by J. B. Markes
In my memory, Gustobald would always be there, frying his disgusting maggot pancakes and cursing all comers, but I also knew he would never be there again. Civilized wizards often said there was a special place for necromancers in the afterlife to join the dead that they had previously bound in servitude. It was a realm with no horizons, where the guilty prayed eternally for deliverance long after they forgot the names of the gods who might forgive them.
I followed the worn pathway through the trees and stopped short at the edge of the clearing. Inspector Raines was standing amidst the rubble of what used to be Gustobald’s cottage. I had the brief inclination to head back toward Sophic’s Rise, but I wanted to see what the good wizards of the academy had done here. The inspector spotted me as I crossed and met me halfway.
“I wondered if I would see you again before I left—or before you did,” he said, pointing to his chest to draw my attention to my own absent crest. “Where will you go now?”
“North, I suppose.” I shrugged. One direction was as good as another, but the oceans on three sides made it an easy decision. “Look what they’ve done.” I lifted the hem of my robe and climbed cautiously over the wreckage of Gustobald’s home. “Did they have to destroy it? Was the house evil as well?”
“I’m sure they were eager to rid themselves of any reminders,” he said, standing at the outer edge where the mushroom bed used to be. “There won’t be any necromancers moving in again for a long time, if ever.”
“Gustobald was innocent,” I said, looking up from the remains of the kitchen.
“It’s possible, but we will never know for certain. The Sentinels’ rash actions settled that. Mr. Pitch never uttered a single word in his defense. I have experienced much travesty thus far, Miss Ives, but such a mishandling of justice I have never seen, nor do I expect to again in my lifetime.”
“What will you do?” I asked.
“The King was informed by parties unknown to me that my work here is done, so I’ve been recalled to Astar. The court wizard sent the summons this morning.”
“You’re not going, are you? How can you be satisfied with how things turned out?”
“Satisfied? Bite your tongue. What satisfaction can be had in a world where men would rather kill one another than search for common ground? Look around you. See the wonders we have accomplished and marvel at the pretense of it all. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that men are savage. There is no justice in the world. I seek it out for my own sanity, but it’s a losing battle.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You’re right to be angry. And you’re right to place blame. I no longer have any authority here.” He took a deep sigh and shook his head. “I’m on the next ship out. And believe me, Miss Ives, leaving this place is the best thing you can possibly do for yourself. You’re welcome to come if you’re interested.”
“I’ll find my own way,” I said, and he gave me a nod that suggested such a thing was possible. I waded through the scattered straw and stone to avoid looking in his direction. I moved into the study to the heap of chimney stones piled high like a giant anthill. The fire would have gone out instantly; nothing was burned. I took a few more steps and then probed the debris with my foot, not finding what I was looking for. I thought back to the deadman’s delight that had been left for me to find. “Were you here when they destroyed it?” I asked.
“Just over an hour ago,” he replied. “As I said, I assumed you would come, and I’ve been waiting here since.”
“Did they remove anything?”
“Not a thing. Two wizards came and shifted the earth beneath the foundation. The ground shook and the whole place came down, and they left it all to rot. What are you looking for?”
“It’s not important. Why were you waiting for me?” I asked, abandoning my search and skipping unevenly over the broken bits of Gustobald’s life. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Only goodbye,” he said with a solemn bow. “And good luck.” He handed me his shoulder bag and placed his rounded hat back on top of his head, then headed south toward the academy.
I knew what was in the bag before I even opened it. I could feel the liquid sloshing about within the bottle. I pulled the decanter from the sack, noting it was now half empty. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.
“Whatever you will,” he answered. “Normally, I would safeguard it as evidence, but the Sentinels weren’t interested in evidence, so why should I be? Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Ives. I still think you should run far away from this place, but we both know you aren’t going to do that. Look me up if ever you find yourself in the capital.”
“I will,” I said. I took one last look at the ruins and stuffed the bottle back into the bag. The extra weight would slow me down and the poisoned liquor wouldn’t be very useful on the trail. Plus, the morning was already spent and there was no clear path north from the clearing. Another day at the academy wouldn’t do any harm, especially since I had no place I had to be in the foreseeable future. And as long as I was staying anyway, it seemed only appropriate to pay a visit to my friend Harper Lazrus.
“Inspector,” I called before he passed out of earshot. “You would never have made a good diviner.”
“Is that so?” he asked, tilting his head at the perceived slight.
“No,” I replied. “You would have been a true Sentinel.”
He seemed pleased with my appraisal. He stood up straight and gave a stately bow before resuming his course and disappearing into the tree line. At the time, I couldn’t imagine that I would ever see him again—let alone so soon.
Chapter 22
The alchemist’s lab was quiet when I arrived. I timed my visit carefully in the hope that the masters would be out for their midday meals. The higher ranked mages of the academy were rarely busy enough to rely on wards for sustenance, despite what they would have their subordinates believe. I found Harper standing at his usual place, poring over documents scattered so abundantly one could hardly see the table beneath them. He didn’t hear me enter.
