The Conjuring Man, page 28
The cooks have to be protected, he thought, numbly. Princess Daphne had, under Arnold’s control, ruined the university’s food stores. It might have proven fatal if matters had gone differently. Arnold would certainly wish to try again. If one of them is hexed into poisoning the food, it’ll destroy us.
“They’re spies,” a voice hissed. “Put them to death!”
The women started to struggle as their captors pulled at their arms, dragging them towards the nearest gallows. Adam swallowed hard, knowing he had to intervene to prevent two women being effectively murdered, yet fearing what would happen if he tried. He’d seen mobs back home, when Vesperian’s Folly had collapsed and nearly taken the city down with it, and he knew there was no point in trying to reason with them. Mobs were ... mobs, so unreasonable that even trying to steer them in a more positive direction could easily end with the mob turning on him. He racked his brain, trying to think of a way to do something without getting torn to pieces. The women might be spies, but they weren’t doing it of their own free will. If they were murdered ...
Betty had more nerve than he’d realised. “Hold,” she barked, her voice strong and steady against the roar. The mob seemed to shiver, on the verge of breaking apart, before it rallied. “What are you doing?”
Dalia pushed her way through the mob and stood in front of them, her eyes meeting Betty’s. “They are witches,” she said, flatly. “The detectors screamed when they were pushed past them.”
“That doesn’t prove they’re witches,” Adam said, quickly. It was hard to speak quickly yet calmly and he wasn’t sure how many people could understand him, but he owed it to himself to try. “It just proves they’re drenched in magic.”
“And that means they’re witches,” Dalia insisted. “Or that they’re spies.”
“Silly girl,” one of the washerwomen said. “If we were witches, would we be washing your bloody bloomers?”
Dalia reddened, her hand dropping to her pistol. Adam groaned inwardly. The washerwoman had nerve too, or perhaps she’d decided she was going to die whatever happened and she might as well go out spitting in her captor’s eye, but that was definitely below the belt. Dalia would be pissed. There were so many snide implications woven into the washerwoman’s words that nothing short of blowing the older woman’s head off would satisfy Dalia’s desire for revenge. And even if she killed the washerwoman on the spot, her words would be remembered.
“Be quiet,” Betty snapped. “If they were willing spies, they wouldn’t be covered in magic.”
“No,” Adam agreed. Arnold, or the king’s agents, could easily have bribed the washerwomen to spy on the camp. There’d be no magic involved, which meant the detectors would be useless. Worse than useless, perhaps, because they’d foster a false sense of confidence. “They have been hexed. They are not to blame for being forced to do something – anything – against their will.”
Dalia scowled at him. Adam winced. Dalia was beautiful – her outfit made her look striking, drawing attention to her curves in a way that would have been verboten only a few short weeks ago – but she was formidable. She’d taken advantage of the sudden uprising, and the collapse of the old power structures, to carve herself a new role, yet that role depended on her remaining powerful and prominent. Her followers weren’t drawn to her beauty, but to her fanatical personality. If she lost face, if she looked weak, they’d start to slip away. And she knew it too. She was a firebrand who’d risen through being a firebrand. She could lose it all in a moment.
“They are weak,” Dalia snapped. “If someone cast a spell on them, could they not resist?”
Adam groaned, inwardly. It was hard – almost impossible – for a mundane to fight off even the crudest compulsion spell. It was worse – he knew through grim experience – when the spell was so subtle it was hard to tell it was there, let alone consider your own actions and determine what you might have done that wasn’t of your own will. If the universe was changing, and all the tools you used to measure the universe were changing too, how could you tell the universe was changing? It wasn’t as though anyone could separate themselves from their own mind and study their thinking from the outside.
“It is difficult to resist,” he said, finally. He didn’t understand what she was thinking. She’d been there when the assassins tried to kill the queen. “And they may not even have been aware they were hexed.”
“If they were,” Lilith said. “They might simply have been tainted by magic instead.”
Dalia scowled at her. “And what would a pampered aristo like yourself know about it?”
“I helped design and build the first detectors,” Lilith said evenly. “They detect magic. Any magic, above a certain threshold. If our enemies tainted the women with magic, they’d set off the detectors even without being hexed.”
Betty seized the moment. “And that means they’re innocent victims, rather than spies, and you have saved them from a far worse fate,” she said. “You are to be commended.”
Dalia’s face was unreadable, but her body tensed. “Can they be trusted? Or were they tainted with magic to hide their true allegiances?”
Risky, Adam thought. It would be perfectly in character for Arnold to bribe – or compel – the washerwomen to walk into immense danger, but sending them to certain death struck him as a little odd. Arnold was a nasty piece of work, no doubt about it, yet he could be surprisingly pragmatic. They would have been lynched by now if we hadn’t intervened.
“Perhaps it would be better to see if they really were hexed,” Taffy offered, diffidently. “And if they were put under a spell, they may have seen their enchanter.”
“I can check,” Lilith said.
“No.” Dalia sounded very firm. “Jasper can check.”
