Chapter 5 - part the first

A knock came at the door to Colm's grand office, and even before he could respond, the broken doors swung open. It was the Commander's aide, returned at last with a laden tray which he brought directly over to a table near the desk. Thereafter, he began to transfer the requisitioned items before the magician, who nodded at each one.

“Larkswood; ground endrom nuts; capsia leaves; resquio salts – beg pardon, Sir, but aren't they poisonous?”

“Only if you plan to eat them,” the magician replied as he surveyed the goods brought before him. “I shall be using them as an acidic base only. My rituals are quite involved, as you can no doubt imagine. Did you manage to get the – oh there they are!”

The assistant continued to lay down all the items he'd spent the last few hours collecting, naming each one as he did, and mispronouncing more than a few of the stranger items.

“Iron filings; a stick of mancarrash root; hart's hoof tincture...” He went on. “And, of course – murmaly eggs!”

He took the silver cover off a plate of poached eggs. Leni leaned over the dish and wrinkled his nose.

“Is everything all right, Sir?” the assistant enquired nervously.

“I prefer them sunny side up,” the magician grumbled.

The assistant shifted from one foot to another, and glanced at Colm for direction. The Chief Commander waved the boy away impatiently.

The magician passed a cloth napkin to his bride, who placed it delicately in her lap; his own he stuffed down his shirt front. “Would you like to try some?” Leni asked the Commander, offering him some of the fried snails. “They're delicious with a bit of lemon!”

Colm was feeling a bit light-headed – probably from a tad too much brandy, he surmised, and considered that he should eat something, but everything in this bizarre luncheon made his stomach turn. He shook his head, declining the snails.

Amos started in on the more conventional items – the toast and jam – and Leni smacked his lips when he tried the mash of foal. It was all deliciously prepared. 

As he chewed, his hands were busy with some of the odder items that the lad had delivered: he lit the candles under the witch's pot he'd had brought, and began throwing things into the little iron pot that would serve as a cauldron boiling on top. Into it he put the iron filings, a few measured drops of the hart's hoof, the entirety of the mock-toad, and something that made a great stink when he uncorked the bottle.

The Chief Commander grimaced. “What on earth is that?” he murmured unhappily as he put his handkerchief to his nose.

“Extract of naullisium,” Leni replied, even as he administered a good portion into the pot, judging the measure with one eye closed. “It is a most potent agent.”

He was a genius – of that Colm had no doubt; but it remained quite unclear to what ends and purpose the magician put his formidable faculties to use. Just what, exactly, was he up to?

The Commander kept hoping to glean some answer to this in Amos' narrative, but it seemed as though there were merely further mysteries the farther she took him down the well of dreams, which was the place where all fairy tales came from, and most led to. Was it all just a wily fabrication? Were these two involved in some dastardly ploy against him? Such things had certainly transpired before, for there were always dozens of intrigues unfolding and dramas unfurling within the confines of Caza; but never before had Colm ever heard of such odd people involved as these. Most of the time a confidence man would try to put his mark at ease, to gain his trust, but everything about Leni inspired mistrust, uncertainty, and awe.

Colm decided it was time he got a little perspective on the matter.

“Would you excuse me?” he said, rising from his seat. “Nature calls.”

Leni gave him a little wave of goodbye, even as he stuffed some toasted nut-loaf into his mouth. He was masticating like some great lizard of prey that is slavering over its kill. Most of what had been on his list were his favourite foods; but there were particular items that most certainly fell under a rubric far more nefarious.

Even as Colm passed out into the corridor, Leni administered some powder to the mixture he had on the boil, producing a bright flash and a loud boom, like gunfire. Colm started and turned to look inward.

The magician, with jelly on his chin, waved again wholeheartedly.

Colm shut the doors, then when he saw that there was a hole for peeking in on them, he called his assistant over. In a hushed tone, he said, “Keep an eye on them. Watch his movements for anything out of the ordinary.”

“That would be nearly everything, for him, my Lord.”

“Indeed,” Colm agreed. “Well put. Watch for everything.”

The lad nodded, and then bent his eye to the hole with a little sigh.

Colm meanwhile, realized that since he stood he actually did have a pressing need to visit the latrine. He decided to go for it, and hurried back to have a quick word in secret with the burly brother, Veon.

