Necromancer

by Graeme Ing

  A long tunnel curved to the right, bisected by smaller ones. They’d likely head for the river so I trusted my direction sense and stuck to the major passage. It turned to the left, and we thumped down a set of dusty stairs. Boot prints were everywhere but that didn’t mean anything. At the foot of the stairs, we splashed into filthy sewer water, sending rats scurrying into a myriad of holes.

  I headed left. It seemed right. We sloshed forward.

  “It’s so hot,” she said.

  It was. We hadn’t rested since finding the grak. Sweat poured down my face and inside my clothes. Steam rose from the water at our feet. I stopped.

  “We should go back,” I said. “Now.”

  “Wait. I hear them.”

  I did too. I’d recognize Babbas’s deep, whiny voice anywhere. Something splashed into deep water.

  “They’re getting away in the boat.” Ayla hurtled onward.

  “Come back. Let them go.”

  She disappeared around the corner and I limped after her. The walls were slick and warm. She yelped, and then a wall of rats screeched and scrambled toward me. I stepped to one side and they flowed over my boots, trampling and climbing over each other in their effort to escape. I couldn’t believe I’d just yielded to rats. Rats were smart. I should run with them.

  I hurried after Ayla, crashing into her back where she stood on a wooden landing stage. The boat was already in the middle of the river, Babbas punting furiously for the far side. Steam filled the tunnel, and the boat swirled in and out of view as if into a fog bank. Condensation ran in rivulets down the walls of the semicircular river tunnel, and the water in the sewer behind us had begun to bubble. I finally registered a distant rumble that had risen to a roar. The men in the boat glanced upstream.

  “Row, row,” the journeyman said. He dipped his hands in the river to paddle, and then jerked them out again with a cry.

  “Run,” I said to Ayla and shoved her roughly back into the sewer. “Run as if Lak was at your heels.”

  He was.

  The roar became deafening. Before we turned the corner, I glanced back to see an inferno engulf the boat. The men hadn’t even had time to scream. The firestorm consumed the entire river tunnel, scorching the stonework as it rushed by, heading downriver. I shielded my face from the searing heat and limped after Ayla.

  I caught snippets of distant, unidentified noises, and a close, whispered voice. I exhaled slowly and stretched my stiff muscles from my neck down to my toes. Oh, what a wonderful, relaxed state.

  “Aren’t you ever going to wake up?” Ayla asked.

  “No. I’m enjoying my body not aching. If I get up, something will just make me hurt again.”

  “Funny.” She shook me.

  I opened my eyes. She stepped away from where I lay on my bed. How long had she been there?

  The enticing aroma of hot mint drew my gaze to the mug sitting on the small table by the window. Beside it stood a plate heaped with honey cakes.

  “It’s past lunchtime. You must be starving.” She frowned and tucked her bangs behind her ear. “You’ve been dead to the world since we got back from Gold River yesterday.”

  I snorted at her choice of words, cracked my neck, and got out of bed. I was still dressed in my dirty, bloody clothes. I scanned the room.

  “If you’re looking for your robe, I gave it to Mother B. last night,” Ayla said. “She made a lot of huffing noises and declared it beyond repair.”

  I had others stashed in the corner. My body was sore and I had to favor one leg, but the limp was less pronounced, and my eye no longer throbbed. I dropped into my chair by the window and sipped the hot mulip. Something pulled tightly against my side, and I lifted my shirt to see clean bandages wrapped around my middle, where the grak had clawed me. Ayla’s right arm was bandaged from elbow to wrist. I drank again and jerked my head toward her arm.

  “Mother B.,” she said and sat on the bed. The room wasn’t large enough for a second chair.

  “I helped with yours.” Her face flushed red. She wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath.”

  I could tell from her damp but neatly brushed hair and clean clothes that she’d already taken one. Dried blood and grak ichor caked my arms. I picked out minute slivers of bleached bone from my hair. The last thing I remembered was us breaking out of a sewer grate beneath one of the wharves in the harbor. I stuffed a whole cake into my mouth. Mmm, still warm.

