Quartz, page 27
Isabella squeezed his hand. “Give it a bit of time to get used to it. You know the scent of what you’re looking for. I’ll find someone to help us get close. Look sharp, here he comes.”
Rafe straightened and hoped that his sickened expression could be mistaken for a look of stunned astonishment.
“Welcome!” The man who strode up to them was broad-chested and black-bearded. A medallion of beaten gold lay on his bare brown chest and his only concession to decency was a loincloth around his hips. The thongs of his leather sandals snaked up his hairy muscular legs. Rafe noted for the first time that their host was not the only one in the room displaying a rather large expanse of naked flesh. “Lady Maerilla, what a pleasure to have such a beauty grace my little gathering.”
Isabella ducked her head and simpered, “Oh, Preceptor, you are too kind! Such a privilege… honor… oh, the sights…!” She trailed off breathlessly and fluttered fake lashes at Mirados, who had already turned to the rose and was crooning over it.
Rafe took the opportunity to whisper in her ear, “Laced that corset too tight, did you?” for which impertinence he was rewarded with a tap of her fan.
“Say, Uncle, where’s that dancer from last time? You know, the one with the chocolates down her…” The youth who interrupted was slender and unsteady on his feet, and he made a gesture towards his chest to indicate which part of the dancer’s anatomy had contained the delicacies.
“My boy, that was last time.”
“But, Uncle, I liked her.” The youth’s voice took on a nasal whine. His hair was purple and slicked back, and his dark-complexioned face sprinkled with glitter, but in tone and attitude, he could’ve been Tristan’s twin. Tristan. A pang tore through him. Tristan, who could be justly executed under the law for his treason.
“There are other dancers tonight, and more attractions besides. Come, my boy, here is Lady Maerilla all the way from Oakhaven.” Mirados turned his nephew by the shoulder, lights glistening off the youth’s mirrored vest, towards Isabella.
Isabella gave the youth a sultry look from under her lashes, one that she could’ve only learned from Sable. A come-hither look. From Isabella.
He’d have never believed it possible if he hadn’t seen it.
“My nephew, Raman.” Mirados pushed him toward Isabella, and duty done, turned towards Rafe. “First time for you, too, Lord… Oldmine?”
“Oldmill, actually, and gosh, yes, it’s just grand…” Rafe let his eyes stray towards the acrobats in scanty red leotards with fabric cut away from the sides as they changed formation in a shiver of movement and were still again. “Just grand,” he finished lamely, employing the inarticulate eloquence of the young man whose identity he’d assumed for the evening.
Mirados followed Rafe’s gaze. “You will find, young man, that we are a very free and accommodating people. Go on and find a friend, like your young lady companion did.”
Isabella had vanished with Raman, and in the time it took for Rafe to sweep the room for her, Mirados, too, stalked away, the servitor bobbing at his side.
Mindful of his role, Rafe meandered the room, stopping to gawk at every exhibit like any tourist. It wasn’t all that difficult to maintain that look of slack-jawed bemusement. Mirados’ entertainment consisted not only of the gravity-defying and tireless acrobats, but also miniature horses spreading gem-studded wings and trailing flames from their tips; a castle as tall as Rafe made from gleaming confectionary, with spun sugar towers, fountains of wine, and walking sentries made from pastry; and many more besides. Mirados’ guests were about as bizarre as the entertainment with their hair and skin in rainbow hues, moving tattoos on their faces, and multiple piercings. As he stared at each curiosity, more marvelous than the last, Rafe began to tease out the separate threads of ka that wrapped against his skin in sticky spider threads and pinged his nerves with bursts of color. That gold-orange strand created the illusion of flames, an outlining band of pale green kept the fire’s shape. Whorls of pastel colors maintained the open, perfect blooms in the vases.
And all of that energy came from quartz. Plates of quartz hung on the wall, chunks of it studded furniture, still more was set in the floor, and besides all that, there was quartz below, underground where Rafe could only sense it. His feet thrummed with the radiant ka as it flowed into his bones.
