undying legion 01 - unbound man (41 page)

Somehow, the possibility that the Quill might drop Arandras from the team had never crossed his mind. The ease with which they’d managed to extract what they needed was humiliating, and his own blindness in cooperating with them only made it worse.
The single greatest work of sorcery in the whole of recorded history, and I just handed it to them on a gods-damned platter.

It made him want to scream.

All that remained now was for the Quill to find a sufficiently detailed map, one bearing the old Valdori notation, and match the coordinates on the urn with an actual location. They already had a region: southwest of the city, upriver, perhaps as far as the lake but certainly no further than the mountains.

If they didn’t own the maps they needed, they’d soon start asking around. Peni, if she wasn’t still out of town. Isaias, certainly. They’d want to move quickly, take possession of whatever maps they could find before anyone else could get in ahead of them. After all, there was still someone out there looking for the urn, and presumably the golems. That would be the only danger, though. Nobody else knew about the golems except the people in that schoolhouse…

And me.

His hand closed over the pouch at his side.
I know as much as they do. I have the coordinates. I know the region.

And I just happen to be on good terms with the one man most likely to have what they need.

Spirits rising, Arandras set out down the western thoroughfare in the direction of Isaias’s shop. He arrived with a spring in his step, pushing past the door and taking the narrow stairs two at a time. The shopkeeper’s expansive voice bounced down the stairs from the room above, followed by the lower, equally familiar voice of Mara. Isaias must have coughed up the extra silver for her puzzle box after all.

“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” Isaias said as Arandras crested the stairs. “A moment, if you please, for Isaias to go and fetch this most lavish sum.” He peered up at Arandras’s approach, his face transforming in a moment from earnest munificence to delighted welcome. “Friend Arandras, you return! How fortuitous for two such dear friends to visit Isaias together once again. Surely this is an omen of good things to come. Even I, unschooled as I am in the noble arts of augury and divination, can see that it must be so.”

With a bob of his head, Isaias bustled through a panelled door to the back room, leaving Mara and Arandras alone. Mara quirked an eyebrow in greeting, elbows resting on the counter behind her. Isaias’s cat, Pinecone, lay at the other end of the counter, twitching her tail back and forth above Mara’s small, verdigrised puzzle box. A tuneless humming rose from the next room.

“They kicked you out, huh?” Mara said, low enough for Isaias not to hear.

Arandras nodded. “How did you know?”

“I went looking for you this morning. Well, you and breakfast. Thought I should make use of the Quill’s hospitality at least once. Fas was not happy to find me hoeing into the honeyed bread, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine.” Arandras chuckled at the thought. “How much did you get down before he saw you?”

“Not enough,” Mara said. “Listen, I’ve had an idea how to find…” She trailed off as the humming grew louder and footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. “Your old acquaintance,” she finished, just as Isaias re-emerged carrying a small, but apparently heavy, wooden box in both hands.

What? How?
But Isaias was already depositing the box on the counter and reaching into his sleeve, producing a key with a triumphant flourish. “Now, my dear,” he said, fitting the key to the lock, “let us see about your payment.” The lid swung open, revealing a small stack of gold and silver bars.

Arandras turned away, halting before the narrow case of anamnil-worked items. Mara had a lead on Tereisa’s killer? Suddenly, the golems and the Quill seemed half as important as they had a moment ago. But then, there was no guarantee that the lead would pan out.
And if I don’t grab the maps now, the Quill will take them and I’ll be left with nothing.

Still, a lead. At last.

Weeper, but I wish you’d come up with it yesterday.

“There, dear Mara, you have your fee.” Isaias snapped the box shut and turned the lock. Pinecone startled at the sound, leaping down from the counter and disappearing behind a display cabinet. “A generous price, if I may say so; but of course Isaias does not begrudge such generosity on behalf of his dear friends, no, indeed he does not.”

“Thank you, Isaias,” Mara said, pocketing her coin. “A pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

“And what of you, my friend?” Isaias said, turning to address Arandras. “What happy need brings you to my shop this morning?”

Arandras took a breath. “I’m looking for a map.”