  “Was there another fire last night?” I mumbled, spraying crumbs.

  She shook her head.

  No way was it a coincidence that the fire thing had been down there with us, but had it intended to kill me, or Babbas and the journeyman? All of us? Unfortunately, my star witnesses that someone in the Guild was trying to kill me were flakes of ash long washed out to sea. Now I had to start over, look for new clues. I blew out my breath.

  “What do we do now?” Ayla said.

  “It’s the Day of Solace,” I said. “I’m having dinner with Phyxia tonight, and no, you’re not invited.”

  I started on another cake.

  “I think I deserve a decent meal after yesterday.” She prodded her bandaged forearm and winced.

  “Sorry, it’s a regular ritual. Just the two of us.”

  She shot me a dagger look. “Then I’ll stay here and finish your book on elementary power usage.”

  There was a gap in the haphazard rows of dusty books on my bookshelf.

  “You stole my book while I was sleeping?”

  “I borrowed it.” She scowled. “I’ll teach myself.”

  “You can’t. It doesn’t work that way. That’s why you need the Guild. Besides, you’re not ready to learn yet.”

  “According to you I’ll never be ready. Stop treating me like a child. I can help if your ego will let me. If you’re going to dinner, I’m reading the book.” She stood. “If you want a peaceful afternoon, submit.”

  We stared each other down. Definitely the daughter of an aristocrat. Had I been so feisty as an apprentice? Yeah, I’d been a nightmare. I sipped my drink. She’d thought the grak a test. She had guts. More than I’d credited her with. I knew a dozen male apprentices who’d have run and kept going right out of the city. She wasn’t the soft, whimpering aristo I’d expected.

  “Sit down. Remember when I warned you how dangerous this job is? And that was before someone tried to kill me.”

  “You don’t know that they are. Maybe that bug creature—”

  “—grak—”

  “—was a mistake. Maybe that hideous hunched man got scared.”

  “Someone in the Guild was controlling the grak,” I said. “And don’t forget the skeleton ambush.”

  She smoothed her skirt and flicked aside an ant. “Maybe he didn’t know it was you. Maybe the skeletons—”

  “Stop trying to justify it all. Whatever the reasons, you could have gotten killed. Stuff like that tends to happen when I’m around.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going home. I’m not giving up.”

  “Then go back to the Guildmaster and get yourself assigned to someone else. Someone in better favor. Someone who will teach you.”

  She scowled and tipped her head to one side.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t ask for an apprentice. Hanging around with me isn’t the best start to your career, trust me.”

  She smiled sweetly. “But being with you is more fun. I like you, and I know you’ll be a great teacher.”

  Gods, not the wide, pleading eyes again.

  She winked mischievously. “Since you’ve failed to scare me off, give me a chance? Oh, you didn’t think you were being obvious about it?”

  I blew out my breath. “All right. Study that book and tomorrow I’ll teach you basic power sensitivity. Now leave me in peace, woman.”

  She gave an “I win” smile, leaped up, and left the room.

  Midafternoon, I slipped out and wandered down the hill to the Guild. There, I cornered Master Begara as he exited a classroom, and I ac
tually startled the old man.

  “We need to talk.” I raised my voice above the din of his departing students. “Please.”

  He stepped back into the classroom and I followed. It wasn’t a large room. Six rows of benches faced a chalkboard and a teacher’s desk stood on a raised platform. Graffiti had been carved into the seats, some of it mine. The basement classroom had no windows, only bowls of everfire suspended by chains from the ceiling.

  Begara sat at the desk. His face bore a guarded expression. I closed the heavy wooden door.

  “You were right,” I said. “There was a Guild journeyman in the sewers with Babbas. I saw them both down there.”

  “Did you identify him?”

  “I wish I had because he tried to kill me.”

  Begara frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I paid Babbas to guide me, but he delivered me into the clutches of a grak.”

  Begara blinked rapidly. His fingers tightened on the edge of the desk.

  “The thing was no match for me.” I smirked. “I followed the thread and guess who was controlling it? The journeyman.”

