Like all diviners, I’m a thinker. When I get a problem, my first instinct is to unpack it, holding it up and turning it around to look at it from different angles. Sometimes I see the answer instantly, but other times it needs more work, and that’s when I go to other people for advice. All the time I’m talking it over with them, only half of my mind is on the discussion. The other half is picking away at the problem, examining it in the light of their suggestions, waiting for the flash of insight that signals a solution. Sometimes it’s a half solution, sometimes it’s a full solution, but it’s rarely wrong. When I get that feeling, I know I’m on the right track.
But sometimes I don’t get that feeling at all.
Luna, Variam, Talisid and Sonder’s suggestions had been logical, and the courses of action we’d settled on made sense. I thought it could work. But I didn’t know it would work. And without that, I was feeling a lingering unease that wouldn’t go away. My limbs were cold, and I shivered. The weather outside was freezing, and even here in my room the heat didn’t seem to be winning.
Something cool nudged my hand. I looked up to see Hermes next to me, standing on the carpet. ‘I don’t know,’ I told him. ‘It might work. Maybe…’
Hermes gave me a questioning look.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure.’ I shook my head and got to my feet. I felt off-balance, and over the years, I’ve learned that when that happens, there’s one person I should be talking to. ‘I’m going to Arachne’s. Want to come?’
Hermes blinked once.
I got my coat, then walked to the desk and took out my gate stone for Arachne’s lair. Despite the name, it wasn’t a stone but a piece of wood, old and weathered and carved with runes. I wasn’t expecting any trouble, but all the same, I looked into the futures in which I gated to Arachne’s lair. Down to the storeroom, through the portal and—
Ow. What the hell?
I looked again. Pain, violence. As I focused, the futures shifted. Combat, more violence … I pulled back, resetting myself, starting a path-walk, and this time I was paying full attention. What would happen if I used this gate stone, stepped out into Arachne’s ravine and stood there?
I’d get the crap beaten out of me, that was what. ‘Okay, change of plans,’ I told Hermes. ‘We’ve got some trouble waiting outside Arachne’s lair.’ I moved my future self around, trying to find out more about the attackers. Human, that was obvious. Two … no, three. ‘Team of three. First two are either adepts or sensitives, I think. Third one…’ I tried a future in which I shone a torch in that direction, getting a clear look before I was clubbed to the ground. ‘Wait a minute. I know that guy.’ White, early twenties, close-shaven brown hair. I’d never seen him, but I recognised the face all the same. Maybe a photo …?
I snapped my fingers. ‘Got it. Wolf.’
Hermes cocked his head at me.
‘Yeah, you wouldn’t know him. It’s not his real name: he’s an ex-Light apprentice, James something. Water magic, got kicked out of the apprentice programme, then declared himself to be a full mage. No one listened and the Keepers have pulled him in a few times for petty stuff. That was how I saw his file.’ I frowned. ‘I wonder what he’s trying to do…’
Hermes waited.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘They’re using clubs. You know, I don’t think they’re trying to kill me at all. I think they just want to give me a good old-fashioned beating.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Old school.’
Hermes tilted his head, then back again.
‘Because they want to send a message, I’m guessing.’ I frowned as I tried to look through the futures in which my future self got beaten to a pulp, then shook my head. ‘Well, whatever it is, these guys are amateur hour.’
Hermes opened his mouth to show his teeth.
‘Yeah,’ I said. Hermes can’t talk, but he and I understand each other pretty well. I’d have some help for this one. I put down the gate stone and headed for my room. ‘Let’s gear up.’
I took my armour out of the wardrobe and pulled it on. My armour is a suit of dark mesh with raised plates covering stationary areas, matt-black and flexible. It looks serious, and it is. The reactive mesh isn’t impenetrable, but it’s very tough and it responds to attacks, changing its shape to deflect a blow. The plates have grown and thickened over the years, adjusting to the shape of my body. I added my standard collection of items to my belt and pockets and then descended one floor.
My safe room is locked, warded with multiple effects and lined with steel. I went through the locks and pulled open the metal door, then stepped inside. Hermes stayed out in the hallway, and I didn’t blame him. While the Arcana Emporium’s supposed to be a magic shop, the magical items I have on sale on the ground floor are strictly small potatoes. Weak wands and orbs that require a mage to wield them and don’t do anything all that spectacular even then; ambient focuses that can work on their own by drawing in local energy but have only the most limited of effects; old accoutrements that have been used enough times to have accumulated a little resonance. But for every twenty or thirty items I get that are weak or faded, I pick up one that’s genuinely dangerous. My safe room is where I keep them.
The imbued items were on the left wall. A crocodile-hilted sword stood out, gleaming dully in the light, as did a small white and blue lacquered tube. I didn’t go near either of them. Instead I went to a tall cabinet in the far corner and opened it. Inside was a small but formidable arsenal. I tapped one finger to my lips and studied the choices.
Mounted in pride of place at the centre of the collection was a Heckler & Koch MP7. It’s a nasty, compact little firearm the size of a sub-machine gun. I’d taken it off a guy called Garrick a few years ago – he hadn’t come back to reclaim it, and in exchange I hadn’t gone after him for trying to shoot me through the head with a sniper rifle, which seemed to me like a fair trade. Using it, I could probably kill all three men outside Arachne’s lair in about ten seconds.
‘Overkill,’ I decided, and glanced briefly at the pair of handguns on the shelf underneath. One was my old 1911; another was a smaller calibre automatic that I’d acquired earlier this year at the expense of some guy whose name I’d never learned. They were less suited to extended combat than the MP7, but they’d get the job done.
‘Overkill.’ I took down a sword from its mountings and half-drew it from its sheath. Metal hissed against leather, and I turned the blade, watching it glint in the light. The sword was a jian, a little over two feet long. I’m familiar with most blades, but I generally prefer smaller ones. It smelled of oil … and blood? I shook my head. Imagination. The blade was clean. ‘Overkill,’ I said again, resheathed the blade, and hung it back up. The next item I took up was a can of pepper spray. The stuff’s illegal in the UK, but it’s not hard to get if you know where to look. The pepper spray went back, to be replaced by a quarterstaff. It was a dull grey in colour; to an observer, it would look like steel. I held this one for a little longer before deciding. The heft felt good, and I spun it once, hearing the metal whoosh through the still air. ‘Still overkill,’ I said at last. The staff went back in the cabinet and I closed the doors, walked out of the safe room, and locked the door behind me, feeling the wards reset as I did. Hermes had watched the entire process with curiosity. As I turned to go downstairs, he trotted to follow.
Down in the storeroom, I went through two more items before finding what I was looking for: a cylindrical length of wood about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter and a little under three feet in length. The Japanese would call it a hanbo: native English speakers might call it a dowel, baton or cudgel, but more likely they’d just call it a stick. I spun it in one hand and nodded. Now just one more thing on the defence side …