Lisa Shearin - Magic Lost, Trouble Found

“More than likely leftovers from Sarad Nukpana’s work. Probably feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, but the dizziness should go away within the hour.”

“Actually, only the second worst.” His expression went from pained to puzzled. “Who’s Sarad Nukpana?”

“The goblin who tried to slit your throat.” I kept it simple for him. The less Quentin knew about Nukpana, the better. I admit my reasons were selfish. I was getting a splitting headache and I really didn’t want to listen to Quentin scream.

He seemed satisfied with my answer. Ignorance was a state in which Quentin was content to exist. “What about the amulet?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got it.” I made a face. “For what it’s worth.”

Quentin made a face of his own. “It’s not worth anything now. At least not to me.”

“The goblins seem to think it’s worth your life,” Phaelan said, resuming his whetstone work.

Quentin’s hand went to the bandage at his throat. “Don’t remind me.”

“They’re not the only ones,” I pointed out. “And none of them were in the least bit shy about being seen in uniform.”

“The goblins didn’t mean to leave any survivors, maybe the Guardians were thinking along the same lines,” Phaelan suggested.

We all thought about that for a moment.

“How could you not know who you were working for?” I asked, leaving Sarad Nukpana’s name out of it.

“In my old line of work, I almost never dealt directly with the person whose gold was paying for the job,” Quentin said. “They don’t want to get their hands dirty. Makes for a lucrative business for someone like Simon. Well, made for a lucrative business.”

I pulled the silver disk out of my shirt for a closer look. It still didn’t look like much. “Even for this?”

“Depends on what it does,” Quentin said. “Any ideas?”

“I knew someone had set up housekeeping in Stocken’s warehouse once you were inside. I knew you were in trouble.”

Phaelan put away his whetstone. “You think that was the amulet’s doing?”

“It wasn’t anything I could do before I put the thing around my neck.”

“Is it doing anything else? Besides making you sick?”

Quentin looked surprised. “It makes you sick?”

“Just when you first opened the box,” I told him. “It hasn’t bothered me that way since.”

Phaelan slid his rapier back in its scabbard. “Regardless of what it does, or why anyone wants it, the problem is who wants it and what they’re willing to do to get it. Well, cousin, what’s your next step?”

Since I hadn’t been able to sleep, I’d had plenty of time to think about that one. “I’ve sent a message to a client of mine who might be able to help,” I said. “But right now, I thought I’d start by dropping in on Garadin. He’s a retired Conclave mage, Conclave Guardians want this thing, so he might know something about it.”

“Having a mage for a godfather is good for something, I guess,” Phaelan said. “Need someone to go with you?”

I shook my head. “It’s only four blocks, and I know a shortcut. I’d rather you stayed here with Quentin. You’ll need to move him by midmorning.”

Phaelan grinned. “I already have a plan.”

“Your last plan’s what put me here,” Quentin growled from his cot.

Phaelan’s eyes narrowed. “It got you out of Stocken’s warehouse, didn’t it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, then it worked.” My cousin sat back and shrugged. “Who knew Stocken had any more gunpowder?”

That was news to me. “Any more? You knew Stocken dealt in gunpowder?”

“Sure. Who didn’t?”

“I didn’t.”

“The lanterns were unfortunate,” Phaelan admitted.

I let it pass. Going down that road wouldn’t do me any good.

“Did Stocken tell you anything else about the job?” I asked Quentin. “Warn you about anything—or anyone?”

Quentin smiled faintly. “Other than the usual ‘Don’t get caught. And if you do, don’t tell them about me’? Just the information I normally need. What the client wants, where it is, and how much I’m going to be paid to get it. The rest I found out on my own. Nigel’s schedule, who his servants were, where I could find them when they weren’t working. Sometimes it’s best not to know who you’re working for.”

“Or who your competition is,” Phaelan added.

“Khrynsani goblins weren’t on my list of possibilities,” Quentin admitted.

“Don’t forget about the Guardians.”

“That’s unlikely. I do attract interesting people.”

“Quentin, people who are trying to kill you are not interesting,” I said. “Speaking of Nigel’s servants, which one gave you the ghencharm?”

“The what?”

“Ghencharm. That thing that let you stroll through Nigel’s house without setting off his wards.”

Quentin blanched. “He had wards?”

I just looked at him. When this was over, I was going to teach Quentin a thing or two or three about magic whether he liked it or not.

“Yes, he had wards. Nasty wards. Apparently they weren’t there when you were. Someone did you a big favor. Any idea who? One of the servants you talked to?”

“None of Nigel’s people knew a thing about me, or even suspected. Give me a little credit here, Raine. I am a professional.”

Now Quentin had hurt feelings to go with his cracked ribs. Great.

“I’m not questioning your competence.” Actually I was, but there was no need to say so out loud. “Someone had to know you’d be there. Why else deactivate every ward in the house?”

“If someone did know, they didn’t find out from me.”

Yet another question that needed an answer. If no one in Nigel’s household left the magical doors standing wide open, then who did? And if Sarad Nukpana was Quentin’s mystery employer, why did he feel the need to send his bully boys over to Nigel’s house? Quentin was going to steal the amulet for him. All he had to do was sit back and wait for Quentin to do his job. Unless Sarad Nukpana knew he wasn’t the only interested party. Was the second group of goblins more than an opposing faction? Maybe they were competition for what I was wearing around my neck.

Too many questions. Too few answers.

I knew part of why Sarad Nukpana and his Khrynsani were in Mermeia. The new goblin king, Sathrik Mal’Salin, had arrived in the city four days ago for a week of receptions culminating in a masked ball three nights from now. Nobles from surrounding kingdoms had been pouring into the city for the past week for what was being touted as the social event of the decade, and the local aristocracy was scrambling to get invitations. In my opinion, going to a party surrounded by Mal’Salins would only be fun in the way being locked in a room full of snakes would be fun.

Sarad Nukpana was King Sathrik Mal’Salin’s chief counselor. From what I’d heard of Nukpana, he wasn’t the party type. And judging from our little encounter in Stocken’s warehouse, he had business in town other than keeping a proprietary eye on his new king. It looked like I was wearing the real reason for his visit around my neck. Small world.

I went to the corner table and poured a round of drinks. Markus saw to it that all of his safehouses were well stocked. I guess he figured that people who were in that much trouble would want alcohol. I couldn’t fault his logic. I passed a brandy to both Phaelan and Quentin, and kept one for myself. I drank half of it in one gulp. I needed it even more than Quentin. He could go to ground to stay alive, but hiding wasn’t an option for me. My problems were just beginning. I drained the glass.

Quentin took a good-sized gulp himself. “Did the elven Guardian manage to kill that Nukpana person?”