“A map!” Isaias cried. “Splendid! Truly, you have come to the right place. What form of map do you seek? Perhaps Anstice as it was in centuries past, when all fourteen redoubts still stood and the city stretched no further south than this very shop. Maybe a chart of distant lands: Pazia to the east, or Jervia to the north, or the far isle of Bel Henna. Or —”

“Nothing so remote as that,” Arandras said. “I have a set of Valdori coordinates I’m trying to place. Somewhere in the vicinity of Tienette Lake.”

Isaias beamed. “Of course, of course. If you would be so kind as to tell Isaias the numbers you seek, I will be delighted to scour my collection on your behalf.”

Arandras recited the coordinates, omitting the final, most specific numbers, and Isaias scurried away to the back room once more.

“Is that map going to be what I think it is?” Mara murmured.

“Never mind that now,” Arandras said. “What’s this idea?”

Mara shook her head. “Not here.” She headed for the stairs, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll wait outside. Don’t take too long.”

The shuffle of papers sounded from the next room, followed by a crash and shouted curse from Isaias.
Don’t take too long, indeed. Like it depends on me.
Arandras glanced around the shop, eyes lighting on the green armchair.
That’ll do nicely.

Halfway to the chair his boot crunched on something hard. Frowning, he dropped to a crouch.
Looks like fragments of glass. But where…?
His gaze fell on a nearby display cabinet. An entire side of the windowed cabinet was bare, leaving its contents open to the shop.

The door to the back room banged open. “Arandras, I… Arandras?” Isaias glanced about, confusion filling his round face. “Ah, there you are. Captivated by the Kharjik spice jars, I see. Truly, a remarkable —”

“Do you know your cabinet is broken?” Arandras straightened, peered closer at Isaias. “Weeper’s breath, is that a bruise on your neck? What happened?”

“Ah, friend Arandras, ’tis nothing.” Isaias offered a game smile. “A result of some, shall we say, overenthusiastic enquiries, nothing more.”

Right. If by “overenthusiastic” you mean “hand around the throat”.
“What were they after?”

“An urn, as it happens.” Isaias’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Now that Isaias thinks of it, did you not mention such a piece in your last visit? What does this urn —”

Arandras crossed the space between them in a single pace. “Who were they?”

“I, uh, well, Isaias had never seen them before. Fighting men, Isaias thought, though neither introduced himself.” He fingered his collar and swallowed. “Decidedly unfriendly, in truth, despite my most welcoming —”

“Did they say anything, or wear any identifying mark?”

“No, no.” Isaias shook his head. “Come, let us banish such unpleasant thoughts. I have just the map you’re looking for. Come and see!”

He knows it’s here.
Somehow, the man he sought had learnt of the urn’s arrival in Anstice. Arandras’s hand went to the pouch on his belt.
Weeper’s mercy, why is he always one step ahead?

“See, friend Arandras! A handsome piece, first drawn by the famed Valdori Cartographer’s Guild, reproduced from the original by the Weeping Brothers a mere six hundred years ago and copied only twice since then. Is it not perfect?”

A large sheet of parchment lay partially unrolled, showing the edge of a body of water — Tienette Lake, no doubt. Arandras leaned closer, peering at the tiny Valdori numerals adorning the border.
Looks about right. If the Quill knew this was here, they’d likely be tearing the door down right now.

“How much?” Arandras said, though he could already tell it would be beyond what he had in his purse.

“Thirty-five luri,” Isaias said, and Arandras cursed inwardly. The sum was more than double what the shopkeeper had just paid out for Mara’s puzzle box. There was no way Arandras could scrape that much together, or at least not in Anstice. His savings back home would have covered it, but that money was locked away in a Spyridon bank and inaccessible until he returned.
Why in the hells didn’t I take Damasus’s gold? The man was practically shoving it down my throat.

“Can I see the rest?” Arandras said.

“Ah, friend Arandras, you know I cannot. There are those who would use such a glimpse to gather what information they seek without compensating Isaias for the privilege!” Isaias blinked as though astonished that such perfidy could even be contemplated. “It is not that Isaias does not trust you, dear Arandras; yet I must treat all of my customers alike, or word will get out that Isaias has favourites — and though this may in your case be true, my dear friend, I nevertheless could not permit such a suspicion to darken the hearts of my other valued patrons.”

“Fine,” Arandras said. “A favour, then. From one friend to another.”

