Polder’s attitude set off alarms inside Mari. She had been assuming that no common would dare do anything, not when it was known that she had come here. It was only at this moment that Mari realized how late it was, how dark outside. Polder and his guards could swear that she had left this building before mysteriously vanishing. She was abruptly aware of the fact that she was alone, inside a building owned by commons, surrounded by commons, some of whom were clearly dangerous. They wouldn’t— Would they? This isn’t supposed to happen.
With the pistol hidden in her tool kit, Mari had no weapon within easy reach. No weapon except her status as a Mechanic. She tried to reassert her authority fast. “I’m a Mechanic with the full power of my Guild behind me. I don’t ask commons to do anything, I tell them. I am done here, and I am leaving. My Guild Hall will send you the bill for my services.”
Instead of moving out of her way or getting angry, Polder gave a small, humorless smile. “I see. Perhaps it’s time that your Guild learns that the people of Ringhmon don’t want to stay any longer in the box the Mechanics have made to confine this world.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care,” Mari said with what she hoped was the right mix of anger and authority. “I’ve finished my job and I’m leaving,” she repeated more forcefully.
“As you wish.” Polder made a small gesture, looking somewhere behind Mari where his two guards were standing.
Mari started to turn, then something hard slammed against the back of her head. Her last sight before darkness came was of Polder still watching her with that grim smile.
Chapter Nine
Alain had watched from a distance as the Mechanic left the trolley and entered the very large building which served as the center of Ringhmon government. Already the subject of curious and worried glances from passerby, the Mage began walking around the outside of the area bounded by the great building. As he had expected, there were numerous small and large restaurants dedicated to feeding those who labored inside the building. He also located a store which sold written items, and found a large volume dedicated to the history of Ringhmon. The bookseller he selected reacted to Alain’s presence in his store with ill-concealed unease, but Alain gave no sign that he noticed.
He carried the book out of the store, past the payment desk where the clerk pretended not to see Alain. Commons paid elders for the services of Mages, but Mages did not “pay” for anything, Alain had been told. They took what they wanted or needed from whichever common had those things, and the commons, who did not matter anyway because they did not even exist, should be grateful that the Mage had not chosen to take more. If a Mage needed shelter, he walked into a room and any commons there left. If he needed food, he took it from a roadside stall or entered a place where commons ate and was fed. No one would dare deny a Mage.
Except a Mechanic. He had been warned that Mechanics would resist, and so should be ignored. Do not walk into a room with them or take their food. Just realize that the Mechanics do not exist and are not worthy of your attention.
Unless they threaten you, and then you must kill them, Mage Alain. Mechanics are as merciless as they are mercenary. If any appear dangerous, kill them.
“How can I ever repay you?” Master Mechanic Mari had asked him.
Alain stood on the street for a moment, looking at the book he had taken. He could not do what commons did even if he chose to. “Pay” had something to do with money. He knew that much, but he had no money. Why would a Mage carry money when he or she never needed it?
Unless they threaten you, and then you must kill them.
What if he had remembered that advice during the bandit attack, when the Mechanic had pointed her weapon at his face? He could have killed her then. He could have tried, at least. Then, when she was dead, the bandits would have found Alain and killed him, too.
Clearly the advice of his elders was lacking in some respects.
On his journey from Ihris to the Imperial port of Landfall, Alain had taken rooms and food just as he had been told to do, but not without noticing the fear and resentment on the faces of the commons who provided those things. They tried their best to hide it, worried that he would do something terrible to them, but it was always apparent to a Mage.
It had bothered him. Despite all of his training within the Mage Guild Hall, once out among the commons again, whenever he saw a man and a woman he thought of his parents. When around Mages, Alain had acted as they had, oblivious to the cowering commons. Now, alone among commons, he could choose how to act.
Perhaps he would take back the book when he was done with it.
He had to eat, however. Alain chose a restaurant with a window seat which gave a good view of the entrance to the government building and settled down to watch for the Mechanic’s reappearance. He still had no clear idea of what he was doing or what he would do next. If this course of action was a road, he should reach a point where it offered a choice, to go onward or back, or to turn off onto another road.
A trembling server came to stand near him, afraid to speak. Alain gave her a dispassionate glance, then pointed to another table where a common was eating and drinking. The server went to grab the food and drink from the common, paused as if realizing that might not be the best course of action, and looked back at Alain, who shook his head and pointed to the kitchen.
Within a very short time Alain had his own meal set before him, after which the commons pretended he wasn’t there while they discreetly watched for any sign that he wanted anything.
Yes. It did bother him. He wasn’t certain why the faded memories of his parents came at such times.
It did not seem like the sort of question that he should ask an elder, though.
He ate without tasting, in the Mage way. Food was another illusion, of course, and while it was necessary, too much focus on it would distract a Mage. Or so he had been taught, and acolytes did not vary from or question the wisdom they were told. Finishing, Alain settled into meditation, outwardly unmoving, barely aware of the commons avoiding coming near him, the book showing the alleged, officially approved history of Ringhmon open before him but unread.
The sun sank through the sky until darkness began creeping across the courtyard, and large numbers of citizens who either worked in the city hall or had business there filed out and dispersed into the city. Alain blinked his way back to alertness, certain that the Mechanic had not yet left the building. How much time had passed? He had reached here before noon, and now sunset was passing. He was hungry again.
Alain looked toward a server, who jerked with fear at his glance. Pointing toward the kitchen once more, Alain soon had dinner before him. He ate it just as heedlessly as he had the earlier meal, paying no attention to the food, thinking that this road he had taken appeared to be leading nowhere. What did Mechanics do, anyway? It had never concerned him, but now Alain thought that whatever it was, it took awhile. Perhaps it took days. He almost got up to leave, but decided that if nothing mattered, then waiting here also did not matter. Besides, he had no wish to encounter the impassively hostile Mage elders of Ringhmon any sooner than he had to.
It was fully dark outside the restaurant when Alain’s road finally took a turn. A deeper darkness flashed before his eyes and sudden pain filled his head, before both vanished without a trace as quickly as they had come. What did that mean? Pain that was not my own? How could— ?