All the Paths of Shadow

“The queen plays a mean hand of whist,” said the king.

“So does Mug. But I warn you, he cheats.”

The king laughed. Meralda moved her hand.

Yvin marched away, bellowing at his personal guard, who quickly surrounded him as he tramped down the steps.

Meralda watched him go, then she reached into her bag for her implements and pretended to inspect her shadow moving spell while her own guards idled far below.

I need to enter the Tower and work from the flat to install the new tether spells, she thought.

But how can I possibly make half a dozen trips to the flat when my every trip to the park will be accompanied by half the army and at least one dirigible?

The Vonat wizards will know I’m not doing anything to the shadow spell. They’ll suspect I’m meddling with theirs, which I’m not even supposed to know about.

Donchen had suggested removing Finch’s Door from the house on Hopping Way and sneaking it under cover of night directly into the flat. Mug had even grudgingly agreed this was the best possible solution, although sneaking anything the size of a door into the Tower was going to prove difficult.

A shadow flitted across Meralda, and with it came the faint fluttering of wings.

Of course there is another way, she thought. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be forced to try it. But standing there on the rise and seeing the crowds gathered about the Tower, Meralda knew with a sinking in her heart there was only one way to enter the Tower in secret.

Two shadows flew past, as if hearing her thoughts. Which they might well do, since I dared to take them in hand.

My life is filled with dares these days.

“Tower reports that the Vonats are watching their spell carefully, mistress,” said Mug’s tiny voice from Meralda’s pocket. “He’s impressed they can do that at a distance.”

Meralda reached into her own pocket and pressed the copper stud while covering her mouth as if from a cough.

“I’m all done here,” she said. “Coming home.”

“Glad to hear it.” Mug paused. “Mind you don’t trip on any Vonats.”

“Mistress,” said Mug. “Respectfully, that’s the single least appealing idea you’ve ever espoused.” Mug waved his leaves at Donchen, who stood frowning by Meralda’s desk. “Mr. Ghost. Help me here. Tell the mage why holding ancient evil staves while they fly through Goboy’s brittle old mirror is a monumentally bad idea.”

“I find nothing fundamentally at fault with the supposition,” said the Tower. “They move their own masses easily across the spectral threshold with no observable discontinuity.”

“Was I asking you? Was I?” Mug swiveled his eyes back to Donchen. “Well?”

Donchen’s frown deepened. “I cannot lay claim to understanding the process by which the staves use the mirror as a portal,” he began.

Mug groaned. “I retract the question.”

Donchen shrugged. “I see no reason why a person would suffer, if the staves do not. Even so, I volunteer to try a crossing first. Tirlin can do without a moderately skilled chef, Mage Ovis. But it cannot do without you.”

He means that, thought Meralda. He’d take up the staves and step into the glass and not show an inkling of fear.

She smiled, but shook her head no. “Thank you, Donchen. From the bottom of my heart. But taking the staves is very much up to the staves, and in any case I don’t believe they’ll let me come to any harm.”

Yet, thought Meralda. No harm just yet.

“Still, we could perhaps test passing an inanimate object back and forth through the glass,” said Donchen, eyeing Meralda speculatively. “Something of your approximate mass and composition?”

“Careful,” grumbled Mug.

Meralda rose and brushed back her hair. “No. I’m sorry, Donchen, but the staves can either be trusted, or they cannot, and without them, we are already undone.” She held out her hands and took a deep breath. “Nameless, Faceless. To me, please.”

The air about Meralda snapped, as if a solid door was slammed shut, and the staves appeared in her hands.

“Mistress!” cried Mug.

“Your mistress is a brave woman,” said Donchen. “Know that if she comes to harm I will set about finding a very sharp axe and a very hot fire.”

Meralda smiled.

“Did you hear?”

“One heard,” came a voice Meralda knew only she could hear.

“As did this one,” said the other. “Neither mages nor mirrors will suffer harm.”

“To the Wizard’s Flat,” she said.

The staves leaped in her hand. The laboratory simply vanished. She felt the slightest, most subtle sensation of being lifted, and then-

Then, the Wizard’s Flat.

Bright sun streamed through the windows. Silence gripped the air. With the door still shut, not a single sound penetrated the Tower’s thick walls.

Meralda let go of the staves. They flew to their indentations in the floor and stood there, still and quiet in the sunlight.

“Thank you,” said Meralda.

“Mistress! Mistress, we can see you,” cried Mug’s voice, from Meralda’s pocket. “Are you all right? Are you all there? Donchen is pacing, mistress. Muttering about kindling wood.”

Meralda raised Tam’s speaking device to her lips and smiled. “I’m perfectly intact, Mug,” she said. “It wasn’t even unpleasant.”

She heard Mug sigh in relief.

“Well, what now, mistress?”

“I’m here, Mug. I might as well get to work. I’ll be busy for a bit. Watch, but please don’t speak.”

Meralda dropped the speaking device back in her pocket, closed her eyes, and raised her Sight.

“I may need some assistance here,” she said. She felt the staves place themselves in her hands, felt the first rush of power flow from them and toward her.

“Sight,” she said aloud.

The hidden spaces that filled the flat revealed themselves, one by one, wonder by wonder.

Chapter Eighteen

“The Times is predicting rain for the commencement ceremony, mistress,” said Mug, shuffling quickly through the newspapers scattered on a workbench with quick motions of his vines. “The Post is promising sun.”

Meralda shrugged, her attention focused on the delicate mesh of steel she struggled to solder in place between two curved lengths of springy copper. Smoke rose up and tickled her nose, and she bit back a sneeze as she secured the last bit of steel and held it fast to let the molten solder cool.

The Accords begin tomorrow, she thought. And if I am unable to restore the tethers, rain will be the least of anyone’s problems.

“Done,” she said, frowning at her handiwork. “That should speed things up in the flat.”

Mug swiveled half his eyes toward her latest creation.

“You’re getting very good at metal-working, you know.”

“Thank you, Mug.”