Melmond Manor, Twenty-four Years Ago
Redden hadn't been back to the training yard in months. Didn't seem much point really. Not without Cid. He'd taken to sleeping later and later. Some days, he didn't bother to leave his room at all. He was still in bed one spring day when Charis, the housemaid, came in and threw wide the curtains. It would have been a rude awakening had he not already been awake.
"Up," Charis said. "It's near noon."
"Why should I care? I've no appointments to keep," he said, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head.
"Up," Charis repeated, whisking the covers off of him. "His lordship requests your presence." In a mutter under her breath, she added, "Though I can't imagine why."
She rummaged in the wardrobe, threw a jacket at him, and said, "Get dressed," adding a belated, "my lord," before she stalked out.
Redden sighed. Had he really ever thought the housemaid shy? Perhaps, before, she had only been intimidated by his status as a son of Titan. That certainly wasn't the case anymore.
He dressed slowly, absentmindedly, not bothering to straighten his clothing. He hadn't bathed in days. His hair hung limply to his shoulders, overdue to be cut, and there was no hiding how greasy it was. He gathered it, tied it in a tail at the back, then checked himself in the small mirror above his washbasin. Good enough, he thought, again not really seeing the point. As he viewed his reflection, he felt that something was missing. Reflexively, he turned to grab his sword and belt from their place beside his wardrobe.
Cid's sword rested there next to his. A soldier whose name Redden didn't remember had handed it to him on the long journey back from the cave, having picked it up as they fled. He had no sheath for it, hadn't cared for it beyond propping it there in that corner, but despite its lack of polishing it gleamed in the noon light from the window as though its perfect, unrusted blade had sliced the sunbeam in two.
Redden turned and left the room, leaving both swords where they were.
When he arrived on the manor's front porch, Westen was there, waiting for him. "My lord," Redden said, his bow a little stiff not from formality but because his muscles hadn't warmed yet.
Westen snorted. "Don't 'my lord' me, young man. What do you call that?" He pointed east, toward the manor's gate, just as a group of Westen's guards led in a small gathering of white-robed men and women, a dozen of them, followed by a force of soldiers in red leather armor.
"Cornelians," Redden said, shocked.
Westen nodded. "Their ship arrived on the morning tide. They asked for you at the docks."
Redden scoffed. "Me? Why would they ask for me?"
Westen raised an eyebrow. "I assume because you sent for them."
Redden shook his head. "But that was months ago. Before…" He let the sentence hang there, unfinished.
"Regardless," Westen said. "They're here now."
Together, Redden and Lord Westen stepped down from the porch, flanked by an honor guard. More soldiers milled about the yard and the front of the house, close at hand.
The Cornelians stopped on the lawn before Westen and his entourage. The white mages lined up in orderly rows, four abreast, while the red-clad soldiers arrayed themselves in a protective ring around them. At the front their leader, a stocky youth in red full plate, stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully. "Lord Westen," he said. "King Fuller sends his regards."
"And his soldiers, apparently," Redden said, unable to keep the spite from his voice. Their help came too late. Three months too late.
"Redden," Lord Westen hissed. "Mind your tone."
The lead soldier raised an eyebrow, looking Redden up and down. "Redden Carmine, I assume?"
"Yes," Redden said, looking past him at the other visitors, as though he were a general inspecting his armies. They were all young, from the look of them. Even their leader, though he was built like a behemoth, seemed barely out of his teens. No older than I am, Redden realized. He frowned. Gods, but he felt so much older than he was. "My request was for white mages. Don't recall asking for troops."
A few of the Cornelians glowered at him, but their leader kept his face neutral, answering with firm politeness. "Cornelia isn't about to send white mages into that cave unprotected. And we have brought white mages, as you can see. The best White Hall has to offer."
"And your men?" Redden said. So young. He'd seen too many young men die. "Are they the best too? Or are they a bunch of trumped up soldier boys with dreams of glory?"
The Cornelians murmured, stopping when their leader raised a gauntleted hand. He faced Redden as he answered, "They're trained soldiers, all of them."
"Do any of them have combat experience?" Redden asked.
The lead soldier's eye twitched. "Look, I don't know how you do things here in Melmond, but in Cornelia, a man has to earn that armor. The fact that these men wear the Cornelian red-"
"Combat experience," Redden said, cutting him off. "Yes or no."
"Lord Westen, if I may-" the lead soldier said.
Westen shook his head. "Answer the question."
The man sighed. "We've put down a few bar fights and street brawls, but nothing you would call actual 'combat'."
Redden turned back to the house. "I can't use them," he said to Westen as he passed.
"They may not be the best," the Cornelian called angrily after him, "but they are willing to set foot in that cave of yours, which I'm led to believe is more than your own people are willing to do."
Redden whipped around, prepared to punch the stocky soldier in his smug face, but he was halted by Westen's restraining hand on his shoulder. "Is this how Cornelia answers a call for healing? Is this Fuller's idea of a joke?" Westen said, his voice low and frigid. "First you bring an armed contingent of soldiers onto Melmond soil in clear breach of our treaty and then you offer insults?"
The Cornelians began to mutter to each other. Their leader seemed stunned. "Breach of the treaty?" he said, confused. "But you sent for aid!"
Westen guffawed. "I never did!"
"Lord Westen, it was your letter that convinced us of the urgency of Redden Carmine's pleas to White Hall!"
"I sent no such letter!" Westen said.
From behind them, a familiar, feminine voice said, "I did," and they all turned to see Jayne standing on the porch.
It was the first time Redden had seen her in weeks. Though he and Lady Westen had been only tentative friends before, united by their love for Cid, each now reminded the other of what they had lost. They had begun avoiding one another by tacit agreement some weeks past.
Those weeks had not been kind to Jayne. She looked gaunt, as though she hadn't eaten a bite in all that time, a gauntness that was emphasized by the mourning black she still wore. Her golden hair might have softened the dark clothing, but she had cut it short after the funeral. So far it had grown back only as far as her jawline, making her face seem harder and more angular.
"Jayne?" Westen said.
"I sent to Cornelia," she said, quite without feeling. "I thought White Hall might respond to Redden's letters if they were pressured by King Fuller. I didn't ask for soldiers, not directly."
The lead soldier arched an eyebrow. He held a hand up, motioning at a man behind him, who dug in a satchel and produced a rumpled page. "This letter?" the soldier said. "With respect, it was very explicit about the dangers in that cave. How were we to interpret that as anything other than a request for troops?"
Westen took the letter, read it quickly, then turned to his daughter. "Jayne, what is the meaning of this?"
Jayne stood up to her full height. She was not a short woman, and looking down on them from the porch in her jet black dress, she looked even more imposing than she would have otherwise. Her voice was quiet and flat. "I'll not lose another Melmond man to this thing, father. Not one more."
"But to bring in foreigners? Jayne, you know diplomatic relations with Cornelia are delicate enough without the deaths of their soldiers on our hands!"
"Check that letter again," Jayne said. "I left nothing out of it. I described every horror in that cave. I described the Rot. I described our suffering. And, yes, I'm not too proud to say I begged for aid: aid in the form of white mages."
Her voice remained unchanged, but Redden could see that her eyes were wet. She wiped at them with a black-gloved hand, then went on, icy and composed. "But if Cornelia chooses to send us soldiers, I will make use of them, even if only to stuff that cave with their bones." She stormed off into the house.
"Jayne!" Westen called, hurrying after her. The honor guard went with him.
Before Redden realized what had happened, he was more or less alone with the Cornelians. The Melmond guards posted about the grounds looked curiously at the strangers, but none were close enough to defend Redden should the Cornelians decide diplomatic relations were more delicate than Westen had hitherto believed. He looked toward the man in full plate, the leader. If there was to be any trouble, Redden assumed it would come from him.
