The Delusionist's Son Page 8

  When the front edge of the spell hit the wemyd concentration, it was if a pool of naphtha had been set on fire. The dying wemyd emitted so much energy they resembled a raging forest fire which quickly gained speed until it was moving at more than double the speed of a fast horse.

  Returning his vision to normal in the spell’s wake, Silva expected to see scorched trees and burned grass, but everything was untouched. The spell burned the wemyds and nothing else.

  "The spell passed beyond the horizon," Dr. Neran said, blinking several times as most mages did when adjusting vision. He slapped a hand on Silva's shoulder. “You have got to teach me how you did that.”

  Silva shrugged off the hand. “Never.” He paused, schooled his features, then said, “Forgive me. I’m a bit tired. I think I need to rest.”

  Dr. Neran laughed loudly. “I imagine so. Use my bed. You earned it.”

  Silva shook his head and headed toward the wagon where he had spent the previous night. He felt fine. He shouldn’t feel fine, but he did. He had cast — intentionally — the foulest spell known to man. Even Dr. Neran’s daughter hadn’t had that excuse. He was certain they would figure out what happened soon enough. It was useless to run. It was only a matter of time.

  The wagon was gone. Stupidly, Silva tried to figure out where it was, then realized they had probably taken it when they transported his father to the hospital. He turned to find Dr. Neran’s tent. He did feel tired in a way which had nothing to do with his muscles or his magic. Maybe a nap would help.

  If this was going to be his last day on earth, he might as well have a nice bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When driving his horseless carriage, Dr. Neran wore a purple top hat which matched the color of his robes. It was a proper country-weight stovepipe hat, not one of the conical hats the University masters wore for ceremonies. Dr. Neran drove down the road toward the capital with one hand clutching the hat to his head and the other on the stick which allowed him to turn the front wheels. Silva used both hands to hang onto the side of the carriage, as it bumped and bounced down the road.

  While none of the individual spells operating the device were particularly complex, driving a horseless carriage required making constant adjustments to several spells at one time. The driver had to adjust his vision back and forth to see the local ley lines well enough to keep the narrow stream of power underneath the contraption's right wheels, while simultaneously look out for obstacles on the road. He also had to make constant adjustments to the velocity of the vehicle, pouring more power into it every time the driver went up a hill and pulling power away — and only occasionally braking — going down a hill.

  Adjusting vision and modifying three or more spells at once, it followed paying attention to pedestrians was sometimes a low priority. People wisely dove out of the way when they saw a ley bender driving. When he saw another horseless carriage approaching from the opposite direction on the same line, Silva was certain they were destined for a collision. But the approaching journeyman steered his carriage off the line at the last moment to coast around the doctor’s carriage.

  Why didn't Dr. Neran also veer? He glanced at the white-haired gentlemen and the question must have leaked onto Silva's face because Dr. Neran replied, “Purple has the right of way.”

  For all its faults, the carriage moved as quickly as a trotting horse and, unlike a horse, never tired. The horseless carriage was even equipped with brass ley lanterns swinging on chains, on both sides, for night driving. Leaving the camp early in the morning, Silva, Dr. Neran, Kate and Drudge reached the capital city in a single day and night.

  Finally, the carriage pulled up to Drudge’s house, and Dr. Neran called out over his shoulder, “Are you two okay back there?”

  Huddled under a blanket in the back seat, Kate yelled back, “I've been bounced so hard I can feel my teeth. Remind me to tell you about–” then said something in her own language.

  Silva grinned, “Does it use electricity?” Before he left for University, whenever he and Kate had talked about her home world, everything seemed to be about electricity. It was a standing joke.

  “No.” Kate stood unsteadily, clutched the blanket about herself and dragged it off Drudge. “Metal springs and hydraulics.”

