Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

The old woman picked up a stout rod from behind her and waved it threateningly.

Madeleine clasped her hands and sank to her knees. "I apologise, Reverend Mother. Everything will be as you order. Please forgive my levity."

Still waving the stick, the Prioress continued, "I do not wish for tainted goods, girl, so bear that in mind. I want you to ensure that he is so infatuated that he will seek me out at once when I take you away from him.

"If he wants to see you again, he will need to do a few favours for me; nothing much; just enough to get used to the idea of working for me on occasion. Just remember, promise all, but give little."

"Of course, Reverend Mother," Madeleine said, puzzled, "but if you want his services, why do you not just command him to do as you wish?"

Snorting in exasperation, the Prioress replied, "I may want a difficult service from him in the near future, one that will involve overcoming his whole will. I have seen that he is a strong one. Even I may not have sufficient power to defeat all of his motivation. Each time he performs a little task for me, I gain a greater insight into his soul.

"Nonetheless, Sister, you are not here to ask questions. You are here to do as you are told."

"Reverend Mother, I am yours to command, as always."

Lizaveta leaned forward, her shrivelled face a stern mask. "Ensure that you do not forget that, dear Sister, or it will be the worse for you."

****

Grimm arrived in the bar long before the appointed time. It was a large, crowded room with many bays, and Grimm started each time somebody entered the room. The low, subtle lighting seemed ideal for a romantic meeting, but it made identification difficult.

He had spent a considerable time in preparation for this meeting. After much deliberation, he had selected a deep blue velvet robe, and he had tied back his long, brown hair in a neat queue. His beard was trimmed and pomaded, and he had even combed his eyebrows. Sitting in a comfortable chair, his entrails writhed as he awaited Madeleine's arrival.

Grimm had begun to fear that she had changed her mind, as the allotted time came and went, but his heart seemed to flip as the young nun came into view. Lurching to his feet, he pulled out a chair, into which Madeleine sank with demure femininity.

"Sister, I'm so glad you came," Grimm said, trying to sound mature and failing miserably, his voice almost an octave above its normal pitch.

"Please, Grimm, just call me Madeleine outside my hours of Observance." Her wide, blue eyes seemed to fill his field of vision. "You don't mind me just calling you 'Grimm', do you? All these mage titles just seem so stuffy. You don't have to say 'Sister', either. When I'm free, 'Madeleine' is all you need to call me."

"Ah; that's… that's fine, M-Madeleine," Grimm stammered, feeling like a fool. "Um, would you like something to drink?"

"Spring water will be fine, thank you, Grimm," the girl replied sweetly, her eyes not leaving his. Seeing no waiter, he excused himself and went in search of one. This was not an easy task in the labyrinthine bar, and he felt himself becoming frustrated, eager to return to Madeleine's attentions.

As he walked by a pillar for perhaps the fifth time, Grimm saw Dalquist, standing with his arms folded across his chest, his lips compressed in a thin line.

"Oh, er, hello, Dalquist," Grimm said, "I was just…"

"You were just making a complete idiot of yourself, Questor Grimm! Look at you, a Guild Questor playing lapdog to a supposed religious! What sort of a nun acts like this: have you thought of that?"

Grimm became annoyed. "Dalquist, this doesn't have anything to do with you! You-"

"Yes, it does, Grimm," the older Questor interrupted. "You are not here as a free agent, but as a representative of Arnor House. What sort of marks do you think Magemaster Faffel would give you for Courtly Graces and Decorum right now?" The older man's words were soft, but intense.

"Dalquist, I'm well aware of my responsibilities to the House," Grimm muttered, "but I'm not some bloody slave. I also know that I owe you a lot, but that doesn't give you the right to run my life."

Dalquist sighed. "Grimm, have you checked that girl's aura? I have. It's as clear as a baby's conscience."

Grimm smiled, but not in a friendly manner. "Well, there you are. She's as innocent as she looks. I must say that that was pretty underhanded, though…"

Dalquist leaned close and hissed, "Too damned clean, Grimm. Nobody in the world is that innocent. There's absolutely nothing in that aura: no impatience; no excitement; and no bloody infatuation. Somebody is screening that aura from my Sight. I have no idea how to do that, and I don't know of any other mage who does; there's some magic involved that we don't know about, and that worries me."

Grimm thumped Redeemer on the floor in annoyance. "I think you're just jealous, Dalquist. I think you need to get out more often, and get on with your own life instead of trying to run mine." He stormed off in search of a waiter, furious at what he saw as his friend's unwanted interference.

****

Dalquist approached the girl, who regarded him with a cool, neutral expression. "May I help you?" she asked.

"I will be brief," the Questor intoned. "I do not know what your little game is, but I do know that you are not some lovelorn ingenue engaged in innocent flirtation. I want you-no, I instruct you-to end your little game, now."

"My word, Questor, how forceful you are," Madeleine said in a jaded tone. "Still, I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you down. And, since the members of my Order are officially under the protection of Lord Dominie Horin during our stay here, I don't think there's a lot you can do about it, unless you want to blast me into tiny fragments. I don't think that would look very good, now would it? The murder of a sweet, innocent nun would not go down well here, I imagine. Ah, here comes my good friend, Grimm."

Her face broke into a warm smile at Grimm's approach. The young Questor placed a glass of water and a glass of wine on the table, and snarled, "Excuse me a moment, Madeleine. I'd just like a quick word with my colleague, Dalquist."

He put a none-too friendly hand on his fellow Questor's arm and propelled him into a vacant bay. "You couldn't leave it alone, could you? You just had to interfere. I'm warning you, Questor Dalquist, if you can't be happy for me then just leave me alone, or you and I will fall out."

Dalquist felt stunned by the ferocity of his younger friend's reaction. Surely there was something more than simple adolescent infatuation at work here; nobody could have gone through the rigorous training in self-control that every Questor underwent, only to sink into this mindless, self-indulgent behaviour. Grimm seemed unable to listen to reason; dry talk of duty and responsibility might serve little purpose except to widen the nascent gulf between the two mages.

Dalquist could detect no mage influence at work on his friend, but he knew something was afoot. He decided to act with the greatest of care.

"I'm sorry, Grimm. I just wanted to be sure you weren't hurt. Please forgive me for my concerns. Let's meet up over breakfast tomorrow, and we can start again."

Grimm took a deep breath, and lifted his hand from Dalquist's shoulder. "Perhaps, Dalquist; I'll see how I feel in the morning." He turned on his heel and returned to Madeleine without a backward glance.

Dalquist looked at the pair. Grimm wore a vacuous smile on his face as he stared into the girl's eyes. She had hold of his hands, looking to Dalquist like some improbable hybrid of a mindless innocent and a complete slut. Some magic other than puppy love was at work here, and he intended to find out what it was.

Dalquist made a few inquiries and ascertained that the Prioress of the Order was in residence. Perhaps a visit might be in order.