That was the only time Meralda saw his face, though she never saw his eyes. She did see long shocks of greasy black hair, uncombed and wild, falling over a face dark with stubble. His mouth was a thin pale line set in a scowl.
And then the cowl fell over his face, leaving only a shadowed narrow chin.
“A bit melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?” said Mug. “All he needs is a necklace made of skulls to complete the whole penny-novel villain look.”
“The staves advise they will follow,” said the Tower. “I discern no fewer than two dozen active spells latched to this man’s person.”
“Then he’s suicidal,” said Mug. “Latching spells to oneself is insane, isn’t it, mistress?”
Meralda nodded assent.
So this is Humindorus Nam, she thought. The most feared wizard in all of Vonath. The man who rose to his rank over the bodies of his rivals.
The man who is determined to crush Tirlin and use me as his vise.
“Ask the staves to fan out,” said Meralda. “I want to know if he’s traveling with bodyguards.”
Mug swiveled a dozen eyes toward Meralda. “The captain claimed he didn’t have any, that using bodyguards would be considered a sign of weakness in Vonath.”
“We’re not in Vonath.” Meralda watched Humindorus walk, watched as other pedestrians stepped out of his way and averted their gazes.
His strides were long and fast. His arms hung straight at his sides, his hands clenched into fists inside their black leather gloves.
“I don’t see any butterflies,” said Meralda, after a time. “Tower? Are they out of view?”
The image in the glass changed, as though the glass were snatched suddenly up into the air high above the street. No bright yellow butterflies fluttered below.
“No. Whatever their purpose, it appears they are not reacting to the wizard’s departure.”
The scene returned to street level, centered on the black-clad wizard’s march through Tirlin.
“Thank you.” Meralda pulled back her hair and yawned. “Mug, keep an eye on Ugly. Tower, ask the staves to keep their distance.”
“Aye, Captain!”
“As you wish, Mage.”
Meralda forced herself to look away from the image of Humindorus Nam’s determined march through Tirlin. No time for that now, she thought. As nasty as he looks, we have bigger problems.
“Tower,” she said, pulling a fresh piece of drawing paper from the stack at the corner of her desk. “I’ve had a thought. About the curseworks.” She tested her pencil on the paper, and decided it was sharp enough to suffice. “Tell me about the composition of the outermost bindings.”
The Tower began to speak. Meralda’s pencil made tell-tale scratching noises on the paper.
Mug never took his eyes off the tall Vonat striding toward the palace in the glass.
“Mistress, pardon, but our Vonat friend is headed for the palace,” said Mug.
“I expected as much. Never mind. Show me the Vonat boarding house, please.”
The image shifted, becoming a crow’s eye view of the buildings along Ventham Street.
“Are we looking for anything in particular, mistress?”
Meralda stabbed at the glass with her pencil. “That,” she said. “Look.”
A hundred yellow butterflies suddenly took silent flight.
“Our ghost friend has been busy,” said Mug. “Look, they’re splitting up.”
The butterflies diverged, high in the air, flapping away in all directions. The image in the glass moved again, showing a view from on high.
All around the Vonat boarding house, doors opened, and furtive men came darting out. Each was accompanied by a tiny flock of yellow butterflies, flying so high Meralda knew they would be completely invisible from the street.
Once the last of the two dozen men had vanished from the glass, a stooped old man sweeping the sidewalk in front of a cigar shop straightened, put his broom against the wall, and sauntered away, stooped no more.
“He’s good at this ghost business, I’ll give him that,” said Mug. “His butterflies follow the conspirators, and Donchen follows the butterflies.”
“So it would seem.”
Mug tapped the glass with a leaf. “And then what?”
What, indeed? Meralda rubbed her eyes and glared at the paper she’d covered with notes and diagrams. What happens to the Vonats and their Hang conspirators will make little difference, if all of Tirlin is consumed by fire and pestilence a few days from now.
Kervis knocked at the laboratory doors, and then shouted through them. “Pardon me, ma’am, but you might want to see this message,” he said. “It’s from the captain. Marked ‘read me right now’.”
Meralda stood and stretched. Her back hurt and her eyes watered and she wanted nothing more than a good hot soak in a bathtub and a good night’s sleep on her soft, warm bed.
“Let me guess,” she muttered, as she made for the laboratory doors. “I’m about to have visitors.”
She threw the doors open. The Bellringers gazed inside, a nervous palace runner peeking into the laboratory from behind the brothers.
“Here it is, ma’am,” said Kervis. Meralda took the envelope, tore it open, and read.
“Bad news, ma’am?”
“The captain will be here in a quarter of an hour,” she said. “With half a dozen Vonat dignitaries.”
“Including the wizard?” asked Kervis.
Meralda nodded, then put her hand gently on Kervis’ hand when he reached for his sword.
“None of that. It’s just a visit. They’ll be excruciatingly polite, and so will I. And so will you two. Understood?”
The Bellringers nodded assent in reluctant unison.
“Knock when they arrive. Tervis, please keep your brother from skewering anyone. Tensions are high enough as it is.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Meralda smiled at the brothers and closed the door.
She turned, took a deep breath, and marched back toward her desk.
“You’re not going to let that creature in here, are you?”
“It’s a tradition, Mug. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tidy up a bit first.” She reached her desk and began filling its drawers with her notes and drawings, stuffing them hastily inside and shoving at them until they fit. “I need a plain reflection in the glass, please. Nothing more while our visitors are here.”
The glass flashed, became nothing but a mirror, tarnished with age and neglect.
“The staves have opted to remain with you,” said the Tower, as two dark shapes emerged from the glass and flitted toward the shadowed ranks of shelves. “I have warned them against any displays unless your life is in imminent peril.”
Meralda frowned, but nodded. I can hardly take them in hand and throw them out.
Mug bunched his eyes together. Meralda caressed his topmost leaves and leaned down to meet his worried gaze. “He won’t try anything here, Mug. You know that. So please, be civil, or be silent.”
“Silent it is,” he muttered. “Tower, can you still see through the glass, even now?”
“I can. They are approaching the door.”
Meralda waggled her forefinger before Mug’s eyes. “Hold the tongue you don’t have, Mugglewort Ovis. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good.”
A knock sounded at the door. Meralda took a deep breath and made her way across the room to greet the Vonat wizard.
“Well, what a pleasant surprise,” said Meralda, as she threw open both of the laboratory’s ancient doors. “Welcome to the Royal Thaumaturgical Laboratory of Tirlin.”
The captain did not return what Meralda hoped was her sweetest, most winning smile.
“May I present our honored guests from noble Vonath,” said the captain, in a near growl. “Ambassador Moring.”
A thin hawkish man, clad all in severe Vonat black, clicked his heels together as he executed the smallest of Vonat bows toward Meralda.