“No,” John said. “No one will recognize him now, not even the two of them. Before he left, he did something, and his face shifted. He looked completely different when he left my room than he did when he came into it. No one from here would recognize him; the only person that would know him is me.”
“Is that so?” asked the elf.
“Yes,” said John, “although the height stayed the same, even his mother wouldn’t recognize him now.”
“Please wait here,” instructed the elf, before withdrawing to the other side of the room with Ghorza.
“This bodes ill,” she said to Ghorza. “If he has come back here, it must be part of a bigger plan. The fact that he came back at this time cannot be an accident. The amount of planning and preparation that went into stealing the queen’s crown was years in the making. He’s here now for a reason. I don’t know what could be more important than stealing the queen’s crown, but I don’t want him to have it.”
“Who are you going to assign to this case?” Ghorza asked.
“I’m going to assign you,” the elf replied. “I think that you and Dantes have served your probation time and need to be reinstated. There was obviously much more to the Spectre than we knew at the time. You simply weren’t ready to be matched up against him.”
“What will the Council say?” asked Ghorza. “We’ve been on probation for almost three years. Our skills haven’t improved much since we last went after him; how are we going to have any more success this time?”
“Leave the Council to me; I will handle them,” replied the elf. “You focus on Dantes...bringing him back may not be easy.”
“May not be easy?” asked Ghorza. “Magistra, that may be the biggest understatement I have ever heard. I will try, but I don’t know whether I will be able to get him to come back.”
“Think of it as an audition for your return,” replied the elf. “If you can get him to come back, you are obviously ready to be reinstated.”
“I will do what I can,” Ghorza said with a sigh. She didn’t radiate confidence. Head down, she turned and walked to the door.
“Just a second,” said the elf. “Don’t you want to take your new partner?”
“New partner?” asked Ghorza looking up hopefully. “Are you going to send someone senior to train us?”
“Unfortunately, there is no one else available,” the elf replied. “The tension with Carpos continues to build. All of our best operatives are involved with that. There is no one else to send.” She crossed the room to where John stood waiting.
“I’m sorry that I was not more forthcoming when we spoke earlier,” she said. “You may call me Magistra. I am in charge of Norlon’s Academy of Magic, the school in which you are currently standing. I am also in charge of the Magisterium, which is the home for the Kingdom of Norlon’s special police. My operatives are responsible for solving the crimes local constables or city watches cannot, usually because they involve magic. You have already met two of my operatives, Ghorza,” she nodded to the orc, “and her former partner, Dantes. He is the one that looked like a devil.”
“My operatives are supposed to solve things quietly,” the Magistra continued, “and they almost never fail.” She shook her head. “Both of those things didn’t happen in your case, of course. Unfortunately, I underestimated their quarry greatly, or I would have sent operatives that were more experienced. This was their first big case...and they weren’t ready for Milos. Even more unfortunately, I don’t have anyone else to put on this case now that he has returned. While I normally do not involve civilians in our cases, I am going to have to ask for your help. It is the only way they will have a chance.”
“My help?” asked John. “You mean like to help them catch him? I’d love to make sure that he gets caught, but I don’t know anything about magic. How would I be able to help with that?”
“You are the only person that knows what he looks like now,” answered the Magistra. “Assuming that they can keep you alive long enough, you’re the only person that can identify him.”
John gulped. “Umm...keep me alive? Is Milos dangerous? He didn’t hurt me when I saw him the first time; why would he hurt me now?”
“He didn’t hurt you then,” the Magistra replied, “because he wasn’t worried about you coming here. He obviously thought that you wouldn’t be able to follow him. I don’t know how you did it, but you are here now...and you are the only one that knows what he looks like. You are the only one who can identify him. If he has some nefarious plan, he might very well want to eliminate the possibility that he can be identified…and that would mean eliminating you.”
The threat in the elf’s words brought goose bumps to his skin. “I’m not sure that I want to do that,” John replied. “Maybe I could draw his picture for you instead? I’m a pretty good artist...”
“No, it would be better if they had your active support, I think,” said the Magistra. She frowned at him, causing John to feel unworthy. “If you don’t help us, what are you going to do here? Where will you go?”
John was at a loss. “I don’t know where to go,” he said. “I guess I’d go back to my world.”
“And how will you get there?” the Magistra pressed. “Through another mirror?”
“I guess I will go back to the inn where I arrived,” John answered. “However, I don’t know where that is. Or how to operate the mirror there, either.”
“I will make you a deal,” said the Magistra. “If you help Dantes and Ghorza find and apprehend Milos, I give you my solemn word that I will use the considerable resources of the Magisterium to return you to your world. If you do not assist us, I will not stand in your way, but neither will I do anything to aid you. I simply do not have the resources to waste on someone that refused to assist us in our time of need.”
“When you put it that way,” replied John, “I don’t have any choice but to help you find Milos. There is no way that I can find my way back to the inn, or my world, on my own.”
“Thank you very much,” said the Magistra, gracious in victory. “I greatly appreciate your assistance. For my part, I have something that will assist you in your quest.”
