The Cunning Man, page 2
He stood. “It will be a long time before the war is over,” he said. “Lady Emily will be occupied for quite some time. I’ll build up a cover story, with your help, and then make my way to Heart’s Eye. And then we’ll see what I can do.”
“And make sure you send regular reports,” Sir Xavier said. He dropped a coin on the table, then stood as well. “My patrons wish to be kept informed.”
“Of course.” Lance bowed, with mocking politeness. “It will be my pleasure.”
Chapter One
The war was over.
Adam, Son of Alexis, tried to stay out of the way of the cheering crowds as he walked through the streets of Beneficence. The news had leaked barely thirty minutes ago and the city was already in rapture , rich and poor dancing and laughing together as it sank in that the Necromantic War was finally over. Adam saw the people - young and old, male and female - shouting and singing and felt joy in his heart, even though he knew it wouldn’t last. The cityfolk hadn’t paid much attention to the war, believing the necromancers were too far away to bother the city and its population. It hadn’t been until King Randor of Zangaria - the kingdom on the far side of the bridge - had embraced necromancy that the city had started taking the war seriously and even that hadn’t lasted. The war had still been a very long way away.
He smiled tightly as he stepped aside to allow a bunch of heralds to march past, their voices - normally boosted by magic - somehow tinny and weak and almost drowned out by the crowd. Their masters had finally decided - too late - what they were going to tell the population. Adam hid his amusement as a broadsheet seller wandered past, waving copies of the latest edition as a crowd of buyers surrounded him. The chances were good that the story, whatever it was, had come more from the writer’s imagination than the Blighted Lands - the full tale wouldn’t reach the city for days, if not weeks - but it didn’t matter. The crowd just wanted to hear the good news. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. They might have chosen to pretend the necromancers didn’t exist, as they were thousands of miles away and therefore unlikely to pose any threat to the city, but they knew - deep inside - that was just an illusion. Beneficence could stand off a mundane army, not a necromantic horde led by powerful and insane magicians. The city would fall within minutes if the necromancers brought their power to bear on the sheer rocks, collapsing them into the rivers to provide a bridge for their armies.
A trio of young women ran past, fleeing their mother as they hurried to join the party before they were dragged back inside. Adam grinned as the older woman was caught in the throng, her daughters making their escape. He couldn’t tell if it had been planned. Young men and women were not supposed to meet, except when chaperoned by their elderly relatives, but climbing out of the window and meeting in secret was an old tradition. Adam had done it himself when he’d grown into manhood. His brothers and sisters had done it, too. He felt his grin widen as he spotted one of the girls, fleeing - hand in hand - with a young man. She’d be in trouble when she got home, naturally, but for now she was free. He was almost tempted to wave at her retreating back. He might be the youngest of his family, and therefore with more freedom than his older siblings, but he still knew what it was like to grow up in such an environment, to feel suffocated by the weight of social expectations. It was why he’d worked so hard to become Master Pittwater’s apprentice.
The crowds grew wilder as he made his way along the street. A middle-aged woman, her clothes marking her as a woman of the merchant class, was dancing with a man young enough to be her son. A pair of elderly gentlemen were regaling the crowd with war stories; a handful of soldiers were surrounded by female admirers even though they could not possibly have fought in the war. Here and there, the City Guard was trying to control the crowd, but failing utterly. Shopkeepers were either shutting down, locking and warding their properties before the crowd could turn nasty, or throwing open their doors and inviting everyone to come and browse. Adam’s lips twitched as he spotted a number of innkeepers, hastily putting up signs advertising FREE BEER. The bars in the lower reaches of the city were known for poor quality beer, but today - of all days - no one was likely to complain. The crowd was already halfway to being drunk on its own happiness and sheer relief that the war was over. Surely, things could start getting back to normal now. It hadn’t occurred to them - yet - that the war had been going on for so long that it was normal. The post-war world would be unrecognisable.
