Donchen offered the device to Meralda, and she took it.
The needle pointed toward the door, and the tiny wheels spun and whirled.
“Those characters are numbers,” said Donchen. “I’ll scribble them and their Kingdom counterparts down for you before I go. We measure feet in nearly the same way. I’ll leave figures for that too.”
He picked up the bottle, and placed it carefully in Meralda’s hand.
“This is a more, um, active magic,” he said. “I hope you don’t find a need for it. But, if you should find yourself facing hostile persons again, spray them with this. You’ll find they cannot hide from you afterward, no matter where they run, no matter what spells they employ. If you see them again, you will know.”
Meralda regarded the bottle carefully. It was nearly full of a clear liquid, and though the beveled edges of the cuts and the gold filigree made seeing inside it difficult, it seemed as though something moved deep within it.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a magic sword in a pocket somewhere, do you?” asked Mug. “Something a little more martial than a squirt of water to the nose?”
“Perhaps next time.” Donchen rose and stretched. “I feel the need for a walk, Mage Ovis. I think I’ll amble about your fair city for a bit. Perhaps I’ll take in some new sights. What neighborhood would you suggest I visit, pray tell?”
Meralda rose and smiled. “I hear the area between Dorleigh and Ventham streets is interesting this time of year. You might even see a Vonat or two there, though I understand they try to keep out of sight.”
Donchen nodded. “We’ll just see how talented they are at that, won’t we?” He bowed, tossed Mug a salute, and gathered up empty plates and dirty silverware.
“I’m sure we’ll speak again soon, Mage Ovis,” he said.
Meralda pulled his serving cart by her desk and helped him clear away the remains of the meal.
“I’m sure we will, Mr. Donchen,” she said.
“Please. I am sohata. Call me Donchen. No one will hear.”
“Only if you call me Meralda.” Meralda blushed, for no reason she could determine.
Mug groaned and pretended to suffer a sudden attack of blight.
“You’re going to trust him? Just like that?”
“Did I tell him about the Tower? Did I tell him anything he didn’t already know?” Meralda stood, glared, and began to pace. “Perhaps you failed to notice he’s been more than forthcoming, Mug. Far more than I.”
“I think you’re succumbing to his otherworldly charms,” said Mug. “I think-”
“I found no evidence of dissembling on the part of the young man,” said the Tower.
“Oh, what do you know? You yourself admitted you hadn’t had a simple conversation in a thousand years. Now you’re an expert at sizing up strangers?”
The Tower had no reply.
Meralda shook her head. I wonder if Mug is right. I do like Donchen. There’s something genuine under that self-deprecating humor.
“Oh, he’s a smooth talker, all right,” muttered Mug. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we know nothing about him other than what he tells us. Which he could be making up on the spot, for all we know.”
“I don’t think so, Mug. He’s offered to help, which I need. So until he gives me a reason to distrust him, I’m not going to start.”
“Fine. Just don’t come crying to me when he turns out to be a Vonat in disguise.”
Meralda glared. Mug tossed his leaves and glared back.
“Tower. Can you follow Donchen, watch what he does?”
“With ease.” The scene in the mirror flashed, became a crow’s eye view of the Hang as he pushed his serving cart back toward the kitchen.
Donchen smiled at the people he met in the halls, spoke to some, laughed with some. The image in the glass was silent, and Meralda found herself wishing she could hear what was said.
“Good thinking, mistress,” said Mug. “I’ll keep eyes on him while you work.”
The image of Donchen shrank until it occupied only half the glass. In the other, a drawing appeared, depicting the Tower and the damaged curseworks which spun atop it.
Meralda sank back into her chair.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s start with the very first spell your master latched when he laid the curseworks. I need to know everything I can about the core of it, please.”
The image in the glass shimmered. Some of it fell away, leaving only a whirling, tangled mass of fine lines spinning slowly against the dark.
“Observe,” said the Tower. “There are four thousand, nine hundred, and fourteen elements. Each is independent of the other…”
The Tower droned on. Mug watched Donchen leave the palace. Meralda covered three pages of drawing paper with notes and sketches. Donchen ambled down crowded city streets, his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed in a carefree whistle.
Meralda called for coffee. Mug watched Donchen idle in front of stores, chat with strangers, wait and move with crowds as they were waved across streets by traffic masters.
“He’s using magic of some sort,” muttered Mug. “No one seems to notice he’s Hang.”
Meralda nodded, her pencil scratching across the page.
“It is a minor charm of concealment,” said the Tower. “Phendelit in nature.”
Mug imitated a derisive snort. “Stolen, then.”
“Are you talking, Mug, or watching?”
“Both, mistress.” Mug fell silent, his eyes intent on the glass.
Donchen stopped to speak with a skirted Eryan flower girl. He spoke. She laughed. He produced a coin, and she produced a yellow rose. Donchen took it and walked away smiling.
“Bet that’s for you,” whispered Mug.
And then Donchen rounded a corner. The image in the glass shifted, moving to keep the Hang centered in the glass.
As Donchen rounded the corner, he vanished.
Mug whistled and aimed a dozen suddenly rigid vines at the glass.
“Mistress!” he shouted. “He’s gone!”
Meralda looked up, frowning.
The street scene in the glass turned back and forth, as though searching. Passers-by walked past, but Donchen was nowhere to be seen.
“Impressive,” said the Tower.
“Impossible,” sputtered Mug. “Mistress, he’s made himself invisible!”
Meralda put her pencil down. “That’s not possible, Mug.”
“Then where is he?”
“He is precisely where he should be,” said the Tower. “Observe.”
The image shimmered. Meralda watched as pedestrians walked the sidewalk, and then she smiled.
“The people on the street can still see him, Mug,” she said, pointing at the glass. “Watch. They’re stepping aside. Slowing or speeding up to let him pass. It’s just us who can’t see him, because we’re using a spell.”
“Indeed. But see here.” The Tower paused, and the glass flickered, and Donchen was once again walking down a crowded sidewalk. “I have adjusted for his spell.”
Mug turned eyes toward Meralda. “That’s no Phendelit spell he’s using, is it, Tower?”
“It is not. I have not seen the like of it before. I surmise it is Hang.”
“I’ll bet a donut Mr. Fancy Pants knew you’d try to watch him, mistress,” said Mug. “A bit out of character, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s the Vonats he’s hiding from, Mug, and you know it. He has no idea we’re watching him too.”
“I agree with the mage,” said the Tower. “What a fascinating method of spell construction he employed.”
“I’ll want to see it too, when we’re done here.” Meralda rubbed her eyes. “If we’re ever done here.”
Mug groaned suddenly. “Oh, no,” he said.
Meralda looked to the glass again.
Shingvere darted out of a shop, watched Donchen for a moment, and waved to someone inside. An instant later, Fromarch appeared and joined the other wizard before both began to march down the street behind Donchen.
Mug shook his leaves. “This will not end well,” he said, as the two elderly wizards struggled to keep up with Donchen’s leisurely pace. “A pair of trumpet sounding trolls would be less conspicuous.”