The soldier, however, was staring at the house, toward the door through which Jayne had disappeared. "Oh," he muttered. "Oh, I like her. She seems like a woman who gets what she wants!"
Redden felt his eyes widen, for the soldier's comment was bordering on inappropriate for a man of his station, even if he was some manner of officer. "That's the lady heir of Melmond you're referring to!" he said.
The soldier chuckled. "Yes, I figured." The man was stocky, but solid. Although he wore his armor well, it had obviously seen very little use. Of course, if the man was a minor noble who had purchased his officership, it was possible the armor was brand new.
Redden looked him over, considering that possibility. "Aren't you a little young to have charge of a whole unit?" he asked.
"Technically. I think my name might have had something to do with it." The soldier smiled, and offered Redden his hand. "Cascius of House Plein, Prince of Cornelia. How do you do?"
For the first time in his life, Redden was speechless.
Melmond Manor, Present Day
Jack walked ahead of them, long legs setting a brisk pace Lena had trouble matching. She led Thad by the hand, trying to ignore the anxiety rolling off the normally stoic Jack in uninterrupted waves. When he stopped at one of the maze's intersections, looking left and right, she could see the aether glowing in his pinched eyes.
"This is bad," he muttered almost too quietly for her to hear him. "This is spectacularly bad…"
"What's bad?" she asked, juggling the awkward picnic basket on her arm as Thad bumped into her.
Jack sighed. "He's affected me as well! I've only been a few minutes fetching you, but my own trail is as faded as if it's been more than an hour." He turned to Thad. "You're sure you've no inkling how you're doing this? Not the slightest suspicion?"
Thad shook his head rapidly. "No!" he whined. "I'm sorry!"
"You've magicked yourself out of an entire day! If you were to concentrate-"
"Jack, please! You're only upsetting him!" Lena said.
He stopped, stood up straight. Lena could see him breathing deeply. He muttered to himself and she realized he was counting to ten, then, seeming much more in control, he strode on again without a word.
The sky had taken on the golden glow of a summer evening by the time they reached the house. The back door led them to a hallway that passed right by the dining room on the way to the stairs. From the sound of things, a meal was already underway, and Lena had to remind herself it was actually dinner rather than lunch. Despite the position of the sun outside, she still couldn't quite believe what was happening. Voices drifted out of the room, as did the smell of the food. Lena caught the scent of baked fish. She heard Jack's stomach rumble, but he stopped them shy of the door, only peeking in.
The room was just as crowded for dinner as it had been for breakfast. Several of the Lords' Council members were still at the manor, having likely been sequestered away with Lord Leiden in meetings throughout the day. Melmond Manor was not just the home of Melmond's lord, but the capitol as well. All matters of state were handled here. Though Lena had heard that the council didn't normally meet in the height of summer, they'd been busy these past few days dealing first with the Brotherhood and then with the aftermath of the attacks in the White Quarter.
"Come on," Jack said, stepping away from the dining room.
His stomach growled loudly again, and Lena grabbed his elbow, holding him back. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"
He shook his head. "I'll manage. We can't take Thad in there right now. It's too many people - too many important people. If one of them notices that dinner's taken longer than it should have…" He sighed. "If anyone in all of Melmond is likely to react poorly to finding a black mage controlling time itself, it's these men. Gods, it's a miracle no one's noticed it already."
They headed upstairs, meeting no one on the way. Lena wondered briefly what had become of Corporal Clyne. The burly soldier normally stuck so close to Jack. She was glad he hadn't been around to notice that Jack's trek to the garden had apparently lasted the better part of the afternoon.
When they reached the boys' two matching rooms on the third floor, Jack stopped in the doorway, muttered a curse. "Thad," he said gently. He turned toward the boy, kneeling down and grabbing his shoulders, and his eyes glowed blue-green as if he were reading the aether again, trying to see the subtle currents of time moving around them. "Are you sure you don't feel anything? Anything at all? Please, try."
Thad shook his head, and Lena could feel his genuine distress at his failure.
"Alright," Jack said. "Sit here please. There's something I need to do." He motioned Thad toward the bed. The mattress was just high enough that the boy had to hop onto it, but he did so without question. Lena sat beside Thad with an arm around his shoulders, trying to comfort him. Jack sighed. "I'm sorry." He formed the sign of the staff.
Thad's emotions, so strong, vanished from Lena's senses.
She cried out as the boy slumped over beside her. She shook him, called his name, then turned on Jack. "You Slept him? Why would you do that?" she demanded.
"I didn't see that I had much choice," Jack said.
"It's not as if he's dangerous!"
"Lena," he said, marching to the window and throwing wide the curtains which had only been open a few inches before. "Look at the moon! I'm guessing it took us upwards of three hours to get up the stairs. He's getting worse!"
"You used magic on him!" she said, scandalized by the thought of it. "'Never to harm my fellow man,' Jack! That's what you told me!"
"I didn't hurt him!" Jack barked, facing her, his eyes glowing so fiercely that Lena cringed beneath that gaze. Her reaction pained him - she felt it, sharp as sudden slap - and she gasped. His eyes went sad, and the glow only emphasized it. "Lena… please…" he whispered, almost inaudibly beneath the sound of Kane's heavy footsteps in the hallway outside.
The door opened, and Kane stepped in, looking between the two of them and Thad on the bed, confusion on his face. "Did I miss something?" he asked.
"We have a problem," Jack said.
They fetched Redden and Orin, all of them gathered together in the room Jack shared with Kane, the room where Thad still slept soundly, as Jack tried to explain it in a way the others would understand. Time and the aether were intimately linked. For Thad to be able to make time slow down as he did, the aether should have been circling around him like a dog chasing its own tail. Instead, the aether around Thad scarcely moved at all. "I think he's like Refial," Jack told them. "Whatever he's doing, he's using the raw aether to do it. He's not shaping the spells. He's… He's finding aether that's already shaped like the essence of slowness."
He could see from their expressions that he wasn't making sense to them. Kane looked at him like he'd just called the sky purple, a look that said he couldn't decide if he was stupid or Jack was crazy. Redden looked at him like he was to blame, as though Thad's condition was his fault. And Lena… Lena wouldn't look at him at all.
Orin, however, looked at him calmly, with perfect faith. "You can teach him to control it," Orin said, not a question, but a statement, firm and confident and full of such trust that Jack felt it like a heavy weight on his chest.
"How?" Redden said into the silence that followed. "Jack can't even control his own powers half the time."
Jack winced, looking to Lena, but she didn't react to that news.
"I have faith in his abilities," Orin said. "You seem to forget that our Warriors of Light are not experienced and aged heroes. They were not raised in the shadow of their prophecy, not as you were in yours. If the gods themselves have chosen them, who are you to question it?" It was the most biting thing Jack had ever heard the monk say, and Redden did seem taken aback by it. Orin stood. "Come, my old friend. Help me carry young master Shipman to his bed. He and Jack have much to do tomorrow, it seems."
Redden frowned, but he gathered the boy in his arms and followed the monk to the door.
Lena stood, poised to follow. Jack went to her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "My lady, wait-"
She cringed again. She still wouldn't look at him. "I just… I need to be alone right now," she said. She started to turn away from him, hesitated, then she turned back for her picnic basket, forgotten beside the bed. She shoved it into his arms. "Eat," she said, whirling to the connecting door to her own room.
Later, when he and Kane were alone, the basket's contents devoured, Kane questioned him further. "But it's not dangerous, right?"
"Not really," Jack said, pacing the floor of their room. "Time passes differently around him, but it doesn't hurt him. The only real danger is if people figure out he's doing it."
"A bit like you then," Kane muttered, stripping off his jacket and tossing it at Jack's head.
