Engine of Lies, page 14
“Don’t remind me. That sounds like witchcraft.”
“That’s what I think. And that’s what bothers me the most.” She looked away, her cheeks red. “Maybe Richard had someone put a spell on me so the other nobles can’t see me. Maybe he’s ashamed of marrying a commoner.”
Flaming her husband would not help Claire. I pushed against the door of the wardrobe and sat up straight. “Claire, how many protective spells are there on this house?”
She looked confused by the change of subject. “Two, I think. The usual ones against fire and burglars. Maybe a couple against burglars.”
“There are at least half a-dozen, and I can’t make out what they’re for.”
“Considering how much I’ve spent on clothes and such, Richard might have thought the usual one wasn’t strong enough.”
“No, they aren’t against burglary—I know those. I think you’re right—Richard is hiding you.”
Claire dabbed at her eyes, then dashed to the door. “I should check on the children.” She came back, sometime later, with red-rimmed eyes. Tears threatened to spill over.
I said, “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then do this. Tell your Richard the warlock he doesn’t believe in is burning up over the way he’s mistreated you. I’ll—”
“Lucinda, really, I can’t do that.”
“Why can’t you? Well, fine, I’ll write him a letter. I’ll come back in a week. If you are not ensconced in the earl’s manor by then, as his son’s respected and honoured wife, I’ll walk through the fire into the earl’s bedroom and demand an explanation. If that scares an old, sick man to death, his death be on his son’s head, not mine.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Lucinda, you wouldn’t.” Then she laughed. “Oh, you would. Yes, you would. I am so glad you’re back.”
“Then why didn’t you want to tell me about it?”
She resumed picking at imaginary lint on her skirt. “Because I’m ashamed I broke my promise.”
“What promise?”
“Don’t you remember? I promised you I’d marry somebody I liked and respected. I like Richard well enough, he’s good company when he’s here, but I don’t respect him.”
“Oh, Claire…”
“I don’t understand why he’s afraid of the earl. He’s an adult, and he’s never gotten into trouble with the Water Guild, so there isn’t anything the earl could do to him, is there?”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. If they weren’t titled, the father could disown the son, but an earl has to keep the succession going. He can’t disinherit his son without the king’s approval.”
“That’s what I thought, and Queen Marguerite is Richard’s aunt on his mother’s side. He’s her favourite nephew, and she can’t stand his half-brother—so he says, anyway—so she wouldn’t let the earl disown him. What’s he afraid of?”
“I can’t imagine. It would be next to impossible to kill him.” I shook my head, once again, over the Fire Office’s magical shields. If the titled noble and the next two in line, the heir and the spare, were subject to a bit of pain for their mistakes, there would be a lot less untempered arrogance on display.
Claire sighed. “I didn’t really expect an answer from you. You’re not afraid of anything.”
I wasn’t afraid? I understood then why I had sought out my oldest friend—to take my mind off my terror. I’d wanted to talk to someone who had never considered dying for her country. But I couldn’t. The Frost Maiden’s conspiracy spell wouldn’t let me tell Claire the danger I was in. I might as well go back home. At least I’d done her some good by coming.
The heir and the spare. The nagging, amorphous worry took shape, the shape of a darling little baby boy. “You said your husband has a brother?”
“Lord Edmund. Half-brother by his father’s second wife. I’ve not met him. He and his brother despise each other. With good reason, or so I’ve heard.”
“Has Lord Richard told his brother about your son?”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. Is it…” The colour drained from her face. “Oh my God, Lord Edmund’s not been shielded since Lawrence was born.”
“Right. He could be injured, maybe even die, if he thinks he’s shielded and he’s not.”
“Why did I never think of that?”
“You’ve not been getting enough sleep, you’ve had your mind on the baby, and you aren’t used to thinking like a noble. Your husband must have thought about that months ago. He probably told his brother as soon as the baby was born.” And if he hadn’t, then, no, he didn’t deserve Claire’s respect.
