by J. B. Markes
“I need you to show a little trust,” I said.
“I don’t trust anyone,” she replied. “But don’t take it too personally. I don’t even trust myself half the time.”
“Are you aware that the masters of the Tower of Creation were never consulted about the poison used to kill the Archseer?”
“You’re still on about the Archseer?” she asked, hanging her head. “That’s not your problem anymore.”
“Can you just answer the question, please? It’s important.”
“The Sentinels handle their own investigations, especially when it comes to analysis. They like to have as much control as possible to avoid outside influence. In this case, they didn’t see the need to outsource in light of the overwhelming evidence of assassination. Bartleby is a member of the Black Hand. That’s a fact.”
“A fact that wasn’t known at the time of the Sentinel’s investigation.”
“A dagger in the chest is sufficient.”
“What if I told you the base ingredients for the poison were provided by Grandia Barrows?”
Ruby stopped and looked about once more for caution’s sake. “What is this, Ives? What more do you want? We’ve got two in the bag already; Bartleby was taken late last night and Pitch—well, you were there. You want to toss Pip Barrows to the wolves as well?”
“No. Maybe. If she deserves it. I don’t know. Isn’t it your job to figure out if she does?”
“Why’d you come to me with this?”
“Because,” I said, assuming the words would come to me. They didn’t.
“Because you’ve got no one else?”
“Because I trust you. You’re a good per—”
“Oh, please.”
“Okay, I don’t have anyone else—no one who would care, anyway. Look, I’m going to talk to her and I’ll do it alone if I have to, but I would rather have the law on my side for this one. You should be happy. I’m doing things the right way this time.”
She shook her head and mumbled in silent conversation with herself. I grew increasingly impatient as her deliberation protracted into a series of short sighs. Finally, just as I was about to leave, she gave a slight nod and a barely audible grumble, just for the record. “This is the only time,” she said. “No offense, but you’re not the best person to be seen with right now.”
“Thanks,” I said, less thankful for the added commentary. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I’m already out of the office.”
Like Gustobald, Grandia Barrows had set up residence on the outskirts of the academy. She had chosen a place just west of the Tower of Seeing, where for centuries the forest had crept over the long-abandoned land. Somewhere within those woods rested the old towers, remnants of the glory days of the Academy Magus. No mages dared venture there today, not even the masters. Those towers had been decommissioned for a reason.
But Grandia Barrows was no mage; she was an entrepreneur, a rare commoner with a sharp mind. She had forged her own destiny at the Academy Magus through her knowledge and skills as a grower. In most ways, she was treated as an equal by mages of the academy. She was the academy’s foremost provider of reagents—both common and exotic. I myself had visited her on numerous occasions when the Tower of Hands was short on supply.
Someone else had visited her, too—someone with foul intentions. And she had delivered. She had always seemed like a harmless old lady; it was unthinkable that she would be involved in this mess, but what innocent woman provided poison at a premium with no questions asked? I looked through the glass panes of the greenery as I passed by, wondering what other vile specimens she was growing within.
The old woman’s shop was a lodge perhaps twice the size of Gustobald’s dwelling, not counting the separate greenhouse or the adjoining rooms set aside as paid housing for visitors to the magic school. Already the trees had grown around the shop over the decades since it was built, forcing patrons to enter the abandoned wood in order to do business. That fact had once unnerved me, back when I feared the ghosts of the past more than their living descendants.
I paused at the merchant’s placard to gather my wits and make sure my wand was readily available. Ruby watched me fidget with mild interest. “How do you want to handle this?” I asked, but she just gave a dull scoff and entered. When I followed her inside, the bells above the door jingled and I was immediately put at ease by the familiar surroundings.
The shop smelled perpetually of onion juice and spiced pumpkin. Not altogether appealing during my first visit, the aroma had grown on me over time. It was preferable to the odors of some of the more exotic ingredients on her shelves. The walls on either side were lined with goods wrapped in clean folded paper and bound with flax string, packaging that any academy mage would instantly recognize.
“Ruby!” Madame Barrows dropped the crate she was hauling onto a stack of boxes beside the counter and grinned, stretching her back. Her smile covered her plump face, and her small eyes were nearly swallowed by her rosy cheeks. Her graying hair was bound above her head in no particular fashion, giving the impression that a temporary fix had gone on longer than anticipated. Ruby rushed over to give her a hand with the crate, leaving me perplexed at the nature of their relationship. “Thanks, dear. Just put it over there against the wall, if you would. You young’uns are lucky and don’t you forget it.” She grabbed a white kerchief to wipe the sweat from her forehead as she skirted around the counter, then leaned her full weight on its polished surface. “Now, what can I get for you today?”
“We’re not here to buy, Pip,” Ruby said.
“Came all the way out to move boxes for me, then?”
“Not exactly.” Ruby turned to me and waved me closer. “This is Miss Isabel Ives. She used to be an apprentice here. She was hoping she could ask you some questions about your stock, if you have time.”
“That’s not a problem at all,” she said. “Come closer, Miss Ives; I won’t bite. We’ve met before. I never forget a face.”
