The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 11

TANTALISING INFORMATION



Alone in the new hideout, Cery listened to the silence. When it was quiet like this, when Gol was out attending to business, Cery could close his eyes and let the memories rise to the surface. First there came sound of his children’s voices and laughter. Akki, the eldest, teasing Harrin. Then the gentle scolding from Selia.

If he was lucky he saw them, smiling and lively. But if not the memory of their bodies arose, and he cursed himself for having looked at them despite knowing the images would torture him forever. But they deserved to be seen. To be farewelled. And if I hadn’t seen them I might cling to that notion that comes to me, when I first wake up, that they’re still there, alive and waiting for me.

A rude, jangling noise interrupted his thoughts, but as he roused himself he decided it was all for the better. He could not let grief distract him from his task, or he might not get the chance to avenge them.

The sound was a signal that someone was approaching the hideout. Is this the Thief Hunter at last? Cery rose from his chair and paced the room slowly. The first sound had died away now, and a new sound replaced it. Each step of the stairway leading down from the bol brewery above the hideout would depress slightly under a person’s weight, setting off a mechanism that sent a clunk echoing through the rooms below. Cery counted the clunks, feeling his heartbeat quicken to match the beat.

He eyed the panelling behind which the closest secret escape route lay. It’s been over a week. That’s not very long. I’d want to plan carefully if I intended to kill off a Thief. I’d take as long as I thought I could get away with, researching my victim. I’d let them settle into their new hideout, and allow time for the guards to relax and get lazy.

He frowned. But I don’t want to spend weeks here waiting. If this isn’t the Thief Hunter … maybe there’s a way we can make him think he doesn’t have much time …

There was a pause, then a chime rang in a familiar pattern, and Cery let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was Gol’s signal.

Walking over to the other wall, Cery pushed aside one of the paper screens mounted on the walls to imitate windows and ease the oppressive feeling of being underground. Behind it was a ventilation grille in a shallow alcove. He swivelled that open and pressed the lever inside. Then he peered through some darkened glass to check that the approaching person was indeed Gol.

As the figure stepped into the corridor beyond the glass, Cery recognised him as much from his movements as his stature and face. The big man walked to the end of the corridor and waited. Cery moved back to the grille and lifted the lever up again.

A moment later the hideout door swung open and Gol stepped into the room. The big man raised his eyebrows.

“No visitors while I was out?”

Cery shrugged. “Not one. Mustn’t be as popular as I used to be.”

“I’ve always said it is better to have a few good friends than many bad ones.”

“Someone like me doesn’t have much choice.” Cery moved to one of the cupboards and opened it. “Wine?”

“This early?”

“The only alternative is to lose at tiles again.”

“Wine, then.”

Taking a bottle and two glasses from the cupboard, Cery carried them to the small table set between the luxurious chairs in the centre of the room. Gol sat down opposite him, took the bottle and began to work the plug out of the top.

“I heard some good news, today,” Gol said.

“Oh?”

“I heard that you’ve got a new hideout, and it’s more secure than any Thief’s in the city.” The plug came free and Gol began to pour some wine into the glasses.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, and that you’re not as smart as you think. There’s a way to break in, if you know how.” Gol held out a glass to Cery.

Cery feigned concern as he took it. “How terrible. I must get around to fixing that. Eventually.” He took a sip. The wine was sharp and rich. He knew it was excellent, but it didn’t thrill him. He’d never gained a true liking for wine, preferring a warming mug of bol. But it paid, in some company, to know how to tell a good wine from a bad one, and good vintages could be a profitable investment.

He put the glass down and sighed. “I think I know how Sonea felt, all those years ago, stuck in Faren’s hideout. Though I’m not trying to learn to control magic and setting the furniture on fire instead.”

“No, but it is still all about magic.” Gol took a sip of the wine and looked thoughtful. “I got to wondering about this Thief Hunter the other night. How good at magic do you think he is?”

Cery shrugged. “Good enough to open a lock.” He frowned. “He must be in control of it, since he’s been using it for years, if the rumours are right. It would have killed him a long time ago if he wasn’t.”

“Someone would have to teach him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then either there’s another rogue who taught him, or he was taught by a Guild magician.” Gol blinked as a thought occurred to him. “Maybe Senfel did, before he died.”

