The Reach Between Worlds (The Arclight Saga, Book 1) (2 page)

Stolen Goods

Growing up in Ashwick, you knew from an early age to stay away from Craiven & Boors. The rotting sign outside said ‘Purveyor of Rare Artifacts & Sundries’ which was just a fancy way of saying ‘stolen goods.’ The building was a dump: boarded-up windows, a rusted fence, and bricks crumbling out of the walls.

When Taro thumped on the door, a small panel slid open.

“We’re closed,” a woman’s voice called from inside.

“Miss Craiven, it’s me.”

“Oh, Taro dearest.” She unlatched the eight heavy locks and pushed the door open. Miss Craiven was a plump woman with an orange girdle so tight she looked like a misshapen pumpkin. She pulled Taro into a hug. “You never stop by to see your Auntie Craiven. Victor must be paying you well.”

Taro yanked free. “I’m not working anymore.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Miss Craiven pinched his cheek. “Come inside or you’re going to freeze to death.”

Taro hated Craiven & Boors. The rotting floorboards, the musty smell, the ever-present cramped feeling. The shop was packed with bizarre merchandise: jars of toad eyes, daggers made of human femurs, and taxidermy animals sewed into hideous chimeras. You could purchase playing cards that changed their suit when turned a certain way, or dice that always rolled a seven. These were the more benign items; the choice merchandize was kept out of sight.

Taro started towards the back room. “Where’s Mr. Boors?”

Miss Craiven forced a fluttery laugh. “He’s supposed to be taking me to the theater tonight. But ever since Victor stopped by, he’s held himself in his study.”

“Mathan was here?”

“I assumed you knew. He was talking to your sister about some long-term work.”

“Did he say what kind?”

Miss Craiven wagged her finger. “You know better than to ask that. But between you and me, maybe one of the boys could point you in the right direction.” Miss Craiven patted Taro on the head and started towards the stairs to the second floor. “We’re going to miss the show!” she shouted up.

Mr. Boors hollered back. “Confounded woman, I’m working. This deal could change our lives.”

“You’re not skipping out on me again, Herald. Come down this instant.”

Taro left them to their shouting match, and went to the back room. The moment he entered one of the boys called to him.

“Oy! Look who’s decided to grace us with his presence.”

An old friend, Sikes, and four other boys sat playing poker on a wooden crate. Sikes was raking chips into his giant pile.

“Come for a game?” another boy said.

“Nah, that couldn’t be Taro,” Sikes said. “Didn’t you hear? He doesn’t work anymore. Too good for us.”

“They always come back,” the boy said. “It’s been what, six months? That’s got to be a record. If you ask real nice, I’m sure Boors’ will set you up with somethin’ Tar.”

Taro motioned for Sikes to follow him out. “I need to talk to you.”

Sikes didn’t budge. “Bit busy right now.”

“It’s about Nima.”

“Oh, I know what it’s about. If you’re looking for someone to squeal on her, you’d best look elsewhere.” Sikes drew another card and added it to his hand.

Taro grabbed Sikes by the arm. “Nima can’t get involved with Mathan.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got her started. Mathan would have my neck if I went blabbering about our job.”

“Your job? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That isn’t how this works. You don’t run off for six months and come back makin’ demands. I got nothing to say, so turn that bum leg of yours around and hobble your ass out of here.”

“Would you at least tell me if she’s still in Ashwick?”

“What part of ‘sod off’ don’t you understand?”

Taro took a deep breath. “You’re going to get your face punched in one of these days.”

“Maybe. But not right now, and not by you.”

Taro’s seething turned into a wicked grin. “You know, you’re right.” He snatched the deck of cards out of Sikes’ hand and exposed the last three cards: all aces. “Just for your information, gentlemen, Sikes has a habit of dealing off the bottom of the deck. If I were you, I’d ask for a refund.”

One of the boys flipped the table, and another smacked Sikes in the face with a chair as Taro slipped out. Miss Craiven was near the door listening in.

“A shame you boys couldn’t work things out,” she said. A chair leg went flying past her head just as the door shut. “Dreadful. I hope they don’t hurt him too badly.”

Taro didn’t slow down.

“I assume you’ll be paying Victor a visit?” Craiven said, stopping Taro at the door. “Listen—”

“’Be careful,’ I know.”

“It’s more than that. Victor is a ruthless man, but it’s not him you should worry about.”

“Who then?”

She lowered her voice. “Let’s just say he’s not working alone. Please... stay alive.”

Taro must have stepped in every puddle on his way from Craiven & Boors, because his trouser legs were soaked by the time he got to the other side of town. Darkness consumed the streets like a black cloud. Pointed rooftops leaned over the road, and flickering lampposts cast sinister shadows onto the wet cobblestone. Dogs barked in the distance, couples argued in candlelit homes, but the streets were empty.

