The Smoke-Scented Girl (7 page)

“I have already explained that we are moving
as fast as we can, Miss Elltis,” Evon said. It became harder for
him to control his frustration with his employer every time he
spoke with her, which was increasingly rarely. “This tracking
spell—”

“I am not interested in the tracking spell,
Mr. Lorantis,” Miss Elltis said. Today she wore her flaxen hair
parted in the middle, coiled in ringlets on both sides of her face
and braided into a bun at the back of her head. Her small blue eyes
peered at him myopically; he’d never understood why she refused to
wear her spectacles when communicating with someone. She pursed her
lips, causing a host of wrinkles to erupt around them and deepening
the ones at the corners of her eyes. “I am interested in the fire
spell. How soon will you have it?”

Evon ground his teeth against a host of angry
words he wanted to fling at her. “We are very close now.”

“Which is the same as saying you do not have
it and can make no guarantees as to when you will.” Miss Elltis
leaned forward, narrowing his view of her until she was nothing
more than a pair of bulging eyes and a twitching nose. “I am
beginning to think this excursion of yours is a waste of my time
and money.”

“I fail to see how you can say that, when I
have already achieved more than anyone else the government has set
to this project,” Evon said, and was afraid his words sounded like
a snarl. “Have patience.”

“Do not tell me what to do, Mr. Lorantis,”
Miss Elltis said, and she
did
snarl. “The government expects
results from us, and they are not accustomed to patience. Find the
magician, Mr. Lorantis. You have five days. After that—”

Evon cut the connection. He didn’t need to
hear any more. She wasn’t serious; she could not afford to fire
him. But it was a measure of how much she had promised the
government that she could even imply that threat. He tucked the
mirror away inside his coat and went outside to mount his horse, an
indifferent gray gelding that always seemed to be laughing at
him.

“Inveros, then?” Piercy said, his voice a
little muffled by the collar of his coat, turned up against the
chill wind. He prodded his own horse, a much nicer animal, and led
the way out of the coaching inn’s busy yard.

“It’s the next place south of Chaneston,”
Evon said, “and although I think she came through here twice, I’m
fairly confident she went south instead of west the second
time.”

“I am confident in
your
confidence,
dear fellow, but I wish we had acquired horses sooner. It feels as
if we are traveling faster, though I realize that is likely an
illusion.”

Evon only nodded. He felt an urgency now even
greater than the one that had propelled him to discover the
fireproof shield, a fear that they would reach Inveros only to
learn that a giant explosion had leveled three buildings the day
before. Knowing that he could now track the woman, having her scent
in his nostrils day and night, couldn’t dispel his fears. The smell
had become so familiar he no longer perceived it as an odor, but as
a compulsion, drawing him onward like a fish caught by a silver
hook for the last two days.

Piercy had fallen silent when Evon did. Evon
had no idea what thoughts preoccupied his friend. Regrets for the
life he was missing in the capital, possibly, or something more
mundane, like what hovel they might sleep in that night. So it
surprised him when, a few hours later, Piercy said out of nowhere,
“It appears our Fearsome Firemage is a young woman, then. Named
Kerensa.”

“It seems so,” Evon said. “Though I wonder if
that’s her real name.”

“True,” Piercy said. They rode a few minutes
in silence, then Piercy said, “Evon, would
you
be capable of
such destruction?”

“I? Do you mean, could I so callously kill so
many people, or could I cast the spell?”

“The latter, of course. You’ve too much
compassion for the former.”

He said it in such an offhanded way that Evon
felt the tips of his ears redden with embarrassment rather than
cold. “I—no, I can’t imagine casting such a powerful spell. I can’t
imagine
anyone
capable of such power.”

“And you are the most powerful magician of
your generation. Don’t protest, we both know it’s true. No one else
in our class was recruited to a highly prestigious cooperative
directly out of school, bypassing university entirely. No one in
the history of Houndston took the gold medal six years running. And
if this woman is of an age with you, or younger....” His voice
trailed off.

“You’re wondering what else she might be
capable of.”

