started looking for the fellow with the bottle. When I returned I found him standing with Marc.
“We were just discussing you Mordecai!” My friend said this enthusiastically but his eyes were full of warning.
“Yes, Marcus was telling me that you’re a student of mathematics and philosophy.” Devon added.
“I try, but I fear I will always be an humble scholar, rather than one of the pathfinders of reason.” I replied.
“You sound as though you might be well suited as a poet. Tell me what you think of Ramanujan and his work with the Riemann Zeta Function, I get so little interesting conversation at home.” The aura around him had gotten darker again, which made his smile ominous.
“I think no one took him seriously at first, but that was his own fault.” I said.
“How so?”
“He presented his ideas in a such a way as to deliberately elicit a contrary reaction from others. If he had been open about his methods, the fact he was using the Zeta function to arrive at his conclusions from the beginning there would have been a lot less controversy.” I could almost feel Devon’s disappointment. There was a very good reason we had chosen mathematics as my scholarly cover. It had become something of a hobby of mine as a result of my time studying with Marc. My parents thought it was useless abstraction of course, as did Marc, but I had found great enjoyment in the subject. Consequently I had spent a lot of time absorbing material from the Duke’s library that most folk would never have even heard of.
“The controversy is perhaps the only reason anyone still remembers his contributions, perhaps it was necessary to preserve his work,” Devon countered.
“I’m sure he is not the first person to hide his methods,” I was starting to get annoyed so I probably emphasized that phrase too much. “He doubtless won’t be the last, but his motive was not controversy.”
“Do explain,” his teeth flashed as he spoke and I found myself reminded of a fox.
“He kept his methods secret to embarrass his contemporaries. If they admitted they could not follow his work it made them look ignorant, if they argued he was wrong he revealed his methodology to make them look like fools. In essence he was an egotistical ass.” Perhaps I was a bit too passionate about my subject, I might have insulted Devon, but I hadn’t intended to, at least not consciously. The purplish light around him was pulsing now.
“Pardon me your lordship, no offense was intended.” I added.
“None taken,” he replied, although it was clear he felt otherwise, “you are passionate about your subject, a commendable quality in a scholar. If you’ll excuse me I should mingle some more with the other guests.” I was relieved to watch him go.
Marc stepped closer to me and took me by the elbow, “Let's retire for a moment, I need to get some air.” He steered me to the balcony which was currently empty. Once there he spoke softly, between clenched teeth, “What the hell was that?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied sipping my wine casually.
“Could you have chosen anyone in the world to make your enemy, that man is probably the worst you could have picked.” Marc seemed genuinely worried. “What did you say to get his attention so firmly fixed on you?” He was referring to my short conversation before Marc had joined us.
“Well I did stumble into an embarrassing topic quite by accident, I asked him about his siblings.” I quickly related the story of Devon’s brother and how he had died. “He didn’t seem particularly upset about it though.” I concluded.
“Of all the things you could have asked that was the worst. His elder brother’s death has been the subject of many rumors. Quite a few suspect Devon of having a hand in it.”
I could see the problem but not my own relevance, “Surely he must know I wasn’t intentionally trying to upset him.”
Marc sighed, running his hands through his thick hair, “He knows nothing of the sort. You have to understand how people like him work. Let me give you a lesson in the aristocracy. First, he assumes that because he’s so important, everyone else must be nearly as knowledgeable about his affairs as he is. Second, if he did have something to do with his brother’s death he would have to be incredibly paranoid about it. Third, a complete stranger approaches him and starts questioning him about his brother’s ‘unfortunate’ demise. He will naturally assume that you are either trying to send him a message or embarrass him. In either case he will take it as a challenge.”
“Oh,” I answered adroitly. “Well thankfully I live here rather than in Tremont.”
“Idiot, like that matters to someone like him,” my friend was angry now.
“What do you mean?”
“The only person who can safely insult one of the greater peers is someone of equal rank or greater, such as my father, or someone from the royal family,” he explained it as if I were a child.
“Thankfully my best friend is his equal in rank.” I smiled thinking that would make him feel a bi better.
“That only makes it worse, look over there.” he glanced behind me.
Turning so I could casually glance back into the room I saw Devon looking our way, he raised his glass and nodded at me as if in greeting. “So what does that mean?” I asked.
“He’s already caught on that we’re friends, and he probably thinks I put you up to the questions about his brother. We were friendly before, but now he’ll mark me as his enemy. Rather than shielding you, that puts you in danger Mort.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said.
“He can’t strike at me directly, so his obvious targets for retaliation will be my allies, particularly those who have limited resources of their own.” Marc looked at me intently as I finally understood what he had been trying to get across to me.
“But I don’t even know him! I certainly never intended to make an enemy of him.” How could things have gone so terribly wrong?
“In these circles, intentions don’t matter,” Marc answered glumly.
“So what do I do?” I was appropriately worried now.
“Avoid him if possible and pray he doesn’t discover much about your family and friends. Let's go back in, we’re only making him more suspicious chatting out here by ourselves.” Marc stepped back inside. I followed a moment after and made my separate way around the room.
I wound up trapped in conversation with Stephen Airedale who was self absorbed enough to refrain from asking me anything about myself. I got bored quickly though since I had absolutely no interest in spice trading, or how much money he had made investing in it. I was about to excuse myself to visit the privies when I saw Penny enter the parlor with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. She met my eye for a moment and then looked away uncomfortably.
I made my way to the privies with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. In the course of one short day I had managed to become a political liability to my best friend while at the same time convincing another friend I was in league with the powers of darkness. At least I hadn’t caused Dorian any trouble yet, but Marc’s comments had me worrying that he might become another of Devon’s targets if he learned of our friendship.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly and I finally managed to retire to my room without causing any more problems. I tried to take a nap as the social maneuverings earlier had left me tired, but I was restless. Instead I spent my time practicing the little bit I had learned. After a while I got fairly proficient at controlling the amount of light I produced. I had begun to get a feel for the flow of aythar as I created the light ball. ‘Aythar’ I had learned was the proper name for the force mages use to produce magical effects.
There weren’t any handy subjects to practice my sleep spell on, and the hawk had made me cautious, I still felt a little bad about that. I resolved to retrieve that third book as soon as dinner was over. I couldn't make much more headway with Vestrius’ journal without a better understanding of the Lycian language.
Eventually Benchley came to tell me that it was time to eat. Apparently Penny had arranged to have him handle me to avoid any more difficulties. As dark as my mood was I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t feeling up to facing more political intrigue so I begged him for mercy, claiming a sudden illness. Benchley had been a valet for many years and he understood immediately.
“Say no more sir, I’ll make your excuses for you,” he promptly left.
After an hour a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and for a moment I was hopeful that perhaps Penny had forgiven me for frightening her. Opening the door I found Dorian outside with a tray of food. “I thought