  The smile fled Silva's face. Hydraulics. That was a word Kate hadn’t known five years ago. Given her recent engineering feat, it made sense she'd learned the word while he was away. Despite their protestations the Janos drill didn’t use ley energy, Silva had expected to see some type of massive machine at the uphill end of the pipe. The mile and a half long pipe simply rested in a good sized stream. Drudge had said the hardest part had been convincing the pipe manufacturers to make a pipe sturdy enough for the pressures involved. Kate tried to explain the math, but the concepts were gibberish to everyone but Silva.

  Drudge stepped off the carriage and adjusted the blanket about Kate’s shoulders. A lot had changed while Silva was away. He turned in his seat, but there were no horses to fix his attention upon. Only unyielding cobblestones, starkly illuminated by the carriage’s swinging lanterns.

  “Would you like a hand down?” Kate asked.

  “Huh?” Silva yanked himself out of his reverie.

  “You're my guest,” Drudge added as he opened a gate set into a seven-foot-tall brick wall. The wall contained only a pair of additional gates, which butted up against the sidewalk for the entire length of the block. “There's no way you're finding a reasonable inn at this time of night and I have plenty of room. I insist.”

  “Get some rest,” Dr. Neran said. “I’ll have a clothier and assistant sent over in the morning to help make you presentable for the people you'll soon be meeting. I don’t want to make any untoward predictions, but I expect you will very quickly become a popular man, Mage Vatic.”

  The enormity of the changes in Silva's life hadn't really hit him until he saw the lamps on Drudge’s house. Past the gate, he followed the couple up a sidewalk, between two rows of low hedges, then he saw the lights. Ley lamps glowed brightly on either side of the door. Somewhere nearby, a commoner was wastefully expending ley energy, in the middle of the night, to keep two lights shining over an empty yard. Beyond the carefully-trimmed hedges, houses on either side also had similar lamps. He adjusted his vision and saw each pair of lamps had its own circuit. So not one servant, but three.

  He stubbed his toe on a step and returned his vision to normal. Kate and Drudge were atop the short stair, smiling back at him.

  Silva carefully controlled his features. “I must be more tired than I thought.”

  Inside, a grand entrance-way led off to three sets of doors and a grand staircase up to a second floor. Beside the door, a rote glowed softly on an unlit lamp.

  Kate inspected the lamp as closely as she had inspected the carriage and nearly every other common piece of magical technology since her release. “In my world, we have paint which glows in the dark," she said. "Is that what you used here?”

  “No,” Drudge replied while Silva activated the rote, illuminating the lamp. “The glow uses a low power spell attached to the lights out front.”

  The rote upon the light used more power than Silva anticipated and he started to shut it off, then realized the yellow was no longer a threat. He, also, didn't need to conserve power any more. The door under the staircase opened and a pale servant in night clothes stepped out with a cudgel. Several additional lamps illuminated the short hallway behind him. Silva adjusted his vision and confirmed his suspicion: activating the rote on the lamp inside the entranceway took more power than he expected because it also lit all the lamps in the servants’ wing.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Delan,” the servant said, shifting his grip on the thick cudgel until he held it like a cane, “I wasn't expecting you.”

  “This is Liam,” Drudge said. “He runs the household when I’m away and is my personal assistant when I’m home. Anything you need, ask him. Liam, this is Mage Vatic and Miss Janos. They will be staying with us
for a while. Would you please show them to their bedrooms? They will also need clothes tomorrow, their luggage won’t be here for some time.”

  “Of course, sir.” Liam was clearly a northerner, short and stocky with naturally blond hair and skin so pale it was almost pink, but spoke Sparian without a trace of accent. While Liam showed Kate and Silva upstairs, Drudge went back toward the servant’s quarters with no explanation.

  Upstairs, Liam opened a door and took down a key from a peg inside. The room inside was richly decorated in an understated feminine style and contained a huge bed. He handed the key to Kate. “This room has three doors and overlooks the rear courtyard. This key operates all the doors and I have the only duplicate. The doors to the adjoining suites are currently locked. Mage Vatic will be in the next room.”

  “And the other side?” Kate asked.

  “That would be Drudge’s room.” The impassiveness on Liam’s face would have done Dr. Neran proud. “You are under no obligation to unlock either door.”

