“Yes.” Leave it at that. See if Stimon would drop it.
Stimon didn’t drop it. “How long were you in a position to speak with this Mage?”
Mari sighed. Just get it over with. “About three days. Alone, that is. Then we met up with some salt traders heading for Ringhmon and traveled with them. I didn’t have any further contact with the Mage after that.”
“After that? You didn’t have any further contact with the Mage after that?” Stimon shook his head in disbelief. “You spent three days alone with a Mage?”
“He and I escaped together. The bandits were chasing me. It seemed preferable to dying,” Mari said.
“Some would prefer death to the sort of things a Mage would do to an unaccompanied girl!”
“What?”
“Don’t pretend ignorance! No wonder your clothes needed laundering so badly! They probably carried his stench from all the times that Mage forced himself on you!”
Mari’s face became very hot as she sprang to her feet. “How dare you? The Mage never touched me! If he’d tried I would’ve blown his head off!”
Stimon glared back. “Are you saying the threat of a weapon kept him from assaulting you?”
“Yes! No! I didn’t have to threaten him! He didn’t try anything! I deeply resent the implication that I would invite or allow any physical contact with a Mage!”
“What did the Mage want, then?” Stimon demanded.
The question hadn’t even occurred to Mari before this because the answer seemed so obvious. “What did he want? To get away from the bandits.”
“He could have done that alone.”
True enough. Mari knew she had to tell the full truth again. “He felt obligated to protect me.”
“A Mage. Felt obligated.”
It did sound absurd, even to her, and she had been there. “He had a contract to protect the caravan, and I was part of the caravan. I don’t know why a Mage cared about that, but he did.”
“You believed that?” Stimon leaned back again, shaking his head. “He must have wanted to spy. What did he find out about Mechanic arts? What did you tell him?”
The Mage’s warning about her job in Ringhmon rose in her mind again, but she hadn’t said anything to him to prompt that. However the Mage might have learned something about her contract, it hadn’t come from her. “I didn’t tell him anything! We just escaped the attack together and then sought safety together.”
Stimon regarded her silently for a moment. “Did you see any of his tricks?”
Mari hesitated. Tricks. That’s all Mages were supposed to be able to do. But that superheat thing had been one amazing trick.
This time she thought before speaking, though. Something about the way Stimon had asked felt wrong. Tricks. A trick question? To get her to admit to what?
To having witnessed something that the Mechanics Guild said did not exist?
Yeah. I really want to admit to that to this guy. Had she actually seen anything when the Mage did that superheat bit? “No.”
Senior Mechanic Stimon’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything for some time, then spoke with deceptive quietness. “Alone, with a Mage, for days. Do you have any idea what a gross breach of Guild rules that is?”
Mari felt herself getting angry again. Don’t act like a child. That’s what he wants. How would Professor S’san handle this? The answer came to her. Mari sat down again and assumed a questioning look. “Exactly which rules did I break, Guild Hall Supervisor?”
Stimon glared at her. “Are you actually claiming that you were never told not to associate with Mages?”
“No, Guild Hall Supervisor. I am asking you which Guild rules address conduct toward Mages. I am unaware of any written policy or formal standing orders. I am, however, aware that according to Guild rules I am under an obligation to protect my tools and to carry out my contracts. If I had died in the Waste, my tools would have been lost and my contract would have been forfeited.” Mari gave Stimon her best obedient underling look. “I was following the Guild’s rules in order to serve the Guild’s interests.”
The Senior Mechanic just stared at her, disbelief shading into impotent anger. Then he unexpectedly smiled. “I will, of course, have to ask for proof of the attack on the caravan. Please do not insult both of us by invoking the Mage as a witness. What can you tell me about these bandits? Did you see any faces? Hear anything which would identify them?”
Mari shook her head, wondering what Stimon was up to now. “They were in full desert robes, including coverings for their lower faces, not that I saw many close up. The only detail I know is that they were armed with standard model repeating rifles out of the workshops at Danalee.”
