The Traitor and the Chalice Page 6

  “That’s awful. How many people died?” All amusement left Jemeryl’s voice.

  “Druse was the only sorcerer. Surprising, as he wasn’t old, while people like Orrago survived. I suppose you can’t tell with these things. Moragar was devastated. He’d been close to Druse, and I suspect he’d been a good bit closer than was generally realised, if you get my drift.”

  “According to you, most people in the school have been a good bit closer at one time or another.”

  “They have. Believe me, they have. It gets very incestuous,” Vine said emphatically. “But I’ve got to dash. Catch you later.”

  Vine trotted away, leaving Jemeryl to climb the stairs. Sitting in the study, she examined the book’s cover before leafing to the right page. The area of magic was not one that interested her. It was too reminiscent of the hospital wards. However, if the original was worth stealing, the copy must contain some clues. Jemeryl pursed her lips. If she could only spot them.

  *

  The dim alley was not so much a thoroughfare as a space between two warehouses, too narrow for the sun’s rays to penetrate. In the enclosed space, the salty tang of the sea was laced with fragrant scents—leather and spice and grain—seeping through the wooden slats on either side.

  The sweet smells teased Tevi’s nose as she strode along. She emerged into sunshine at the far end, on the main road leading from the port into the centre of Ekranos. A barrage of noise assailed her. Laden carts rolled by, wheels clattering along the worn cobbles. Porters, sailors, and merchants called to one another. Tevi paused before launching herself into the melee, dodging the carts and the people for the few dozen yards it took her to reach her destination: the record offices belonging to the port authorities.

  Even before the door shut behind her, blocking out the clamour, Tevi was aware of an atmosphere of calm, at odds with the chaos outside. Orderly rows of books lined the walls, dampening any sounds. The tiled floor was swept clean. Pens, inks, and sealing wax sat in their holders. The desk filling the middle of the room was large enough for a dozen people to work at comfortably, although the office was deserted apart from a middle-aged woman with a hard face and ink-stained hands—a single priest in this shrine of bureaucracy.

  The clerk looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “The Ruby Wand is about to depart, bound for Lyremouth. The captain needs these stamped.” Tevi held out the papers.

  “You’ll have to wait. The administrator has been called out. He should be back shortly. Take a seat, if you want.” The clerk gestured at a stool and turned back to her work.

  Tevi ignored the offer and instead slowly paced the length of the room, considering the bookshelves. This was the third time she had been inside the office. The information Jemeryl wanted was there, but how to find it? Tevi glanced at the grey head bent over the desk. The clerk must know exactly where to look. Asking her directly was not prudent, but there might be other ways.

  “It must be wonderful, being able to read and write.”

  “It’s a valuable skill,” the clerk conceded without looking up.

  “Not needing to rely on memory. You just write something down and then go back years later and see what it was. The very words. I mean, you can do that, can’t you?” The display of naïve innocence was not hard. The idea of writing had Tevi in awe.

  The clerk was clearly torn between irritation and amusement. In the end, the latter won out, and she lay down her pen. “That’s the general idea.”

  “Is it hard to learn?”

  “It takes perseverance and aptitude.”

  “Then you can write down anything at all?”

  “If you can say it, you can write it.”

  Tevi shaped her lips into a soundless whistle. “You record all the shipments and taxes here?”

  “That’s our job.”

  “So if someone wanted to know...oh, for example”—Tevi stared at the ceiling and snapped her fingers, as if picking an item at random—“how much nectar of the bucket orchid had arrived in the last three years. Could you tell them?”

  “That would be an easy one. The nectar requires a special licence. Only the sorcerers at the school are allowed to import it.” The clerk pointed to a thin book. “It will all be logged in there.”

  Tevi extracted it from the shelf, while trying to disguise her delight. Memorising one thin book was surely a feasible task for Klara, but more was to come.

