Seen in Jet
SSt. 859 , Athk. Fae. Contents: Blank. Status: Sold Buyer: Sand of Neverwinter
The new gate loomed up before me. Fluted columns supporting a massive architrave. Some kind of frieze resting above it, no doubt showing highly opaque allegorical scene that would provide fodder for the tortuous assemblies that I'd heard were being held with ever more frequency.
I squinted up at it, but the snow was falling thickly, and most of the sculptural detail was obscured. But really, the huge structure was more of a victory arch than a gate. 'Victory over what?' I wondered. No students in the courtyard. It was late morning, and they would be in class. One of my teaching slots used to fall at this time.
At the door to the main building, I knocked and waited, considering what I'd do if no one answered. Shove a note under the door? Break and enter? Stand raving in the snow, shouting dire warnings of approaching calamity up to the Principal's window?
The door opened. I felt relieved. No need to add another humiliation to the one I'd already suffered on the premises.
"Ah, Master Sand. How pleasant to see you again," the doddering Head Porter quavered. "You are expected. Please follow me."
Nothing in the interior had changed. I followed the porter through the reception hall to the foot of the grand staircase, where we were intercepted.
"Sand. Good to see you here."
"Master Johcris. A pleasure, as always." I thought of Sydney Natale and her golem of refracted light and magic. The Luskan witch had tried to assassinate Qara, and not on her own initiative. Nothing had ever been linked to Johcris – that could mean he was more competent than I had ever realized when he was my colleague.
He smiled at me. A ghostly smile, but not ghastly. It was an improvement on his usual expression of dead-eyed implacability.
"We can manage from here," he told the porter, who readily accepted the reprieve from climbing the twisting flight of seventy-seven stairs. I was glad too; I had been expecting to be obliged to perform cardiac stimulation on him before we reached the second landing. That would have been a fine start to my embassy.
"Many thanks, Master Johcris," said the old man. "This snow has been doing for my legs like the fucking knackers, saving your presence. Such snow in Neverwinter. Have you ever seen the like?"
"Yes," said Johcris, his smile vanishing. "But only once."
The old porter didn't appear to notice the change. He shook his head. "They'll have to change the name of the city at this rate," he muttered, before stumping away.
I turned to Johcris. "How is your daughter?" I was careful to moderate my tone. People are always so ready to believe that my conversational essays conceal a sharper point than they warrant . I can't imagine why.
"Glina is as well as might be expected – and yet not as well as might once have been expected." While I unpicked the sentence, I watched his pale eyelashes flutter in agitation. "The burns on her face will never totally fade. She still has nightmares."
"It must be difficult," I said, casting my line for snippets of information, while quite sure that Johcris knew what I was doing, "to work for the father of the girl who did this to your daughter."
"Qaron is now what he was."
"Ah. So he has apologized?"
Johcris snorted. "No." His eyes swept the hall. Empty, save for us. He took the bait. "You know, for two years every night I prayed to the gods that I would be allowed to avenge my daughter's suffering. When I first heard that Qara was dead in the Merdelain, I cursed, because it put her out of my reach. But now – now I think I'm glad of it. She died in disgrace. Your Knight Captain forced to recognize the nature of the demon she was harboring. And the more loudly Qaron cursed her memory, and disowned all kinship to her, the more he was tainted by association." The man's eyes flickered. Footsteps became audible in a passage adjoining the entrance hall. He raised his voice. "Of course, Qaron has been my dear friend for many years. We are all very concerned for him." He indicated the stairs. "After you, Master Sand. I believe you know the way."
As I trotted up the seventy-seven stairs, and walked along the aged oaken floorboards that marked out the administrative sections of the building on the top floor, I considered what I had learnt. So Qaron's continued leadership of the Academy was in question if one believed Johcris, which I did. The Academy had been losing pupils to the new trade schools set up by the cartels. On top of that, the showing of the Academy had been less than impressive in the wars with Luskan and the Illefarn Guardian. Qara and Jerro apart, I couldn't name a single alumnus who had fought with any distinction. And Qara was a traitor, while Jerro had murdered half the governing body.
Qaron would be volatile then. Insecure, suspicious, afraid. Easily led. It would be just like old times in Luskan: no one there had possessed much job security either.
