The Archimage's Fourth Daughter Page 6

  “Sure, missy. What is it?” Eddie smiled. He acted as if the attention of a fair young thing was the highlight of his day.

  “There are magicians where I come from. Any around here?”

  Eddie scratched at his cheek, as if trying to root out a flea about to bite. “Well, there is the Magic Castle up on Franklin. Is that what ya mean?”

  “Yes, a magic castle!” Briana exclaimed. “How far away is it? How do I get in?”

  “Never been there since… well, that’s of no importance now. How do ya get in? Get a sponsor to let ya in to watch the shows.”

  “Watch the shows?

  “Ya know, the usual stuff. Up close table sleight of hand. Escape from the locked cabinet up on the stage — ”

  “Oh, that is nothing,” Briana interrupted. “Anyone could do those things. I mean real magic.”

  “There is no such thing,” Eddie said.

  Briana started to rebut, but then thought better of it. “I ask because where there are magicians, there are also …” She faltered again. “There are also many …” She pantomimed opening and closing her hands several times as if they were hinged together at the bottom. “Also many words so I can learn faster than walking about.”

  “A library,” Eddie said quietly as a great sadness descended over his face like the final curtain of a tragic play. “Yes, I know where there is a library. In fact many of them. But that was so long ago.”

  “Where?”

  “UCLA,” Eddie said. “About seven miles west of here.”

  “Ella?” Briana asked. “There are libraries where you can see someone named Ella?”

  “No, no. Letters of the alphabet. ‘U. C. L. A.’ —  a university, a place of higher learning.”

  “How far is seven miles in steps?” Briana asked.

  “Well, let’s see. About two thousand steps in a mile…

  Her excitement began to bubble. A complete plan started to fall into place.

  “So fourteen thousand in all,” Briana said. “Two hours of very fast walking there and back. Sleeping, working, and then whatever else, you said. I can be there four of your hours every day. Thank you, Eddie. You have been very helpful. Now, tell me, how do I go from here to the inn and this… this ‘You see Ella.’“

  The Purchasing Agent

  ANGUS SMOOTHED his long flowing hair and eyed Jormind carefully. The other exile was a foot shorter, and his eyes were wide with fear. They stood before the plugstone in the wall of a small, roughly circular antechamber, the ceiling barely higher than Jormind’s head. Fashioned by the Faithful with magic chisels when they were entombed, the seal as perfect as that of a ground glass stopper in a flask. No one else was near. Others would come only when it was their turn to tend to the crops.

  Have I made the right decision, Angus thought? What if this helper told? He shrugged in the manner of the humans. If Jormind did not work out, he would have to die in a duel or an unfortunate accident — have his ring added to Dinton’s depressing collection.

  “This is merely a precaution,” Angus explained as he inspected his swathing. Using a small mirror of the natives, he checked his back and saw no gaps. He wanted no hint about coarse body hair and fangs for the human they were to meet. Although it was difficult with the thick gloves, he managed to tie the small pouch of gold dust around his waist.

  He turned his attention back to Jormind. “For my plan to be completed, someone else must know how to carry on this part of it. Dinton will still want his newspapers and Thaling his candles while I am busy with other tasks.”

  He should be suspicious of his brother’s needs, Angus knew, but there was no time to ponder that. All of his attention had to be devoted to the steps he had deduced to be taken.

  When the two exiles were both completely covered and ready, they strained against the plugstone, rolling it to the side. It could be moved by one, but two made the job so much easier. After entering the tunnel, Jormind squatted while Angus arched over him. Placing their hands in four chiseled indentations in the displaced boulder, they rolled it back into place, plunging them into darkness.

  Angus fumbled a small candle from a pouch beneath his wrapping, and with some difficulty got it lit. The tunnel sloped steeply upward to another opening. Feeble light illuminated beckoning steps.

