Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

The Prioress waited until Madeleine had departed. She rolled her eyes and made a simple gesture. Dalquist's gaze flicked upwards into Lizaveta's amber eyes, his body as still as a statue.

"You remember nothing of our struggle, Questor Dalquist," the Reverend Mother said in an intense voice. You are happy for your friend, Grimm Afelnor, and you see nothing wrong in this innocent little flirtation. There is nothing unusual about this relationship, and you will inquire no further. When you leave here, you will not remember that you have met me, but you will remember what I have said as if the conclusion is your own. You slipped on the marble floor of the bar and hit your head on the wall. This is too embarrassing to admit, and you dare not mention it to your peers."

For a few moments more, Dalquist knelt, immobile, and then blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear a momentary confusion.

"So, you see, Questor Dalquist," the Prioress hissed in a poor facsimile of a calm, honeyed voice, "Nothing in the rules of our Order prohibits our Sister Madeleine from carrying on an innocent friendship with your colleague."

Dalquist appeared to come to his senses, but his eyes were still distant. "Ah, yes, thank you, Reverend Mother, I just wanted to be certain that my friend would not get into any trouble with you. I am relieved that he will not. He and Sister Madeleine will make such a nice couple."

Grimm awoke early, with the name of Madeleine on his lips. He felt joyous; perhaps a little too happy, he thought, as the room seemed to begin to sway and swivel; slowly at first but at an ever-increasing pace.

A low throb began to build in his right temple, rising to an insistent, thudding pain that seemed as if it might burst his head. His stomach began to protest, also, and his mouth felt as dry as a desert.

He had enjoyed himself so much the night before, talking to and even dancing with Madeleine, and he had not noticed at the time the effects of the considerable amount of alcohol he had consumed. He reached for Redeemer, but he realised that he must have left his staff in the bar.

"Redeemer, come here."

Nothing in the mortal world could prevent a mage's staff from returning to him when summoned. If it was within plain sight, it could travel directly to his hand; if not, it would utilise a form of teleportation without the mage needing to cast the least spell. In a few moments, the rod appeared in his hand. Grimm felt the pounding in his temples and his entrails cease, and he took stock of his surroundings.

He was on top of his bed, still wearing his velvet robes. A colourful profusion of other clothes lay scattered in bright abandon across the floor, along with toppled bottles of bath oil and scented powders. Grimm, shocked at the disarray he saw, began to realise the depths of intensity of his feelings on the previous night, in his eagerness to impress Madeleine.

During his long, difficult years in the Scholasticate, the Magemasters had drilled a strong sense of neatness and order into him. Still numb with horror at his uncharacteristic acts of the night before, the mage began to tidy up the room in an almost fanatical manner.

Grimm shook down his clothes, brushed them and put them, neatly folded, in the large chest-of-drawers provided for the purpose. He took care to clean the spills and stains from the walls and carpet, replaced fallen bottles on their appointed shelves, righted a toppled table and made his bed.

After half an hour's frenzied effort, the Questor felt satisfied that the chamber was in its original, pristine state, whereupon he turned his attention to his own appearance and hygiene. Feeling clean and whole once more, Grimm took a frugal breakfast from the splendid array of food provided, now feeling ready to face the new day.

He mused on the events of the previous evening, and on Dalquist's comment that he was making a damned fool of himself over Madeleine. The girl was very attractive, and Grimm certainly felt very flattered at her attentions, but he had to admit that his reactions had been extreme, to say the least.

The way I turned on Dalquist was unforgivable, he thought, his entrails churning with unease. I wouldn't blame him if he never talked to me again. I've got to apologise to him and try to make amends.

A door connected the two mages' rooms, and Grimm strode towards it with a resolute tread, his firm knock being answered with a cheerful "Come in, Grimm" from the older mage.

Drawing a deep breath, he opened the door into a room that was the mirror image of his own and saw that Dalquist was taking a hearty breakfast. Grimm knew how the Questor appreciated good sustenance, and his friend seemed to be making the most of the high life while it lasted. He felt a flush of relief that Dalquist did not seem to harbour any resentment over Grimm's earlier show of disrespect.

"Good morning, Grimm. I trust you enjoyed yourself last night?"

"Very much, Dalquist," Grimm replied, nodding. "Madeleine is a lovely girl, and I feel very privileged to have made her acquaintance. I just wanted to apologise humbly for the way I spoke to you last night. I had no right to sound off at you the way I did; you are senior to me, and I know also that you only have my best interests at heart."

Dalquist, his mouth full, waved airily at a seat, which Grimm took. After the senior Questor finished his mouthful of food, he wiped his mouth and beard with a silk napkin and turned to face his young colleague.

"Well, Grimm, I was taken aback by the way you treated me, and I wouldn't recommend you to repeat it; it's a bad habit to get into, especially with senior mages. On the other hand, I thought afterwards about what you had said and I had to admit that my own behaviour lacked a little… no, no, Grimm, please hear me out!

"We both know that intimate relations between a mage and a woman can destroy the magic-user's powers. I didn't want you to take that awful risk. You are, of course, still indebted to the House. Nonetheless, as I think of it now, nothing could have been more innocent. A Questor and a nun, holding hands and dancing; what could be less sinister than that? I ought to know you well enough by now to know that you would never let things go too far."

Grimm felt surprised at Dalquist's rapid volte-face. Although his friend seemed to have calmed down a little from the night before, the young mage had the impression that Dalquist was only trying to heal an incipient rift in their relationship. He also remembered his behaviour on the previous night; his carefree cavorting and his desire for Madeleine. He was not as sure as Dalquist that he would be able to prevent 'things going too far', should the opportunity ever present itself. Grimm made a determined pledge that, this evening, he would act in a more circumspect manner, as befitted a Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank.

"Are you going to see Madeleine tonight, Grimm?" Dalquist asked, smiling.

"This afternoon," Grimm corrected, "She said that today she would be allowed to wear Secular clothes. It will be nice to see her in something a little less formal than a nun's habit; I'm looking forward to it."

Dalquist grinned. "I can't blame you there, Grimm. She's a comely lass, and a habit is scarcely flattering attire for such a pretty girl. Enjoy yourself, my friend, with my blessing. What will you do to pass the hours until then, other than counting the minutes?"

Grimm returned the smile with warmth. "I thought I'd do a little research, Dalquist. A place like this should have a splendid library."

Dalquist nodded, gulping down another mouthful of food like a famished man. "Good man. We mages are always learning. Perhaps I'll see you later?"

"Perhaps you will, Dalquist. On the other hand, you know what I'm like with books. I hardly notice the passage of time."