As I approached the meeting room, the door slammed open, from which a figure sped on light feet – Qara.
I stopped, stared. No, I realized, not Qara. A boy. About twelve years old. Stocky, pale skinned and with a mop of frazzled red hair. Another boy identical to the first appeared in the doorway, holding a ball of glowing, shifting lights.
Johcris touched my shoulder with the tips of his fingers before moving past me.
"Boys. Is your father inside?" They nodded. The ball fragmented into glowing dust and from dust into air. "Why aren't you in class?"
They looked at each other. "It's a free period today, sir," said the one whom I'd mistaken for his half-sister. "Master Nernett is snowed in."
"Well then – go and play." They dashed away, no doubt relieved to get away from Johcris
Inside the meeting room, little had changed. The plaster crests of the old families had been removed. So had the statue of Aribeth. Remaining was the shrine to Tyr and the portrait of the young Lord Nasher, blonde curls faded from twenty years of direct sunlight. No one had dusted the frame for some months. A grey, paunchy old man sat slumped in the chair at the head of the table. Qaron. He was looking older than Johcris these days.
My companion took the seat at his superior's right hand. I contented myself with a chair some feet further down the table. I didn't want my ears hurt if he started declaiming again.
But Qaron didn't look up. He was concentrating on fiddling with a pile of scrolls and papers in front of him. First he took one from the bottom, and put it on the top. The he took one from the middle, and put it on the bottom, making no effort to read what was written on any of the documents.
"Johcris? Time for the staff convention again?"
"That's next on the schedule, Principal. As you may recall, the alchemist Sand wishes to speak to you on behalf of Captain Farlong."
Qaron yawned. After squinting at me through smudged eyes, he suddenly gave a throaty chuckle. "You. I remember you. Can't say I'm happy to see you again. Well, why isn't the great Knight Captain here to address herself to me in person?"
Because I volunteered for this task, you superannuated, unfeeling, hypocritical incorporation of ignominies.
"Lila has many demands upon her time," I replied. First name. Remind him who has influential connections this time around. "She and Khelgar of the Nine felt that I should make this visit – since I already have some knowledge of this fine old institution."
As I spoke, a handful of the senior faculty arrived. More would drift in presently, I was sure. Coming early to their meeting, by pre-determined accident. That was only typical.
"You're wasting your time. You should be in the north, laying low Port Llast with your Luskan cronies." So he had chosen to harping on that same old battered string.
"Neverwinter has lost control of it again?" I asked, not faking my surprise. I would never understand why the dirty, slimy trail of huts and graveyards was so coveted. It was sinking into the mud flats as it was. "How careless." Qaron's deputy, who had just entered the room, guffawed, then turned rather pink. No, this would not be a replay of what had once happened. "Really, there should be some kind of rota set up to cycle ownership between the cities. It would be so much more economically sensible – and less messy, of course. I abhor mess."
"Jokes and fooleries. What else would one expect of a Luskan? Blind to morality, deaf to the cry of the innocents of Port Llast, condemned to thralldom, to tyranny. No concept of citizenship, but merely -"
"- yes, yes, marvellous!" I had to shout to stop him; otherwise his sonorous voice would simply have rolled on and on from one lofty banality to the next. "However, it's not Port Llast that we need to worry about." I forced myself to speak slowly, clearly, as if I were standing in court again opposite Torio Claven. It wasn't only Qaron I needed to convince; it was Johcris and the Deputy, and the other teachers watching the quarrel in amusement. I launched into my prepared speech.
"Neverwinter has not been short of troubles in the last decade. The plague, the war with Luskan and the revival of the Illefarn Guardian are merely some of the problems this city has had to withstand. Recently, we have had reason to hope that we are on the verge of a new age of peace and prosperity. A return to the Founding Age, when Lord Halueth ruled, and the great crafting guilds first gained their reputation for the creation of marvels of beauty and skill." Breath. Look around. Make eye contact. Resume.
"I hope that such a renaissance is still possible. But at the end of last year, some disturbing rumours began to spread up and down the Sword Coast. You may have heard them yourself."
"The talk about a disease that destroys magic?" the Deputy asked. A easy-going man, I remembered. Not stained with Qaron's vanity or Johcris's bitterness. "That story's been keeping the first year boarders awake at night. You're not going to tell us it's true, are you?" His question didn't quite manage to sound as jocular as he wanted it to. I noticed him shooting glances at his associates to judge their reactions.