  “At first, I used to do this only as a test,” Angus called over his shoulder as they climbed, “to see how long I could endure before having to return below. When I did, I would sit and wonder, examining all of the fissures and openings and pondering how close they were to the surface.”

  They reached the upper tunnel entrance and climbed into the largest alcove of them all. Compared to the others, it was enormous, five times the height of a native who lived on the surface above and more than one hundred paces across. Leaves, some large and dark green, others in small clusters, almost canary yellow, covered the indented floor from wall to wall. Here and there, gourds and ripening fruits poked their way through. A stand of bristly succulents commanded one corner. Trickles of water dripped down the walls from cracks overhead and flowed into the garden. A pool in the very center glistened with the excess.

  It was their livelihood, their lifeline. Without the bounty of the soil and the water that nurtured it, all of them, every single one, would have starved to death long ago. No one begrudged his duty when his turn for cultivating or harvest came around.

  “There.” Angus pointed to an opening in the ceiling, barely visible in the candlelight even though it was larger than the rest. “I sat where we are standing now, and I wondered how large it was. Could one fit inside and climb even higher? Where would it lead?”

  “Flock Leader, it is so far above us.” Jormind’s voice quivered.

  “I chiseled handholds into the wall. The ascent is easy once you know where to place your grip.”

  “How could you stand it?”

  “I could not for long, only enough to carve one indentation each time I visited. It took many trips, but, then, what else was there to do?”

  “That is something I will never try,” Jormind said. “No matter how important you say it is.”

  “If you will not, then our flock will fail to be the one ultimately dominating.”

  “Is it such a bad thing that Dinton or Thaling would be in charge of our… our commerce with the natives?” Jormind asked.

  Angus did not answer. Jormind, he thought. Was there not one who would be better?

  IT TOOK much goading, but finally, Jormind agreed to the climb. After many hundred heartbeats, they were in a smaller cavern than the one containing the garden.

  “We will not stay long,” Angus said. “Do not worry. We will return in time.” He used the candle to light one of several torches lying on the smaller grotto’s floor. “This way.” He pointed with the flame at another opening on a far wall and started walking toward it.

  Jormind nodded and followed. Angus thrust the torch through the hole and motioned Jormind to place his head there as well.

  “It is a cave!” the shorter exile exclaimed. “Not an alcove but a cave on the surface! I see lights in the distance. Look! There is sky! This is all so beautiful!”

  “Yes, the surface,” Angus said. “It has been here from the very start of our imprisonment, waiting for discovery. I think the so-called Faithful placed our prison here deliberately so we would find this crypt, be able to see freedom but unable to grasp it.”

  Jormind followed Angus through the aperture. The two of them scrambled over an uneven floor and eventually stood at the mouth of the cave. The sunlight outside was bright. In the distance, it glistened off a jungle of lush green plants, some soaring high overhead. Above them, tall, stately palms like guardian soldiers stood in disarrayed attention.

  Jormind inhaled as he was directed and then looked about with calmer eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings. “But why?” he asked.

  “The reason approaches,” Angus said as he pointed out of the cave’s entrance. “He calls himself Oscar G
arbell, two names rather than one in the manner of the humans.”

  As both of the exiles watched, an old man limped closer. A white and untamed mange like that of the oldest of lions cascaded from the back of an otherwise bald head. He wore a long, colorful shirt that draped over loose fitting knee pants, completely casual in the world of men. One hand quivered as it directed a cane in front to keep an unsteady balance. His other arm cradled a bundle of newspapers and a small brown bag with bulging contents. With each step, it looked as if the entire load would burst like a balloon and the cargo tumble to the ground.

  “There is more than one of you!” the man rasped with a voice rusty from disuse. “Do many more of your kind dwell in the bowels as well?”

  “That is of no concern of yours, ancient one,” Angus said, then turned to address Jormind in their own tongue. “This one first came when he was but a boy some seventy orbits ago. Accompanied his grandfather who had done so another seventy years before that. Now, unfortunately, there is no new heir to perform the task when this one is gone.

