Cold Magics (8 page)

“Thank the Four you did,” said Thomas. “Eileen, how are you?”

“It hurts like a demon,” said Eileen, taking the robe from George and pulling out her dagger. She started cutting strips from the cloth. “I can fix it, though.”

George stepped behind his father and looked at the blade. “How far is it in?”

“Far enough,” said Lionel, gritting his teeth.

Thomas looked. Three inches of thick blade were sticking out from the man’s back.

“What in the name of the Four…”

Thomas turned, his rapier coming up to guard. George raised the chair in his hands. Sir Michael stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hand going to the hilt of his own blade. Thomas lowered his weapons. “It’s all right. He’s one of Henry’s knights.”

“Henry’s knights?” Lionel frowned. “Why does Henry have knights?”

“He’s Lord Henry,” said Eileen. “Sir Michael, this is my father, Lionel. My brother, George.”

Michael ignored the introductions. “What happened?” he stepped into the room and looked at the corpses. “Who are these?”

“We don’t know,” said Thomas.

Michael looked at them. “The girl is hurt?”

“Not badly,” said Eileen, covering her breast with a folded strip of Henry’s robe. “My father is worse.”

“Your father?” Michael looked to Lionel, saw the dagger sticking out of him. “By the Four…”

“It’s all right,” said Lionel, wincing as he breathed in. “I’m thick-skinned.”

“We’ll take care of him,” said Thomas. “Can you get the watch?”

“The watch?” The knight looked at the bloody mess on the floor. “Aye, we’ll be wanting them. Wait here.”

He turned on his heel and left. The smell of blood and death was filling the room. Thomas looked to Eileen and George. “I think we should wait on the balcony.”

“Thomas!” Eileen gestured at the dagger protruding from her father’s back. “It’s cold out there. He doesn’t need to catch a chill.”

“He,” said Lionel, pulling himself to his feet, “will be perfectly fine outside. Better where the air is clear than in here with these three.”

“You shouldn’t be standing,” said Eileen, trying to step in his way.

“Well, bring the chair and I won’t be,” said Lionel. “George, give me a hand.”

George looked shocked at the request, but moved to his father’s side, taking his arm with one hand and the chair with the other. Eileen followed, holding a length of black cloth to her breast and wincing with the pain.

Outside the wind had risen again, making Thomas and Eileen shiver the moment they stepped out the door. George and Lionel didn’t seem to notice the cold. George put the chair down and Eileen glared at her father. “Now, sit.”

Lionel did as he was told. Thomas walked behind him and had a look at the dagger. It was in deep, buried in the flesh just outside Lionel’s shoulder-blade. Lionel’s breathing was tightly controlled, and the lines on his face were growing deeper with every passing moment. Thomas looked at George. “I’ll need help getting the dagger out.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Lionel. “You pull that out wrong and you’ll do more damage than it did on the way in.”

“Thomas can fix it,” said Eileen.

“Thomas is studying to be a lawyer, not a healer,” said Lionel. “Get me a healer.”

Thomas hesitated. Lionel had no idea that Thomas had magic, or that he could use it for healing. It was bad enough that Thomas had been courting Eileen. Letting Lionel know that his daughter’s sweetheart could use magic was something Thomas was pretty sure would add a whole new level of strain to their relationship. Worse, having the watch appear while he was healing the man would not do at all. Thomas sighed. “I’ll go get a healer, then.”

“What?” Eileen spun to face Thomas. “You do it!”

“A healer will do it better,” said Thomas. Eileen opened her mouth to say more and Thomas quickly cut her off. “There’s one a few blocks away. I can be there and back in no time at all. George, wrap it and keep pressure on it, will you?”

“Aye,” said George, though his expression mirrored his sister’s. “I’ll keep him still, don’t worry.”

“I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Thomas turned and headed down the stairs. A moment later he heard footsteps behind him. He kept going, waiting until he was two floors down to face Eileen. She was livid.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, pain and anger making her voice a harsh whisper. “Heal him!”

“I can’t,” said Thomas. “Sir Michael saw that he was hurt.”

