A Red-Rose Chain

“And you know this because . . . ?”


“Because I pay attention. Because I remember the War of Silences. And because Silences trained the best alchemists in the Westlands. He’s Tylwyth Teg, just like the old ruling family of that Kingdom. He’s an alchemist skilled enough to keep a changeling alive through a goblin fruit addiction. He’s from Silences, sure as fish have bones. It’s going to be hard enough without going in blind. Take him.”

“People aren’t like loaves of bread at the store. I can’t just go ‘oh, I’ll take this one.’”

“Can’t you?” Now she sounded almost amused. “Figure it out. Stay alive.” The line went dead in my hand.

I lowered my phone, glowering at it. I couldn’t call her back. For one thing, if she’d had anything else to say, she would have said it. For another, poking the Firstborn when they don’t want to be poked is a good way to pull back minus a hand, and I liked both of mine. Sighing, I pulled up my address book, and dialed again.

Sunrise was at least twenty minutes away, and the campus wouldn’t be open for hours. The phone was still answered on the second ring. “Professor Davies’ office, Professor Davies speaking. I’d ask why you were calling at this ungodly hour of the morning, but maybe you’ve met me.” Walther sounded almost offensively cheerful for a man who had doubtless been locked in his lab, inhaling chemical fumes all night.

“Academic standards for how you answer the phone get lower after midnight, don’t they?” I asked.

“All human standards get lower after midnight,” said Walther. “Hey, Toby. Long time no hear. What’s up? Do you need another alchemical miracle? Because I’m warning you, I may start charging you by the ounce soon.”

“I don’t need a miracle right now, but I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “I do have an arrow and scroll that I’m going to need analyzed. I hope your schedule’s free.” Walther was the best alchemist I knew. He’d kept me from eating myself alive when I was addicted to goblin fruit, and he’d created the power-dampening potion that had allowed us to save Chelsea when she was teleporting uncontrollably through the various realms of Faerie. He wasn’t my most frequently used Hail Mary pass, but he’d done the job often enough to be a very valued ally. “Why are you at work this late? I was sort of expecting to get your voicemail at this hour.”

“I’m working on a few private projects. Even the most dedicated grad students give up by midnight, or sometime shortly after; that leaves me the hours between two and six for getting things the way I want them. A lot of alchemical tinctures need to be hit by the first rays of the rising sun to really crystallize their effects, so I like to have them finished right before dawn. That way I can pack them in before the human students show up and why are you calling if it’s just a standard analysis? You’d normally bring that by the lab. Are you actually being social for a change?”

He sounded so delighted by the idea that I felt a pang of guilt when I had to say, “No, not really. I do need that analysis, but there’s . . . there’s a problem, and I think I also need you. Not your work, not your potions, you. Is there any way you can get out of your classes for a while? A week or so?” It wouldn’t be more. After a week, we’d either be at war, or everything would be back to normal.

Walther hesitated before saying, warily, “There’s a flu that’s been going around campus. I have grad students who can take my classes and sick time saved up for the actual time off. But you’re going to have to give me a damn good reason that I’d want to do that.”

“Silences has just declared war on the Mists.”

Walther didn’t say anything.