Clinker stopped to look as well. “Refugees? What are refugees? These are people from around here who don’t have houses any more?”
“Why don’t they?”
The boy looked confused. “Because of the canal. They had to knock down a lot of buildings.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sure Thacker will work something out. Come on, it’s much quicker to get to Sylvia’s than it was last time.” Clinker wound through the haphazard streets of the campsite, clutching his satchel tightly and keeping a wary eye out. With the tree as a landmark, Rawk now knew where he was and was quite capable of finding the way on his own. But he stayed silent and strode along behind the boy, trying to avoid stepping in the worst of the mess.
There was a mass of people where the square finally let out into High Road. For a moment he wondered if it was the beginnings of another riot but a scream from beyond the wall of people quickly had him thinking otherwise. He drew Dabaneera and started to shoulder his way through. Clinker following in his wake, chattering excitedly.
After several minutes of struggle, pushing his way through the surging, stinking crowd, Rawk finally broke into the clear.
The creature was barely a meter tall, most of the time, and seemed to be made of grey smoke. It shifted from two legs to four and back again. Long wispy tendrils escaped from its bounds, flickering in the air, before being drawn back in with a hiss. It was watching an old lady who wore a patchwork dress from Redami, and a girl with pigtails. It had them trapped in a shadowed corner where two tall, time-stained buildings met.
“Great Path,” Rawk swore as he flexed his hand on Dabaneera. His injured arm tingled.
The crowd was still pushing back, leaving Rawk more and more on his own. He couldn’t understand why they were still there at all. What did they think was going to happen after the creature killed the two current targets? Maybe nothing, but who could tell for sure? He swore again.
For a moment, he had time to worry if his sword would have any effect on a smoke monster, then the creature started moving towards its prey and he didn’t have time for anything at all.
The smoke flowed forward. It seemed to skate across the cobbles because the legs did not move as fast as necessary. The crowd gasped, the trapped woman screamed and Rawk rushed forward, sore knee throbbing in time to the beating of his heart. He swung his sword as he went past, but the creature noticed him at the last moment. It didn’t move out of the way but a hole formed in the smoke, following the blade perfectly. It hissed at him.
The woman wouldn’t stop screaming. It had only been a couple of seconds, but it was already getting on Rawk’s nerves. He swung again. This time, when Dabaneera was half way through the swirling smoke stomach, Rawk changed the direction of his swipe. But the smoke shifted perfectly, staying less than an inch from the steel.
Rawk backed away quickly. He trod on something that let out a terrible stench, like a week old battle. He almost tripped but managed to keep his guard up, as if that would do anything. He backed himself into the corner, coming to a halt against the rough timber wall of a warehouse. The woman, no longer under immediate threat, finally shut up and Rawk heard the crowd scuttling further away. The creature came across the cobbles, its shadow as shifting and grey as it was itself.
Rawk tried to concentrate. He tried to think. He...
There was no time. Rawk readied himself. He crouched for a moment, stepped aside as the creature lunged forward. But a swirling finger touched his arm and Rawk bit back a cry of pain. The slight contact seemed to burn his skin, sending a spasm up his arm. He counter-attacked anyway, barely, gritting his teeth. The sword passed through again, untouched, even when he curved upwards. The blade came into the clear and he reversed his swing immediately, painfully. This time, when his blade was deep in the smoke, his spun it so he was attacking with the flat. The creature couldn’t react quickly enough to widen the gap. The steel touched a wisp of stomach and there was a shriek of pain. Or perhaps it was disbelief— could you hurt smoke? And the wail continued, lowering in pitch, going from ear-piercing to bone-shaking, as the smoke shredded on the breeze.
Rawk took a deep breath in the moment of silence that followed, then gritted his teeth as the crowd started to cheer. He swallowed noisily and tried to raise his sword in salute. That didn’t work. It was as if the unseen burn on his arm was sucking the energy from his muscles. He raised his other hand and punched the air. They cheered some more.