“You’re certain of that?” Stimon asked sharply.
“Yes. I examined one closely.”
“You claim you had one in your possession and you didn’t bring it with you?” the Senior Mechanic asked.
“I was being pursued by the other bandits at the time, and the weapon was broken!” Mari tried again to keep her temper in check. “As it was, I had so much to carry that I barely made it to safety.”
Stimon grimaced, shaking his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a…”
“A what? I’m a Master Mechanic and insist that I be treated as such.”
Mari’s words hung in the air for a moment, then Stimon smiled again. “Of course. It’s a pity that a Master Mechanic observed no useful details of these bandits. Nothing which we could use to verify her story.”
“Do you think I took a walk in the desert voluntarily?” Mari demanded. “You know the caravan did not arrive on time. Send someone to the pass and they’ll find a very big crater and a lot of dead bodies.”
“Caravans are often late, and sometimes never appear for reasons which have nothing to do with bandits. I do not have the luxury of sending Mechanics off on long journeys to investigate stories that have no other evidence to support them.” Stimon made a regretful gesture. “Due to the lack of proof, I have to register you as late for contract work without authorization.”
“You—” Mari really had to struggle this time to keep from yelling at Stimon. “I insist on the right to enter a protest and an explanation.”
“That is your right,” Stimon agreed readily.
He knows other Senior Mechanics will pay no attention to what I say. A black mark. He’s giving me a black mark on my first contract, because I almost got killed trying to get to it. Mari gave him an angry glare. “The word of a Master Mechanic would not be questioned in Palandur.”
“This isn’t Palandur. It’s Ringhmon. I run this Guild Hall. And even in Palandur the Guild is run by Senior Mechanics. You had best keep that in mind.” Stimon drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk for a moment, seeming very pleased with himself. “You may now proceed to the Ringhmon Hall of City Government to carry out your contract.”
Mari sat for a moment, trying to calm herself down. “Who’s escorting me to the contract site? Where do I meet them?”
Stimon frowned at her. “Escorting? No one. You’re a Master Mechanic,” he added with a thin smile.
After ten years of the Guild trying to supervise her every move, why was it that now so many Senior Mechanics wanted her wandering around alone? “The Mechanic who normally works on that equipment—”
“Master Mechanic Xian has no interest in acting as your apprentice. He feels he could have fixed the problem himself, given more time.”
Fat chance. It’s about getting the job done, Xian, not your pride. Mari tried again. “I don’t know the city. I assume the Hall of City Government is some ways away. Guild policy—”
“Policy regarding multiple Mechanics on the same job is often waived. Experienced Mechanics know that. Do you need directions to the Hall of City Government?”
Directions. Not an escort. Not transportation. Directions. “No. I’ll find my way there.”
“I should not have to say this, but you are ordered not to al
low further contact between yourself and any Mage. I will put that in writing.” Stimon smiled, but it was a smile without any pretense of humor.
Mari bared her teeth back at him, stood up and left.
She barely kept from slamming the door of Stimon’s office, then stood a moment in the hallway trying to control her temper. Fortunately, the female Senior Mechanic had vanished. Mari wasn’t sure how she would have handled additional unpleasant treatment.
This wasn’t anything like what Mari had anticipated when she had left Palandur. She could handle being alone, feeling alone. Getting to the academy at sixteen had meant she was years younger than the other students, a kid out of place among her older colleagues. She had earned respect among those peers there for her abilities, but here in Ringhmon for the first time she felt unable to control her fate at all, no matter how well she did her job. My first independent job and it’s turning into a total disaster. It’s like I’m fighting my own Guild. I can’t ask anyone like Cara or Trux or Pradar to help me when it’s obvious the Guild Hall Supervisor wants to trip me up and will hammer anyone who gets in his way. But if even one person would volunteer to help me, it would make this so much easier to handle.
