Ch. 23: Plainly Stated, and Ch. 24: Closing Ground

Chapter 23 — Plainly Stated

Headmaster Halal arrived exactly on time.

Serali knew because Marielle checked the clock, nodded approvingly, and rearranged the top page of her notes.

He was narrow, had a long iron-grey beard, and dressed in dark blue College robes. His gaze passed over Pell and Orran, the guards outside, and Daravan near the windows.

Then to her.

“Royal Mage.”

The title was correct.

The pause before it had been unnecessary.

Serali inclined her head. “Headmaster.”

Dean Arvellan entered beside him, carrying a leather folio. Brown hair silvered at the temples, a broader face, an expression considerably easier to meet.

“Lady Serali. Lady Marielle.”

“Dean,” Marielle said.

Allandra stood at the end of the worktable.

Halal bowed to her. “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you for attending, Master Halal.”

“The findings warranted it.”

No discussion of the gala. No inquiry after First Sun. That was promising.

“Although I had some difficulty interpreting them. The Royal Mage has been examining the wall without a proper understanding of Avalusian notation and ward practices.”

That was less promising. Serali felt Allandra tense through the bond and sent a small pulse of reassurance back. An irritating academic was well within her capabilities.

Serali turned to Halal. “Were my findings incorrect, or do you only object to my use of grammar?”

“Based on your report, I am inclined to believe your conclusions are sufficiently supported. It is merely unfortunate that the Mage College has not been consulted until now.”

Allandra’s voice was calm. “Regarding the wall?”

“No, Your Majesty. Regarding the office responsible for it.”

There it was.

Serali put down her pencil.

Halal looked toward Allandra. “The Royal Mage’s work concerns defensive magic, national wards and the Crown’s magical security. Yet the College was not consulted before the appointment.”

“No,” Allandra said.

“Nor asked to identify an Avalusian candidate.”

“No.”

Her composure did not change.

Serali knew that composure.

She also knew the conversation would become considerably shorter if Allandra decided to end it.

“You believe the office should have gone to an Avalusian,” Serali said.

Halal turned back to her. “Yes.”

No hesitation.

No polite suggestion that she had misunderstood.

Arvellan rested one hand on the closed folio. “The Headmaster considers the College’s exclusion a significant institutional concern. Historically, the Royal Mage received a nomination, or at least an endorsement from the Mage College before their appointment.”

“And I am assuming the College would not have endorsed a Lyehiran Royal Mage,” Serali said.

Halal’s brows tightened. “I consider familiarity with Avalusian magical systems a material qualification.”

Silence.

Marielle adjusted the edge of a page.

Halal looked at the reports, then at Serali. “You were educated in Lyehira.”

“Mostly.”

“Under traditions that differ substantially from ours.”

“Yes.”

“And you now hold an office that has jurisdiction over the entirety of Avalusia’s arcane infrastructure.”

“Yes.”

There was nothing useful to add to facts he plainly found sufficient.

Serali folded her hands. “That is why I requested this consultation. I can identify what the magic is doing. I need your knowledge of Avalusian construction methods to establish what was altered.”

She glanced at the reports. “But your College maintains the wall’s wards, Headmaster. These faults escaped its notice too.”

Halal looked like he was ready to argue. Vigorously.

Then Allandra spoke. “The appointment is settled, Master Halal.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I intended no insult to the College, but the decision to appoint Lady Serali without seeking its nomination was mine. Any further objection to that decision should be addressed to me. Today’s consultation concerns the wall.”

Halal bowed his head. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

Serali appreciated that Allandra had left her room to answer for herself, then intervened to defend her own decision rather than Serali’s competence.

Arvellan opened his folio. “Whatever our differences over the appointment, I believe we agree that the wall requires our attention. Shall we turn to Lady Serali and Lady Marielle’s findings?”

“I expect you to accept correction where it is warranted,” Halal said, turning back to Serali.

