Quill

by A. C. Cobble

  “Wait,” interjected Duke. “Hold on. You were going to kill yourself and be in that spear?”

  Thotham nodded. “My spirit will inhabit the weapon when I die.”

  “You cannot do that,” stated Sam, her hand tightening on her mentor’s arm.

  “I cannot?” asked Thotham with a smile for his apprentice. “But I can. I’ve spent years preparing this ritual. Here, in Middlebury, in my sanctum, I made it possible. I primed the weapon, and if I wasn’t interrupted, it would have already happened. I intended to write you a note to explain myself and then fall on the spear. Your scrying, and the attention it drew, prevented me from finishing. When this steel drinks my blood, it will absorb my spirit and keep me from the clutches of Ca-Mi-He.”

  “No,” argued Sam, “we need you.”

  “You will have me, Samantha, and they will not,” argued Thotham, his voice a painful rasp. “My strength, my purpose, it will be in the weapon. I just need you to kill me with it.”

  “Oh, this is getting strange,” worried Duke.

  She ignored him and held her mentor’s gaze.

  “Do it,” he said, his hard eyes meeting hers, no hesitation in his voice. “My vision… it’s always been you, Sam, and him. I can see that now. The enemy has stumbled, giving us a chance. We have a thread to follow. Kill me and follow that thread.”

  She shook her head. “You do not understand. Thotham, we need you. They covered their tracks, and we don’t know who is behind the killings. Every time we’ve pursued a lead, someone else dies. There are no more leads, Thotham. We have nowhere else to look.”

  “You’ll find a way,” he insisted.

  “I have,” she responded, sitting back on her heels, releasing her grip on her mentor. “I think, finally, I have.” She pointed to the dead priest across the room. “They must already know their assassin failed, but they’ll send more. Sorcerers, assassins, grimalkins, I don’t know what, but I do know they’ll come for you. That, Thotham, is the thread we have to follow. Let them come. Let them walk into our trap. Then, we can find out who is behind this. We have an opportunity to uncover who the enemy is, but we need you alive to do it. We will no longer look for them. They will look for us.”

  “Bait,” murmured her mentor.

  She nodded.

  “If they get to me…” warned Thotham. “We cannot risk my soul falling into the wrong hands. I know too much about you, Samantha. With me under their thumbs, they could extract that information.”

  “Will the spear be effective anywhere, or must the ritual be completed here?”

  Thotham stared up at his apprentice, uncertain.

  She was certain, though. Time and time again, they’d stumbled after their enemies, flailing in the dark, constantly one step behind. Now, they had an advantage. They had a way to ensure their quarry would come to them.

  Finally, Thotham agreed, “If there were more sorcerers in Middlebury, they’d be here by now. We can assume that man was the only one working for our opponents who could make it here quickly. They’ll come, though, and when they do, we should be gone.”

  “Gone?” wondered Duke. “I thought we wanted to stage a trap.”

  “My protection in this place was its secrecy,” explained Thotham. “Now that it is no longer secret, they’ll be able to penetrate quickly and easily. We don’t have time to prepare to meet them here. We need to move, find somewhere we can plan, and then build our snare.”

  “Where, though?” asked Sam.

  “Westundon,” declared Duke. “With the ease they uncover our movements, I can only assume our enemies have a presence there. We have allies, though, and I have the perfect place to design and set a trap.”

  “We can’t trust anyone,” complained Thotham. “Even your brother, the bishop, none of them.”

  “We can go to my house,” insisted Duke. “There is space, resources, and I have people on my staff who’ve been with me since I was a child. I will stake my life that my valet Winchester is trustworthy. He can be our hands, moving in public while we remain in hiding. We’ll have the resources we need there, the space to set your snare, and visibility all around us. It will make sense to the enemy when we trigger the trap, and they find our location. They won’t suspect a thing.”

  “Don’t you live in the palace?” questioned Sam.

  “Most of the time,” agreed Duke with a grin. “I do have a house, though, set aside in a section of Wellesley Park. There’s open land around it, so we can watch if someone comes close. It’s a large estate, and I do entertain there sometimes, so it will not be unusual to see movement in and out. I don’t know if there’s a perfect place, but I think this will work, unless you have something better?”

  Sam glared at him. He knew damn well the three of them could barely even fit in her apartment, much less set a trap for sorcerers there. The narrow stairwell and hallways around it would provide anyone cover until they were upon them.

  She stood and looked around the circular chamber before turning back to her mentor. “Duke’s place it is, then. What do we collect from here? We don’t have much time. If they’re coming like we think they are, we’ll have several turns of the clock until they could reach us from any major city on the rail, but if they have an airship, they could be here in one or two turns.”

  “What should we do about him?” wondered Duke, glancing at the corpse of the sorcerer. “Do you think we can identify him?”

  “He was a priest,” rasped Thotham. “I recognize him from when I visited the Church here. You won’t find anything on him, though. Like Swinpool, our enemies have taken pains to remove any other clues that may tie their assassins to the rest of the group.”

  Duke grunted.

