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Authors: Douglas Hulick

Among Thieves (34 page)

BOOK: Among Thieves
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As a Nose, my instinct was to keep things close until I had them figured out. Except, in this case, I wouldn’t live long enough to do that unless I found out what I had.
Besides, I wanted to know
exactly
what all the fuss was about.
“Got any seed?” I asked.
Jelem reached into one of his sleeves and tossed me a pouch. I emptied two of the dark orbs into my palm, rolled them there briefly with my fingertips, and then took them into my mouth. They were superb.
“You have to keep this tight,” I said. “I know I can’t expect you not to use it, but it can’t make the rounds. Understood?”
“Completely.”
“All right,” I said. And I told him. I talked about being sent to dust Fedim, the conversation above the sewer grate, the attempts on my life. I talked about the missing relic, the scraps of paper, Iron Degan and the Gray Prince and Ten Ways. I went over everything that impacted either Ioclaudia’s book, Ten Ways, the fighting between Nicco and Kells—even my dream encounter with the Gray Prince. The only things I left out were my Long Nosing, my Oath to Degan, and my relationship to Christiana.
When I was done, Jelem remained silent for a long time, slowly swirling the last of the wine in his glass and staring at the light that gilded its rim. When he did speak, his voice was soft, as if coming from a great distance.
“The dream,” he said. “The dream . . . disturbs me.”
“You and me both,” I said.
Jelem shook his head. “I’m not talking about the woman’s warning, although I think you should heed her to be safe.”
“Then what?”
Jelem looked up from his wine. “Dream manipulation is . . . Well, it’s not done. At least, not that I’ve ever heard of. Not in the empire.”
“But they do it somewhere else?”
“There are stories, told in the oldest
wajiq tals
in Djan—what you might call magicians’ academies, though you have nothing to equal them here—of ancient masters who could step from one reality to another like we pass from room to room in a house. These studies were banned ages ago. The despots felt this power too closely mimicked the traveling of our gods, that it was a kind of blasphemy. It’s said the first step to such travels was to be able to enter the land of another’s dreams.”
“Are you saying there’s a Djanese
yazani
after this book, too?”
“No,” said Jelem. “I’m saying that, if your dream was manipulated as you say, the person responsible has access to a form of magic banned in my homeland for generations. Whether your imperial glimmer can do such things, I don’t know.”
“But why all the dancing around?” I said. “Why not just use glimmer to find the damn thing in the first place?”
“Two reasons,” said Jelem. “First, it’s very hard to use magic to locate things. Unless you are intimately familiar with what you are looking for, the chances of finding something with a spell are minimal at best. You would do only slightly worse if you flipped a coin at every crossroads you encountered in the city. And secondly, if you suspected other potent magicians, as well as the emperor himself, were interested in the same thing as you, would you want to advertise your involvement in the first place?”
“You forget,” I said, “I seem to have been doing exactly that all along.”
“Ah, but you’re a fool,” said Jelem. “The people looking for this book know better. They’ve understood the stakes from the beginning, while you’re just beginning to realize the risks now.”
“So tell me why this book’s so damn special,” I said.
Jelem set his glass aside and opened the book. The bindings creaked in soft protest. “As I told you,” he said, beginning to turn the stiff pages with disturbing disregard to their condition, “I can’t be completely sure of the contents. It’s in a strange script. I haven’t had much of a chance to examine it. And, frankly, what passes for magical theory in your empire still puzzles me sometimes. Djanese magic is much less eccentric.”
“Quit making excuses,” I said, “and get to the point.”
Jelem paused long enough to favor me with a dark look, then continued leafing through the book. “This is a personal journal. Part of it focuses on court politics, and part of it deals with glimmer. It’s hard to say what’s what. Ioclaudia skipped from topic to topic like an excited child—like so many Imperials, she obviously had no formal training in rhetoric—but when she does mention magic, it certainly seems to be of the Imperial variety.
“What’s more, Ioclaudia Neph appears to have been one of the emperor’s personal magical advisers—part of his inner circle. When he needed something, or someone, glimmered, she was one of the people he called. Information, punishment, defense, manipulation . . . She did it all for him.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s one serious Paragon.”
“When you cast for, and on, the emperor, you’d best be. But that’s not the most interesting part.”
“No?”
“No.” Jelem was still turning pages, scanning over them as he went. When he reached the page he wanted, he brought the book to me.
“Here,” he said. He handed it over and pointed to a portion of the page. “Read this section, here.”
The book was in better shape than I had expected. I’d dealt with religious and historical texts that were more rot than book, and most of them weren’t a third of the age of this one. Yes, there was water damage, both old and new, and some of the ink had faded, and the binding was loose, but the book was still in one recognizable, usable piece. Aside from the traces of Barren’s mud still lingering in a few spots, I would have thought it had been residing in a library until now.
I tipped the book toward the light coming from the lantern. Jelem was right; Ioclaudia’s hand had been atrocious. The ideograms looked to be a stylized form of cephta, but they had been put down in a careless manner. I could barely recognize it as writing.
“Let’s see,” I said.
“I find I’m still having some problems with the third portion of the . . . incantation. Could it be a centering issue? Perhaps, but I suspect it is more the nature of the spell itself. Hystia’s Theorem states that . . .”
I looked up at Jelem. “ ‘Hystia’s Theorem’?” I said.
“Patience,” said Jelem. “Keep reading.”
I repositioned the book in my lap.
“Hystia’s Theorem states that while magic can be focused through the . . .
fala n’arim
?”
“It’s a Djanese term. Keep reading.”
“It cannot be used to effect the same. This is known. It is a Truth, handed down by the Angels, immutable as time.
“And yet, we have found flaws in the Theorem. While the
fala n’arim
is the ideal lens, it might serve as a template as well. As a lens may be polished or faceted, so may it be altered to change its focal length. Is this the case for the
fala n’arim
as well? An imperfect analogy, I admit, but if it is so, then we can do much more than we thought. So much more than we were told we could. . . .”
I looked up. “All right,” I said. “She’s on the verge of something big, at least to her. Things aren’t what they seemed. Great. What does it
mean
?”
Jelem took the book and returned to his seat. He stared down at the passage I had just read.
“Fala n’arim
is an old term in Djanese sorcery. There’s no direct translation into Imperial, either, for the language or magical theory.” He ran a finger absently along the edge of the book, then drew it hastily away.
“
Fala n’arim
,” he said, “refers to the core of the caster, the very essence of the self. The great
yazani
of Djan have always written of shielding the
fala n’arim
, of keeping it pure and untainted. To bring power into it is to corrupt it, and therefore the man as well. It is one of our oldest precepts of magic.
“But Ioclaudia writes of
using
it as the focus for her magic, of taking power into it and shaping it within. More, she even hints at using the
fala n’arim
to draw power from the Nether itself.” Jelem paused and rubbed at his lower lip. “I suppose I can see it in theory,” he said. “And it could give you access to immense power, but still, to—”
“Jelem,” I said, “is the
fala n’arim
a soul?”
“For lack of a better term, yes.” Jelem looked up at me. “Ioclaudia is talking about using her very being to tap directly into the power of the Nether. No gathering up the seepage like most Mouths, no constrained external taps—just Ioclaudia and the Nether.”
“So that’s what Imperial magic is—casting magic through your soul?”
“That’s what Ioclaudia seems to be saying, at least as I understand it so far. There’s still a great deal more to read.”
I stared at the book in his lap. I wasn’t much on theology, but you can’t help but pick up some when you trade in stolen items. What little I knew was waving warning flags like crazy.
“She’s talking blasphemy,” I said. “
Big
blasphemy.” Even the Angels had hesitated before they had divided Stephen Dorminikos’s soul into three parts and set up the cycle of Imperial Reincarnation. No one messed with souls. It was the third Declaration in the Book of Return, just after,
Honor the Angels in all things
and
The Angels are the true successors of the Dead Gods
.
And then there was the whole topic of Imperial magic on top of it.
“That thing’s a fucking death sentence twice over,” I said.
“And a possible key to great power as well,” said Jelem.
“No wonder those Sashes were after it.” I ran my hand along my thigh, feeling a dull twinge where the sword had cut and gouged me. “We got lucky. This could have been far worse if they’d gotten away and told the emperor who had that book.”
“Things still may be,” said Degan.
I started and looked over to see Degan standing in the doorway, a canvas bag under his arm. Big men weren’t supposed to move that softly.
His eyes had deep smudges underneath them. His clothes, while different from those he had been wearing in the Barren, still looked rumpled and hard worn. There was a dirty bandage on his left hand.
“The third Sash?” I said.
“Off into the night.”
I closed my eyes. “Damn.” Make that a death sentence thrice over.
Chapter Nineteen
 
