Dead Magic (9 page)

Fayree smiled and crouched beside him. Leaning over, she began to check on his wound, keeping herself busy as she stumbled through an explanation. "There is a wild plant called the verue. It has several medicinal properties when used correctly. Specifically, it slows bleeding and promotes the healthy mending of tissue in the body. But it is a difficult plant to find. Very wild."

"Where did you get it?" Winslow glanced at the gooey substance coating his shoulder. "Did you . . . did you cross the Pillars?"

"No. I can never cross the Barrier again. Outside of Magnellum I am considered a traitor to my own kind and the Wild would kill me." Fayree nodded to his shoulder in approval and settled back on her haunches. "But the space between the Pillars, where the Remora stones grow, there are sometimes such plants. You are lucky I was able to locate one."

Winslow regarded her carefully. He knew of the space between the Pillars. The Warders, the sect of society meant to keep both Witch-Born and Untalented in order, hunted the spaces for their Remora stones. A stone could render a Witch-Born talentless, thus putting the nobles of society on equal standing with the Untalented. But they were rare and hard to find. It was dangerous to enter the space. The Wild was active there, capable of attacking if you entered it, which meant that Fayree had taken a rather large risk in order to produce the healing plant.

The methods of the Tre`ow
, she'd said. Her people. None of the history lessons he'd been taught as a boy had ever mentioned such a race. In fact, history seemed to take for granted that the Warding Pillars had always been there. The hatred harbored by the Wild was never explained, just accepted as unalterable truth.

Staring at this woman, who was so obviously not Untalented or Witch-Born, Winslow felt a little like an uneducated oaf.

He looked to Mirabella, who fidgeted beside her mother and appeared to be doing her best to behave. He sensed none of the cat in her, but there was something else.
Something different
, he thought restlessly. Seeming to read his mind, Fayree spoke again.

"My daughter is an anomaly. She is not full Tre`ow and she is not full Untalented. Time alone will show us what she is, Lord Agoston."

"And when will I have command of my Talent again?"

"I do not know," Fayree stood, smiling at Mirabella as only a mother could. Then she refocused on him. "When I used the verue on you, your Talent rejected the Wild in it. There was a battle between your magic and the wildness of the plant. I cannot tell which of them has won."

"You have a little Wild in you." Mirabella bounced twice, beaming as though this were a good thing. "Just like me!"

Unsettled, Winslow couldn't return the smile.

Valeda surveyed Walter's School for Unfortunates from across the street. It was, by all appearances, a mansion that had been converted to hold the school. The four-story building commanded its half of the street, unapologetically austere behind the wrought-iron gates surrounding it.

At first glance it wouldn't be a place that you would expect to see children, especially happy children, and yet they were there. Just to the right of the building, in a wide patch of grass, several children of varying ages rioted about the place. Their bubbling laughter could be heard above the clap of horses and carriages, and Valeda couldn't suppress her smile.

The sight and sound tugged at her heart and for the first time in several weeks, Valeda felt her unease lessen. Inasmuch as she didn't like Lady Delgora's cryptic movements, Valeda had a sense that she was on the right side of things. Whatever was happening behind the closed doors of noble society, House Witch Delgora was obviously fighting for the Untalented. And since Valeda herself was Untalented, it seemed a good idea to support the Witch rather than expose her.

That was why she hadn't shared anything with Monty. The Ambassador managed to wedge her out of her stateroom on board the
Crescent Moon
just once, exclaiming how unhealthy it was for her to remain cooped up for so long. She still wasn't certain how she'd managed not to be sick in front of him. Whatever he'd seen on her face seemed to convince him that she wasn't faking, but Monty would not be deterred from his answers.

At least it had been a pleasant sort of interrogation. He needled and pried, but covered it all with laughter and compliments. In retrospect, Valeda thought his company had been welcome in spite of her illness. For the hour he'd spent at tea with her, Monty managed to keep her distracted from the fact that they were flying.

Still, she'd kept her responses vague, especially when he asked about her private walk with Lady Elsie. House Witch Minne Orzebet didn't need to be kept abreast of movements in Delgora, and Valeda was well aware of the fact that Montgomery Taven would relay everything to his own Lady. That was, after all, his job.