“I don’t think Senfel would have been that trusting.”

Gol’s eyes widened. “Have you considered that the Thief Hunter could be a Guild magician trying to get rid of all the Thieves?”

“Of course.” A chill ran down Cery’s spine. The late High Lord had hunted Sachakan black magician spies in the city for years without the Guild knowing. A vigilante magician trying to wipe out the criminal underworld leaders was not so outlandish an idea in comparison.

Well, when the Hunter falls into my trap we’ll find out.

“I wish it wasn’t going to take so long,” Cery said, sighing. He considered his earlier thought: that perhaps he could give the Thief Hunter reason to think he didn’t have much time. Perhaps let out some gossip that I’m about to leave Imardin.

Such a rumour was as likely to put the Thief Hunter off, though. The man must be prepared to take his time, as he’d been killing Thieves over many years. I’m the sort of bait that has to be patient. Nobody is going to attack a Thief without plenty of planning.

Was there some other kind of bait that the Thief Hunter might not be so cautious or patient in approaching? Something that could be left somewhere less protected without it seeming uncharacteristic and suspicious?

What would a magic-wielding vigilante rogue be tempted to hunt down or steal?

The answer came with a rush of excitement and Cery sucked in a quick breath.

Magical knowledge! Cery sat up straight in his chair. If our Hunter is a rogue magician, he must have learned magic outside the Guild. Even if he is an ex-Guild magician, he must lust after the great store of knowledge the Guild has. And if he is a vigilante Guild magician, he’s obliged to investigate and remove any magical knowledge that falls into the wrong hands.

“What’s wrong?” Gol asked. He cast about. “Has one of the alarms gone off?”

“No,” Cery assured him. “But I don’t think that’s going to matter any more. I’ve thought of an even better – and faster – way to lure our quarry into revealing himself.” He began to explain, watching Gol’s expression change from surprise to excitement to dismay.

“You look disappointed,” Cery noted.

Gol shrugged and waved a hand at the room. “I guess we won’t be needing all this now. Such a lot of work and money went into it. And we built in all those flaws, so you can’t come back and stay here later. Seems a shame.”

Cery looked around thoughtfully. “It is, I guess. Perhaps when all this is over, and people have forgotten about it, we can fix the flaws. But for now it’s no good as a location for our new bait. We need something less secure, so he’ll strike sooner.”

“I guess I had better go buy you some books on magic,” Gol said, putting his glass down.

“You won’t find them that easily. If you did there’d be no point in us using them as bait.”

Gol smiled. “Oh, I never said they’d be the real thing. We’ll get some fakes made.”

“That will take time. Maybe all we need is the rumour that there are books somewhere.”

“Do you think the Thief Hunter would risk exposure as a magician for the sake of the rumour of books on magic? He’ll only investigate if he knows someone has laid eyes on them.”

“All right, get some fakes made.” Cery grimaced. “Just … don’t let them take as long as real book-copiers do, or I may as well stay here and wait for the Thief Hunter to come find me.”


Dannyl surrendered his plate to the slave and resisted the urge to pat his stomach contentedly. He was beginning to like the strange manner in which meals were served in Sachaka. By having guests select food from the offered plates it allowed them to eat as much or as little as they liked. At first he had felt obliged to try every dish, but he noticed that other guests did not – if anything they affected an air of fussiness which the host did not appear to mind.

Nobody ever commented on the food, he’d noted. Which was a relief, because some of the dishes had been laced with spices so hot, or else unexpectedly bitter or salty, that he’d not been able to finish what he’d taken. Sachakans did not appear to serve dessert, though if receiving a visitor during the day they made sure there were dishes of nuts, sweet fruit or confections laid out on tables.

Dannyl’s host for the night was a portly Sachakan named Ashaki Itoki. He knew that the man was one of the most powerful in Sachaka, and cousin to the Sachakan king. It appeared Ashaki Achati, the man who had greeted Dannyl and Lorkin when they had arrived at the Guild House, had been given the task of ensuring Dannyl was introduced to the right people in the right order. Though he had not told Dannyl this plainly, he had hinted at it.