Empathise. Win him over. "When I first heard of it, I thought it was pure nonsense. A gnomish fantasy." Mystra be praised there weren't any gnomes among those gathered at the table. "A tale nurses tell their charges to make them behave. A nightmare born from the minds of people bludgeoned into terror by war and suffering. But then I travelled to Sigil, the world where past and future meet. Where everything is seen and known." Well, some things. If you pay the right person the right obscene amount of gold. "The city where there are doors to every part of the multiverse. And there the Spellplague isn't a story. It's a fact. A disturbance in the planes is coming – indeed, has already started. And for as long as it lasts, no mage in Faerun will be completely safe. The plague doesn't simply destroy magic – it also breaks the mind of those who habitually use it. At its best, it puts him into such a state of fury and distrust that he is no longer able to recognise his own family."
"You seriously expect us to believe this?" Qaron scoffed. His colleagues, however, looking serious, stayed quiet. My role in the Shadow War had bought me some amount of credibility, at least.
"It isn't just me who is ready to tell you that another disaster is imminent. Go to Sigil yourself. Send for the news from Calimshan, where the Djinn are already breaking the ties that bind them. Contact the Zulkir of Thay, or try to. Ask Vale and Sevann of the Many-Starred Cloaks, or Lila Farlong, or Ammon Jerro, or Xanos Messarmos, or Sharwyn Wanderer. Summon up the spirits of dead heroes and ask what they see in their dreams of the living. And keep watch on the eastern skies."
"A Luskan trick," Qaron growled. "A feint to make us drop our guard." His fingers drummed on the table. He began fiddling with the pile of parchment again, his face down. "Is that all you have to say?"
The Deputy leaned forward, not without an uneasy flicker of the eyes in the direction of his chief. "Master Sand, if all this is true – then what do you propose we do?"
Qaron sneered at his papers. There was rebellion in the ranks. I folded my hands in front of me.
"Evacuate. As soon as possible. Some areas of Toril will be less affected than others. Sigil too is safe." Full of demons, angels and everything in between, but offered them a better chance than staying put. "Captain Brelaina of the Watch already has the details. She would be willing to put some of her men at your disposal to help with the logistics. Alternatively, there is the possibility of using wards to defend against the full effect. But these are untested. Evacuation is therefore the surer option."
The Deputy was nodding. "Has Lord Nasher been briefed?"
"Not yet, but in one hour from now, Captain Khelgar and Lady Ophala are leading a delegation that will address Sir Nevalle on the subject.
"Nasher's too sick to see them then?"one of the new faces asked. An illusionist, to judge by the cloud grey colour of his robe.
"As you say." I bit back the remark about trusting ourselves to Nevalle's gallant and decisive leadership in crises that I so longed to make. They might not have known about the Cloakroom Incident. It would have been a case of throwing pearls before swine, as if so often is with me.
Johcris wrapped an arm around the back of his chair. When I met his eyes, he gave me one of his ghostly smiles. He'd be dancing the Lantan Goose Foot Foursome soon, if his manner grew any warmer. This could prove interesting. "Are you suggesting," he said, "that the Principal should run away? Should abandon the Academy and its centuries of history? Leave its doors open to the wolves and winter winds, and simply flee?"
What a lovely gift the man had just handed me. It could hardly have been more obvious if he'd wrapped a ribbon around it, and donned a paper crown. It was a gift to be savoured. The first answer, the one I'd rehearsed alone and together with Lila Farlong, was almost at my lips. The answer that spoke about protecting the lives of the students, of making a temporary retreat in order to return in greater force and power later. That slipped away.
And then there was the other answer, wherein I would speak to Qaron for once as a fellow creature, not as a political agent. "I do not know what I did to earn your hatred, but, for my part, I always wanted to respect you. And if you stay in Neverwinter, then you and your sons and your students will most likely perish. If you cannot bring yourself to believe me, then make enquiries among the many wise men and women whom you do trust, and heed their advice well." I let that go too. So much sincerity all at once might damage my sincerity beyond amendment.
I looked at Qaron, the tin-pot ruler of a kingdom of teenagers, the ambitious, the self-serving patriot of many years' complacent power. I thought of Qara burning a barrel to cinders as she shook with hate. I found the words I wanted.
