Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (50 page)

Ilona’s contemplations focused inward.  “Magic, eh? 
And coming out of the Spell?”  She laughed once, pure contempt.  “Not too
damned likely, but it might cause trouble.  Trouble for mother.”

Marik, desperate to regain a foothold in the
conversation, blurted out, “Why is it called the Standing Spell?”

She glared at him with the edged expression that had
quickly become her usual when regarding him.  “That’s a private joke of
mother’s, and none of your concern.”

“But with a name like that, and a magical artifact
associated with it…it will make people wonder, won’t it?”

Ilona resumed walking while cursing under her breath. 
It amazed him how she could be the image of female perfection one moment, yet
swear like a mercenary the next.

Her mutters, mostly unintelligible, shredded on the
breeze before he could catch them.  The few phrases he heard revealed her
reexamining her facts.  Marik, still hopeful, said, “If you could find out
where the bracelet came from, you could clear your name.  It would prove
your…uh,
house
has nothing to do with magical objects.”

She snorted.  It sounded like, “Men!”  Walking
sideways to see him, she lashed out, “Do you have any idea what you’re talking
about?  Of course you don’t!  Then let me tell you.  There are over fifty known
places in Thoenar you could put your hands on black market items, if you
decided you wanted them.  If you know what you’re doing, you might be able to
find the other twenty who are clever enough to disguise their natures from the
cityguard.  With no idea what you’re about, you could wander around the city
for the rest of your life!”

A connection clicked inside Marik.  “Do you think an
alchemy shop might sell an illegal magical artifact?”

Ilona sensed he knew something.  “Certain ones might. 
What do you know?”

Wishing she would stop seeing through him as if he
were glass, he recounted the attack at the chapter house and Dietrik’s
subsequent visit to the Alchemists’ Academy.  He left out the part where he drew
on his mage talent since it would only deepen her revulsion.  Ilona was hardly
rapt with his descriptions, yet she took it all in.  After he finished, she
considered her thoughts without inviting him to share in them.

“And you think this gang after your lord is using an
alchemy shop to hide in?”

“That’s the going theory.  They might have a
connection to a shop because of the phosphorus we found on them.  And you say
the shops are likely black market fronts for such magical items, which are
pretty rare in the first place.  It seems increasingly likely that the thieves
are hiding in a shop.”

She shook her head.  “There must be a hundred things
wrong with that premise.  Just because you have horse manure on your shoes,
does that mean you live in a stable?”

Embarrassed, Marik quickly glanced down while lifting
a boot from the ground.  They were clean.  When he looked up he found Ilona
rolling her eyes.

“Still, there’s no hope for it, I suppose,” she said,
which struck him as a strange statement.  “You have to start somewhere.  I am
going to discuss this with mother and see what she has to say.  Do you have
this list?”

“No.  Dietrik has it back at our inn.  Are you going
to look into them to search for the gang?”

“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped, “although I understand
it’s hard for your gender.  The cityguard can deal with these thieves of yours,
but I think I need to find out where this bracelet came from, and soon.  This
could set the fox among the chickens, and mother doesn’t deserve that.  Not
after everything she’s been through.”

“I can get the list of the shops the academy head gave
us.”

Ilona sighed.  He could nearly hear her teeth grind
together.  “Fine.  So be it.  Be at the Spell by noon.  I can see you have
every intention of investigating the shops, so you may as well come with me.  I
can keep you from sending it all to hells if the right shop is on your list. 
If it is an alchemy shop in the first place!”

She left him to return to her mother’s business while
he returned to the Swan’s Down.  The entire way there, his feet walked on a
cushion of air.

“Hey!  Are you paying attention, mate?”

Marik glanced at Dietrik walking beside him.  “Sorry?”

Dietrik scowled.  “This illustrates my point to a
perfect tee,” he muttered.  “You need to take hold of your head, Marik.  Women
can be a far spate more dangerous than any fighter you’ve ever faced on a
battlefield.”

