The Magicians' Guild

  “I’m awake,” he said, stretching to loosen his stiff shoulders. Lifting the candle from the table, Cery carried it over to the bed. Sonea lay with her arms pillowing her head, staring up at the low ceiling. Seeing her, he felt a strange, compelling uneasiness. He could remember feeling that way two years ago, just before she had stopped meeting the gang. After she had disappeared, he had realized too late that he had known all along that she was going to leave them one day.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She managed a smile, but it didn’t chase away the haunted look in her eyes. “Who was that boy in the square—the one who died?”

  He sat down on the end of the bed and sighed.

  “His name was Arrel, I think. Didn’t really know him. The son of a woman who used to work at the Dancing Slippers, I think.”

  She nodded slowly. For a long time she was silent, then her brows knitted together.

  “Have you seen Jonna and Ranel since yesterday?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I miss them.” She laughed suddenly. “Never thought I would so much, really. You know,” she turned on her side and looked at him directly, “I miss them more than my mother. Isn’t that strange?”

  “They’ve looked after you most of your life,” Cery reminded her. “And your mother has been dead a long time.”

  She nodded. “I sometimes see her in dreams, but when I wake up I can’t remember what she looked like. I can remember the house where we lived, though. It was amazing.”

  “Your house?” He hadn’t heard this before.

  She shook her head. “Mother and father were servants for one of the Families, but they were thrown out when father was accused of stealing something.”

  Cery smiled. “Did he?”

  “Probably.” She yawned. “Jonna blames him for everything I do that she thinks is wrong or bad. She doesn’t approve of theft, even if it’s from someone rich and mean.”

  “Where is your da now?”

  She shrugged. “He left when mother died. Came back once when I was six. Gave Jonna a bit of money, then left again.”

  Cery picked some of the run wax off the candle. “The Thieves killed my da when they found out he was cheating them.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s awful! I knew he was dead, but you never told me that.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not smart to let people know your da was a squimp. He took stupid risks and got caught. That’s what Ma says, anyway. He taught me lots of stuff, though.”

  “The Thieves’ Road.”

  He nodded.

  “We’ve been using it, haven’t we?”

  He nodded again.

  She grinned. “So it’s true then? You are a Thieves’ man.”

  “Nah,” he replied, looking away. “My da showed me the Road.”

  “So, you’ve got permission?”

  He shrugged. “Yes and no.”

  Sonea frowned but said no more.

  Looking down at the candle, Cery thought back to a day, three years before, when he had slipped into the passages to escape a guard who had taken offense at having his pockets explored. A shadow had appeared in the darkness, taken Cery by the collar and dragged him to a room off the tunnel and locked him in. Despite all Cery’s lock-picking skills, he hadn’t been able to free himself. Several hours later, the door had opened and he had been dazzled by a lamp burning so bright he could only make out the silhouette of the man holding it.

  “Who’re you?” the stranger had demanded. “What’s your name?”

  “Ceryni,” he had squeaked.

  There had been a pause, and then the light came closer.

  “So you are,” the stranger had remarked, amusement in his tone. “A familiar little rodent, too. Ah, I’ve got you tagged, now. Torrin’s son. Hmm, you know the price for using the Road without the Thieves say-so?”

  Terrified, Cery had nodded his head.

  “Well then, little Ceryni. You be in a lot of rub, you know, but I think I can give you a bit of space. Don’t use the Road regular-like—but if you have to, use it. If anyone asks, tell ’em Ravi said you could. But remember, you owe me. If I ask you for something, you’ll give it to me. If you give me boot, you don’t get to use any road again. We right?”

  Cery had nodded again, too frightened to speak.

  The stranger had chuckled. “Good. Now get yourself gone.” The light had disappeared and Cery had been hauled by unseen hands to the nearest exit from the Road and tossed outside.

  Since then, he had rarely set foot on the Thieves’ Road. The few times he had returned to the maze, he had been surprised to find his memory of its ways hadn’t faded. He had occasionally passed other travellers, but they had never stopped or questioned him.

  In the last few days, however, he had flouted the Thieves’ rule far more than he was comfortable with. If someone confronted him, he would have to trust that Ravi’s name still held some influence. However, he was not about to tell Sonea that. It would frighten her too much.

  Looking down at her, he felt that strange uneasiness again. He had always hoped she would come back one day, but had never believed it. She was different. Special. He’d always known she would get out of the slums one day.

  She was special, but in a way he could not have guessed. She had magic! But she also had very bad timing. Why couldn’t she have discovered it while making a cup of raka, or polishing shoes? Why do it in front of the Magicians’ Guild?

  She had, however, and now he must do all he could to keep her from them. At least that left them plenty of time together. Even if that did mean risking his understanding with Ravi, it was worth it. But he hated seeing her looking so worried…

  “Don’t worry. So long as the magicians are snooping in the tunnels the Thieves won’t pay any mind to—”

  “Shhh!” she interrupted, lifting a hand to silence him.

  He stared at her as she climbed off the bed and walked into the center of the room. Turning full circle, she stared at the walls intently, her eyes roving about. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing unusual.

