Severn pinpointed the boundary—and the boundary’s width. The point just beneath his finger began to glow; gold for the outer bounds, bright pink for the inner. When she snorted, he said, “I don’t choose the colors.”
Marcus growled, which was tired Leontine for Shut the Hell Up. Since it was aimed at Kaylin, Severn continued to call cross streets. The map would blur and shift, he’d add two points, and then repeat the process. When he was done, he called “Map” again, and this time the line of dots—in gold and pink—formed a pattern. To emphasize this, a line, in each color, ran between the points, terminating at the start and the finish of their trek.
It was a third of a circle, give or take some math.
Marcus actually purred. If you had very little experience with Leontines, it sounded a lot like growling. “Good work,” he said. He barked an order, and the map began to extrapolate, from their coordinates, the perimeter of these two circles; the theoretical portions were in slightly dimmed colors, which in the case of the pink, was a distinct improvement.
“Good work, Private Neya, Corporal Handred.” He turned and then bellowed at the rest of the office. “No, don’t crowd around this mirror. Use the ones closest. Teela, Tain—you were out on the eastern edge. If what we’ve got is inaccurate, mark it. The same goes for the rest of you.” He turned to her and added, “What did Lord Sanabalis say about your report?”
Kaylin froze. “We were on our way to the Palace when it started to rain blood, Sir.”
“And you didn’t head there before you reported in.”
“No, sir. You said—”
“I know what I said, Private.” He growled. Because Kaylin did have experience with Leontines she couldn’t tell herself it was a purr. But he didn’t bite her head off, and he didn’t demand that she expose her throat, although she’d already started to lift her chin. “Did you get anything from the Halls?”
“Gibberish, mostly.”
“Useful gibberish?”
“I’ll tell you in a month or two.”
He did chuckle at that. “I’ll mirror Lord Sanabalis. You two, hop in a carriage.”
“The yard’s closed.”
“I didn’t tell you to use one of ours.”
“Sir.”
“The department,” he added, “will reimburse you.” Which meant he really was pleased.
Severn had enough money to pay the driver; Kaylin didn’t.
Severn shook his head as they parked themselves on opposite benches. “You can’t be paid so little that you’re scrounging for meals for the last week or two of every month.”
“Clearly, I can.”
“I live in a larger apartment than you do, and I can afford to eat.”
“My point. You’re a Corporal. You get paid more.”
“Some, yes, but I have the larger expense. I realize now is not the time for this discussion, but if you sat down and ran some numbers, you could plan out a month in advance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Budget.”
She snorted. “You need money to budget.”
“You have money. At the start of the month.”
“You’ve been to my place—it’s not like I’m spending it on anything. It just doesn’t last.”
It wasn’t exactly an old argument, but the few times they’d had it, it sounded the same, although admittedly sometimes there were more actual Leontine words thrown in.
He raised a brow, and then said, “Maybe you should cut back on the betting, given how often you lose.”
This, on the other hand, was new. He might as well have told her to stop speaking. She opened her mouth and no words came out. That lasted for about a minute, and she gave up on the effort and turned to look out the window instead. It was dark now.
There were puddles in small dips in the road, but their color wasn’t immediately obvious.
Given a combination of Records, the rest of the Hawks, and their own trek into and out of warm, red rain, they now had a roughly circular area. Elani fit easily within its parameters; the Halls of Law and the Imperial Palace were close to the edges, albeit on opposite sides. The circle didn’t encompass the Arcanum, for which they could all be momentarily thankful.
The carriage pulled up the road that led to the Palace; it was met before the courtyard. Kaylin jumped out; Severn followed. It was not, inasmuch as they existed, visiting hours for the Emperor or the Imperial Staff. On the other hand, like the Hawks, the Palace Guards had seen their share of blood-rain, and they didn’t blink at the sight of either Kaylin or Severn.
Kaylin wished she’d had time to clean up, anyway.
“We’re here to see Lord Sanabalis,” she began.
“We know,” was the curt reply. “He’s been expecting you.”
She wilted.
“For the past two hours.”
Sanabalis was not, however, waiting at the front doors. A pinched-face, somewhat harried man was. He was obviously aware that there’d been some difficulty outdoors, because he didn’t even blink at the state of their tabards. Or hair. Or, Kaylin thought, clasping her hands behind her back, their fingernails.
“You are Private Neya?”
She nodded.
“Corporal Handred?”
“I am.”
“Good. Lord Sanabalis is waiting for both of you. Please follow me.”
“We know the way—”
“He is not waiting for you in his usual chambers,” was the clipped reply. “He is waiting for you in the Library.”
It seemed a bit unfair that she could piss off both Sanabalis and the Arkon at the same damn time when she was only doing her job; she had no doubt whatsoever that the Arkon had also been waiting. For two hours. She glanced at Severn, whose expression had fallen into a state of grim which offered no comfort.
The man led them through the halls at a speed that was almost a run. Since the Library was not close to the entrance halls or any of the rooms that appeared to be used as semipublic meeting space, it took a while. But at this speed, Kaylin didn’t have time to let the usual height of ceilings and random finery intimidate her. Nor did she have time to try to recognize the almost-familiar halls.