Jack caught it out of the air and tossed it into the corner where he'd already deposited his own. Leiden insisted they dress formally when they went out but Jack felt ridiculous in the outfits, a constant reminder that he was playing an elaborate game of pretend. "Yes, a bit. Except that Thad doesn't know when he's doing it. Or how. Nor do I like his chances of protecting himself if he's caught."
"So you'll teach him," Kane said, shrugging. He sat on the bed as he pulled his boots off. It was his turn to sleep there. Jack was planning to take the servant's room down the hall rather than sleep in the floor, but he and Kane tended to talk late sometimes.
Jack frowned, pacing toward the window again. "I don't know if I can. Whatever he's doing to the aether, it's so subtle that I almost couldn't see it."
That bothered him. He had learned long ago to enhance his aether sight by drawing and holding the raw aether, a process which gave him a corona so intense it would be visible even if he closed his eyes, but even when he'd tried that, Thad's abilities had been hard to see clearly, like trying to count the hairs on an angry bee. If he hadn't known what he was looking for, he wouldn't have seen anything.
"You'll manage," Kane said. "You'll find a way to teach him and he'll learn. I know it."
"How?"
Kane laughed. "Because I don't know if you noticed, but you're the only one he's got."
When Jack left, heading down the hall toward the servant's room, he stopped in front of Lena's door. He knew she was there; that quirk of the dark magic that allowed him to see auras even without his aether sight showed him that much.
He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to ask her about her studies and to tell her about his own, even the things he had learned about dark magic. He wanted to tell her what he was and what she did to him and why he needed to keep his distance, but he was afraid, so afraid, that she would react in horror. He knew dark mages frightened her; he feared he frightened her enough as it was.
Even standing before her door with his hand upraised to knock, his fear of her rejection had the aether clawing at the hollow place in his soul, and he knew if he spoke to her he wouldn't have the will to keep it out.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would draw from Orin again and then, maybe, he would figure out where to start that conversation. But first he would take Thad somewhere that the two of them could work without fear of being caught.
Kane looked down at the map, his hands framing the lower town as he leaned over the table. Marks showed the sites of the full moon murders, each with brief annotations in his father's cramped, precise handwriting. There, the one on High Street, then the one on Alraune Row, and there the one behind the market… "You're sure?" he asked.
"The inspectors have shared everything they know with your father," Lord Leiden said from where he sat across the table with his hands steepled together. Lord Orin sat beside him, nodding.
"Show me again," Kane said.
His father leaned in, tracing a line with his finger that passed through eight of the marks. "From the guardhouse, down these blocks, past the theater, through the White Quarter, and back to the guardhouse. That's one of the night patrols." He traced a second path that hit six of the marks, four that had been hit already plus the last two, accounting for all ten of the official murders. "And that, a morning patrol."
Redden stepped back, but Kane traced the lines again after him. Every mark was on those routes. Kane thought of the four other murders, the older ones, that Gabriel had said might be related to the Brotherhood. Kane only remembered the locations of three of them, but they, too, followed the invisible lines his father had drawn. "Someone in that guardhouse is a Brotherhood spy…" he said, horrified.
Redden nodded.
Leiden sighed indignantly. "That's just what your father said! And as I told him, the whole of the lower town is covered by patrol routes! If the Brotherhood had infiltrated my own city guard-"
Lord Orin, beside him, raised a hand, cutting him off. "We have visited each of these sites personally. I believe Lord Redden's assessment is accurate."
"The patrols are assigned on a standard rotation?" Kane asked.
"They are," Redden said. "It goes through the whole roster. That won't help us narrow it down."
"We should tell Gabriel," Kane said. "He knows the lower town better than we do. He knows these cases. Maybe he-"
"No," Redden said. "That's exactly what we can't do, son. Don't you see? That entire guardhouse is suspect now. We can't rule out the possibility that the sergeant is the traitor."
"Of course we can!" Kane snapped. "Quincey's a good man!" He could tell by Leiden's sour face that he felt the same way. It obviously pained him to picture Gabriel as an enemy. "Tell them! You can't possibly believe he would betray you like that!"
"I don't," Leiden said.
Redden sighed. "I'm sorry, Kane. I know you trust Quincey, but as it stands, no one outside this room knows we've connected the Brotherhood's movements to the cathedral guardhouse. The longer we can keep that information to ourselves, the better."
"That's not entirely true," Leiden said. "Vince knows." Redden sputtered angrily, but Leiden talked on. "I didn't tell him. He has access to the same information you have; the Avenue Inspectors are his men, after all." Leiden shuffled some papers on the table in front of him: guard rosters, past schedules, notes. "From what he tells me, and I agree, there are only four men in the cathedral guardhouse who would have had both access to the patrol information and the pull to act on it. Vince suggests we focus our investigations on them."
"I see," Redden said, his face creased in a frown. "And does Vince have any ideas on how we should do that?" The emphasis he put on Lord Pollendina's given name conveyed his dislike for the man.
"In fact, he does," Leiden said calmly, though his eye twitched in annoyance. "Healing potions, gentlemen. We know the Brotherhood wants them. We know they'll take them if they can. If we approach these four men, each of them separately, with information about a stash of healing potions hidden in this city, we have only to wait and see which of them betrays us."
Redden's frown smoothed out as he considered this. "That… that might actually work," he admitted somewhat reluctantly.
Leiden nodded sharply. "I'm glad you approve. When Vince arrives, he can give you the details. I took the liberty of inviting him this morning."
A light knock sounded on the door before the servant Gilbert tentatively stuck his head inside. "Lord Pollendina has arrived, my lord."
Leiden stood. "That was quick. He must have been on his way before I sent for him." He walked out to meet the secretary, bumping into Jack, who stood in the doorway. The two eyed each other a moment, before Leiden pushed past him and continued on his way.
When Leiden was gone, Jack strode in, eyes pinched and angry as his long legs carried him to the shelves along the wall with their cupboards underneath. "Sorry to interrupt. Won't be a moment." He opened one of the cabinets, reached inside, and pulled out a squealing, squirming Shipman.
"Thadius!" Redden snapped. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want to go!" the boy squealed.
"And I don't to take you, but here we are," Jack replied. He turned to the others, holding Thad by the elbow. "He's been in here more than an hour but that servant wouldn't let me interrupt your meeting."
"An hour?" Redden bellowed.
Kane blinked. He would have estimated their meeting had taken only a quarter of that time.
Redden continued, "You idiot boy! Are you trying to attract undue attention?"
Shipman stopped struggling against Jack, looking guiltily at his feet. "But I want to stay with Orin! I want to help with the dark mage stuff!"
"You're not helping by being here!" Jack said. "You're wasting time! Literally!"
"Jack's right," Kane said. "You could end up getting hurt." It would be so easy for Leiden to realize their "short" meeting had lasted longer than it should have.
Thad looked at Kane, crestfallen. "But you said I could train in the yard with you! You said!"
"No one is training in the yard today. There are more important things than swordwork at present," Orin said, shaking his head. "Go with master Jack."
Shipman looked to the monk, crushed, his lip trembling.
Lena stepped into the doorway. It seemed she'd been waiting outside. "Thadius," she said gently. "Come on. I'll go with you." She held out a hand for him.
The boy sniffled as he went to her and let her pull him through the door. Jack followed, nearly bumping into Leiden again, who was just returning. Leiden glared at him but stepped back to let him through. Jack bowed respectfully, if stiffly, toward both Leiden and a scowling Pollendina then stalked out.
Leiden returned to his chair, sinking heavily into it, frowning deeply.
"What is it?" Redden said, looking toward the now empty cupboard where Shipman had been hiding, and Kane knew he was wondering if Leiden had noticed that the secretary hadn't been quick in arriving at all. Kane glanced at Orin, but the monk was gazing innocently toward the ceiling.
Leiden shook his head, motioning for Pollendina to speak.
