Барб Хенди - A Wind in the Night

She hesitated, uncertain whether she should go further in another direction, but she did not have to ask the next question.

Hawes’s stare almost made her fidget. The premin turned away to her desk, picked up the same folded piece of paper she’d held earlier, scanned it, and then pinched its edge at one place. She held the written side out before Wynn’s eyes.

Wynn scanned one line near the tip of the premin’s finger.

The Processes and Essence of Transmogrification.

Her gaze snapped up to meet the premin’s icy gaze. “Transmogrification?”

Hawes let out a slow breath through her narrow nose, but those eyes of hers never blinked. She stared so long that Wynn wondered whether Hawes was calculating how much to say.

“Master Columsarn expressed more than I told you earlier,” the premin finally said. “He says in the letter that there have been unexplained changes in the land, people, and even wildlife and livestock of the duchy’s territory. I assume he felt the need to give me a reason for requesting such texts.”

As Wynn opened her mouth, Hawes shook her head once. “He does not go into more detail than that.”

Again the premin appeared to grow distracted, and Wynn began to think it had to do with more than this situation regarding Nikolas and his father.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Do?” Hawes turned away. “I’m going to gather and prepare the material he requested. He is a master sage, and—for now—I have no reason to refuse him. Perhaps he has true need of these texts.”

Chane crossed the courtyard toward the gatehouse tunnel, or rather the door to the right in one inner tower that framed it. And what was he to say when he got there?

Wynn had given him a cursory explanation for why she wanted a description of a messenger who had dropped off a small package for Nikolas Columsarn the previous night. She had told him the package contained an inner, sealed letter for Premin Hawes as well, and all this had to do with the “errand” Wynn had been executing for Hawes.

Chane hoped this had something—anything—to do with getting them a direction to the last orb, but logically he did not see how. There were two offices, one on each side, in the small inner towers of the gatehouse. In the evenings, after the outer portcullis was lowered, two apprentices usually stood watch, but only one would be down the tunnel.

He knocked first and then opened the door. “Hello?”

Stepping inside, he found two surprised apprentices in the cerulean blue robes of the order of Sentiology: a young man and a girl who looked to be shy of twenty. Both sat at a small table with a glowing cold lamp atop it. The girl was attractive, with long red hair, and the pair appeared engaged in some game using draughts on a circular board. One of them should have been watching the tunnel’s far end at the portcullis until at least the quarter-night bell.

Few sages had ever spoken to Chane, but many knew him on sight; he had been Wynn’s guest here more than once.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked, rising to his feet.

Both stared up at Chane’s height and his pale face where he stood in the open doorway. He was not armed, as it was improper to bear arms inside the guild grounds. Still somewhat at a loss, he assumed a settled air of authority.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said. “Premin Hawes has sent me with a few questions.”

“Premin Hawes?” the girl repeated.

Chane was well aware that the premin of Metaology was widely viewed with a bit of nervous awe by many of this branch’s lower ranks. Even the assertive young man stalled with a glance at his companion.

“Who was attending here last night?” Chane asked flatly.

“I was,” the male answered.

That made this easier, and Chane nodded once. “A message was delivered for Nikolas Columsarn. Did you take it?” He watched the young man, who might have winced slightly in sudden tension.

“Yes ... sir,” he answered. “Is there a problem? Should I not have?”

“Premin Hawes wanted to know who delivered it. Can you remember?”

“Remember?” The young man sat back down. “Of course.”

Chane stepped inside, closing the door quietly, and stood watching the young man while waiting. When further elaboration did not come immediately, he raised an eyebrow without blinking.

The girl reached across the table to touch her partner’s hand. “It’s all right. If Premin Hawes sent him, you should tell him.”

Finally the young man nodded. “I heard knocking out at the bailey gate, though maybe it was repeated more than once. I was reading a bit while standing attendance. When I heard it for certain, I was about to go open the gate, and ... he or she stood right outside the raised portcullis, holding out a package that probably contained documents, by its size and shape. It was windy out, so perhaps I didn’t hear the gate open.”

“A man or woman?” Chane repeated. “Could you not tell the difference?”

The young sage shook his head. “Either a tall woman or a very slender man, wearing gloves, a black cloak with the hood up, and ... a mask. All I could see was dark eyes.”

One detail fixed in Chane’s mind.

He had a mask, which had been made along with other accoutrements. As an undead, he needed these things should he ever have to move briefly in daylight while protecting Wynn. He also wore special glasses with near-black lenses, like the ones she carried for a different purpose, but the messenger’s eyes had been exposed.

“A mask?” Chane echoed sharply, and the rasp of his voice caused a flinch in both young sages. “Why ... What did it look like?”

“Leather, by its color, but it looked carved or etched with swirling lines. Maybe some other markings, but I couldn’t see it clearly inside the hood. The hand holding the package was gloved ... and something like leather armor was on the forearm. Hardened leather, also patterned, though I only got a brief look before the messenger dropped that arm inside the long cloak.”

Chane was at a loss for what all of this meant. “What did this person say?”

“Nothing. She—he—handed me the package and stared at me. When I took it and looked at it, the outside was addressed in ink to Nikolas Columsarn, care of the guild at Calm Seatt, Malourné. But when I looked up again ...”

Chane waited less than a breath at the hesitation. “And?”

“The messenger was gone.”

Chane was the one who hesitated this time. “Did you hear the gate this time?”

At that, the young man paused, perhaps not having thought of this before. He shook his head.

“Thank you,” Chane said, turning for the door before any reply was uttered as he hurried off to find Wynn.

It was well past dusk when the Cloud Queen made port in Soráno. Leesil was up on deck, while the others remained below.

Captain Bassett descended the aftcastle the moment the ramp was lowered to the pier. He was a thin, wiry man with gray stubble on his jaw and dressed in worn boots, an oiled hide jacket, and a battered brown hat. The captain kept his eyes averted when Leesil or any of his companions were on deck, as if he couldn’t bring himself to even look at them anymore.

Leesil, like Magiere, could hardly blame the captain.

“Call the rest of your group and get off,” Bassett said without preamble. “There’s plenty of time for you to find an inn tonight.”

Leesil suspected arguing was futile but still asked in his broken Numanese, “Stay tonight? Leave morning?”

“Off,” Bassett repeated.

Leesil headed for the aftcastle door to the passengers’ quarters below. When he reached the cabin he shared with Magiere and Chap, he found Magiere already packing. No surprise in that. She was dressed in her studded hauberk and cloak, with her falchion on her hip. She must have expected to be thrown off the moment they docked. Well, they all had.