“Turn around if it bothers you, I’ve got to get rid of the evidence. In fact, turn around anyway, it bothers me.” When had I developed this jealous streak?
I wasn’t having any luck with her dress, so I drew my knife and began cutting it away. It was already spoiled, so it didn’t matter. Once I had it off I couldn't help but look at her for a moment. Say what you will, but I’d like to see you pretend not to notice the most beautiful woman in the world lying naked in front of you. If you said you hadn’t stared, even for a moment, I’d call you a damn liar.
Regardless, I was very focused on making sure Penny was safe. I drew the covers over her and stood back up. Glancing around I noticed a plain nightdress neatly folded under her bedside table. I quickly dismissed the thought of dressing her in it. I didn’t see how I could manage it properly so she would just have to figure that part out in the morning. I also took a moment to make sure she had a second uniform. It turns out she had three, well two now. That was one thing less to worry about at least.
I balled up her ruined outfit and rummaged about the room for a moment till I found a scrap of parchment and a charcoal pencil. I hastily penned a note.
Say nothing. We’ll talk later.
~Mort
I tucked the note under her nightdress and hoped she would find it in the morning. Then we went, leaving the room much as we had found it. It was near three in the morning now and I worried that Devon might have woken up while we were about our business. I needn’t have worried though, he was still sleeping like a babe when we got back to his room, the bastard.
I turned to find Dorian staring at the scene, “Where’s the door Mort?” He looked at the splintered wood on the ground and then saw the look in my eyes. I had never seen fear in my stalwart friend’s face before, but I saw it flicker there now. It made me feel old and tired; a strange sensation to have at sixteen. “Did you?” he motioned at the shattered wood with his hand.
“Yeah,” I answered. What else was I going to say? Then I heard Devon stir, as if he might wake. “Shibal” I put as much strength as remained to me into it. A wave of dizziness swept over me and I nearly fainted then, but Dorian caught my shoulder as I swayed and helped me sit down on the bed.
I looked at the floor for a moment, trying to think, when I heard the sound of steel being drawn. Dorian was moving toward Devon now, cold murder on his face. “Wait!” I said.
“Why?” he asked in return.
“Honestly I don’t know, but if we kill him now we’re both dead men, and I don’t think that would make Penny very happy. If we’re going to give this bastard his comeuppance we’ll have to find another way, but not now, not tonight. We’re too tired to think straight,” I said. That sounded entirely too logical to be coming out of my mouth. Someone else must have been talking when I wasn’t looking.
Dorian struggled with himself for a moment before finally sheathing his sword, “Alright,” he said, “what do we do about the door?”
“Well there’s no way to fix it,” I replied. “Would one of the other doors fit?”
“Wait here,” Dorian looked like he knew what he was doing, so I laid back on the bed and waited. I must have dozed off for a bit, because it seemed like only a moment before he returned carrying another door. He had a hammer and a couple of other tools tucked into his belt.
He soon had the new door on the hinges, and I had to admit it looked a lot like the original. I wasn’t sure if anyone would notice the difference but I was too tired to care. Dorian went off again and came back with a broom. I swear he was getting positively domestic. He cleaned the floor without my help, but I like to think I supervised. He got all the wood up he could find, being careful to leave the jewelry where it lay; then in a stroke of pure genius, he plucked up a bottle of red wine from the credenza.
“Wha?” I asked intelligently, as he smashed it on the floor next to Devon’s head.
“Maybe the fool will think she brained him with it. At the very least his clothes will be ruined, he should count himself lucky.” He helped me up and half carried me to my own room. You can never have enough friends like Dorian, but I was grateful to have him. I never could have finished our night’s deception without him.
I sank slowly into the soft feather bed, but as I drifted off I couldn’t help but wonder, what would Devon think when he discovered his key no longer fit the lock on his chamber door? That made me chuckle for a second, then I was asleep.
Chapter 8
For the same reason mages eschew purely mental methods for channeling their abilities, use of the common tongue for that purpose is generally avoided. The best tool for controlling aythar is usually considered to be a dead language, one acquired by deliberate learning after reaching puberty. It is also believed that languages which have been used for this purpose over many generations serve best, as the words and phrases gain a certain amount of power in their own right. Because of this, even individuals with a moderate to low emittance are sometimes able to effect minor spells by using language and symbols that have absorbed some inherent power due to long use by mages past.
Devon woke early the next morning, only two hours after Mordecai had at last fallen asleep. He was careful not to move at first, uncertain what had happened. He was lying on the floor, fragments of glass scattered about around him. He listened for several minutes before deciding he must be alone, so he sat up and assessed himself.
It didn’t look good. His clothes were beyond saving, soaked through with dark stains. For a moment he thought he had been stabbed, till he realized it was wine rather than blood on his clothes. The door was closed, but the girl was gone. He was fairly sure he hadn’t finished his business with her… unless he had some memory loss. Had someone hit him with the wine bottle? Was it her, or someone else? Either possibility was disturbing.
He stripped his clothes and used some water from the pitcher to clean himself up before donning fresh attire. If someone else had struck him, then that meant he had an unknown enemy, one who had managed to get into his room while he was unaware. If the girl had done it then he had a gap in his memory, for she had been quite beyond such things at his last recollection. It must have been someone else; he would not have been so incompetent as to let that slip of a girl get away so easily.
The door… he checked his pocket, the key was still there. If she had used his key she had replaced it, unlikely, he thought. Her fear had been too great, she would have run, and kept the key. Devon Tremont knew a lot about fear and its effects. He checked the door, and sure enough it was unlocked.
“Someone’s been interfering,” he said to himself. The real question was who? What would they do with the knowledge they had? Nothing. If they were planning to use last night against him they would have done so already, bringing guards and witnesses while he lay unconscious. If anyone accused him now he could easily deny it. Why? That’s what he would have done. Whoever it was had sacrificed a large advantage. They took nothing, his money and possessions were intact, only the girl was missing.
The girl, that was it. The only reason to hide last night’s crime would be to protect her reputation. But she was a common maid, he thought. No one would care about her. Almost everyone within the castle would be more concerned with justice; only a select few would care more for her than destroying him. What had she said last night? He’s the blacksmith’s son. “He’s also a mage,” muttered Devon. He had seen a strong golden aura about the man each time they had met. It was the first thing that had piqued his interest.
She had held out against fear for a remarkably long time, and still had told him little. She must have strong reasons to protect him; likely enough she was in love with him. “And his room is only a short walk from here… and one corridor over.” he said to himself.
Devon Tremont had always been decisive, he did not waver now. Rising he buckled on his sword and left the room and locked the door behind himself. At least he tried to… the key would not turn in the lock. Another mystery, he thought. He shook his head and headed for Mordecai’s room at a casual pace.