“I’m fine!”  Marik insisted forcefully.

A laugh was his friend’s reply.  “Look at you!  I keep
expecting you to skip over to the nearest park and braid a garland of pretty
flowers.”

Marik started a reply meant to sear his friend’s
eyebrows off, then paused to consider Dietrik’s words.  Perhaps he
did
swing his arms a bit more than usual.  Perhaps there
might
be a bit more
spring in his step. 
Perhaps
he had even been humming aimlessly.

Before he could decided one way or the other, Dietrik
continued.  “You look as though you haven’t a care in the world.  Have you,
perchance, forgotten that Hilliard was nearly killed last night?”

He had not forgotten, except the fact seemed distant,
shoved to the side by other, recent experiences. 
An entire plane of
existence, where everything is dark, crystalline, perfect brown. 
“I
haven’t forgotten!” he snapped.

“Good.  Don’t you think our investigation may be at
risk if we allow a stranger to accompany us?”

“She’s fine.  She can’t be helping the dark guilds’
killers.”

Dietrik, exasperated, snorted in contempt.  His words
were acidic.  “Tell me, friend, what has eyes but cannot see?”

Confused by Dietrik’s non-sequitur, Marik asked,
“What?  Are you entering the riddling contest next eightday?”  Suddenly, he
exclaimed, “A windmill!”

“I’ll tell you the answer,” Dietrik stated flatly
after ignoring the outburst.  “A besotted man, that is what.  We are in the midst
of dangerous machinations, and the last thing you need is to become wrapped up
in a female’s wiles.”

Stung, Marik lashed back, “So you’re an expert in this
area?  I recall, once upon a time, when we couldn’t get you to shut up about a
certain chandler to save our own lives!”

“The situation was completely different.”  Dietrik’s
countenance remained firm.  “We were in no danger of assassination and that was
only a bit of fun between clear-headed adults.”

Had Dietrik obliquely called him a child?  Marik refused
to acknowledge the implication.  He had no liking for fighting with his best
friend.  “If you’re so suspicious, then keep an eye on Ilona.  Isn’t this a
golden opportunity to study her and learn the truth of it?”

Dietrik considered.  “Perhaps.  At least Hilliard is
off safely.  And secretly.”  He passed his real message through his eyes.

“I won’t say where.”  It irritated him that Dietrik
thought that needed to be stated.  He changed the subject while a flock of
young boys ran past, waving small wooden swords with the words
Arm of
Galemar
painted on.  “Hilliard
will
be sober by the next event,
won’t he?  How long does that absinthe drink last?”

“How would I know?  I have never drunk the brew
before.”  Dietrik still seemed concerned, though thankfully not about Ilona. 
“That worries me greatly, mate.  Have you considered the implications?”

“Which ones?  I’ve been thinking about implications
all day.”

“How did Hilliard’s enemies know where to strike?  The
invitation was passed in person by Ferdinand only two days before.”

Marik admitted, “That’s been bothering me.”

“And according to you, the woman assassin joined this
brothel two eightdays ago?  Why would they place her there unless they knew it
would be an ideal blind to strike from?  I doubt they recruited a handy killer
who happened to be in the right place and time for their purposes.”

“I see where you’re going.  I thought of that too, on
the way back to pick you up.”  Dietrik waited, silently inviting Marik to
expand on the topic.  “Fact one, if they placed her there, they must have known
Hilliard would be where the women from the Standing Spell would also be.  Fact
two, Ferdinand invited Hilliard to his place in person.  Fact three, Ferdinand
started loading Hilliard up with hard alcohol so he’d be falling down drunk. 
Fact four, Ferdinand brought in those women from the brothel where the assassin
had been planted.”

Dietrik nodded.  “In all of this, Ferdinand
coincidentally keeps popping up.  Do you believe in coincidence?”

“To a degree, but it doesn’t stick.  I keep asking
why
Ferdinand would help a bunch of thieves from Spirratta attack a fellow noble. 
And in his own home, no less.  Nothing makes sense.”

