I looked around to see an old and battered-looking anteroom. Worn cushions sat on wooden benches, and booths were set into the wall. Maybe half a dozen other mages were scattered around, sitting down. None turned to look at us.
“I thought I was supposed to go with you,” I said. I didn’t especially want to spend the day in Morden’s company, but there was no point advertising that.
“Good heavens, Verus. You can’t think that non-Council members would be allowed into the Star Chamber?” Morden looked amused. “Merely being allowed to wait in the anteroom is an honour.”
“And what am I supposed to do while I’m experiencing this honour?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Morden said. “Good luck.” He exited through the far doors.
I was left alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that I was being watched, but as I looked back at the other mages, they turned away. I studied the room, and as I did, I noticed something odd. The booths were protected by eavesdropping wards; they were subtle but well made and I didn’t think anyone would be able to overhear what was said inside without drawing attention. I walked to one of the booths and sat down to wait.
| | | | | | | | |
I’d barely had a chance to get settled in when the first visitor arrived.
“So you’re the replacement,” the mage standing by the booth said. He was tall and thin, with curly black hair, and wore an expensive suit with a gold tie clip.
“Something like that,” I said, and waited for the mage to introduce himself or sit.
He did neither. “Who’s Morden’s pick for Shanghai?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ao Qin’s visit,” the mage said. When I didn’t react he looked impatient. “The appointment?”
“Um,” I said. “I didn’t catch your name, Mage . . . ?”
“Ictis,” the mage said. “What about Suminai?”
“What about him?”
“My superior’s willing to consider overlooking what happened in Scotland.”
“And Morden would care about this because . . . ?”
“Fine,” Ictis snapped. “The Downs stones, then.”
I thought about it for a second. I had no idea what Ictis was talking about, but from a glance through the futures, I didn’t think telling him that would be a good idea. “I’ll pass it on.”
“Good.” Ictis turned and left, and I watched him go. I had the disconcerting feeling that I’d just agreed to something.
No sooner had Ictis left than he was replaced by a woman. She had blonde hair woven into a braid that ran over the top of her head, and she would have been pretty but for the cool look in her eyes. Like Ictis, she didn’t ask my name. “I need an answer from Morden about the ID,” she told me without preamble.
“I’m sure you do,” I said, wondering what the hell the ID was. Identification? Of who?
“I assume you know it’s been moved to next week?”
“I do now.”
“We aren’t going to wait forever,” the woman said. “Which way is he going to go?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I really can’t help you.”
“It’s like that, is it?”
I looked back at the woman, waiting for her to explain. She gave me a flat look, turned on her heel, and left.
The next arrival was another woman, this one thirty or so, with a ponytail and a black business suit which showed off the lines of her figure. Unlike the previous two, she demanded to see Morden, and wouldn’t take no for an answer no matter how many times I explained that he was busy.
“Look, I don’t know what else to say,” I said at last. “You can wait if you like, but don’t get your hopes up.”
The woman stared at me, then seated herself in the booth, folded her arms, and looked away. I thought about trying to talk to her, but after seeing the reactions I was going to get I decided to save my breath.
Half an hour passed, then an hour. I spent the time studying the other people in the anteroom. The population stayed low—no more than eight or nine at any one time—but people kept moving in and out. They generally came to talk, always no more than two to a conversation, and they didn’t look like casual conversations. I tried to eavesdrop but was frustrated by the wards. Something was going on here, and I didn’t know what it was.
The woman sitting with me had been growing visibly agitated, and after an hour and a half she abruptly jumped to her feet. “Tell him—” she began, looking down at me, then checked herself with a look of frustration and walked out. I was left alone again, and as I looked into the future I saw that more people were coming.
| | | | | | | | |
The pattern stayed the same throughout the day. Someone would show up, and they’d want something I couldn’t give. Either they’d want to know Morden’s position on an issue, or they’d want some kind of appointment or promise. I picked my answers with a mixture of divination and guesswork, trying to turn them down without giving offence, but the more mages I spoke to, the more I got the strange but definite suspicion that none of them believed a single word I was saying. Some took my refusals with annoyance, some were noncommittal, but there was a message in those silent looks. We know you’re lying, they were saying. You’re not fooling anyone.
“I’ve been waiting for this appointment,” the mage was saying. “You understand that? Morden’s supposed to be here.”
I didn’t quite sigh. The mage talking to me was English, with a close-shaven head, a receding hairline, and a belligerent expression. “Yes, I understand.”
“So where is he?”
“In the Star Chamber.”
“You trying to be funny?”
I managed to hold back a smart answer, but only just. The mage talking to me—whose name, if I’d heard him right, was Jarnaff—had been here for five minutes, and he was already my least favourite of the visitors so far. While none of the mages that I’d met today had been exactly pleased to be turned down, this was the first one who simply wasn’t listening at all. According to him, he was supposed to have an appointment with Morden, and he was treating the fact that Morden wasn’t here as some sort of personal insult on my part.
“I’ve been waiting two days,” Jarnaff said when I didn’t answer. “And now you come in here and sit around fanning yourself in your cheap shoes and tell me you can’t help.”
The jibe about the shoes pissed me off. I was wearing black trainers, and okay, maybe they weren’t the smartest footwear in the world, but you could run in them and fight in them, unlike Jarnaff’s shiny raised-heel Oxfords. At a better time I wouldn’t have let it get to me, but if there’s one thing I hate it’s feeling ignorant, and I’d spent the best part of the day fumbling my way through conversations I didn’t understand.
“Are you listening?” Jarnaff demanded.
“Yes,” I said shortly.
“Don’t ‘yes’ me. How about you show a bit of manners?”
“Look, Jarnaff, Morden’s not here. I don’t know when he’s coming back, and frankly, I don’t much care. Now you can wait around, or you can leave.”
“What was that?” Jarnaff said, glaring at me. “What did you say?”
“You heard.”
Jarnaff stared at me for a second. “You think I don’t know who you are?”
I didn’t answer and Jarnaff smiled at me unpleasantly. “I know how you got your job, Verus.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh yeah, I know all about you. That little deal you got with Morden? He gives you this job and all of a sudden you get to pretend to be a Light mage.” Jarnaff gave me a contemptuous look. “Except you’re not.”
I was silent.
“You’re still under sentence, aren’t you?” Jarnaff said. “All it takes to put you back is one vote by the Senior Council. And guess who I’m aide to?” Jarnaff looked at me with eyebrows raised and when I still didn’t answer, he went on. “Sal Sarque. He wanted you gone, he could have you packed off”—Jarnaff snapped his fingers—“like that. Now, I wasn’t going to bring it up, being as I’m a pretty reasonable guy. But when people like you act disrespectful, then I start getting unhappy.”