"Why not? Why not 'beat a tactical retreat'? It's not as if such a thing would be foreign to the Principal's instincts." Qaron opened his mouth to interrupt, but I wouldn't let him say a word until I was quite finished. "Running from danger? Well, do you remember how he came to Crossroad Keep to offer his services to the defence of the land at its time of most desperate need – when we couldn't afford to turn away a poor farmer armed with a rake? I don't. Rather, I recall how well he sat on his roan mare as it took him away from the front lines. Leaving his daughter behind, of course. The archmage was too important to fight, but he was willing to let his daughter take his place. His eighteen year old daughter. And as for betrayal – this place was run on Luskan money for years. Where do you think Lord Dalren acquired the wealth he shared so generously with the Academy? No, dear sirs, I fail to see why a hasty retreat should pose difficulties for the honourable Principal. For the last ten years he's done nothing but practice!"
"That is unjust, Master Sand," the Deputy rebuked me, his mildness taking any sting from the criticism. In any case, his opinion didn't interest me. His presence was useful, but only in as much as with it, my words could prick more deeply into Qaron's pride.
"Ignorance," the Principal hissed. He was sitting upright in his chair; for the first time, his mind seemed to be fully engaged in the present. "No. I will not defend myself to you. You were Luskan's tool, and that corruption will never vanish. I am not a coward, and all the people in this room know as much. As for Qara, the only thing I regret is that I didn't kill her myself at birth." The Deputy looked shocked. I inwardly exulted; the more vehement Qaron became, the more he was horrifying his remaining supporters. "And I will not leave Neverwinter. Come what may. Even if there's the smallest quantity of truth in the bad news you've delighted in bringing – my boys and myself will stay here, our home, where we belong, and which I'd die for. I swear it."
He stared defiantly round the table. His hands were balled into fists. Most of the staff members present seemed embarrassed, especially the younger ones, who'd only known their superior as a prematurely aged, grandfatherly man.
"And what about your sons, Qaron?" the Deputy asked, breaking the uneasy hush that had fallen after Qaron made his declaration. "Will they die too?"
"If I had a thousand sons and daughters, I'd give them up to preserve the city." He meant what he said, I realized, as I watched his maddened eyes. It wasn't a badly-judged rhetorical stunt. No need to wait for Spellplague. Qaron had auto-de-hinged some time ago.
"Well, you don't." I said. I almost felt sorry for him, but the temptation to push him a little further was irresistible. "You've always had a way with words, Qaron. A pity you so rarely live up to them."
"You've heard the Principal. He's not afraid of a little gossip from the east, Sand." Johcris kept his voice level, but I could feel his elation. It was mine too.
"The interview is over." Qaron stood up, and reached for the lion-headed cane that was resting against the wall. Before he grasped it, he stumbled. Johcris jumped up to support him.
"Qaron, there were some issues I wanted to discuss-" the Deputy began.
"Later. I can't stand the air in this room. Or discuss the issues with Sand, since I can see you believe him."
Qaron left the meeting chamber, leaning on Johcris's arm.
The Deputy rubbed his temples. His colleagues exchanged sardonic looks, though some of them did so with anxious lines in their foreheads that belied their smirks. Once Qaron was out of earshot, Deputy moved to stand by the window. I followed him.
"I do believe you," he said.
"Good. You may yet have a long and fulfilled life."
He leant his cheek against the window pane. Far below us, a couple of boys were playing in the snow. They might have had red hair. It was impossible to tell for sure through the smoky glass.
"We respect you here for the role you played in the war," said the Deputy, watching one of the boys miss a pass.
"I did what I could," I said, gratified.
The lunchtime bell sounded. Soon the quad would be full of students on their way to the refectory. It was time to go.
"One more thing – Qaron believes that it was you who killed his daughter. Is he right?" The Deputy turned from the window to raise his eyebrows at me. The glass had left a white mark on his skin.
"Qara died through chance. I never harmed her." I couldn't have if I'd wanted to.
"Ah." The Deputy bowed his head. "But I think you may have killed her father. Shall I show you the way out?"
"I know the way. I know the way very well."
"I'm sure you'll here from us shortly."
"I'm sure I will." I left the room. I didn't look back.