A History of Magic, Page 3

  “Yes. He’s the one who gave me those last two. I wouldn’t have known they were about magic otherwise.”

  “And this is all you can find?”

  “Sorcery and magic isn’t encouraged around here, remember? Who would want to buy the books?”

  “Well, I guess they’ll have to do for now. I want you to go out a couple of times a week and see what you can find though.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes. You’ll enjoy that more than what I have planned for now.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I need to get some furniture in here.”

  Travis groaned.

  “Exactly.”

  A couple of hours later, Rawk sighed and sat down. It had been a long time since he’d done that much work all in one day. That much real work. The last time would have been back on the docks when he was a boy. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered. There were three mismatched bookshelves along one wall, which was a bit of over kill seeing he only had six books, all of which were still sitting on the desk, but he hoped to have more soon. And the wall really should have been swept down first, but it was too late now. There were also two tables, with colorful foreign tablecloths, or something, hiding the chests of gold in the corner. And the desk. It wasn’t quite as big as a barge, but it weighed as much, he was sure. It wasn’t fond of doorways.

  “You’ve got an office,” Travis said. He sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.

  “I know. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.” He looked around and wondered what else he needed. He tried to think of what Yardi had in her office at Keeto Alata, though she did real work there, so it probably wasn’t a really good comparison.

  “I think it looks good on you.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No. You could do something like run a tavern from here. If you had one to run.”

  “Speaking of which, how much do I pay you?”

  “Not enough.”

  Rawk grunted. “How would you feel about a change of jobs?”

  Travis’ eyes narrowed. “I’m not cooking anything.”

  “No. You can be a full time manager and my assistant.”

  “So, I’d officially be doing what I’m already doing?”

  “Pretty much. You could get yourself an office and hire an extra person to take your place in the taproom.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Give yourself a fifty percent pay rise.”

  “Do you actually have any idea how much I get paid?”

  “None. But I know how much profit the Rest is making and that’s all I need to know. And I know there’s still a pile of gold in the corner.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Right, in the mean time, can you get me some hot water so I can have some tea.” He took a little satchel of the aromatic leaves from a pouch on his belt and threw them to Travis. “And stop talking to me, I’ve got work to do and I’ve only got a week to do it.” He picked up a book at random and started flipping through the pages.

  “Where are you even going to start?”

  Rawk closed the book for a moment and squinted at the title. Convergence. He had no idea what that was even about. He put it back and chose another. “I’m going to start with A Witch’s Guide to Portals,” he said. But he knew it wasn’t much more that a stab in the dark, even if it was the right topic.

  “You’re trying to do yourself out of a job, you know?” Travis said.

  “I don’t have a job, I’m retired.”

  As Travis left, Rawk sat back and tapped the book. He actually thought he already knew where the exots were coming from and finding out for sure would probably be a whole heap easier than reading an entire book, or six. So, a job for tomorrow, and that meant tonight was free. He smiled and put the book back down.

  -O-

  Rawk sat near the front of the Armory in his usual spot. It was standing room only down the back these days, so he always made sure he arrived early.

  “This is a strange place for listening to music,” Maris said. She had to lean in close to be heard as the crowd was already growing.

  Rawk thought it was a strange thing to say. She worked at the Veteran’s Club and was the one who decided to put the musicians in here. It was almost as if she’d never actually seen the room before. He gestured to the crowd. “Surely you’ll have to move them to the main hall soon.”

  As the room filled he dragged his package closer with his foot. He nodded to another of the regulars but didn’t really notice the comings and going of the rest of the crowd. He could smell them, and that was more than enough information.

  “I normally don’t like music all that much. I like to watch the fencing tournaments over near the barracks.”

  “This isn’t just music...”

  “Have you ever fought in the tournaments?”

  Rawk gave a laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He realized she was serious. He cleared his throat. “That’s sport, it isn’t real fighting. I’d likely cut someone’s arm off and get in trouble.”

  “It looks real.” Maris looked a bit offended.

  “There are rules for everything. You can’t counter attack during a laganaree. You can’t...”

  “During a what?”

  Rawk waved it away. Apparently it would all be meaningless to her anyway, despite the fact that she liked the sport enough to go and watch. “The point is, in real fighting the only rule is come out the other side alive.”

  Celeste and Grint slipped into the room. It looked like they were trying to hide, as if they didn’t want anyone to notice. Perhaps they were shy. Or perhaps this was just how they were when on the north side of the river, where neither dwarves nor fermi were really welcome. Both of them were both, fermi and dwarf, though it was hard to tell. Despite their stealth, the crowd did notice. Those who had been there before fell silent, anticipating what was to come. And soon the rest followed suite.

  By the time the two performers had settled themselves there was no noise at all in the room. And Grint started to play his drum. The dwarf used his double-ended stick to beat an intricate rhythm that danced around the room, like the heartbeat of a mountain stream. His free hand was inside, touching the skin to change pitch. Rawk still couldn’t believe the music that could be made by the simple instrument. He could have spent the night listening to the dwarf play but, after a few minutes, Celeste started to play her mandolin and her clear, soft voice joined in as well.