Clinker rushed across the gap to him, satchel silent, mouth running overtime. “That was amazing. What was it? Are you hurt?”
Rawk could hardy move his arm. “Yes, it was, I don’t know and perhaps a bit,” he said quietly, trying to loosen his grip on his sword. It was an effort to move even one finger at a time. He could hardly move anything at all.
Clinker watched, forehead furrowed. He glanced around at the crowd as the cheering settled down to a murmur of excited conversation. Clinker cleared his throat. “Let me take that for you, Mr. Rawk, sir.” He reached out and prized Rawk’s fingers away from the hilt of Dabaneera. When he had the weapon in his hand, the boy held it up as if he had claimed a trophy, or as if he’d beaten the creature himself. The crowd cheered good-naturedly then Clinker started to drag Rawk towards the road that had been their original destination.
The noise of the crowd seemed like a storm around him. Even the smallest sound battered against him. But Clinker clung to his arm and kept him moving. It wasn’t going to work.
“I don’t think I can make it, Clinker.”
“I’ll find a goat cab, Mr. Rawk. There’s always some just up here.”
There was only one, but that was enough. When Clinker had deposited Rawk into the little gig and given directions, the dwarf driver got the two goats moving.
-O-
The door clattered against the bell as it swung shut and Rawk allowed Clinker to maneuver him to his usual chair by the counter. He could at least move on his own now, but it was still an effort. And he was numb all over and it felt as if his thoughts were an old man on a mule, charging at him from the far side of a valley. It was taking forever for him to arrive and it probably wouldn’t be worth the wait anyway.
“What have you done this time?” Sylvia came from the back room, drying her hands on a towel.
“I haven’t done anything.” An idiot wouldn’t have believed him. Sylvia wasn’t an idiot. Clinker saved him the trouble of having to actually answer.
“There was a monster made of smoke,” the boy said excitedly, putting his satchel down on the bench. “It didn’t have a weapon or nothing but when it touched Mister Rawk’s arm I saw it shudder. Mister Rawk’s arm that is, not the monster. And after that his arm kept shaking and quivering. I was up close like, closer than anyone else, and I saw it. Mister Rawk was having a lot of trouble even moving. I would’ve had to carry him up the hill if I didn’t find the cab.”
Sylvia threw her towel down beside the satchel. “Is this true?”
“He couldn’t have carried me even if he wanted to.”
“Kikum would’ve helped.”
“I was coming here anyway.”
Sylvia started examining Rawk’s arm and shoulder. She prodded at the joints with long, strong fingers and massaged his muscles, pursing her lips as she concentrated. “So it just touched your arm?” She smelled of lemon.
“Yes.”
“But you are having trouble moving anything?”
“Yes. Like I got too close to one of your lightening spells. But it’s improving. We’d still be down at the bottom of the mountain otherwise.” His feet felt as if they’d been stomping around in snow all morning.
“How does your heart feel?”
“My heart? I thought it was going to stop at first, but it was all fine. I must’ve imagined it.”
She went around behind the counter and came back with a hearing trumpet.
Rawk cleared his throat. “I thought it was going to stop,” he said, louder than before. “But I must’
ve—”
“What are you doing, Rawk? I heard you the first time.”
“Oh. Right. Then what’s that for?”
“Take off you shirt.”
“What?” He looked at Clinker but looking for a dwarf boy to explain the mind of an elf woman was about as crazy as life got.
“Just take off your shirt, Rawk.”
He grunted. “I can’t.”
Sylvia sighed and proceeded to pull his shirt up over his head. She then held the trumpet against his chest and listened for long seconds. She examined the burn mark on his arm where the creature had touched his skin. She sighed. “You seem fine.”
“Thanks for your enthusiasm.”