“I’m wondering what might happen to us if we
face her directly. You know I have the utmost faith in your
abilities, dear fellow, but I also have a deep and abiding love for
keeping my integument intact. Perhaps this isn’t the best idea
we’ve ever had.”

Evon blew out an explosive breath. “She’s
been targeting men and women who’ve done great evil to those around
them. I was hoping I could convince her to turn that desire for
justice on the Despot of Balviros’s armies. You know better than I
how his forces are advancing. You know the kind of destruction he
leaves behind him.”

“I know that his atrocities have multiplied
in the last year,” Piercy said. “It seems as if he no longer cares
whether the countries he conquers remain a viable part of his
empire. But...Evon, I’m beginning to agree with you that the
Fearsome Firemage, whatever her name is, might not be sane.
Convincing her of
anything
might be impossible.”

“Do you think we should go home, then?
Report...what? I don’t know what we could even tell our superiors
that wouldn’t see us out on the street, unemployed and unemployable
due to no references.” He chose not to think about Miss Elltis’s
probable reaction.

“I don’t know. I simply wish we had a better
plan of attack.”

“So do I.” Evon wiped his nose, which had
begun to drip from the cold. Another two hours and it would be too
dark to go on. “Let’s just focus on finding her. We can decide what
to do from there. If we’re right, and she’s taken a job somewhere,
we might be able to confront her in public so she’s less likely to
simply attack us.”

“There is still a great deal of ‘if’ and
‘might’ attached to that plan, but I agree it’s better than
nothing.” Piercy sniffled and wiped his own nose. “Not to complain,
dear fellow, but I am so weary of sleeping on floors that I become
less interested in the fate of our mysterious quarry with every
mile that passes.”

“Let’s push on a little farther,” Evon said,
flicking his reins, “and with luck we’ll find a bed rather than a
floor.”

They rode into Inveros around eleven o’clock
in the morning the following day, following a wagon caravan laden
with raw lumber headed for the port. Evon felt as if the city grew
up around them, new construction giving way to established
buildings of brick and limestone and then to granite quarried and
hauled from over fifty miles away, tangible evidence that the more
prosperous residents of Inveros could afford the same amenities as
their wealthier neighbors in Matra. Inveros was smaller than the
capital, but it felt bigger because of the wide streets, wide
enough for two carts to pass without inconveniencing pedestrians on
either side. There were few riders on horseback, and Evon and
Piercy had trouble navigating between coaches and carts that
regarded the streets as their property. By the time they found a
satisfactory inn—satisfactory to Piercy, who dismissed Evon’s first
three choices as lacking in amenities, by which he meant an
en-suite bath—Evon was more tired and irritable than he’d been the
past three days living rough on the road. They turned their horses
over to the care of a perky stable girl, paid far too much for a
room with two beds and the essential bath, and collapsed onto their
respective beds. “Is she here?” Piercy asked.

“She’s here. Somewhere. We should start
looking,” Evon replied, but he put his arm over his eyes and let
the tension drain out of his shoulders. He needed to get up if he
didn’t want to fall asleep. He wanted to fall asleep. He groaned
and rolled over, then stood, his whole body aching more than if he
hadn’t taken that moment to rest.

“Piercy,” he said, prodding his friend on the
shin with his boot. “Piercy. We can’t sleep now.”

“I believe you are entirely mistaken in that
statement. I feel that I am quite capable of sleeping.” He had his
arm flung over his eyes much as Evon had done moments before.

“Piercy, we need to track this woman down.
Let’s at least find out where she is. Then we can rest and decide
what to do next.”

“
You
do it. I await your findings with
great anticipation.”

“Do you want me to face this woman alone? She
might kill me. Then you’d feel horrible and never be able to sleep
comfortably again.”

Piercy removed his arm and stared at the
ceiling. “Why is it that you take such pleasure in having guilt as
a major weapon in your rhetorical arsenal?”

“Because it’s worked on you for nearly
fifteen years. Come on. Get up. Her scent is very strong—I don’t
anticipate this taking very long.”