  The clerk beckoned Tevi over and took the book. She flipped it open with deft fingers. “There. That’s the page you’d want. All you’d have to do is tally up the numbers in this column. Of course, you’d need to be able to add as well as read.”

  The patronising tone might have stung, had Tevi not been feeling more than a touch smug herself. Anyway, she was sure the clerk was trying to be friendly.

  Tevi lifted the open book from the desk and strolled back while counting the pages. There would be no problem finding the records again. The clerk returned to her work, her face making it plain that she felt she had been generous enough with her time.

  Tevi did not have long to wait. The book was scarcely back on the shelf when there was a rattle of the door latch, and the administrator stepped into the office.

  “Sir. The Ruby Wand is about to sail for Lyremouth. The captain needs these stamped.” Tevi scooped the papers from the desk and presented them.

  The administrator studied the sheets while walking to one end of the desk. With a nod, he picked up the wax. The seal itself hung on a chain from his belt. In short order, the papers received their imprint and Tevi was out in the sunshine, heading back to the docks. A broad smile lit her face. She had been more successful than she had dared hope. All that now remained was to return with Klara when the office was empty.

  *

  Heavy thunderclouds hung low in the sky. The sixth dimension was rippling and snapping, energised by the impending storm. Jemeryl slumped back and held out a hand. Charged ions leapt between her fingertips. The sparks dropped to the desktop in a dazzling snow. Fun, but it made concentrating on the text very difficult.

  After more wasted minutes, Jemeryl abandoned the attempt to read. She closed the book and sat with her fingers drumming on the cover. This was the third time she had gone through Lorimal’s thesis, and she still could find nothing to explain why someone had stolen the original. The theory was innocent, although unorthodox. Lorimal had been an unconventional thinker of the first order.

  “But nothing like as unconventional as she was after taking the plant potion,” Jemeryl addressed the empty room.

  She stretched back and frowned at the book. Perhaps when the storm broke, she would be able to think more clearly. A distant boom rumbled over the cliff tops. In the following silence, she heard footsteps. The study door opened with a squeak, and then there was nothing. Jemeryl twisted in her seat. Vine was holding the door slightly ajar and peering out through the crack.

  “You know, I think I’m right. There is something going on between those two.” Vine pushed the door shut. She plonked herself down in the free chair and propped her feet on her desk. “I wonder what Beck will say when he finds out. We could be in for fireworks.”

  A flash of sheet lightning interrupted Vine’s musing. The sky lit up from deep within the clouds. Thunder crashed over the school, and the first belt of rain splattered against the window. The staccato rhythm combined with the shrieks of a group of apprentices caught in the open.

  Vine rolled her head to look at Jemeryl. “You know, this is bad timing from your point of view. If the storm had hit tomorrow morning, you’d miss your session with Tapley.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “You’re what?”

  “It has to be more fun than the hospital.”

  “Now, there we hear the voice of inexperience. Working with Tapley is as much fun as trapping your fingers in the door and far less exciting.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It is. Oh, it is. I can
guarantee that by lunchtime, you’ll have discovered whole new meanings for the word ‘boredom.’”

  Jemeryl grinned. “At least I’ve got the afternoon free. Hopefully that will keep me going.”

  “Especially if you’re going into town to meet your young mercenary,” Vine said with feigned nonchalance.

  Jemeryl’s smile faded. Their extended perceptions meant a community of sorcerers could not maintain the same standards of privacy as the ungifted, but deliberate prying was a breach of etiquette.

  “Go on, then. Ask me how I found out.” Vine was clearly delighted with herself.

  “I assume you’ve been indulging in unofficial scrying.”

  Vine shook her head vigorously. “One of the kitchen staff at the Inn of Singing Birds has a sister who works in the fish market. She told our cook’s son that a junior sorcerer spent a night with a mercenary. He told me. I worked out who was free that night and came up with your name.”