“H
ow’d she get away?” I said.
Degan, still in the doorway, shrugged. “It was either keep track of Larrios and the book, or kill her. Given how badly you said you wanted the book, I settled for shoving her into the basement and running Larrios down.”
“That little bastard
ran
?”
“Like the wind,” said Degan. “Well, the wind if it had a bad eye, a bad leg, and a couple of broken ribs. He ended up dropping the book rather than let me catch him.”
“Where was I in all of this?” I had a vision of myself lying unconscious in the rain, a White Sash climbing out of the basement toward me, and I didn’t care for it much.
Degan eyed me a moment. “You weigh more than I’d expect. Did you know that?”
“Oh,” I said.
Degan nodded, then hefted the sack. “By the way, your clothes were ruined. I got these for you, instead.” He tossed the canvas bag onto the bed. I opened it.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said as I pulled out a scarlet doublet, the fabric pinked and richly embroidered with silver thread. A pair of matching knee pants followed, along with a set of cream-colored stockings. At the bottom, I found a linen shirt, complete with lace collar and cuffs.
“The Baroness Sephada sends her wishes for a speedy recovery,” said Degan, a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
Christiana. Of course. I could see her cackling with glee as she went through Nestor’s old things, looking for the least likely outfit to send my way.
Christiana . . . I looked up at Degan. The twinkle was still in his eyes.
“You couldn’t have gotten me my own clothes?” I said instead of asking him about my sister.
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Degan wiggled his fingers in the air. “I know what it would take to get into your place, and I
like
having all my extremities and organs.”
I sighed and looked down at the clothing in my lap. Then I held up the doublet and smiled. “Too big!” I said. “We’ll have to find something else.”
“Nonsense,” said Jelem. He came over and gathered up the pile. “Ahnya can have these altered and ready for you in no time.”
“You’re a cruel man,” I said sourly.
Jelem leaned in close. “I’ve been sleeping in a chair for two days because of you. This is only the beginning.”
 
It was three hours past dawn when I left Jelem’s via the front door, my features hidden beneath a great cloak. Jelem and Degan had left five minutes earlier, Jelem disguised as best we could manage to look like me from a distance. No one had melted from the shadows to follow them. I chose to take that as a sign that we weren’t being watched, rather than as a comment on our meager efforts at misdirection.
BOOK: Among Thieves
12.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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