Vincalis the Agitator (40 page)

“Not at all, dear.” His smile this time was cold. “I’ll say that you confessed your transgressions while in the islands, and
we abandoned you there immediately.”

Velyn felt sick. She had no wish to go halfway around the world. No wish to be trapped on a primitive island, far from the
comforts of her home. She couldn’t believe that she had so misjudged the man. “And what of Wraith?” she asked.

“We will no longer associate with him. He does not need to know why. We will create a dispute over contracts—such things are
easy to arrange, and can be impossible to resolve. If he is guilty of treason, his actions will reveal him soon enough.”

Four large men in deep green ran into the room. “This woman, who has no name but is no Sister, is to be put into the robes
of a Dispossessed and sent out with the troupe leaving today to tour the Southern Manarkan Chain. I will send orders along
with her. You are not to speak with her, nor are you to permit her to speak. Use whatever means you must to accomplish this.”

He looked at Velyn. “You understand what I just told them?”

Whatever means you must.
Yes. Velyn understood that. She nodded, not saying a word.

Brother Atric stood. “I would wish you good luck, traitor, but you have not earned it. Rather, I wish you an end fitting with
your actions.”

The men marched her out of Brother Atric’s office. She did not look back. She was too busy berating herself for her own stupidity
for thinking she knew the game, the players, and how to make herself look like one of them.

“We sent her to Bair’s Island,” Brother Lestovar told Wraith.

Wraith’s head ached. He sat down on the long bench in his great hall and said, “I went to a great deal of trouble to send
her to
you
.”

“I know that. But in the first minutes of her conversation with Brother Atric, she mentioned the underground, referred to
you as Wraith, and said that you were from the Warrens and that she was the one who had pulled you out of there. No matter
whether she was trying to get us to admit to something or whether she was merely being stupid, she’s more of a risk than we
can keep in anyplace as high-traffic and open to the outside as Resonance House. A slip like that to the wrong ears could
get her and us and you executed for treason superior.”

Wraith rose and walked to his fireplace, where he had a fine little wood fire burning. He took a poker and stirred the logs
and watched the sparks fly up the chimney, and he thought. “I cannot tell you how she feels about me, or what her intentions
were in telling you so much that should be secret. She was quite angry with me for not giving her shelter in my home. I suspect
she feels that I have treated her poorly. Perhaps she mentioned the things she did because she thought she was among friends;
I can’t swear to that, though, and don’t know that I would believe it if someone said it to me.”

“Do you want us to leave her on Bair’s Island?”

Wraith thought about the woman he had once loved. After she’d been healed, she had looked unchanged from the time when he
knew her. A hardness had lain behind her eyes, though—a cynicism that placed a barrier between the two of them. He could care
about what happened to her; he suspected that he always would. He could love her; he seemed incapable of putting that love
behind him. He would not replace her with another woman; as long as the two of them lived, he would never want someone else.
But he could not want her. He could not want what she represented: something cold and shallow and conniving and dishonest.
He was a fool to love her, but not such a fool that he would let his love for her destroy him.

“Bair’s Island will be fine,” he said. “Resonance House has a small chapter there, correct? One that can keep track of her
and keep her out of trouble?”

Brother Lestovar nodded. “All that’s on Bair’s Island is the chapter— which is run as a village where none wear the cowl and
cloak—and a collection of old ruins that keep some of our Brothers entertained. And jungle, of course. More jungle than anyone
could ever hope to see. We’ll make sure that she doesn’t come back to haunt you or us.”

“Be kind to her,” Wraith said. “Make sure she has whatever she needs—food, shelter, someone trustworthy to talk to.”

Brother Lestovar sighed. “We could have one of the mute Brothers—”

Wraith laughed. “No. You want someone who can tell you what she’s up to. Make sure she doesn’t know her friend is a Brother
or a Sister.” He turned away from the fire and said, “A moment.” He left Brother Lestovar standing in the great hall, went
into his library, and from his hidden vault pulled out enough money to cover Velyn’s stay on Bair’s Island for the rest of
her life. He handed the cash to Brother Lestovar and said, “For her upkeep. She’ll probably be quite … difficult. I’ve added
a bonus to, ah, make keeping her on more palatable.”

Brother Lestovar laughed. “She fought well. She impressed all of us.”

Wraith didn’t laugh. “I suspect she’s had a lot of practice of late.” He shook his head and rested a hand on Lestovar’s shoulder.
“Thank you for taking care of this.”

“You’re a friend, Wraith. The Kaan stand beside our friends.”

“I’m grateful.”

Lestovar—who had given up his Kaan name with his old identity and life—was a dancer, one of the best who graced the stage.
Along with many other young Kaan, he’d left the village to help Wraith fight against the magic that all of them despised.
When Wraith lost hope, Lestovar carried on with a conviction born of a lifetime of living free of magic. And because Lestovar’s
belief was never shaken, Wraith always found the strength and the hope to go on.