  Begara gasped. “There must be some mistake.”

  Why did everyone insist that this wasn’t a plot to kill me?

  “We need to see For—the Prime Guildmaster,” I said. “Immediately.”

  “No.” He paced in front of the board. “We shouldn’t bother him. He must have authorized the man to be down there.”

  “Are you suggesting he told the journeyman to kill me?”

  “Of course not.” He chewed his fingernail. “The idiot had to be acting alone.”

  “Well he won’t again. He and Babbas are dead.”

  Begara recoiled and his eyebrows shot up.

  “There was another fire and it killed them both.”

  “Leave this with me.” He glanced nervously toward the door. “Have you spoken with anyone else?”

  I shook my head.

  His gaze darted around the room, seeming to rest everywhere. He avoided looking at me directly.

  “Stop poking around,” he said. “I don’t want you getting into further danger.”

  “I appreciate that, Master, but I can look after myself.” I turned and opened the door.

  Behind me, he cleared his throat. “Coming to me was the right thing to do. Keep it between us. There’s a good lad.”

  I stepped into the empty hallway and closed the door. Maybe he was right not to escalate this. Fortak would blame me. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I realized he hadn’t showed surprise when I’d mentioned the fire.

  Mymar’s was my favorite restaurant. It wasn’t the best in the city, but Mymar’s was special. Since Phyxia first took me, we’d been dining there almost every Solace Day since. That was the only reason. It wasn’t like I hung out in the Plaza District. Snobs, the lot of them.

  A roar of applause and laughter filled the night air of Theater Street as I hurried up the thick, luxurious carpet from my carriage to the lobby of the Sylarian embassy. I didn’t know how Mymar had negotiated situating his restaurant on the top floor of the embassy, but both the view and the food made it a popular nightspot. Even dressed in my best outfit and new robe, I paled against the brightly hued clothing of the rich, and the endless twinkling of their jewelry in the faery lights suspended above the wide walkway. Baskets of sweet-smelling feresens filled ornate tubs on both sides. I tried to melt into the few shadows at hand.

  Begara had been of little help, and I hoped Phyxia would have clearer advice than last time.

  Inside the embassy, a tall, dark-skinned Sylarian strode effortlessly toward me. His hazel eyes shone in the bright overhead lights. With a low bow, he directed me to the lifting carriage. Sylarians didn’t seem to mind necromancers for one reason or another. Another plus in Mymar’s favor.

  I stepped into the lifting carriage, joining a poshly dressed elderly couple. Blue and green streaks contrasted the gray of the man’s hair. With a scowl, he led his companion back out into the lobby, leaving me with the Sylarian lift operator.

  The doors closed, gears grinded into movement, and the lobby fell away below us. We rattled our way up the core of the building. At the fifth floor, the lift carriage jerked to a stop and the doors opened to reveal the welcoming, tastefully decorated entrance to Mymar’s.

  The restaurant host wasn’t so welcoming. Not a Sylarian. His patronizing smile faded and he studied me as one would a kalag at market. He must have been new here.

  “This is a private establishment.” He moved forward to intercept me.

  Was he afraid I’d summon wights to eat his dinner guests? I crowded into his personal space and he cringed.

  “I’m here at the invitation of Ambassador Cach’el’soprine.”

  His eyes widened and met mine for the first time. “The ambassador is—”

  “I know the way.” I pushed past him.

  Diners gawked at me as I paraded through the room, and there was a symphony of the clink of silverware hitting china. Conversations turned to muttering. I made certain to hold my head high and meet everyone’s gaze. I belonged as much as any of them. It was my city too. Chill air hit me as I emerged onto the rooftop terrace, at the top of a staircase inlaid with a carpet of the deepest blue.

  Lunas appeared larger than life, rising from the ocean beyond the harbor. The pinpoints of stars above paled against the glitter of Malkandrah laid out below. Phyxia sat with her back to me at a table overlooking the river, but I recognized her by the cute bonnet she wore to conceal her horns. As always, she had claimed a table close to one of several bronze bowls filled with burning oil. I smiled. She remembered how cold I got. The intense heat soothed my aching muscles, and I slid into the chair beside her.