“I must admit I am hard pressed to find a reason.  But
if I knew everything about why nobles act as they do, then I would have made my
fortune as a expensive merchant.”

“I can’t shake the feeling we’re missing an obvious
clue,” Marik admitted. 
Onions and damned onions!
  “Maybe we’ll find
that today.  I’m not convinced yet that Ferdinand is involved with this.”

“Two eightdays,” Dietrik mulled.  “That is the fact
that throws everything else out of line.  Perhaps they put one of their own in
there because, with all this carouse, there was a good chance
any
of the
nine fosterlings would come in contact with a brothel of the Spell’s
reputation.  Perhaps they gave up on Hilliard after you scared the survivors
spitless.”

“Maybe.  After getting lucky by rolling Hilliard as
our charge, Fate might be giving us our usual run of bad throws.”

The sun had finally broken through the last of the
morning cloud cover.  Noontime warmth shone directly down on them while they
walked in silence, Marik’s mind returning to Hilliard.

When he’d returned to the Swan’s Down, Hilliard had
not improved at all.  That worried Marik.  His experience with hangovers taught
him that they began to lose their edge if you forced yourself to work at a
physical labor.  In-between the breakfast and lunch crowds, Hilliard had moved
to a corner booth away from the regulars where he continued to suffer.  Landon
abandoned his efforts to coax the young man outside for their limited archery
practice.  He and Kerwin loitered next to the long bar during lunch, the
gambler engaged in his usual discussions regarding the betting board and the
remaining contenders for the title.

Over a dozen cityguards arriving to claim the golden
bracelet had made no impression on Hilliard.  Landon had mentioned that to
Marik upon his return.  Apparently, the senior magistrate assigned to the
investigation had expected to encounter trouble collecting the magical
artifact.  It threw him off balance when Landon calmly handed it over, along
with the explanation that they had only taken it because Ferdinand Sestion
wanted the dubious object away from his home.  The archer then flummoxed them
by demonstrating how it worked.  A quill from the magistrate’s writing case was
also shrunk to see if the bracelet would reduce anything, or only items already
connected to the magic.  They questioned him and Kerwin for a candlemark, then
departed, satisfied that the assaulted noble’s bodyguards had related all they
knew.

Right at that moment the two senior mercenaries were
dragging Hilliard to Paddy’s stables.  With coins to ensure the little man’s
cooperation, they would use the open space where the horses exercised to hone
the noble’s bow skills.

“Here we are,” Marik said when they reached the
Standing Spell.

Dietrik inspected it briefly.  “Not quite what I
imagined.”

“I had that same thought.”

Marik found Rosa in the reception area again.  Also a
new man, obviously a proud member of the aristocracy.  He apparently believed
that silk was the only material worthy of touching his skin.  Silk and lace.

Rosa met him, as before.  Her manner was precisely the
same.  “I see it is you.”

“Ilona told me to come back.  She’s expecting me this
time.”

She cocked an eyebrow, clearly thinking that as
unlikely as the Twelve descending to the mortal plane and spending the
afternoon playing cards with their archbishops.  Nevertheless, she brusquely
ordered him to wait while she ‘confirmed the veracity of his assertion’.

The noble or rich man or whoever he might be studied
the mercenaries with avid loathing.  A sneer, no doubt for their clothing,
curled his lip.  He gripped a silver-topped cane in one hand while clenching a
black, foot-long hat in the other.  Marik thought he must resemble a walking
kitchen stove if he strode around with that pipe-shaped contrivance perched on
his head.

Rosa returned after only a brief absence.  The noble
opened his mouth,
probably wants to demand she toss us commoners out,
but
lost the opportunity to complain due to Ilona’s arrival.  She had changed her
clothing to cheaper and less feminine garb, but still stunned Marik’s senses
all the same.