  “There, in that alcove, take any devices made of wood, glass, stone, or metal. Leave the rest. Leave the paper and the books,” instructed Thotham. He blinked wearily. “Then, we’ll light the fuse.”

  The Initiate V

  She pulled back the sleeve of her robe and used both hands to turn the page of the ancient tome. Brittle paper, rough under her fingers, threatened to crumble at the gentle motion. It had been years, she suspected, or maybe even decades since anyone had read the archaic script written on the yellowing parchment. Knowledge, dribbled in small, nearly indecipherable bits, lying untapped. She would tap it, though. She would learn.

  Next to the manuscript, she turned a page in her notebook and began to painstakingly copy the words from the ancient text to her fresh one. Word for word, each symbol carefully replicated in full, no detail left out.

  “I don’t understand,” drawled a man from behind her, “how a girl can get to be so beautiful by sitting in front of a desk all of the time.”

  She ignored the voice and kept copying.

  “Isisandra Dalyrimple,” continued the man, soft footsteps indicating he was walking closer. “Initiate in the Feet of Seheht of the first rank. Certainly the richest and most powerful girl of her age, stuck doing the menial labor of a clerk. A shame.”

  Fearing he would draw close enough to see the text of the book she was working on, she finally turned and faced the man. He was young, perhaps five years her senior. A beautiful man, she supposed. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle. His hair curled like a wave down over his forehead, and as she watched, he flipped his head, shaking a silky lock out of his eyes. Those eyes bore down on her with hunger.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Marcus,” he said, a smile forming on his lips.

  He drew himself up, preening like a peacock looking for a mate. She had to admit, even in the voluminous robes the Feet of Seheht’s members wore, she could tell he was well built. A stud, she knew, brought in by one of the senior women in the society specifically for the more scandalous rites. Why let one of their overfed pale flabby husbands do it when such a fine specimen could handle the job.

  “What do you want, Marcus?” she asked.

  “Outside of these walls, you are high-society, and I am low,” he sai
d, leaning casually against the winged back of a lounging chair. The same one the elder had sat in when she’d first been brought into the library. “I serve at your pleasure, or the likes of you at least. I sweat and toil for the scattering of shillings your kind is willing to throw at my feet for the simple labor I provide. I’m not complaining, you understand. It is the way of things. It’s the way it always is for those who are unwilling to change their circumstances.”

  She crossed her arms, staying seated, and let a slippered foot tap impatiently on the carpet.

  Marcus saw it and he started speaking quickly. “In here, it is different. In here, you are an initiate, and I am an adept — second rank. Here, you are the one who sweats and toils, and I am the one with currency to spend. My currency is secrets. To rise in the Feet of Seheht, you must learn our secrets. To learn more secrets, you must rise. Confusing, right? I can help you, Isisandra. I can guide you along this path, and all I ask—”

  She held up a hand. “I know what you ask.”

  He smiled and stood straight. “Shall we, then?”

  “No,” she replied.

  He frowned.

  “Leave me alone, Marcus,” she instructed.

  “Without a guide, a mentor, you won’t get far,” he warned. “In the future, my assistance may not be available, or perhaps it will cost you more.”

  “I don’t want your assistance,” she snapped.

  “You’re not copying that book out of penance, are you?” he asked, his eyes falling to the crumbling pages on the desk behind her. “The masters assign that sometimes as a punishment. I thought that’s what you were doing. Most initiates can’t even read the script. But I was right. You’re here for the knowledge. You can read Darklands script and you know what you’re seeking.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Marcus waved his hand around the library. “Do you think the elder allows anything of value in this room? Anyone can walk in here. Even prospective members are allowed into this room. The maids dust in here, for spirits’ sake! No one reads these books, not the true knowledge seekers, at least.”

  She sat quietly. She knew no one read the books, or the one sitting open behind her wouldn’t have been on the shelf. It held no great secrets of the underworld, but it told truth, and truth was power. But she also knew Marcus was right. This room was not where they kept the real knowledge. If she wanted to learn what they had to share… knowledge came at a price.

  “I can help you,” drawled the man, leaning back on the chair back, shifting, trying to look casual.

  “I’m thinking,” she said. She studied the man before finally agreeing, “You are right. I do seek knowledge. For the right knowledge, I would be very grateful. But only for the right knowledge.”

  The man let his smile grow.

  “What are you offering me?” she asked.

  “Adepts have access to another library,” claimed Marcus, “one filled with useful texts, texts that would be of far more interesting to someone like you.”

  “And you will get these books for me?” she asked, allowing herself to lean forward slightly.

  “I could if you show enough gratitude,” he responded coyly.

  “Go get me one now,” she instructed.

  He blinked at her.

  “These robes are not very flattering,” she continued. “If you want to see what’s under them tonight, then go get me a book from the adept’s library right now. The more interesting the book is, the more I’ll let you do to me.”

  Marcus’ mouth opened then closed then opened again. His eyes were wide, and his breath came in quick snorts from his nose.

