The Palace Job (11 page)

Pyvic tried to control his temper. "You
let
our prisoner
go?"

Orris laughed. "Don't worry so much, Pyvic. I put two of the men on him. If he tries to warn them, he'll lead us right to 'em instead."

Pyvic felt a slow heat building in his gut, spreading across his chest, building in his throat until it finally came out with a hiss. "Idiot! You don't let a prisoner go when he tells you something you can't verify! You don't put two men on someone who's already escaped once!" Pyvic leaned in until he was inches from Orris's sweaty face. "I don't know whose ass you kissed to get this job, Warden, but this is my command. If you even
think
of questioning a prisoner without me present, much
less
offering him anything, I will have you charged with conspiracy to abet the escape of a prisoner, and you'll spend the rest of your days in the Cleaners scrubbing stones instead of pushing papers. Am
I clear?"

"Y..." The warden sputtered, stumbling back. "You can't talk to me like that!"

"I'm guessing you've never served in the Republic's army, Warden." Pyvic had Orris backed up to the wall. "You disobeyed orders, you compromised my command, and you just let one of the mission objectives walk away. As the one who has to deal with that mess, I
can
talk to you that way. Now haul your sorry carcass after Akus with half the men."

Pyvic turned his back on Orris and walked away, the rage within him vented but still there, smoldering. He could feel the warden's anger, could tell that Orris wanted nothing more than to lay into Pyvic.

"You don't understand, Captain," Orris said through gritted teeth. "It's not about Akus. It's about Loch.
Nothing matters except getting her back."

"Get moving, Warden. That's an order." Pyvic turned and smiled. "And it's the last one I'm going to give you."

Orris swallowed, then turned and yelled at the guards to get after Akus.

"The rest of you, with me. Double-time to the town gates." Without turning to see if they'd follow, Pyvic ran into the night to see what he could salvage.

Five

Hessler didn't know whether you had to be actually
thrown
in order for it to be considered "being thrown out". He wasn't, in fact, but the security attendants did hustle him down the front steps.

"—conduct unbecoming a University Arcanologist, above and beyond the monetary cost of the infraction," the chair of Illusion was blustering, "makes it clear that this is no isolated matter that—"

"As if you even care, Porisporant," Hessler cut in, adjusting his robes. "If you were smart enough to get away with it, you'd have done so in a moment, and then you'd be a wealthy man instead of a second-rate shadow-weaver chasing University tenure!"

Hessler was a tall, squint-eyed man permanently in need of a shave. He tended to hunch inside his robes, and he gestured a lot with his hands in ways that made others irritated. His most memorable feature was his mouth, mainly for what came out of it.

"Your disrespectful attitude and pilfering could have been tolerated," Porisporant went on, red-faced and pointing now, "had your remarks been restricted to matters of the arcane. But by your public attitude, you have misrepresented the University's regard for the Voyancy and the Republic!"

Hessler manipulated the air with twitching fingers. "But, but, but the entire premise of the Republic involves free speech, which should imply that—"

"The Republic
must
be clear on the University's respect and admiration for the policies of the Voyancy," Porisporant said, "especially in these trying times."

"Am I being suspended for pilfering," Hessler asked, "or for what I said?"

"For your crimes against the University—" Porisporant intoned as though someone important were listening.

"I only did that to pay for my moth—"

"—taken in light of your pernicious and unpatriotic attitude—" Porisporant went on.

Hessler shook his head with a sneer. "So I'd get different treatment in I—"

"—you are hereby
expelled,"
Porisporant finished with a malicious leer. "Guards, this man is not to re-enter campus, and his goods are hereby claimed to help pay off the debt he incurred through his thievery."

"Oh, you can't be," Hessler began, and when Porisporant turned away, raised his voice, "you can't be serious! You can't expel me! The
founders of this university
were warlocks who trafficked with demons! A few magic trinkets can't be cause for—I'll go to Professor Cestran! He'll overturn this, you frog-eyed Republic lickspittle! You'll see! I'll be back in two weeks!"

Porisporant closed the door behind him. The guards stayed outside, watching.

When it became clear that the conversation was over, Hessler stalked off. Cestran was on vacation, as Hessler had last heard, in the port city of Ros-Sesuf, where the elderly wizard made his home. It was several days away on horseback. Hessler hadn't had much on him when Porisporant had arrived with the guards, and he had nothing stashed away.

But Hessler was, as even Porispont had to admit after discovering the black-market trinkets, a creative individual.

"The sign says you're looking for guards," he said to a fat bearded caravan master a few hours later. "You're headed to Ros-Sesuf."

"How d'you know that?" The caravan master glared suspiciously at the gangly man in the shimmering purple robes. "You some kind of wizard?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Hessler said in irritation, "but it's obvious you're going to Ros-Sesuf without any magic at all." He pointed at the wagon. "The smell from your wagons clearly shows that you were carrying greenroot, which you'd have gotten from inland and sold here. But you're now carrying dye and silks, judging by the guild stamps on the crates. You couldn't sell those inland, and that means you must be heading to Ros-Sesuf, to sell the expensive items in a port city." He snorted. "Why, you'd be a fool
not
to notice."

