Chapter 8: Lino-Wharton Messenger

Chapter 8: Lino-Wharton Messenger

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 29, Tuesday 9:00 p.m.

Siobhan changed back into her own body and her old clothes, which had been the nicest ones she owned but now sported the stains and rips of her harried flight from the coppers.

Dryden took one look at her and insisted she update her wardrobe before he was seen with her in public. When she protested, he reminded her that her wanted poster showed her wearing a ratty, hooded cloak, with wild hair and a crazed look in her eyes, and a change of ambiance might allow her to hide in plain sight. As if divining her next argument, he assured her that she need not visit a seamstress. He had some spare female clothing in one of the mansion’s many guest bedrooms.Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

When he brought the clothing to her—a black, slim-cut dress suit with a pencil skirt and crimson cloak—she made the mistake of asking whose it was.

He gave her a pointed look. “It belongs to a previous acquaintance of mine. She stayed the night and left these behind as an excuse to return again, but her gambit failed.”

Siobhan stared blankly for a moment, then gasped in sudden realization, her embarrassment making it impossible to look him in the eye. An imagined scene with Dryden and the woman who had worn such bold clothing flashed through her mind, and she quickly gave herself a mental shake to cast the scene away.

“I assure you, she won’t miss these. Consider them yours.”

That was how Siobhan found herself walking with Dryden through the gloomy streets of the seedier part of the city, wearing a stylish outfit that was a little too expensive for her to be comfortable in.

She was on edge, waiting for every person they passed to point an accusing finger at her or scurry off to find the nearest copper, but no one seemed to recognize her. The hood of the cloak obscured her hair and her features from the light of the streetlamps, anyway. No one without some type of diviner’s sight or natural predilection to the dark, like a vampire or hag, could see her face.

Dryden was also wearing a hood. He’d reached into his pockets when they set out, but hesitated without retrieving anything. “I usually wear a mask for this sort of thing, but that could actually be more attention-drawing in the current circumstances. Like this, maybe we can just be a man and a woman walking together.”

Dryden led her on a circuitous route through the city, and she realized belatedly, when they actually doubled back at one point, that he was searching for tails. She wasn’t sure if that should frighten or reassure her, but he seemed to think they were safe. Finally, they arrived at a housing district where people lived atop each other in small, two-story apartments strung together in long rows.

Siobhan grimaced at the idea of living so close together with other families. ‘No space, no privacy.’ They walked up a rickety set of stairs that she hoped were stabilized with magic, because otherwise they seemed on the verge of collapse.

He gingerly tapped the door-knocker against its decorative metal base, which was shaped like a growling lion’s head.

She understood his hesitance when the lion shifted, glaring at the both of them and baring its teeth. After a tense moment, the door let out a “click” and the lion froze.

Dryden turned the handle and stepped through ahead of her, looking around warily before moving aside so she could follow.

Contrary to her expectations, the interior was entirely mundane.

A tall, dark-skinned woman with long, curly hair bound away from her face in a loose braid walked out of the attached, unremarkable kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. She seemed unsurprised to see them and equally uninterested in their presence. “Oliver. What do you want?”

Siobhan noted the use of his first name. ‘Perhaps that’s how he introduces himself to people in the criminal world?’

Dryden gave her a flirtatious grin. “Hello, Liza. We have need of your services.”

Liza gave him a look as dry as the Tataroc Desert, standing with one hip cocked. “Don’t be a pedant. What is it exactly that you want of me?”

“My father is in jail,” Siobhan said. “I want to communicate with him. I heard you might be able to help with that.”

Liza turned her gaze on Siobhan, humming thoughtfully. “Harrow Hill Penitentiary. High-security wing?” Before Siobhan could answer, she waved her hand dismissively and continued. “Of course it is, why else would you be coming to me? Do you have gold?”

Siobhan nodded, taking out the coin pouch she had brought. Fifty gold. It was an exorbitant amount, and it had shocked her when Dryden gave her an estimate of what the woman’s services would cost. She could pay for an entire University class with that amount, or live luxuriously off it for a couple of months if she left Gilbratha. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use all of it.

Liza eyed the pouch dubiously. “Do you want him to be able to communicate back to you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know exactly where he is being held?”

Siobhan suppressed a grimace. “I don’t.”

The woman sighed. “Well, we can do a prerequisite homing spell if you have some of his hair or something like that. The messenger can use it to find him.”

Siobhan’s grimace slipped out. Her grandfather had bludgeoned her into the habit of disposing of any hair, blood, or nail clippings, even saliva, precisely so no one could use them in this type of spell. She had none.

“He’s your biological father?” Liza asked, lighting a small brazier in one of the component Circles. “One of your hairs should help to augment the mnemonic link. Unless you’ve reached Journeyman level, I’d say you’re going to need it.”

The last time Siobhan had been tested, she could channel about one hundred seventy-five thaums, which was firmly Apprentice level, well below a Journeyman sorcerer. Somewhat reluctantly, she plucked a single strand and placed it in the component Circle where Liza had drawn the glyph that represented hair or fur.

“At least you know that much,” the woman said. She placed a small iron needle in the middle of the center Circle and turned to Siobhan. “I will handle the tracking part of the spell. You simply need to associate the needle with your father as strongly as you can while I do so. Create a sympathetic link. I will not be supplementing your Will, so if the raven cannot manage to find him, I accept no responsibility.”

Siobhan pushed down her irritation and simply nodded. She wasn’t fully recovered from her over-exertion a couple of days before, but at least hadn’t done any magic yet that day. Her Will wouldn’t fail her.