As he headed down the corridor, however, the gladiator hailed him from the anteroom and hastened to join him. Colm thought again what a good man this Veon appeared to be. He would have made a superb Archer, perhaps, except that it was clear the man had no guile.

It's better that he keeps to fighting equal matches in the arenas, the Chief Commander reflected then. We in the Red Scarp end up all too often scapegoats of the citizenry when crime is rampant, or we end up embittered and cynical.

Of course, Colm's cynicism was precisely what made him such an excellent Archer. He could judge a man accurately within just a few minutes of speaking with him; and he was smart enough to know that if he ever found a man too tough to crack, it was best to canvas his mates.

“May I have a word?” Veon asked as he jogged up behind the Commander. “Have you finished interrogating my sister?”

“My snake is choking on its venom,” Colm replied. “If you want to talk with me, you'll have to do it on the way to the piss-pipes.”

Veon, who had been holding it in himself for the last half an hour, was glad to have a chance to relieve himself, as well as to have a guide to show him where. He fell into step alongside the Commander.

“Is Amos in danger?” he asked. “Do you know anything about the assassin?”

Colm inhaled sharply. He didn't like questions he had no answers to. “I should think that your sister should be used to danger by now – it seems to follow you both, from what she tells me,” the Commander replied a bit curtly. “And I can assume that we all know who sent the assassin; that is all that matters, after all, isn't it? The individual man is just a hired hand.”

With this masterful stroke, Colm was able to let Veon know that he was not only privy to his secrets, but sympathetic with them. The gladiator, much simpler in mind that either Amos or Leni, agreed unquestioningly with the Commander. He was trained like all the rest to respect the authority of the Archers.

Colm found it most pleasant to once again be dealing with regular folk, with whom he nearly always had the upper hand. “To be quite honest,” he went on, “I am far more concerned about the poor girl's imminent nuptials, which in my opinion should be nullified.”

Veon was quite shocked to hear that, and Colm knew that now the man would tell him anything, if it might mean he could separate his sister from the meddlesome magician. “Why do you say that?” the fighter demanded. “I mean, Commander – what reason do you have to disparage her selection?”

“Reason? I don't need any reason to know a liar when I see one, and Leni is exactly that, my good fellow – a liar!”

As though to punctuate his statement, Colm slapped his hand against the door to the latrine as they arrived, pushing it open. The two men entered the reeking little room and moved toward the urinals where they both stopped talking for a full minute. Colm noticed the big man standing next to him turn his head slightly to take a sidelong glance; he thought that the gladiator was most likely getting in a sly look at his bruised eye, but what interested Veon was actually what the Commander held in his hand.

Colm, looking down himself at his own business, noticed that his urine was a very unusual hue. It seemed almost blue; but there were only a few squirts left, and no time to take a sample.

Only once their britches were buttoned and they were back in the corridor did Veon ask the question he'd been holding in his mind.

“Did he tell you that he can see things? Leni, I mean?”

“Aye, he gave me notion that he'd like me to believe he receives premonitions. It seems rather unlikely, to me. I've seen swindlers of all sorts, and they all love nothing more than to pull the wool over the eyes of others, duping the rubes, as they call it. Leni is a performer, not a prognosticator.”

Veon felt his own fears being confirmed. “But then how could he predict when a killer would strike?”

“Only if he hired that man himself, or perhaps by proxy. It is an ugly thing to consider, but rather more likely to be the case.”

“How could you prove it?” Veon asked, now extremely enthused.

“It won't be an easy thing,” Colm replied. “He is very careful, and most meticulous. I doubt it would be easy to find any clues. He is so well-guarded in his demeanor; he gives nothing away! And Amos is entirely devoted to him. She would never speak any ill of him.”

“If it's ill you wish to hear of, then I will give you an earful!”

“Tell me the worst of it, and the most brief. I do not wish to leave him alone in my office too long.”

Veon considered what to say. He thought for a moment about telling the Commander that Leni had put something in his drink; but his own culpability made him hold back. He should have stopped it then; he should have spoken out immediately – but there was something about Leni, that smug bastard, which always seemed to prevent any action against him. That, more than anything, was what Veon hated the most. 

It was impossible, with someone who'd studied sleight of hand for so long, to ever get the upper hand. If ever he did – and it had happened to Veon more than once that he thought he had – it proved only to be illusion, crafted by the wily mastermind!

What Veon wanted most of all was for Leni to leave them alone, he and his sister both; but he did not have any desire to see the man incriminated, incarcerated, or worse.