“His brother’s not nearby.” She sounded uneasy, but colour crept back into her face. “He went somewhere up north several months ago. Over somewhere. Or after. Something. I forgot.”
I ran through a hasty inventory of the northern Frankland map. “Abertee? Near the Crystal Palace?”
“Maybe. Wherever the White Duke lives. He was going hunting with the duke’s son.”
“Yes, Abertee. I’ll send a message to the duke.”
“Thank you. And I’ll tell Richard tonight. I promise.”
I sent the message on my return to Blazes and resumed wrestling with my conscience. Visiting Claire had not done me much good. Escaping for an afternoon had not resolved my quandary, and the pressure continued to build. I imagined myself balanced on the edge of a diving platform, looking down into deep water. The slightest nudge would push me in, over my head.
Two days later Hazel, my other best girlfriend, gave me that nudge.
News from Abertee
I was in the Fortress library, gathering an armful of detailed maps of Frankland, when a message arrived saying an earth witch was asking for me. I hurried home to find Hazel, accompanied by a gnarled individual she introduced as Master Walter MacLaren, blacksmith, of Abertee.
“Abertee? What are you doing in Abertee?”
“I took a post there after finishing my training as a healer. Why?”
I had never given the place much thought, other than finding it on a map, and now it had come up twice in a few days. Coincidences make me nervous. I shrugged. “Never mind. Go on.”
“I’d love to hear about your travels sometime,” Hazel said, “but…”
“But not today. You’re not here on a social call,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
Master Walter, six inches taller than Hazel, had been trying to hide behind her. She pulled him forward. “Tell her.”
He stammered something unintelligible and backed away. With Hazel’s hand on his arm, his air of panic faded. He swallowed and tried again. “There’s trouble abrewing in Abertee, ma’am, and the Blacksmiths’ Guild is asking for the Fire Warlock’s help.”
“Good man. I’m glad the smiths have some sense.” The smith beamed.
Hazel said, “Not everyone here seems so glad.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know how to find you, so we went to the Guild Hall. The clerk said the Fire Warlock was keeping you and Warlock Quicksilver busy, and to see Warlock Flint. He sent us away, saying Abertee would only get what it deserved.”
I saw red and reached for my hat. There would be trouble, for certain. In Abertee. And right here in Blazes.
I came to my senses before I reached the door. Flint could wait. I apologised to Hazel and the wide-eyed smith for getting distracted, and led the way to Jean’s study, where I reached for pen and paper. “What happened in Abertee?”
Hazel said, “The White Duke told a family of farmers—Douglas and Jessie Archer of Nettleton—that they had one week to move off their land, or he would burn them out. But he doesn’t have the right to evict them. They’re freeholders, not tenants. The whole district is up in arms about it. That family is as stable and law-abiding as they come, and if they’re not safe, nobody is.”
“If they’re exemplars of good behaviour, why does the White Duke want to evict them?”
She smiled. “You and I would consider them fine, upstanding people, but a duke might not. Granny Mildred, the healer I’m assisting, says the Archers have been there as long as the White Duke, and are more respected than he is. They have a reputation for being outspoken, and the duke and his duchess don’t appreciate it.”
“Let me guess. The duke’s a lazy idler, and the Archers remind him of his neglected duties.”
“At every opportunity. Everyone in Nettleton is a responsible freeholder, and they don’t like having an irresponsible overlord. So, they call him on it.”
The smith said, “That’s why it’s called Nettleton, ma’am.”
I laughed. And then sighed. “Oh dear. It really isn’t very funny. Go on. The duke told them to leave. What happened next?”
Hazel said, “They didn’t see that they had any choice, so they gathered up everything they could carry and fled. But not everybody in Abertee has as much sense. A group is gathering this morning to march on the duke, intending to pressure him into letting the Archers come back, but I don’t see how they can force him.”