“What shall we do now?” Itoki asked, glancing from Dannyl to Achati. “My baths are large enough to accommodate guests and my slaves are well trained in the art of massage.”

“Ambassador Dannyl might be interested in seeing those ancient maps you collect,” Achati suggested.

Dannyl felt a flash of hope. He had always found old maps intriguing, and it was always possible they might contain information relevant to his research.

“I would not like to bore my guest,” Itoki said doubtfully.

“Remember, I told you earlier that Ambassador Dannyl is a historian. I’m sure he will find them very interesting.”

Itoki looked at Dannyl hopefully. Dannyl nodded in agreement. “I would.”

The man smiled broadly, then rubbed his hands together. “Oh, you’ll be impressed, I’m sure. Most advanced maps ever drawn.” He rose, and Achati and Dannyl followed suit. “I’ll take you to the library.”

They made their way through curved white corridors to a cluster of rooms similar to those Dannyl had been given at the Guild House, and those he and Lorkin had used while staying with Ashaki hosts on their journey to Arvice. It was interesting to see that another Sachakan house followed the same pattern. Were they all the same? How long had Sachakans been building their homes in this way?

The central room held a few stools and a large pile of cushions in the centre, and several cabinets stood against the walls. Through the doorways leading out on all sides Dannyl could see several more. Itoki moved to a cabinet and drew a key out of an inner pocket of his jacket. He unlocked it and pulled open the doors.

Several metal tubes stood on end within. Itoki ran his fingers along them reverently, then chose one and drew it out. He moved to the cushions, nudged several aside to clear an area of floor, then lowered himself onto a stool with a grunt of effort.

“If you position yourselves there and there,” he said, pointing, “we can hold a corner each and weigh the other down.” Achati moved a stool into one of the indicated positions, and Dannyl shifted another to the second. They sat down and watched Itoki remove the cap of the tube and pull out a roll of yellowed paper.

“This isn’t the original, of course,” the man said. “It’s a copy, but it’s still over four hundred years old and a bit delicate.” He laid the roll on the floor and began to unroll it. Dannyl automatically caught the edge closest to him, preventing it from springing back. Achati did the same. At a glance from Itoki a stool rose and floated over to weigh down the last corner with one of its legs.

A great swirling mass of lines was revealed. Blue rivers wound across them, and beside several of them roads matched and reflected every curve. Tiny drawings of buildings, fields and the low walls of estate boundaries covered the map. Contour lines on a four-hundred-year-old map? The Guild didn’t develop the use of contour lines until two hundred years ago. But … this is a copy.

“How old was the original map?” he asked.

“Over seven hundred years,” Itoki replied, with a note of pride. “They’ve been passed down through my family since the Sachakan War.”

“Do you have the originals?”

“Yes,” Itoki grinned. “But they are in fragments, and are too delicate to handle.”

Dannyl looked down at the map again. “What is this map of?”

“A region in western Sachaka, near the mountains. Let me show you the others.” Itoki rose again and collected another two metal tubes from the cabinet. The map he unrolled next was of a coastal area, with tiny boats drawn in the water parts and warnings written next to rocks and reefs. It was followed by one of another rural area.

“This is – was – in the south,” Itoki told him.

Where the wasteland lies, Dannyl thought. He doesn’t state it. He doesn’t have to. The fields and estates hinted at a fertile, green land where sand and dust now dominated.

They examined the maps for some time until, at a signal from Achati, Itoki began rolling them up carefully and sliding them back into their tubes.

“What areas of history are you interested in?” he asked Dannyl.

Dannyl shrugged. “Most of them. Though I suppose the older the better, and naturally any reference to magic is interesting to me.”

“Naturally. That would include Guild history, or is that already well recorded?”

“Yes and no. There are some gaps in Guild history that I am trying to fill.”

“I doubt I could help you there, though I do have some records from the short time that Kyralia ruled Sachaka.” Itoki rose and returned to the cabinet to replace the map tubes, locked the cabinet, then beckoned and moved into one of the side rooms. Dannyl and Achati followed. The tall, heavy cabinets around the room stood like guards on duty, still and silent. Itoki moved to one and opened the doors. Which aren’t locked, Dannyl noted. What’s in them obviously isn’t as valuable.