At least that's what he thought, until he ran head-on into an old beggar man. The man stumbled into the mud and his things went flying: candle holders, silverware, circus posters, books, and a cuckoo clock — not to mention the man's walking stick.

Taro sat against a nearby lamppost. “Sorry.”

The man patted his hands through the mud, collecting his things into a dirty pile. “No, no, no.”

“Did I break anything?” Taro asked.

“Yes, you did. Look at you, blustering about, not looking where you're going.”

Taro realized what he'd broken. One of the leather straps on his prosthetic was snapped in half. When he tugged at the strap, the buckle came loose. “Damn it.” His eyes darted back to the man. “Can I buy your walking stick?”

The man was polishing off a kitten-shaped ceramic plate with a dirty rag. He seemed surprised that despite his best efforts, the plate only got dirtier. “No.”

“I'll give you anything you want.”

“Some kindness would do.”

Taro felt like a jerk. He scooted closer and helped collect the man’s things. “I’m sorry. My sister's in trouble, and I’m in a hurry.”

The man was decidedly more gracious. “What kind of trouble?”

“The worst kind. With the worst guy. I need to get to her before she gets herself killed.”

“You’ll never catch her in that condition.” The man pointed two fingers at Taro's foot and the straps twisted and fused back together.

Taro tugged at the buckle in astonishment. “You're a magister!”

The man shushed him. “Off you go.”

Taro had never seen a magister before. They were the highest ranking soldiers in the Sun King’s army, but rarely ventured pasted the walls of Endra Edûn. A homeless magister was somewhat of a contradiction.

By the time Taro got to the alley, it was pouring, and the painted door was not easy to find. When he did, he hollered and banged on it for several minutes with no success. A moment later, he heard a familiar voice call to him. It was the magister.

“It only opens for those with an appointment. I believe I can be of assistance,” he said.

“Why would you help me?”

“Somebody in your line of work should know better than to ask a question like that.”

“How do you know what my ‘line of work’ is?”

“If it involves Victor Mathan, it’s not hard to guess. Suffice it to say that there’s something inside that I need. If you help me, I’ll help you.” He held out his hand to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

Taro peered down at the magister's dirty hands and long, brown fingernails. “Deal,” he said, though he passed on shaking.

The magister motioned Taro to follow. As he walked, his pack clinked and clacked like a jack-in-the-box. With each step wrenches rattled against copper tubes and flutes smacked into brass rings.

“Where are we going?”

“Shush!” the magister said. “You want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

The audacity of the comment took a moment for Taro to process. “That stuff you're hauling—”

“I could stand in the middle of Front Street shrieking like a banshee and nobody would notice me. You don't need magic to be invisible in a town like this. Being poor works just the same. So stand behind me and think quiet thoughts.”

The magister took a few steps forward. “Quieter.”

“But—”

“Quieter!”

The magister looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear, and hurried towards a sewer grate in the middle of the road. “Keep an eye out. There’s some nasty magistry on this thing.” He fished out a metal device that looked like a combination of a stone chisel and an ink pen from his pocket and drew lines and strange letters around the grate.

A few carriages passed without incident, though the coachmen did give them curious looks.

The magister mumbled to himself. “Four ley lines? What are they teaching people these days? I swear. And what's this? No, that goes here.” Suddenly he grabbed Taro's hand and shouted. “Please, sir, alms for the poor. Help an old war hero?”

A town constable stood only a few yards away with his arms crossed. “You harassing people again?”

The magister stayed low. “Just trying to get a warm meal for the night.”

Taro tossed him a copper noble. “He's no bother. I was just heading home.”

The constable hummed. “See that you do. And you, magister,” he said with considerable sarcasm, “I don't want to see you west of Dock Street again. Keep over there with the Helian garbage. Clear?”

“Inescapably.”

Taro and the magister walked in opposite directions until the constable was out of sight. Afterwards, they met back at the grate.

“You had one job to do,” the magister said. He held up one greasy finger and stifled Taro’s response. “Doesn’t matter, I think I've got it licked. Stand back.” He grabbed the grate on both sides and heaved until it lifted. “In you go.”

“Excuse me?”

“At the bottom there's a narrow pipe that should lead you to Mathan's cellar. Once you’re inside, get to the front door and let me in. Simple as that.”

“Simple, sure.” Taro peered down into the black sewer pit.

“Oh, and this is very important: don't touch anything. Especially not the water.”

“What's wrong with the water?"

“That's what I'm trying to find out. Hurry before that nit blusters back over here. I really don't want to use another mind hex on him, I think they might be causing brain damage.”

Taro held on to the sides of the manhole and took a deep breath. “How deep does this go?”

“Best not to think about it.”

