Yazmнn smiled at him. "I have seen your grace at quite a few of my local performances," she remarked. "I'm honored that I was able to entertain you."
"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you perform this winter?" asked the duke. "I have been considering opening this place up and entertaining a bit, if Sandry would like to be my hostess."
"Yazmнn was just saying that she has retired. Uncle," Sandry pointed out.
"Oh, well, I don't plan to give it all up," protested Yazm н n. "Certainly I’d be delighted to dance for your grace."
"Then I must arrange something." Vedris motioned for the women to sit, and took a chair himself. "Dare I hope you're here to advise my niece regarding her new student?"
Sandry explained as Lark and Yazmнn added details. The duke had a few suggestions for spells they could try in dances, in part because he had seen much more of Yazmнn's repertoire than had Sandry, and in part be cause he had dealt with mages all his life. Twice Yazmнn made him laugh, something that Sandry observed with interest.
When the maid who'd directed Sandry to the room came with a tray of refreshments, she took one look at the gathering and disappeared again. She came back with all that would be needed to serve four instead of three. Once she had set out the food and filled their cups, she left the room. She soon, returned, plainly unhappy, curtsied to the duke, and said, "My apologies, your grace, but that mage my lady provost keeps has been, worriting the footmen—,"
"If you'd just told his grace I was here, I wouldn't have 'worrited' anyone, would I?" inquired Wulfric Snaptrap, coming in on the girls heels. "I told you I needed his grace and my lady right away." His sharp eyes swept the room and returned to Lark. "Though actually I wouldn't mind getting Dedicate Lark's opinion, either. It's news that should go back to the temple in any case."
Yazmнn got to her feet. "Perhaps I should go," she said politely. "My lady, you and your boy can stop by my school whenever you like."
"I see no reason for you to leave, if we may be assured of your discretion," said the duke. "Unless you have pressing errands elsewhere?"
Yazmнn resumed her seat. "None, your grace. You have my word that nothing said here will ever be repeated by me," She touched an index finger to her lips and kissed it in promise of silence. The duke smiled.
Sandry raised her eyebrows. Was Yazmнn flirting? She glanced at Lark, who winked at her. Now, here's an idea, Sandry thought as Wulfric pulled up a chair and the maid left them. Uncle needs someone who can make him laugh. Maybe a romance would do him good. It's been years since his wife died. I know he's lonely.
You aren't even sure Yazmнn is interested, she told herself.
"Is anyone eating these?" asked Wulfric, eyeing the pastries. The duke told him to help himself and he did.
Soon the maid had returned with another tray and a glass for the provost's mage. Once she was gone, Wulfric looked at the duke and said, "I experimented with the magic Lady Sandrilene took off your Guardsmen. We've a problem and a half. The half is dragonsalt. The mage who cast that dark magic is an addict."
"How do you know that?" Sandry asked, fascinated.
Wulfric smiled. "At Lightsbridge, where harrier-mages train, they teach all manner of spells to detect things. I've only performed the dragonsalt cantrip twice before, but I'd a hunch it might work."
"Wulfric," the duke said, quietly amused, "if we may continue with your report? You and my niece may talk of magical practice another time."
"My report. Oh, right." Wulfric buttered a scone. "Well, if our mage is a dragonsalt addict, it could be his supplier is in Summersea. My lady provost has the street Guards looking for a 'salt peddler. My guess is, whoever brought the mage brought the drug. The locals won't sell it, not with your grace's penalties."
"Dragonsalt is the most vile drug brewed. I won't have it here," the duke said firmly. "You claim a problem and a half, Wulfric. If dragonsalt is the half, what is the whole?"
"We've a mage who deals in—," Wulfric hesitated. "Unmagic' is the best term. Its—nothingness."
"The absence of all else—of light, magic, existence," Lark said, her eyes troubled. "You're certain, Master Snap trap?"
“I've been at this for thirty years, Dedicate," Wulfric informed her tardy. "I'm not likely to mistake something that marked."
"My apologies," replied Lark. "It's just so rare…"
"You never mentioned it," remarked Sandry, puzzled. "None of you mentioned it to us." She meant herself and her three friends.
"There was no reason to," Lark replied. "None of you showed the least aptitude for it, Mila and Green Man be praised. Unmagic is so rare we never thought you'd encounter it."
"It's a blight as much as magic," Wulfric muttered.
"What can you do with it?" Sandry asked.
"Murder people in plain view, it would seem," remarked the duke, grim-faced. "Walk past human guards and protective spells with no one to suspect you're there."
"People also use it to collapse distances and walk between places, if they can bear it," Lark added. "One man who jumped from Lightsbridge to Nidra through unmagic lay in a fever for a year, raving. Later he wrote that his senses all went dead; he was trapped inside his own mind."
"Can you find who's using it, now that you know what it is? inquired Yazmнn. "If no one minds my asking," she added when they all looked at her.
"It's not that simple," Wulfric replied.
Lark nodded. "It's an absence more than anything. It's hard to track nothing down. I'll bring it before our mage council, but I don't believe there's any way to pick it out, because it isn't really here."
Yazmнn shivered, "It sounds like you'd have to be crazy to use: it."
"That's the one thing we can be sure of," replied Wulfric. "The poor bleater that's using it is going mad. That's the nature of it, don't you see. When you have magic, you have life itself. That's what it's made of but this nothingness, it's the absence of life, isn't it?»
"The absence of hope, feeling," continued Lark, "The more it's used, the greater its hold on the mage. And if he's taking dragonsalt to manage it, that just makes it worse. The gods help anyone who gets close. His madness will spread, infecting those around him."
'"Me, I handle it with gloves and glass instruments," said Wulfric, his eyes bleak. "'I don't want it getting under my skin."
Lark, got to her feet with a, sigh, "You were right, Master Snaptrap, I need to let the mage council know as soon, as possible."
She returned to Winding Circle, but the rest of them stayed, and Baron Erdogun joined, them. Sandry heard then that those Rokats still in Summersea were being placed under increased guard, one that even killers spelled to be nothing would have to be wary of.
They were getting clever, Alzena thought as she watched the house on Tapestry Lane. It was the home of Fariji Rokat, one of the Rokat House clerks. In their inspection the previous night, she and Nurhar had sensed watchers. Two large beggars dozed near the corner of Yanjing Street, in a neighborhood where servants quickly sent riffraff on their way. The maids who opened the doors and shutters on the houses facing Rokats were very muscular. They didn't look like civilians at all, but like guards out of uniform. Archers patroled the rooftops along the street. A trip through Cod Alley behind the house showed gardeners and menservants who played dominoes with hands that were blue-knuckled and callused from fighting.