but nobody throws bricks at their windows.”
“Exactly!” Manrin said. “Black it is, then-from now on, warlocks wear black.”
“But they’ll think we’re all demonologists!” Alladia protested.
“Better that than thinking we’re warlocks, I’d say,” Yorn commented.
“Black,” Manrin said. “You chose me to lead you, and as your leader, I tell you to wear black-if Bern can get us the dye.”
Desset nodded. “Everyone looks good in black, too.”
Manrin didn’t think everyone present agreed with that, but he wasn’t about to let his followers argue about trivia. “And we’ll need to advertise,” he said. “Ordinary magicians are useful, they earn their living from their magic. Well, we can all do things that people will pay for-we can heal wounds as well as anyone, we can open locks, we can break things or repair things. We need to let everyone know that. Right now, thanks to those of us who did things we shouldn’t have on the Night of Madness, they think of us as thieves and bullies, not honest citizens, and we need to fix that. Some of us should volunteer to help rebuild the shops and houses that got smashed on the Night of Madness. And people think we kidnapped all those people who disappeared out of their beds-we need to convince them we didn’t.”
“How do we dothat?” Yorn called. “What are we going to say?”
“We’ll just tell them the truth,” Manrin said. “Eventually maybe it will sink in.”
“But how can we advertise?” Kirsha asked. “We can’t just hang out a signboard!”
“Not here, no,” Manrin agreed. “We’ll need to rely on word of mouth. Those of us who have friends and family should let them know. The word will spread.”
“Do you really think anyone will hire us?” Kirsha asked.
Before Manrin could reply, Zarek asked, “Can we still stay here? If Lord Faran is dead, who owns this house?”
Manrin had been about to answer Kirsha, but now he stopped dead, mouth open.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Did Lord Faran have any children? Or perhaps Lord Hanner’s parents?”
“Our parents are both dead,” Lady Alris said from the parlor door. “If Uncle Faran ever acknowledged any children, I don’t know about it. I think Hanner and Nerra and I were his closest kin.”
“Thank you, Lady Alris,” Manrin said. “Then unless there’s a settlement we don’t know about, Lord Hanner would now own the estate, with an obligation to provide for his sisters.”
“Is Bern here?” Alris asked. “He should know.” “Here he is,” Sheila called, leading Bern by the hand through the crowd at the dining-hall door.
“Good!” Manrin said. “Bern, Lady Alris, if the three of us could speak somewhere...” When neither of them protested, Manrin smiled and said, “Good! All of you, we have seen that confrontation with the overlord and his guards is not going to get us anywhere. Lord Faran meant well, and he did a good thing gathering us here and teaching us what we are, but trying to conquer the city is not for us. What we need to do is make a place for ourselves, a place that the rest of the city will accept. While I speak with Lady Alris and Bern, I want the rest of you to think about what we can do to fit in, to make ourselves useful and welcome. For now, it appears we are still welcome here-Lord Hanner has not come and ordered us to leave-but we have to consider the possibility that we will need to leave and go elsewhere. If you have any suggestions or questions, find me later and we’ll discuss them.”
With that, he beckoned to Alris and Bern, then turned and headed back up the stairs.
The two followed him up to a study on the third floor, where they settled in for a long discussion of household affairs and Lord Faran’s family history.
The news, Manrin thought, was mixed. It did indeed appear that Lord Faran had no family except his sister’s children, and so far as anyone knew none of his many women could claim to carry his child or even to have married him. If Lord Manner was Faran’s heir that was good-an actual warlock would have been better, but Lord Manner had certainly appeared sympathetic enough.
The bad news came from Bern. The household supplies were running low. He could get to market only when one of the more powerful warlocks got him safely past the thugs in the street. And worst of all, the household funds were exhausted-he was operating on credit. Lord Faran’s credit had already become questionable, and when word got out that he was dead it would be cut off completely.
The warlocks needed to find another source of income immediately; that need was rather more urgent than Manrin had realized.
Of course, he had his own money, back in Ethshar of the Sands, and some of the other warlocks presumably had full purses, but even so, they really needed to start earning.
There were half a dozen bloodstones in one of the hundreds of drawers of wizard’s supplies that Lord Faran had collected, and those could be enchanted with the Spell of Sustenance so that whoever carried them would need no food or drink, but even though many of the warlocks who had accompanied Lord Faran on the march to the Palace had not returned, there were far more than half a dozen people in the house. Besides, the bloodstone spell was not healthy if used for too long. A sixnight or two would be no problem, but if the days turned into months...
It was hard to believe how much his life had changed in just three days. He had been a respected and wealthy wizard, a Guildmaster, with friends and family, and now he was an outlaw, a warlock, worrying about paying for his next meal.
Manrin shook his head at the thought. He really was too old for this sort of thing.
After several minutes of conversation Bern insisted on leaving to prepare supper-he had been starting on that when Sheila had fetched him from the kitchens. That left Manrin and Alris alone in the study. Manrin tried to question Alris about her uncle’s plans and what her brother might do, but Alris was hardly brimming over with information or enthusiasm. And after all, why should she be? She wasn’t a warlock, just an ordinary girl, and her uncle had just died, which had to be a blow even though she hadn’t appeared to like him much. She probably just wanted to go home to the Palace, to see her sibs and resume her former life.
All the same, Manrin kept her there talking until Sheila came upstairs to call them to supper.
At the meal Alris sat in sullen silence while the warlocks talked about what they should do. She should be taken home to the Palace at the first opportunity, Manrin decided as he pretended to listen to Othisen’s schemes for using warlockry on his father’s farm.
And Othisen should go home, as well, he thought.
In fact,all the warlocks probably ought to return to their old homes, Manrin thought-at least, those who had homes. Surely, most people would accept them back. They could claim that Lord Faran had gone mad and led them astray.
But those who were still in the house did not seem ready to go, and Manrin saw no need to chase them out hastily.
Some, like Zarek, had no homes to return to.
And Manrin himself-what good would it do him to go home, to a wizard’s house, when he could no longer function as a proper wizard? What good would it do Ulpen or Sheila to go back to an apprenticeship he or she could never complete?
No, there were still reasons for some of them to stay.
The discussion of what they were to do dragged on long after the meal was over, with no signs of ending anytime soon, until finally Manrin yawned widely, picked up a candle, and announced he was going to bed.
At the top of the first flight of stairs he hesitated; he and Ulpen had shared a room, but he was now the leader in Lord Faran’s place; shouldn’t he take the master’s bed? He walked down the passageway to the north end and through the double doors into the great bedchamber.
Yes, he thought, as he stood in the doorway and looked wryly at the sculpture and other furnishings, he really ought to spend at least one night here, just so he could someday tell his grandchildren about it. He set the candle on the nearer nightstand and prepared for bed.
Tired as he was, he had no trouble falling asleep despite the unfamiliar surroundings.
Chapter Thirty-eight