  Jemeryl sighed in resignation. Vine was incorrigible, but it was impossible to stay angry with her, especially as no worse intrusion was involved. “All right, I confess.”

  “So what’s she like?”

  “You mean your sources haven’t given a graphic description?”

  “Well, yes. But I’d still like some of the details confirmed.” Vine’s expression became more serious. “Actually, you’re wise to play it quiet. Bramell won’t approve. Not that he can do anything, but you’ll be in for the lecture entitled ‘Suitable relationships with the ungifted.’ I know; I had it myself last year.”

  “Someone nice?”

  “A relative of one of the patients. It wasn’t a big thing, but Bramell stuck his nose in. It’s all right for him; he’s been hitched to Levannue for years. The rest of us appreciate the occasional change of scenery.”

  “What’s Levannue like? I’ve only seen her from a distance.”

  “She’s all right, I suppose.” Vine did not sound convinced. “Competent. Takes herself too seriously.”

  “Most seniors do.”

  “She’s turned it into an art form. She can also rub people the wrong way.” Vine glanced at the closed door and swung her feet down. She leaned forward and pitched her voice just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain. “There are rumours about her as head of psychology. Levannue was treating Orrago’s dementia even before she retired. It’s been suggested that she used undue influence, prompting Orrago to endorse Bramell for principal rather than Neame. Not only is she Bramell’s partner, but she and Neame hate each other and have for years.”

  “Orrago would have guarded herself.”

  “Orrago was already going senile, and you have to drop your defences when you become a psychiatric patient.”

  It was a valid point. However, Jemeryl’s interest had been caught by something else Vine had said. “Why do Levannue and Neame hate each other? “

  “It’s an old argument, going back to when they were students,” Vine said uneasily.

  “What about? Does anyone know?”

  “It wasn’t really...I guess they were both partly in the wrong...” Vine ground to a halt.

  Jemeryl was astonished. There was a topic that the school gossip did not want to discuss! And although it was probably of no relevance to the search for the traitor, it might give an insight into the two senior sorcerers. She was trying to think of a way of probing tactfully when the door was flung open. One rather damp witch burst in.

  “Hey, Vine! Have you heard about what’s just happened between Beck and Jona?”

  Vine spun to face the excited speaker. “No, what?”

  Despite irritation at the interruption, Jemeryl could not help grinning. Vine’s network of sources was so very efficient. It was a pity she could not recruit them in the search for the traitor.

  Chapter Four—Trouble from the Past

  Jemeryl crossed the yard inside the school gates. A small globe lit her way. The ground was drying, but numerous puddles still dotted the paving. Only ragged bands of cloud remained, scraps of toned grey against the black sky. Stars shone bright and hard, as if scrubbed clean by the storm. A breeze stirred the clammy air.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Please, can you help us?” The speaker was a young man, tall and fair-haired. His face showed pale in the light of the globe. Behind him, two others were supporting another, who hung motionless in their grasp.

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s Gewyn. We’ve just come back across the Eastern Ocean. We docked this afternoon. Gewyn’s picked up something nasty. Please, ma’am. We’re worried about her.”

  It did not take a close inspection for Jemeryl to know their fears were justified. The woman was almost unconscious in her friends’ arms. Her breath came in strained gasps. Her skin had a blotched yellow sheen that matched her aura. The gatekeeper, who should have been there to direct visitors, would probably return shortly, but the sick woman was in no state to, literally, hang around.

  “Follow me.” Jemeryl led the way to the hospital.

  This was definitely one for Neame. However, Jemeryl did not wish to go traipsing through the wards with her sorry retinue. She halted in the lobby of the main building and was looking around, wondering what was best, when a door opened.

  To Jemeryl’s relief, it was Erlam who appeared. He was a skilled healer with a reputation for calmness and competence, although his caring nature was sometimes undermined by a cynical sense of humour. He was not yet thirty but was already tipped as Neame’s successor.

  “Erlam. This woman’s just arrived. I think Neame should see her.”