The Magistra turned to Ghorza. “Take him to Vishdink,” she said, “and tell him to give John Gratsby the Necklace of Tongues.”
“Yes, Magistra,” Ghorza replied. She turned to leave.
“Thank you again for your assistance,” the Magistra repeated to John. “Please know that once Milos has been caught, we will do everything possible to help you.”
“Thanks,” said John. “I’ll look forward to it.” He turned to follow Ghorza out the door. “Assuming I’m still alive,” he muttered under his breath.
Chapter 11
John followed Ghorza another two levels down below the surface of whatever planet he was on, still worrying about everything the Magistra had said. In addition to the death threat, one other thing stood out. “I’m not sure I want to wear a necklace made of tongues,” he said finally.
“Gruempt dakto?” asked Ghorza. She sighed. “Convertite!” said Ghorza, casting another Translate spell to replace the one that wore off. “What did you say?”
“I said, I’m not sure I want to wear a necklace made of tongues,” John repeated. “You have to admit, that’s pretty gross.” Realizing that he knew nothing about Ghorza, he added, “Well, I don’t know if it is for you, but it’s pretty gross to me.”
“Wearing a necklace of war trophies isn’t gross in orc society,” said Ghorza, confirming her orc heritage; “however, that certainly isn’t something that would be worn in polite human company. In this case, though, I don’t think that you have to worry about it.” She stopped in front of an unmarked door and opened it before John could ask a follow-up question.
They entered a large room that was a little wider than it was deep, and was unlike anything John had ever seen. It looked like a cross between Frankenstein’s lab and a corner convenience store. There were all sorts of racks and storage devices on
the walls, but while the room might have been neat and orderly at some point, that point was long past. Metal rods were piled with large sticks, other piles might have been spell components...or yesterday’s lunch, John wasn’t sure. Several small tables were completely covered with piles of drawings, most of which had enough cross-outs and erasures as to be nearly unreadable. A bellows stood on the hearth next to a roaring fire, along with a wide variety of metal-working implements. Woodworking tools waited in one of the corners. The temperature in the room was well over 100 degrees, and enough things clicked, chirped and otherwise made noises that the room was a general cacophony.
In the center of the chaos was a large table in the middle of the room. Although there were several chairs around the table (and two more lying on their sides next to it), some type of small creature sat on top of it, oblivious to everything going on around it. The creature didn’t acknowledge their presence; instead, it continued to draw on the blueprint it was sitting on. The creature had obviously been drawing for some time; it had blue all over its pants, most of its shirt, and the majority of the exposed skin that John could see. The skin that hadn’t been colored blue appeared to originally be charcoal gray with splotches of dark red. The creature’s skin color complemented its hair, which flowed down below its shoulders in waves of red.
“What is that?” whispered John.
“Vishdink is a fire gnome,” replied Ghorza. “They like to tinker with things, especially new things. I’d say that they like to build things, but it isn’t the completed product that interests them, as much as it is the process of figuring out how something works. Unless someone forces them to, it is rare for any of them to actually complete anything; they just keep improving whatever they’re working on and never reach a final end product.”
The gnome was erasing something on the blueprint, but stopped and turned to look at them when it heard their voices. It slid over to the edge of the table and dropped to the ground, and then it rushed over to stand in front of John. Although John was short by human standards, he towered above the gnome, which couldn’t have even been three feet tall.
“What have you brought, Ghorza?” it asked. “It looks like a human, but it is shorter than it should be, and it smells different.”
“You know I’m standing right in front of you and can hear you, right?” John asked.
“Oooh, and it is so sassy, too,” said the gnome. “Vishdink thinks that Vishdink may like it.” It peered up, squinting its eyes. “What are those things on its face? Vishdink see?”
“Yes, you can see them,” answered John, taking off his glasses and handing them to the gnome, “but you need to be careful with them. They’re called glasses. They help me see.”
The gnome studied the glasses. “Help you see, do they? Are they magic?” Vishdink asked. It put the glasses up to its mouth and looked like it was going to take a bite out of one of the earpieces.
John didn’t know if the creature could bite through the metal, but didn’t want to chance it. The teeth that he could see were red and pointy and looked like they were meant to chop things up. “Hey!” he yelled. “No biting! I said you could see them, not eat them. Keep them out of your mouth.”
“How is Vishdink supposed to tell what glasses are made of if you don’t let Vishdink taste them?” grumbled the gnome. “Never mind, Vishdink can tell by the smell.” It handed them back to John. “How do they work?”
“I don’t know,” replied John. “The shape of the glass bends the light waves so that they focus properly on the back of my eye. The shape is important; you have to have the right shape for the shape of your eye. Everyone’s eyes are different, and even one person’s two eyes may be different. My eyes have different prescriptions.”
“Hmm...interesting,” said the gnome, a faraway look coming to its eyes as it contemplated John’s answers. “Vishdink doesn’t know what a prescription is, but Vishdink guesses that means the shape of the glass within the metal frame. Is Vishdink right?”