  “Have you brought what I have asked of you?” The exile’s attention returned to the human standing before him.

  “Of course, although the burden gets more onerous each time. I am an old man now. Can’t you tell?” Rheumy eyes dimmed by cataracts squinted at Angus. “And have you brought payment for it as we have agreed.”

  “Let me see the flat scrolls first, then we will exchange.”

  “I have always provided as I said I would,” Oscar said to Jormind. “As my grandfather before me did as well.”

  “Yes, yes,” Angus said, “but as always, I insist on inspecting the goods first before the trade is made.”

  Oscar proffered the sheets of paper, and Angus grasped them and began reading their content.

  “What are you doing?” Jormind asked. “What knowledge do you seek?”

  Angus grunted in satisfaction. “Yes, these instructions are what I sought, old man. This time you have done well.”

  “Then the gold dust.” The old man held out his hand.

  Angus ignored him and pointed to the newspapers. “It took many years of instruction from this one’s grandfather to learn the speech, and then many more to read and write. Now even Dinton can understand much of what goes on among the natives, although why what he concerns himself about is so important I do not know.”

  He opened the bag at his feet and then counted softly as he inspected the contents.

  “Only ninety-eight candles.” He looked back at Oscar. “It was supposed to be an even hundred. When they are divided into two lots, Thaling will be displeased.”

  “Close enough for payment,” Oscar rasped back. “There have been times there were overages as well.”

  Angus studied the old man for a moment, then detached the pouch from his waist and fingered it. “Go to wherever you get them and return with two more. I will pay you then.”

  “My bones are weary. Each trip is harder than the last. If there is no dust to pay for the journey, then perhaps it is best if I decide to no longer make them.”

  “You are but a primitive native,” Angus growled. “I barter with you only at my pleasure. If this is to be your last journey here, then I will make sure that indeed it is so.”

  He reached for his dagger and then cursed because he could not grasp it under his bundling. Growling, Angus stepped forward almost completely out of the cave.

  “No, wait, Flock Leader,” Jormind grabbed at Angus from behind. “It will be too dangerous to venture any farther.”

  Angus stopped and nodded. Oscar ignored the threat. Without saying anything more, he dipped his head slightly once, turned, and started to shuffle off the way he had come.

  “He lives alone a small distance from here,” Angus said. “No grandson to take his place when he is gone. No one to pass on the tale of how his own grandfather had ventured to the mouth of the cave to discover what moved in the shadows.”

  Angus watched the ancient one vanish from sight. “It does not matter,” he said at last. “When he has wasted all of the dust I have given him before on some liquid that addles human brains, he will come when the moon has orbited twice more to accept a new list of commands. I will need him only for a few additional times, and then he and all the others will be an irritation no more.”

  Steps Along the Way

  A LABEL for the Janss steps on a nearby map had pointed Briana in the direction Slow Eddie had indicated. She had prided herself on how fit she was compared to the daughters of lords her own age, but her legs ached after she had completed the long climb to the entrance to the Powell library. Across the square stood another massive structure in cherry-red, flanked by towers on either side, but curiously each having a different number of windows at the top. The library itself was capped by an octagonal cupola that looked outward in every direction.

  It had taken five exhausting days before she could come to UCLA for the first time, but at the shabby café, Briana had learned quickly what she had to do. First of all, ignore the surroundings: a floor sticky with dropped food from a week ago, faded and ripped curtains shutting out almost all of the outside light, rickety, mismatched chairs clustered around a mismatch of tables covered with stained paper.

  More important were the standard moves. The swift turn as a hand darted menacingly behind, the shove to divert a grope, and all the while smiling and returning the banter the customers wanted to hear. It certainly was something she did not want her father ever to find out about.

  The other wenches shielded her from the most challenging customers — at least until she could handle herself, they had said. And she was gaining confidence in the language, and more importantly, an increased sense of being able to take care of herself in this alien world.

