The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (4 page)

Dranko’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. Having done a bit of fencing in his day—and not the kind where you poked holes in people—he had a decent sense of the value of things, and even if the gems in the eyes were fake, he could imagine fetching ten gold crescents for this little owl. More, if the rubies were authentic.

He composed himself. “That’ll do for a start.”

The chime sounded again from somewhere deep in the tower’s heart. Abernathy flinched at the noise. “I have to go,” he said hurriedly. “Our enemy is ever battering at the door. As soon as I’m able, I’ll visit you at the Greenhouse. Good luck!”

Before Dranko could even open his mouth to ask one of the dozens of questions he still had, the bearded wizard wiggled his fingers and the library disappeared.

CHAPTER TWO

MORNINGSTAR OF ELL was thankful that the sun had set, but she was annoyed at everything else. She stood in a cluster with the others, looking upon the exterior of Abernathy’s tower and the scrubby park that surrounded it. The goblinoid man, Dranko, stood closest, reeking of cigar smoke and stale alcohol. She took a step away from him, as did Ernie and Grey Wolf.

Her head still spun from the whirlwind of the last hour. She had been aboard a ship from Port Kymer to Tal Hae, safely ensconced in its hold to avoid the sunlight. The invitation, so vaguely worded, had made her think it was her responsibility to reach the wizard’s home, though it had arrived too late for that to be possible. Morningstar had decided to come anyway, risking the wrath of her church elders and the additional scorn of her sisters by traveling abroad after sunrise.

She had wanted to tell Abernathy that his arrangement was impossible unless the entire group was willing to travel after nightfall wherever they went, but there hadn’t been time for that. As for the old wizard’s tale of a powerful enemy trapped in a cell, she needed more time to reflect.

The tall boy with the sword on his back, Tor, was looking every which way, eyes wide, a smile on his face. “I’ve never been this far from home before!”

“Young man, where are you from?” asked Mrs. Horn.

“Forquelle.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the boy looked mortified, as if he’d given up some terrible secret.

“We should go to the Greenhouse, right?” said Ernie.

While Morningstar was irked at the wizard’s presumption, the Greenhouse
was
her best option at the moment. She had never been to Tal Hae, and Abernathy was offering her free lodgings. (She briefly considered the local temple—supposedly one of the largest in the kingdom—but she wasn’t emotionally prepared for the questions that introduction would raise. Or, worse, for the possibility that her reputation had preceded her.)

Grey Wolf gestured to the tower. “I’m giving him one day to make his case. After that I’m on the first ship back to Hae Charagan. I’ll be in enough trouble as it is for abandoning a job.”

“You’re from the capital?” asked Tor. “I’ve never been there. What’s it like? Is it true that there’s a garden of walking topiaries? And that—”

Morningstar interrupted him. “Are any of you from
this
city and know where the Greenhouse is?”

Dranko answered, “Yeah. I’ve lived most of my life here. I can get us to the Street of Bakers. Follow me.”

He set off, and Morningstar trailed along with the rest. The walk took them half an hour, from the corner of the city where Abernathy had his residence, through a grocer’s district, then skirting a series of small plazas before turning down a wide street loud with the clanging hammers of smiths. Though the sun was now an hour below the western wall, Tal Hae was full of a thriving city’s industrious cacophony. Stores with brightly painted façades were open late, criers hawked their wares, children and dogs played in streets and yards by lamplight, the occasional beggar shook a rattling cup of copper chits at passersby, and the air lay heavy with the smells of fish and salt from the harbor. It was a larger, busier place than Port Kymer, which made sense. Tal Hae was the capital of Harkran and one of the largest cities in the kingdom.

A pair of scampering urchins stopped a game of tag to stare at her, then turned to whisper and giggle to one another. Once this would have stung, but her years at the temple in Port Kymer had built up around her an armor of calm equanimity. Having withstood the relentless cold suspicion of her sisters for so long, she was no longer troubled by the snickers of children. Her refuge, an inner calm and measured observation of the world, served her well as she floated through the strange streets of Tal Hae, following in a crowd of mismatched strangers. Her life could hardly have taken a more unexpected turn, summoned by a great wizard to help prevent calamity, but there was no use panicking. And besides, even if Abernathy somehow convinced her to stay as part of his team, she could not accompany them during daylight. His choice of her—or his spell’s choice—must have been in error.

The Street of Bakers was quieter than most, two blocks removed from the nearest plaza and the busier nighttime thoroughfares. Where most streets saw shops and houses huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, the half-dozen bakeries kept their distance from one another, separated by lawns and fences. To Morningstar they looked like nobles’ houses.

“Here we are.” Dranko gestured grandly at a small manor house painted a uniform forest green. “The wizard’s flophouse.”

A large wooden sign hung from a post set in the front yard. “The Greenhouse,” it announced, and the words were imposed over a painted baguette. A smaller sign had been tacked beneath the large one, warning “closed for repairs.” There were large bay windows—made with actual plates of glass—set in the street-facing wall of the house, covered with translucent curtains that only revealed the lamps lit within.

“I hope the Greenhouse has food,” said Mrs. Horn. “I feel Abernathy owes us dinner for a start, especially since mine is going to rot on my butcher’s block.”

“I’m starving!” Tor said, sounding like he just wanted to be agreeable. Morningstar didn’t think the lad would take much convincing to stay on as Abernathy’s servant.

They approached the large, thick door of the house, a slab of lacquered oak inscribed with unfamiliar letters. Grey Wolf tried the knob. It didn’t turn.

“It’s locked,” he grumbled. “Abernathy didn’t give any of you a key when I wasn’t looking, did he?”

Aravia stepped up and rubbed her hands together. “I can take care of this.”