“But of course! If it is within Isaias’s power, it shall be done!”

“Hold this map for me,” Arandras said. “I need time to pull together the money. Don’t sell it to anyone in the meantime, all right? Don’t even let on that you have it. Especially…”

Isaias’s head cocked in the manner of an inquisitive dog. “Especially?”

“Especially to the Quill.”

“Ah.”

Arandras frowned. “Ah, what?”

“Dear Arandras, you know how much I treasure the confidence of my friends.” Isaias smiled magnanimously. “Discretion above all, that is Isaias’s watchword. Not a word of this shall I breathe to anyone save you and you alone. Truly, Isaias lives only to serve his honoured customers…” The shopkeeper trailed off, his face falling. “Yet it is not so simple as that. Are the Quill not customers too? Indeed, if the Quill sought to purchase this map, would they not in fact be the first and only customers? How then could Isaias deny their request for the sake of friendship, however boundless? If, in this matter, Arandras remains a friend and not a customer…”

“All right, all right.”
For the Weeper’s sake, just stop talking.
“I’ll put down a deposit.” He dug out his purse and rummaged inside. There wasn’t much left. “This is all I can spare,” he said at last, dumping a handful of coins on the counter. The rest would be enough to keep his belly full until his lease at the lodging house ran out, with a few meagre duri left over to buy a slow ride back to Spyridon on the back of a merchant’s wagon. “Will that suffice?”

Isaias beamed. “Completely, friend Arandras. Isaias will set this map aside for you until, shall we say, eight days hence? No other will hear a whisper of it within that time.”

A week. It was good enough, Arandras supposed. He’d be out on the street before then, anyway.

Time enough to figure something out.

•

Mara was chewing on a strip of dried meat when Arandras came down, her long pony-tail dancing from side to side in the breeze. “Any luck?” she asked, as a heavy, barrel-shaped wagon rumbled past, leaving a ripe scent of fermented apples in its wake.

Arandras scowled. “Perhaps.” For all the shopkeeper’s empty protestations of friendship, Arandras had never known him yet to renege on an actual deal. To Isaias, even a vow before all the priests in the Tri-God Pantheon would likely fare second best against the sacrament of coin. In any case, there was nothing more he could do. Sooner or later, the Quill would come knocking on Isaias’s door, and whatever happened next would be up to Isaias.

“Perhaps?” Mara snorted. “Do we have a location or don’t we?”

“Not yet,” Arandras said. “But neither do the Quill. I hope.” She raised an eyebrow, but he waved the look away. “Later. Tell me about this idea of yours.”

“Oh, that,” Mara said. “It’s simple, really. We go to the registrar’s office and ask.”

Arandras blinked at her. “We go where?”

“The city registrar,” Mara said, as if speaking to a child. “Where they keep all the records. Citizenship lists… minutes of Consulate meetings… who owns what buildings…”

He shook his head.

“That Quill librarian told you where they are, right? All the noteworthy sorcerers in Anstice. So we go to the registrar and get some names. Who runs those places. How many people work there. How promptly they pay their taxes.” She shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find something useful.”

It seemed a long shot to Arandras. Senisha had only mentioned two buildings. There were bound to be more sorcerers in Anstice than that.

Then again, what else did he have to do for the rest of the day?

Senisha had given him streets and landmarks, but not addresses. It took them the rest of the morning to locate the buildings, find the marker stones by the gates, and make a note of the lot numbers. Neither seemed likely to conceal a nest of sorcerers. Ornamental cannons aside, the building on the eastern thoroughfare looked like just another tenement, albeit a particularly unattractive one; and the crumbling facade of the Illith road building, supposedly home to a circle of Bel Hennese, stood in rough, depressing contrast to the soaring blue-roofed residence next door.

By the time Arandras and Mara arrived at the city chambers, the single hand on the tower clock had passed its zenith and was beginning its slow afternoon descent. A winged leopard crouched above the chambers’ wide entrance, caught by the sculptor in mid-prowl, the doorway below more than twice Arandras’s height. He reached out and touched one of the massive iron doors as he passed, running his finger over the abstract design cut into its surface. The sun-warmed metal was hot to the touch, its grooves deep enough to swallow his finger past the first knuckle.