Secrets and Spellcraft

by Michael G. Manning

  “Do you have the book?”

  Karlovic’s sudden interest made Will cautious. “No. But I can get to it when need be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s hidden.”

  Irritated, the professor responded, “You certainly keep your secrets close to your chest. I’ve gone out of my way to help you, even going as far as lending you this workshop. Don’t you think you should trust me a little more?”

  “I appreciate it, sir. I really do, but I’ve gotten more paranoid of late. Did you know I was attacked after I met the buyer for the universal antidote?”

  “Attacked?”

  “Ambushed,” said Will. “Right after I left the tavern, several men started following me. I barely escaped with my skin intact.”

  “Are you suggesting I had something to do with that?”

  Will shook his head. “No, sir. Personally, I think it was done at the behest of Count Spry, but I really don’t know enough to say. Until I can pay off the blood-price I can’t afford to let my guard down.”

  Karlovic coughed. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. When do you have to pay?”

  “Day after tomorrow. That’s why I need to find a buyer quickly.”

  “Friday? That’s absurd! There’s no way I can find a buyer that soon. Those regeneration potions might be worth five hundred crowns a piece, but finding someone that can afford them won’t be easy. What about a loan?”

  “A loan?”

  The professor nodded. “How much do you lack? With the potions in hand, and a little help from me, you might be able to get a loan to cover the difference until you can sell those potions.”

  “After I turn in the rest of the blood-cleanse potions and collect from the Bursar’s Office, almost three hundred crowns.”

  “Three hundred?” Karlovic seemed as though he was about to choke. “That won’t be easy. Let me talk to the chancellor in the morning. There may be something he can do.”

  “Thanks, Professor.”

  “If I can find a way for you to get the gold, will you let me see the book?”

  “Gidding’s Apothecary, doesn’t the college have a copy?” asked Will.

  The professor nodded. “It’s very old and some of it has been damaged. I’d very much like to compare the two and see if I can fill in the blanks.”

  Will thought about it a moment. “I can’t sell it.”

  “I just want to examine it. You can stay with me the entire time. I wouldn’t dream of stealing it. In fact, if you’ll let me, I could have scribes make copies. I’d be willing to let you have a new copy so you wouldn’t have to risk damaging your original in the future.”

  Arrogan’s copy was in excellent condition, a result of whatever preservation magic the old man had used on his library, but Will didn’t feel like explaining that. “I think that would be satisfactory.”

  “Come find me at lunch tomorrow. I may have good news by then,” said Karlovic.

  The professor left after that, and Will finished cleaning up. He went to bed that night feeling more hopeful than he had in weeks.

  The next day he dropped by the Healing and Psyche building to give Ilona Fretz his latest blood-cleanse potions. He also inquired about the regeneration potions.

  “You’ve really made them?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

  Will nodded. “After I finish them this evening, I should have seven or eight.”

  “We’d love to have them, but there could be some difficulties. How much would you be willing to sell them for?”

  “I don’t know how much they’re worth,” said Will slowly. “Professor Karlovic tells me they might go for as much as five hundred gold apiece.

  Ilona visibly winced. “That makes it even more problematic. I’ve already used up my expense budget for the year buying the blood-cleanse potions. I’ll have to talk to Doctor Morris. He might be willing to rearrange our budget for something like this.” She paused. “But I don’t know if I can get him to agree to a price like that.”

  “I need at least three hundred crowns,” said Will. “Otherwise they’re going to lock me up tomorrow.”

  She frowned. “I’ll see what I can do. Come see me in the morning.”

  Will left, feeling nervous. His optimism from the night before was fading. He hoped Professor Karlovic would have something good to tell him at lunch.

  Composition was a disaster. He’d missed almost a week of classes and he’d been so focused on his alchemy projects that he hadn’t put any time into making up the essay he had missed. Professor Conrad wasn’t shy about pointing out his deficiencies in front of the rest of the class. “You’ve missed two essays, Mister Cartwright, and that’s on top of the fact that your earlier work was abysmal. Do you really think I’ll give you pass for this class at the end of the year?”

  If I’m even here, Will thought. “No, ma’am. I’ll try to do better.”

  Janice caught up to him in the hall. “I could help.”

  He gave her a despondent look. “How?”

  “Let me do a few of your essays. All you have to do is recopy them.”

  “I’m not Dennis,” he said flatly.

  She flinched as though he had slapped her, but she didn’t back down. “I didn’t deserve that.”

  Will deflated. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But it really won’t work. Professor Conrad has seen my previous essays. She wouldn’t be fooled if I turned in something you wrote.”

  She pursed her lips. “Then let me help you. You write it, and I’ll help you revise it. We can work on it Saturday.”

  He wasn’t sure he would still be a free man on Saturday, but sharing his anxiety wouldn’t help. “Sure,” he answered, “and thank you.”

  Everything changed in History class, however. Midway through the lecture the double doors to the auditorium banged open. The professor turned in annoyance to address whoever had interrupted, but her angry response died in mid-sentence. “I don’t know who you think—”

  There were four armed and armored city constables in the doorway. One of them held a rolled-up piece of paper. “We have an arrest warrant for William Cartwright. Is he present?”

