One person had helped her without thought of the cost, Mari realized. The Mage. A blasted Mage, who was willing to die protecting me. He was willing to cut his own chances to nothing in order to give me that last bit of water. Why couldn’t Alain have been a Mechanic? I could use a friend like that right now.
Stars above, did I actually just wish a Mage could be my friend? Wake up, Mari. Focus on the job. You are going to get to the Hall of City Government and do the best job anyone in the Mechanics Guild has ever seen. And if anyone else tries to get in your way, they’re going to regret it.
She reached into her jacket to check her pistol, then walked through the hallways rapidly, willing to face whatever threats waited outside as soon as possible rather than spend any more time here.
Chapter Eight
Ringhmon in the morning seemed to be just as hot as Ringhmon in the afternoon, though the yellowish cast to the sky appeared to be a little less prominent. Mari had left her pack at the Guild Hall, but even the smaller tool kit seemed to weigh more with every step. She singled out one of the commons on the street. “Where is the Hall of Government?”
The common lowered his head and tried to keep walking.
Amazed, Mari stepped in front of him. “I’m talking to you!”
The common jerked to a halt, pretending to have just noticed her. “Yes, Lady Mechanic?”
“Where is the Hall of Government?” she repeated.
“It lies on the Square of Heroes, Lady Mechanic,” the common answered, then tried to dart around her.
Mari flung out one arm to block him. “How do I get there?” she demanded.
The common scowled, looking around as if seeking a way past her. “I don’t know.”
Commons never liked talking to Mechanics, but Mari was startled by this level of hostility and unhelpfulness. Disconcerted, she put on the full Mechanic attitude, letting her tone become menacing. “I’ll give you one chance to rethink that answer, and if I’m not satisfied with what I hear you’re going to be very, very unhappy. Do you understand?”
The display of confidence worked. The common nodded rapidly, his face still averted. “The blue markers, Lady Mechanic. On the road. The trolley which stops at them goes to the Hall of Government.” His voice held fear but also resentment.
Mari just looked at the common for a long moment, trying to figure out how to handle him. According to all she had been taught, she should unleash a series of threats and put the common in his place, but even if that worked she would hate herself afterwards. “That’s all.” She walked onward, looking for the blue markers.
The trolley proved to be a horse-drawn wagon moving at glacial speed. The operator at least knew better than to ask a Mechanic for a fare, though he did betray the same fear and resentment as the earlier common had. Bad attitudes from commons weren’t unusual, but this intensity of them, the openness of them, was abnormal. Was it just Ringhmon? Or was this part of the problem which had erupted at Julesport? Surely the commons here knew that if they created a big enough problem for the Mechanics Guild, the Guild elders could simply provide the Empire with the assistance to reach their city in overwhelming force and turn Ringhmon into a conquered outpost.
Mari sat glumly watching the glorious and grimy city of Ringhmon roll past at the slow clip the single horse pulling the trolley could manage. The city appeared to be overrun with guards and police as well as negative behaviors.
At least the presence of all of those guards was reassuring. Mari wondered if the riders she had seen yesterday actually had been unrelated to the bandits. Everything she had seen of Ringhmon so far made it seem unlikely that people could ride freely through the place brandishing weapons. Unfortunately, that was the only thing she had seen about Ringhmon so far that wasn’t unpleasant.
Thoughts of the bandits led her back to thoughts of the Mage. I wouldn’t have made it here without his help. At least he knows what help means now. I hope his Guild Hall in Ringhmon treated him better than mine has so far.
Alain traded the dim passages of the Mage Guild Hall for the bright sunlight of the streets outside. A night of meditation and a morning of darkly suspicious Inquiry had become a day of more light but no further enlightenment. I will not allow the insults of elders who do not know me to affect me. I will not allow a brief encounter with a Mechanic to destroy my future as a Mage. The elders cannot change me, and the Mechanic cannot control me. And I will not allow foresight I do not understand to continue to unsettle me. His thoughts going around in circles, Alain sought release in movement and the distraction of a strange city.
On a whim, as he left the Guild Hall Alain wrapped himself inside the spell which bent light and made him virtually impossible to see. Even another Mage could only sense his presence and location. The spell took effort, but he maintained it for a while, strolling along invisible to the commons and the occasional pair of Mechanics he spotted, just like an acolyte hiding from other acolytes who had not developed their skills enough to sense him. The Mage elders would have been annoyed to observe him playing with that spell. Perhaps that was why he was doing it.
As he crossed a street, Alain could see that the stone edgings were cracked and chipped, and in some cases well out of line with their neighboring stones. The buildings revealed the same sort of evidence of long decline. What commons and Mechanics called reality was only an illusion, but it took careful study of the illusion to know what to change, so Alain took in every flaw, every variation in the buildings.
He walked down a street lined with what at first glance were grand mansions with fronts of fitted stone. But the “stone” was another attempt at illusion by commons, just wood planks beveled at intervals to look like stone blocks and then covered with paint mixed with stone dust.
Alain found himself wondering what the Mechanic would have thought of these attempts to mimic other substances. What would she say? Something I could not understand, probably. The words she used did not seem to mean the same things as the words I use. If I could ask—
No. Stop thinking about her.
Still unseen inside his spell, Alain glanced at the commons who unknowingly shared the street with him, all of them plodding along with expressions that seemed to combine stubbornness and weariness. The pride of the city of Ringhmon appeared to exist mainly in the minds of its leaders.
As Alain went deeper into the city he could see that many of the street intersections were guarded by tough-looking individuals whose leather armor marked them as some sort of local militia. They all wore short swords and carried wooden clubs about as long as Alain’s forearm. The citizens kept well away from the toughs, averting their eyes. Sensitive to the emotions which shadows displayed, Alain felt as if he were drowning in a sea of despair and oppression.
Alain finally dropped his concealment spell, getting a little perverse satisfaction from the panicky way nearby commons reacted to the sudden appearance of a Mage among them. He strolled over to examine a monument commemorating some great event, but when Alain got close enough to read the inscription he found that the “victory” involved one of the failed Imperial expeditions through the desert waste. Alain studied the images of larger-than-life warriors carrying banners from the city of Ringhmon as they trampled Imperial legionaries. In a corner of one “gold” panel, he saw where the thin layer of gilt had been worn away, exposing a dull grey metal beneath. Another illusion of wealth, this one within an illusion of victory. Layers of falseness. Did the commons here believe any of it?