“They can’t. They’d only get hurt if the Fire Warlock had to step in on the duke’s side. The rules keeping the magic guilds from stepping in to help are asinine. Murderous, even. We can see trouble coming from miles away, in a dozen places, but we can’t force changes before things get violent, because that would be outside interference with the noble’s relations with his own subjects.”
I gave Hazel a sharp glance. Even suggesting to the smith that he come to us could get her in trouble with the duke.
She shook her head. “Master Walter knew to ask on behalf of the guild, so that means you can help, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, that gives us the right to step in.”
“What can you do?”
I chewed on my lip. “Good question. Is there anything else behind the unrest?”
My serene friend picked at the hem of her kerchief. Her freckles stood out against pale skin. I put down my pen and stared. She looked sideways at Master Walter. He gave her the same look in return. “You’d better tell, lass.”
She said, “The White Duke didn’t come himself to evict them. He sent another nobleman, an earl’s son with a nasty reputation. He pawed the farmer’s sister, and the farmer’s brother, another blacksmith, hit him. Killed him. And he was shielded. So now the brother—”
Whatever else she said was lost in the roaring in my head. I sent out a strangled bleat to Beorn. The room rocked.
Sense returned, but not even Hazel’s hand on my arm could calm my racing pulse and rapid breath. The smith yelled for a servant to bring whiskey. “Or whatever strong spirits ye keep in a fancy house,” he muttered.
Tom shoved a glass into my hands. Other babbling staff crowded around, infected by my alarm. And then Jean strode out of the fireplace, barking orders. The staff huddled together, pale and silent, in one corner. The gibbering blacksmith backed into a different corner. I gulped brandy and watched the blood drain from Jean’s face as Hazel repeated her tale.
“Impossible,” he said.
Hazel said, “Granny Mildred and I both saw him, Your Wisdom. There’s no question, he’s dead.”
“I beg your pardon, Granny Hazel. I do not doubt your judgement. But the Fire Office is not decaying. He could not have been shielded.”
Abertee. An earl’s son. I dropped the glass. Jean caught it.
“You’re right,” I said. “I bet he wasn’t shielded. I shouldn’t have panicked. Hazel, you said earl’s son. The Earl of Eddensford?”
“Yes. What do you know about him?”
“He wasn’t second in line any longer.” I slumped in Jean’s chair, limp from relief and alcohol, and explained about Claire’s marriage and the baby.
Jean sent the relieved staff back to work. Colour had returned to Hazel’s cheeks, but he was still pale.
“Nevertheless, this is a fresh disaster,” he said. “The news that a commoner killed a purportedly shielded nobleman will be all over the country in a few days, while the explanation will take months or years to disseminate. If the nobles’ faith in the Fire Office’s shields is destroyed, they will lose any remaining semblance of rational behaviour.”
I said, “I thought they already had.”
“You are an optimist, my dear. Their behaviour can—will—degrade further. I will visit the White Duke, and make sure he understands. As for the unrest in Abertee, is there anything else we need to know?”
Hazel and Master Walter exchanged looks. He shrugged. She shook her head. “I don’t think so, sir. What can you do about it?”
“I will send a fire wizard to escort the Archers back to their home, and I will tell the duke that if he continues with the eviction notice—which is unlikely, as he has no resolve and will back down when confronted—he must prove they are not freeholders, the burden of proof is on him, and he must present the evidence to the Air Guild for validation. If he does prove the Archers are tenants—also unlikely—he must give them a reasonable amount of time, say, three months, to settle their affairs and move of their own accord. Further, any additional threat of violence towards law-abiding tenants or freeholders will elicit further sanctions. That should be sufficient to relieve tensions.”
“Assuming,” I said, “the Fire Warlock agrees with your plan.”
“Oh. True. I sometimes forget I am no longer Fire Warlock.” His eyes focused in the far distance beyond Hazel’s shoulder. We waited. When he refocused on her, he said, “He does, and will send Warlock Sunbeam to deal with the gathering hot-heads. Sunbeam can frighten them into dispersing without inflicting serious damage, and will enjoy the opportunity to show off.”