“I’ll be on my way, then.” Lestovar smiled. “Breathe easy. She’ll be fine in our care—and best of all, she’ll never know it’s
our care that she’s in.”

Wraith saw Lestovar to the door and closed it behind him thoughtfully. He wondered if he should put some sort of fail-safe
into place; after all, Velyn had a way of turning left when everyone was sure she would turn right—and with what she knew
and what she thought she knew (an even more dangerous category), she could destroy the underground if they didn’t handle her
correctly.

“She’s simply gone,” the investigator told Luercas. “We tracked her as far as a boardinghouse in the Bellhareven District;
none other than Master Gellas paid for her room and her court hearing. But apparently she said something wrong, or made enemies
other than you, for her rooms were broken into in the middle of the night and someone kidnapped her. A few witnesses have
admitted to seeing several men dressed in dark clothing carrying a large bag that looked like it might contain a body from
the room, but none of these witnesses stopped the men or questioned their activities.”

“Of course not. People aren’t fools—or if they are, they manage to avoid being fools when it could get them killed.” Luercas
sat in the central garden, the one Velyn had preferred above all others. He didn’t miss her. He didn’t miss the constant irritation
of her presence around the place, of her voice, of her face; in truth, he didn’t miss anything about her. But he’d received
the judge’s ruling against him, and with it an assessment of the penalties that he would be required to pay to her family.
Were she not found, he was likely to be held accountable, and the penalties would be increased. So for the first time since
the two of them had taken their vows, he found himself truly wanting her back.

Just for a while. Just until he could figure out a way to get the penalties that had been assessed against him reversed by
a sympathetic judge. To do that, he’d have to have Velyn back in his possession—and he would have to find a way to make her
look like the whole of the problem. He had no idea how he would do that, but he was certain that if he thought about it long
enough, he would come up with something.

“Pay whatever you have to pay,” he told the investigator. “Do whatever you have to do. But locate her, and get her back here.
Check Gellas Tomersin first—I find it strange that she should visit him and immediately thereafter disappear. Check anyone
with whom he has regular contact. If you need to take on associates to follow leads, then do so. You have only a week to find
her—if she isn’t back here by then, I’ll have to pay the penalties and any added judgments her family seeks because of her
absence.”

“Then you need her back here alive?”

Luercas stared at the man as if he had sprouted a second head. “Yes. Alive. Unharmed. Unscratched. Un
insulted,
even. She needs to be back here looking and feeling perfect, and if you find her in less-than-perfect condition, make sure
she sees a healer on her way here. I
cannot
risk her being seen in my presence with a mark on her.”

“I can do what you want. But I’m going to need a large advance. Hiring colleagues away from their own investigations will
not come cheap, and considering the people I’m going to have to bribe to find out about the people you want to have watched,
I’ll also need cash. Lots of it. Small denominations. Silver, small gold, and perhaps untraceable paper promissories.”

“Fine. You’ll see Woljis on your way out. He’ll have orders to give you an initial supply of money.” Luercas stood up and
glanced around to make sure that none of the staff was watching from indoors. “Do keep track of expenses. And don’t play with
the numbers. If you steal from me, you’ll have the opportunity to regret it. I don’t know if it will be a long opportunity
or a very short, intense one. But keep in mind that you want me to … to like you.”

The investigator nibbled at the corner of his lower lip and nodded politely. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

Luercas waved a hand, and into the tiny sphere of light that appeared, he said, “Woljis, give this man the money he needs
to help me. Be generous.” To the investigator, he said, “Follow the light. It will lead you to Woljis, wherever he might be.
And remember. Eight days. Beyond that, I’ll have to start looking for you.”

When he got her back, he would make sure that she told him who had helped her. Then he would have his revenge, just as he
would make sure that Velyn would pay for causing him public humiliation and the threat of financial distress. He stood in
her little garden for a long moment, fanta-sizing about different ways of discrediting her, her helpers, perhaps even her
family. He didn’t have anything solid, but he was sure he would be able to find something. If he couldn’t find it, he would
create it.

Master Faregan, whose meteoric rise through the ranks of the Silent Inquest had left some envious and others nervous, sat
in the anteroom of the Hall of the Triad in the Gold Building, preparing for his next promotion. The poison in his ring had
not the faintest taint of magic to it, and was an excellent, slow-acting drug—whichever of the Masters who received it would
not begin to show symptoms for a full day at minimum. As much as a week if he were hearty and hale.

Faregan rose as the tea boy came in bearing his tray and three cups. Faregan willed the contents of his ring into the nearest
of the cups, then sat contentedly, as if waiting for an audience. The boy went into the inner chamber, and the secretary came
out, his expression puzzled. “You were not called for, Master Faregan,” he said.