“I’ve come in a few times,” I mumbled, put off by her forced pleasantry. She was still wearing the same smile she had when we first arrived; I imagined her cheeks must ache at night. A stern glance from Ruby reminded me to watch my tone. “I’m looking for a rare plant you might have in your greenery.”
“I have more than a few of those, dear,” she said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I’m looking for brackwater tangle,” I said, relishing the change in her features.
Her shoulders dropped and her fake smile faded into nothing more than a bad memory. “What?” she asked flatly.
“Brackwater tangle,” I repeated. “It’s used to poison people.”
“Why would you need such a thing, child?” she asked.
“Why would you have it, if not to sell?”
She puffed up her chest and threw her head back. “I do indeed have it, and it’s not for sale. It’s purely for academic purposes. I provide samples to any master who requests.”
“Who was the last person to request it?”
Madame Barrows glanced at Ruby, who seemed confused at the quick turn in the mood. “The last person to request it, didn’t. They stole it, stole my entire stock from under lock and key. You know this, Ruby. Seeker Arland handled the case.”
“Seeker Arland?” Ruby asked. “I never knew there was a case.”
“He’s the one who got it back for me, and now it’s locked up again, safe and sound.”
“When was this?” Ruby asked, holding up a finger to let me know it was no longer my turn to speak.
“It was only a month ago. It was a disaster narrowly avoided I’ll tell you that much right now. Don’t the Sentinels talk to each other at all?”
“They do usually,” Ruby said. “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
“Only the Seeker. Once my product was back under lock and key, it seemed foolish to spread word that my vault had been compromised. Didn’t want to give any other sneak-thieves any bright i
deas.”
“Who was the culprit?” I asked.
She shook her head. “The Seeker didn’t say, only that the guilty party would be punished accordingly.”
“There haven’t been any new prisoners since last winter, save for Mr. Bartleby,” Ruby said. “And certainly not for anything serious or I would know about it.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “Prisoners don’t always make it to the Hold.”
She ignored the jibe, turning her attention back to Madame Barrows. “Do you keep detailed records of your stores?”
“Of course, I do, if they’re of any value.” Madame Barrows spun around and removed a key from a chain around her neck, then reached down with a groan and opened a small strongbox at the level of her knees. She removed a thin book from the inner shelves and laid it on the counter between us. “See here.” She flipped a few pages back and forth and sighed.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“It’s not written down,” she said. “Nothing from that day is. The whole page is missing. It should say three in inventory.”
“It’s been torn out,” Ruby said, and I flashed back to the bookkeeper Mathis’s diary.
“Here it is,” Madame Barrows said with some satisfaction, turning to a different page. “My stock was returned five days later, and I recorded three stalks in inventory.”
“Who would remove the page?” Ruby asked.
“No one could,” she said. “I am the only one with access to these books.”
“Just like you’re the only one with access to the tangle?” I asked, but the question went unanswered. Instead, Madame Barrows returned to her safe and reached deep inside, retrieving a heavy leather-bound tome and dropping it impatiently on top of the first.
After much searching, she let out an unrestrained “Aha!” and thrust her finger onto the page, but her joy faded as quickly as it had come. “The masterbook says five in inventory as of three months ago, when I preserved the lot. I’ve had no dealings with it since then.”
“From five to three,” I said. “You were robbed, after all.”
“No. I remember having three,” she said. “This must be an error. It’s strange, though. I’m never so careless with my numbers.”
“You weren’t careless,” I said. “Seeker Arland tore out this page.”
“Hold on.” Ruby straightened her back and gave me a nervous glare. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“It is,” I said. “He’s the only sentinel involved in the investigation. He recovers the stock but not the person who stole it, and you never hear anything about any of it. Half of the poisonous plants were never even returned. Two weeks later, the Archmage is dead.”
“No, no.” Madame Barrows shook her head emphatically, no doubt the fear of negative publicity creeping in. “Seeker Arland helped me. It’s my own fault. I should have written it right the first time. For shame.”
“The only shame is that we have been so blind to the obvious truth,” I said. “Mathis had pages torn out of his book as well. He wasn’t suicidal. He was packed and ready to run.”
“You think he was pushed from the tower?” Ruby asked.
“No. I don’t think that’s right either. I think he jumped.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Ruby said.
“Mathis jumped out of that window, against his own wishes, because he was magically compelled to do so, just as Madame Barrows was compelled to forget how many stalks of brackwater tangle she had. She said herself that she’s the only one with access to her keys. Perhaps she handed them over willingly. What is Seeker Arland’s focus again?”
Ruby bristled in her regularly predictable manner, no doubt preparing to drag me to the door and toss me out, but stopped short. “He’s an enchanter,” she said. “An expert in his field.”
“People are acting against their natures and misremembering the facts of their own lives, and a mind mage is at the center of it all. A mind mage with the power of the law on his side. Remember how out of it Gustobald was that last day? Almost as if someone had put him into a trance. And the evidence was planted at Gustobald’s hut the same day he was murdered, murdered by Seeker Arland in order to keep us from uncovering the truth.”