  But nobody would say anything if she did. “Goodnight, Miss Janos.” Silva said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Kate gently touched Silva's arm. “Goodnight, Silva.” Then she faced the room, took a deep breath and stepped inside, alone for the first time since her release. Before Silva turned away, the hall door locked with a click.

  Sleep was slow coming. As much as he tried to do otherwise, Silva's ears wondered if every small sound was a turning lock. Either at his door or another.

  The next morning, a bell pull near the bed produced Liam accompanied by two additional men sent by Dr. Neran, a clothier who took Silva's measurements, and Silva's new assistant, Doris Stone, a thin, clean-shaven man in his thirties without a wrinkle in his suit or a hair out of place.

  “Mr. Stone, while I appreciate what Dr. Neran is trying to do,” Silva said to the effeminate man who used far too many gestures when he talked. “I simply don’t need a personal assistant and couldn't afford one if I did.”

  "Call me Doris." He set aside the pitcher and basin on the wash stand and unrolled a barber kit. “How about you let me worry about how I am getting paid and sit down. If — after a few days opportunity to show you what I can do — our relationship still doesn't work out, then you will at least leave with a good haircut.”

  “I don’t need a haircut,” Silva grumbled. He needed something hot to drink, preferably caffeinated. And where was his only robe? He'd last seen it on a hook by the bed.

  “Ah. It’s going to be like that then. Sit.”

  Silva scowled murderously, but Doris didn't take the hint. He gripped the back of the chair next to the washstand with both hands and gave it a little shake. “Sit your naked butt down.”

  Silva wrapped the bedsheet around himself, hauled himself off the bed, and sat.

  When Doris was done, Silva had to admit the man knew hair. He’d treated Silva's hair with some kind of oil he insisted was a cleanser, brushed it out then trimmed it so that Silva's curls fell naturally, but didn’t stick out like a combative rooster. Silva had feared Doris would imitate his own straight, short, side-parted hair, but he’d kept most of Silva's length.

  "While the long hair and short beard are distinctive," Doris said before setting down his clippers, "the current fashion is shorter hair and longer beards."

  “Damn the fashion,” was Silva's only reply. After the trim, a second oil which smelled a bit like burning oak and a bit like incense completed the procedure.

  At that moment, Liam returned with Silva's robe. “There was some type of tar ground all the way down the back, but we got it clean and pressed for you, sir. I also took the liberty of having the color restored; the black was looking a touch gray.” The robe appeared brand new. Silva dressed without comment, rather than growl about the robe's theft.

  Downstairs, Silva's dark mood lightened considerably when he joined Kate for breakfast. She was seated at a glass-topped table on a sun porch, eating with gusto, but paused and whistled when she saw him. She smiled at his expression, poured a cup of something dark and waved him toward it. “It’s not coffee, but it does the job.”

  Silva had no clue what ‘coffee’ was, but grunted appreciatively, joined her and sipped the hot beverage. “You look good,” he said, after a contented sigh.

  She did. Her hair had been washed and trimmed, like Silva's own but longer, and glimmered in the morning sun. She was dressed in a shapeless morning coat with a long train, but in a gentle salmon-colored silk which complimented her deeply tanned skin. She smiled and Silva's eyes were drawn to her lips, which were still thin, but now a reddish-umber shade that stood out against the tan. And had her eyelashes always been that long?

  “You look beautiful,” he amended. She grinned and her teeth were white.

  “She does,” Drudge said from the doorway as he stepped out onto the porch. He passed by a side table, grabbed himself a pastry and paused to kiss the top of Kate’s head before joining them.

  Silva schooled his features and smiled politely. “Thank you for your hospitality. What next?”

  Drudge poured himself a cup, sipped slowly and appreciatively, then replied, “Straight to business, I like that. Kate has an appointment with a healer to address some rather long-standing nutritional issues. For you, my father has requested you join him this morning … ” He gestured to a house at one end of the courtyard. “… to discuss some issue which I'm sure is just a trumped up excuse to be the first to congratulate you. For your feat at Winterhaven.”