The thin secretary in his dark suit held a rolled paper in his hands. "I've been interviewing the citizens of the lower town, witnesses." He held the paper out to Kane. "The woman - the creature - who attacked you and Harvey, I've had an artist draw up a likeness. Would you have a look at this?"
Kane unrolled the paper and his breath caught. "Yes. That's her." Her head was turned slightly, her long hair pulled over her shoulder, delicate nose tilted down. The artist had captured the woman's beauty but none of the terror. Still, Kane shuddered. The eyes, though gentle, seemed to peer out of the paper, right at him, and he remembered the harsh echo of her voice.
He jumped as his father snatched the paper away from him roughly, a corner ripping as he took it. Redden looked down at the page, eyes wide. "This is…"
"The vampire," Pollendina said, nodding. "The creature the people have been calling the witch of the White Quarter."
"No," Redden said. "Son, are you sure? Are you sure this is what you saw that day?"
Kane nodded, startled by his father's change in mood.
Redden gasped, as though Kane's simple nod had hit him like a punch to the gut.
"Redden," Leiden said, voice sounding raw. "I…"
"How long have you known about this?" Redden said, slamming the picture on the table.
"I didn't," Leiden said. "Redden, I swear-"
"But you knew she was missing?" Redden asked.
Leiden cut him a glare. "I told you the white mages were missing the day you arrived. You never thought to ask about her!"
"She's not a white mage!" Redden growled.
"Technicalities!" Leiden said.
"Who is she?" Kane asked.
Redden stalked to the window, running a hand through his white hair. He sighed, a harsh and ragged breath. Then, very quietly, he said, "She was my sister."
Eyes closed, Jack focused on Thad, viewing him entirely through the aether sight. There was nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the subtle manipulations of the orb of the wind, a green shimmer that blended almost entirely into the boy's aura. There had been nothing out of the ordinary for at least an hour, but Jack was nothing if not patient.
"How much longer is this going to take?" Thad whined.
That rather depends on you, Jack thought, but what he said was, "Hours."
"Oh, Jack, don't tease him," Lena chided from behind them, her aura a blue shimmer at the edge of Jack's awareness. It was the first thing she'd said to him all day.
He opened his eyes long enough to glance back at her, where she sat at the table near the window, but she was bent over the Ars Paladia, surrounded by her notes and with Seward's largest Leifenish dictionary at her elbow. He could have reached her in a few long strides, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she was farther from him now than she'd ever been.
"I'm not teasing him," he said. "It will take as long as it takes."
Thad moaned, letting his head flop against the back of the chair in seeming defeat.
Seward, lounging in one of the library's overstuffed chairs, legs stretched out in front of him, yawned loudly, setting aside the book he'd been reading. He groaned somewhat as he straightened. "It seems to me it's taken long enough already!" the portly man said. "Surely it must be on towards lunchtime by now! I've plowed through four chapters since you arrived! I'll just go and ask Liza if it's time to eat, shall I?"
"Yes, please!" Thad said, clearly desperate for an excuse to get away.
"Lord Unne?" Lena said. "Would you come look at this before you go? I don't understand this passage."
Seward went to her, leaning over her book. He squinted at the page she pointed out to him. "Ah, that story. Yes, I noticed it the other day. I'm afraid I don't understand it either. It seems it could be translated multiple ways, have you noticed? You'll have to run it by Jack, I think. He would be the one to ask, my dear. I may know more Leifenish history, but Jack's knowledge of the language surpasses my own." He patted her shoulder and proceeded to the door. "I'll be back momentarily. Then we'll eat."
Jack waited, watching Thad, watching the aether. He waited for Lena to call him over to look at the book, but she didn't. Minutes passed. He thought she was upset with him, and he wondered why. He wished he could remember what he'd said to her the night he'd been drunk, as he felt certain that was when her behavior toward him had changed.
He was still wondering about it, only half-focused on Thad, when the aether swirled around the boy, rearranging itself as it did so and rushing out again.
"There!" Jack said. "What you did just now, did you feel it?"
Thad's eyes widened. "What? What did I do? I didn't feel anything!"
Jack grabbed Thad's chin looking deeply into his brown eyes. "Hold still," he ordered. "No corona…" He could feel the aether moving more swiftly around the boy, though he showed no signs of drawing it in. "This is remarkable. You really are like Refial, Thad!"
"Gee, thanks," Thad said, sneering.
Jack punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Come off it. I mean you're using the raw aether. You must be doing it subconsciously… If we could only increase your awareness of it somehow..."
"Oh good." The boy nodded. "That's good. Mystery solved! Can we please do something else now?"
Jack sighed. "Fine. We'll try aura trails again." He held a hand out and waited as Thad dug in his pockets. It was a game they'd played many times since the aether sight lessons had started: Thad would give over something that was coated in his aura, and Jack would hide it, letting the boy use his aether sight to find it again. Thad passed him a playing card, a red Onion Knight, and closed his eyes. "Alright," Jack said. "No aether sight yet. I'll tell you when."
"Right," Thad said.
Jack looked around the cluttered study, settling on the bookshelf nearest the door. He chose a book at random from one of the middle shelves, somewhere near eye-level for Thad, and closed the card inside it, knowing Thad's aura would be visible through the leather binding if Thad only looked hard enough. He returned to his seat and made the sign of the staff, waving his hand to disperse his own aether trail, then said, "Done."
Thad opened his eyes, blinking a few times and squinting, as Jack had noticed he often did when calling up his aether sight, but instead of looking around the room, he seemed fixated on Jack and Lena, looking rapidly between them with his head cocked as though considering. At last, he leaned in and asked, "Why is your aura different?"
Jack stilled, wondering again if the hollow was visible. "What do you mean?"
"It flickers," the boy said.
"I don't-" he started to say, but stopped when Lena called his name. "Go find your card," he said, standing and crossing the room.
"Yes, my lady?" he said when he reached her.
"I give up," she said, holding her book out to him, pointing at the page that troubled her. Despite her gruff mood, Jack felt a little thrill that she was speaking to him. "Surely this doesn't say it's a Cure for death?" she asked.
He peered over her shoulder at the passage. He read over it, then read it again, then picked up the book and read the rest of the page. "No, not death... for the dead."
"Why do the dead need Curing?" Thad asked, coming around the table to look at the book upside down.
Jack shook his head. "They don't. That's necromancy, the biggest taboo of all magic, black or white."
"No," Lena said, taking the book back from him, pointing out the aether diagram on the facing page, a white magic design that was beyond Jack's expertise. "Not necromancy. It looks like one of the combat spells."
"A Cure-based combat spell?" Jack said skeptically.
Lena shook her head. "It must be a paladin thing. I've never heard of it before, but it doesn't look difficult."
Thad smiled broadly. "Paladins? Like Saint Framran in the stories?"
Jack blinked. Framran was commonly regarded as a folk hero, but not all the stories made his status as a paladin clear. "Where did you hear he was a paladin?" Jack asked.
"I read it in an old book when we were in Elfheim."
"It was Aryon's favorite book," Lena said, smiling as she said the prince's name.
Her smile twisted Jack's heart in a knot that he struggled to keep from manifesting on his face.
Thad turned back to Lena and asked, "Are paladins real?"
"They were," Lena said. "They were battle mages who used white magic. But Framran was the last." She traced her fingers lightly over the gold lines of the aether diagram. "What could it mean?" she wondered aloud.
Here was his chance, Jack thought. He could talk with her. The two of them could work together on this puzzle, and perhaps in doing so he could earn his way back into her favor. "If you would like, my lady, I could devise an experiment to test the spell? I'm no white mage, but I'm sure if I put my mind to it, I could help you to-"
"Don't you have things to work on with Thadius?" she asked, gazing flatly at him.
"Thad has something to do just now," Jack said, waving a dismissive hand at the boy beside him.