Suddenly, Madame Barrows collapsed on top of her books. Ruby reached forward and placed a hand on her neck, but I could tell she was breathing fine. It was just too much excitement for her. The greeting bell above the door rang out and I turned to find Seeker Arland standing in the entranceway. Ruby moved away from me instantly, but Arland raised his hand and she stopped midstride, held in thrall by the Seeker’s spell of binding. “You had your chance to leave,” he said. “Now you never will.”
Chapter 24
“You think I don’t know what my own subordinates are up to?” Arland asked. “Bad news for you: new evidence has come to light. I’m taking you into custody for assisting Gustobald Pitch in the murder of the Archseer.”
I took a step back and glanced at Ruby, who was still frozen in place. “Let her go,” I said, knowing just how far he would go to keep his secret from getting out. I needed to free Ruby to have any chance of saving myself. My heart was beating so wildly I could hear the blood pounding in my ears.
“By all means, please resist,” he said.
“Like you need a reason,” I said, flexing my wrist to loosen my wand.
“No one will give a second’s grief over the death of a rogue wizard, especially some necromancer’s pet.” He made a move with his free hand, but I was far more practiced at quick-casting. Forgoing my wand, I released a bolt of lightning from my fingertips, aimed directly at his chest, but he was ready with his ward; he traced an arc with his hand and deftly deflected my attack.
I rolled back over the counter to the sound of a blistering roar as my spell tore through the contents of the nearby shelves. I managed to pull Madame Barrows down from her awkward sleeping position, but I was too out of breath to keep her from falling on top of me. I wriggled away and put my back to the counter, ready to blast Arland if he moved around the side, while at the same time doubting I would find the energy to make another cast.
“I’m coming for you, girl,” Arland said.
My wand was free now. I hoped it still held enough charge to hold him off. My head was reeling. I whispered the transmutation that would grant me true-sight before blinking my eyes to clear my vision, but there was nothing to see. It was as if Arland and Ruby both had left the lodge completely. I tested my sight on Madame Barrows and realized my spell had failed. I chanted once more, but felt no tingle of power bubbling within me. I might as well have been blind.
No doubt Arland had me in his own true-sight by now, but he would need real line-of-sight to work his enchantments. He wouldn’t dare show himself prematurely. It was here I had the advantage. I leveled my wand over the counter in his general direction and shouted the command word to release another volley. The air-splitting shock rebounded and took out a large chunk of the countertop upon its return, barely missing my hand.
The stench of smoke and ozone stung my bleary eyes. I was shaking now, out of both fear and magic fatigue. The ensuing silence stretched my nerves, and I looked toward the rear door for an avenue of escape. I couldn’t see or hear anything on the far side of the counter, so I fired again, this time aiming for the ceiling in an attempt to bank a shot into Arland’s place by the door. More sounds of destruction, but none of agony. There was no telling what the Seeker would do; he was a trained sentinel, an expert, a calculating killer. Hunting hostile mages was as natural to him as breathing.
And then the hiccups started. I held my breath, but it was no use. Even without spell-sickness, the spasms would make casting magic problematic, to say nothing of giving away my condition to Arland. I wiped my sweaty palm on my robes and kept my wand at the ready.
Staying low on hands and knees, I followed the counter toward the doorway but came up short. It seemed an eternity of open floor to the questionable safety of the back room.
Risking a quick glance around the corner before returning to cover, I found no trace of Arland at all, but a fire was spreading across the far wall. I had destroyed Madame Barrows’s shop. A voice in the back of my mind told me that she wouldn’t survive without help, but I was too terrified to go back now. Instead, I rocked back onto the balls of my feet and jumped for the doorway.
I saw my mistake instantly. Arland appeared out of thin air directly beside me as I passed, releasing enough force magic from his outstretched palm to drive me into the floor and knock the wind from my lungs. I rolled to a stop, flat on my back in the very room I had hoped would shelter me. At once, Arland was standing over me.
The fire was growing larger with each pop and flare as the shelved reagents were consumed. I clung to the hope that Ruby would return to her senses once singed by the flame. I raised my wand reflexively but couldn’t find breath enough to speak the command word, which only seemed to amuse the Seeker more.
He flicked his finger and my wand burst into pieces, showering me with splinters. I lay gasping, weighing my chances of overtaking him with natural magic. I would only have one good spell—if that—before the sickness overtook me. I knew it. Arland surely knew it.
“I’d like a confession,” he said, pointing his finger and artfully tracing a sigil in the air before me. I felt a brief tugging at my mind, like the straining sensation of contemplating calculus with no quill and parchment. Then the feeling passed and Arland relaxed his stance. “Pitch was too out of his mind to give me what I wanted, but you’re the next best thing. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? You will confess to helping Gustobald Pitch murder the Archseer.”
There was a long pause as he stared me down, obviously awaiting an answer. “Yes,” I said.
“Good, stand up now.”
I had never been charmed before. I wasn’t sure how to act, but outward surprise surely wasn’t an option. Is this what it was like? Would I never feel any different so long as I complied with his demands? What would happen if I refused? He turned his back to extinguish the fire with a weak water manifestation; the liquid bubble grew and popped, shattering into a sizzling mist that coated the shop, subduing the flames. He didn’t look back when I cracked my knuckles.
