All the Paths of Shadow

“Good luck,” said Meralda. Fromarch shouted something unintelligible back in reply.

The Tower spoke. “The contents of the red crate are known to me,” it began.

“Will the contents wreak havoc on Tirlin and visit upon us widespread destruction this very night?”

“No. They are…”

Meralda made a motion for silence. “I don’t want to know, Tower. Unless you think the mages can’t control it.”

“Their combined skills should prove sufficient.”

“Then let’s get back to work. I have an idea about the damaged tethers. I need to know how they maintain their spacing, as they rotate.”

Meralda found her chair and sank back into it. The box of pastries sat on a corner of her desk, still open, the scent of fresh donuts wafting from it.

Meralda grabbed another and bit into it.

The Tower chuckled and began to speak, drawing symbols and equations in the glass as it did so.

Meralda counted chimes and stretched as four hundred and ninety-six timekeeping devices in the laboratory chimed out nine o’clock, all at once.

Nine o’clock. I must get a better chair, thought Meralda. Something with a cushion.

Above her came the faint sound of beating wings. Shadows flitted across the ceiling.

“One comes,” said the Tower. “Donchen. The Hang.”

“Is he perhaps pushing a silver cart?”

“Just so,” said the Tower. “I shall conceal myself.”

Meralda stood. “No. Not this time. He’s either a friend and ally, or he’s not. I believe he means no harm. Do you concur?”

Mug surprised Meralda by remaining quiet.

“As you wish, Mage Ovis.”

There came a knock at the door. “Supper,” called Kervis. “Smells good, ma’am.”

Meralda rose and opened the doors. Donchen, clad in his purloined kitchen garb, greeted her with a wide smile.

“Hungry, Mage?”

“Famished,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

Donchen handed bags to the Bellringers, and then pushed his cart inside.

“Fascinating,” he said, peering into the glass as Tower caused a drawing of the tethers and the curseworks to spin and move. “And those have been there, deadly but unseen, for most of Tirlin’s history?”

Meralda nodded. Donchen’s meal, four courses, appetizers and a dessert, was making her eyes heavy. As if sensing her thoughts, Donchen rose nimbly to his feet, rummaged about in his serving cart, and finally withdrew a silver carafe and a pair of dainty white cups.

“Coffee?” asked Meralda.

“Coffee is sadly lacking compared to Hang beverages,” replied Donchen. “But I hope you will find this equally invigorating. We call it chai-see. It’s a tea, of sorts, made from the leaves of a plant with a variety of therapeutic properties.” He sat the cups down amid the remains of the meal and poured both nearly full.

“To your health, Mage Ovis.”

Meralda lifted her cup. The aroma from it was minty and sharp, reminding her of Shingvere’s sweet sticks melted and mixed with cinnamon.

Donchen drank, and Meralda sipped at hers before smiling and drinking half the cup in a single delicious gulp.

“I knew you’d like it.” Donchen’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll see that a tin or three makes its way to your door, Mage. I’ll be violating a number of export acts by doing so, of course.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mug stifled a small gagging sound. Donchen chuckled and lowered his cup.

“As long as I’m breaking my homeland’s laws, Mage, I might as well give you this, as well.” He reached into his shirt and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “Each of these persons had a butterfly relaxing on their doors or windows this afternoon,” he added. “Some are Hang. Some are Vonat. Some, I fear, are Tirls.”

Meralda took the paper.

“I would be most appreciative if that list found its way to both your king and my countryman, Loman,” said Donchen. “Of course, you need not tell Loman where you got it. After all, ghosts can’t make lists of traitors, can they?”

“How many names?”

“Thirty-seven. Nineteen are Vonats. Twelve, sadly, are my countrymen, arrived with me. Six are Tirlish, of various stations, mostly palace staff simply paid to look the other way so spells can be laid. Disturbing, is it not?”

“Deeply.” Meralda put the list in her desk.

Donchen merely nodded and refilled her cup.

The Hang tea banished the heaviness from Meralda’s limbs and left her feeling, if not fresh and alert, at least not weary and sluggish.

By the time Donchen’s tea was gone, she and the Hang had covered three large pages of drawing paper with notes, and Meralda was finally beginning to see how the curseworks had remained in motion about the flat for so long without failing.

She caught herself chewing on the end of her pencil and blushed at Donchen’s grin. “So each cursework is actually falling.”

The Hang nodded. “But doing so sideways. That’s the part I can’t understand.”

Meralda stabbed at a corner of the topmost paper with her pencil. “It’s right here,” she said. “He put a right angle on gravity. On gravity.” She shook her head. “History just tells us the man was ruthless and powerful. But he was brilliant, more than anything else he might have been. The man turned gravity on its side just to make his spell more efficient.”

“Thus keeping the entire structure turning without requiring a latched spell of any kind,” said the Tower. “Well done, Mage Ovis. That single surmise escaped me for seven centuries.”

Mug blew a fanfare of trumpets and bugles until Meralda silenced him with a glare.

“But we’re no closer to repairing it than we were an hour ago. Tower, how long until the tethers fail?”

“Two hundred and eight hours, Mage. Give or take seven hours.”

Donchen pointed to the image in the glass. “The damage to the tethers seems irreparable, at least to my untrained and ignorant eye.”

“Hah,” said Mug. “Untrained. Ignorant. Pull the other leg, won’t you?”

Donchen pretended not to hear.

“It seems to me, though, that Mage Ovis has a certain detailed understanding of the structures involved.”

Meralda shook her head. “I’m a long way from being able to repair them,” she said. “Certainly longer than two hundred hours.”

Donchen nodded assent. “Repairing them seems an impossible task.”

“I must concur,” said the Tower. “Perhaps it is time to consider an evacuation of the city and surrounding countryside.”

“If the tethers cannot be repaired, they must be replaced,” said Donchen. He turned to face Meralda. “Do you agree, Mage Ovis?”

Shivers ran up and down Meralda’s spine. “He laid gravity on its side,” she said, quietly. “I am not Otrinvion. I could live to be five hundred and I still wouldn’t be Otrinvion.”

“No. But you are Meralda Ovis. You enchanted Mug to life when you were thirteen. You entered college that same year. You alone, of all Tirlin’s mages, found the Tower’s secret. We believe in you, Mage Ovis. Now you must only find a belief in yourself.”

“What he said,” piped Mug. “Who says you couldn’t make right-side up go sideways? You figured out a way to bend sunlight just a few days ago.” Mug sent his eyes toward Meralda. “You can do this, mistress. You’ve got to. I