“So what?”

“So if he comes back and finds out he isn’t, he’s going to be suspicious, isn’t he?”

“So what?”

Thomas sighed.

“If he was in danger, I would, but the dagger is in his muscle, not his organs, and the way he’s breathing, it didn’t go into his lungs. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s my father!”

“He’s not going to let me take care of him!” snapped Thomas. “Not without telling him about the magic, and then what do you think his reaction will be?”

Eileen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She still looked furious, but the beginning of resignation was showing in her face. Thomas took advantage of the moment. “Go sit with him. And take care of yourself, too. I’ll get the healer and be back before you know it.”

He turned and ran down the rest of the stairs. Eileen didn’t follow. Thomas could almost feel her eyes on him, though, and could see her betrayed expression in his mind as he ran across the courtyard. The horses were still saddled and ready to go, but Thomas left them behind. Running would be faster in the crowded streets.

The healer’s office was a storefront halfway down a narrow dead-end street off the market. The man had been a battlefield surgeon, and was expert at stitching up injuries. Thomas had been to see him once after a particularly embarrassing slip on the fencing floor had ended with a long a cut in his thigh. It had healed well, and left hardly any scar.

Thomas reached the healer’s office in short order and only slightly winded. He banged at the door. The pale, thin man who acted as the healer’s assistant opened it and glared at him. “Shh! He’s working!”

“I need his help,” said Thomas.

“Everyone needs his help.”

“The father of the girl I am courting has been stabbed in the back, while defending her life against five men who attacked us at my apartment.”

The thin man cocked his head. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Come in.”

Thomas stepped inside. The door to the back room was open, and Thomas could see the healer—an average-sized man, his skin darker than most, with a shock of curly grey-streaked brown hair that stood around his head—lecturing his patient.

“And you a butcher, John!” the healer was saying. “Really! Careless, that’s what it is. Now hold still, we’re nearly done.”

The fat man, sitting in a chair beside the healer, grimaced but said nothing. The thin man crossed the room and whispered in the healer’s ear. The healer nodded distractedly at first, and then stopped what he was doing and looked toward Thomas. “Her father? Really?”

“Yes,” said Thomas.

“Unlucky,” said the man. “Is his life in danger?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Was he conscious when you left him?”

“Aye.”

“Then he’ll wait a bit longer.” The man turned back to what he was doing, saying over his shoulder, “Robert, pack a bag.”

The thin man turned away and disappeared from sight. Thomas stood in the antechamber, trying not to hop from one foot to the other in impatience. The healer continued his stitching, moving at a steady, unhurried pace. At last, he tied off the final knot, turned, accepted the waiting bag from Robert, and stepped out of the surgery.

“Right, then, lead on.”

Thomas led on, the healer easily matching Thomas’s quick pace. When they turned the corner into the student quarter, the healer snorted. “Should have known you were a student. If it wasn’t for you lot, I wouldn’t have half the suturing practice I’ve had.”

Thomas didn’t bother replying. He led the healer into the courtyard of the apartments, and found it full of men. Some eight were dressed in the green and red of the guards of the Church of the High Father. Another six were wearing the brown of the city watch. The church guards were blocking the watchmen from going up the stairs, from the look of it, and the watch were none too pleased. Thomas sized up both groups while crossing the courtyard.

“Stop there,” said one of the church guards. “There’s been murder above.”

“I know,” said Thomas. “It was in my apartment. I’ve brought this healer to see to the wounded. Let us through, please.”

“Not unless you surrender your blades,” said the church guard. “Now.”

“No,” said Thomas. “Sir Michael will vouch for me.”

“Sir Michael did not come with us,” said one of the watch. “He told us what happened, and then rode off to speak to his lord. Are you Thomas?”

“I am.”

“Then you are to wait for Lord Henry’s arrival before doing anything more,” said the guard.

“I’ll not wait for Henry to get here before I get Lionel seen to,” said Thomas.

“And you’ll not do that until you surrender your blade.”

Thomas turned to the church guard. “Did Sir Michael summon you as well?”

“No,” said the guard. “Surrender your weapon or you won’t be allowed up.”

