Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

"One cosmetic illusion of two days' duration: seven pieces of gold."

From these brief exchanges, Grimm gathered that the mighty High Lodge ran on hard cash, rather than on philosophical, philanthropic principles; he also noted the relative values of these judgements.

He found the discourse in the hall dull and money-oriented, rather than giving him an interesting insight into worldly life, and he became bored. He was about to go in search of further diversion when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

He turned to his right to see an attractive girl of perhaps his own age standing at his side. She was about five feet in height, with flawless skin and large, lambent, blue eyes, and she wore a simple, black-and-white habit that marked her as a member of some religious order.

To an adolescent who had been raised in a strict, all-male environment, she seemed like an angel. Grimm might be a potent Mage Questor, a lethal Weapon of the Guild, but he was still a sixteen-year-old youth.

"Lord Mage, I am Sister Madeleine," the vision of loveliness intoned, her eyes wide. "I wonder if you could help me."

Grimm felt awkward, unsure of how to respond. "What's the problem, er, Sister?" He had forgotten to use the formal, stilted Mage Speech expected of a member of the Guild in his dealings with outsiders, but it did not seem to matter.

Sister Madeleine drew him to a corner of the hall; the simple pressure of her small hand on his shoulder seemed to electrify the young Questor.

"There's no problem, Lord Mage," the nun whispered, "I just wanted to ask you a question."

Grimm was puzzled. What could a young nun want of him? "What… what is it?" he asked, his tone brusquer than he had intended.

The girl lowered her eyes, revealing disturbingly long, dark lashes "What's your name?"

"Er, G-grimm Afelnor," Grimm stammered. He felt completely unprepared for this situation. "Look, um, Sister, I have to…"

Sister Madeleine giggled, and Grimm felt a hot flush warming his face.

"It's all right, Gur-Grimm Afelnor," she whispered. "I won't eat you. I just wondered why you're so young. All the other mages around here look ancient. It makes a change to see someone of my own age around here."

"I'm a Mage Questor," Grimm said, feeling as if his head were stuffed with cotton wool, "we don't take as long to develop our powers as other mages. If you'll excuse me, I'll just…"

The girl approached Grimm closely, and Grimm felt as if the hall had just become much warmer. "I didn't just want to know that, Gur-Grimm Afelnor. I'd like to get to know you a little better. How long will you be here?"

Grimm's mouth worked uselessly for a couple of moments.

"Listen, Sister Madeleine," he said in a reasonable facsimile of a firm voice. "I'm really not supposed to get involved with Seculars-that is, um, people outside the Guild."

He looked into the blue eyes for a long time, but Madeleine did not speak. At last, Grimm blurted, "If you don't mind me saying, you don't seem awfully religious to me, Sister M-Madeleine. What's your Order?"

"Oh, I'm with the Sisters of Divine Mercy," the nun said, with a dreamy smile. "My Order isn't all that strict, Questor Grimm. We are expected to exercise decorum and so on during hours of observance, of course, but we are allowed a limited amount of socialising. I've been resident here for three weeks as an assistant to my Prioress. She's been liaising with the Prelate over the possibility of formal recognition of our Order by the Guild, giving us primacy over other religious orders in towns and cities where the Guild is established."

She bit her lower lip in a manner that Grimm found highly appealing. He was not experienced enough in the ways of the distaff sex to realise that he was supposed to. "Are you allowed alcohol, Grimm?" she asked.

Grimm thought of the drunken affair of his Acclamation ceremony and nodded. "Surely they don't let you drink, Sister Madeleine?"

"No, but there are beverages other than alcoholic ones that I am allowed," she said with a smile. "There is one bar in what you call the Secular zone, where Guild members are allowed to mingle with outsiders. I'd like to meet you there in a couple of hours."

Grimm's head felt his head spin.

"A couple of hours sounds just fine to me." It seemed as if somebody else had spoken.

"I'll see you in two hours, then." As she walked away, Madeleine blew Grimm a small kiss over her shoulder. The kiss seemed to impact his cheek with the gentle caress of a feather stuck to the head of a sledgehammer. Grimm found himself beginning to count the minutes until they met again.

He felt happier than he could remember.

He might have felt different, had he been able to see the rather sinister, knowing, self-satisfied half-smile on the young nun's face as she walked back to her quarters.

Grimm almost danced, fighting hard to keep a dreamy, beaming smile from his face. The invaluable locating gem lit the way to his room, and he felt as if his feet bore wings. He debated with himself over what he should say to Dalquist, and decided not to mention Madeleine to his friend. All the Guild Rules emphasised that close relations with women were anathema to Guild Mages, and could sap a magic-user's power.

Still, Grimm thought, what harm can there be in a little convivial company for the evening?

He was, of course, deluding himself. A part of him recognised that it was wrong to deceive his friend; if he believed that his little soiree was so innocent and harmless, why did he need to keep it from Dalquist? Unfortunately, the frontal lobes of Grimm's brain were no longer in full control of his actions.

****

Grimm realised he did not know which of the two rooms mentioned by Shael had been reserved for him; however, the terminus of the magical green trail made clear which door was his. It opened at his touch, and he stepped inside as if wafted on a breeze.

The splendour of the room was in keeping with the rest of High Lodge, richly carpeted in blue and gold, with a sumptuous four-poster bed and tables of tempting sweetmeats and viands. Crystal decanters of wine and liquor were also in evidence, but Grimm had his mind on only two things: Madeleine, and the desire to impress her.

A magical fire burnt in a grate in the middle of the wall to the left of the door, producing no smoke and consuming no fuel. A hipbath had been thoughtfully placed beside the fire, with a selection of unguents and oils. Grimm thought that a hot bath was just what he needed.

He stripped off his expensive silk robes and carelessly let them fall to the floor. A kettle was provided for hot water, but Grimm had no need for such mechanical devices. He filled the bath with cold water and cast a variant of his well-practiced Fire spell at the bath. He miscast twice, something that had not happened since he had become an Adept, but he dismissed the discomfort this brought. On the third attempt, he directed a small portion of his energies into the water until steam began to rise.

Still wearing his seraphic smile, Grimm lowered himself into the bath. He intended to appear at his very best for his meeting with Madeleine.

****

"How fared you with our young Questor friend, Sister Madeleine?" The harsh, sibilant, voice sounded like the rustle of dry, dead leaves underfoot.

The young Sister bore little resemblance to the gauche, flirtatious girl who had so entranced the Questor. Her eyes hooded, she took an apple from a tray and took a mouthful from it before answering.

"It was easy, Prioress. He's just a boy. I'll have him eating out of my hand before you know it."

A wizened hand snatched the half-eaten apple from the girl and tossed it on the floor. "Just remember, Madeleine: he is also a powerful Mage Questor, and I want him to stay that way. If you exceed my orders, Sister, you know what will happen to you."