The caravan master grimaced. "But you're a wizard."

"Of course I am!" Hessler declared, waving his arms. "Look at the robe!"

"Official and licensed and all?" the caravan master asked with a squint. "Went to the university in town here, did you?"

"I did indeed go to that university," Hessler proclaimed, "and may Jairytnef, mistress of magic, strike me dead if I lie." This was not a technical falsehood, which was good, as Hessler preferred to remain truthful when daring the gods to slay him if he were lying.

"Fine," the caravan master grunted. "Pays food and five per day, ten if we see trouble. You ride with the new boy."

The new boy turned out to be a fresh-faced young lad named Rybindaris, who tried not to gawk as they rode out of town. He had seen sixteen summers, if that, and he was running away from something.

"Have you been a guard for long, Magister Hessler?"

"Don't call me that, lad. And no. No, I'm new. Just like you."

"What should I call you then?" The kid had sandy blond hair and sky-blue eyes. Given the dusky, dark-eyed stock of the average peasants around here, Hessler guessed the kid to be some noble's son from the wrong side of the sheets.

"Just Hessler. That's fine."

"Okay, Mister Hessler."

"Or that."

"Mister Hessler?"

"Yes, Ryban... what do people call you when they don't want to toss out the full four syllables?"

"What, Mister Hessler?"

"For short, lad. What do they call you for short?"

"They, er... they call me Dairy, Mister Hessler. Since I was found as a baby in the barn where the cows sleep."

"That's adorable, lad."

"Mister Hessler?"

"Yes, Dairy?"

"Are you a good wizard?"

Hessler was not given to long conversations unless he had someone interesting to argue with. "Do you mean good as in ethical or good as in capable, Dairy?"

"Er... is there a difference, Mister Hessler?" As Hessler turned, mouth open to deliver a truly blistering retort, he looked directly into Dairy's sky-blue eyes. "I mean, wouldn't a wizard who wanted to do good be better at using magic than a wizard who wanted to do evil?"

Hessler couldn't quite bring himself to say it. "Sure, lad," he said quietly, shifting in the saddle to stretch his already-sore legs. "Yes, I'm a good wizard."

The kid was looking forward again, and being as casual as a sixteen-year-old can. "Do you know a spell to drive away blood-gargoyles?"

"Bloo... is that what you farmers call the
pyrkafir?"
At Dairy's blank look, Hessler waved in annoyance. "Scales, wings, man-sized with little flames coming out of their mouths?" Dairy nodded mutely. "Why in Jairytnef s name would a lad like you be worried about
pyrkafir?"

"Er... no reason, Mister Hessler," Dairy said quickly, flushing pink and gripping his horse's reins nervously. "It's just something I heard once."

Hessler sighed. The
pyrkafir
were damnably tough to conjure and command, but they were wonderful assassins. Seeing something like that stalking through the darkness could easily send a kid running from the farm where he'd grown up. Hessler wondered who on the kid's farm had been worth killing.

"I doubt we'll run into any blood-gargoyles on this trip, lad," he finally said. "And if we do, you just stay near me. I'm sure I can deal with them."

Not entirely true. Not even remotely true, in fact. But unlikely to come up, Hessler figured.

They didn't encounter any blood-gargoyles on the trip. They didn't encounter
anything
on the trip. The only threats came from the other guards, after Hessler won at the nightly gambling a bit too often and wasn't properly contrite. He'd been accused of cheating with his magic. (He had, in fact, been doing so, but he was pretty sure that the others were cheating with their own natural skill.) By the end of the trip, the only one still speaking to him was Dairy, who wouldn't leave him alone. It was a joy when they finally reached the port city of Ros-Sesuf. Until it came time to claim his pay.

"There's only five in here," he said indignantly to the caravan master, holding the far-too-light pouch. He wondered if the man had made a mistake. He didn't seem terribly educated.

"I docked you fifteen for causing trouble with the others," the caravan master said, spitting to the side. "Damned wizards are bad enough luck as it is, without you cheating the men with your magic."

"Cheat the—did you dock
them
for cheating? And who has proof that I cheated?" Hessler pointed an accusing finger. "And how am I bad luck? You seemed eager for my help when you feared danger on the road!"

"And we didn't run into any danger," the caravan master replied, "so I didn't get to
see
any of that skill. All I saw was you angering the men. So get out of here and be grateful I'm paying you anything!"

"I hope your damn dye spoils in the salt air!" Hessler snapped. "I hope moths get into your silks and ruin the whole damn shipment!" He stalked away, clenching the too-small coin pouch in his knotted fingers. It didn't matter. He'd gotten to Ros-Sesuf, and Professor Cestran would take care of everything. He'd be back at the university in no time.