Thomas thought very quickly about who would have mentioned the murder to the church guards, and why. They had no jurisdiction over a civil matter—especially over the students, who were specifically answerable only to the king’s laws and not those of the Church of the High Father. Of course, if someone mentioned witchcraft…

As a student of the Royal Academy, Thomas was subject only to the laws of the king. The church guards had no authority over him—nor did the watch, for that matter. He turned to the watchmen. “Who is in charge?”

“I am,” said a thin man with a straggled moustache. “Captain Fergus.”

“These men have no jurisdiction here,” said Thomas. “They are blocking you from investigating a crime, and possibly destroying evidence of that crime while they do. Arrest them.”

Captain Fergus looked to the church guards, then back to Thomas. “There’s these eight and four more up above. We’ll not do well in a fight against them.”

“Oh, there’s no need to fight them,” said Thomas, looking at the church guards. “Tell them they are under arrest. Tell them to drop their weapons in the name of the king. When they refuse, blow your whistles and summon the rest of the watch.”

“You lot will be on the ground before that happens,” growled one of the church guards.

Thomas turned to the one who spoke. “And while they do that, I’ll be climbing up that stair there—” he gestured to the building opposite his own, “and ringing the bell on the top floor, which will bring about a hundred students here. All of whom no doubt remember the beginning of the summer when you lot attacked us in our apartments.”

“It wasn’t us,” said the guard. “Those were Bishop Malloy’s own.”

“A distinction I don’t think the students will make,” said Thomas.

The guards looked to one another, clearly nervous. Still, they held their ground. “We don’t move without orders from the commander,” said the same guard.

“And where is he?” asked Thomas.

“Upstairs.”

“Then get out of our way while we talk to him,” said Thomas. He turned to Captain Fergus. “If you would join me?”

The watchman took a long look at the guards on the stairs, then back at his own men. “If there’s any trouble, summon help,” he said to his men. “And one of you get up there and ring that bell.”

“Yes, sir.”

The watchman turned back to Thomas. “Let’s go, then.”

“If you’ll join us?” said Thomas to the healer. The man was not looking at all pleased, no doubt sensing that he was going to be in for more business in the very near future if things did not go well. Nonetheless, he followed as Thomas started walking forward. The church guards gave way grudgingly.

“The captain will have words with you,” said the one who’d spoke before. “Find out how you started this trouble in the first place.”

Why do people always assume I start the trouble?
Thomas led the healer up the stairs. George, Lionel and Eileen were all still on the balcony. George had his hands on his father’s back, applying pressure to keep the wound from bleeding. He was glaring into the apartment. Lionel looked slightly more pale, but no more the worse for all that, and was staring through the doorway in confusion. Eileen had wrapped a cloth around her arm, and was pressing another against her breast. She looked as angry as her brother, and Thomas could see her hand twitching towards the grip of her rapier.

Thomas stepped over the trampled remains of his and Eileen’s lunch, and into the apartment. Inside, three men were systematically opening every cupboard and tossing the contents to the ground. Another was going through the bookshelves, opening up books and tossing them on the floor. The bodies laid where they had been left, ignored. As Thomas watched, the man at the bookshelves tossed a book over his shoulder. It landed in the pool of blood beside the man Lionel had clubbed to death.

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing?” Thomas demanded.

All four men looked up in surprise. Three of them turned to the one who had been looking at the books. He was built square, like the Academy fencing master, with a thin moustache and goatee. He looked Thomas up and down before he settled his eyes on Thomas’s face. “Captain Dillman. And who are you?”

“Thomas Flarety,” said Thomas. “Those are my books you’re throwing on the floor.”

“Are they?” The man looked at the book in his hand. “Quite the eclectic collection.”

“Captain Dillman,” said Thomas, doing his best to imitate tone the Master of Laws took when he challenged students on their answers. “Why are your men preventing the watch from coming up?”

“I don’t want them interfering with our investigation,” said Captain Dillman.

“And what are you investigating that takes precedence over murder?” asked Captain Fergus.

“Witchcraft.”