  Will wanted to melt into the floor, but there was no avoiding the situation. Every face in the auditorium turned to him, and Melissa Fontenot raised her arm silently to point at him. Grimly, Will stood and looked down at the men who had come to claim him. “I’m not due to see the magistrate until tomorrow.”

  “Given the considerable size of the sum you owe, an order has been given to detain you a day early to ensure that you do appear,” said the lead constable. “I’d advise you to come quietly.”

  His heart was pounding, and he could feel a cold sweat break out on his skin. Unconsciously, Will clenched his fists. There were only four of them. I’ve dealt with worse odds. A hand on his arm brought him back to reality.

  “Violence will only make things worse,” said Janice.

  Will lowered his eyes. If he let them take him, it was all over. He’d never be able to finish raising the money. He glanced around the room, seeing a mixture of curiosity, worry, and excitement on the faces of his fellow students. They were wondering if the man who had murdered Dennis Spry would put up a fight.

  He made his way to the aisle and descended to the floor of the auditorium, where the constables waited on him. One of them held a pair of iron shackles in his hands. “Those aren’t necessary,” said Will. “I’ll come quietly.”

  “Turn around,” barked the lead constable. “Give me your hands.”

  Cheeks burning with shame, Will did as he was told, and the constables bound his arms together behind his back. Once he was restrained, they started to leave, but one of the men shoved him from behind, causing him to stumble. Unable to catch himself, his head slammed into the wood floor, bloodying his lip.

  “Get up, you clumsy lout!” ordered one of the constables.

  Will tried to do as commanded, but the two men hauling him up by his shoulders o
nly made things more difficult. He stumbled again and was rewarded with a boot to his ribs before he finally managed to get back on his feet.

  He thought the worst of the shame was past, but as they left the building a crowd of curious onlookers formed to see who was being arrested. If felt as though every single student who wasn’t currently in class came to watch his forcible departure.

  “You didn’t have to arrest me,” complained Will as they walked him down the path that led to the main gate. “I would have been there tomorrow.”

  “Stop bitching,” said the lead constable. “This is just the beginning. After they hand you over to the count’s men tomorrow, you’ll be dreaming of being back in our custody.”

  Will couldn’t help but agree, though he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of doing so out loud.

  Chapter 29

  The city jail in Cerria was much larger than the one he had been in back in Branscombe. It had not just one holding cell, but an entire floor of them, each large enough to hold ten men, whether they liked it or not. The main headquarters for the city constabulary was three stories high, with the first floor reserved for the front desk, admitting, and other rooms that the officers used during their daily duties. The second floor was where the human trash was kept, as Constable Allen had been kind enough to explain to him, making sure that Will knew he was definitely included in that category. The third floor was administrative offices.

  The residents of the holding cells were also more varied. The one that Will was currently in held six other men, two petty thieves, a man who had murdered his wife, another who had been caught sleeping with someone else’s wife, a drunk who had been found sleeping on the street, and a beggar. Apparently extreme poverty was a crime in Cerria, and while Will had money, he couldn’t help but think the vagrancy laws were unfair. Though he wasn’t poor, he was about to be sentenced for not having enough coin, so he felt a certain amount of solidarity with the beggar.

  After he was brought in, the constables relieved him of his under-armor and his belt knife, but the rest of his clothes were left on his person.

  Unfortunately, for all its size—or perhaps because of it—the cell in the Cerria jail was dirtier and smellier than the one he had spent time in back in Branscombe. I’m becoming an expert in jail cells, thought Will ruefully. At least it’s better than the king’s dungeon.

  The front wall of the cell was iron bars, while the other three walls were solid stone with built-in stone benches. If any of the occupants had to relieve themselves, there was an open drain in the center of the floor.

  The benches were long enough to hold three or four men apiece, though currently there were three men on one bench, two on the second, and a solitary fellow occupying one all to himself. Will could smell trouble when he looked at the fellow, but he wasn’t in a mood to care. He walked toward the bench with only one occupant.

  “Fuck off, mate. I don’t like company,” said the man stretched out on the bench.

  His good sense was telling him to go sit at the bench with only two men, but Will’s irritation overrode his caution. “We’ll get along well, then, I don’t either. Go sit over there.” He pointed at the other bench.

  The other man stood up. Will didn’t waste time, however; he cast the source-link spell and connected it to his new companion as he was rising. That accomplished, he examined the man he was almost certainly about to fight. The fellow was slightly taller, though not quite as well muscled as Will. His clothes were dirty but in good repair.

  “What did you get put in here for, boy?” asked the stranger.

  “The name is Will, and I’m here for killing a man in a duel.”

  “A duel? How honorable! You must feel very special!” said the other man mockingly. “But I don’t see a sword now. You don’t think that fancy crap will get you anywhere in this place, do you?”