This tamed ka was so different from the white heat that assaulted him in the agri-caves. In fact, if he reached out with mental hooks and pulled that greenish-yellow strand there…
One of the marching sentries on the confectionary castle stiffened and toppled off the battlements. Rafe drew back, guiltily, but no one else seemed to have noticed. The ka strand flapped loosely and Rafe clumsily tied it back to the miniature sentry. The pastry man lay on his side, flailing his arms and kicking feebly. He looked a lot like a fellow quartz-sickness sufferer, and none of Rafe’s attempts succeeded in getting the poor chap on his feet. He finally left the exhibit before anyone realized what he had done.
It was highly unlikely that the Renat Key was in the lobby. Rafe joined a party overflowing into the next room, and eavesdropped shamelessly as one of its members—a person of indeterminate sex with a cap of sleek ice-blue hair, silver rings at the corner of enormous slanted eyes, and a rail-thin figure—spoke to a companion in a husky voice.
“ … got the last one of Carisa’s moving paintings, damn the man…”
“… I’d love to see it…”
“If we can get into Mirados’ private gallery. He has one of his automatons on duty there and you know what they’re like…”
“Damn right, I do. Can’t bribe, seduce, or make ’em drunk!” Both broke out into hiccupping giggles.
Private gallery. That sounded promising.
Beyond the lobby, the rooms were arranged like clearings in a forest and the ways between them meandering dimly-lit paths, with nooks and overlooks. Rafe stepped off the path and through a curtain of lacy vines whose sweet smell lingered on his hands. He stood looking down at a golden-hued waterfall. The liquid at the bottom splashed itself into foam against the inside of a giant shell. Partygoers scooped up in the foam and ate it off their fingers.
Another guest, this one whose only eccentricity was green hair, turned to Rafe. “Flavored foam. Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Oh, well. It is impressive, in a showy way. I was hoping for something more, though.” The ka fueling the waterfall looked tenuous somehow, interlaced in a web of colors so pale they were hardly there. Rafe wondered if the foam was at all filling, or just a tasty illusion. There was no end to the abundance of food, artfully incorporated into the exhibits, but the guests were abnormally thin.
The young man gave Rafe a knowing wink. “Well, there are some very accomplished body performers further in.”
“No, I meant more historically and culturally valuable artifacts.”
“Like, you mean, paintings and such? Oh, Mirados has thousands of them. Keeps them guarded, though I don’t know why he bothers. I’ll show you the way to his galleries, they’re close to where the skins are.” The youth drew Rafe out of the waterfall chamber. The young man’s chatter fall on Rafe’s ears like a prattle of rain.
They parted ways at the entrance to the skins’ area—skins, Rafe surmised, being those who performed naked. The youth found Rafe’s tastes sadly lacking, but he didn’t try too hard to persuade Rafe to join him.
Rafe strolled through a doorway half-hidden behind a screen of potted trees, and entered another world. A smooth white marble corridor, clear of any clutter or decoration, led to a shiny round metal door. White light shone from recessed squares in the ceiling. Rafe felt the powerful pulse of ka coming from the door.
“No guests allowed.” The being who blocked the corridor to Mirados’ art collection appeared to have been dipped in molten silver and frozen. Blank eyes looked beyond Rafe.
“Ah, I’m sorry to trouble you, sir.” Rafe flashed a smile. “I was hoping to use the facilities quickly, and someone mentioned that there was a privy just back here.”
His charm had no affect on the metallic man. “Turn around, down the stairs to your left, two doors to the right.”
“Couldn’t I nip in there for a little bit?” asked Rafe. “It’s rather urgent.”
The guard made no reply. It apparently went deaf after a basic exchange, and there was no way Rafe could wrestle his way past. Bunches of ka, like bundled cord, lay within it. Rafe wondered which one would turn the automaton off, but any experimentation was just as likely to raise an alarm.
And even if he disabled the automaton, there was the door to deal with. Wires of green ka permeated the metal. Rafe didn’t think the purpose of that bit of magic was to shower visitors with bonbons and songs of welcome.
“Darling, you have to see Mirados’ new paintings. They are simply splendid, divine!” Raman, now thoroughly drunk, staggered in, held up only by the woman on his arm.