“It’s good that you’re fine— you visit often enough to keep me in business for the rest of my life— but I can’t be sure about anything.” She put down her trumpet. “I think you might have been infected with a neurotoxin but if that was the case I don’t know how you are still alive at all.”
“Tough, I guess.”
“You need lots of antioxidants, so eat lots of fruit and grains.”
“Now?”
“Yes, as soon as possible.” She looked him up and down. “Why are you still here?”
“I was coming to see you, remember?”
The bell above the door clattered as an old lady entered. Sylvia apparently knew what she was after and pulled a small jar down from a shelf.
While the two of them were talking about the price, Rawk gave Clinker five ithel and sent him on his way. The boy smiled like a monkey with a banana and stashed the coin in his satchel. He was out in an instant, shouting something about lunch as he went.
Rawk watched as the old lady left the shop as well, not quite so spritely as the dwarf, then jumped as Sylvia spoke to him. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure then?”
“Well...” It was one thing to ask Sylvia to do some healing, she was an elf after all, but it seemed quite another thing to ask for any other type of help. She was an elf, after all. And a sorcerer.
“Yes?”
“There are exots everywhere. I’ve been... reliably informed...” Rawk wondered why he was so willing to trust Opok. Even if Sylvia’s suggestion that elves were just human was incorrect, he certainly had more in common with her than the duen. And according to the book he’d read the duen were warlike, so they probably wouldn’t assist the closest likely enemy. “I’ve been reliably informed that the portals aren’t natural and that whoever is making them is somewhere near here.”
“And you think it’s me? What about Frixen and...” She waved her hand as if trying to pluck a name from the air. “That beanpole of a man?”
“Valo?”
“Yes, that is him. They are both in Katamood.”
“I know. I think Weaver may even know. But those two couldn’t make a flagon of wine appear in a tavern, either with magic or a five ithel coin.” He tried to hold up his hand but barely succeeded. “But I’m not here to arrest you anyway. I don’t think you’re responsible.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to find whoever is responsible, and I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, you could start by asking your reliable source for more information.”
Rawk nodded slowly. “I could.”
“Or not?”
“I think I’ve gotten all the help I can from him at the moment.”
“Your source is a sorcerer?”
“He is.”
“And you trust him because..?”
“Because he could’ve killed me. Because he didn’t have to come to talk to me in the first place. Because Hubb doesn’t like to arm wrestle.”
Sylvia blinked.
“Look, you can sense magic and all that kind of thing so—”
“Wait. You want me to lurk around in the back alleys of Katamood helping you look for rogue sorcerers?”
“I’m Rawk; I don’t lurk.”
“Well, lurking would be better for me. I’m trying to not draw attention to myself, remember?”
Rawk gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, all right; I can lurk if you want.”
“And what makes you think I would want to turn other sorcerers over to Weaver anyway?”
“People are dying, Sylvia. I thought you might like to stop that sort of thing.”
“If I am seen by the wrong person...”
“If an exot turns up in the middle of a... of a child’s birthday party...” He’d heard of them, though he wasn’t quite sure what they were all about. He didn’t understand half the things nobles did.
“I won’t do it.”
“That’s it?”
“That is it.”
“I killed a creature made out of smoke on my way here. Just five minutes down the hill.”
“There is probably a standard, human cutthroat or two even closer. Do you want me to help catch them as well?”
“Do we have time? I have to go eat some fruit and grains, apparently.”
Sylvia threw her towel down on the bench. “I have things to do too. Things that don’t involve risking my life on an impossible mission.”
“Impossible?” Rawk shook his head. “So you’re just going to stand around and watch while people die? I’ve retired, Sylvia. I’m too old for all this but...”
“Please leave, Rawk.”
“Very well.” Rawk got to his feet and moved slowly towards the door. “Ummm...”
“What is it?”
“Well, what would happen if someone, accidentally of course, drank some of the hot water with your tea leaves in it.”
Sylvia raised an eyebrow.
“And if they continued to drink it?”
