Nerra looked at the spriggan, then at her brother’s face, then back at the empty attic. “No sign of her.”
Hanner turned up an empty palm.
They waited another few minutes in silence. Then Nerra asked, “You went through that tapestry?”
“Yes.”
“How long did it take you to come back out?”
“You’d probably know better than I do,” Hanner said. “There’s no way to tell time in the other world, or at least I didn’t notice any, and I don’t know what time it was when I emerged because I was Called the instant I was back in Ethshar.”
Nerra considered that, frowning. “I don’t remember how long you were gone – if I ever actually knew. You hadn’t told me what you were doing.”
“However long it was, it doesn’t mean much. I didn’t rush. I enjoyed the sensation of not having the Call muttering at me all the time. Rudhira should be quicker.”
“Or maybe she’ll take time to enjoy the sunshine, too.”
“Maybe,” Hanner admitted. “And she does need to walk over the hill and find the right house.”
“So we could be here all night.”
“I don’t think the tapestry will even work after sunset. The image shows the attic in daylight. Dim daylight, but daylight.”
Nerra considered that. “So if she doesn’t reappear soon, she won’t until morning?”
Hanner had not noticed how late in the day it was, but now that Nerra mentioned it he could see that the daylight was indeed starting to fade. “Probably,” he said.
Nerra turned to face Hanner. “Maybe we should just settle in -”
She was interrupted by a squeal from the spriggan, and there Rudhira was, standing in the middle of the attic. She had arrived facing away from the stairs, but upon hearing the creature’s noise she turned.
“It seems to work,” she said. She started toward the stairs, then stopped.
Hanner realized she was staring at the spriggan, and he reached up to grab it, whereupon it sprang away, bouncing off the sloping ceiling and tumbling awkwardly to the floor. It did not appear to be hurt by the impact, as it quickly regained its feet and scampered over to embrace Rudhira’s ankle. “Pretty hair!” it said.
“Not on my leg,” Rudhira retorted, kicking it gently away. She looked at Hanner. “What is this thing doing here?”
“It wanted to see magic,” Hanner explained.
“How was it on the other side of the tapestry?” Nerra asked.
“Lovely,” Rudhira replied. “In fact, I want to go back. I’d have stayed, but I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You can go back,” Hanner told her. “Now that we know it’s safe, and that there’s a way out.”
“All right,” Rudhira said. She gave him a look that Hanner couldn’t quite interpret. “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ll stay here for now,” he said. “I need to keep an eye on things. But now we have somewhere to put all those people downstairs.”
Rudhira nodded. “It’s nice there. At least, the parts I saw. For one thing, it’s warm.”
“And the return tapestry works, so they can come back any time they want,” Hanner said.
“They’ll still need food,” Nerra said. “And other things.”
“I know,” Hanner said. “Still, it’s a start.” He turned and headed down the stairs.
Nerra followed closely. Rudhira took a final look around the attic, then came along on Nerra’s heels.
Hanner wasn’t sure whether he really heard, or merely imagined, Rudhira’s voice murmuring, “A start to what?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kirris of Slave Street watched yet another group of ragged former warlocks make their way through the door into the High Street mansion, and bit her lip. It must be getting crowded in there, she thought. She had seen scores of people admitted, and she had only arrived around sunset.
Going unnoticed in a crowd shouldn’t be difficult, and it was clear that these people didn’t all know one another, so getting into the house would be easy enough, but if anyone questioned her she was not sure how convincing a story she could tell. Her witchcraft would ordinarily keep people from paying any attention to her, but it didn’t actually render her invisible, and if they were systematically interrogating each new arrival, she would almost certainly be included. If they were looking for her, they would see her.
Obviously, if questioned she would pretend to be another former warlock, but would it be better to claim she had been Called on the Night of Madness, and therefore knew nothing about being a warlock and using their magic, or to say that she was only recently Called, to explain why she didn’t know what Ethshar was like thirty-odd years ago?
Well, why she didn’t know much about what it was like back then – she had been four on the Night.
Either way, she would be expected to know first-hand what had happened to the Called from the time the Calling ended until Asham opened the portal to Eastgate Market, and of course, she had only second- or third-hand reports.
Still, she couldn’t see any reason anyone would ask her too many questions about that, or why they would be suspicious in the first place. She was a witch; she ought to be able to lie convincingly just by reading people’s reactions and telling them what they wanted to hear.
Not that witches generally did that, other than when they were comforting the dying, or calming the grieving friends and family of the newly dead. The Sisterhood wanted witches to maintain a reputation for truth-telling – it was supposed to make the lies they did tell that much more effective. But it meant Kirris hadn’t had much practice in the art of deception.
She really hoped that none of the three warlocks she had tried to help were in there, but she thought her odds were fairly good on that. They had only been Called a few years ago, and had probably found friends or family to take them in, rather than coming here – Warlock House was a last resort. Any of them would probably recognize her instantly if they saw her, despite her being older; she hadn’t changed that much, and from their point of view, as she understood it, those failed experiments had taken place just a few days ago.
But there were just three of them, which is why she was here, rather than Teneria. Teneria had devoted years to meddling with warlocks, and had probably worked with forty or fifty in all, any of whom might be in there. Kirris had much better odds of not being recognized, and of getting in that door without anyone realizing she was a witch.
Once she was inside she would still need to get close to Vond if she was to carry out the scheme that the gathering at Ithinia’s house had devised, but that shouldn’t be too difficult – Warlock House was big, but it wasn’t that big. It wasn’t as if the Emperor had taken over the overlord’s palace, the way that horrible Tabaea did in Ethshar of the Sands a decade back.
The last of the Called were being ushered in, and the man who let them in was looking up and down the street for stragglers. Kirris almost moved out of the shadows, but then hesitated. If she went now she would be too noticeable. She would go with the next party.
The man looked up to be sure the lamps on either side of the door had sufficient fuel and were burning well, then stepped inside and closed the door. Kirris let out her breath; she had not realized until that instant that she had been holding it.
There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. The Calling was gone. Linking her mind to Vond’s would not let that thing that had been trapped in Aldagmor back into her thoughts. All these warlocks were free of its influence, and of them all, only Vond still had any magic.
Of course, she was there to meddle in Vond’s head, and he might not be pleased about that if he realized it was happening, but he was just a man, not a monster. Ithinia had given her some protective charms to try, just in case – but wizardry was notoriously ineffective against warlocks. Her own witchcraft might be better.