The familiar smell of old paper and binding wafted out. Inside were several books with missing or tattered covers, frayed rolls of paper and envelopes of leather wrapped around stacks of paper. Itoki rifled through gently, then took out a stack of papers and a book.

“These are letters and records of a Guild magician who lived in Sachaka during the years of occupation. I rescued them from an old estate at the edge of the wasteland that fell into the king’s hands after no legitimate heir came forward to claim it.”

He handed the book to Dannyl. Opening it, Dannyl leafed carefully through the first few brittle old pages. Like many of the old records of Kyralian magicians, they contained both accounting lists and diary entries. Conscious of the two men watching him, he started to skim the contents.

“… offer to purchase our House. I refused it, naturally. The building has belonged to my family for over two centuries. Though the price was tempting. I explained that if we do not own a House in Imardin we will lose the right to call ourselves Lord and Lady. He said land ownership is as important to power and influence here in Sachaka as well.”

Dannyl frowned. This was written after the war, yet here is a reference to a building that is at least two hundred years old and still standing. It is proof that Imardin wasn’t levelled during the war, as our history books claim. His heart skipped. He looked up at the two Sachakans. Clearly he was not going to be able to read the whole book, and make notes, while they waited.

“Do you mind if I copy this passage out?” he asked.

Itoki shook his head. “Not at all. You found something noteworthy?”

“Yes,” Dannyl drew out the notebook and a wrapped stick of compressed charcoal he always carried in his robes. “It confirms something I’ve suspected.”

“That is?” Achati asked.

Dannyl paused to write down the record entry, then looked up. “That Imardin wasn’t destroyed in the Sachakan War.”

Itoki’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard such a thing. According to our histories the final battle happened before the gates, and our armies were defeated.”

Dannyl paused. “Armies? There were more than one?”

“Yes. They came together for the final confrontation. You’d have to ask Master Kirota for the full story, but I can show you some maps drawn after the war that show the three paths of the armies. They are not that old, or relating to magic, though.”

“No, but it sounds like they’d be very interesting.”

As the man took the book from Dannyl and placed it and the stack of letters back in the cabinet, Dannyl felt a pang of disappointment. In a few short moments’ access to this man’s library he’d confirmed something that had nagged at him for years. How much more could he learn?

But it was late and he could not impose on his host too much. And no doubt Ashaki Achati would like to return home soon. Perhaps I can return some time. Then he felt his heart sink. But not for a while, because I have to visit all the other powerful Sachakans wanting to meet the new Guild Ambassador to Sachaka first, or I might show too much favour for one over the rest. Curse the politics of this place!

He would do his best to arrange another visit. In the meantime he must take advantage of any opportunities that came his way. As Ashaki Itoki led the way out of the room to show him the battle maps, Dannyl swallowed his impatience and followed.


Healer Nikea met Sonea at the door of the hospice.

“I’ve arranged a room for us, Black Magician Sonea,” she said, smiling and turning to lead Sonea away. “It’s small but we’ll all squeeze in.”

“All?”

Nikea glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. A few of the Healers I talked to had some interesting stories that we all agreed you should hear first-hand.”

Sonea smiled wryly at the young woman’s back. Most of the time it’s a relief to be around someone who isn’t intimidated by or wary of me, but sometimes there are drawbacks. I wish Nikea had asked me about this first. I don’t want too many people knowing I’m asking questions about rich magicians associating with criminals.

The room the young Healer led her to was a narrow storeroom, worryingly low in supplies. Several chairs had been arranged around the walls. Nikea did not enter, but waited until another Healer stepped into the corridor and then called out to the man.

“Healer Gejen, could you gather the others?”

He nodded and hurried away. After a few minutes he returned with five other women. Two were helpers, Sonea noted. All filed into the room and sat down, then Nikea gestured for Sonea to enter, moved inside and closed the door behind her.

A globe light filled the room with sharp brightness. All but Nikea watched Sonea expectantly.

“Well then,” Nikea said. “Who wants to go first?”

After a short pause, one of the helpers cleared her throat. She was Irala, a quiet middle-aged woman. An efficient helper, though a little cold with the patients sometimes.

“I’ll speak,” she offered. Her gaze shifted back to Sonea. “It’s about time the Guild stopped ignoring this problem.”