“Close enough,” said John.
The gnome muttered, “Hmm...” again and turned to walk off. Ghorza coughed. “Before you go build a pair of your own,” she said, “we need some help.”
“Yes, yes, of course you need help. Why else would you come to see Vishdink?” it asked. “You never come by to say ‘hi;’ you only come when you need something.” It stopped at one of the smaller side tables and started writing on a scrap of parchment there. “One second.”
“Ok,” it said a few seconds later, “what is it you need?”
“The Magistra said to come and ask you for the Necklace of Tongues,” Ghorza replied. “We are going on a quest to find a thief, and John does not speak any of our languages.”
“It doesn’t speak our languages?” asked Vishdink. “Where is it from? One of the moons in the night sky?”
“No,” answered Ghorza, “he is from another world. We don’t know where. Without the necklace, gherfu ksfrug prutlug mfrkond.” The two of them continued speaking, but Ghorza’s translation spell had worn off, and John was no longer able to understand them.
Lost to the conversation, John walked over to the smaller table where the gnome had stopped. There was a perfect drawing of his glasses on the scrap of parchment, as well as a representation of light being refracted through them to a single point. John was impressed.
He looked up as a loud crash reverberated through the room. Vishdink was standing in the remains of one of the sets of shelves, rooting through a basket that appeared to have been toward the top of it. He pulled something out and brought it over to John. While he had been impressed with the gnome’s drawing skills, he was less than impressed with the gnome’s necklace. It looked like something that a five-year-old might have worn. It wasn’t gold but some brownish metal, and it was exceedingly tarnished. The necklace had little charms with crude sketches of various creatures on them. Overall, it didn’t look like a magical device or anything that would be very helpful to him.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” he asked the gnome.
The gnome looked puzzled and turned to say something to Ghorza. She replied, and the gnome turned back to John. It motioned for John to put on the necklace.
John put the necklace on. “Now what?” he asked.
“Now what?” repeated the gnome. “Now you take the powerful artifact that will translate people’s talkings, and you leave Vishdink in peace so that Vishdink can figure out this thing called ‘glasses.’ Bye bye.” Vishdink took the parchment off the table and went back to the large table. The gnome brushed off the blueprint that it had been working on, and the blueprint fell onto several others that were already piled up next to the table. Vishdink picked up a blank blueprint and spread it out on the table, prior to climbing up and sitting down in the middle of it. The gnome started drawing, humming happily to itself.
“We might as well leave,” said Ghorza. “Now that he has a new project, we won’t be able to interrupt his thoughts again for some time.”
Chapter 12
He would never live down the Spectre case, Dantes realized, throwing a rock into the lava pool far below him. He found he did his best thinking while sitting on the edge of the volcano’s crater. Something about having his legs dangling over the edge was liberating. Maybe he would just slide in…one day…ending his need to think for all time. His father might have survived a fall into the molten lava, but he didn’t think he would.
He had come to the conclusion a long time ago that it was his fault the case would never be solved. Dantes was the one that had broken the mirror, trapping the Spectre in a far off land...with the queen’s crown still in his possession. Too young to have been trusted with such enormous responsibility, he had recovered a fake crown. Although Dantes had traveled the length and breadth of Tasidar, he had been unable to locate the land where they trapped the thief. That place was either across the ocean or on an alternate plane. The only thing he knew was that it wasn’t on Tasidar. If it was, he’d have found it.
Being a member of the Magisterium had been the high point of his life. It was the only place that he had ever belonged, even a little. Although most of the humans had never trusted him, a few had, as had many of the demi-humans and other races. His partnership with Ghorza had been the pinnacle of his career. Even though she was a little flighty, they worked well as a team; each drew from the other’s strengths.
That time was over, though, and he doubted that he would ever be trusted with that level of responsibility again. None of the good races would ever trust him; most of them believed that he had intentionally helped the Spectre escape. After three years, it didn’t appear they had any intention of ending his probation, or they would have done so by now.
Perhaps it was for the best. The devil side of his personality had been calling him for the last year. Forsake the gods of good and come over to the evil side, it said. He could do what he wanted. He could kill whoever he wanted, and he could torture people at will. There was a considerable appeal to that...his powers would rise unchecked, and he could be the devil his father had wanted him to be. Maybe someday he would even take his place in the triumvirate of devils that ruled the second level of hell.
But that was not what he had promised his mother, and his word had to be good for something. It was the only link he still had to her. His father had destroyed everything else, not wanting Dantes to be ‘soft.’ He had even killed Dantes’ mother. Dantes walked in as it was happening and had stopped his father the only way he could. He had killed his father, driving one of his horns through his father’s heart. He was too late, though; his mother was only human and too far gone to be saved. Before she died, she made him swear to stay with the gods of good, and he had given his word to do so. The longer he sat looking down at the bubbling lava, the harder he found it was to remember her face...or his promise to her.
Chapter 13
Can't Look Back (War for Dominance Book 1) Page 5