In any case, there was only one incident in the past that Veon knew with enough certainty that Leni had acted most dishonourably, and it was certainly the worst. Before he could figure out whether or not this was a good move, he began telling the Commander in Chief all about it. Luckily, it took very few words to say it:

“He is solely responsible for the collapse of Salt Gate.”

Colm's eyes went wide for a second, then narrowed in a way that boded ill for the illusionist.

“Thank you,” said the Commander. “I will entreat you later to tell me further. For now, however, I must leave you here.”

They had reached the antechamber where Veon was to wait; here, the two men took their leave of one another, although Veon took a moment to watch the Commander walking away briskly, in his dashing red uniform.

As he returned to the broken doors, he found his assistant crouching there as he had left him, spying on the magician. The lad stood up immediately and Colm saw by the look on his face that he did not like what he'd been forced to watch.

“Well?” the Commander demanded: “Anything to report?”

The lad nodded, and swallowed. Then he said, stammering, “I-I can't be sure, my Lord, but just now, right before you got back – I believe I saw him bend forward and drop some of the potion he's been brewing into your glass of brandy.”

Once again, Colm's eyes narrowed. He nodded at the lad, and turned to the doors, which he thrust open with both hands quite dramatically.

Amos, startled by this, dropped her cup of tea, which shattered on the stone floor underfoot. No one caught it; this time, the Commander had truly caught the duo off-guard.

Colm strode forward, coming to his desk, and picking up his glass of brandy, all the while keeping his eye glued to Leni – his good eye, anyway; no one could tell what his other eye was up to. The Commander swirled the glass, and brought it up to his nose where he took a deep inhalation. It smelled normal, and he pretended to simply be invigorated by it.

“Ah!” he said with invented gusto. “Made by the wine-makers of Wexe, this is my favourite brandy. It has hints of vanilla and eckorio. Tell me, Leni – what do you taste when you drink it? Surely your palette must be even more discerning than mine!”

“I cannot speak for your palette, nor any other part of you,” the magician answered. “At least not yet. But I will certainly drink to your health.”

Colm offered the magician the snifter, who then took it, inhaled himself at the contents as if merely curious, then took a healthy quaff. He rolled it around in his mouth, tasting it, then swallowed and gave a hearty, “Ah!” of his own.

The Commander's eye narrowed yet again. What game was this that was afoot?

He took his glass back and, compelled by the magician's toast, gave his adversary a salute and threw back the rest of the contents. He did not know what fate he might suffer for it, but he knew one thing for certain: Leni would never imbibe any poison himself, if he didn't happen to also have the antidote near at hand.

Even as he swallowed the brandy – which tasted finer today than it ever had before – Colm wondered if it was a mistake. He was soon to find out, but only by making another blunder:

“Won't you now, before your dear Missus resumes her account, tell me my good man, just what was your involvement with the affair that went down at Sero Abbey, resulting in the destruction of the Salt Gate?”

“That is already well-known,” Leni replied easily. “I helped remake it.”

“Because you first unmade it?”

“I make things disappear, Commander, not destruct.”

Here Amos stood up, swaying a little bit. She was quite red in the face, and this time it was not from the drink – at least, not entirely.

“I can see that you've been speaking with my brother!” she said with great indignity. “As it is known only to him and a few others how Leni was implicated in that mess – a matter which he managed to clear up once and for all!”

“So the perpetrators remain at large?” Colm said, looking at the young girl who thought she could overtake him with a flurry of passion and anger. “That is truly a shame – for if I had here in my office the one who was responsible for that debacle, I would have a case closed that would make my career.”

“Banish the thought!” Amos argued with growing vehemence. Her devotion to her betrothed was truly impressive. “And while you're at it, banish my brother! I'm going to go and have a word with him!”

“Stay, Miss! I command you to!” Colm shouted after her, as Amos took off for the doors.

“Command this!” she answered, giving him the finger.

Amos slammed the door behind her; but the broken parts had no hitch or latch. At the very same instant that the boom and clatter of the doors came, a very unexpected clamour erupted on Colm's desk as the doorknob he had placed there apparently transmuted into a bewildered white dove, which flew away into the rafters with its white wings clapping.

Leni, when the Commander looked at him once the bird was lost to sight, gave him an innocent shrug and a little smile as if to say, There's no proof it was I.