Isabella rolled her eyes at Rafe, but her tone was all breathless sweetness. “I would adore it of all things!” She fluttered her lashes at Raman
Isabella, flirting. What next? Was the Mage Renat going to rise up out of the floor, waving a pink wand, and save them all the trouble of finding the Keys?
Raman waved at the metallic guard. “Let us through, old chap.” The automaton stared bleakly at the youth, then stepped aside in one well-oiled motion.
The door opened, its whorls retracting into the walls. Isabella gave Rafe a significant look; he returned it with a bland expression. Somehow, as the couple came up and Rafe turned to head back to the lobby, he managed to trip over Raman. The man staggered impressively, pulling Isabella off-balance.
“Steady there,” Rafe took hold of Raman’s free arm. “Need some help, old fellow? I’m afraid your lovely companion isn’t as strong as she could be.” He grinned at Isabella over Raman’s head.
Raman clutched at the lace ruffles of Rafe’s borrowed finery and hauled himself upright. Stitches ripped, and Rafe wondered if he could write the mending off as a business expense.
“Th-thank you. Why, it’s the outsider, again. Still. Since you haven’t left, of course. Unless we’re talking about leaving the ball—”
Rafe interrupted before Raman could talk himself into more tortuous syntax. “May I be of assistance?”
“I do seem to be clumsy tonight, don’t I?” said Raman frankly. “I suppose I could use some help. No hard feelings about stealing the lady?” He peered up into Rafe’s face.
“None at all,” said Rafe smoothly. “I’m glad she found a friend. I was only trying to be kind.”
“Good, because she’s promised to be my special companion, haven’t you, dear?” He patted Isabella’s hand.
Rafe thought about commenting on the implications of special companionship, but Isabella’s bright smile had gotten noticeably brittle and he thought he’d rather not goad her.
“Ah, I need to use the privy,” complained Raman.
Even better. “This way.” Rafe gestured past Metal Man, through the opened doorway.
The threesome lurched their way into a circular chamber, with passageways radiating out from it like spokes from a hub. Raman gave Metal Man a cheery wave as the door spiraled shut behind then. Another of the same doors stood directly opposite. It was, of course, closed. Raman tugged them in the direction of a less formidable-looking door to the left. This one was only rectangular.
Isabella slipped her hand from Raman’s arm. “I’ll wait for you two here.”
Raman beamed. “We’ll be right back, my dear.” He pecked at Isabella’s cheek, missed by several inches and caught her shoulder instead. Above his head, Isabella looked pained.
“You brought him here,” Rafe mouthed, turning the youth around by a shoulder. The lavatory door hissed and slid aside, and Rafe propelled Raman through the doorway and into a gold-and-white marble cavern. Soft music drifted through the air and several fountains poured foamy water into scalloped basins. A massive sunken bath occupied one corner, a glass-and-tile stall stood in another. Mirrors of various sizes hung on the walls; elegant silver tables covered with glass jars stood under them. Urns and pots and pillars divided the room. Rafe finally located a place for Raman to relieve himself behind a screen of potted ferns, fronds entwined in loving embrace.
While the youth was occupied, Rafe examined a nearby table. Sweet-tasting water gushed out into a leaf-shaped basin. He filled the least decorative of the empty bottles with water, tore open a packet from his pocket, and dumped its powdery contents into the liquid. He stoppered it and swished the liquid around until it was almost as clear as before, only a few grains swirling lazily in the colorless depths. Too small for Raman to notice in his condition. Rafe crumpled the packet and stuffed it back into his capacious pocket.
Raman staggered out from behind the screen. “I say. I’m having the hardest time with this.” He collapsed against Rafe’s shoulder, his trousers still unfastened. “I need a drink.”
“Here. This will help.” Rafe closed Raman’s fingers around the bottle and tipped the water down Raman’s throat. Much of it splashed on to the youth’s chest, but in his inebriated state it wouldn’t take much to push him into unconsciousness.
Raman managed to hold himself upright for a moment. “Well?” he announced brightly. “Shall we see what Mirados has just acquired? Oh my.” A peculiar expression crossed his face, as if he was going to be sick.