“What problem exactly?” Sonea asked.

“Roet. And those who sell it. It’s everywhere. In the Houses they say it spread from the slums like a plague, but out here they say it’s spread by the Houses to control the poor and reduce their numbers. Nobody really knows where it comes from. I’ve heard gossip and stories, though, that say that the ones selling it are rich and as powerful as the Houses, but have their toes rooted in the underworld.”

“I’ve heard plenty say the Thieves are using it to take over the city,” Gejen added. “One person told me it was imported by foreigners to weaken us before they invaded Kyralia. They suspected the Elynes.” The others smiled at this. Clearly none of them believed it.

“Have any of you heard of novices or magicians who crave roet? Who can’t stop taking it?”

The other helper and one of the Healers nodded. “A … a relative of mine,” the helper said. She shrugged apologetically. “He made me swear never to tell anyone so I won’t say his name. He says no matter how long he resists, the need won’t go away. I tell him he just needs to stop long enough for his body to heal properly, but he won’t.”

Sonea felt her heart sink. “Do you know who he buys the roet from?”

“No, he won’t tell me for fear I’ll stop his supply somehow.” The woman frowned. “And he said something about the source being a friend. If he had to find another seller, that person might ask for more than money.”

Sonea nodded. She looked at the others. “Have any of you heard of novices or magicians becoming involved with criminals – whether roet sellers or not? I don’t mean visiting pleasure houses. I mean trading through or with them, doing magic for money or favours?”

“I have,” the other Healer said. In her thirties, she had a young family which her non-magician husband watched over while she worked at the hospice – a practical arrangement that only Healers seemed to find unremarkable. “A few years ago, before I married Torken, a friend I’d known since our University days stopped spending time with us – my University friends, that is. He preferred some non-magician friends in the city, who met in one of these pleasure houses. He told us he wasn’t interested in the things people bought there, just the arrangement he had with the owners. Some sort of importing arrangement. He would never tell us what. Now he doesn’t even live in the Guild. He moved out into a house in the city and spends all his time helping his new friends.”

“Do you think the trade is illegal?”

She nodded. “But I don’t have proof.”

“Is he addicted to roet?”

The Healer shook her head. “Too smart for that.”

Sonea frowned. This was bad news, and something Regin would be interested to hear about, but it didn’t prove that roet was being used to lure magicians into criminal activity.

“Well, it’s always been known that some novices from the Houses have dealings with Thieves,” the other woman said. She was a thin woman named Sylia, who was a powerful and skilled Healer.

“But is that rumour or is there evidence?” Sonea asked.

“There is never evidence.” Sylia shrugged. “But young novices have always bragged about it. Often to bluff their way out of trouble with other novices, but if you asked enough questions there were always some rumours that stuck more than others.”

The others were nodding. “There’s truth in those rumours,” Gejen agreed. “It’s just difficult to know which rumour has truth in it.”

“So … do you think the rule against novices and magicians associating with criminals or unsavoury types has any effect at all on higher-class novices?”

“Yes and no,” Gejen replied. “There’s no doubt that it prevents some from taking the risk, but those who are foolish, or whose families are already involved in crime, won’t be dissuaded.” The others nodded in agreement, some smiling knowingly.

“And if the rule was abolished, would more be tempted?”

The five exchanged glances.

“Probably,” Sylia said. She shrugged. “Since the Thieves are involved in everything, and rich and powerful enough to offer tempting payment.”

“Like payment in roet,” Irala added.

“Any rule that reduces the number of novices and magicians caught up in gambling, drink and roet is good, as far as I’m concerned,” Gejen said. The others hummed in agreement.

“But the rule is unfair and ineffective as it is,” Sylia added. “It shouldn’t be abolished, just changed.”

As the five began discussing how, some quite passionately, a shiver of realisation ran through Sonea. They’ve all been thinking about this. And debating it. Have other magicians given the rule this much consideration? Are they all discussing it? Then she felt her heart skip. Can I gauge from them how the vote might go, if it’s put to the entire Guild?

She listened to them carefully, and while they talked she began devising another set of questions to ask them. This was going to be a more useful information-gathering exercise than she had planned or expected.