She did not, however, have any problems recognizing the Library doors. They were huge, and they were warded. They were also closed.
Any hope that their escort would open the door himself, sparing her the momentary pain of placing her own palm against the ward, was instantly dashed as he performed a curt, but mostly respectful, bow. “I will leave you both and return to my post.”
“It’s your turn,” Kaylin told Severn when she was certain the man was far enough away he couldn’t hear them.
He chuckled. Easy for him to do; the first time she’d touched the door, alarms had sounded—and she’d been expected. But he lifted his hand and placed it firmly across the ward. Blue light spread in an instant uniform layer across the face of both doors, twitching slightly.
“This is…different,” he said.
They waited until the light faded, but the doors remained closed. Kaylin cursed under her breath, which meant she had to settle for the slightly inferior Elantran words she knew. She lifted a hand and pressed it firmly against the ward. This time, there was no loud noise, and she didn’t feel as though she’d been struck by lightning. The same blue light covered the doors like a translucent, fitted sheet, fading slowly.
The doors, however, didn’t open.
“I don’t suppose we could tell them we’ve been trying to get in for two hours?”
“No. Here, help me push them open.”
She put her shoulder into the motion; the doors were large and, more important, they were heavy.
The Arkon was standing about ten yards from the door, looking as if he’d swallowed whatever was left of the storm clouds that had caused so much panic. Beside him, less obviously annoyed—or at least less surprised—was Sanabalis.
“Sorry,” Kaylin began.
“While I’m sure it would be amus
ing to hear your excuse this time,” Sanabalis broke in, “it would probably take at least another half an hour.”
She shut up.
“We’ve set up a mirror in the Library,” he added, as the Arkon’s eyes narrowed. “There are containment fields in the Library which are stronger than any other such enchantments to which we have immediate access. Sergeant Kassan has kindly sent some preliminary reports of your evening’s work.” He turned and began to walk away, by which Kaylin understood he meant them to follow.
The Arkon, however, said, “I have volunteered to cede some space in my collection for use by the Dragon Court, so that we might deal with the difficulties that this current crisis has caused. I will not regain that space until the crisis is deemed to be concluded.”
Which would, Kaylin thought, explain some of his mood.
They passed through the largest of the Library rooms—in which the books were placed on shelves so high there were rolling ladders to accommodate people who were still about half a foot taller than Kaylin—and into another hall. This in turn led to a room with multiple doors nesting against one wall that seemed to be curved stone.
She had seen a similar room before, and wondered, briefly, if it was the same one; she didn’t visit the Library unless she was pretty much ordered to do so. It was, for one, huge; it contained many sculptures and odds and ends—scrolls, armor bits, what was left of armor bits, odd weapons, carpets, clothing—much of which was delicate, and all of which the Arkon guarded zealously. For two, it was the Arkon’s hoard, and while Kaylin didn’t understand the subtleties of hoard law at all, there wasn’t much that was subtle about the parts she did understand: touch my stuff and die was pretty straightforward.
There was, however, no stuff here, where here was a room that looked very familiar: rounded walls, a long, flat—and uncluttered—table in the room’s center, around which were placed six chairs. None of those chairs were occupied.
But first appearances were deceiving. The Arkon was last into the room, and when he closed the door at their backs, it vanished into the wall. It left no seams and no trace of its previous existence at all. Kaylin looked at the curved gray of walls; there were wall sconces set at regular intervals—six—about six feet off the ground, but instead of torches, they contained stones. There did not appear to be much else in the room.
She glanced at Sanabalis.
Sanabalis walked over to the top of the unadorned table, placed his palm across its surface, and spoke a few words. They were High Barrani, and they were softly spoken.
The surface of the table rippled beneath his steady palm, as if the wood grain had turned, in that instant, to water. The table, Kaylin realized, was a mirror.
CHAPTER 5
It was more than a little disconcerting to watch the surface of the table re-form. Why it was worse than watching an actual mirror do it, Kaylin wasn’t certain. “Why is the table a mirror?”
Sanabalis lifted his hand. “Almost any surface can be used, in theory. In practice, some surfaces dampen magic. They don’t conduct it well. The table, or more particularly, the wood out of which it is constructed, would be considered one such surface.
“It therefore requires a great deal more power to initialize the contact between the table’s surface and the whole of Imperial Records. It takes more power, in theory, to maintain that connection. It does not, however,” he added, casting a glance toward the Arkon as if it were a protective charm, “destroy the table.”
“The table is the Arkon’s?”
“It is a very old table. If you look at the legs, you will find—”
“I would prefer,” the Arkon broke in, in a chilly voice, “that she not make the attempt. I would, in fact, insist that she not touch the mirror at all.”
Kaylin lifted her hands. “Not touching,” she told the Arkon.
This didn’t improve his mood much.
“The table is taken from the wood of the West March,” Sanabalis told her. “Some of the trees there are highly prized for their magical properties. They are also zealously guarded.”