"Nope!" Thad chirped happily. "I found it already." He held up the red Onion Knight card Jack had hidden in the bookcase.
Jack stared at it. "When?" he asked.
"Ages ago!" Thad said. "You were looking at the book! I had plenty of time."
"Thad, we haven't been looking at the book that long! It's only been…" He looked out the east-facing window, at the sun still visible just over the roof of the next house on the street. It was still morning. "How long have we been here?" Jack said.
He ran to the library door, yanked it open, but stopped cold before he stepped into the hallway. Seward was still there, as if he'd just stepped out. His back was to door as he walked away. He seemed frozen mid-step, his foot hovering in the air a mere handful of paces from where Jack stood. As Jack stared, he realized the man was moving, but slowly, almost imperceptibly so. Farther down the hall, he could see Mina, Seward's maid, who had escorted the three of them to the library on their arrival, just turning the corner as she walked, ever so slowly, away.
"Holy Ramuh!" Jack whispered. "It goes both ways!"
"What…?" Lena asked fearfully from close by. She stood just behind him, looking out at Seward, her face horrified. "What's happening?"
"It's Thad!" Jack said. "He doesn't just slow time! He can speed it up as well!"
"What do you mean?"
"Lena, we just got here! We've been here for hours, but we just got here!"
Thad edged up to the doorway, frowning. "So… does this mean it's not lunchtime?"
Jack nodded. "That's exactly what it means." He closed the door, blocking their view of Lord Unne, then he grabbed Thad's shoulder, spun him to face the chair where he'd spent most of the morning, and shoved him forward. "And until he gets back, you and I have work to do. Sit."
Thad groaned.
"Sister?" Kane said, but Redden could only nod, unable to say the word again. She hadn't been a sister to him, not really. Not the way Cid had been his brother.
Leiden sneered. "Your father has siblings all over the countryside. His own father is quite… prolific."
"Half-siblings," Redden corrected. He faced his son, considering how he would explain Scarlet's role in Cid's death, but the words shriveled on his tongue when he saw Kane's face. He looked shocked, almost… betrayed. "Why does that disturb you so?"
"You said it was just us…" Kane said quietly. "When grandfather died, you said it was just us."
Redden had a sudden flash of memory: the two of them standing side by side in the empty churchyard, the sole mourners over the fresh grave. The old man hadn't lasted long after Rachel died. The grief over his daughter's death had been too much. There had been no one else on that side of the family. Rachel had no siblings, and her parents had each been the last of theirs. Redden knew Kane had wept then not only for the loss of his grandfather but because no one else seemed to care that he was gone. "Kane-"
"You have a family?" Kane said angrily.
"You're my family!" Redden snapped. "The only family I need! I don't know them, Kane. They're just people I happen to share blood with. I need nothing to do with them."
"And what if I did?" Kane shouted. "All this time, I've been a nobody - no connections save for my ties to you! But here? Here I'm supposed to be the son of a noble house! And now I learn I have a family?"
Redden had no response. They stared at each other, and though his heart went out to the boy, Redden knew there was nothing he could say in his own defense. Yes, he had chosen to cut ties with his Carmine side, but that hadn't given him the right to make that choice for his son.
"Gentlemen," Pollendina said into the silence that followed. "If we could return to the matter at hand?"
Leiden nodded. "If Scarlet's the vampire, this Lord Eldieme must be more powerful than we imagined. He wouldn't have been able to turn her, otherwise."
"When…" Redden said, but his voice caught. Oh, gods, but he hadn't thought of Scarlet in years. His own sister… No, he didn't think of her that way… but what did that say about him? Last he had heard, Scarlet's life had been a hard one.
Redden had blamed her for Cid's death as much as he blamed himself, but the people of Melmond blamed her entirely, not Redden, the remaining son of Titan. Scarlet and Sarda had fled to their cottage in the West Hills, outcasts, reviled. "When could it have happened? I assume you kept tabs on her?"
"I did," Leiden said. "Very close tabs, you might say, until last winter." He sat back in his leather chair, steepling his hands in front of him. "She came to me just after Westen's death, said she and her brother were struggling to survive. She'd taken up with some goat herder; that didn't last long, but she got a child out of it, a son."
A child? Redden thought. She had had a child and he hadn't even known? How had he lost track of her so completely?
"It changed her, Redden. She would have done anything for her boy. She begged for my help. It wasn't his fault her reputation was tarnished, she said. He deserved a chance at a decent life. I agreed. I was a new father myself at the time; it might have colored my perception somewhat.
"We had an arrangement. I paid for the boy's education, saw that she could provide for him adequately, and in exchange, Scarlet returned to the earth cave twice each season to perform the sealing ritual."
"Was such a thing necessary? Were you worried about the seals' integrity even then?" Orin asked.
"I wasn't taking any chances," Leiden said. "Father Ladimer and I had already discussed the possibility of routine maintenance. Scarlet merely saved us the trouble of seeing it done."
"Alone? Without guards? An escort?" Redden asked. He hated her, yes - part of him hated her - but he still had nightmares about that cave. He wouldn't have wished it on his worst enemy.
Leiden scowled. "You know as well as I that the cave was empty. You saw to that. I was there."
"But it isn't now," Redden said.
Leiden nodded. "Scarlet sent regular reports. For a long time, all was well. But that changed three years ago. Scarlet said there were men in the countryside, near the cave. She kept seeing them, she said, but they fled if she approached. She was sure they were up to mischief; she seemed afraid of them. I sent men to check it out; they found nothing. I thought… I thought she was trying to get out of our deal. It seemed the sort of thing she would do. Her son was of age by then, after all. She no longer had need of my charity.
"So I took the young man on. Gave him the job of his dreams. He'd studied horticulture. I made him my gardener. Respectable salary, enough that he could afford a flat in the lower town. He had no idea I had been his mysterious benefactor all these years. His mother never told him. As far as he knew, the job, my attention, the opportunity, came out of the blue, no strings attached, a blessing from Titan himself."
"You as good as held the boy hostage," Redden said.
Leiden rolled his eyes. "You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same. Anyway, it came back to bite me in the end. He worked well for me at first. I was even pleased with his work - he was brilliant at it! - but then Ruby fell in love with him, and he with her. He came to me and asked to court her officially. I had to let him go. He left for the West Hills that very day, told Ruby he was going to visit his mother and would be back in time for the spring planting. I never saw him again."
"And that's when Scarlet turned on you? When you fired her son?" Redden asked.
"On the contrary," Leiden said. "I don't think she ever learned of it. Apparently, the young man never made it home. Scarlet herself showed up on my doorstep some weeks later. She hadn't heard from him, demanded I find him. I sent some of Vince's men, but it was far too late. I learned he'd been murdered by brigands on the road."
Kane gasped. "Wait… Harvey mentioned that. He said he was friends with him."
"Harvey's friends with everyone," Pollendina said, scoffing.
Leiden glared at the thin secretary, who bowed his head in apology, then Leiden sighed. "Yes, they were friends. Moore was a likeable young man, despite his parentage. I was sorry to hear of his death."
"No! Listen!" Kane said. "Harvey told me he was friends with a servant who was murdered on the road. That same servant was secretly a white mage. That must have been him!"
"Impossible!" Leiden said.
But Redden knew it wasn't. Magic ran in families. As powerful as Scarlet was, there was a high probability that any child of hers would have been born a mage as well. Of course, Scarlet wouldn't have sent her son to the cathedral that turned her out. She would have trained him herself.
He caught Pollendina's eye, saw from the man's stoic expression that he wasn't at all surprised by Kane's revelation. "My Inspectors came to the same conclusion only yesterday. At Sergeant Quincey's suggestion, I had them researching violent deaths throughout the countryside, going back at least two years. If Moore was indeed a white mage, that could mean he was one of the Brotherhood's first victims."