Glancing both ways, Valeda made certain the road was clear before crossing. She blessed the Fates that she was back in her trousers and suit-jacket, nimbly avoiding horse droppings and muddy puddles in the cobblestone. While she saw the necessities of wearing a skirt on occasion, Valeda much preferred trousers. It wasn't considered stylish, but she wasn't a fashion mogul.

No
, she thought, as she reached the front gate of the school,
she was a fencer and a reporter, capable of handling herself if need be
.

A plump old man sporting a chest-long white beard waddled out of the gatehouse on the other side. Valeda was caught off guard by the lush beard. It was braided, of all things, and the pointy triangle the braid produced should have looked absurd, but somehow, on this man at least, it complimented his features. His matching white hair made a pleasant sort of wave at his shoulders, accenting the deep tan peeking out from the beard, and his round, sturdy frame lent him an intimidating presence.

"Hello, I'm Miss Quinlan. I've an appointment with Master Walter this afternoon."

The big, white-haired man had an icy-blue glare that seemed to bore right into her. She made certain not to qualify herself as a reporter since she was still, technically, on leave and far out of Tormey Lands. While it wasn't uncommon for a newspaper to send reporters under cover to other House lands, it was generally frowned upon by the Witches. It appeared the Witches did not appreciate having the troubles of their home lands under the scrutiny of their peers.

"Miss Quinlan?" The big man's menacing demeanor melted into a big smile. "Ah, the newspaper woman. Lady Feverrette said to expect you. Come on in."

He unlatched the gate and held it open for her as she passed through.

"Lady Feverrette?" Valeda eyed the front porch of the manor house with a frown. She was getting quite tired of feeling outclassed.

The sooner she got her answers, the sooner she could get back to her quaint little apartment and her regular life. She had four distinct tasks to carry out for House Witch Delgora, the first of which this strange meeting with Master Bernum Walter. Valeda had no idea what she was supposed to say or do in this meeting, just that she had to be there.

"Yes, Lady Feverrette is our patron," the man said, his bearded smile somehow widening. "Lovely woman. She deals with all the financial particulars of running the school. Master Walter says she's a verifiable mathematical genius."

Confused, Valeda glanced up at him. "Perhaps I'll have the pleasure of meeting her in the course of the meeting."

For all intents and purposes, Valeda had assumed Lady Elsie was the school's patron. That seemed to make sense anyway. Why else would she have been sent there?

"Oh, no. You'll not be seeing Lady Feverrette here. She prefers to stay in town, closer to Fortress Lorant." He locked the gates behind her and turned toward the Manor. "But look at me, forgetting my manners. I'm Jakob, the gatekeeper. Let me show you in."

Smiling her appreciation, Valeda followed him down the cobblestone path. He didn't talk beyond that, just took to humming an unfamiliar tune as he waddled forward. It was slow-going. Jakob had a severe limp on his right, which only enhanced the dramatic waddle.

In an attempt to appear like she hadn't noticed the awkward gait of the man beside her, Valeda focused on the children again. They were closer now and some of them had stopped to watch her approach. The four smaller ones took a particular interest in her, hurrying up to the path before she could reach the porch. They were all very well-groomed, if a little disheveled by their play, and wore matching uniforms of green and white. Lady Elsie would have been pleased by the neat little button-down shirts and tailored pants.

"Mr. Jakob, who is this?" asked a dark-haired boy of about six, who kept pace with them. He kept strictly to the grass, as if the cobblestone path were an unbreakable barrier.

"Well now, Chuckabee, it's not nice to talk about someone when they're right there. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"Madam Hilden says we're not supposed to talk to strangers," Chuckabee said, earning a few encouragements from his friends.

Jakob paused and blinked down at the boy. Then he laughed, which sounded quite a bit like a hoot and was loud enough that Valeda jumped. The children, apparently used to the big man's laughter, joined him in a chorus of giggles.

"You've got that right, Chuckabee," Jakob said after a moment. "This is Miss Quinlan. She has some business with Master Walter."

