Meralda shrugged, and at that moment there came a knock at the door.
“Oh, no,” groaned Meralda. “Not now.”
Mug swiveled his eyes toward the sound of the captain’s voice. “It’s me, Thaumaturge,” he said, his voice faint through the heavy door. “Hurry!”
Meralda rose, trotted wearily for the door, and threw the bolt open. “Come in,” she began, biting back her words as the captain darted past her and inside.
“Remember what I told you, soldiers,” he said gruffly to the Bellringers, and then he slammed the door.
Meralda backed away, one eyebrow lifted. The captain mopped sweat from his forehead and fell heavily back against the door.
“I don’t suppose you keep anything to drink hidden away in here, do you?” he said.
Meralda shook her head. “I can send the lads…”
“No,” said the captain, with a sigh. “The lads need to stay put.” He pushed himself upright, took in a breath, and shook his head, his expression rueful. “I hear you roused the Tower shade today,” he said with a grin. “Flashes and thunders, all through the park.”
Meralda nodded, mute, and motioned toward her desk and the chairs that flanked it. Goboy’s mirror flashed as she did so, and a blurry image of a brick sidewalk and a bright white store front formed suddenly in the glass.
The captain nodded, and made for the chairs.
“What did you tell the penswifts?” he asked as he walked. “The palace has been full of them, all day. You may thank me for closing the west stair to them, by the way, or they’d be camped outside your door.”
Meralda grimaced. She had no more than set foot outside the Tower before finding herself beset by a mob of shouting penswifts. Deafened, breathless, and still in mild shock at her meeting with the Tower’s hidden presence, she’d said a very rude word before ordering Kervis to clear her a path.
“Such language,” said the captain, looking back with a grin. “And did you really call them witless, mewling, rumor mongers, who spew out mindless drivel for a small, but exceedingly ignorant, readership?”
I did say that, didn’t I? thought Meralda. To a mob of penswifts, who took down every word.
“I’ve wanted to say that hundreds of times, over the years,” he said, settling into a chair. “Good evening, houseplant,” he added, to Mug.
“Your Grace,” replied Mug, with a sweeping dip of his eye buds.
“Bah,” snapped the captain. Meralda pulled her desk chair away from the desk, and set it so she faced Mug and the captain.
Voices sounded from outside the door. The captain smiled.
“That will be Sir Envid and the Vonats,” he said, cheerily. “The Vonats insisted on a tour. I instructed your lads that you weren’t here, and that I hadn’t been around in days, and that if Envid asks them why they’re here and you’re not they are to shrug and say they were told to guard the laboratory and Tirlish soldiers follow orders whether diplomats like it or not.”
“Thank you,” said Meralda. “The last thing I need now is a herd of Vonats wandering about, trying to slip things in their pockets.”
The captain lost his smile. “The last thing you need now is Humindorus Nam,” he said.
“The Vonat mage,” said Mug. “We’ve heard so many pleasant things about him.”
“He’s the one insisting on a tour,” said the captain. “He’s insane. Not climb the walls and run about naked insane, but mad in worse ways. They’re up to something, Meralda, and I’m afraid you’re a part of it.”
The voices faded, and footsteps fell away.
Meralda waited until they were gone. I have the oddest impression, she thought, that someone is crouched just beyond the door, listening.
She fought back a shiver, looking to see if the captain noticed. But his eyes were upon Goboy’s mirror, which had begun to flash again, and present brief scenes of rainy Tirlish streets.
“Captain,” said Mug, after a moment. “If you know something definite, why not share it with the thaumaturge? She doesn’t keep secrets from you, now does she?”
Meralda glared, but the captain nodded and turned away from the mirror. “That’s why I’m here,” he said. “I’ve got things to tell.” He sighed, and put his hands on his knees, and met Meralda’s eyes.
“It all started a year ago,” he said. “And naturally, it all started in Vonath.”
Chapter Thirteen
The captain stomped out.
Mug regarded Meralda with all of his eyes. “Well. Vonat spies, trained in sorcery. This day gets better and better by the moment, doesn’t it?”
Meralda nodded. In her hand was a pencil. She resisted a sudden urge to chew on it.
“Why doesn’t Yvin just arrest every last Vonat and toss them in the dungeon until after the Accords?” sputtered Mug.
“You know why,” said Meralda. “They have to sign the treaty too, or the Hang will sail away and never come back.”
“Oh? And that’s a disaster, is it? Why?”
Meralda sighed and put down her pencil. “Because the world isn’t as big as it once was, Mug. And we’re a part of it now, like it or not.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” The dandyleaf plant tossed his leaves. “I just want that understood.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” Meralda rose, stretched, yawned.
“If that Vonat wizard is in with the meddlers, as the captain suspects, he’ll likely try and meddle with you, mistress. Probably with something shiny and sharp. Please tell me you’re going to take steps to protect yourself.”
“I am.” Meralda gazed back across the ranks of shelves and stacks of crates. The captain’s warning had been clear.
I can expect a magical assault by a skilled Vonat wizard, she thought. What would best protect me from such a thing?
“Migle’s Mighty Armor,” said Mug, guessing her thoughts. “Turns arrows and knives, too, as I recall.”
Meralda imagined herself stumbling about in eighty pounds of iron and frowned. “Made for a man, and one two feet taller than I,” she said. She paced toward the first row of shelves, finger to her lips. “No. I need something subtle. Something he can’t see. Something no one can see.”
Items on the shelves were stored, in Shingvere’s words, “according to malevolent whim and infernal caprice.” Before Meralda were half a dozen intricate devices designed to make ice. Beneath them was a line of six silver gloves, all snapping their fingers in perfect time.
“Naigree’s Vanishing Amulet?”
Meralda walked past a jar containing the skeleton of a rat, which put its bony face to the glass and wiggled dry whickers at her as she passed.
“Won’t work in direct sunlight.”
The faint strains of music rose up from a music-box before her. Meralda smiled, and the box scuttled away, leaving tiny footprints in the dust.
“Carvile’s Temporary Displacer?”
A crystal snake, its gold spine bending and twisting within it, coiled suddenly at Meralda, flicking its metallic tongue at her until she lifted her eyebrow and frowned.
“You have to constantly sing to it.”
Mug sighed. “Surely there’s a bloody enchanted sword somewhere in this clutter, mistress!”
“There are at least eight. Five had to be wrapped in chains and sealed inside lead boxes. Two are broken.”
“That leaves one,” said Mug.
“It grows an inch a year,” said Meralda. “It was twelve feet long, last time I checked.” Meralda found herself halfway down the first rank of shelves. Magical implements glittered and moved and spun, illuminating her one moment with strange glows, and the next with flashes of harsh white light.
“Here you are,” she said.
She reached up and took down a small, dusty oak box. The top was worked with sigils and runes. A tiny key protruded from the delicate brass lock.
Lavey’s Here-now Gone-now Charm of Hiding. Meralda cleared a space on the shelf before her and put the box carefully down.
“Mistress?” called Mug. “Have you found something?”