Inveros was beautiful in the bright winter
sun, everything sharp-edged and crisp like the smell of snow that
still hung in the air and blended with the tangy salt of the sea.
They left the horses behind at the inn and set out on foot.
Everyone they passed had a smile or a greeting for them; even the
sweepers at the street crossings had bright, eager faces. Brick and
glass storefronts displayed wares from all parts of the world, and
Evon had to remind Piercy why they were there when his friend kept
falling behind to examine an exquisite pair of shoes or the perfect
top hat. The scent led them through that major shopping district
toward the heart of the city, where red and brown brick and
greenish-white limestone gave way to quarried granite and
wrought-iron gates and fences. There were fewer pedestrians now,
and they had to walk more carefully to avoid the gray slush cast up
by the passing carriages.

They turned a corner and found themselves
facing a long, low gray brick wall, beyond which leafless trees and
bare brambly shrubs spread out past the limits of their vision. The
entrance to the park was some hundred steps to their left, and
despite the season men and women still passed its gates. Evon
sniffed again. “The route’s directly through there,” he said.

“Then let us by all means be tourists, albeit
tourists who were woefully misled as to the season Inveros shows
itself best to distinction,” Piercy said.

But they hadn’t taken more than ten of those
hundred steps before someone behind them said, “Evon Lorantis, by
the Gods! And his shadow. I certainly didn’t expect to see you
here. And don’t you both look so...well, your sartorial decisions
have always been unique, Evon, but you might at least make an
effort not to look as though you’d been tramping the long and muddy
roads for a week.”

Evon stiffened. He hadn’t expected to hear
that voice here. Or wanted to hear it, ever again. “Odelia,” he
said as he turned around, trying for a cheery greeting. “How
unexpected to see you here, too.” He didn’t dare look at Piercy,
whose expression, whatever it was, would make him lose his
composure in the face of this woman.

Odelia Cattertis stood in her familiar pose,
legs slightly akimbo, fists on hips, her lips quirked to one side
and one eyebrow raised. It was a pose that said she was ready to
fight anyone who cared to come at her, though Evon knew her
preferred weapons were words rather than fists. She wore her stiff
black bonnet dangling down her back, hanging by its tied strings,
and her dark brown hair was pulled sharply back from her face and
knotted at the base of her neck. A black cloak lined with sable
nearly concealed her full-skirted, multi-tiered black gown of
finely woven wool, and she wore jet earrings that dangled almost to
her shoulders. It was mourning garb, but Evon had known her long
enough to know that black was simply her preferred color. That it
put people at a disadvantage, wondering how to speak to a grieving
woman, was a side benefit.

“I mean, we’re all aware of your work ethic,”
Odelia continued, “so it really is surprising to see you on
a...really, Evon, you
do
realize most people take their
holidays when the weather isn’t so nippy?”

“I might say the same for you, Odelia,” Evon
retorted, “but since you seem happiest when other people are
miserable, I suppose it’s no surprise that you’re taking your
holiday now.”

Odelia pretended to be hurt, but her wounded
expression was marred by her trilling, beautiful laugh. “You know
me so well, don’t you?” She glanced at Piercy. “Nothing to say in
greeting, Evon’s shadow?”

“Good morning, Miss Cattertis,” Piercy said
in a monotone. His hand was gripping the head of his walking stick
so tightly Evon could see the tendons standing out. Piercy had
never liked Odelia, even before he began hating her on Evon’s
behalf. He was also the only one who didn’t believe that the
scholastic rivalry she and Evon had shared had ever become a
romantic relationship. Looking at her with an impartial eye, Evon
could see why someone might have believed it. Odelia had a lovely
heart-shaped face, pink lips that seemed permanently on the verge
of a kiss, and enormous blue eyes fringed with the longest,
blackest lashes Evon had ever seen. She also had the heart of a
snake and a mind to match, all steel edges and indifference as to
whom she cut.

“Good morning, Mr. Faranter,” Odelia said,
imitating his deep voice with a mocking bow. “Evon, it really is
so
good to see you again! Still slogging away at At-last and
Company?”

“I understand you’re working for Speculatus
now,” Evon said. There was no point in engaging her ridiculous
taunts. “Congratulations. Are they treating you well?”