Adam frowned. Jasper might have grown up a bit, but ... he wondered, suddenly, if Dalia had known Lilith was a magician. Had she picked up on it? Lilith hadn’t been wearing black, after all, and Adam couldn’t recall if Lilith had ever done any proper magic in front of Dalia. Or did she think Lilith, the child of magical aristocracy, simply couldn’t be trusted? Adam’s lips quirked in cold amusement. Jasper had spent a long time claiming to be an aristocrat himself. He couldn’t help wondering what Dalia would make of that.
But then, in the old days, a lot of people claimed higher bloodlines, Adam reminded himself. There’d certainly been no shortage of people back home who’d insisted they were distantly related to the foremost families. She might understand it if he dropped the act when it was no longer needed.
Jasper swaggered forward, his face so composed Adam knew he was worried. His magic skills weren’t bad, but if he messed up the check it would be disastrous. For everyone. Jasper might be worried about Dalia deciding he was useless and paying as little attention to him as possible – he was a very shallow man – but if he missed an actual compulsion spell, or worse, the washerwomen might have their chance to damage the army after all. Or ...
“Their bodies are covered in magical residue,” Jasper said, slowly. “But I can’t find any trace of an active spell.”
Adam glanced at Lilith. “Can we get a second opinion?”
Dalia scowled. Jasper looked oddly relieved. Lilith stepped forward and nodded. “I can’t sense any active spells,” she said. “But there is a lot of magical residue. Too much.”
“So someone painted them in magic and sent them out to mess up the detectors,” Dalia said, quickly. “And we nipped their plan in the bud.”
A low ripple of agreement ran through the crowd. Adam hid his amusement. Dalia had to save at least some face by insisting they’d done the right thing after all, although ... Adam felt his heart sink as it dawned on him the enemy magician might have found a weak spot in their defences. If they kept tainting people with magic and waiting for them to walk past the detectors, setting off the alarms, it wouldn’t be long until the defenders started ignoring those detectors. Hell, the whole affair might be nothing more than a series of experiments to determine precisely how much magic was required to trigger the alarms. For all he knew, a handful of people had been tainted with tiny amounts of magic and sent to walk through the detectors ...
Betty cleared her throat. “Good work,” she said. She sounded astonishingly sincere. Adam would have bought it if he hadn’t seen her at work. “Dalia, keep the first troop here. The remainder can return to their duties.”
“Of course,” Dalia said. She dismissed her troops – and the mob – with a wave of her hand. Adam was surprised she didn’t argue, then realised she had good reason to want to cut down the number of witnesses. “Can we cleanse them of magic?”
Lilith had another concern. “Someone tainted you with magic,” she said, addressing the washerwomen. They looked relieved and fearful. “Can you recall when and where?”
Dalia’s lips thinned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s sloppy work,” Lilith said, curtly. “Whoever did it was either a very crude magician, with very poor training, or careless.”
“Arnold isn’t careless,” Adam said.
“No,” Lilith agreed. “And that’s what worries me.”
She met the lead washerwoman’s eyes. “Can you remember anything?”
The washerwoman hesitated, noticeably. “I ... I don’t know. I could be wrong.”
“Anyone can be wrong,” Taffy said, reassuringly. “Tell us what happened. You will not be blamed.”
Adam sighed, inwardly. The poor women would be blamed, even though it wouldn’t be remotely fair. There’d always be people whispering that the washerwomen had been doing something they shouldn’t ... Dalia, he reflected, had excellent reason to make sure they were branded guilty to ensure her reputation remained unblemished. And yet ...
“We went to clean the working tent – ah, Craftsman Alec’s tent,” the washerwoman said, slowly. “It shouldn’t have taken long, but it took hours.”
Dalia frowned. “You weren’t lazing around when you should have been working?”
“We just washed,” the washerwoman said. She looked too nervous to be angry. “It’s not a big job. All we really had to do was sweep the floor. And somehow it took hours.”
“We need to have a look at that tent,” Lilith said, quietly. “If they walked in, and then left with a slice gapped out of their memory ...”
Betty nodded. “Dalia, take your troops and search the tent,” she ordered. “If Alec is there, take him into custody – gently – so we can ask him some pointed questions. Adam, you and your friends go too.”
Adam exchanged glances with Lilith, then nodded. Ice pooled in his stomach as Dalia turned and marched away, leaving the washerwoman behind. A craftsman ... Arnold had posed as a craftsman, in an environment where a lie would be spotted very quickly. He’d been able to walk the walk as well as talk the talk. Could he be doing it again? He certainly had the skills to do it and the Levellers were so desperate for talent they might have refrained from asking a lot of pointed questions. Even the people who’d met him might not have realised that Arnold and Alec were the same person. It was quite possible no one had seen his real face.
“Watch your back,” Lilith cautioned. “If it is him ...”
Taffy frowned. “Do we need backup?”
“Yes,” Lilith said, flatly. She scowled at Dalia’s back. “But it won’t get here in time.”
Adam nodded and reached into his pocket for the set of runic tiles and gas vials. They weren’t much, certainly not enough to tip the balance, but they might win time for Lilith or even Jasper to strike the killing blow. They really needed the senior magicians from Heart’s Eye, but ... he sighed, again. There was no way to get them to the camp without alerting their quarry.