"No!" Leiden said. "No, it can't be!" He pushed back from the table, his chair screeching across the floor, and he ran a frustrated hand through his blond hair as he began to pace the room.
"It's seeming more likely," Redden said, watching Arthur pace. It had been years since Redden had seen the normally confident lord so disturbed. "What happened to Scarlet after that?"
"She vanished," Pollendina said. "She left that mad brother of hers at your father's house and disappeared. We sent other mages to maintain the seals, but it was no use. The Rot returned. The night plague came with it. Then the white mages died."
"But she's the night plague!" Kane said. "We know that now!"
"Yes!" Leiden said, still pacing, growing more and more frantic. "It was her all along. All this time… I knew it was all her fault, you see? She was the one who abandoned us!"
"Arthur," Redden said gently, but his patience was wearing thin. "As much as it pains me to defend the woman, she can hardly be blamed for being taken by the Brotherhood and turned into that creature."
"She can! If she went back on her own… She knew it was dangerous! She told me - she tried to tell me! She said there was something down there, in the dark! - but I didn't believe her! She was consumed by grief! Raving with it!"
"As you are raving now?" Orin asked. Redden cut him a glare, but the old man only shrugged.
Leiden, however, continued his rant, oblivious to the monk's sarcasm. "Scarlet said it was the cave! It couldn't have been! He died miles from there! And the seals were intact! The Inspectors were so sure it was only a robbery gone wrong!"
Redden saw it then, the crushing realization that all of this - the Rot, Melmond's troubles, the death of the white mages - could have been prevented. One person, one decision, could have curtailed all of it, and that person wasn't Scarlet.
At that moment, Redden remembered the feeling of standing at his window as a young man and looking out at the destruction caused by the Rot, the slow, creeping guilt of it, of believing it was all his fault. It had nearly crushed him. How much worse would that guilt have been if it had come on him all at once, in one shocking revelation?
"Arthur," he said, stirred by a sudden pity for this man he had once called a friend.
Leiden shook his head, and his whole body shook with it. "It was me! Gods, it was me!"
"No," Redden started to say. "Arthur-"
But the voice of the secretary cut him off. "Gentlemen," he said sharply. "Leave us. Now."
Orin stood, bowed, and headed for the door, but Redden didn't move. Kane, too, seemed frozen to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the still-pacing lord. "Arthur," Redden said again.
Pollendina shook his head. "I'll speak with him, lord of Cornelia. Alone. Let Melmond retain what little dignity it still has."
Redden hesitated. "We have business here still," he said. "The matter of the traitor-"
Pollendina stopped him with a raised hand. "I'll meet with you later. It will all be arranged. But go."
Redden nodded. He stepped toward the door, then went back to grab his son by the shoulder and propelled the stunned young man out ahead of him.
The hours dragged on, or at least they seemed to. The sun hadn't moved, as far as Lena could tell. It shone through the library window, warm and bright. Had she been on the sofa rather than the stiff wooden chair, Lena knew she would have settled in for a nap already. As it was, she shook herself and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on translating the spell in front of her. She hadn't made much progress. The diagram seemed simple, similar to Cure in many ways, but the text eluded her.
On top of that, the boys were a terrible distraction. She could feel their annoyance with each other from across the room, their frustrations adding to her own. She tried to block them out, to focus on the spell, forming the beginnings of it inside herself. It started as Cure did, but then she had to shift the aether, just there, in just that way…
"It's not working!" Thad wailed, startling her, breaking her concentration. The aether shifted back the other way, forming a Cure that dissolved into nothing, having no target.
"Clearly it is because you're still slowing time here!" Jack snapped.
"I need a break!"
"Stop warping the aether and you can have one!"
"Enough!" Lena shouted. "You're neither of you getting anywhere with such childish behavior!" She stood, her back twinging from sitting so long, which only added to her mood. She shoved her notes into her book, slammed it shut, then turned on the boys, waving an admonishing finger.
To Jack she said, "You need to stop pressuring him! He's trying! It's not his fault he's not the educated, experienced mage you are! And you!" She pointed at Thad. "You need to take this seriously! Changing time like this is going to get you noticed! Particularly by people who are stuck in the same room listening to the two of you bicker all morning!"
She whirled around, stomping toward the library door.
"Where are you going?" Jack said.
"To eat," she said. "I'm starving."
"But I'm starving too!" Thad said.
"Neither of you are invited!" Lena snapped.
She stopped cold when she felt how her flippant remark had hurt Thad, was immediately flooded with regret. What am I doing? she thought. She turned to apologize, but Jack spoke before she could.
"She's right, Thad," he said quietly. "We know your powers don't reach much farther than this room. Corporal Clyne and Bentley are out there somewhere, at the front of the house. If we go to the dining room, they might get caught up in this too. I know you're hungry - so am I - but for your own safety, we have to sort this out."
Thad whimpered, but he nodded bravely.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I'm sorry to both of you. I let my own frustrations get the better of me, but I'm not frustrated with you, Thad. I'm frustrated with myself. This thing you're going through, I think it could help me with my own studies, but I'm afraid I'm as clueless as you are."
"I'm sorry, too," Thad said. "I'll try harder."
Jack nodded, clapping the boy on the shoulder, then faced Lena. "My lady, seeing as you're going out, perhaps you could bring some food back with you when you return?"
Thad frowned. "How long will that take?"
Jack sighed. "I suppose we'll find out. Consider it a test of the limits of your abilities."
"Can't you stay, Lena?" Thad said imploringly. "I promise we won't fight anymore!"
Their eyes were on her, both questioning. Thad wanted her to stay, she felt it, but from Jack… nothing. "I'll make sure you get something to eat," she said, hurrying through the door.
She could still see Seward at the end of the hall, frozen in conversation with Mina, as if he'd caught her before she turned the corner. They seemed unmoving as Lena walked toward them, but only a few feet from the library door, between one step and the next, there was a… a thickness to the air. She stumbled as she went through it. Her ears rang briefly, a sharp sound like the whine of a yawning dog, and then time picked up speed around her.
Seward looked over his shoulder at her, smiling. "Ah, decided to join me after all? Only Mina was just telling me lunch isn't even started yet! It seems we've only just finished breakfast."
"Yes," Lena said. "That's true. But I could do with another, all the same."
"You hear that, Mina? Go and tell the kitchens we'll have another breakfast." He offered her his arm. "Come, my dear. We'll wait in the dining room."
Her mood improved as they waited for the meal. Seward told her tales of his traveling brother, Seaworth, and the discoveries he'd made on his journeys. As he was explaining to her that some scholars believed at least one of the knights of Bahamut had a huge suit of machina powered armor, the door to the dining hall slammed open, frightening them both. Jack stumbled in, feet dragging. He looked exhausted, hollow-eyed. Thad came in behind him, slow and staggering as a drunkard.
"By gods, man!" Seward said "What happened to you?"
Jack only shook his head and stumbled forward, flopping into one of the chairs.
"I did the thing," Thad said, hauling himself into the chair beside Lena's with what seemed a monumental effort. "Can I eat now?"
"Oh, Thadius!" she said, alarmed at how terrible he looked. "Yes, of course!"
"Mina!" Seward called. "What's the status of our meal?"
Thad nearly wept with joy.
We've only been here a few minutes, Lena thought. She tried to calculate it out. Seward left when Mina was still in the hall, and that was hours. I waited hours more, and caught Seward in the hall as well. But Seward and I made it all the way to the dining room and had time for conversation… Just how long would it have seemed to the boys? She was afraid to ask.
When the meal arrived, however, the servants bringing out trays of fruit and eggs, she noticed how quickly Jack wolfed it down, how it contrasted with the slow and methodical way he usually ate. She noticed how Thad did the same, how they both helped themselves to seconds, and Thad to thirds. She noticed how Thad fell asleep at the table in the middle of his fourth plate, long after Jack had retreated back to the library.
