All the Paths of Shadow

the dial, counting clockwise from zero to ninety-nine. A down-pointing arrow engraved in the face of the safe pointed to the dial, which now read fifty-six. Meralda recognized that as the last number of the safe’s combination, and wondered who had been so careless as to leave the dial set there.

The safe presented no other features, save for the lion’s head emblem of Oaken Lock Works stamped at the bottom.

Meralda stepped back, and swung the painting closed, and there, in the flickering candlelight, Tim the Horsehead grinned back at her.

He’d have had no trouble with this, thought Meralda. A flash of light, a muffled shout, and the thief would be dragged, kicking and screaming, all the way back to the safe room, Tears in hand, while Tim gloated and munched hay.

Meralda sighed.

“Captain,” she said. “Please step outside.”

“Of course.” The captain grinned. “I knew you’d think of something.”

He turned and walked away.

Meralda closed her eyes, and took five long deep breaths, and opened her eyes again. “Sight,” she whispered, struggling to see past her ordinary vision. “Sight, Sight, Sight.”

Bare white walls, a painting, bare cold floor.

“Sight,” hissed Meralda. Her eyes began to water and sting.

“Sight,” she whispered.

Nothing. Nothing at all. No hint of magic, no trace of subtle spells.

I must See!

Sight rose up, just for an instant, and lit the safe room with lines of fire. Tiny glows and bursts of radiance sprang up along every edge, danced on the every plane, showered cold fire from the serrations set into the safe’s dial. Meralda shifted her gaze toward the shadowed rear of the empty safe, and her Sight went white, as though she had looked into the noonday sun. Then it was gone, leaving her blinking and half-blind and with no idea of what she had seen.

“Did you see anything?” asked the captain, from the door.

Meralda took in a breath, and wiped her eyes before turning.

“I assume this door will be locked, when we leave,” she said.

The copperheads, who both stood just outside the door, nodded.

“You will continue to guard it?” asked Meralda.

“Until ordered otherwise, aye,” said the rightmost. “Ordered by our queen,” added the other, with a glare.

Meralda lifted her staff, held it horizontally out before her, and silently mouthed a very rude Angis-word.

The glaring copperhead, she noted with satisfaction, drew away from the door in a quick backward shuffle. “I’m done here, Captain,” said Meralda. “Let’s go back to Tirlin, shall we?”

“Gladly,” said the captain, who turned on his heel. Meralda brushed past the copperheads, and the Bellringers fell in step behind her.

Meralda folded the king’s summons until it was too small to fold again, and dropped it in the trash bin by her desk.

Mug, who sat basking in the late afternoon sun streaming from Goboy’s scrying mirror, saw, and laughed.

“If Fromarch was here, he’d have a conniption fit,” he said.

Meralda shrugged. “I saw him do the same thing, more than once. I’m tired of being summoned, today. Enough.” She stretched and yawned. “All he’ll do is ask me if I’ve found the Tears yet. Does he really think I might say ‘Why yes, I found them hours ago, must have slipped my mind, isn’t it amazing how daft I can be’?”

Mug chuckled. “Our king thinks a wizard stole them, so naturally he also thinks said wizard may have mentioned his motive and methods to you in the course of idle conversation,” he said. “What about that, mistress? Do you think sorcery was involved?”

Meralda sighed. “It’s easy enough to look at the situation, see the Tears stolen from an impenetrable safe room, and say ‘Oh well, the thieves used magic’.” Meralda lifted an eyebrow. “Very well, then,” she said. “Tell me. What sort of magic? Used in what manner?”

Mug shrugged with a flurry of leaves. “The same kind of magic someone used to hide spells throughout the palace,” he said. “One is even led to speculate that an entirely new brand of thaumaturgy is at work here. Hmm.” Mug cast all his eyes toward the ceiling. “What recently arrived group of mysterious foreigners might we be led to consider?”

Meralda thought of Que-long’s open, easy smile, and she shook her head. “I can’t believe the Hang sent a fleet across the Great Sea just to pilfer the odd jewel box,” she said.

“Indeed,” replied Mug. “Why, pray tell, did they send their fleet at all? Have they offered any reason for their visit?”

“The captain tells me they have a reason, but they are waiting for the Accords to begin before announcing it,” said Meralda. She glared. “And that, Mugglewort Ovis, is a state secret. Understood?”

“Understood,” said Mug. “Still, though. You must admit suspicion of the Hang is a perfectly reasonable attitude.” Mug swung eyes toward Meralda. “You rather like the Hang, don’t you?”

I do, thought Meralda, surprised at the realization. All these years, thinking them faraway monsters. But they seem so genuinely nice.

“Consider,” said Mug. “Isn’t muddying your judgment with fondness just as dangerous as basing it on fear?” Mug paused. “The Hang are well-spoken and polite, I’ll grant. But that doesn’t mean they’re angels.”

“You sound like Shingvere.”

“That may well be because we’re both right,” said Mug. “Unless you know something I don’t. And, given the complete lack of attention certain thaumaturges, the guard, and the watch are giving the Hang, I suspect you do.”

Meralda shrugged. “It’s knowledge, I suppose, but only indirectly,” she said. “But according to the captain, Yvin has ordered all involved to treat any evidence that the Hang were party to the theft as evidence planted by the real thieves.”

Mug blinked, with all his eyes. “Yvin said that?”

“He did,” said Meralda. “He’s also ordered the court to deny any theft has occurred.”

“What about the Alons?” asked Mug. “Did he order them to smile and think happy thoughts, too?”

“Begged is a better term, I think,” said Meralda. “They’ll talk, of course, if the Tears aren’t returned. Soon.”

“Alons? Talk?” Mug made a snorting sound. “They’ll riot, is what they’ll do,” he added, “just before they pull out of the Accords.”

Meralda nodded. He’s right, she thought, imagining a thousand wild-eyed, bearded Alons raging down Fleethorse with a greater fury than they displayed at any football game. For some reason, she thought of the lone traffic master at Kemp trying to hold them back with his white glove and silver whistle. “We can’t let it come to that,” she said, rubbing her temples. “But how do we stop it?”

The scrying mirror flickered, losing its hold on the darkening, red-streaked sky. Meralda patted the mirror’s frame. The image steadied, and Meralda fought back a yawn and rose to her feet.

“Ah,” said Mug. “A bit of mage-like pacing.”

Meralda ignored him and began to pace, hands clasped behind her back, mouth set in a frown. She paced to Phillitrep’s Calculating Engine, turned, and returned to her desk before starting again.

“Let’s forget the how of the theft, for a moment,” she said. “Let’s talk about the why.”

“Why, what?”

“Why steal the Tears? Really. What do you do with them, after you magic them out of the safe room?”

“The Tears are worth a fortune, are they not?” asked Mug, with a rustling of fronds.

“As long as they are the crown jewels of Alonya, yes, they are,” said Meralda. “But steal them from the queen’s person, and what do you have?”

Mug pretended to whistle. “A hundred thousand furious Alons bearing down on you with swords,” he said.