Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (12 page)

“Not
a clue.”

Hopes
dashed. “Thanks.”

“It
was obviously made to do something,” she said. “It certainly isn’t attractive
enough to wear for any other reason. Considering the lengths those who want it
are willing to go to get it, I’d say it has a more practical purpose. You’re
sure you can’t take it off?”

“Not
if I want to continue breathing. Meaning if anyone takes the amulet, they have
to take me along with it. And I don’t plan on going anywhere with anyone I ran
into last night.”

Tarsilia
thought silently for a few moments. “If the Guardians are involved, it stands
to reason that the Seat of Twelve is involved.”

That
sounded reasonable enough to me. Not good, but reasonable. The Seat of Twelve
was the name given to the twelve most powerful mages who made up the governing
Conclave council. Not exactly people I wanted to notice me. I looked to
Garadin. He nodded in agreement. Great.

“Well,
I know a man who should know what this thing is and what it does,” Tarsilia
said, “but it’s been over twenty years since I last saw him.”

“Who?”
Garadin asked.

“Justinius
Valerian.”

My
godfather looked stunned. It was a look I didn’t get to see on him very often.

“You
were a student of the Archmagus?” he asked, clearly impressed.

“No,
we were business partners for a time. That, and I slept with him.”

I
didn’t even try to stop my jaw from dropping. One man had absolute authority
over the Isle of Mid and everyone on it. The Archmagus. And Tarsilia had slept
with him.

“For
about five years,” Tarsilia added. “The sex part, that is. The business
partnership dissolved long before that. We just couldn’t seem to agree with
each other.”

“Sounds
like you agreed with each other just fine,” I said.

Tarsilia
winked. “That’s a different kind of agreement, dear.”

Garadin
recovered quicker than I did. “Think he would remember you?”

She
gave him a flat look. “I can guarantee it.”

That
was more than I’d ever wanted to know about my landlady.

“As
nice as getting information about this necklace would be,” I told her as
diplomatically as I could, “there’s the small matter of time. I don’t have any.
Not to mention, the Guardians take their orders from Justinius Valerian. If he
wants the amulet, he’d just have the Guardians drag me back to Mid along with
it. Let’s see what we can do to avoid me surrendering to the Guardians, shall
we?”

Tarsilia
shrugged. “Suit yourself. But until you get rid of that trinket, things are
going to be busy around here.”

“They’re
not going to be busy, because I’m not going to be here,” I told her. “The
Khrynsani will be watching my rooms. When I make it obvious that I’m moving
out, I should take my trouble with me.”

Tarsilia
bristled. “You’re not letting goblin shamans run you out of your home.”

“It’s
just temporary,” I assured her. “I can’t have Khrynsani visits becoming a
nightly event around here. I won’t endanger you or Piaras. Don’t worry, I’ll be
going somewhere safe.”

Tarsilia
didn’t look convinced, but she decided to let it drop. I knew it wouldn’t stay
that way.

My
rooms above Tarsilia’s shop were small, which I preferred to think of as cozy.
Cozy also had the added benefit of less to clean. I’ve never been one for
clutter, so what furnishings and possessions I had were there because I either
needed or simply wanted them. Less clutter also made it obvious from the moment
I opened the door whether anyone had been there while I was gone. Everything I
owned had a purpose and a place, and if it had been moved, I’d know about it.

Nothing
had been moved.

As a
Benares, I had an eye for the finer things in life, and I saw no reason why I
shouldn’t have a few of them. Nothing too terribly expensive, just nice. I
liked warm feet, so why shouldn’t I keep them toasty on a Nebian rug or two? I
bought one; Phaelan gave me the other. I knew where mine had come from; I
couldn’t say the same for Phaelan’s gift. As to furniture, I had a preference
for warm-colored fabrics and dark wood. And on one occasion, Markus Sevelien
had paid me with a particularly beautiful painting I had often admired in his
office. It was of a fog-shrouded landscape with the ruins of a temple. Not the
most cheerful subject, but I liked it.