“Mr. Lazrus,” I called, not straying far from the stairway to the lower level.
“Miss Ives!” He gathered the papers into a jumbled stack and wiped his hands on his apron, though they didn’t seem dirty enough to warrant it. He gave me a cautious smile coupled with a clumsy wave, putting me at ease. “I thought you would still be resting. You look fresh.”
“Is now a good time?” I asked, expecting Master Bentham to show up and reprimand me again.
“The lab is closed today—for everyone. I’m only here because I’m a little behind in my duties. Things should calm down soon though, hopefully.”
“For me, especially,” I said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving?” he asked. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been dismissed from the academy,” I replied. “I thought you knew.”
“I had no idea! I mean, I heard rumors but—was it because—did I—”
“It had nothing to do with you.” I heard the uncertainty in my own voice. I knew it was my fault—I had been dismissed long before Harper was called to the Sentinel’s office—but it felt better not to suffer alone. My failing health, coupled with my rash behavior as of late, was more than enough to ensure my dismissal, yet I couldn’t help but think there was something more to it all. Gustobald had spoken of conspiracy days before they had taken him away. Was it possible that someone wanted me out of the way, as well?
“I thought I was helping you,” he said, sensing the shift in my mood. “They said you were in trouble, so I told them about the analysis. I had no idea they would use it against you.”
“They didn’t. They used it to—arrest Gustobald.” The more I talked about it, the more difficult it became to control my voice. Harper grew even more restless, wiping his hands on his apron once more for good measure. “Not arrested, actually. They murdered him in cold blood without even giv
ing him a chance to speak on his own behalf, and then destroyed his home.”
“I heard that, of course. It’s my fault.” This time I didn’t correct him. “But you’re not really leaving, are you?” His tone of voice wasn’t questioning; it was resolute, more so than my own wavering confidence. “You wouldn’t be here if you were.”
“I suppose not,” I said. “There is no law to keep me from staying, though I suspect I will wear through my welcome rather quickly.”
“Well then, we should get down to business.” His smile was warm, but my heart sank a bit at the prospect of yet another person feeling used by me. After having betrayed my trust once, it was likely he would do anything I asked of him. But when I pulled the bottle out of the bag, he just shook his head and took me by the arm. “I don’t need it. The sample the inspector left was more than enough.”
“The inspector was here?”
“He dropped it off early this morning. Didn’t you know? He said that you would be by later to hear the results.”
Of course. Raines’s hands were tied. He hadn’t simply guessed that I would pick up where he left off; he had expected me to do so. For all his posturing in the hopes I would run away from it all, he knew that I would never give up the hunt so long as there was trail to follow. But could I succeed where both he and Gustobald had failed?
“Show me,” I said.
He led me to the farthest table and opened one of its drawers. There he removed several specimens and placed them one-by-one on top of the nearby island counter. “I isolated the plant tissue and reconstructed it through acceleration and replication. It is the tried-and-true method and extremely reliable as long as your equipment is immaculate. Luckily, I’ve taken over those duties personally as of late.”
“May I?” I picked up a cross-section of mushroom pressed between two small glass plates. It was a splotchy light brown, with a large open top and a long stem, no doubt making it an easy species to identify for any mycophile—or any person already expecting to find it. “This is fool’s funnel?” I asked.
“The poison in the glass, yes.” He nodded and took it from me, replacing it with the sample of a twisted elongated green leaf the size of my hand. “Behold the frond of the brackwater tangle—the jellyfish of the plant world. Carnivorous. Its embrace is sufficient to paralyze any small animal it envelops, but the ooze extracted from its stems is potent enough to kill a horse. That’s no exaggeration. Once ingested, death is assured. There’s no common antidote. It’s rarely used as a poison.”
“Two different poisons?” The list of murder weapons was growing. It made no sense. “Is it possible you made a mistake when you did the analysis of the first glass? The sample amount was so small.”
“I’m not that bad, Miss Ives. The reason the tangle is rarely used is because it is so easily identified once poison is suspected. In the process of finding the funnel, I definitely would have found the tangle. The glass had fool’s funnel; the bottle brackwater.”
“The bottle was used first,” I said. “The glass was placed later to implicate Gustobald. But why an empty glass? If you’re wanting to frame someone, why make it so difficult to identify?”
“An interesting question—” Master Bentham’s harsh voice rattled my nerve, and I laid the specimen on the counter next to the others, spinning to face the master alchemist. “But more interesting to me is why I know nothing of the toxin screens taking place in my very own laboratory.”
I held my breath and slid closer to Harper, more out of fear this time than to hide our secret project. “Master Bentham.” My mind blanked out on me as the alchemist weaved through the tables and stopped on the other side of the counter to inspect Harper’s work.
“Fool’s funnel, brackwater tangle, barley.” Bentham moved each specimen in order, lifting the tangle up to the light to get a better look. “Notice the black veins running the length of its stem. It is from here that the poison is extracted; the longer and darker the veins, the more potent the product. Tell me, apprentices, what are we cooking today?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“I remember you, girl. It seemed you would have the good sense not to return here, but, in hindsight, I suppose there is no accounting for the judgment of necromancers and their sympathizers.”