  “Oh, sishka, your life would be easier if you’d dress to blend in.” She traced her fingers along the runes of my robe.

  I studied her expression—those sensuous lips that formed a half smile, half smirk; her deep, intelligent yet mesmerizing eyes, their color drifting from blue to green and back. I sloshed brandy into my glass, took a quick swallow, and let its fire etch my throat.

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

  Her tiny hand brushed mine, and delightful tingles ran up my arm, quickening my pulse. My whole body relaxed, forgetting the beatings and abuse of the past couple of days. She held her glass up to Lunas and observed the swirling, amber liquid in its glow. Then she chinked my glass and sipped.

  Once the waiter had taken our order, I lowered my voice and told her everything about my foray down to Gold River. A chill gust swept across the rooftop and I shivered. Phyxia stared out into the city. I knew better than to rush her so I poured more brandy. Her tall ears twitched. There was something comical about the way they stuck up on either side of her bonnet.

  “You’re doing just as you should,” she said. “Follow the trail. Make the right choices.”

  “How can I do that when I have no idea what I’m looking for? Why won’t you—?”

  The waiter appeared beside us. I shut my mouth with a clack of teeth, and sat stiffly in the chair while he laid steaming plates and lidded pots before us. He bowed low to Phyxia and pointedly ignored me. How rude. I muttered a fake curse. His face flushed and he scampered away.

  The aroma of her fish entrée teased my nostrils. I breathed deep of lemon and brae-grass. She picked up a dainty china jug and dribbled a pungent sauce onto the glazed, jit-nut-encrusted filet on her plate. I set aside the copper lid from my bowl to reveal a simmering, lurid yellow, pulta hotpot. I took a spoonful and rolled the delicate flavors across my tongue.

  Choices, she’d talked about back at her hovel. What if I made the wrong ones? I nibbled my lip.

  “I’m stuck,” I mumbled. “I get that you prefer me to solve things by myself, but this isn’t the time for that. People are dying. I’ll probably be next. Why are you withholding advice when I need it most?”

  I took another bite of tender pulta.

  She swallowed and s
ipped her drink. “The nature of events means that I cannot—must not—help you. It is the way of my kind, sishka. You have always respected that.”

  I sighed. “I do, but allies are hard to find right now.”

  Her thin lips curled into a smile, and a jet of blue chased green around her gorgeous eyes. I blinked and turned back to my meal.

  “You have Ayla,” she said. “No sarcastic remarks today? Perhaps you already see her worth?”

  What did she know about Ayla? I shook my head. Phyxia had an otherworldly gift for augury.

  She glanced at me. “No matter what you believe, always believe in her.”

  That made no sense. Why did everything she said feel scripted?

  “Perhaps you should seek your mother’s advice,” she said.

  I washed down my pulta with the brandy. It burned and settled uneasily in my stomach. Really? She was bringing that up now?

  “When was the last time—?”

  “No.” My fork clattered against my plate.

  The people at the next table looked at me. I scowled them into submission.

  “Nothing will bring me kneeling before her grave. I’ll never forgive her.”

  Phyxia crunched on jit-nuts. Her ears twitched, the way they do when I imagined her laughing inside.

  “You’re so like her,” she said. “Always trying to prove yourself. Such ambition. How much fun you’ll be when you’re older and wiser.”

  Her gaze shifted over my shoulder and her smile faltered. Behind her, a woman pointed and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

  I swiveled in my chair and my heart skipped.

  A swathe of fire slashed through the city on the far side of the river, a flickering wound of oranges and reds. It illuminated a carpet of inky smoke that boiled out into the surrounding streets. I imagined a tear in the fabric of the world, as if Lak himself had chosen to rip a gateway from his own fiery demesne into ours.

  “Another tenement fire?” a man asked. “Wretched peasants need to be more careful. Sheer clumsiness to let another fire burn free.”

  “It will clean out the slums at least,” a woman said. Her partner laughed.