“You drank the tea water? You were supposed to breathe the fumes.”
“I know, but I was thirsty.”
“How do you feel?”
“Great. Well, you know, apart from not being able to move properly and all that. I feel great after I drink the tea.”
“I’m not sure. Nobody has every done it, as far as I know.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” She picked up her towel. “I’ll look into it. Now get out of my shop.” And she turned and went out to the back room. Rawk sighed again and went the other direction. It was going to be along walk down the hill. And a long walk up the next hill.
-O-
Rawk spotted only one guard in the common room, a man with floppy hat and a bored expression, leaning against the wall. Seeing he wasn’t allowed to drink he stood out like a Queran beggar at a royal ball, no matter what clothes he was wearing. Weaver was hardly better. He sat at a small table near the back of the room wearing a red shirt with puffy sleeves and a polka dot bow tie. Today’s wig was grey and pulled back in a harsh ponytail. He was eating a quail salad, topped with an eye-watering vinegar dressing, like it was going to get up and run away if he wasn’t quick, and slurping down red wine. Rawk didn’t know much about wine, but he was pretty sure it should have been a white with quail. And the vinegar...
With a nod for the guard, which the man ignored, Rawk crossed the room and sat down at the table. “What’s the hurry, Crit?” he asked Weaver over the rumble of noise. The walk down the hill had thawed his feet, but his head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool.
Weaver popped the last bit of bird in his mouth and licked his fingers. “I was trying to finish my entree before you arrived.”
His whole body still felt slightly off center, as if the smoke monster had sent his consciousness a fraction of an inch to the right. “So, you didn’t want to buy me an entree as well? Cheapskate.” Witty banter was beyond him. Insults would have to do.
“Do you know how much this place costs?”
“It is quite a bit nicer than a lot of the places you’ve been choosing recently. Though that wouldn’t be hard.”
“If you don’t like my choices you can choose for yourself.”
“And pay for myself too, I imagine.”
“Of course.” Weav
er pushed his plate away.
“So what do you do for a living, Crit? I’m sure you can afford to pay for me.”
“Didn’t Travis tell you?”
“No.”
“I’m a cloth merchant from Tharpin.”
“Of course. I should have known.”
“We have to order at the bar.”
Rawk sighed. “What do you want?”
“No, Toman can do it for us.” He started to signal to the bored guard.
“And leave you unprotected?”
“I’m sure you can protect me, can’t you? You’ll do a better job than Toman.”
Rawk waved his agreement though he doubted he’d manage to get himself out of his chair before an assassin complete the job, had a dink at the bar and sauntered out the back door. “I need lots of fresh fruit.”
“Why?”
“Anti-something-or-others.”
A minute later Toman was at the bar giving the orders to a woman who looked as bored as he did.
“You’ve been busy, I see.” Weaver held out a newspaper.
Rawk sighed and took it, unfolding the cheap paper and smoothing it out on the table with numb fingers. The first page was taken up with stuff about all the exots.
“Everyone’s been busy,” Rawk said. His deeds took up the most room, but there were almost a dozen other Heroes mentioned as well. There were creatures everywhere and Heroes were coming from all around to take their share of the claims. It was just like twenty-five years ago when Katamood was the center of the world when it came to Heroes.
Rawk read the story. “They’ve exaggerated, as usual.”
“Nobody wants to read about taxes and... lamp lighters. Or something.”
“Not the regular stuff, but if they are going to make stuff up about me they could just make it up about the taxes as well. I mean, you do it often enough.”
“Oh, huh. Very funny. I need taxes more than ever now to pay all the claims and for all the damage around here. An elephant thing— it wasn’t an elephant but I don’t know what it was— knocked down the clock on Hadagast Road the other day. The bloody dwarves charged me nearly four hundred ithel to fix it. And they wanted me to pay to fix the old Barbarian Gate in Meera Square as well. I told them to just leave it.”
A History of Magic Page 6
