Frank Tuttle - All the Paths of Shadow

“She’s using her head, houseplant,” said the captain. “Something you should try, now and then.”

“Demanding an arrest, threatening the Alons? That’s just what they want me to do, Mug. Calm down and you’ll see that.”

“All I saw was a bloody big knife, mistress. And a man determined to stab you with it.” Mug tossed his leaves and bunched his eyes. “Tervis? Kervis? Either of you care to chime in?”

The Bellringers withered under the captain’s sudden glare.

“Perhaps we saw an Alon, and perhaps we didn’t, Mug.” Meralda shivered at the memory of the bearded man bearing down on her. “He came from nowhere. He vanished without a trace, despite being a foot taller than everyone else and wearing more bright red plaid than anyone in the crowd. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

Mug snorted. “So he’s sneaky and a fast runner. Mistress. Dorn Mukirk was ready to kill you himself, just a few days ago. What makes you believe this Alon wasn’t some kin of his?”

“Because Alon blood feuds follow certain rules, houseplant. One of them is the formal declaration of feud by the offended party. Has Dorn Mukirk sent you a letter, Thaumaturge? A letter which mentions a fight to the death, honor of the clan, that sort of thing?”

“Of course not.”

The captain nodded. “There you are, then. This wasn’t a blood feud. Someone just wanted to make it look that way.”

“A murder committed in a crowd of penswifts would be just the thing to wreck the Accords.”

Mug deflated. “You won’t even talk to the Alon queen, mistress? She liked you. You could at least be sure.”

“I am sure, Mug. That man was no more Alon than you or I.” She looked to the captain. “But he looked the part. The penswifts will certainly claim this was an act of hot-headed Alon mischief.”

“The penswifts can write whatever they want. I sent a runner to the king before the fight broke up. The papers won’t print a word of it.”

Meralda lifted her right eyebrow. “Even the king can’t deny them the right to publish.”

The captain chuckled. “No. But he can appeal to their patriotism and beg them for silence.”

“He might as well whistle them a dancing tune,” snapped Mug. “Murder sells papers.”

“Bribes seal lips,” mused the captain. “Especially very large royal bribes, which are usually accompanied by subtle hints of royal mayhem.”

“So the papers won’t print a story of an assassination attempt on the steps of the castle.”

“Not this time.” The captain turned to face the Bellringers. “You two. Charging that fiend, knocking him down. Rare good sense, that. I don’t have access to the royal purse, but will put in a word for both of you. End of summer might see you lads promoted.”

The Bellringers exchanged grins. “Thank you, sir,” said Kervis.

The captain rose, groaned, and turned toward the door.

“Got to get back out there,” he said. “I’ll be back around later. You two see that the thaumaturge doesn’t run into any more vanishing Alons.”

The Bellringers nodded.

Mug tossed his leaves in disgust. “So that’s it? The king bribes the papers, and you just go about your day as though nothing happened?”

“Kervis. Tervis. Take your posts, please. We won’t be leaving for a while.”

The Bellringers leaped to their feet.

“And thank you. You were both very brave out there.”

The brothers blushed in identical shades of crimson and bolted for the door.

Meralda waited for the door to slam before rising and pulling the scrap of tarp off Goboy’s glass.

The Wizard’s Flat was there, lit by horizontal shafts of early morning sun. Nameless and Faceless were gone.

“Good morning,” said Meralda.

“I assume your remark is rhetorical in nature.” The image in the glass wavered a bit, then stabilized. “Yes. An informal greeting. Forgive me. I have not carried on a conversation in nearly a millennia.”

“The mage was attacked not an hour ago, Tower,” snapped Mug. “Attacked by a man who appeared from nowhere and vanished in broad daylight. Your famous sticks of lumber didn’t so much as say boo.” The dandyleaf shot an accusatory vine toward the glass. “I thought you said we could expect a bit of help from that lot.”

“Attacked? By whom?”

Meralda waved her hand at Mug for silence. “By someone posing as an Alon,” she said. “Someone with magical assistance. I do not believe he simply slipped away on a busy street with half the guard out looking for him”

“Interesting. I, too, was the subject of an attack at approximately that time.”

“You? Attacked?” Mug snorted. “With what, battering rams and pick-axes?”

“Someone attempted to latch a moderately complicated spellwork to my main structure. I deflected it, of course, but the construction of the spell was most unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“I have maintained an intimate familiarity with every arcane practice in all of the Realms,” replied the Tower. “Vonat, Phendelit, Eryan, Alon. I am expert in them all.”

“Your wooden friends do a lot of traveling, don’t they?”

“Mug.” Meralda rose and began to pace. “And this was something new?”

“It was.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

“Not yet. I know the general area from which it originated. The spell caster was careful to maintain a considerable distance and employ a number of obfuscatory measures.”

“Dorleigh and Ventham,” said Mug. “Somewhere between those two streets, wasn’t it?”

The Tower’s tone took on a hint of bemusement. “Just so, construct,” it said. “Just so.”

Meralda frowned. Mug turned a trio of eyes toward her.

“I may be just a lowly construct, mistress, but I do read the Post . The Vonats rented out a couple of rooming houses in that neighborhood. They always do that, since they throw the kind of parties King Yvin won’t stand for.”

“I dispatched Nameless and Faceless to that area as soon as I detected the intrusion,” said the Tower. “Their absence during your difficulty was thus my fault. I apologize.”

“Well. Finally.” Mug tossed his fronds. “Was that so hard?”

“The staves.” Meralda thought for a moment. “Have they returned?”

“No. I can attempt to recall them now, if you wish. Though I cannot guarantee their timely obedience.”

Meralda paused in her pacing. “No. Let them be. Though I would like to hear what they found, when they return.”

“As you wish.” The Tower fell silent for a moment. “Have you considered the matter of the curseworks, Mage Ovis?”

As if I’ve considered anything else, thought Meralda. “I have. Tower, a question. This unique new magic you encountered, could it be Hang magic?”

“I have considered that. I simply have no knowledge of the Hang or their arcane traditions. But given the presence of the Hang, it seems likely. You suspect collusion between Hang and Vonath?”

“I suspect a few rogue elements within the Hang may be involved. And all of Vonath, including the rats, the crows and the crickets.”

The Tower hesitated.

“Humor.”

Meralda chuckled. “An attempt. But if we face Hang magic, we need to know something about it. And who knows? There might be something in the Hang traditions that can help repair the spokes.”

“A possibility.”

There came a knock at the door. The image in the glass shook, and became nothing but a simple refection of Meralda and Mug.

Kervis stuck his head in the door.

“Ma’am,” he called. “It’s Mr. Donchen. He says he doesn’t have an appointment, but he needs to see you.” Kervis grinned. “He’s brought more food, too. They have two kinds of breakfast over there, and he’s brought both.”