“HEAR YE! HEAR YE!” A herald marched down the street, waving a bell to draw attention and carrying a stack of broadsheets under his arm. “LADY EMILY VICTORIOUS! TEN NECROMANCERS DEAD! HEAR YE!”
Adam took one of the broadsheets - the herald, perhaps wisely, wasn’t trying to charge - and scanned it. The news was good, too good. Ten necromancers dead, seven more wounded, billions of orcs slaughtered like sheep ... he shook his head, suddenly despondent. The figures were wrong. They had to be. The hastily written story insisted the army had marched up and down the Blighted Lands, killing necromancers as easily as he might step on a slug. Adam knew that couldn’t possibly be true. Lady Emily was the only person who’d slain a necromancer in single combat and there were hundreds of question marks, from what he’d heard, over precisely how she’d done it. How could anyone, even her, kill ten necromancers and wound seven more? And yet, there had to be some truth to the story. The war was over. What had happened?
A young man, barely entering his teens, reached for the broadsheet. Adam passed it to him and carried on, making his way towards the magical quarter. The streets were normally quieter here, but now ... he shook his head as he spotted older men hurrying towards the guildhalls, muttering to one another as they tried to decide what to do. The guildmasters would have to get ahead of the news somehow ... Adam rolled his eyes. There was no point in trying to catch up now. The news was already all over the city. The best they could do was wait for the crowd to exhaust itself while they decided how to react, then retake control once the streets were quiet again. It might be quite some time.
He glanced up, alarmed, as he saw a scuffle ahead. The craftsmen - their apprentices, rather - had gotten into a fight with a bunch of other apprentices. Adam gritted his teeth as the fighting threatened to spread out of control, more and more young men - and a handful of young women - hurrying to join the punch-up before it was too late. Apprentices fought at the drop of a hat and it wasn’t uncommon for fights to end in serious injury or even death, despite the best efforts of their masters and the city’s guardsmen. He stepped aside and made his way up the alley, giving the growing riot a wide berth. The apprentice robes he wore marked him as a target, yet he was alone. No one would come to his aid. If he was caught, he’d be lucky if they just gave him a good kicking.
His heart twisted. He’d wanted to be an apprentice. He’d wanted to be one of them. He’d wanted to belong. And yet, where did he fit in? Nowhere.
The alleys were dark. Adam kept one hand on his money pouch as he made his way down to the next street, careful not to look too closely at the shadows. The dispossessed and homeless lived within the alleys, scrounging for what scraps they could as they waited to die. They wouldn’t hesitate to rob him, if they thought he couldn’t defend himself. He tried to ignore shapes within the darkness as he reached the end of the alley and stepped into the light. It was like stepping into another world. The party on the streets was ... different.
He looked up as a young woman, roughly the same age as himself, hurried up and kissed him as hard as she could. Adam felt his body react to the feel of her body pressed against his, even as his mind spun in shock. People did not kiss strangers on the streets. They just didn’t. The young woman was ruining her reputation ... he kissed her back, just for a second, then forced himself to keep going. She didn’t seem put out as he left her behind. His hand dropped to his pouch, just to check it was still there. It was. He wondered, suddenly, what would happen if he turned back and rejoined her, then put the thought aside. Master Pittwater had summoned him. It would destroy his apprenticeship, such as it was, if he chose to ignore the summons.
His heart was still racing when he reached the magical quarter and forced himself to enter the street. It was infinitely fascinating, as always, and yet there was a constant hint of danger that both attracted and repelled him. The magicians on the streets - apprentices too, although they would be horrified at any comparison between them and the rioters behind him - had never been quite sure what to make of him. Some of them treated him as a joke, while others thought he needed to be driven out for his own good. Adam wasn’t their only target, either. It was truly said that anyone entering the quarter after dark would be lucky to see the next sunrise. The magicians had marked their territory and guarded it very well.