“Enough,” I said, prompting Harper to inch away from me.
“Mind your tone, apprentice.” Master Bentham raised an eyebrow and sneered, but when I faced him, his eyes darted to my absent crest and his bitter smile faded. “Why are you here?”
“Show him,” Harper said, brushing a hand over my arm reassuringly. “You can trust him.” Harper’s smile could charm the wand off a mind mage, but I was in no mood to trust anyone anymore. But I did need allies. Besides, if Master Bentham was party to the murder of the Archseer, I was already exposed.
I dropped the bottle on the counter between us, happy to be rid of it. The master alchemist eyed it coolly and removed the stopper. He sniffed the liquor as if appraising its value, then pointed at one of the clean glasses on the shelf, which tilted and spiraled through the air before coming to rest in his free hand. He poured a tot and held it up to the light, swirling it about, then finally downing it in one go. I gave Harper a questioning glance, but he shook off my concern.
“It’s good,” Bentham said. “A damned waste. As for the poisons, the mushroom’s organic—pulled fresh from the earth—but this tangle has never tasted the wild. A rare specimen, indeed. You’re meddling in dangerous affairs. Whoever arranged this concoction is a mage of ample means and limited scruples. And a fool, at that.”
“It’s not who you’re thinking,” I said. “But he’s the one who caught the blame for it all.”
“You misunderstand me. I was omitted from this investigation from the start. I had no idea the Archseer was poisoned—a fact that would customarily be brought to the attention of the academy’s premier poisonmaster, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Who said anything about the Archseer being poisoned?” I asked.
“Mr. Lazrus did,” he replied. “The same day you and Pitch came to visit.” I glared at Harper and made one final resolve never to trust him with anything important ever again, but Master Bentham didn’t give me time to reprimand him. “Don’t be too hard on Harper; nothing happens in my lab without my knowing about it. The important point is that I believe you.”
“What does all this mean?” Harper asked, eager to push the conversation beyond his own betrayals.
“It means someone is operating behind the scenes to further their own agenda. I can make a guess with some certainty as to where this poison came from, but you’ll have to take it from there. I won’t have myself or my apprentice caught up in whatever this is—not more than we already are anyway. You would probably do well to forget you ever learned any of this, as well.”
I looked to Harper for support, but it was clear he wouldn’t go against his master’s wishes. I had already asked too much of him. With Gustobald and Inspector Raines out of the picture, I held no delusions about where I would end up if I continued along this path. But I wasn’t out of options just yet. “Tell me,” I said.
Master Bentham nodded and stuffed the stopper back into the bottle. “You have to trace the poison back to its source.”
“The plant?”
“The plant’s supplier. And there aren’t many greeneries that synthesize brackwater tangle. This stock is academy-grown. I’d bet my beakers on it.”
“Madame Barrows,” I said.
“If you want answers, Pip’s the woman to talk to.”
“That’s where I would have gone anyway,” I said with mild certainty.
“All the better. In that case, I withdraw my advice and you can act on your own instinct. Good luck.”
“One last question,” I said. “Why did you say the person who made this poison is a fool?”
“They would have to be to use such an easily discoverable, easily identifiable, and—most importantly—easily traceable poison.
They either expected the poison to be discovered or they didn’t think it ever would be. Either way seems pretty foolish to me. But as I said before, I was never consulted. Why do you think that might be?”
“The Sentinels have their own poisonmaster,” I whispered. Master Bentham simply nodded.
“I have to go,” I said, backing toward the stairwell. “Thank you both.”
Harper had reverted to the role of meek servant, and he answered my farewell with the subtlest of bows, as though afraid he might incur his master’s wrath for appearing too personable. But I hadn’t taken five steps before Master Bentham grabbed me lightly by the arm. “You forgot your evidence,” he said quietly, thrusting the bottle into my hand. “Do see that it never finds its way back here again.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, sliding it into its sack and stowing the whole bundle in my satchel. “It won’t.”
Chapter 23
I was no longer willing to trust in the goodness of strangers; instead, I went straight to the Sentinels, to the one person whom I knew to be deficient in that quality. When I stopped in front Ruby’s small desk—barely large enough for a book and an inkwell—her expression was that of a woman contemplating an albino platypus. “What’re you doing here, Ives?” she asked. “I thought you’d be halfway to nowhere by now.”
“More right than you know,” I said, already beginning to regret my decision to come to her. “Walk with me?” The offices of the Hold were empty today, for which I was grateful, if somewhat suspicious. Ruby relinquished charge of quarters to a young man who seemed offended by her commanding tone.
Outside, the day had grown noticeably hotter. Summer was making its last stand. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, or do I have to read your mind?” Ruby’s suggestion put me on edge, and I refused to continue our conversation until she had placed minimal wards to protect us from scrying. My anxiety bled into hers, and she was soon looking to the small places between buildings and trees to ensure there were no observers.
