Paul Collins - The Spell of Undoing

Taking every short cut across the city, she soon stood outside the slaughterhouse. She thought the name very apt, considering what she would like to do to Fontagu when she got her hands on him. She hurried forward but at the next moment stopped in her tracks. What was she doing?

Fontagu couldn't actually be here, could he? She hadn't seen him with her own eyes, she had just – it hit her then: she had seen him with someone else's eyes!

The idea made her shiver. Crazy people thought like that. How could you see with someone else's eyes? Maybe… maybe she was hallucinating; maybe the icefire gem had affected her mind. A deep pang of fear struck her then, but she quickly pushed it aside. She took a deep breath. There was one way to find out if she was mad or not – though a small voice in her head whispered that it might be better to be crazy than to be right – just this once…

No one saw her climb through a broken window.

The inside of the shuttered building was large and spooky. Low-ceilinged, gloomy, criss-crossed with enormous beams blackened with age, the place was a museum of shadows, cobwebs and long-forgotten death, still smelling faintly of stale blood and urine.

Tab stepped on something sharp.

‘Ouch!’ she yelped, hopping on one foot. She peered under her foot and saw a sharp angle of glass protruding from her instep. Gritting her teeth, she pulled it out. Blood flowed, and after that she limped, muttering curses under her breath.

Tab prowled around the enormous space. There were dozens of pens and stalls and even some quite large enclosures hidden away from view. She limped from one opening to another, peering into each, and leaving a speckled trail of blood wherever she went. After ten minutes of this she stopped, inclining her head slightly to listen. She had heard something. A soft murmur. She moved closer, careful to make no noise. Chanting. That's what it was.

Tab crept forward. There. Pulsating light stabbed the ceiling like rays of bluish sunlight. Tab came to a doorway. The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap she could see Fontagu squatting beside his open bag. In front of him was some sort of pedestal. The magicians’ gem was clutched within a metal fist on top, the bronze fingers glowing with each pulse of the icefire.

Tab didn't have a plan. She considered dashing in, knocking Fontagu off his feet, grabbing the gem, and running for it. There were, however, a couple of hitches to this. One was that the gem looked firmly embedded within the metal fist. Another was that her running days were temporarily over, thanks to her injured foot. Pity. Fontagu would have had to pay her a lot more than ten silver moons to get it back.

Silently, she pushed the door open and edged into the room. Fontagu was absorbed by his task and did not look up. Whatever he was up to, it was not going well. He was sweating, and repeating certain parts of the chant.

‘No, no, not like that, you fool!’ he muttered to himself. He started again, reading from a torn scrap of paper, chanting the words, but the sweat kept getting in his eyes and he blinked and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve.

Tab realised he was frightened.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked suddenly.

Fontagu jumped and clutched his chest, as if he were having a heart attack. ‘You? What are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘Go away.’

‘You owe me ten silver moons.’

Fontagu must have seen she was determined to stay. ‘Oh, very well!’ He reached into his bag, quickly counted out some coins, and threw them at her. Tab scurried about, collecting them. The money paid, she now felt inclined to forgive and forget past grievances; besides, curiosity was burning a hole in her head, as they say in Quentaris.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked again.

‘None of your business,’ said Fontagu. ‘Now, if you must stand around and gawk, kindly do so silently.’

Fontagu took a deep breath, held up the scrap of paper where he could see it, and recommenced his chanting. The words were strange. Tab had heard nothing like them in her life. They sounded old, and filled her with a bleak sadness and a kind of wistfulness for something lost long ago. Then the tone changed, and an ugliness crept into the language. These words made her think of death.

Just then, Fontagu happened to look up and catch her eye. He had nearly finished the chant and had only to apply the sealing phrase, and all would be done. But with Tab's quizzical, innocent look upon him, he suddenly grew terribly nervous, and stuttered.

‘Ab-ab-abathtir – ku-ku-kumeer… ilso ibn ye-ye-yethris… ’

And it was done. But Fontagu didn't appear happy.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Tab, still fascinated by what she knew must be magic.

Fontagu was packing his bag.

‘Wh-what? Don't be ridiculous. Everything went according to plan.’ But he didn't sound convinced and he was now perspiring more than ever.

He gave a sudden yelp as the icefire gem began to glow a deep, ugly, purplish colour and emitted a cascade of golden sparks which burned wherever they landed. Tab dodged a couple.

‘What's happening?’ she asked.

The bronzed fingers unclenched with sharp clinks as though they too had just been burnt.

‘Erm… that's quite normal,’ he said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Then why are you so scared?’

Fontagu gave her a look that could kill, and drew himself up. ‘I, scared? Preposterous!’

‘You're sweating.’

‘I'm merely portraying a role, something you would know nothing about. This particular role requires sweating.’

The icefire had begun to vibrate. Somehow, it seemed to make the whole building tremble. Fontagu swallowed hard.

‘I think it might be time to -’

A blinding flash of light burst from the icefire, searing everything around it. This was followed by a roar so terrible that it made both Tab and Fontagu cover their ears and double over in pain.

‘Run,’ cried Fontagu^* when the noise had abated. ‘Run for your life!’ He didn't wait to see if Tab heeded his advice. He took off, showing a surprising turn of speed in one his age.

Tab stood transfixed. But only for a second. Now the building was definitely shaking, and she feared it might come down on her head at any moment. She half-ran, half-limped after Fontagu. Outside, she staggered as the wind, screaming like a banshee, hit her and nearly threw her back inside the slaughterhouse. Glancing back she saw several of the enormous crossbeams crash down onto the floor.

Almost inconceivably, something told Tab she had to go back upstairs. No matter what, her future depended on the next few minutes. She saw Fontagu then, making his way back to the slaughterhouse. On impulse more than desire, cursing her conscience, she fled back upstairs.

She scrambled over debris and peered into the room where the icefire lay. It seemed harmless enough – discounting the white vapour trails that were even now dissipating like ghosts.

Holding her breath Tab clasped the icefire gem. Against all her expectations it felt deathly cold, as though all the life had drained from it. She bundled it up in her cloak and fled.

Five minutes later Tab was still cursing herself. She had hidden the gem as best she could, but for what purpose? All reason eluded her. But she had no time to ponder her actions. The ground bucked and rocked as she stumbled across it. Above, the sky was darkening rapidly. She watched a squad of magicians wheel and whirl as they fought the sudden gusts of air, then descend quickly to the ground, unable to remain airborne.

Tab fled as fast as her wound allowed. She had no idea what was happening, but as usual her curiosity overcame her concern for her own skin – unlike Fontagu whom she had just evaded and could now see hightailing it for the main gate, presumably intending to get out of Quentaris as quickly as he could.