Banage arched his eyebrows at the younger man. “You were the one who pushed her into the corner, Hern,” he said. “Miranda is a strong, proud Spiritualist. Is it surprising she pushed back?”
Hern gritted his teeth and lowered his hands, the flames sputtering out. “It makes no difference; she’s a traitor and a criminal now. We’ll hunt her down sooner or later.”
“Perhaps,” Banage said, unfastening his stiff collar. “But your involvement in this matter is at an end, Hern. I suggest you put it out of your mind.”
Hern glared at him. “What do you mean? I’m not finished until that girl’s rings are dust.”
“The pursuit and apprehension of traitors is the sole purview of the Rector Spiritualis.” Banage removed his heavy chain next and handed it to Krigel, who had stepped forward to help him. “Rest assured, I will give this matter the attention it deserves.”
Hern glared murder at him. “I will not let you bury this,” he said, his voice taut. “Do not think this is done, Etmon!”
“I would never allow myself such luxuries,” Banage answered, but Hern was already off, marching through the chaotic hall, his robes flying behind him like fantastic wings. A handful of the remaining Tower Keepers fell in behind him, leaving the room nearly empty.
“Well,” Krigel said when they were gone, “that was a fine fiasco.”
“Yes,” Banage said, sinking back down into his chair. “I seem to have a talent for making troublesome enemies.”
Krigel sniffed. “Any man who wasn’t Hern’s enemy would be no friend of mine.”
Banage nodded absently, staring up at the window.
Krigel followed his eyes. “If you don’t mind my saying, sir, that was very unlike you. What possessed you to do it?”
“What,” he said, “let her escape? It certainly wasn’t the proper thing to do.” He paused, and a thin smile spread across his lips. “Let’s just say it felt more right than letting Hern win.”
“I see,” Krigel said. “And are you saying that as the Rector Spiritualis or as her master?”
“Both,” Banage said. “She made her choice and she chose her spirits. I can’t say I would respect a Spiritualist who chose otherwise, not as mentor or as Rector. Now”—he stood up—“back to work. Tell me, which traveling Spiritualist reported in last?”
“That would be Zigget,” Krigel said. “He stopped in last week and left promptly a day later to investigate reports of spirit abuse by pirates on the Green Sea.”
“Good,” Banage said, nodding. “Notify anyone who asks that Zigget is now in charge of catching Miranda Lyonette and bringing her to face trial.”
“But he’s on a boat by now,” Krigel said. “Even relaying through the towers, it will take weeks to inform him of his new assignment.”
“Too bad,” Banage said. “I suddenly have the strong feeling that no one but Zagget is right for this job.”
“It’s Zigget, sir,” Krigel said.
“Whatever.” Banage shrugged, looking around at the scattered papers and overturned benches. “Put him on it and make sure Hern knows, and get someone in here to clean this up.”
“Yes, Rector.” Krigel bowed.
Banage patted him on the shoulder and walked down the stairs and out of the chamber, running his hand along the wall as he went. Beneath his fingers, the stone tower whispered that the white dog and its master were already outside the city, running south and east across the plains. Smiling, Banage pulled back his hand and started up the stairs, feeling much better than he’d expected to feel.
A
s soon as Slorn announced he would start the coat, he vanished into his workroom and did not come out for food or sleep. The first day of waiting passed quickly enough, but by the second Eli was getting dangerously bored.
“You know,” Josef said, “it’s a sign of maturity to be able to entertain yourself.”
They were sitting around the table in the main room. Josef had all his knives, swords, and throwing spikes laid out by size, and he was carefully sharpening them with a contented look on his face. Nico was sitting beside him, reading some book of Slorn’s she’d picked up the day before, one of Morticime Kant’s fourteen-volume
A Wizarde Historie
. This activity had surprised Eli for two reasons: one, that Slorn kept that kind of trash in his house, and two, that Nico could read. She’d never given any signs that she was literate before, but there was so little he knew about her, it wasn’t safe to assume anything. Anyway, that had been yesterday’s realization. Today, he was slumped over the hard chair by the fire, bored out of his mind.
