“And Sonea?”
“She certainly seems willing to do the work.”
“Then you will allow it?”
Jerrik frowned and lowered his voice. “Probably. What I don’t like about this is the true motivation behind the change.”
“Oh? What is that?” Lorlen resisted smiling. Jerrik had always maintained that novices never worked harder purely for the sake of learning. They were motivated by the need to impress, be the best, please their parents, or to be in the company of friends or someone they admired.
“As we expected, she hasn’t mixed with the other novices well. In such circumstances, the rejected novice often becomes an object of derision for others. I believe she wants only to get away from them.” Jerrik sighed. “While I admire her determination, my concern is that the winter class will be no more accepting. She will have worked hard for nothing.”
“I see.” Lorlen nodded as he considered Jerrik’s words. “Sonea is a few years older than the others in her class, and she is mature for her age - by our standards at least. Most novices are little more than children when they come here, but they lose most of their childish habits during the first year. The winter novices may be less troublesome.”
“True, they are a sensible group,” Jerrik agreed. “Training in magic can’t be hurried along, however. She can fill her mind with knowledge, but if she hasn’t gained the skill to use her powers well, she may make dangerous mistakes later.”
“She has been using her powers for over six months,” Lorlen reminded him. “Though Rothen spent that time teaching her the basic education she needed to enter the university, her powers would have become familiar to her - and it must be frustrating to watch the other novices fumbling with theirs.”
“So I take it you are in favor of allowing this?” He gestured to Rothen’s request.
“I am.” Lorlen handed back the request. “Give her the opportunity. I think you’ll find her more resourceful than you expect.”
Jerrik shrugged. “Then I will allow it. She will be tested in five weeks. Thank you, Administrator.”
Lorlen smiled. “I will be interested to hear how well she does. Will you keep me informed?”
The old man nodded. “If you wish.”
“Thank you, Director.” Lorlen turned away and started down the University stairs to the waiting carriage. He entered, tapped on the roof to signal the driver, and leaned back as the vehicle jerked into motion. It passed through the Guild Gates and rolled on into the city, but Lorlen was already too deep in thought to notice.
The invitation to dinner at Derril’s house had come the day before. While Lorlen often had to decline such invitations, he had reorganized his work to allow this visit. If Derril had more news of the murders, Lorlen wanted to hear it.
Derril’s story of the murderer had chilled Lorlen. The cuts on the victim, the strange ritual, the witness’ belief that the victim was dead before his throat was slashed... perhaps it was only because the idea of black magic was in his mind already that these murders sounded so suspicious.
But if they were the work of a black magician, that would mean one of two things: either a rogue magician capable of black magic was preying on people in the city, or this murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen shivered as he considered the implications of these two possibilities.
When the carriage stopped he looked up in surprise to find they had arrived. The driver climbed down and opened the door, revealing an elegant mansion fronted with balconies.
Lorlen stepped out and was greeted at the door by one of Derril’s servants. The man took Lorlen through the house to an internal balcony overlooking the garden. Lorlen placed his hands on the balcony rail and gazed down at the drooping little oasis of vegetation; the plants looked sad and scorched around the edges now.
“I’m afraid this summer has been a little too much for most of my plants,” Derril said mournfully as he walked out of the house to join the Administrator. “My gan-gan bushes won’t survive. I’ll have to arrange for new ones to be sent from the mountains of Lan.”
“You should have them pulled out now before the roots spoil,” Lorlen suggested. “Ground gan-gan root has remarkable antiseptic properties and, if added to sumi, is a good treatment for digestive disorders.”
Derril chuckled. “You still haven’t forgotten all the Healer training, have you?”
“No.” Lorlen smiled. “I may grow into a grumpy old Administrator, but I’ll be a healthy one. I’ve got to put all that knowledge of medicine to use somehow.”
“Hmmm.” Derril’s eyes narrowed. “I wish the Guard had someone with your knowledge in their ranks. Barran has another mystery on his hands.”
“Another murder?”
“Yes and no,” Derril sighed. “They think this one is a suicide. At least that’s what it looks like.”
“Does he believe it was made to look like one?”
“Perhaps.” Derril lifted an eyebrow. “Barran has come for dinner. Why don’t we go in and ask him to tell you more about it?”
Lorlen nodded and followed the old man into the house. They entered a large guestroom, its windows covered by paper screens decorated with paintings of flowers and plants. A young man in his mid-twenties sat in one of the luxurious chairs. His wide shoulders and slightly hooked nose reminded Lorlen instantly of the man’s brother, Walin.
Barran looked up at the Administrator, then rose hastily and bowed.
“Greetings, Administrator Lorlen,” he offered. “How are you?”
“Good, thank you,” Lorlen replied.
“Barran,” Derril said, waving Lorlen into a seat, “Lorlen is interested in this suicide you’ve been investigating. Can you tell him the details?”
Barran shrugged. “It’s no secret - just a mystery.” He turned to look at Lorlen, his blue eyes troubled. “A woman approached a guard in her street and told him that she’d discovered her neighbor dead. He investigated and found a woman with her wrists cut.” Barran paused and his eyes narrowed. “The mystery is that she hadn’t lost a great deal of blood yet and she was still warm. In fact the wounds were quite shallow. She should have been alive.”
Lorlen absorbed this. “The blade might have been poisoned.”
“We’ve been considering the possibility, but if that’s the case, then it must be a subtle poison we’ve never heard of. All poisons leave signs, even if the damage is only visible in the internal organs. We found no weapon, which might have retained some residue, and that is strange in itself. If someone slashes their wrists, the implement they used is usually close by. We searched the house and found nothing but a few kitchen knives, which were clean and still in their box. She wasn’t strangled, either, from what we can tell. But there are other details which make me suspicious.
“I found footprints that didn’t match the shoes of any servants, friends or family. The intruder’s shoes were old and strangely shaped, so they left some distinctive markings. In the room where the woman was discovered, the window was unlocked and not quite closed. I found fingerprints and smudges on the sill that looked like dried blood, so I had another look at the body and discovered the same fingerprints on her wrists.”
“Hers?”
“No, the fingerprints were large. A man’s.”
“Someone tried to stop the bleeding, perhaps, then fled through the window when he heard others approaching?”
“Perhaps. But the window is three stories up and the wall is smooth and has few handholds. I don’t think even an experienced thief could have climbed down.”
“Were there any footprints below?”
The young man hesitated before answering. “When I went outside to inspect the ground I found the strangest thing.” Barran traced an arc in the air. “It was as though someone had flattened the dirt into a perfect circle. In the center were two footprints, the same as those in the room above, and others, leading away. I followed them, but they led onto pavement.”
Lorlen’s heart skipped a beat, then began to race. A perfect circle on the ground and a drop of three stories? To levitate, a magician must create a disk of power below his feet. It could leave a circular impression in soft soil or sand.
