“No.” Tobas shook his head. “Hardly a thing. But I’m still trying. This thing you’ve got here—I spoke to Telurinon about it and some of the others, before Heremon insisted I come find Mereth and talk to you. They tell me that someone has an enchanted weapon that appears to absorb wizardry, that they’ve been studying it, but they weren’t getting anywhere, because this thing is completely immune to wizardry, so much so that they only know there’s magic there because wizardry isn ’t, you see.”
Sarai looked blank.
“Well, ordinarily,” Tobas explained, “wizardry is sort of everywhere at once, in the light and the air and the earth, but wherever this thing has been used, this enchanted dagger or whatever it is, wizardry doesn’t work right anymore.” “So it’s an entirely new kind of magic?” Sarai said. “Maybe,” Tobas said, “or maybe it’s just a special sort of wizardry. I don’t really know a thing about it. But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to come and take a look.”
“Besides, we felt so sorry for all those poor people who were killed,” Karanissa said. “We felt we had to try to do something.”
“If we can,” Alorria added.
“Tobas is a wizard, Karanissa’s a witch,” Lady Sarai said. “Are you a magician, too, Alorria?”
The woman in the coronet shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to come along... I mean, Tobas is my husband.”
Lady Sarai nodded. She wondered, though; was it comfortable to go traveling about when one was, by the look of her, six or seven months pregnant? Sarai had the feeling there was a story here she didn’t know, but it wasn’t really any of her business, so she didn’t pursue it. “And do any of you know anything about the conspiracy that’s behind the killings?” she asked. “Or is it just the murder weapon you’re interested in?”
“Is it a conspiracy?” Tobas asked, interested. “I hadn’t heard that. Please, Lady Sarai, you must understand, we only arrived in the city a few hours ago, and all we’ve heard about these terrible crimes came from the other members of the Wizards’ Guild. Naturally, they’ve paid most of their attention to the magic involved. I’d be very glad if you could tell us more. Do you have any idea who’s behind it?”
Lady Sarai eyed the wizard suspiciously. He wasn’t entirely living up to her first impression of him as a self-assured and superior boor.
“We have a description of a woman,” she admitted. “There are guards out now looking for someone who may know who she is. We know she’s involved somehow.” “And you think this man will tell you where to find her?” “We certainly hope so. If not, once we have a name, wont a fairly simple spell lead us to her?”
“If it’s a true name,” Tobas admitted. “The first name she knew herself by.”
“Well, if it’s not her true name,” Sarai said, “we’ll send the city guard to look for her, too.”
“Lady Sarai,” Alorria asked, “what will you do with her when you find her?”
“We’ll arrest her, of course! On suspicion of murder. And bring her to the Palace for questioning.” Only after she had spoken did Sarai remember that she was addressing a member of the Wizard’s Guild, and the Guild wanted Serem’s murderer turned over to them.
Well, this woman would need to be questioned to be sure she was Serem’s murderer. Anyone intelligent would see that.
“Of course,” Tobas said. Then he remarked, “It may not be that easy, arresting someone who was able to kill several different magicians.”
Sarai glanced at him, startled. “That’s a good point,” she said. “If she is the killer. I’ll have to see that whoever is sent after her takes special precautions.”
“But you think this woman you seek is part of a conspiracy?” Tbbas had moved around to the front of the desk; now he leaned back comfortably against it. Karanissa settled against a wall. To Lady Sarai’s distress, Alorria began looking around for a clear patch of floor to sit on—the chairs were stacked with reports. The spriggan in the corner rustled papers and peered out curiously; Lady Sarai turned and kicked at it, sending it squealing out the door.
“Maybe we should go somewhere more comfortable,” Lady Sarai suggested. “And I’ll tell you all about it.”
CHAPTER 22
Tolthar of Smallgate stared into the empty mug, wishing he had the price of another pint. The Drunken Dragon never gave credit, especially not to him, so there was no point in asking for it, and he didn’t have so much as an iron bit left in his purse.
He didn’t feel well enough to rob anyone, either, though he thought he might once he sobered up a little. It was too late in the day to find honest work, or to expect much from begging— not that he really wanted to try either one. That meant that dinner, if he got any at all, would probably come out of Mama Kilina’s stewpot, over in the Wall Street Field. Maybe that little hellion, Tabaea the Thief, would turn up there tonight. After all, her lucky streak couldn’t last forever.
That assumed, of course, that it was a lucky streak that had kept her out of the Drunken Dragon and out of the local portion of the Wall Street Field for the last few sixnights. He thought that if she had gotten herself killed someone would know about it; that meant she was still somewhere in the city. Tolthar couldn’t imagine that she would ever leave Ethshar of the Sands; the people he knew, the people he thought of as his own kind, simply didn’t do that. The outside world was for rich merchants and stupid farmers, not the people who lived on the fringes, who spent an occasional night in the Field.
The idea that Tabaea might have found a permanent job somewhere never occurred to him. Thieves and beggars simply didn’t do that, in Tolthar’s view of the World, and Tabaea, as her very name proclaimed, was a thief.
He supposed she might have wound up in a brothel somewhere, but that wasn’t usually permanent. Slavery was permanent, but he thought he would have heard if she had been auctioned off. He had friends—or rather, he had people who were willing to talk to him—who had promised to tell him if they saw Tabaea anywhere.
So he assumed mat she’d committed a few successful burglaries.
But the money would run out; it always did. Sooner or later, he would find her again, in the Dragon or at Kilina’s stewpot, or somewhere else among his familiar haunts.
And when he did, she would pay for the wounds in his leg. They were healed now; the leg was as good as new, but she owed him for the pain, the blood, and the time he had spent limping. She owed him for the embarrassment of having to talk to mat young snot of a guardsman, Deran Wuller’s son.
And he had a wonderful idea of how she could repay him for his troubles. She might even enjoy it; he wouldn’t mind if she did. Sometimes it was even better that way.
He shoved the mug aside and got to his feet. He was not entirely sure where he was going, whether he would head directly for Mama Kilina or make a stop or two along the way, but he knew he would have to stand up, so he went ahead with that part of the job. Once he was upright he didn’t have to worry about the proprietor of the Dragon harassing him to buy another ale or get out.
His head swam slightly. Maybe, he thought, he should have spent some of his last coppers on food, rather than ale.
Well, it was too late now. He turned toward the door.
Then he sat heavily back down. There was a guardsman standing in the doorway, and Tolthar recognized him. It was Deran Wuller’s son. Deran might be there for something entirely unrelated to Tolthar, but Tolthar did not care to try walking out past him.