  Silva turned to contemplate the courtyard lawn behind him. How many gardeners and how much water did an expanse of greenery that large require? The rectangular lawn was surrounded by eight large houses, three on each side and two larger houses on either end. The lawn was open and curved down like a long gravy bowl, without borders or fences. Several children played across it under the eye of their nannies. The compound appeared to fill the entire block. “How many brothers did you say you had?”

  Drudge grinned. ”You're perceptive. Five brothers and one sister. My oldest brother has the large house on the other end.”

  Silva adjusted his vision and confirmed his suspicion. A stream of ley energy, sky blue without a hint of yellow, fed into the bowl of the courtyard lawn and filled it. In a city with ley energy in plenty, the Delans hoarded more.

  When Silva was shown into Dr. Delan’s study, he found his old professor already had a guest, a stooped older gentleman with purple robes and orange bands on his sleeves. Instead of sitting on either side of Delan's dark oak desk, both men were seated side by side in comfortable chairs with a tea set and crisps between them.

  “Ah! Silva,” Dr. Delan said gaily. “I didn't expect you so soon. Dr. Poincer and I were discussing a problem he’s having with a long distance communications rote he’s developing.”

  “Actually,” Dr. Poincer said as he slowly pulled himself out of his chair and offered Silva his hand. “I stopped by, my boy, on the off chance I would have the opportunity to be one of the first to congratulate you on what you did in Winterhaven. Well done.”

  Silva felt a little ill. He expected someone to yell for his execution at any moment. But he controlled his features and shook the withered hand.

  “Was your rather remarkable feat related to your master scroll?” Poincer asked. “For a man so young, I sense the University’s hand in this.”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Silva lied. “That is actually why I’m here. My scroll was accidentally damaged and I wanted to ask Dr. Delan for a replacement.”

  Dr. Poincer turned to Dr. Delan. “What spell did you give him, Clarence?”

  The doctoral illusionist’s facial control was perfect. He appeared calm and relaxed without the blank expression most mages favored and with none of the nervousness Silva felt rising in his own gut like acid.

  ”I’m actually not certain,” Dr. Delan said, before sipping his tea. “The circumstances of Silva's graduation were a touch unusual and I must admit I grabbed a spell off the library
shelf at random.”

  Ah. So that’s how it is.

  “Well then,” Poincer said. He shuffled over to Dr. Delan’s desk and grabbed a sheet of paper. He glanced up to Silva. “Perhaps you can sketch it for me. I’d be honored to find you another copy.”

  Silva's hand shook as he grabbed a pen and leaned over the desk. He’d memorized the spell, of course, and could draw every sigil perfectly. So here is where his life would end. Necromancy. For a mage, ‘I didn't know what would happen’ was no excuse. He closed his eyes and another scroll appeared on the back of his eyelids. The illusionary scroll his father had left him at home.

  Silva began to sketch quickly. The scroll had over a hundred foundation sigils but several of them had temporarily burned themselves upon his memory. He was certain he got the bulk of the spell wrong, but the general shape of the scroll was more or less right.

  Dr. Poincer whistled softly and Dr. Delan left his chair to see what Silva was writing.

  Silva paused when he reached the center. “I can’t reproduce the completed rote — it’s too complex — but I think I got at least a few of the foundation sigils correct. Do you recognize it?”

  Poincer slapped Dr. Delan on the shoulder. “Pulled at random, my ass. I always knew there was a bit of a scoundrel in you, Clarence.”

  Dr. Delan smiled conspiratorially, but from the way his eyes flicked back and forth across the foundation sigils, this spell was unknown to him. “Why don’t you tell our young mage what I assigned to him.”

  “What you attempted to draw,” Dr. Poincer said with a flourish, as he picked up the paper, “was a communications spell invented by your own father for his doctoral dissertation. That thing is devilishly complex and far too difficult for a master exam. Particularly for an illusionist, although I can see the appeal. Clarence, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I’ll substitute something more appropriate,” Dr. Delan said.