These
rooms were my home. I was being forced to leave, and that made me angry. Now
all I wanted was someone to take it out on.

Tarsilia
had come upstairs with me, my self-appointed bodyguard for the morning. Piaras
was downstairs opening the shop. Garadin had left once I promised him that I
would get myself to one of Markus’s safehouses. It wasn’t a lie. At some point
during the day I was sure I’d find my way to a safehouse. I needed answers, and
answers were difficult to come by when you were hiding. By no stretch of the
imagination was I that good a sorceress even on my best day, strange amulet or not.

Boris
darted around my legs and ran straight for his basket by the fireplace, no
doubt to make sure his favorite toys were still there. Satisfied, he began
kneading the old blanket I used to line his basket. At least one of us was
going to get some sleep.

“Could
you keep Boris with you for a few days?” I asked Tarsilia. “I don’t want him
here in case someone gets really serious about breaking in.”

My
landlady shrugged. “He stays with me most days anyway. Are you going to put a
seal on the doors and windows when you leave?”

I
hadn’t thought of that. As much as I disliked the thought of anyone in my
rooms, using a sealing spell would just make any potential intruder think there
was something inside worth taking—like the amulet hanging quietly around my
neck.

“I
don’t think so. No one will actually expect me to be staying here. If I’m not
here, no one else should come sneaking around. Unless it’s Ocnus, then you can
just sic Piaras on him.”

“You
know how to spoil an old woman’s fun, don’t you?”

I
went into the bedroom to change clothes and gather what I would need over the
next few days. Nothing appeared to have been moved in here, either. I looked
over at my dressing table. My one and only mirror was where I had left it—face
down. When it came to getting from one place to another, Gates weren’t the only
alternative to the front door. Mirrors would work in a pinch, and some
sorcerers made a specialty out of spelling things through them. The one mirror
I had was small and wasn’t on my wall. I’d seen firsthand the kind of nastiness
that could make its entrance through a big wall mirror.

I
took off the blood-stained clothes as carefully as I could. The leather jerkin
was a total loss. The shirt could be washed, but I wasn’t going to be here to
do it, so the shirt would have to go, too. Everything else was salvageable. As
much as I would have liked to, I didn’t think sending a bill to the goblin
embassy to replace my favorite jerkin would be a good idea. From what Tarsilia
had just told me, I was sure I’d get other chances to collect.

I
chose a blue shirt and my favorite brown leather doublet. It was my favorite
because it had steel links woven between the outer leather and inner lining. It
wasn’t light by a long shot, but those steel rings had saved my bacon on more than
one occasion. The doublet also had leather sleeves, better for hiding what I
wasn’t leaving my rooms without—a pair of slender daggers in forearm sheaths.
They were also some of my favorites, for the same reasons. I topped it all with
a pair of short swords strapped to my back. They fit nicely under a cloak, and
wielded nicely in tight spaces. I now felt armed enough to set foot outside my
front door.

“How
close of a look did you get at the shamans?” I called to Tarsilia through the
partially closed bedroom door.

“As
close as I needed to. Those two were fresh from under a rock. Alix, Parry, and
I took turns standing watch. He’s nice to have around the house when
undesirables come to call.”

I
found two clean shirts and put those in my pack along with my other things.
“Did he go home with Alix?”

“Of
course. But he told me he was just going to walk her home.” She chuckled. “He
can put on the airs, but he’s no gentleman.”

I
smiled and buckled the leather strap on my pack. “I think that’s what Alix
likes about him.”

I
came out of my bedroom and tossed the burlap sack with my ruined clothes next
to the door. I flopped into a chair. Boris decided I was now acceptable for
physical contact, and after a tentative sniff, rubbed his head against my hand,
demanding to be scratched. I obeyed.

“A
lovely couple,” Tarsilia concluded.