“Thank you, Your Wisdom,” she said. “The brother—the blacksmith that’s on the run—had never been in serious trouble before. He’s a good man, sir.”
“One of the best,” Master Walter said.
“Is there anything you can do for him?”
“No,” Jean said. “That is the Water Guild’s domain, not the Fire Guild’s. Given the circumstances you have described, they will make no more than a token show of searching for the fugitive. If we attempt to help we will draw attention to him, forcing them to take action. It galls me to say so, but his chances are better without our help.”
Hazel’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I don’t,” I said. “If these Archers are such sensible people, why did the brother start a fight? He had to have known he’d come out the loser. It’s stupid to risk being whipped within an inch of his life, or being crippled, or God-knows-what, to keep somebody from groping your sister. I mean, getting pawed isn’t any fun for the sister, but some other things are a lot worse.”
Master Walter came out of his corner, glaring. Hazel looked like I’d slapped her. Jean frowned at me. “Be careful about jumping to conclusions over events you have not witnessed.”
I was taken aback. “Yes, sir, but—”
“And now, we must deal with Abertee’s troubles. Thank you, Master Walter, Granny Hazel, for bringing this news.” He bowed to them. “You have surely saved a life today, perhaps many.” The smith nodded, mollified.
Hazel said, “And if we ever need to reach the Fire Warlock again, we’ll come here first.”
Jean shot a questioning glance at me. I said, “The clerk at the Guild Hall sent her to Flint. He told her to go away, they would get what they deserved.”
“This is insupportable,” he grated. “I will—”
“No, you won’t.” I jammed on my hat. “I will.”
He frowned. “You are unlikely to have more success in changing Flint’s mind than I have ever had.”
I grinned. “I won’t try. I’ll tell the clerk and the manager at the Guild Hall what happened, and that you’re furious.” I waved at the maps I’d carried home. “And yes, the Fire Warlock is keeping me busy, dealing with exactly this sort of problem. If they direct visitors here to keep from angering the Fire Warlock, even Flint will have a hard time arguing with that, won’t he?”
When I returned, Jean was scowling at images he had conjured up in the flames. I caught no more than a glimpse, not even enough to determine if the figures I saw were male or female, as he waved them away with a snap of his wrist.
I said, “I thought you were going to see the White Duke.”
“I was acquainting myself with the earl’s son, before approaching the duke. Forewarned is forearmed, as the adage goes, but I cannot say I am glad I did so.” He grimaced. “Rarely have I had the misfortune of examining such an odious life, for all he was not yet twenty-one.”
“Why? Show me what he was like.”
“No. I cannot stomach it again. You would not stomach it even once.”
“What could he have done that’s worse than some things we saw in our travels? If you don’t want to examine his life again, summarise it for me.”
His eyes were cold. “It is unwise to do even that. Perhaps you are not yet mature enough.”
Was he joking? His expression was distant and unreadable, without a hint of humour.
I set my jaw. “Beorn wants me to help him spot trouble brewing. It would help to know what a troublemaker could do that’s so bad. Why won’t you tell me?”
He shoved his chair backward and stalked into the fire. “Girl, you ask too many questions,” he snapped, and vanished.
I stared into the fire with my jaw hanging open and my wand rolling on the floor. Jean Rehsavvy, the great Flame Mage, who encouraged curiosity and scholarship, thought I asked too many questions?
What could have led to such an uncharacteristic outburst? Some elusive memory nagged at me, but I could not drag it into the light. On the fourth or fifth time through the conversation with Hazel and Jean, the memory, triggered by Jean’s comment I was not mature enough, finally surfaced.
Two years before, the Frost Maiden had refused to tell me the nobles’ dirty little secret. My fists clenched of their own accord. I forced my hands open and wiped them on my skirt. Getting my breathing under control took a little longer.