“An active mind requires stimulation,” he grumbled, tilting his head to look at Josef. “We can’t all be happy sharpening knives all day long.”
Josef just kept dragging his long knife over the whetstone with practiced ease and said nothing. Realizing he wouldn’t get an argument, Eli swung himself up with an exaggerated sigh and looked again at the sealed door to Slorn’s workroom. The only interesting thing going on in the whole house and Slorn was too stingy to let him watch. Still, there was always a way.
“What are you doing?” Josef asked as Eli began to stalk across the room.
“Broadening my mind,” Eli answered, carefully laying his fingers on the door. It was good, hard wood, and already awake. Eli smiled and began tapping his fingers against it.
Before he could say anything, the door said, “Don’t even think about it.”
“Come now,” Eli said softly. “Surely dear Heinricht wouldn’t mind if I checked in on him. It’s not often I get to watch a master at work. Just a peek, what do you say?”
“Absolutely not.” The door held itself firmer than ever. “And if you’re considering schmoozing anything else, I’ll tell you right now you can save your breath. Every stick of furniture in this house is under strict orders to make sure
you
keep out of the way.”
Behind him, Nico made a sound almost like a snort. Eli gave her a cutting look over his shoulder before turning back to the door, which had pulled back so far it was digging into its frame.
“I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way,” he cooed. “No one wants him to finish quickly more than I do. I just want to learn. How can you deny me that? Come on, I don’t even have to see. Just let me listen in.” He leaned forward, putting his ear against the gap in the boards. “Slorn loves knowledge above all else. How could he object to just a little listen?”
The door gave a shriek and Eli jumped backward, slapping a hand over his ear to stop the ringing. The door’s shriek faded to a loud, off-key humming, and Eli sighed, rubbing his ear with his palm.
“All right,” he said. “I get it. You can stop now.”
The door hummed louder.
“I guess this is one of those times I should be glad I can’t hear spirits,” Josef said, looking down at the sword he was sharpening with a smile that was slightly larger than the blade warranted.
“In this house, that’s all the time,” Eli grumbled. “Does Slorn awaken only the rude ones?”
“I hardly think following orders makes a spirit rude,” came a growly voice. The door ceased its humming, and everyone turned to look as Slorn himself stepped into the room looking very tired and very annoyed.
“Slorn,” Eli said. “How nice to see you again. I was beginning to worry work had eaten you for good.”
“I find it hard to work with so much noise going on.” Slorn folded his arms over his chest. “Aren’t thieves supposed to be quiet?”
“Only when quietness is called for,” Eli said.
“I’m so sorry, Heinricht,” the door said. “I was only trying to protect your privacy, and—”
The bear-headed man silenced it with a wave. “You did well. I was coming out anyway.”
Eli brightened. “Is it done?”
“Mostly,” Slorn said, turning back toward his workroom. “Come in and see, but don’t touch anything.”
Eli sprang across the room and fell in behind him, giving the grumbling door a dazzling smile as he passed. Josef put down his sword and followed at a more reasonable pace, with Nico bringing up the rear.
Eli had been trying to get into Slorn’s workroom since his first visit, and he was not disappointed. The room was in strict order and absolutely full of curiosities. Shelves filled every available bit of wall, and every available bit of shelving was covered with bins of scrap cloth, animal hides, and enormous spools of thread, some of which were glittering, others almost invisible. There were bins of metal as well, all obscurely labeled in Slorn’s spidery writing as “resentful” or “pleasant,” and one locked chest on the top shelf bore a red sign that read “bloodthirsty— for blade cores only.”
There was a large forge in the corner, which was surprising, considering there was no chimney on this side of the house, but it was cold and its anvil had been pushed to the side. Instead, a large loom took up what little floor space there was. It sat empty now, but its shuttles were twitching with exhaustion, coming down off of two days of solid work.
