done extensive private testing, and I’ve yet to meet the tangle that can effectively stop it.” He turned to Beth. “Would you like to say anything about your tangle?”
“No,” she said.
Warbler grunted. “Very well. Let me know when you’re ready.”
She turned toward him and folded her hands at her waist. “I am.”
He nodded. “My apologies in advance if you break a rib or two. We have balms at the ready.”
He squeezed the thorn tight in his hand, letting out a grunt of effort as he did so.
Nothing happened.
Warbler looked at the object in his hand, confused. He again squeezed it hard. Again, nothing.
“I don’t understand,” Warbler said.
“Anyone else have a thorn?” Beth asked. Her voice was relaxed and easy, yet it filled the room.
A dozen hands shot up.
“If I could have all of you up here, please?”
Nine men and three women approached.
“Now, go ahead and attack me.”
The twelve abditus looked at each other. A woman said, “All at once, Miss Farns?”
“Yes. All at once. And hold nothing back.”
Hands went into pocketbooks and jackets and emerged with various types of thorns, objects disguised as coins, cigars, quills, and—in one case—a wand.
“Attack on three, please,” Beth said. “One. Two. Three.”
The twelve abditus held their thorns aloft. Again, nothing happened. The abditus looked at each other, perplexed.
“As you can see,” Beth said, “my father has created a tangle that disables any thorn used against it.”
Zane felt the atmosphere in the room change. Where a moment ago there had been palatable excitement, there was now a heavy discomfort. Zane understood. A tangle that disabled thorns could put many of them out of business.
Zane knew he shouldn’t speak, but he couldn’t help it. “How’s it do against a knife?”
All heads swung toward him.
Beth smiled. “Do you happen to have one?”
He had four, but he saw no reason to let the world know that. “I do. But I’ve been told drawing a weapon in this hall is against the rules.
“If our Society leaders will suspend that rule for a few moments?” she asked.
Warbler still looked dumbstruck. He nodded absently.
“There you are,” Beth said.
Zane thought for a moment. He didn’t want to hurt this woman. And he really didn’t want this roomful of people to see the extent of his prowess. He had yet to meet the tangle that held up to a simple knife. Indeed, he often relied on people putting too much trust in their expensive protective magics. He didn’t want to publicly demonstrate how ineffective even the best of them were.
But, if he threw the knife, there was a chance her tangle could deflect it. And if he aimed at the hem of her long dress, tried to pin it to the floor, no one would know he hadn’t been aiming for her body. They would believe she’d deflected the throw and he could sleep a bit more easily knowing these fancy new tangles were no match for his hard-won skills.
He produced a knife with a flourish that made it appear he was pulling it from thin air. The gasp of surprise from the crowd made him smile. Nothing like fooling a roomful of abditus with a little slight of hand.
He flipped the knife in the air and caught it by the blade. “You ready?” he asked her.
She nodded, a smile on her face.
He could make this throw blindfolded. Literally. To give himself a minor challenge, he focused on a particular wrinkle in the hem of her dress. That would be his target. He brought the knife back over his shoulder and prepared to throw.
“Your horse, sir?”
“What?” Zane blinked hard and looked into the darkness around him. He was outside. Pluck and the pageboy stood in front of him. His stomach lurched and a wave of vertigo washed over him. “What’s happening?”
“I left him saddled like you asked,” the pageboy said.
Zane shook his head to clear it. Being aware of his surroundings, being prepared for every possibility, these were the hallmarks of his trade, the things that kept him alive. And he had no idea what had happened and how he’d gotten here. A moment ago he’d been holding his knife aloft in preparation to throw it, and now…
“Excuse me. I need to find Miss Farns.”
“But she left, sir,” the boy said. “They all did. Nearly an hour ago. You’re the last one here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lily’s first problem was getting inside the hall of public records.
She counted six guards near the front entrance. She briefly considered bribing them—Zane provided her money for such things—but it was too risky. They might arrest her just for t
rying. Even if they didn’t, they would remember the strange woman who’d tried to buy entrance.
She circled the building, sidestepping the horse manure. She found what she needed in the back. There were three windows all in a row about thirty feet up. The first was too close to the street; there was a chance she would be seen by the young men on the corner. The one in the middle was better, but it was parallel to a window in the building across the alley. But the last window was perfect. That part of the building was draped in shadows, and her dark clothing would blend in nicely. She certainly wouldn’t be invisible, but she would be a lot less noticeable than if she climbed to the first two windows. People rarely looked up at the side of a building anyway, so the key was just not to draw the eye.
She started up the wall before she could second guess herself.
The wall had been roughly assembled, and it had plenty of irregularities she could use as hand and footholds. She pressed her body against the stone and let her legs do the work, just like Zane had taught her, using her arms mostly for balance. She didn’t hurry, but she didn’t stop at any point, either. Her ascent was fluid and swift.
Lily glanced in through the window, and what she saw pleased her. It was dim and empty in this wing of the building. She pulled herself through the window and started climbing down the inside wall.
The descent took a bit longer since she had to make her way down by feel, searching blindly for each foothold before she could move downward, but soon she was on solid ground.
She brushed the grit off her hands and clothes, wiped the sweat from her brow, and went searching for the public records.
She made her way toward the northeast wing.
Lily’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. There were more books than she’d ever seen in her life. Shelves upon shelves. It was no wonder they didn’t let the public in here. A man could walk out with a month’s salary stuffed under his shirt.
It was too dark to read comfortably. She waited, practicing stillness, until she was able to see well enough to make out the handwritten labels on the books. It was a lengthy process. She stared at a book about five feet away from her and could immediately make out a capital C in the middle but not much else. She took deep, slow breaths until she could clearly read: Barnes 647 AG Census Vol. 43. Satisfied, she started toward the back of the wing.
