Frank Tuttle - All the Paths of Shadow

Meralda pushed back her hair, wished she’d had time to comb it, and forced a smile.

“Well, show him right in,” she called. “He’s just the man I wanted to see.”

“That was excellent,” said Meralda, pushing away her empty plate.

Donchen smiled and made a little bow with his head. Meralda caught herself staring again, trying to guess his age. There were no wrinkles at the corners of his almond-shaped grey eyes. His short-cropped hair was a uniform inky black. His teeth were perfect, and a brilliant white.

He grinned back, and Meralda blushed.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Though I must confess, I did not prepare any of this. Chef Inglee did all the work. I merely stole the serving cart.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I’ve had nothing but coffee in ages.”

Donchen nodded. “You are a busy woman, Mage Ovis. Dining with possibly nefarious foreigners. Being attacked on the palace steps by vanishing Alons. It’s a wonder you ever dine at all.”

Mug bunched his eyes.

“You know about that.”

“I was there.”

“Didn’t see you rushing to anyone’s aid,” muttered Mug.

“I was too far away,” replied Donchen, nonplussed. “But not so far away that I couldn’t confirm the use of a very familiar charm. I did in fact make an effort to track your assailant, Mage Ovis. I fear I failed in that effort, shortly after commencing it.”

“Was he heading south, when last you saw him?”

Donchen nodded. “He was. This is significant?”

Meralda shrugged. “It’s suggestive. The Vonats have rented a pair of boarding houses south of the palace.”

“Hmm. I see.” Meralda watched the man’s face. He kept it blank, but she didn’t need Sight to see his mind working behind his eyes.

“You said I could ask you anything, yesterday,” she said. “Did you mean that?”

“I did.”

Meralda leaned forward. “All right. Then I have a question. Who are you?”

“And none of that friendly cook business, either,” added Mug. “You know what she means.”

Donchen smiled. “I do. I will answer, though you may find it troubling at first. I am a ghost.”

Mug snorted. “You eat a lot for a specter.”

“That’s not what he means,” said Meralda. “Is it?”

“No. It is customary, you see, for persons of my position and background to spend a certain number of years as a sohata . A ghost. As a sohata , I may walk where I will, speak as I will, act as I will. No one of the House of Chentze sees or hears me. Thus, I am a ghost.”

“But not the dead and buried sort? No rising from the grave or feasting on the blood of the living?” Mug stared hard at Donchen with all twenty-nine of his eyes. “Because we take a dim view of those sorts of goings-on here in Tirlin.”

Donchen laughed. “I assure you, Mug, I neither rise from the grave nor feast on blood. I much prefer feather beds and vegetables.”

“A ghost.” Meralda searched his eyes for any hint of deceit. “So your Mighty Dragon has no idea you’re speaking with me?”

“I am sohata , Mage Ovis. I walk unseen. My only voice the wind. The tradition is ancient and much venerated. Even private speculation concerning a ghost is believed to invite a bewildering variety of dooms.”

That actually makes sense, thought Meralda. No wonder he seems to do as he pleases. I could certainly use a year or two as a ghost myself.

“You say you followed the Alon?”

“I did,” said Donchen. “Though I suspect he was no more Alon than you or Mug or I. He was using a charm of concealment to alter his appearance. You suspected this too, did you not?”

Meralda nodded. She didn’t glance toward Goboy’s glass, but she knew the Tower was listening.

“I fear the charm employed the magic of my homeland,” said Donchen, frowning. “For that, I apologize.”

Meralda lifted an eyebrow. “Only a person with Sight could even detect magic,” she said. “And only one with talent and training could identify it.”

Donchen laughed and spread his hands. “I make no claims to any great prowess in the arts,” he said. “But I do have some small knowledge. As a sohata , I have spent hours looking over Loman’s shoulders. I may even have pocketed a trinket or two.” He grinned and reached into his pockets with both hands.

“Why, look here,” he said, placing two small objects on either side of his empty plate. “I can’t imagine how these came to fall in my pockets.”

Mug immediately aimed a cluster of eyes at each small device.

One appeared to be a small brass compass, the lid flipped open to reveal a needle, tipped in red, pointing steadily at the laboratory doors. But when Meralda looked closer, she saw that the face of the dial lacked any markings for directions. Instead, a pair of brass wheels, each worked with tiny Hang symbols, moved and spun according to workings she couldn’t see.

The other device resembled a perfume bottle, complete with an elegant spray bulb. The glass was crystal, cut with ornate designs and gilded with delicate gold filigree.

“Hang ghosts have sticky fingers,” observed Mug. “I’m beginning to like you after all.”

“What are these?” asked Meralda, resisting the urge to pick them up and inspect them closer. “And why have you brought them to me?”

Donchen smiled. “This,” he said, picking up the compass, “is a very simple device which will point out spellworks. Hang spellworks, I mean. Most of the arcane traditions of the Realms simply won’t register, which is why the needle is ignoring the many wonders housed here and is instead pointing that way. South, isn’t it? Well, our ships are docked south of here, and I’m sure that accounts for some of the indication. But see these dials? This one indicates distance. This one denotes intensity.”

Donchen offered the device to Meralda, and she took it.

The needle pointed toward the door, and the tiny wheels spun and whirled.

“Those characters are numbers,” said Donchen. “I’ll scribble them and their Kingdom counterparts down for you before I go. We measure feet in nearly the same way. I’ll leave figures for that too.”

He picked up the bottle, and placed it carefully in Meralda’s hand.

“This is a more, um, active magic,” he said. “I hope you don’t find a need for it. But, if you should find yourself facing hostile persons again, spray them with this. You’ll find they cannot hide from you afterward, no matter where they run, no matter what spells they employ. If you see them again, you will know.”

Meralda regarded the bottle carefully. It was nearly full of a clear liquid, and though the beveled edges of the cuts and the gold filigree made seeing inside it difficult, it seemed as though something moved deep within it.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a magic sword in a pocket somewhere, do you?” asked Mug. “Something a little more martial than a squirt of water to the nose?”

“Perhaps next time.” Donchen rose and stretched. “I feel the need for a walk, Mage Ovis. I think I’ll amble about your fair city for a bit. Perhaps I’ll take in some new sights. What neighborhood would you suggest I visit, pray tell?”

Meralda rose and smiled. “I hear the area between Dorleigh and Ventham streets is interesting this time of year. You might even see a Vonat or two there, though I understand they try to keep out of sight.”

Donchen nodded. “We’ll just see how talented they are at that, won’t we?” He bowed, tossed Mug a salute, and gathered up empty plates and dirty silverware.

“I’m sure we’ll speak again soon, Mage Ovis,” he said.

Meralda pulled his serving cart by her desk and helped him clear away the remains of the meal.