  “You weren’t wasting my time, Marcus, were you?” she asked. “I can offer you what you were seeking and more. Surely you do not enjoy being a common laborer outside of these walls? The elderly matrons who brought you in here will never raise your station because then they will lose their power over you. I, though, need something from you. In exchange, I can offer you a night’s pleasure and so much more. If you seek to improve your station, then show me you can do what you say.”

  “No, I-I, ah…” he stammered. “Tonight, you said?”

  “Get me a book Marcus, and tonight, I will show you gratitude. I need to see you can uphold your end of the bargain, though, before I uphold mine.”

  “How do I know you’ll—”

  “Get the book, and I’ll get naked,” she purred. “You can give me the book after.”

  Marcus swallowed and glanced around the library, ensuring they were alone. “Meet me in the blue room.”

  “The red room,” she replied. “Red is more sensual, don’t you think?”

  He nodded and then dashed off, presumably heading to the flight of stairs at the back of the building, the one she was barred from climbing, and then to wherever the adept’s library was located. He was moving fast, and she hoped she had enough time.

  She closed the volume she’d been working on and placed it back on the shelves. She tucked away her notebook and walked into the hallway to the entrance where she found a bored-looking secretary.

  “Tell the elder to meet me in the red room, please.”

  The secretary studied her before responding, “You’re new, aren’t you? Initiates don’t command the elder. He commands you.”

  “Ask him to meet me, then, and I’m sure if it is not worth his time, he will administer whatever punishment he sees fit.”

  The woman scowled at her and advised, “That’s a bad idea. You have no idea—”

  Isisandra smirked. “Tell him. If it turns out badly for me, well, won’t you enjoy hearing about it?”

  She was waiting in the room when Marcus arrived. The space was small, intimate, designed for members of the Feet of Seheht to hold quiet private conversations. She’d lit a single candle, and its flickering flame barely illuminated the red silk that lined the walls of the space. Plush couches, thick rugs, and polished wooden tables were the only other furnishings.

  Spread out on one of the couches, she smiled when the boy slipped inside the door. “What did you get for me?”

  A grin on his face, Marcus produced a slim book covered in black leather. It was embossed with a silver star on the front. He looked her up and down, taking his time and making sure she noticed his lascivious gaze. He held up the book. “One of the chapter house’s prized possessions, the Book of Law. Only one other copy exists, I am told, in the private library of the elder. Not even the chapter house in Southundon has one of these books. How badly do you want to read it?”

  “So rare?” she asked. “The Book of Law, you said?”

  “Let me see what you’re offering. Then, it is yours,” replied Marcus. “You can take as long as you want to tease out its secrets.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes at the man, who she suspected to be no more than a blacksmith or farrier outside of the chapter house, but she needed him for a little bit longer. So instead, she stood and let her robes slip to the floor. She had nothing on underneath.

  The man’s eyes devoured her. She stood, one knee bent slightly, shoulders rolled back, and let him look. She knew that compared to the elder members of the Feet of Seheht, the ones he’d been brought in to please, she was a sumptuous feast to their stale bread and water. Compared to the ragged laborer girls he must be used to, she was delicate crystal to their battered tin. She was a dream for a man like Marcus. Not just her nubile body. Her gold, her land, her status. A man like him would do anything for her if she made a little effort to convince him it was all within reach.

  She walked up to him, putting one hand on his chest. Gripping his robe, she walked him to the couch she’d been sitting on and gently pushed him down. A big man like him, he could have easily resisted, but he didn’t. He didn’t resist at all. She smiled at him but not for him. Power, in all of its forms, was what she sought. She had a long road to walk from initiate to master. She knew her knowledge was far from complete, that she still had much to learn, but that did not mean she was weak. It didn’t
mean she couldn’t manipulate a simple man like Marcus to do nearly anything for her.

  She let her breathing get heavy and she licked her lips. She instructed the man, “Pull down your trousers. You’ve seen me, and now I want to see you.”

  “This is about what I want,” he growled.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I know what you want, what a man like you needs. Do not worry yourself. After I am done with you, you’ll never think of another woman again. Pull down your trousers, Marcus.”

  “Fair enough.” He laughed then opened his robes and began working his belt.

  While he fumbled, over-excited and clumsy, she turned to the corner of the room. A moment before, she’d heard a click and a soft scrape. Marcus, thoughts only for her, evidently hadn’t heard a thing.

  She turned back to him in time for him to pull his trousers down, exposing himself and showing he was eager to collect payment for the book.

  “You said the elder has the only other copy of the Book of Law?” she asked, taking a slow step closer to the adept.

  “Yes, it’s—”

  “That’s enough,” murmured a voice from the corner.

  “What! Who are— O-oh,” stammered Marcus, scrambling back on the couch, trying to cover himself up.

  Isisandra didn’t bother.

  “The volume from the adept library, is it?” asked the elder, stepping into the light of the single candle.

  “I can explain!” cried Marcus.

  “Can you?” wondered the old man. He moved beside Isisandra, looking down at the panicked man. He turned to her and asked, “Had I taken longer to arrive, what would you have done?”