Ilona wore no top at all, only a wrap that covered
barely half her breasts.  Their tops bulged, enhancing their shape and
instantly drawing Marik’s eyes.  She also wore loose brown breeches, baggy on
her, as if sewn with a man’s body in mind.  A leather belt cinched tightly
around her narrow waist, matched by similar straps wound around each ankle. 
They bound the cuffs to prevent movement.  Her small tan shoes looked closer to
a lady’s slippers.

“I wasn’t expecting you yet,” she told Marik.  “You’re
early.  Who is this?”  She glared at Dietrik.

“Oh, uh…a friend of mind.”  He fought to rip his gaze
from her bulging bosom.  They were not large, as men around the barracks judged
such, yet were perfect on her.  Everything about her blended to form a perfect
whole.  “He’s with me.”

 Ilona’s mouth pursed.  “Come on back then.  We
haven’t got all day.”  She spun on one heel.

Marik followed, noticing the narcissist deepening to
an angry red. 
That we were allowed inside his paradise?  Or maybe he thinks
Ilona will be spending the afternoon with us.
  She was, but not in any
manner he might assume.  Maybe he had cast his line for the madam’s daughter
before and met with perplexing, to him, failure.

This time Marik walked past the open room where he had
waited earlier that morning.  Ilona lead them deeper into the building.  Near
the rear she entered a bedroom that, judging from the clutter spread
everywhere, might be her own.  The room was primarily free of the sweet perfume
fragrances lingering in the halls.

A wide mirror of silvered glass that put Tollaf’s previous
possession to shame rested atop a longer dresser.  Ilona stopped before it and
peered at her two visitors.

“I guessed as much,” was her cryptic comment.  “I
don’t have anything for your friend.  You can change into that.”  She gestured
to a lump of cloth atop the doublewide bed.

“Change?” Marik asked the same instant Dietrik said,
“Guessed at what?”

She addressed Marik.  “Have you given any thought to
where we are going?  Of course you haven’t!  Swordsmen have little use for an
alchemist’s shop or services.  You’ll draw more attention walking in dressed
like that than if you ask the wrong questions outright.”

Marik lifted the rumpled garment.  “Is this a robe? 
Or a turnip sack?  Why would I wear this?”

“I pulled it out of the wardrobe room.  It’s usually
used for the ‘monks and nuns’ routine, but you can fix it up so you look like a
magician.”

“A magician?”  Marik felt amazed and appalled at the
same moment.  “Why would I want to dress up in this?”

“Because all the magician costumes have little stars
and moons stitched onto them.”  She met his stubborn gaze with one equally as
immutable.  “If you want to be unobtrusive, you are going to have to look like
a man with legitimate reason to be in the shop!  And I don’t think you’d make a
convincing alchemist.”

“But I’m not a magician!  I’m a mage.  I mean I’m not
a mage, I’m a warrior!  I mean a swordsman!  Will you shut up?”  Marik hurled
the bundle into Dietrik’s face to stop the
snerks
caused as he tried to
hide his laughter. 
What’s his problem?  I thought he didn’t want to be
here!

Dietrik caught the robe and began unfolding it.  Ilona
ignored his protests by saying, “You can fake it.  Magic is magic.  All you
need to do is look like you’re using a component to cast a spell.  Take this.”

She tossed him a pouch from the dresser top. 
Suspicious, he opened it.  Black, oily ashes.  “Why would I want this?”

“It’s soot.  Except I mixed in a handful of black
powder.  Any magic user worth his salt can cast a fire spell, so pretend you’re
using the soot as a component if you need to.  As long as the powder fires off
and vanishes, you can convince anyone you need to that you’re a magician.”

Ilona treated his magic so matter-of-factly that it
startled him.  He also refused to admit he did not know fire spells of any
sort.  All he knew was the etheric sphere he’d used at the One Soul’s chapter
house.

The memory of that night summoned the image of the
murderer who had killed Shalla.  His sphere had thrown the man against the
wall, had destroyed the mail beneath in a shower of shooting stars.  If the raw
energy could ignite chainmail fragments like that, maybe it could set off the
black powder as well.