And when she herself returned to the library, she noticed how Jack had fallen asleep at his usual desk, his head pillowed on his arm, surrounded by Leifenish notes. Quiet as she could be, she went back to her own book, opening it to the pages containing the Cure for the dead. If Thad can dedicate hours to solving his own problem, she thought, I can do the same.
With that, she focused on the diagram and attempted the spell again.
Kane walked with his father, listening. He didn't ask questions, didn't interrupt. He let his father's story roll out as his father wanted to tell it. It had changed again.
The first time he'd heard it, as a child, it had been brief: Cid had died in Melmond. His father hadn't given him any details, but Kane had always imagined he had died in battle somehow. Cid had been a great swordsman, after all; Redden had said so the day he'd given Kane his sword.
The second time, after his father's return from the earth cave some days before, had taken longer: Cid had died in the cave, fighting the undead as Redden attempted the spell to seal the evil within.
Now, though, the story had grown in complexity. His father spoke of Father Bram, the old white mage who had been a mentor to him. He spoke of the spread of the Rot, the hopelessness and fear he and others had felt when it reached Melmond. He spoke of the search for white mages powerful enough to take Bram's place. He spoke of his and Cid's journey to the West Hills to confront their own father as they sought the aid of their half-sister, a woman who had ultimately failed them.
"She tried to come to me afterwards, to apologize," Redden said as they passed out of the business district into the harbor. "I wouldn't see her. I knew she and Sarda went back to the West Hills, but I lost track of her after that. That was a few years before you were born."
Redden stopped, watching a man in a guardsman's uniform pasting a poster to the side of a warehouse, the warnings Pollendina had ordered posted throughout the city. Scarlet Carmine's likeness peered out at them beneath the words "Beware!" and "Do not approach." Redden scowled and resumed his steady pace. "You know the rest."
Kane nodded. Somewhere between then and now, Scarlet Carmine had fallen prey to the Brotherhood, had been twisted by necromancy into an abomination that now stalked Melmond's lower town looking for her murdered son, taking young men of a similar age.
Both Redden and Lena had explained the perils of necromancy, that the mind of the reincarnated dead did not survive the transformation unscathed. Scarlet was confused, and likely didn't know what she was doing, but she was no less dangerous for it.
Pollendina had ordered a curfew to get people off the streets at night, but locked doors were no object to something that could move through shadow. The latest reports said young men were still going missing, one or two each night.
Besides, it hadn't been night when Kane had seen her. It had been a gray and cloudy day, unlike this one. He squinted up at the cloudless sky, wondering how bright it had to be to deter the vampire's movements. As bright as this, surely.
"I never thought of her as family," Redden said, snapping Kane out of his wonderings and back to the present conversation. "I always suspected you must long for one of your own, but it never once occurred to me that you might find it here. They're that removed from me, son."
Kane couldn't think of a response. He only nodded again.
He worried his father would expect more, but Redden only said, "I think we're here."
They'd stopped in front of one of the harbor offices, a narrow building, the kind that was deeper than it looked from the outside and that often boasted an apartment of sorts at the back. It belonged to Pollendina. Kane had marveled when he heard that the man owned more than thirty buildings and businesses throughout the city, in addition to his accounting firm above the Chubby Chocobo, but Kane decided it was less impressive if they were all as modest as this one.
"Wipe that scowl from your face," Redden said. "I know you don't like him, but you still have to be civil."
Kane schooled his features. "Why are we doing this?" he said quietly. "How can Leiden trust this eel but not Gabriel?"
Redden shook his head. "Pollendina doesn't have dealings with the cathedral guardhouse. He may be an eel, but he's a clean one. He's devoted to Arthur."
Kane snorted. "I don't trust him either."
"I do," Redden said quickly. "And if he trusts Pollendina, so do I."
He went to the door, raising his hand to knock, but it opened in front of him. Pollendina stood, skinny as a rail, framed by the narrow doorway. "Gentlemen," he said. "We've been waiting."
He motioned them inside, revealing an office just as plain as the building which held it. The walls held simple cubbies, piled with papers, rather than proper shelves or cupboards. A single desk dominated the center of the room, with a padded leather chair behind it but two plain wooden ones in front. One of these was occupied by a man in a bandana, lounging in a relaxed posture.
"Captain Patch Bayard," Pollendina said by way of introduction. "Lord Redden Carmine, and his son Kane. Bayard's a friend of my father's. He's been helping with my investigations."
Kane felt the scowl returning and fought it back. His father, though, seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was. "I thought we agreed we weren't bringing anyone else into this?"
Pollendina shrugged. "I'd say he's been in it longer than you have. The plan was his idea."
Bayard nodded. "I thought to myself, 'If they've stolen healing potions once, they'll try it again.' Vince agreed." He stood, held out a hand to Redden in greeting.
Redden shook it, but his face was carefully set. "You knew about them, too?" He turned to Pollendina. "If this one's so full of information, why does Arthur even need me?"
Bayard grinned, but not in a friendly way. "I should hope I know about them, considering I'm the one who fetches them."
Pollendina sighed in annoyance. "In addition to being a family friend, Bayard is one of my employees. His ship belongs to me, and he sails on my business. When our white mages died, I sent him to Crescent Lake to request aid. The Crescent sages refused to send any mages - and in hindsight, I agree with their decision - but they did start sending us a steady supply of healing potions. It's all here."
The secretary went behind the desk and sat down. He opened a drawer and withdrew a ledger which he handed to Redden. Kane looked at it, but the rows and columns of numbers and dates made no sense to him.
"We sent them to the countryside at first, as a means to treat the night plague," Pollendina explained. "But they did little good there. Most people recover from it quite rapidly and have no need of the potion, while those with weak constitutions often die anyway, with or without one."
"A healing potion can't reverse massive blood loss," Redden said, nodding.
"We know that's what it is now," Pollendina said. "Keep in mind we didn't know at the time that the vampire's feedings were the cause of the 'disease'. At any rate, we ended up keeping the potions in the city, as we had no healers left. My inspectors kept alert for news of illness and injury among the populace and distributed the potions as needed. We kept careful inventory, but regardless, we soon noticed discrepancies in the numbers. I trust my inspectors completely; the potions could only have been stolen by an outside entity, and I also had reason to believe this entity was using magic to commit the theft. I had the potions relocated to my tavern. You know, of course, how that worked out for us."
"So you really think if we put out more healing potion somewhere that the Brotherhood will come for it?" Kane asked.
Pollendina shook his head. "We haven't enough potion left. Keep in mind, that the city's elderly and infirm require a constant supply, my own father among them. No, the rumor of more potions has to be enough." He laid four papers across the desktop, all in a row. "We have four suspects in the cathedral guardhouse. Each is highly ranked. I plan to approach each man separately, contracting them to guard one of my warehouses. I'll give them reason to suspect the warehouses contain more potion."
"And then you'll wait to see which one acts on the information," said Redden.
"Correct," said the secretary. "Whichever warehouse is attacked is the one guarded by the traitor. Meanwhile, we'll have our own men hidden inside the building, ready to surprise any invaders."
"When you say 'our own men,' you mean the inspectors?" Redden asked.
Pollendina shrugged. "And you and your son, of course. Lord Orin, if you think he's up to it. If you trust them, I could use your West Hills boys. They do good work, and I believe they're loyal to you."
"I trust them," Redden said, nodding sharply.
"Excellent," Pollendina said. "That will give us more than enough to defend all four at once. We should be able to spare runners to watch them from the outside. If one of the warehouses is attacked, they can carry word to the others."
Kane frowned. It seemed too tidy. In Kane's recent experience, things that seemed tidy had a tendency to go horribly wrong in unexpected ways. He tried to imagine the worst, and it didn't take him long to see a flaw in the plan. "What if more than one warehouse is attacked?"
