Frank Tuttle - All the Paths of Shadow

Meralda made her way back to the weather-beaten door on Hopping Way, put her key in the lock, and stepped through the door and into the dark narrow space between shelves in the back of the laboratory.

Traffic noise followed her until she closed the door.

“Mistress!” cried Mug. “Quick! Donchen is up to something.”

Meralda darted out the aisle, dodging treasures as she ran.

Mug followed her progress with a single eye while he kept the other twenty-eight trained on the mirror. Inside the glass, Donchen sat on a bench at a trolley stop and read the Times .

Meralda leaned on her desk and tried to catch her breath.

“He’s reading the paper,” she said.

“Wait.”

Donchen turned the page.

A bright yellow butterfly fluttered from the paper and flew quickly up and away, beyond the view of the mirror.

“That happens every time he turns the page.” Mug waved his fronds. “Tower claims the butterflies are hidden by the same spell that made him invisible.”

“The insects are massing around the building occupied by the spell caster,” said the Tower. Its voice was muted and distant.

“Can you tell what they’re meant to do?”

The Tower did not reply.

“Guess that’s a no, mistress,” said Mug. “That cab almost ran you down, by the way.”

“So I’m told.” Meralda pulled back her chair and sank wearily into it. “So our ghost is also a magician, if not a mage himself.”

“Cook, mage, spy, ghost-when does the man sleep?”

Meralda picked up her pencil and idly began to doodle tiny Towers on a page of shadow latch calculations.

“The Vonats are up to something, Mug.”

“Do tell.” The dandyleaf plant turned a half dozen eyes toward Meralda. “Wait, did you see something, out there?”

Meralda shook her head no. I didn’t see a thing, she thought. But an awful suspicion was blooming, and with it anger. “They’re trying to latch something to the Tower.” She added the tethers and the curseworks to her drawing. “Why do you think they’d pick the Tower, of all things? Why not the palace? Why not the Gold Room itself?”

Mug shrugged.

“Because they know about my shadow moving spell,” said Meralda. “ My spell. We know someone hid spells in the palace. Which means someone has been listening. In fact-Sir Ricard. I’d bet a purse of Vonat gold doubloons he’s been waiting for weeks to give Yvin that ridiculous idea about moving the Tower’s shadow.”

Mug went still.

“Mistress.”

“Yes. I think so. I think the spell they’re latching to the Tower is intended to do something awful at the opening ceremony of the Accords. I think the Vonat are working with that small group of Hang Donchen mentioned. I think they want to wreck any chance of the Hang joining the Realms peacefully, and I think they plan to blame the whole thing on me.”

“Make it appear as if your shadow moving spell goes wrong?”

Meralda nodded, her jaw clamped too tight to speak. They mean to kill a great many people as Yvin gives his speech, she thought. The Hang delegation among them. Ruin the Accords, infuriate the Hang, leave the Realms divided and weak. And all of it blamed squarely on her. On the female Tirlish mage, who had no business ever donning the robes in the first place.

Mug rolled a dozen eyes. “They don’t know about the curseworks, though.”

“No. Otherwise they’d simply have attacked them directly, and in secret.”

Mug shivered. He looked toward the mirror, watched as Donchen released another yellow butterfly, and muttered an Angis word.

“Mistress, what are we going to do?”

Meralda’s pencil lead broke. She rose.

“Nameless. Faceless. Right here, right now.”

Mug went wide-eyed.

From the rear of the laboratory, amid the shadows and glittering and whirring and hissing, came the sound of fluttering wings. A pair of dark shapes darted down from the ceiling, and came to rest on either side of Meralda before assuming the forms of two rough hewn lengths of ironwood.

“I am not, nor will I ever be, your master, or his equal.” Meralda swallowed, searching for her next words. They’re as likely to strike me down as they are to agree, she thought. But if I’m going up against the entire Vonat nation and who knows how much of the Hang, I need them.

“Tower believes your master would not want this place laid waste by his hand,” she said. “You either agree, or you do not. If you do, I ask for your help now. Not for me. Not even for Tirlin. But in deference to your master, who is fallen, but whose wishes nevertheless remain unfulfilled.” She raised her hands, not quite touching the staves, but only a hand’s breadth from them.

“What say you, Nameless, Faceless?”

“Mistress, I wouldn’t…”

Meralda took each staff in her hand.

The laboratory fell silent, save for the gentle clicking of Phillitrep’s Engine.

The staves were cool and unmoving in Meralda’s grasp.

“Well, I’ll be mowed and pruned,” said Mug, after a while. “Congratulations, mistress. Tim the Horsehead just turned green with envy.”

Meralda took a deep breath, and hoped the staves couldn’t feel her shiver.

“Find the Vonat mage Humindorus Nam,” she said. “I want one of you watching him at all times. See that you aren’t observed yourselves. Can you project images into the mirror?”

The mirror flashed, showing a brief reflection of Meralda holding the staves.

“Good. I want to know where he is and what he’s doing, starting right now. Show him when I ask. Show him even when I don’t if he does anything interesting. Go.”

The staves became blurs. With the sound of flapping wings, they vanished into the Mirror.

Meralda let out her breath in a long exhalation.

“That was brave,” said the Tower. “Very brave indeed.”

Meralda mopped sweat from her forehead and grinned. “Is the spell latched?”

“It is. I am now attempting to determine its nature. Part of the structure is Vonat in nature. Part is unknown to me.”

“Hang.”

“Most likely. I overheard your conversation with the construct. You believe this spell is offensive in nature.”

“The construct’s name is Mug,” said the dandyleaf plant.

“I do,” said Meralda. “Designed to release in tandem with my shadow spell.”

“Ingenious.”

“Is it doing further damage to the curseworks?”

“No. I was able to adjust the latching point. That, at least, is not a concern.”

“Hurrah for small miracles,” said Meralda. She sighed, glared at her empty coffee cup, and looked wearily toward the door.

“Mug, please watch the glass. Tower, I need a way to speak to you beyond this room. I assume there are other artifacts you have trifled with, over the years?”

“Fourteen, to be exact. All designed for observation, but two will suffice for communication. Tulip’s Talking Jewel, and Montrop’s Singing Flame.”

“You’re a nosy old barn, aren’t you?” said Mug.

“The jewel, then. It should fit in my pocket. Aisle four, isn’t it? Shelf, um, sixteen?”

“Just so.”

Meralda marched off to fetch the jewel, and Mug turned his worried eyes back toward the glass.

“The sticks just sent word about Nam,” said Mug, his voice squeaky and barely audible from the Jewel. “He’s using some kind of fancy concealment spell. Tower thinks it might be Hang. The sticks think they can break it, but he’ll probably notice if they do.”

Meralda frowned and lifted the jewel close to her lips, covering it with her hand and pretending to stifle a sneeze.

“Tell them to wait,” she said. “Tell them to stay close to the Vonat rooms. See if they can get a count of the people inside. But only if they can do so without being seen.”