When Liza gave the sign, Siobhan’s whole purpose locked onto the needle lying there on the ground before her. She ran through memories of her father in detail, cataloguing him for the purpose of the tracker, and ordering the magic to agree that the needle and her father were—antithetically—one being. It was one of the core applications of transmogrification.

When Liza finished, Siobhan relaxed her concentration. The fire in the small brazier had been consumed so thoroughly it left only ashes and cold wood behind. She was fairly confident that the linking spell had worked, but didn’t know how to be sure.

Liza seemed unworried, setting the sliver of iron aside carefully and wiping the floor clean of chalk. “You can help cast the messenger spell, since it will improve your control of the raven, but don’t get in the way,” she said. “Focus your Will on what I tell you, and naught else.”

Next, Liza tied up one of the ravens with some cord to keep it from flapping or hopping away, then used a snake tongue and a small drop of what Siobhan thought was laudanum as components in a forceful calming spell. When she was done, she placed it back into its cage, where it lay against the bars docilely.

The other bird grew more agitated at all of this, squawking and beating at the cage with its wings.

Liza drew yet another Circle and its accompanying Word array, this one even more complex. She worked at it so long Siobhan had to shuffle from foot to foot to keep her legs from falling asleep. After placing a thumb-sized beast core in one of the component Circles, Liza wrangled and bound the unsedated raven and laid it in the center of the main Circle. She placed the docile raven next to it. “We’re drawing on the vitality and intelligence of the brother for our messenger. It’s transmogrification, not transmutation, so be sure to concentrate. Don’t link their lives, we wouldn’t want both ravens to die.”

When Liza activated the spell, the unsedated raven gave a horrified shriek and wriggled around as if trying to escape. The sound quickly gurgled out, and the bird went still, its little black eyes staring at nothing.

The calm raven seemed to perk up, some vigor coming back to its gaze, but, though it struggled a little, no non-sapient creature could have resisted Liza’s magic and the forced docility.

Liza used the butt of a silver knife to crack the dead raven’s skull while the other watched with dark little eyes. She scooped out the brains and set them aside in a small wooden bowl. She also took an eyeball, a feather, and a claw, and after a quick adjustment to the Circle, told Siobhan to focus her Will on the three pieces of dead bird, exerting mastery over them, and through them, to the still living bird. “When you have these items, you will be acknowledged as the raven’s master. You will also need to see through its eyes and hear through its ears. If you botch this, you may find using the messenger quite unpleasant. Concentrate on both the domination and the communication at once.”

Siobhan wasn’t familiar with this sort of domination spell, and though the instructions weren’t unclear, they also weren’t as helpful as she would have liked. She had no time to ask for clarification, however, because Liza turned her attention back to the spell immediately and began to cast.

When it was finished, Liza dropped the bird pieces in a little pouch, which she tossed to Siobhan. “You keep that on you, if you want the messenger to obey your instructions.”

Siobhan hoped she hadn’t botched the connection. ‘What exactly does “unpleasant” mean?’ She leaned her back against the wall, breathing deeply. Casting spells didn’t require any actual physical exertion in most cases, but the strain of channeling power could still leave thaumaturges panting and trembling.

Liza, breathing barely a little harder from the effort, looked Siobhan up and down, and with a judgmental “tch,” allowed her to take a break.

‘How many thaums is this woman channeling as if it were nothing?’ Siobhan wondered.

Finally, with another adjustment to the complex Circle, moving some of the component Circles inward to intersect with the main one, Liza set the spell-calmed bird in the center again.

She placed the tiny brains of the dead raven in one of the component Circles, birdseed in another, and the metal sliver they’d spelled earlier in a third. “This is the hardest part. The brains of its brother for more intelligence, enough to follow your orders. The birdseed for loyalty to its master. The iron needle for the ability to find the target. The string...” She tied the end of a huge ball of yarn to the raven’s leg, then moved to Siobhan and tied a loop around her wrist. “He will follow your commands within the length of the string.”

Liza brought her face close and peered at Siobhan, presumably looking for signs of Will-strain.

Siobhan’s thoughts were still the slightest bit woozy, but she nodded firmly. “Yes.”

Liza turned back to the Circle, raising her hands dramatically as she set the spell in motion. “Eat,” she told the bird. Under the effects of the docility spell, it complied, pecking up birdseed, brain matter, and even the spelled needle. It swallowed them all.

Siobhan felt like she could sense the other woman’s Will as it hummed through the strings of magic itself, brushing against her own. It was like a predator, sleek and muscled, pacing hungrily.

The beast core powering the spell glowed red, and the Circle began to emit a faint, colorless light under the strain, despite how defined the Word array had been and how hard the both of them concentrated.

The raven flopped on the floor like it was being possessed by a devil, but didn’t make a sound.

Siobhan’s heart pounded in her chest and her head began to throb, but she refused to falter or to lose concentration. More than simply causing the spell to fail, loss of control over the many thaums of energy pulsing through the Circle might cause dangerous physical backlash or Will-strain.

Finally, the energy settled. The string connecting her and the raven burned up in a flash, just fast enough to singe her skin but not truly injure her.

Liza lowered her arms, and Siobhan released her mental grip on the spell.

“It is finished,” the woman said, picking up the raven and handing it to Siobhan. “He will act as your messenger with preternatural skill and intelligence—well, for a bird—as long as you do not send him beyond the length of the string, which was about thirteen hundred meters. His brain will hemorrhage and he will die between ninety minutes to two hours from now, so you must work quickly.”

Siobhan held the raven to her chest in weak arms, feeling some pity for the creature and its brother. It couldn’t be helped, though. Magic always came with a cost. “Since I spent so much,” she said, smiling feebly at the other woman, “do you think you could throw in the birdcage for free?”