Pollendina let out a bitter chuckle. "Well, then, we'll know we have more than one traitor at the guardhouse."
"Doesn't matter," his father said. "We'll have enough men in each building to defend it."
"That's what I think," Pollendina agreed. "We know the Brotherhood won't storm the building openly, not when they know about the cathedral guards outside. They'll try to sneak in, like they did at the tavern. That's when you get them."
Redden nodded. "I'll have to see the warehouses to get an idea of the fighting conditions."
"I've picked out a few suitable candidates already," the secretary said, rifling in the desk drawer and coming up with a large ring of keys. "I can take you around to them now."
He hadn't gone two steps toward the door when a voice called out from behind him, from a room at the back of the office. It was an elderly voice, weak and wavering. "Vince! Vince, I need my medicine!"
Pollendina stopped mid-step, started to turn back, but Bayard stood. "You go on," he said. "I'll see to him. It's my turn to sit with him anyway."
"Thank you, Patch," Pollendina said quietly, clapping the captain on the shoulder, then turning back toward the front entrance. He jingled the keys in his hand. "Shall we?"
Redden nodded and motioned Kane to follow the man.
They walked through the harbor district silently, neither of the older men saying a word. Though Kane was uncomfortable with the uneasy silence, he was more uncomfortable with the thought of breaking it himself. What could he possibly say?
His father and the secretary did speak when they entered the first of the warehouses, discussing the logistics of the plan. "It's smaller than I expected," Redden said, looking around. It was a medium-sized space, perhaps twenty paces across, completely empty.
"It's larger than I'd like," Pollendina said. "We have to assume whatever's in here could be stolen or destroyed. I can afford to lose a few boxes here and there, but I'd rather minimize the damage."
"Boxes?" Kane said. "Wouldn't it make more sense to leave it empty? If we're going to be fighting in here-"
Pollendina shook his head. "I'll be filling it with trade goods, very conspicuously. It will add believability to the rumors I've already started that I've acquired more healing potions. I'll have workers carry the boxes in tomorrow."
"It should be fine," Redden said. "We can use them for cover." He took one last look around the space, then nodded. "It'll do. Let's see the next one."
The next one was almost identical to the first. The three men entered together, none of them speaking as Redden paced the floor, checking the positions of the doors and windows, poking about the tiny enclosed office space crammed into the corner. At the third warehouse, Kane and his father went in alone, Pollendina waiting outside, and again Redden checked the building without speaking. Kane stood awkwardly in the middle of that vast, empty floor, wondering what he was even doing there.
When they reached the fourth warehouse, Pollendina unlocked the door with the same huge ring of keys he'd used on the others. It took him a moment to find the correct key, as there were at least twenty on the ring.
It occured to Kane that each of those keys represented a building, some piece of property here in Melmond that this man owned. Harvey had said Pollendina was only a vestigial lord, with no real status in Melmond's hierarchy, but that didn't seem to be stopping him from amassing a fortune in business.
"Is something wrong?" Pollendina asked.
Kane realized he and the secretary were alone on the street. His father had gone in without him as his mind was wandering. He'd been standing there staring at Pollendina's keys. He motioned to them, somewhat embarrassed but too polite to ignore the question. "I was just starting to wonder how many of these warehouse you owned."
Pollendina looked down at the keyring as though surprised to see it in his hand. "Oh, these? They're not all warehouses. Perhaps a third. Most of them are offices similar to the one we were in before. Accountants, merchants, tradesmen. I don't own the businesses, mind you, merely rent out the buildings."
Kane nodded. He looked through the warehouse's open door to where his father was pacing off the dimensions of the floor. Pollendina watched him, unspeaking, and the silence quickly became awkward. "So…" Kane said, grasping for some topic they could discuss. "Your father lives in that office?"
The secretary shrugged. "Not generally. His house is in the countryside, but it was taken by the Rot. Shortly after that he became ill. I brought him to town so that I could care for him myself."
"Surely there are nicer rooms at the manor?"
"My father's a very private man," Pollendina said, shaking his head. "Putting him up in someone else's house is out of the question. And my own rooms above my tavern can't accommodate another person. The room in that particular office is the one Bayard uses when he's in town. He's been staying on his ship while father's been using it, and he helps me take care of him." He motioned toward Redden, inside the warehouse. "Your father doesn't have that, you know. What you have with him, what I have with my father."
Kane didn't answer, jarred by the sudden change in topic.
Pollendina kept talking. "Your argument this morning… I know neither of you asked for my opinion, but I'll offer it anyway. Your father's right. The Carmine family can't give you what you're looking for. I think you know that already. There are bonds more powerful than blood, the bonds we choose. Bayard and I aren't even friends, not really, but the love we both share for my father makes us brothers. It's the same bond you share with Jack."
Kane nodded along, only half listening. While he and his father had a terrible habit of arguing in front of others, he hadn't asked for this man's opinion. Though his words were sensible enough, Kane didn't care one whit about Pollendina's family history. He almost said as much out loud, but then Pollendina's last sentence sank in and he stopped, mouth agape.
Pollendina chuckled. "Yes, I know he's not your brother. He came from Crescent Lake, on Patch's ship. It took a few days for us to figure it out, put our information together."
Kane composed himself, or tried to anyway. "That was just-"
"Let's not insult each other with lies. I find them distasteful, and I suspect you're bad at them."
"If you don't like lies, why haven't you told Leiden?"
"Keeping secrets isn't the same as lying. If Arthur ever asked me outright, I should feel inclined to tell him, but avoiding that conversation seems to be in Jack's best interest. I know what he is. A black mage."
Kane neither confirmed nor denied it, his throat too dry to speak. Despite the heat and humidity, his sweat suddenly felt cold.
The secretary kept his gaze steady on Kane. "I won't tell. Patch won't tell. I can promise you that much. I mean the young man no harm. As long as he keeps his head about him, your Jack will have no trouble from either of us. You have my word."
Kane nodded. He had little reason to trust this man. He'd found Pollendina's behavior suspicious since the day they arrived. But, given the circumstances, perhaps there was a simple explanation. "Are you a mage?"
"Me? No, not as such. But I am sympathetic to their plight. Being a mage doesn't make you a bad person. I know there are others in the city, a handful of them. Keeping an eye on them is one of the things my inspectors do, for their protection as much as Melmond's."
"Your inspectors… They're more than a police force, aren't they? What are they really?"
"The faithful," the secretary said, bowing his head reverently. "I may not look it, but I'm a religious man. Each of my inspectors shares an unwavering belief in Titan. They would die for him. I trust them completely, as I said before. They're as much brothers to me as Bayard is." Pollendina shrugged. "And you? Coming from Cornelia, I assume your father raised you under Bahamut. Do you believe in him? Do you believe in anything enough that you would die for it?"
The man looked him right in the eye. Kane could almost imagine Pollendina rummaging around in his head, looking for proof of his faith. He kept his face as passive as he could muster. "I'm not sure," he said honestly. "I'll tell you one thing: I have trouble believing my father is any kind of reincarnated son of a god."
Pollendina grinned mirthlessly. "What a coincidence. So do I."
Redden came back at just that moment. "Alright. Let's get started."
Author's Note: 8/3/18 - It's been harder getting back into the swing of things than I expected. Around the time I found I might have cancer, my doctor decided I did have all the hallmarks of depression. I was sure it was a seasonal thing and would clear up on its own (that was in March).
But then I didn't have cancer, and that excellent diagnosis still wasn't enough to shake me out of my glum mood. Everything just seemed so, so hard.
I got help. I got medicated. I got a dog. And while all of those things have helped me feel better, I still don't feel completely well, like I'm a shattered plate held together by super glue and hope, like I could break again if anyone's not careful with me.
But I'm writing again. Maybe that's a sign that the worst of it is over.