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head, then suddenly flinched. A look of surprise and terror crossed her face. He leapt to his feet, alarmed.

  “What is it?” he repeated.

  “They’re searching,” she hissed.

  “I can’t hear anything.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can see them, but it’s not like seeing. It’s more like hearing, but it isn’t because I can’t tell what they’re saying. It’s more like…” She sucked in a breath and whirled about, her eyes roving after something beyond his senses. “They’re searching with their minds.”

  Cery stared at her helplessly. If he still had doubts that she had magical powers, this cast them aside forever.

  “Can they see you?”

  She gave him a frightened look. “I don’t know.”

  He clenched and unclenched his fists. He had been so sure he could keep her from them, but there was no place he could take her—no walls that would hide her—from this.

  Sucking in a breath, he stepped forward and grabbed her hands.

  “Can you stop them seeing you?”

  She spread her hands. “How? I don’t know how to use magic.”

  “Try!” he urged. “Try something. Anything!”

  She shook her head, then tensed and drew in a sharp breath. He watched her face turn white.

  “That one seemed to look right at me…” She turned to look at Cery. “But it went past. They keep looking past me.” A smile slowly spread across her face. “They can’t see me.”

  He searched her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Pulling her hands from his, she sat down on the bed, her expression thoughtful. “I think I did something yesterday, when that magician nearly got us. I kind of made myself invisible. I think he would have found me if I hadn’t.” She looked up suddenly, then rel
axed and grinned. “It’s like they’re blind.”

  Cery allowed himself a sigh of relief. He shook his head. “You really had me worried, Sonea. I can hide you from magician’s eyes, but I’m afraid hiding from magicians’ minds is a bit much to ask. I think I better move you again. I’ve a place in mind off the Road that might do for a few days.”

  The Guildhall was silent except for the whisper of breathing. Rothen opened his eyes and looked up at the rows of faces.

  As always, he felt a vague embarrassment watching other magicians absorbed in mind work. He could not help feeling as if he was spying on them, that he was peeking at a private moment.

  Yet he also got a childish amusement from their different expressions. Some magicians frowned, others looked puzzled or surprised. Most might have been asleep, their faces smooth and serene.

  Catching a soft snore, Rothen smiled. Lord Sharrel leaned back in his chair, his bald head drooping slowly toward his chest. Obviously the exercises to calm and focus his mind had been too effective.

  —He’s not the only one not keeping his mind on the job, eh Rothen?

  Dannyl opened an eye and smiled. Shaking his head in disapproval, Rothen scanned the faces to see if his friend had disturbed the concentration of the others. Dannyl gave the slightest shrug and closed his eye again.

  Rothen sighed. They should have found her by now. He looked up at the rows of magicians and shook his head. Another half-hour, he decided. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and started his mind-calming exercise once again.

  By late morning the mist shrouding the city had been burned away by cheerful sunlight. Standing at the window, Dannyl took a moment to enjoy the silence. The printing machines, while more efficient than scribes, made a din of whirring and thumping that always set his ears ringing.

  He pursed his lips. Now that the last batch of reward notices had been printed and sent out, he was free. The mental search had failed, and Rothen was already in the slums. Dannyl wasn’t sure if he should be pleased that he was going out in the fine weather, or dismayed that he must roam about in the hovels again.

  “Lord Dannyl,” a voice said, “there is a large gathering of people at the Guild Gates who wish to speak to you.”

  Startled, Dannyl turned to find Administrator Lorlen standing in the doorway.

  “Already?” he exclaimed.

  Lorlen nodded, his lips curling into a bemused smile. “I don’t know how they got there. They’ve avoided two sets of Gate Guards and passed into the Inner Circle before arriving here—unless they’re vagrants we missed in the Purge.”

  “How many?”

  “About two hundred,” Lorlen replied. “The guards say they all claim to know where the missing girl is.”

  Picturing that many thieves and beggars amassed at the gates, Dannyl pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned.

  “Exactly,” Lorlen said. “What are you going to do now?”

  Dannyl leaned against the table and considered. It had been no more than an hour since he had sent the first messengers out with copies of the reward. Those at the gates were the first of a horde of informers that was sure to follow.

  “We need somewhere to question them,” he mused aloud.

  “Not in the Guild,” Lorlen replied, “or people will make up stories just for the chance to have a look at us.”

  “Somewhere in the city then.”

  Lorlen drummed his fingers softly on the doorframe. “The Guard have several halls around the city. I will arrange to have one of them prepared for our use.”

  Dannyl nodded. “Could you ask for some guards to remain to keep order, as well?”

  The Administrator nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be quite anxious to stay.”

  “I’ll see if I can find some volunteers to help question the informers.”

  “It sounds like you have everything in hand.” Lorlen took a step back from the doorway.

  Dannyl smiled and inclined his head. “Thank you, Administrator.”

  “If you need anything else, just send a messenger to me.” Lorlen nodded, then strode away.

  Crossing the room, Dannyl gathered up the implements he had used to draft the reward notice and placed them in the ornate writing box. He entered the corridor and hurried toward his quarters, stopping as a novice stepped out of a nearby classroom and began to stroll toward the stairs.

