Andrea Höst: Stained Glass Monsters

Conscious of the interest of the crowds, Kendall trailed the Sentene to Micajah’s Hostelry. The coach she’d seen the previous evening was sitting out front, and one of the outriders, dressed in dark brown and burnt orange, stood by the door so that everyone would know who was inside.

The Hostelry had been full to overflowing the previous day, but it seemed the Sentene had turned everyone out. Kendall followed the woman through the silent entry-hall into the taproom to the right, eyes widening in awed interest. All the tables had been drawn back to the walls and a woman in a dark travelling dress was kneeling in the middle of a complex circle of weird writing chalked on the well-swept floor. Magic. The very idea made Kendall’s nose itch.

"Here’s your stray, Captain," said the Sentene woman, as Kendall belatedly noticed there was a third person in the room, standing near the far door. A man this time, lost in the gloom so that only the Phoenix was properly visible.

"Put her in the corner for now," the man said, and Kendall shivered. His voice was strange, whispery and thinned out. Definitely creepy.

What did they mean by your stray ? What had she done that Sentene wanted to talk to her about anyway? But still, this was ten times more interesting than anything she’d read in the newssheets, so Kendall obediently took herself to a chair in the corner and joined the other two in watching the woman kneeling in the circle.

She looked totally out of place on Micajah’s floor. Her dress wasn’t fancy but it was quality, and her iron-shot black hair was braided up in a way that Kendall couldn’t imagine spending the time over. She wasn’t doing anything much, just kneeling there with her eyes closed and her hands held loosely at her sides. But the air felt thick, and made Kendall want to sneeze. It was a disappointment when, after a long while where exactly nothing happened, the woman just opened her eyes and let out her breath.

"Any result, M’Lady?" asked the female Sentene.

"There’s no sign of an origin point in the near area." The older woman rose stiffly. "Nor does this show any sign of waning."

"Not what you expected?"

"Far from it. The White Ladies are rare, but a known phenomenon, occurring only once or twice a century. They invariably vanish within a day or two of their manifestation. Nowhere in my records is there an instance of one persisting so long, or producing an Efera expansion. This is something new. It is –" She paused. "It may be very serious. I will attempt another divination shortly."

Turning, she noticed Kendall. "What is this?"

"The missing resident of that shed. Captain Faille wanted to interview her."

"Oh?" There was tolerant amusement in the word. "This is your great disbelief in coincidence at work again, Faille?"

"It is too convenient," the male Sentene said, leaving his corner. "You were in the next town?"

Kendall was disappointed. This was all they wanted with her? "It was just a delivery, a note," she explained. "The Hosteller will vouch for me."

"I don’t doubt that." He was a tall man, and she saw that his hair was a bleached grey, though his face – the top half of it at least – didn’t look so very old. His eyes were faded grey too, and uncomfortably direct. "Who sent you?"

"One of the gawkers come to see the White Lady. It was just some silly woman sending word to her boyfriend," Kendall explained. "Father didn’t approve, that kind of thing. Nothing strange."

"She couldn’t use the post?" the female Sentene asked, taking a sceptical interest.

"It was urgent." Kendall tried to picture the woman being involved in some kind of plot. "Supposed to meet him that night, but her father was dragging her off to Sark instead. Easiest sennith I’ve ever made, and she paid for the night’s lodging." Which was…convenient? That woman had saved her life, whether or not she’d meant to.

"Did she speak of the White Lady at all?"

"No. Asked me what the weather was like, when the White Lady first arrived, but didn’t seem to care much. Called her this apparition , if that helps."

"The weather?" The older woman leaned forward, studying Kendall narrowly. "And what was the weather like, when she arrived? You would have been close."

"Exactly like it is today," Kendall said. "Sunny and cloudless."

"And what did it smell like?"

Perplexed by this interest in minor details, Kendall shrugged. "It did smell like it was going to storm, but nothing came of it."

"Ha." The woman smiled with strange approval at the one called Captain Faille. "Your instinct, as ever. I suppose, girl, that it smells like it’s going to storm now, as well?"

"A bit, I guess." Kendall sniffed. "It’s not the same."

"It wouldn’t be. And did it smell like it was going to storm when you were speaking to this woman?"

"…yes."

"Ha."

"What did the note say?" Captain Faille asked.

Kendall, about to deny reading it, faltered under the man’s steady gaze. She had, of course. It hadn’t been sealed.

"It was addressed to Joshua Goodwin," she said slowly. " I’m sorry. Papa insists we go directly to Sark. He suspects, I am sure. I have not changed my mind. Please – come for me. " If there was some hidden meaning in that, Kendall couldn’t guess it.

"Send Ricaden to see if anyone collected it," Captain Faille told the other Sentene.

"And bring it back," added the older woman. "We may be able to use it as a trace."

"Describe her," Captain Faille commanded.

More interested in why the weather was so important, Kendall thought back to that brief encounter. "She was, um, about as tall as this lady here," she said, indicating the older woman. Higher than average. "Her hair was black, and long, mostly straight, with just a bit of a curl at the very end. Worn loose at the back, but the sides were caught up. She was over twenty, I guess, but not thirty yet. Dark eyes, slim, pretty but not really beautiful. Sounded like she came from the north, not Sark. She wore a hat with a couple of black ribbons trailing off the back. Good clothes, not cheap but not showy. Fitted jacket, split skirt with riding breeches beneath. Old boots, nice ones. No jewellery. Clean hands."

"Well observed," said the lady, sounding approving. "I needn’t ask if you would recognise her again."

Kendall nodded, then asked cautiously: "Why does it matter if it was going to storm?"

"It mattered because that scent, scents like lightning, or dust driven by oncoming rain, that is given off by raw Efera, by unshaped power or loosely worked magic. This person was a mage, and she had just been casting. I imagine you looked at the sky, reacted to the scent. She saw that, and asked if you had smelled anything when the White Lady arrived."

"You can smell magic?" Kendall asked, astonished.

" You can smell magic," the lady replied, with gentle emphasis, then turned away as the other Sentene returned. "Lieutenant, this girl needs some basic instruction in magecraft. We will take her with us."

"Yes, M’Lady," said the Sentene, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Are we to leave soon?"

"That will depend on the result of my next divination," the woman replied. "I fear we may have little choice on the matter."

The Lieutenant bowed, then came sit beside Kendall.

"So what’s your name?" she asked, unfastening the collar of her coat so that it flopped down. She had a round face, spattered with orange freckles to match her tightly-braided hair. Not scary at all.

"Kendall Stockton."

"I’m Jolien Danress. That’s the Grand Magister, Lady Weston, who has charge of the Sentene. And my Captain, Illidian Faille."

Kendall supposed her eyes had gone very round. The Grand Magister, here in Falk. It hardly seemed possible. She stared at the woman settling back onto the floor of Micajah’s taproom. "Why–?" She paused, wondering what to say.