He felt a pang of his old envy as he walked down the street to the apothecary. The young men and women on the streets had more power in their little fingers than he had in his entire body. The man eating fire might be performing a cheap trick, as far as his fellows were concerned, but Adam found it remarkable. The street magicians danced and sang as they wove their spells into the air, showing off tricks that were more sleight of hand and illusion than anything magical. They were the lowest of the low, as far as their peers were concerned, yet they were still far more powerful than Adam. It burned, sometimes, to realise he knew more magical theory than almost every magical apprentice in the city, but he’d never be able to do anything with it. And yet, he dared to dream ...
The apothecary looked surprisingly busy, from the outside. A line of people - mainly youngsters - waited on the streets, the line inching forward as the apprentices and the hired shopkeepers handled them one by one. Adam walked into the tiny alleyway and entered the shop through the rear door, the wards parting the moment he placed his hand on the doorknob. The air smelled faintly of spice, tingling with the promise of magic. It had never failed to thrill him, even as he slowly lost hope of being able to put his knowledge to good - or any - use. He removed his cloak and hung it on the rails, then stepped into the brewing room. Matt - his fellow apprentice - and a young girl he didn’t recognise were bent over a pair of cauldrons, brewing potions. Adam looked at the remaining ingredients and put the pieces together. It looked as if they were brewing enough contraceptive potion for the entire city.
Matt didn’t look up. “Cut us some ragwort, then hammersmith weed.”
Adam resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment. Matt was his fellow apprentice, not his master. He didn’t know the young girl at all, although - if she was brewing potion - she was clearly a magician. But there was no point in arguing. Master Pittwater would be furious if they missed out on sales because they didn’t have enough potion to sell and that would be bad. Adam was all too aware - Matt had pointed it out, several times - that Master Pittwater had taken one hell of a chance on Adam by taking him as an apprentice, or as near to it as possible, and letting him work in the shop. It was a privilege that could be withdrawn at any moment.
And Matt has it easy, he thought, with a trace of the old bitterness. The master can’t dismiss him without a very good reason.
He scowled as he forced himself to get to work. They were very different. Matt was tall, dark and handsome, with a body that suggested physical strength as well as magic. Adam was short, pale and blond, with a face that hadn’t quite grown into maturity and a body that had been permanently stunted by a shortage of food. His father’s death had made food very scarce for several years and, while he knew his mother had done the best she could, he was all too aware it hadn’t been good enough. And yet, he’d been lucky. His mother had managed to keep the family together without remarrying, selling herself or - worst of all - sending her children into service. He knew there were people on their streets, only a few doors down, who’d had far less capable mothers. A handful had vanished so completely that everyone knew they’d sunk to the very lowest parts of the city. Their former friends pretended they were dead.
“I need a jar of powdered earwig now,” Matt shouted. “Hurry!”
Adam snorted as he put the knife aside and hurried to get the jar, as well as a dozen other ingredients the other apprentice was likely to need sooner or later. Matt wasn’t normally careless - Master Pittwater had drilled them both in making sure they had everything they needed on hand before they started to brew - but he was clearly distracted. Adam eyed the girl beside Matt, wondering who she was. Matt might have been on a date, when he’d received the summons from their master. He might have brought her back to the shop in hopes of ... Adam shook his head, silently. Master Pittwater would be furious if Matt brought a stranger into the back without permission. It was far more likely she’d just been hired for the day. It was rare, almost unknown, for a male magician to take a young woman as an apprentice.
The woman looked up and met his eyes. Adam saw a flicker of disgust cross her face before she lowered her eyes back to the cauldron. He hid his irritation as he turned away. He knew the type. A snobbish witch, looking down on the mundane who thought he could become a magician. The only thing that separated her from Adam’s sisters was her magic and that was an impassable barrier ... Adam sighed as he collected more ingredients for the couple without being asked, then returned to his table and continued his work. Matt was brewing cauldron after cauldron, everything from hangover cures to basic healing salves. They were simple potions, as long as one had magic. Without it ...