At the mention of Master Walter, the children gave a hushed and reverent coo. Thoroughly amused by the display, Valeda kept quiet as she was led up the stone steps and onto the mansion's porch. Jakob, just as entertained by the children around them, sent her a friendly wink that immediately settled her nerves. Perhaps she didn't know what she was doing here, but the so-called "unfortunates" were charming. There was a warmth here, an open welcome that she hadn't noticed on first approach.

"Children!" a female voice called from the other side of the yard.

All four of the boys jerked upright, their eyes going wide with alarm. With barely a goodbye sent her way, they tore off in the direction of the call, their little green and white uniforms disappearing around the corner of the building. Jakob chuckled from beside her, which was loud in its own right, and then gave her another broad smile.

"Chuckabee was a right hellion when he first got here. Madam Hilden has done quite a job on him. Tucks right down when he's told to now." Jakob turned toward the massive door and gestured her forward. "Afraid I can't leave the gatehouse unattended for long, Miss. The housekeeper can show you the way."

Thanking him, Valeda stepped through the door and entered the single most contradictory house she had ever seen. The front vestibule was larger than she expected, nearly the size of a full room, with two elegantly padded benches flush against the east and west walls. Underfoot, her flat-soled boots reflected off the highly polished wooden floor and directly in front stood a glass wall that was entirely impractical for a school of children. Etched in golden patterns along the glass were mountain scenes, creating an oddly disorienting symmetry between the picture and the hallway beyond.

Glass double doors stood open in the center of the strange wall, but the mountain patterns continued throughout, making a giant mural that probably made more sense with the doors closed. Valeda blinked twice and then moved into the hallway, turning so that she could see the other side of the mural. It was possibly the oddest thing she had ever seen in her twenty-six years and she wanted to remember it.

"Ahem."

Startled by the voice, Valeda spun around to face a razor-thin man with a head of thinning blond hair. His long face was wrinkled up into a welcoming smile, his tall suited frame stood out against the pale walls and Valeda flushed. There was a door to his right, which she hoped he'd just come through. The idea that he might have been standing there the whole time she'd been puzzling over the mural made her self-conscious.

"I'm sorry to startle you," he said. "I heard the door open."

"Oh, I just . . . well . . ." Flustered, Valeda gestured to the mural. "I was a bit . . . "

"It is extraordinary, isn't it?"

"Quite, yes."

"There are several rumors about where it came from. All of them boil down to the idea that the former owner of this manor house wasn't altogether sane."

Valeda smiled. "Well, as beautiful as it is . . . it does seem a bit impractical."

"Indeed," he agreed and reached out one hand. "I'm Bernum Walter. I imagine you would be Miss Quinlan?"

His grip was gentle as they shook hands, soft and scholarly.

"I am," Valeda spared the mural one last glance before focusing her attention on the man.

"I'm so pleased to meet you." Walter stepped back and invited her into his office.

By all appearances, Walter was a practical sort of man. In spite of the luxury of the manor, his office was simple. Only one window, she noted, with a clear view to the gatehouse. His desk was positioned in such a way that he undoubtedly had seen her approach up the path. The desk itself wasn't impressive, but the scattered paperwork covering it proved that Master Walter was a very busy man. She could see educational plans, calendar schedules, food orders and basic-necessity inventories.

Given that all of these were in plain view, Valeda didn't feel that she was prying into anything that might upset the man, who ushered her toward a set of chairs beside the small fireplace. In fact, if he noticed her curiosity, he certainly didn't acknowledge it.

Settling into what Valeda equated to a spare kitchen chair, she relaxed as Master Walter sat in the chair opposite. For once, she didn't feel outclassed.

"Now then, Miss Quinlan, I was quite pleased when Lady Feverrette contacted me about your visit. She said that you would be more than helpful with the articles we wanted to place."

"Articles?" Valeda faltered. "Master Walter, I must be frank, I have no idea why I'm here. I was told I had a meeting with you today, but I was given no details what it was about."

Master Walters looked shocked for a moment, and then he puffed a rueful laugh. "Oh, dear. I thought you were better informed than that."