  “You there,” Dannyl called. The youth froze before spinning around. His eyes met Dannyl’s, then slid to the floor as he bowed. Dannyl swept down the corridor and thrust the box into the boy’s arms.

  “Take these to the Magicians’ Library and tell Lord Jullen that I will collect them later.”

  “Yes, Lord Dannyl,” the novice replied, nearly dropping the box as he bowed again. He turned and hurried away.

  Continuing to the end of the corridor, Dannyl started down the stairs. Several magicians stood within the Entrance Hall, all staring through the huge doors of the University toward the gates. Larkin, a young Alchemist who had recently graduated, looked up as Dannyl neared the bottom of the stairs.

  “These are your informers, Lord Dannyl?” he asked, grinning.

  “Reward seekers,” Dannyl said dryly.

  “You’re not bringing them in here,” a gruff voice said.

  Recognizing the sour tone of the University Director, Dannyl turned to regard the magician.

  “Would you like me to, Director Jerrik?” Dannyl asked.

  “Absolutely not!”

  From behind, Dannyl heard Larkin utter a soft bark of amusement and he resisted the temptation to smile. Jerrik never seemed to change. He had been the same disapproving, sour old man when Dannyl had been a novice.

  “I’m sending them to a Guard hall,” Dannyl told the old magician. He turned away, wove between the other magicians milling around in the hall, then started down the stairs.

  “Good luck,” Larkin called.

  Dannyl raised a hand in reply. Ahead, a dark crowd of milling bodies was pressed against the ornate bars of the Guild Gates. Dannyl grimaced, and sought a mind familiar to him.

  —Rothen!

  —Yes?

  —Look. Dannyl sent a mental image of the scene. He felt alarm from the other magician, which quickly changed to amusement as Rothen realized who the people were.

  —Informers already! What are you going to do?

  —Tell them to come back later, Dannyl replied, and that we won’t be tossing money to anyone until we have the girl. As quickly and clearly as mental communication allowed, he explained that Administrator Lorlen was organizing a place in the city to interview the “informers.”

  —Shall I come back to help?

  —I couldn’t keep you away if I tried.

  He sensed amusement from the older magician, then Rothen’s presence faded beyond his detection.

  Drawing closer to the gate, Dannyl could see people pressing against the bars and jostling each other. A bewildering clamor of voices reached his ears as they all began to call to him at once. The guards regarded Dannyl with a mixture of relief and curiosity.

  He stopped about ten paces from the gates. Straightening his back to take full advantage of his height, he crossed his arms and waited. Slowly the noise dwindled. When the crowd had quietened, Dannyl worked the air before him to amplify his voice.

  “How many of you are here with information regarding the girl we are seeking?”

  A clamor of voices rose in reply. Dannyl nodded and lifted a hand to silence them again.

  “The Guild welcomes your assistance in this matter. You will be given an opportunity to speak to us individually. We are arranging for a Guard hall to be prepared for this purpose. The location of this hall will be posted on these and the city gates in an hour. In the meantime, we ask that you return to your homes.”

  A few grumbling voices rose in the back of the crowd. Dannyl lifted his chin and put a note of warning in his voice.

  “No reward will be given until the girl is secure within our protect
ion. Only then will the reward be paid, and only to those who have given us useful information. Do not approach the girl yourself. She may be da—”

  “She’s here!” a voice shrieked.

  Despite himself, Dannyl felt a thrill of hope. A disturbance stirred the crowd and people grumbled as someone pushed their way forward.

  “Let her through,” he commanded.

  The crowd parted and a shrivelled woman pressed up against the gate. A bony hand thrust through the bars and beckoned to him. The other held the arm of a thin young girl dressed in dirty, threadbare clothes.

  “This is her!” the woman declared, her huge eyes staring at him.

  Dannyl looked closely at the girl. Short, unevenly cut hair surrounded a thin, hollow-cheeked face. The girl was pitifully thin and her clothes hung loosely from her formless body. As Dannyl’s eyes fell on her, she burst into tears.

  Doubts crept over him, then, as he realized he could not remember the face of the girl Rothen had projected in the Guildhall.

  —Rothen?

  —Yes?

  He sent the magician an image of the girl.

  —It’s not her.

  Dannyl sighed in relief. “She is not the one,” he announced, shaking his head. He turned away.

  “Hai!” the woman protested. He turned back to find her glaring at him. He held her gaze, and she quickly lowered her eyes. “Are you sure, my lord?” she wheedled. “You’ve not looked at her close.”

  The sea of faces watched him expectantly and he realized that they wanted some kind of visible proof. Unless he convinced them that he could not be deceived, others would bring young girls in the hope of gaining the reward—and he couldn’t keep asking Rothen to identify every girl who was brought to him.

  He approached the gate slowly. The girl had stopped crying, but as Dannyl drew closer she turned white with terror.

  Dannyl reached out a hand to her and smiled. The girl stared at it and shrank away, but the woman beside her grabbed her arm and pushed it through the bars of the gate.