One person had helped her without thought of the cost, Mari realized. The Mage. A blasted Mage, who was willing to die protecting me. He was willing to cut his own chances to nothing in order to give me that last bit of water. Why couldn’t Alain have been a Mechanic? I could use a friend like that right now.
Stars above, did I actually just wish a Mage could be my friend? Wake up, Mari. Focus on the job. You are going to get to the Hall of City Government and do the best job anyone in the Mechanics Guild has ever seen. And if anyone else tries to get in your way, they’re going to regret it.
She reached into her jacket to check her pistol, then walked through the hallways rapidly, willing to face whatever threats waited outside as soon as possible rather than spend any more time here.
Chapter Eight
Ringhmon in the morning seemed to be just as hot as Ringhmon in the afternoon, though the yellowish cast to the sky appeared to be a little less prominent. Mari had left her pack at the Guild Hall, but even the smaller tool kit seemed to weigh more with every step. She singled out one of the commons on the street. “Where is the Hall of Government?”
The common lowered his head and tried to keep walking.
Amazed, Mari stepped in front of him. “I’m talking to you!”
The common jerked to a halt, pretending to have just noticed her. “Yes, Lady Mechanic?”
“Where is the Hall of Government?” she repeated.
“It lies on the Square of Heroes, Lady Mechanic,” the common answered, then tried to dart around her.
Mari flung out one arm to block him. “How do I get there?” she demanded.
The common scowled, looking around as if seeking a way past her. “I don’t know.”
Commons never liked talking to Mechanics, but Mari was startled by this level of hostility and unhelpfulness. Disconcerted, she put on the full Mechanic attitude, letting her tone become menacing. “I’ll give you one chance to rethink that answer, and if I’m not satisfied with what I hear you’re going to be very, very unhappy. Do you understand?”
The display of confidence worked. The common nodded rapidly, his face still averted. “The blue markers, Lady Mechanic. On the road. The trolley which stops at them goes to the Hall of Government.” His voice held fear but also resentment.
Mari just looked at the common for a long moment, trying to figure out how to handle him. According to all she had been taught, she should unleash a series of threats and put the common in his place, but even if that worked she would hate herself afterwards. “That’s all.” She walked onward, looking for the blue markers.
The trolley proved to be a horse-drawn wagon moving at glacial speed. The operator at least knew better than to ask a Mechanic for a fare, though he did betray the same fear and resentment as the earlier common had. Bad attitudes from commons weren’t unusual, but this intensity of them, the openness of them, was abnormal. Was it just Ringhmon? Or was this part of the problem which had erupted at Julesport? Surely the commons here knew that if they created a big enough problem for the Mechanics Guild, the Guild elders could simply provide the Empire with the assistance to reach their city in overwhelming force and turn Ringhmon into a conquered outpost.
Mari sat glumly watching the glorious and grimy city of Ringhmon roll past at the slow clip the single horse pulling the trolley could manage. The city appeared to be overrun with guards and police as well as negative behaviors.
At least the presence of all of those guards was reassuring. Mari wondered if the riders she had seen yesterday actually had been unrelated to the bandits. Everything she had seen of Ringhmon so far made it seem unlikely that people could ride freely through the place brandishing weapons. Unfortunately, that was the only thing she had seen about Ringhmon so far that wasn’t unpleasant.
Thoughts of the bandits led her back to thoughts of the Mage. I wouldn’t have made it here without his help. At least he knows what help means now. I hope his Guild Hall in Ringhmon treated him better than mine has so far.
* * * *
Alain traded the dim passages of the Mage Guild Hall for the bright sunlight of the streets outside. A night of meditation and a morning of darkly suspicious Inquiry had become a day of more light but no further enlightenment. I will not allow the insults of elders who do not know me to affect me. I will not allow a brief encounter with a Mechanic to destroy my future as a Mage. The elders cannot change me, and the Mechanic cannot control me. And I will not allow foresight I do not understand to continue to unsettle me. His thoughts going around in circles, Alain sought release in movement and the distraction of a strange city.