  Yes, she had made progress, but she had been away from her home on Murdina for a week now and not a single step closer to finding out if the exiles had escaped their bondage. Briana ran her hand through the snarls in her hair. None of the other women at the café knew anything about the shower truck Slow Eddie had mentioned, and the best she could do was sponge herself off with wet towels of paper in the women’s room before the start of each shift.

  At least her clothes felt fresh, her blouse far smoother than those worn by the richest of Procolon’s ladies. Three full changes of clothes she now possessed and petite shoes to use instead of her sturdy but quite heavy boots. She still had no coins or rectangles of paper of her own, however. All of her tips for a night’s work she had to surrender to one of the other wenches in exchange for a castoff garment.

  But despite whatever else was strange and foreboding about this planet, there was no doubt about desserts. They were delicious, especially ice cream. She savored the delightful shock of how cold it was when the first bite hit her tongue. How smooth it was; firm, but not rock-hard. And more than one flavor! Chocolate. Strawberry. French Vanilla… The best part was that Irma was on a diet. She could have two desserts at dinner rather than only one!

  Briana looked back down the slope she had climbed. UCLA could be no less than the palace grounds of the king of the entire world, she thought. Massive multistory buildings rose majestically into the sky. Thousands of young lords and ladies swarmed like ants from dozens of unseen hills, some solemn and alone, others in groups chatting at matters that clearly had nothing to do with the affairs of state. And there were so many! For each, there must be a dozen serfs somewhere laboring to produce the wealth that fueled the idleness and lack of purpose.

  To the task at hand, Briana jolted herself out of her reverie. Joining the bustle of entrances and exits, she was surprised to see no guardsman standing at attention on the library steps. In her newly acquired garb, she looked the same as many and passed in unnoticed and unremarked upon. Indeed, even some of the other women toted backpacks like her own. Inside, she climbed a staircase emptying into a vast room floored with huge squares of marble like the surface for a game that could be played as far as to the horizon. A huge chandelier
glowing white hung from a high, vaulted ceiling over a cluster of benches and tables, all sparsely occupied. Alcoves radiated in every direction with tall shelves of books filled to bursting on their surrounding walls and containing long tables of more lordlings and ladylings in silent study and contemplation.

  Briana could hardly believe what she was seeing. Books and more books! Books in every direction! On Murdina, they were valuable things, almost as priceless as the magic objects they explained how to build. Here, displayed within the grasp of the most inept thief, were treasures almost asking to be taken. And this was only on one floor! There were stairways leading upward to more levels. Were they all filled with riches as well?

  The overwhelmed feeling of Hollywood Boulevard on Briana’s first day surged back into her gut. Certainly, what she was looking for was here, but the vastness, the overpowering and numbing vastness squeezed her chest like a relentless vice.

  “Can I help you?” a voice called out from the alcove to the right. It looked different from the rest. A long, paneled barrier ran from side to side like a high sandbar guarding a beach, cutting it in half.

  Briana took a few cautious steps toward a woman standing behind the barrier with a smile on her face.

  “I… I want to look in a book about the crafts,” Briana said.

  “The online catalogue is on the table here. Come, I will show you how to use it.”

  Briana drew closer and tried to fight through the daze seizing her thoughts. Follow what the woman was doing with her hands.

  “Type in the subject or author and their call numbers will appear besides them.”

  “I call a number, any number? Aloud?”

  “The catalog lists where you can find the book up in the stacks. The entrance is over there.”

  “Anyone can read the book?”

  “Of course. If you want to use it elsewhere, you will have to check it out first. Show your student ID card.”

  Briana’s spirits began to recover. Evidently, as long as she perused them here in the library, she could examine any book as much and as long as she wished. She could ascertain if any of what she had been seeing in this strange land had a basis in the crafts or not. And if so, was it the doing of the natives or exiles running free. This was going to be easier than she had feared. She would be back home in plenty of time.