Adam forced himself to keep working as the day slowly gave way to night. The city normally went to bed with the sun - save for magicians, footpads and guardsmen - but the noise from outside, if anything, grew louder. He felt a twinge of sadness mingled with regret as the party swept through the streets; half-wishing he was out there with the rest of the city and half-glad he wasn’t. Not, he supposed, that he had much of a choice. Master Pittwater had summoned him and Adam had to obey. His lips quirked into a cold smile. Matt and his girlfriend - they were clearly more than just friends, from the way they constantly brushed against each other - had been summoned, too. They couldn’t be any happier about the situation than Adam.
But at least I have an excuse for not attending the party, Adam told himself. No one would fault me for obeying my master.
“Done.” Matt’s voice rang through the air. “Bottle up the potion, then give it to the shopgirls.”
They have names, you know, Adam thought. You could at least pretend to treat them as people.
He put the thought aside as he collected the tiny glass bottles, all charmed to be unbreakable, and started to measure out the doses. Master Pittwater had made it clear there was little margin for error, even with the most basic of potions. Drinking too much could be as dangerous as too little. Matt and his girlfriend watched - Adam didn’t need to look at them to know they were snickering behind their hands - as he filled the bottles, slotted the lids into place and piled them on a tray. The noise outside seemed to grow louder. Adam wondered, sourly, if they were waiting for him.
The door opened. Master Pittwater stepped into the backroom.
“Matt, take the tray to the front and then you can go for the night,” he said. He sounded harassed. “I’ll see you back at the shop tomorrow morning.”
Matt bowed. “Yes, Master.”
He took the tray from Adam and headed to the front, his girlfriend following in his wake. Master Pittwater didn’t seem surprised to see her, which suggested ... Adam felt another twinge of envy as his master headed towards his private office. There were times when he felt Matt could do anything, anything at all, without being kicked out of the apothecary and dismissed from the apprenticeship. Adam could not have brought a girl into the shop and proposed, in all seriousness, that she helped for a day. Master Pittwater would have laughed at him - if he was lucky - if he’d dared hint his girlfriend joined the staff. It was ... it just wasn’t fair.
“Adam,” Master Pittwater said. His voice was calm. Too calm. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Two
Adam’s heart sank as he followed Master Pittwater into his office. It was rare, vanishingly rare, for him - or Matt - to be invited into their master’s private chamber and it had been made clear to both of them that entering without permission would mean dismissal and disgrace. He couldn’t help looking around with interest, even though the last time he’d been called into the chamber had been for a strapping after he’d made a dreadful mistake and nearly gotten himself killed. Master Pittwater seemed to have crammed a desk, a pair of comfortable chairs, a sofa and a large cushion into the room, then lined the walls with bookshelves. They’d been packed when he’d last entered the room, but now they were practically bursting at the seams. There were probably spells in place to make sure they didn’t explode, scattering their contents everywhere. Adam hoped he’d get a chance to read the books. Master Pittwater had let him read more than he should, according to Matt, but there were textbooks he’d been told - flatly - he wasn’t allowed to so much as look at without permission. Adam suspected it was a waste of time. What did it matter if he read about the dark arts? It wasn’t as if he could perform them.
“Sit.” Master Pittwater waved at the sofa. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Adam frowned as he sat. He’d always known Master Pittwater was old enough to be his grandfather, but ... it had never really sunk in until now. He didn’t seem to have changed, yet ... he just looked older. It was never easy to guess a magician’s age - most of them used magic to slow their aging or wrapped themselves in illusions to hide their true condition - but Master Pittwater looked to have aged overnight. He moved like an old man. The end of the war couldn’t have affected him that much, could it? Perhaps it had. It was rare for their master to leave his apprentices brewing alone for long, certainly not on the busiest day of the year.