Except for the appearance of Abernathy’s window (and, technically, the summoning and dismissal of the group), Morningstar had never seen wizard magic up close. It wasn’t expressly forbidden at the temple, but divine magic was a different thing altogether. Was she about to witness Aravia’s
minor lockbreaker
?

“Wait,” said Ernie. “I thought I saw someone in there, behind the curtains.”

“Maybe our great wizard forgot to tell some baker we was movin’ in,” said Kibilhathur. “Old geezer seemed like the sort what could overlook that sort a’ thing.”

“How about we knock, like the civilized people I’m sure we are.” Mrs. Horn winked. “We’re not vandals yet, are we?” She rapped her knuckles on the door.

A few seconds later there came the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened, revealing a tall gentleman in a spotless butler’s uniform. His face was gaunt, his hair graying at the temples, and his bearing exemplary.

“May I have your names, sirs and madams?” His voice was precise and cultured, if a bit gravelly.

Dranko stepped into the light spilling from inside the Greenhouse. “Dranko Blackhope,” he said affably. “Who are you, and why are you in our house?”

“You may call me Eddings,” said the butler. “Master Blackhope, I am pleased to welcome you to your new home. I will allow your friends to enter once they have named themselves.”

Sighing at this pointless rigmarole, Morningstar made her introduction next. The rest followed her lead and were allowed to cross the threshold.

The modest foyer was cheerfully decorated with potted plants and paintings of fruit. Two opposing staircases with carved wooden railings spiraled to the upper story of the house, while a wide archway opened into a spacious living room complete with couches, a fireplace, low tables, and empty bookshelves lining one wall.

On the left-hand wall of the living room was a black-painted door, the only thing in sight that would have looked at home in her Ellish Temple. But she had not eaten in hours, and a second door opened onto a dining room already set out with goblets of wine and plates of roasted chicken, the smell wafting out to greet her and setting her mouth to watering.

“You may leave your weapons in the foyer,” said Eddings. “Dinner awaits your pleasure in the dining room.”

“Does this count?” Mrs. Horn produced her cleaver from the waistband of her skirt.

Eddings was unfazed. “If you would prefer, I can clean that off in the kitchen.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

The interior of the house was much too bright; lanterns on the walls filled every room with a peculiarly even glow. It could hardly have been more starkly contrasted with the austere, unlit halls of her temple. Morningstar unbelted her weapon and set it against a wall inside the door, shielded her eyes with one hand to ward away the glare, and joined the others in the dining room. In addition to the chicken and wine there was a huge bowl of yellowbeans, cooked to an almost unnatural perfection.

A chandelier hung directly above the center of the round dining room table, with magic lights in place of candles. Morningstar kept her hood drawn close and her eyes squinted. She didn’t speak much as she ate, preferring for the moment to observe and listen to the others.

Dranko was unrestrained in his assault on both the food and the alcohol; he ate like someone for whom lavish meals were a luxury, and drank like a man for whom wine was a regular habit. Tor had laid his napkin carefully on his lap and held his wine glass with a practiced hand, but though his table manners were exquisite, the rate and quantity of his intake were alarming. Young Ernest seemed embarrassed at having a butler hovering nearby, and stole worried glances at Eddings between each mouthful.

“Mr. Eddings,” he asked, “have you been a butler for a long time?”

“Yes, Master Roundhill.”

“Oh, you can call me Ernie.”

“As you wish.”

Ernie reddened and looked back at his plate.

Dranko belched. “So, Eddings, how did you get this job working at the Greenhouse? Seems pretty cushy.”

“Master Blackhope, I was hired some months ago by our mutual employer, Master Abernathy. Though the circumstances of this arrangement are most unusual, the compensation is more than adequate. Also our employer suggested that I might find your company most entertaining.”

“Really? He said that about us?”

“He did, Master Blackhope.”

Dranko smoothed his shirt and sat up a bit straighter; he obviously enjoyed being addressed as “Master Blackhope” by a servant.

“Abernathy didn’t say he had hired us a butler,” said Morningstar. “He said very little, all things considered. Did you also do the cooking?”

“No, Lady Morningstar.”

“Just Morningstar will be fine. Do we have a cook as well? Because this is quite delicious.”

“No, I regret to say that we do not. Your food has come from Mr. Abernathy’s extraordinary Icebox, a magical compartment that creates food or drink upon request.”

“That seems like cheating,” said Ernie.

“Can you have it make us apple pies for dessert?” asked Tor.

“I cannot,” said Eddings. “While miraculous in its magical workings, the Icebox can only produce three separate items of food or drink each day. I have already used up its daily allotment by asking it for roast chicken, yellowbeans, and wine.”

“Tomorrow you should ask it for a watermelon made out of pure diamond,” said Dranko. “Or if that’s pushing it, a pie filled with silver pieces.”

Such a clever one, that Dranko. How did he make his living? She doubted it was something entirely on the level.

Eddings didn’t crack a smile. “I’m afraid the Icebox does not work that way, Master Blackhope. It only produces real, edible food.”

Morningstar’s hood slipped slightly and the light stung her eyes; she winced and pulled the fabric closer. Kibilhathur looked at her with concern. “You okay, miss?”

“I’m not used to lights this bright,” she answered curtly. “I’ll manage. I won’t be here very long, I think.”

“Why not? You don’t want to help Abernathy keep his critter locked up?”

That was the kind of passive-aggressive sort-of-accusation her sisters tended to make, but there was no nastiness in Kibilhathur’s voice, just curiosity.

“My desire to help is immaterial,” she said. “My sisterhood will not tolerate a priestess abroad during the day, and I doubt Abernathy will be content to limit us to nighttime excursions.”

“Oh. Suppose that makes sense.” The bearded fellow gave her a sheepish glance, as though remorseful he had taken up her time, then returned to his meal.