Chapter 4 - part the first

“So you're the Wrench,” Colm commented, once Amos had stopped speaking.

“The Wren,” Leni corrected, detesting that awful play on words.

Colm looked at the magician dourly. “Do you think I don't know that?”he asked, indignant. “I know what they used to call her; but they do not use that name any more, do they? She is the one who wrenched control out of the hands of the Harzia. What was in the envelope the magician gave you – the recipe for the inks that saved you?”

“Yes,” Amos conceded. “It was a great gift, and I am eternally grateful. For that I will gladly bear the name Wench, Wrench, or whatever else the pundits can think of.”

“Now I understand why they would go through such trouble to assassinate you,” the Commander went on. “But how did they find out who you are? The identity of the Wren is still unknown to most – and some don't even believe she exists at all, except as a figure of legend.”

“Their spies are many, and their guile knows no bounds,” Leni answered flatly; then, as an afterthought he added bitterly, “It was only a matter of time.”

“You mentioned earlier that this was not the first time you have dealt with such an affront. What recourse did you take in the past?” Colm enquired. He knew by now that these people were far more dangerous than they appeared; and he knew also that they chose to appear innocuous with the specific intent of concealing their true nature. Of course, the Commander, sitting at his own great desk in the heart of the Red Scarp, feared no personal harm from these two; but he suspected every word they uttered.

No word now came from either of them because at that moment there was an outcry without the office doors. They all three turned to look and in the next instant there came barging in an imposing figure of a man, enraged, and fighting off the two guards that tried their best to hold him back.

Leni leapt from his seat to position himself between the intruder and his bride; but he let his guard down momentarily when he saw that the man crying out in rage was none other than her brother.

Colm was on his feet, too, shouting orders. “Hold him back!” he blared. “Knock at his knees!”

The guards tried to wrestle Veon to the floor, but the big man wouldn't be bested. He was an athlete without match, a robust fighter, with hands that could crush unripe mylca melons. He threw first one, then the other of his assailants, and lunging forward found himself staring at the quivering point of Colm's steel blade.

Amos called out his name, and Veon, seeing her, was pacified completely. His form, wound like a tight spring, relaxed, and his face – all red and flushed – seemed to regain its usual complexion.

“There you are,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief; then he saw Leni and said, “And there you are. I should have known.”

Colm's eyes narrowed hearing this, and he glanced at the nonplussed magician.

“What makes you say that?” Leni asked.

“You always are, when danger arises,” Veon spat.

“I've told you before, my brother, that it is now my duty to oversee her. That being said, it is very foolish of you to make assumptions about the future based on the past. That, I've never told you until now, but I predict that it won't be the last time I say it.”

Veon passed a hand over his face. It came away glistening. There were beads of sweat all along his brow. Even his big, brown mustache dripped. He didn't say anything to the magician; instead, he simply looked to his sister, who didn't seem to have taken any harm, but seemed in fact to be more than a little drunk.

Any other woman might have been able to claim that her face was flushed only because of embarrassment or choler, but Amos was immune to both.

“You've suffered no injury?” Veon asked his sister earnestly.

She shook her head and smiled. “I'm fine, Veon. But thank you for being so concerned for my safety. As always, you are my hero.”

Colm by this point had put his sword back in its elegant sheath, and waved away the guards, who tried closing the doors only to learn that the brass doorknobs had been torn clean off. They glanced quickly about the floor for the missing knobs, but retreated like voles flying from an eagle when they saw the glower they received from Colm – a black look made even blacker with his one battered eye.

Colm's gaze went next to the fish tank across the room, for he became suddenly aware of the sound of water running onto the rug below. A quizzical look came on his face, for the large rectangular tank had been perforated: about three quarters of the way up, the glass front had a hole in it, as though a stone had been pitched straight through it. The fish swimming within were in a frenzy of fear.

The Commander looked at Leni, who shrugged, then at Veon, who was surreptitiously pocketing the second knob which he discovered at that moment was still hidden in his great, hairy paw. His other hand he used to cover his mouth as he coughed nervously, his mustache quivering.

Colm rang for his assistant to come and deal with the situation before the whole tank exploded and the fish were cast gaping onto the floor. No one came through the busted door, however.

“Curses!” Colm muttered. “He's out collecting those blasted murmaly eggs!” So he went to the fish tank himself, leaving the trio to manage affairs on their own for a moment or two; and as he approached the ruined Dasprian rug, he felt that more and more his office was turning into some kind of ludicrous menagerie.

In the fish tank were figures of blown glass, sculptures made with varying tints, some of which filled with liquids of different hues. There were three great sea frogs squatting on the bottom, filled with waters made green using toxic sulspia algae – but luckily none of these had fractured. Staring through the cracked glass, Colm saw that the flung knob had, however, taken the head off one of the mermaids, and she had fallen over so that the blue nanpria water that had sparkled within the length of her fins and tail was now seeping out in long trailing lines like shimmering indigo vines along the rocky bottom of the tank.

“Bloodlines,” Colm muttered to himself as he rolled up his sleeve. Placing in the tank a silver tray that was laying nearby, he blocked the hole and hoped to relieve pressure on the fissure; then he put his arm deep in and retrieved the doorknob from the bed. He plucked out the beheaded mermaid, too, wondering if his wife – who had purchased the glass sculpture and had it placed within the tank – would notice its absence during her next visit.

Of the mermaid's lost head, he saw no trace.