Lilith looked at Taffy. “Have you met Alec?”
“No,” Taffy said. “But there are quite a few craftsmen in town I haven’t met.”
“Stay back,” Adam advised. “If all hell breaks loose, go back to the university and tell them what happened.”
Taffy elbowed him. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“You should go,” Lilith said. “You’re the magitech expert.”
Adam shook his head, despite the fear congealing in his gut. He wanted to run and yet, he didn’t dare. Better to die stupidly than be thought a smart coward. Stupid, really ... he shook his head again, cursing the sheer inanity of society. He had to be brave and that meant, sometimes, walking into a fight he knew he couldn’t win. It was easy for the strong to be brave, harder for the weak ... harder still for those who knew no one would come to their aid if they bit off more than they could chew. And yet, that wasn’t true of him any longer. He had friends.
His mind churned as they approached the tent. Dalia was making no attempt to hide their approach. He wondered if that was wise. They had no idea what they were facing, beyond ... he scowled. Dalia couldn’t show fear openly, any more than he could. Society was more accepting of fearful women, but it didn’t let them take command either. And yet, who could blame her for doubts and fears? If ...
Dalia stuck a hand in her pocket and produced an oversized vial, then threw it forward hard enough to push through the flap and smash somewhere inside the tent. Adam heard someone swear, then start to chant a spell. The air seemed to shimmer, a wave of heat rushing out towards them. Adam threw himself to the ground instinctively, feeling the heat pass overhead and slam into the nearest tents. They caught fire, flames spreading rapidly even as the heat spell started to fade. Jasper yanked himself up and threw himself into the tent, waving his hands in a complicated pattern. The flap closed behind him an instant before he was thrown back outside, like a man being kicked out of a pub for having too much to drink. A dark shape followed, a sorcerer clenching his fists ... he doubled over, tumbling to the ground. It took Adam a moment to realise Dalia had shot him.
Lilith stood, warily. “It isn’t Arnold.”
Adam nodded. Most magicians regarded guns as toys, at best, even though they’d been invented by a magician. Arnold knew better. He’d worked with guns. He knew they could kill him and how to protect himself, although ...
“The gas wasn’t as effective as we’d hoped,” Dalia said, crossly. “Why not?”
“It may not have been brewed properly,” Adam said. The stench of durian hung in the air, but ... it was hard to be sure, because the fruit smelled disgusting, but it didn’t smell quite right. If someone else had bottled the gas, he might not have compressed it properly. Or something. “But you shot him.”
He bent over the body, feeling a twinge of disgust. Dalia had shot the man at practically point-blank range, and his tunic had provided absolutely no protection. The impact alone would have been unpleasant – Adam knew what it was like to be punched in the stomach – and the wounds and blood loss almost certainly fatal, unless someone got the victim into stasis very quickly. No one had even tried.
“Yeah,” Dalia agreed. “And what if he wasn’t the only one?”
Chapter Thirty
“Tell me,” Lilith said. “Do you want the good news, or the bad?”
“Both,” Adam replied. They’d spent an hour searching the tent – or, more accurately, Lilith had searched the tent while he’d stood on the sidelines, feeling useless. “What’s the good news?”
“The good news is that it wasn’t Arnold,” Lilith said. “The bad news is that Alec clearly learnt a great deal from Arnold.”
“If we had shot and killed Arnold, it would have been wonderful,” Adam said, dryly. He doubted Arnold would die that easily, but ... “What do you mean?”
“Alec – whatever his real name was – had very little formal training, judging from his workshop,” Lilith said. “His magical tooling is sloppy as hell. I’d say he was a hedge witch before Arnold recruited and trained him, perhaps someone with a talent for craftsmanship who was never allowed to develop his magic. Or maybe no one looked at his work too closely. It wouldn’t have been that hard to have a craftsman in Lokane do the work, then have his products shipped here so Alec could claim the credit.”
“Or he really was as good as they claimed,” Adam said. Dalia’s investigation had revealed that Alec had been good enough to get his own tent and a certain amount of privacy as long as he kept churning out the goods. He had to scowl. There weren’t many magicians who understood craftsmen liked private workshops, or that they’d be very understand of someone who demanded one, but Arnold certainly would. “If he was working ...”
“Perhaps he was,” Lilith said. “But he was also messing around with runic tiles, creating a haze of magic that would taint anyone who walked through it. I think the washerwomen came here, got put in stasis and tainted, then released without ever realising they’d actually been in the tent for hours.”
Adam shuddered. Being frozen was bad enough, as he could testify, but at least you knew what was happening. Being frozen so completely even your thoughts stopped ...
“And then he just let them go and watched what was happening from a safe distance,” Adam said. “What else can you tell from his workspace?”
“Nothing beyond that,” Lilith said, briskly. “His tools are all fairly conventional. There’s no sense he made them for himself, or even had them personalised. The maker’s marks are nothing particularly special. He had a bunch of blankets rather than a proper bed, and ... nothing personal at all. No tomes, no grimoires ... not even any blue books. My best guess is that he was told to leave everything important behind, before he set out. There’s nothing here we can trace back to his master.”