  Will smiled coldly. “Perhaps you could teach me?” He saw the other man’s body began to tense and immediately injected a healthy dose of turyn into his opponent. A look of confusion crossed the man’s face, and then Will slammed his fist into the poor bastard’s upset stomach. With his other hand, he turned the fellow toward the center of the room just before he began to vomit, spraying his last meal onto the floor.

  The man fell to his knees and managed to direct the rest of his stomach’s contents into the drain. Will sat down on the now-empty bench. “Clean it up when you’re done,” he ordered. “It smells terrible.”

  “Asshole,” gasped the sick man. “What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing compared to what I’ll do if you don’t scrape the rest of your vomit into that hole,” said Will, leaning back against the wall. The man started to argue, but his stomach began heaving again. Will glanced at the bench with three men on it. “If one of you wants more room, you’re welcome to join me over here.”

  One of them answered, “But Jax—” The man stopped a second later and pointed at the man still vomiting on the floor.

  “I’m allergic to assholes,” said Will. “I don’t mind sharing a bench with someone polite.”

  At first no one moved, until at last the drunkard staggered across the room and sat down on the other end of Will’s bench. “Don’t mind if I do,” he slurred. “I’m Ben, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Will, trying not to flinch away from the smell of stale beer on the man’s breath. He pointed at the man who was almost done retching. “He’s Jax, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Ben. Several of the others in the room nodded in agreement.

  Jax was finally getting back to his feet. He turned and glared at Will. “You’ll regret—”

  Will’s expression was hard and uncaring. “Clean it up. If I have to repeat myself again, you’ll be sleeping in the mess you made.”

  Jax said nothing for a few tense seconds, then got down on his knees and began scraping the rest of the vomit into the hole. Will closed his eyes and tried to nap. He figured he had a few hours before Jax felt well enough to start something again and he wanted to be rested before then.

  ***

  Will ignored the food the guards brought that evening. He had two reasons for doing so, one being that the food looked disgusting. His other reason was simply that he didn’t want anything solid in his stomach that might result in him needing to squat over the drain hole in the middle of the cell. Peeing with six spectators was bad enough. He figured if he got hungry enough, he would eat some of the bread stored in his limnthal, but missing one or two meals wouldn’t kill him.

  The rest of the evening and the night that followed were miserable for Will. Jax never worked up the courage to have another go at him, but the stone benches were not designed with sleep in mind. He dozed off in short stretches of a few minutes at a time and at one point woke when Ben slumped over and landed with his head in Will’s lap.

  Will eased out from under the snoring drunk and stood for a few hours rather than wake the man. Jax stared at him, confused by his seeming kindness toward the drunk.

  Will stared back. “Try not being a jackass and maybe you wouldn’t have to get your ass kicked all the time.”

  “Fuck off,” said the thief, but he made no move to get up and start another fight.

  Morning couldn’t come soon enough, and when the guards came by with breakfast, Will greeted them with a smile. “None for me, thanks,” he told them.

  One of them unlocked the door. “You weren’t getting any anyway. Come out.”

  Will did as he was told. “Am I already going to see the magistrate?”

  “No, you’re being released. Count Spry has dropped his petition. You’re free to go,” said the guard.

  “What? How can that be?”

  “His man went to the magistrate this morning, said he’d received the blood-price you owed him. That’s all I know.”

  Will didn’t know how to respond. He followed the guard numbly, and a few minutes later he found himself standing in the street, holding his brigandine and belt knife i
n one hand. “What just happened?” he muttered to himself. He turned back to the constable who was about to leave. “Where is the magistrate’s office?”

  The guard stopped and pointed at a large, slate-grey building directly opposite the jail, “That’s the courthouse. You can ask the clerks in there, but if you actually want to see the magistrate, you’ll have to make an appointment. It’s hard to see him unless you have a case brought before him.”

  Will thanked the man and studied the street. He couldn’t believe that Count Spry had simply given up on extracting his pound of flesh. And his men would know I’m here and that I’m being released. There were a lot of people moving through the street, but he made note of the faces of those who seemed to be loitering, then crossed over and went up the steps of the courthouse.

  The interior was wide and spacious. Numerous doors let out from the main lobby, and most of them bore labels with the name of the court they served. It took Will a couple of minutes before he noticed a door labeled simply, ‘General Inquiry.’ Stepping in, he found a small, neat man seated at a desk.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I have a question,” said Will. “I was supposed to see the magistrate today about a blood-price I owed to Count Spry, but I’ve been told the petition was dropped.”

  The man nodded. “For future reference, you should know the name of the magistrate if you hope to find the right court, but in your case, I happen to know. Magistrate Tumfrey was the one who was overseeing your case.”

  “Oh. How many magistrates are there?”

  “Seven currently. Your case was pretty well known, though. It isn’t often someone kills a nobleman. If you go across the lobby, you’ll see the door for Magistrate Tumfrey’s clerk. He can tell you more.”

  Will thanked the clerk and followed his advice. The door for Tumfrey’s office was taller and framed by an impressively carved doorframe. He stepped inside and saw several people waiting in chairs. A long desk divided the room with a rather portly, red-faced man on the other side. Someone was already speaking to the man, so Will took a seat.