Rafe moved out of the way, in case he was.
“My tongue feels like it’s been rolled in cat shit. This stuff tastes rotten.” Raman’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor in a graceless faint. The glass bottle chinked as it fell out of Raman’s lax fingers, and rolled away into a corner.
Rafe dragged the youth to a more comfortable, better-hidden spot behind the ferns and fished a keyring of shining discs from his pocket.
Isabella met him outside the door. “You hit him?”
“No, used the powder Sable gave me.”
“Pretty potent drug,” she commented.
“It wasn’t supposed to act that fast,” said Rafe. “It must have been all that alcohol in his system.”
“Then I hope you haven’t killed him.”
“Where do we start?” Rafe looked around.
“The passageways lead to the public galleries—open to visitors if they ask politely and make a deposit of their souls, according to Raman. If we’re lucky, the Key will be here and not in the super-private collection which no one but Mirados sees. He won’t even take souls for a glimpse at those.”
“If we’re lucky.”
They weren’t.
After a thorough search of the adjoining chambers, including peering behind frames and looking into urns, they still had not turned up the Key.
They turned their attention to the locked door, a tougher twin of the one they had come through. It was reinforced with even more ka, and the only discernable opening mechanism was a circular slot half the size of Rafe’s palm right in the center. Isabella tried Raman’s disc-shaped keys in the slot. None worked. They even fetched the unconscious noble from the bathroom and pressed his hand against likely-looking plates.
Nothing.
“Well, he is only a nephew, and feckless one at that,” said Isabella as they returned Raman to his hiding place.
Rafe looked at the door with what he was fast coming to think of as his ka-sight. A complicated tangle of ka-threads surrounded it. He tweaked one, but his mental touch slid right off.
“Well?”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s almost like a puzzle, but…” He jerked. Something popped inside his skull, creating a vacuum. Silence and darkness rushed in to fill the space, leaving him deaf and blind.
It took Rafe a moment to realize that his eyes and ears still worked.
“Rafe, what happened?”
“The ka. It’s gone.” Rafe stared at the door. Some of the ka still threaded the metal, but most of it had just—vanished.
“Quick, then, before it comes back.” Isabella picked at the door lock with a knife.
“Wait.” Rafe withdrew something from his pocket. A red-and-white paper-covered tube with a long fuse lay in his palm.
“A fire cracker?”
“An explosive.” Rafe grinned. “I hope you don’t mind me bartering some of Rocquespur’s candlesticks for this. There was a Clearwater mining train next to us at the Gathering Place.”
Isabella laughed. “Oh, why not? It’s not as if the candlesticks were going to help us open this door.” She stepped aside. “Do it.”
“It might bring Metal Man running,” Rafe warned.
Isabella shook her head. “He’s only charged with keeping undesirables from that door. I think you’ll find the automatons are more ready to obey the letter of the law than the spirit.”
“Sounds like many privates who served under me.” Rafe stuffed the explosive into the key-hole and lit the fuse. “Stand back.” He ran across the chamber and hunched behind a pillar, shoulder-to-shoulder with Isabella. Strands of hair had come loose from her elaborate hairdo. They tickled his cheek.
The explosion was a mere pop and fizzle, a small flash of light and a whiff of chemicals.
For a few moments, Rafe thought that the explosive had no effect. Then he saw that the key-hole was several inches larger and the door itself looked rather loose. While Isabella examined the panels that made up the door, Rafe wrapped his neckcloth around his hand. He jiggled the internal mechanism of the lock. Metal groaned as the inner whorls ground together and widened until they formed a good-sized hole.
Rafe grinned at Isabella. “Hope that dress won’t hold you up too long!” he said and climbed through. He jumped into a dimly-lit corridor and jogged down it, gaze probing the shadows. From behind came a ripping noise, and the sound of nimble feet hitting the floor.
The dress hadn’t held Isabella up at all.
“I feel it. It’s here,” he called over his shoulder.
Small chambers, little more than alcoves, led off from the corridor. Rafe peered into one. All it contained was a life-sized statue of a man chained to a rock, breast torn open to reveal a heart forever frozen in agony.