  Rawk glanced at Maris. She took a drink of ale and shifted in her seat and he couldn’t spare her any more of his attention. He looked back at the performers and hardly moved for the next two hours as the music swirled around him. They played some tunes he didn’t know and even the ones that were familiar sounded different, as if they’d had new life breathed into them.

  When the music stopped, Rawk blinked back to the real world and reached out to take up his forgotten drink. “Wasn’t that amazing?” He set his tankard down without having a drink and turned to Maris.

  “What? Oh, yes.” It looked as if she was just waking up. “I suppose so.”

  Rawk grunted and took a drink as the crowd continued to drift away. He hardly even noticed that it was ale. Soon just a couple of snoring drunks, the performers and the bartender remained in the room with he and Maris. Rawk collected his package and made his way to the front of the stage. Celeste was packing away her mandolin while her brother talked to the bartender. It was hard to believe they were related. Grint was a dwarf through and through. About forty years old, he looked as strong as an ox and as stubborn. His clothes were plain but well made. The only adornment he wore were the ribbons tied in his long red beard. Celeste looked like a pure blood fermi, with dark skin and dark curls that clung close to her head. She looked much younger than her brother, but Rawk guessed she was only a couple of years between them.

  “Hello,” Rawk said. He had spoken to Celeste once before and the conversati
on had started much the same way. He stared nervously at the cloth bag in his hand.

  “Hello, again, Rawk. I’ve seen you here many nights.”

  Rawk nodded. “I told you last time, you sing beautifully.”

  She smiled and looked quickly down at the bag as well.

  Grint was arguing with the bartender about money again.

  “We need our money,” the dwarf said.

  “We paid you last week.”

  “And you’re still four weeks behind. We are supposed to be paid every week.”

  “If you don’t like it, take it up with the boss.”

  “I talked to Maloti yesterday. He said we’d get paid today.”

  “I don’t have your money.”

  Rawk watched as Grint glanced at the cash drawer, as if wondering if he could take the money. But the dwarf gave a grunt and stormed back onto the stage. “I’ve had enough of this.”

  “Grint, just...”

  “Just what? Just let them keep screwing us over?”

  “Let’s just hold out a bit longer.” She laid a hand on his arm. “It’s a lot more money than we were getting before.”

  “Not if we don’t get it.” He seemed to notice Rawk for the first time. “What are you looking at?”

  “Sorry. I... I brought something for you.”’

  Grint grunted again. He was very good at it. They were very expressive grunts. “What is it? No, wait. Why did you bring something for me?”

  Rawk shrugged. “I didn’t know who else would be interested.”

  The dwarf took the bag when it was offered and had a look inside. He glanced up for a moment then reached in and pulled out the drum. He looked it over. “This is beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bodhran like it.”

  “Well, now it’s yours.”

  Grint examined the drum some more. “It looks old. It’s probably worth quite a bit.”

  Rawk raised an eyebrow. “How much?”

  Grint seemed to calculate in his head. “I don’t know. Two hundred ithel. Maybe five hundred.”

  Rawk glanced at Celeste for a moment. “So, you won’t play it?”

  “I...” Grint rubbed his hand around the smooth timber of the frame. “Yes, I want to play it. But... I can’t take it.”

  “Why not?”

  Grint didn’t answer the question. “Are you sure?” he said.

  Was he sure? Did he want to give five hundred ithel to a dwarf? Did he trust that he wouldn’t sell it? Rawk grunted. “It’s yours. Do whatever you want with it.” And before anyone could say anything else, he turned and went back to his table.

  “Rawk?” Celeste said.

  Rawk stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “Will we see you tomorrow?”

  He did turn back then, for a moment, but still didn’t say anything. He watched as Celeste and Grint left through the side door. When he turned back, Maris was staring at him. “Did you just give a dwarf a drum worth five hundred ithel?”

  “Apparently. Maybe.”

  “Are you crazy? Go and get it back. The little bugger is probably out in the back alley right now trying to sell it to a... I don’t know.”

  Rawk shrugged. “I doubt it. But it’s his; he can do whatever he wants with it.”

  “I’ll go and get it off him.” She stood up as if she was going to do just that.

  “It’s his.”

  “But I—”

  “Come on, let’s go and get a sugar stick.” He took her hand and led her towards the door.

  “I hope that’s a euphemism,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps we should go straight home.”

  Rawk looked her up and down. Again?

  Thersday

  The front door of the Hero’s Rest was still locked so Rawk went around the back to the kitchen. The warmth greeted him as he stepped through the door. Kalesie was mixing a huge pot of stew over the fire. She looked up from her work without slowing.

  “What have we got today?” Rawk asked.

  “Don’t be smiling like that at this time of the morning. It isn’t proper.”

  Rawk hadn’t realized he was smiling at all. “What’s the stew?”

  “Beef.”

  “Is it ready?”

  She gave a sniff. “You didn’t like it last time.”