I
knew she wasn’t talking about me and the cat. To her credit, she didn’t say
anything else, or toss any meaningful glances my way. In this instance, even I
could read her mind. But regardless of what Tarsilia wanted for me, it didn’t
change my reality. The men I attracted didn’t have rooms or homes. They had
lairs. Or lived in an island fortress and gave guided tours of the dungeons for
fun.

I had
a spotty history as far as the opposite sex was concerned. Any and all of my
prior relationships had been at the mercy of my family, or more accurately, at
the mercy of my family name. There was no middle ground. Men either ran for the
hills when they heard who my family was, or they were just using me to get in
with my uncle. Sissies or scoundrels—that was all I’d gotten in the past, and I
didn’t want either one. I grinned at a couple of particularly pleasant
memories. A couple of those scoundrels hadn’t been half bad at first.

Tarsilia
had brought the sugar knots upstairs with us. She popped one in her mouth. She
could do that all day and never gain an ounce. The thought of food made me
remember something. I grumbled under my breath.

“What
is it?” Tarsilia asked.

“I’m
supposed to meet Alix for lunch today.”

“You’re
afraid she won’t remember?”

“No,
I’m afraid she will. Considering what’s happened, she’d be better off not
showing up. I don’t want to attract more attention to myself than I have to.
Having lunch with Alix might not be the smartest thing for me to do right now.”

“You
don’t want to sit in an outside café at midday?” She finished off another knot
and wiped her fingers on her work apron. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Replaced
by survival instinct. Though a public place might be safe. Generally sorcerers
don’t blow each other away at high noon in a public square.” I stopped. “I just
described a duel, didn’t I?”

“Yes,
you did.” Tarsilia grinned. “Mind if I join you two? Sounds like fun.”

Dueling
is forbidden in the city, but that doesn’t stop sorcerers from doing it. And a
watcher’s meager salary doesn’t exactly inspire local law enforcement to get
between two sorcerers bent on obliterating each other. The chronic offenders are
usually mediocre talents fighting over a choice client—or looking to enhance
their reputations. Charlatans don’t have the talent to survive a duel, and a
mage doesn’t want to be bothered with such childish pastimes. Of course there
are exceptions. Then there are the suicidal types—mediocre talents who try to
goad a mage into a duel. I guess they think it looks good for them to have
fought and defeated a mage. What few of them fail to remember is that duels
have winners and losers. Losers tend to be dead. That memory lapse is the
reason why there always seem to be rooms available for rent in the Sorcerers
District.

“Don’t
worry, I’ll let Alix know you can’t make it,” Tarsilia was saying. Her little
face grew solemn. “If you promise me you’ll be careful.”

I
gave her an impulsive hug. “I promise.” I draped a hooded cloak over my
shoulders, followed by my pack. I didn’t raise the hood. I wanted to be seen
leaving. Later I’d see what I could do about a little vanishing act. “And if
careful doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just be lucky. Luck has to start speaking to
me again sometime.”

You
know it’s going to be a bad day when you can’t get privacy
inside your own head.

I
knew it’d only be a matter of time until someone came looking for me. When that
time came, I had hoped that someone would trail me at a discreet distance.
Aside from being invasive and rude, mind touching was just icky. Not to mention
having somebody popping into your head starts to wear on you after a while. It
makes you wonder which thoughts are yours and which ones have been planted and
fertilized by someone else. After last night, my own imagination was doing a
fine job of shoveling fertilizer all by its lonesome. It didn’t need any help.

Since
it wasn’t an actual speaking voice, I couldn’t put a name to it. But the slimy
trail it left behind left no doubt that it was a Khrynsani shaman. A certain
elven Guardian had already put in an appearance, so why should the goblins be
left out?

Ignoring
it wouldn’t make it go away. As uncomfortable and disgusting as it felt, I let
whoever-it-was putter around for a little while. Too long and he would see
everything I saw—and know precisely where I was. He wasn’t going to be there
that long. But the longer he was there, the easier it would be for me to slam
my mind’s door on his figurative fingers. I was overdue for some fun.