  Erlam grasped the situation immediately. “How long has she been like this?” he asked the friends.

  “She’s been complaining about aches for two days. It was only last night she really got bad.”

  “I’ll get Neame. I was talking to her only a few minutes ago.”

  Before going, Erlam beckoned Jemeryl aside. “Take her straight to the quarantine quarters, and keep her friends with her. Try not to worry them, but don’t let anyone wander off. The fewer people they meet, the better.”

  “What’s wrong with the woman?”

  “I’m fairly sure it’s marsh plague.”

  “It’s serious?”

  “Of course. Neame needs to be here.” Erlam hurried away.

  The quarantine section was on the upper floor in an adjacent block. The room was austere, empty apart from two beds, a table, and a wooden chair. Jemeryl was grateful that the bars on the window were less conspicuous than in daylight. There was also a lock on the door, more to keep out the unwary than to confine the patient, although that option was available.

  The cell-like room depressed the spirits of the small group even further, if that was possible. After laying the sick woman down, two slumped despondently on the other bed, holding hands. The third friend, the tall man who had first hailed Jemeryl, came to stand beside her.

  “Will Gewyn be all right?” His strained tone made it clear he feared the worst.

  Fortunately, Jemeryl was spared the need to answer by footsteps in the corridor outside. She rushed to the door, hoping to see Neame. However, Erlam was alone, and if he had looked concerned before, his expression now was positively grim.

  Jemeryl stepped forward to meet him and pulled the door closed behind her. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t you find Neame?”

  “I found Neame. She won’t be long. But I’ve just met Levannue, who’s also looking for her. She’s lying in wait downstairs. I think she wants to have part two of an argument they started earlier today.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t part four hundred of an argument they started a couple of decades ago?”

  Erlam glanced at Jemeryl. “Of course. You share a study with the Grapevine, don’t you?”

  “Just something she mentioned in passing.”

  “What hasn’t she mentioned in passing?”

  Jemeryl shrugged in place of an answer. The uneasy silence did not last long. Almost immediately, they heard
the door below open.

  “Neame. I want to talk to you.” It was Levannue’s officious voice.

  “Tough. It will have to wait,” Neame snapped back.

  “It’s important.”

  “You might think so.”

  Jemeryl realised that she was about to be caught in the middle of a quarrel between two senior sorcerers. Despite the chance that the suspects might, in anger, slip their guard and drop a clue, Jemeryl would still far rather have been somewhere else. Giving any impression of taking sides would be extremely unwise.

  “I’d expected better manners from you.”

  “You can expect what you like.”

  “This will only take five minutes—”

  “I don’t have five minutes to waste swapping insults with you.”

  Neame reached the top of the stairs. Her lips were compressed in a tight line, and her eyes glinted. Jemeryl had never seen the deputy look so unapproachable. Wordlessly, Erlam pointed to the room containing the patient. Just as Neame was opening the door, Levannue appeared in the stairwell.

  The head of psychic studies was obviously furious, although her appearance was as neat as ever. Levannue’s short iron-grey hair was moulded to her head like a helmet. Her tendency to appear hawk-like was not improved by her temper. Her frame was light, with finely formed bones. Jemeryl could imagine them rattling with anger.

  The sight of two junior sorcerers listening to the argument brought Levannue to a halt and left her clearly wondering how best to maintain the dignity of her status.

  “Neame. What is so important that it can’t wait?” Levannue made a last bid for attention.

  The deputy acted as if she had not heard and entered the quarantine room. Levannue, after a moment of hesitation, made as if to follow.

  Erlam managed to interpose himself. “Excuse me, ma’am. There’s a patient who’s just arrived with some friends. Neame will be examining them.”

  His tone was pitched somewhere between explanation and entreaty, but his point was not lost. Bad enough that junior sorcerers had overheard the quarrel. Levannue would certainly not continue bickering in front of the ungifted.