  “That one with the magamon peppers?” He could smell it, now that he thought about it, sharp and biting. “Then why are you cooking it again?”

  “Because it isn’t all about you, Rawk. The Rest has lots of other customers.”

  “Get me a bowl anyway, please. Is anyone else around?”

  Kalesie looked around accusingly. “Valen is around here somewhere. He’s supposed to be mixing this, not me.”

  “Well, can you get him to put together some food for me? I’m going for a bit of a walk today.”

  “Get it yourself.”

  Rawk bit his tongue. There were a lot of advantages to keeping his ownership of the Hero’s Rest a secret. There were some disadvantages too. Anyway, he knew Kalesie would do as requested.

  “Where’s Travis?”

  Kalesie motioned towards the taproom.

  Rawk always felt strange in taproom before opening time. The big empty space looked desolate when he could actually see all of it, tables and chairs set up neatly, waiting for the crowd. Bar stools lined up with unseemly, military precision. And it felt dead, withering without the thing that gave it meaning. The two people in there weren’t enough to take that feeling away.

  Travis was cleaning tankards. Natan was sitting at the bar. He had a newspaper in his hands but was telling a story. As usual he wasn’t the hero of the tale; he was a bystander watching the great deeds being done. He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Rawk. His stool creaked alarmingly as he shifted his considerable weight.

  “Ho, Rawk.”

  “Natan. You’re up early.”

  “Things to do today, unfortunately.”

  “You aren’t actually going to go and do some work, are you?”

  Natan had been living at the Hero’s Rest for more than six months and, as far as Rawk knew, had never made any mention of money or how he made it. He paid his rent on time, which was all that mattered in the end.

  “No, no. Don’t say that word to me.” He mopped at his brow as if just the thought of work was making him sweat. “I have to meet some people about... I can’t tell you too much.”

  Rawk nodded. “My day is going to be pretty much the same. And I can’t tell you too much.”

  Travis looked suspicious.

  “Actually, I’m just going over to Westport to meet with someone.”

  Travis stopped polishing for a moment. “Who do you know in Westport?”

  Rawk tried to think. Travis should know not to ask questions like that when someone was around. “I’m just doing a job for Yardi. Very important stuff. If I don’t come back, go and ask Fabi about the dogs— he’ll know where to find me.”

  And he left before anyone could ask any more questions. Upstairs he collected his pack, attached the dwarven staff to the buckles and headed back down to the kitchen where Valen had managed to scrape together a veritable feast of traveling food. Fruit, bread, hard, grainy bisca. Rawk stuffed them all in his pack, plus some dried meat for the pouch on his belt. His water skin was hanging from the hook behind the door. He filled it at the sink and it wasn’t until he was jamming the stopper into the mouth that he realized he didn’t even give the tap a second thought any more. A couple of weeks ago the thought of using the dwarf-installed contraption had scared him more than battling a wolden wolf. He went out the door and across the ostler’s yard before he could think about it too much.

  He wondered if he should pretend to head for Westport, but neither Travis nor Natan was likely to leave the taproom to watch, so he headed due west, down the steep side of Two Watch Hill towards the Old Forest.

  -O-

  Rawk’s hand ached on the hilt of his sword. He was tired, and if there were people about he would
have been embarrassed that just a couple of hours or walking should have done that to him. He had a scratch on his face from a stray, thorny vine. And he wasn’t sure if it was all worth it. He took a deep breath, stepping gingerly from the forest and into the sunshine.

  The duen giant’s cabin appeared unchanged but no signs of the fight remained in the clearing. The bodies of the duen and the dogs had all been removed. The weapons were gone. The two graves Rawk had helped dig were there though. Weeds and grass were already starting to take over. Kult was leaning to the side, about to fall.

  Rawk almost turned and went back the way he had come, but steeled his nerves and made his way cautiously around to the far side of the cabin. To the front of the cabin. It faced away from Katamood, and that should have been a clue to the nature of the duen giant, if he had stopped for a moment to think about it. But the first time he’d been here, he hadn’t thought. He’d jus come and killed, then left. Having a quick look inside, Rawk decided that not much had changed there, either. It was tidy and dim and a musty smell was taking over.

  So he turned and looked out at the forest. It ran for another thousand miles to the northwest, all the way to Freesha. Ancient forest that had remained mostly unexplored, as far as he knew, for the simple reason that people were superstitious idiots. And he was hardly better.

  Grunting, Rawk removed the pack from his shoulders and set it on the ground by his side. Then he sat down and laid Dabaneera on the grass in front of him, pointing into the forest. He waited. He drank some water. He ate some fruit and dry bread.

  And he waited.

  It was past noon when he saw movement under the trees. He sat up straighter and resisted the urge to reach for his sword. He resisted the urge to reach for the staff. He had used that to kill one of the duen too. His legs were cramping, but he stayed where he was and watched as the creature took a step into the open. It was ten feet tall, as big as the two that Rawk had killed at the cabin, though it was obviously older. Its hair was longer and almost white. Its leathery face was wrinkled, as was the huge hand that was wrapped around a knotted, twisting staff.