Eli hopped around like a magpie, examining the tool racks, the shelves of materials, the half-finished projects, anything he could get to. Josef, obviously not seeing what the excitement was about, strolled along behind him looking decidedly bored until he spotted something that made him stop midstep. He grabbed Eli’s sleeve, pulling the thief away from the chest of glass knobs he’d been gawking over, and nodded toward the wall. Eli followed his gaze, letting out a low, impressed whistle.
There, hanging from a large iron peg, was a sword unlike any they’d seen. To start, it was enormous, larger even than the Heart of War. The blade, guard, and handle were all the same dark metal, a steel blacker than iron with a red tinge that made Eli shudder. Strangest of all was the edge. The heavy, black metal tapered on one side, sharpening, not to a sword edge, but to a row of jagged, bladed teeth. They ran in an uneven line, like teeth in a sea monster’s jaw, and every one of them gleamed killing sharp. The sword’s surface had a strange, matte finish that made the blade look darker than it was, but when Josef reached out to touch it, Slorn was suddenly there, grabbing his hand halfway.
“I said don’t touch,” the bear man growled.
“Slorn,” Eli said, sliding between the two men with a smile. “I thought you didn’t make swords anymore.”
Slorn let go of Josef’s hand with a low rumble. “I don’t, usually. That’s a custom order for another client.” He glared at the sword. “The rabid piece of junk took me almost two months to finish and it’s not friendly, so I’d appreciate it if you left it alone.”
Despite the warning, Josef leaned in, more interested than ever. “It must weigh what, two hundred? Two fifty?”
“A ton,” Eli said. “Who’s it for, a mountain?”
“I have clients who are mountains,” Slorn said, “but no. And I was told weight didn’t matter, so I didn’t bother to weigh it. Can we move on, please? I don’t have all day.”
He stepped aside, motioning them to the far back corner of the workroom. Eli went cheerfully, Josef less so, but what they saw next put the sword out of their minds. In the corner stood a dressmaker’s dummy half eaten by something that looked like liquid night. Eli blinked and looked again, letting his eyes adjust to the soft light of the workshop, and slowly, the blackness arranged itself into the shape of a woman’s coat.
It was a long coat with a wide collar, flared sleeves, and buttoned straps to hold it closed. Silver flashed at the neck, and when he looked harder, Eli realized the flashes were needles. A small army of needles swam through the black fabric, moving in perfect unison, dragging the shiny black thread behind them. Still, despite that all this was happening less than three feet in front of him, Eli had a hard time seeing what the needles were doing. The light from the tall floor lamp seemed to slide around the coat, almost like the yellow glow was deliberately avoiding it. Eli marveled at the effect, wondering what kind of fabulous cloth Slorn had used, but when he looked at the scraps that lay scattered about on the floor, he realized the fabric was actually no blacker than any dark wool.
He mentioned this to Slorn, and the bear-headed man smiled wide.
“That’s the new layer of protection I put in.” His voice had an uncharacteristic note of bragging in it, the pride of a workman who has just made something unique. “It’s not that the coat is so black, but that the lamp can’t see it. Watch this.”
He grabbed the coat’s sleeve and began to move it toward the lamp. The closer he got to the light, the darker and less substantial the coat became.
“How did you do that?” Eli asked, snatching the sleeve out of Slorn’s hand to get a better look at it.
“The law of type,” Slorn answered proudly. “Most spirits who emit light are fire spirits in one form or another. They all have the same type. It’s like a spirit species.” He added that last bit for Josef, who looked completely lost.
“But the law of type merely states that spirits of the same type share strengths and weaknesses,” Eli said, giving the coat’s fabric an experimental tug, amazed at the strength of it. “What does that have to do with not seeing?”
Slorn chuckled. “Let’s just say that spirits who share a type also share the same blindnesses. For example, fire spirits as a whole are very direct. They don’t bother with things they can’t burn. To take advantage of this, I simply wove the spirits in the coat together in a way that, for the spirits, makes it look like resting water, which is of no interest to flames.”