A Thousand Blinking Eyes

Taro landed on his backside into a shallow stream of sewer water. It was only a storm drain, but reeked of mold and fermenting matter it had collected over the years. He pushed against the knee-high current and forced himself through a narrow pipe at the end.

When he was on the other side, he squeezed his shirt a pint of water came out. “Don't touch the water. Sure.”

Light flickered from a culvert leading into a dank circular room. The walls were lined with tall shelves packed full of books and scrolls. Strapped onto a wooden table in the center was a creature so horrendous Taro’s mind strained take in what he was seeing.

It was a slimy mass of tendrils and teeth, with five legs and something resembling a body. It flopped around wildly, gnashing its jagged black teeth. It must’ve had a thousand eyes and each of them moved and blinked independently.

On a wheeled cart nearby were scalpels and sutures, and beside them open books scribbled full of notes in a strange language.

Taro pressed his back against the bookshelf and strafed to the stairwell leading the ground floor. As he did, he passed a barred doorway to some sort of cell; inside was a single table, two chairs, and a sleeping cot. Carved into the stone wall of the cell were five deep grooves filled with dry blood.

Taro bolted up the staircase and into the polar opposite of the dungeon-like room below. The floor was redwood with fine black and gold rugs running past portraits of Mathan’s extended family alongside hunting trophies.

The gallery at the end of the corridor had a vaulted ceiling twice as tall as the hall, and the walls adorned with ivory tusks, elk heads, and an array of crossbows. The only light source in this room was the fireplace on the opposite end. An ancient man in a white doctor’s coat stood on the hearth; his hair was black with white strands throughout, and his grizzled, leathery skin hung off his bones like a used rag.

Mathan wasn’t far off. He sat the brown package Taro and Nima acquired for him on the mantelpiece and lit a cigar on an ember.

“Those things will kill you,” the old man said.

Mathan took a long drag and exhaled through his nose. “Worried about my health?”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.” The old man steepled his bone-thin fingers. “We must proceed as quickly as possible. The Magisterium won’t keep Vexis alive forever.”

“She just had to get herself caught,” Mathan said. “She’s reckless.”

“I trust that Vexis knows what she’s doing. But do you? Is trusting this to children the wisest course of action? If they’re discovered the Magisterium will execute them, children or not.”

“No doubt.”

Taro crept past the door and hurried down the hallway, checking every turn and every room for a way to main door. Eventually he found it.

The magister was there waiting. “I was beginning to worry.”

Taro spoke a mile a minute. “There’s something alive downstairs. Some kind of monster.”

The magister’s expression was flat. “Show me.”

The two returned to the cellar. The creature on the table was completely still. The magister approached it with disgust, and leafed through some of the nearby books.

“Is it dead?” Taro said.

“I’m not sure it was ever alive.” The magister’s finger paused over a sketch of the creature. He recoiled like he’d just touched a red-hot frying pan. He scratched at his forehead and temples like some deep, seething pain was boiling to the surface. It soon passed and he wiped blood from his eyes.

“I remember this place,” he said, still shaking. “They kept me here. Experimented on me.” The magister grabbed Taro by the arm. “They tried to make me forget. Tried to convince me I was crazy.”

Taro first instinct was to run. Had it not been for Nima’s well-being he wouldn’t even have entertained staying in such a place with an obvious loon.

The magister stuffed the papers into his many pockets and loaded up armfuls of books. “They fried my brain to keep me from talking.”

It seemed almost cruel to play into his delusion, but Taro couldn’t help but ask. “Why not just kill you?”

“That’s... hard to explain. I’m going to have a better look around. Go on and find your sister, but don’t let them see you.”

Taro returned to the gallery and to his relief, Nima was inside and unharmed. Sikes was beside and in considerable pain from his recent ass-kicking.

Mathan looked his bloody face over. “Can’t go a single day without getting into a fight?”

“It’s not my fault,” Sikes snapped. “Her brother—”

“I honestly don’t care,” Mathan said, cutting the air with his hand.

Sikes crossed his arms and shot nudged towards Dr. Halric. “Who’s the old guy?”

Halric motioned Sikes towards him. “I’m your employer.”

“I thought Mathan was our employer,” Nima said.

“Quite right, I’m much more than that. I’m your owner.” He grabbed a vial and smeared the contents on Sikes’ bruises. They immediately disappeared. “And I can’t have damaged merchandise.”

Halric paced around the children. “I trust Victor has explained the job to you.”

“He told us we’re pretending to be Magisterium recruits,” Sikes said. “What he didn’t tell us is why.”

Dr. Halric fished two devices out of the brown package on the mantelpiece. They were long chisel-like tools with hollow glass tubes in the handle, similar to the one the magister had. “‘Why’ doesn’t matter right now. ‘How’ is much more important. Take these.”

“What are they?” Nima asked as she looked the device over.