“Which is why you weren’t speaking Dragon.”
“Indeed. There are some things that we can do, and some things we can’t. The wood itself resists much.” He passed a palm over the table, and then said, again in High Barrani, “Map.”
The image shifted into a very familiar-looking map; she’d last seen it in the office. The more elegant lines of the much larger city that Sanabalis had roared into being across a bank of windows were gone. The central image now displayed showed the two concentric circles that neatly enclosed one section of the city; all of the streets external to the outer circle were in pale gray lines.
“Sergeant Kassan said that the preliminary boundaries—and the conjectured extrapolation—were due to your efforts.” He glanced up at her. “For this reason, we will overlook the hour of your arrival. I did, however, speak with Master Sabrai, and he was under the impression that you had information to report.”
She nodded, frowning. “You spoke about a magical-potential leak,” she said, looking at the streets contained by the inner circle.
“I did.”
“Is it significant that it fades out in this pattern? The Palace, here—” she let her finger hover over the streets that surrounded the Palace without actually touching them “—and the Halls, here, are almost at the edge of the circle. But Elani—where we first noticed the incidents—is almost directly at its center.
“Is that position significant? Does your leak, or any leak of this nature, grow weaker as you move away from its core?” Her frown deepened. “And is it just me, or does it look awfully close to Evanton’s shop?”
Sanabalis nodded, as if this were a classroom and she had just done well on the first of a series of grueling questions. “Our direct experience—”
“Your direct experience,” the Arkon interjected.
“—is very limited. The difficulties in the Palace to date have been confined to irregularities in Records. And one difficulty elsewhere, which was not disastrous and cannot be spoken about. The only known difficulty the Halls of Law have experienced appears to involve a window.”
“A talking bloody window that gets offended by ‘curse’ words.”
“That was not how it was described. I believe your explanation is more concise.”
“The rain hit everyone.”
“It did. I have taken the liberty of sending out a small team of Imperial mages. They are in Elani now.”
“What are they looking for?”
“The source of the leak,” he replied.
“Why mages? If magic is amplified in a bad way—”
“Mages have a much more rigid intellectual structure for thinking about the use of magic. Without solid control and concentration, they cannot use it. With solid control and concentration, and with an awareness of the potential growth, they can confine what they do use to the correct parameters. I believe that mages—not Arcanists—will have more luck at avoiding careless invocation or unusual wish fulfillment than the under-educated.”
“Meaning people like me.”
He didn’t bother to answer. “What occurred at the Oracular Halls?”
“I was taken to see Everly,” she replied. “He was stretching canvas. It was not a small one.”
“I…see.”
“I’ll check in again tomorrow or the day after, depending on what Marcus has me doing.”
“Private Neya,” the Arkon said quietly. Very quietly. But he was the Arkon; it carried anyway.
She gave him her immediate—and respectful—attention. “Arkon.”
“When you visit Everly, take Lord Sanabalis with you.”
Sanabalis bowed, and held that bow while the Arkon swept out of the room. He then rose. “At times like this,” he told Kaylin, with a grimace, “I miss the presence of Lord Tiamaris. The Arkon, like many of the eldest and wisest of any race, has a store of impatience he reserves for the young, and if it is spent on the young, it
is exhausted.”
“And you’re now young?”
“Compared to the rest of the Dragon Court, no. Compared to the Arkon, yes. I will meet you in the morning—first thing in the morning—at the Halls of Law.”
“When do you think the mages of the Imperium will make their report?”
“As soon as they either have definitive information, or one of them manages to commit suicide in a remarkable and unusual fashion.”
It was late enough that Kaylin decided to go straight home, because first thing in the morning by Dragon definition skirted the edge of dawn. Probably from the wrong side. The streets between the Palace and her apartment were decidedly empty for this time of night; it reminded her of living in the fiefs, although there were no Ferals. The rain had gone on for long enough, and had caused—she assumed—enough panic that no one wanted to be exposed to sky.
Fair enough. She didn’t particularly care for a repeat, either.
But when she made her way up the stairs and through her door, she saw her mirror flashing. She had bread and cheese and meat in the basket that Severn had given her, and if she disliked magic—and she did—it was still damn useful. The bread wasn’t stale enough to cut herself on, and the cheese hadn’t dried out. Nor was the meat likely to be sour enough to poison her. She grabbed all of those, and headed to the mirror; it was her personal mirror, after all, and no one could dress her down for leaving fingerprints on it.
She lost most of her appetite when the screen’s image solidified and the familiar face of Marya took up most of the frame. Marya was as close to head of the midwives’ guild as made no difference, and she looked haggard. The circles under her eyes—which were often there because her sleep hours were worse than Kaylin’s—had almost overtaken her cheekbones.
She wasn’t speaking; the mirror wasn’t active; this was just a placeholder to indicate she’d tried to reach Kaylin earlier. Kaylin, around a mouthful of meat, muttered Marya’s name. The mirror twitched twice, and took its sweet time connecting, but it finally did.