On a whim, as he left the Guild Hall Alain wrapped himself inside the spell which bent light and made him virtually impossible to see. Even another Mage could only sense his presence and location. The spell took effort, but he maintained it for a while, strolling along invisible to the commons and the occasional pair of Mechanics he spotted, just like an acolyte hiding from other acolytes who had not developed their skills enough to sense him. The Mage elders would have been annoyed to observe him playing with that spell. Perhaps that was why he was doing it.
As he crossed a street, Alain could see that the stone edgings were cracked and chipped, and in some cases well out of line with their neighboring stones. The buildings revealed the same sort of evidence of long decline. What commons and Mechanics called reality was only an illusion, but it took careful study of the illusion to know what to change, so Alain took in every flaw, every variation in the buildings.
He walked down a street lined with what at first glance were grand mansions with fronts of fitted stone. But the “stone” was another attempt at illusion by commons, just wood planks beveled at intervals to look like stone blocks and then covered with paint mixed with stone dust.
Alain found himself wondering what the Mechanic would have thought of these attempts to mimic other substances. What would she say? Something I could not understand, probably. The words she used did not seem to mean the same things as the words I use. If I could ask—
No. Stop thinking about her.
Still unseen inside his spell, Alain glanced at the commons who unknowingly shared the street with him, all of them plodding along with expressions that seemed to combine stubbornness and weariness. The pride of the city of Ringhmon appeared to exist mainly in the minds of its leaders.
As Alain went deeper into the city he could see that many of the street intersections were guarded by tough-looking individuals whose leather armor marked them as some sort of local militia. They all wore short swords and carried wooden clubs about as long as Alain’s forearm. The citizens kept well away from the toughs, averting their eyes. Sensitive to the emotions which shadows displayed, Alain felt as if he were drowning in a sea of despair and oppression.
Alain fin
ally dropped his concealment spell, getting a little perverse satisfaction from the panicky way nearby commons reacted to the sudden appearance of a Mage among them. He strolled over to examine a monument commemorating some great event, but when Alain got close enough to read the inscription he found that the “victory” involved one of the failed Imperial expeditions through the desert waste. Alain studied the images of larger-than-life warriors carrying banners from the city of Ringhmon as they trampled Imperial legionaries. In a corner of one “gold” panel, he saw where the thin layer of gilt had been worn away, exposing a dull grey metal beneath. Another illusion of wealth, this one within an illusion of victory. Layers of falseness. Did the commons here believe any of it?
Shaking his head, he turned away to see several citizens of Ringhmon standing close and watching him with wary eyes. They appeared abnormally bold in their attitudes, so Alain gave them the dead, emotionless look of a Mage and they scattered hastily. He had been told that commons believed Mages could use spells on them, changing their shape and nature, turning them into animals or insects, or overturning their reason. Alain knew this was false, that no Mage could harm or change a shadow directly, yet the Mage Guild had encouraged such superstitions, seeing them as a good way of keeping the commons properly subdued and fearful. He probably should have simply ignored the commons, though. If the elders at the Guild Hall could see him playing such tricks on shadows they would call him young indeed.
Alain squinted upward, seeing that the morning had advanced. The day was already once again hot and unpleasant, and the cool, dark rooms of the Guild Hall were beginning to seem a lot more attractive.The Hall would have a records section, a place holding the words of others in which he could find relief from the emptiness of the world.
Alain started back the way he had come, crossing a large street. A trolley had just passed, moving slowly away under the pull of a large draft horse which seemed either old or simply as dispirited as the people of this city. Alain felt a sensation as if he were being watched by sightless eyes, or as if his name had been silently called. He looked toward the trolley. Most of the seats were packed with commons sitting with their backs to him, but one bench held only a single individual, someone wearing the short, dark jacket of a Mechanic. Just as unmistakable as the jacket was the shoulder-length, raven-black hair of the Mechanic wearing it.