“Inscribers. You’ll be trained on their use at the Magisterium.”

Nima flipped the inscriber through her fingers, and Halric placed a wrinkled hand on her wrist. “It’s not a toy.”

Mathan lingered by the hearth, watching the conversation unfold. He sat his tea down and tapped his cigar over an ashtray before speaking. “I fancy myself a fair man. I’d like to give you both a chance to bow out before we proceed. I won’t lie, if you’re discovered, the Magisterium will show no mercy.”

Sikes didn’t hesitate. “Leave this hell-hole to become powerful and rich? Sounds like a no-brainer.”

It was hard for Taro to read Nima’s eyes. What at first had looked like fear now was something decidedly different: Excitement. Fire.

Nima puffed herself up. “I’m in.”

Taro’s body acted on its own. One moment he was kneeling behind the couch, and the next he was standing between Nima and Mathan.

Nima shrunk under Taro’s furious glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

Halric was more surprised than angry. “And who might this be?”

“Her brother. Clearly he’s more resourceful than I gave him credit for.” Mathan approached Taro with a wide, happy grin. “I was hoping you’d come around.”

Taro wasn’t sure how sincere Mathan was, so he opted for politeness. “I’m actually here to take her home, sir. She snuck out.”

“Is that true?” Mathan asked.

“It’s my decision,” Nima said indignantly.

Taro seized her by the wrist. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

“I’m not going.”

“If this is about Dad—”

Nima managed to pull herself free. “This isn’t about Dad. This is about me. Running jobs for Mathan, working at Craiven & Boors. It’s exciting. I love it. You use to love it, too.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Mr. Mathan, you said you needed a proper Endran. Where else are you going to find one before morning?” Nima asked.

Mathan mulled it over. “I’m afraid she’s correct. I respect your desire to keep your sister safe, but the stakes are much bigger than any one person.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Taro snapped. “She’s not going with you.”

Mathan’s eyes darkened and he stood so close that he seemed as large as a mountain. He blew a ring of smoke and placed the hand holding his lit cigar on Taro’s shoulder.

A few ashes flaked off and burned Taro’s shirt, but he didn’t move. “I don’t think you understand.”

But Taro did understand. Mathan could have him and his entire family killed. He could have them evicted from their house. He could make their lives a living hell.

“I’m sorry,” Taro said as sincerely as he could. “I just want to keep her safe.”

“I respect that.” Mathan cleared his throat, lifted his hand, and all at once he was back to his friendly self. “I encourage you to join her if that’s your concern.”

“We can go together?”

“You're my original choice for a job,” Mathan said.

Dr. Halric had been watching the exchange intently. He moved closer and tapped Taro’s wooden prosthetic with his cane. “I couldn’t help but notice your handicap.”

“What’s your point?” Taro said sharply.

“So hostile,” Halric said, pulling an inscriber of his own from his white coat. “Hold still, please.”

Halric wrote several strange words on the outer edge of Taro’s prosthetic. When he pressed his grizzled fingers to the inscription, the letters glowed. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that his prosthetic had disappeared. The weight was completely gone, and the usual pressure where it touched his real flesh had faded.

“Better?” Halric asked.

Taro tapped his prosthetic on the floor. “What did you do?”

“That is a mere sample of the magic you can learn at the Magisterium. There are many other kinds. Perhaps even magic that could cure your parents.”

Taro was transfixed by the runes for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. “Even if that’s true,” he said, “I can’t just leave them. They need—”

“You have my word as a gentleman that they will be well-cared for,” Mathan said. “Not to mention the thousand crown payment. Think of what you could do for your family with that kind of money. Good food and comfort for the rest of their lives. Superior medicine. Education for your brothers. All that and more.”

Taro sat on the edge of an armchair. “How does us learning magistry benefit you?”

“Your education is incidental,” Halric said. “Deep within the dungeons of the Magisterium is an acquaintance of ours. The dungeons are utterly impenetrable from the outside. However, students who have attained the rank of artificer or higher can move freely throughout the complex.”

"It's really quite simple." Mathan held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“If I say no?”

“Nothing sinister. But your sister will be coming either way.”

Taro didn’t see any way out of it. He shook Mathan’s hand.

“Excellent,” Mathan said. “I knew we could work through this messy situation like reasonable men. Report to Boors tomorrow at dawn.”

“You’re just going to let us go?” Taro asked.

“I’m not your captor. I want us to have a good working relationship.”

“What’s to keep us from going to the constable? Or running off?”

“Come now, Taro. You’re a smart lad.” Mathan grabbed fresh cigar and clipped the end. “Remember to be careful heading home. Decker and Enam are probably asleep, you wouldn’t want to wake them.”

Mathan lit the cigar and smiled. He never made a threat. He didn’t need to. Taro got the message.