Serali folded her arms. “And I expect you to consider my findings despite your objection to my appointment.”

“I have not disputed your findings.”

“Then we should be able to proceed.”

Halal inclined his head. “Provided we are thorough.”

“That will not be a difficulty,” Marielle said.

Arvellan searched through his pages. “Perhaps we might begin with the notation. I brought the College’s reference tables.”

Serali picked up her pencil again.

Halal was difficult.

Everyone had been correct.

He was also considerably easier to follow once he stopped discussing her appointment.

He questioned Marielle’s measurements as closely as Serali’s examination. Asked for collection details. Read the appendices when directed to them.

He did not pretend to understand a physical test when he required an explanation.

Serali noticed that reluctantly.

She noticed something else when he reached the proposed diagnostic.

“This connection is misrepresented.”

She leaned forward. “It follows the return into the secondary channel.”

“In this notation, it follows the reinforcement back to the anchor.”

“No. The branch indicates—”

“In Avalusian notation,” Arvellan said, drawing a clean sheet closer. “That branch assigns a different function.”

Serali stopped.

Halal tapped her sketch. “Here.”

Arvellan copied the connection beside it. “Your description of the behavior is clear. A College mage reading this without that explanation would take another meaning.”

Serali looked between the diagrams.

Then at the small symbol she had used.

Irritating.

She changed it.

“The northern form uses the same branch for a return,” she said.

“Yes,” Halal answered. “Do not use it here.”

“I had gathered.”

Arvellan moved the clean sheet beside her notes. “We brought a reference for the older notation as well. Some of the maintenance copies retain it.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and returned to the folio.

No elaborate kindness.

An explanation. A useful page.

Serali found herself less braced for the next question.

Marielle pointed to another section. “This junction is still the problem. We cannot isolate the reporting channel without knowing what the repair preserved.”

Halal studied it. “That repair summary is inadequate.”

“Yes,” Marielle said.

“The College copy should identify the connections.”

Arvellan turned to a marked section of the folio. “We have the revision register. The full field diagram will require an archive request.”

Stolen from NovelPhoenix, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Then request it,” Halal said.

“I have noted it.”

The exchange appeared well practiced.

Serali glanced at Marielle, who was watching them with an expression of professional interest.

Halal reached the sample comparison again.

This time, he stopped.

His finger rested beside the sixth return.

Then the ninth.

Arvellan looked at him. “Headmaster?”

Halal drew a narrow folded table from the folio.

He opened it beside Serali’s notes.

“Original construction tolerances.”

Marielle leaned closer. “For this section?”

“For the expansion these channels belong to.”

Serali followed his finger.

A ratio. A permitted interval. The balance expected between two reinforcing lines.

Then her own record of what the residue had returned.

The same values.

She checked the next line before anyone spoke.

Another match.

“These are the targets,” she said.

“Several of them,” Halal answered.

“Not the results of the last inspection.”

“No.”

Marielle brought the physical measurements alongside.

The differences were plain.

“So the wall is returning what these channels were designed to achieve,” she said.

“In the sampled sections,” Halal said.

Serali looked at him.

He had preserved the limit she would have insisted on herself.

That was inconveniently reassuring.

“Could later repairs have restored them to those values?” she asked.

“One,” Halal said. “Perhaps. Several, matching the original entries this closely while their materials differ in condition?”

“No,” Marielle said.

Halal nodded.

Arvellan studied the aligned pages. “Then the reporting framework may be drawing on a retained reference.”

“Or something has substituted those values,” Halal said.

Serali felt the question become narrower.

They had suspected the readings were too reassuring.

Now they had somewhere those reassuring answers might have come from.

“Can you determine which from the samples?” she asked.

“No. We need to examine the live connections.”

Marielle reached for the diagnostic sketch.

Halal looked at it. “Before you build anything around assumptions about them.”

She stopped.

Considered.

Then nodded.

Serali glanced toward Allandra.

The Queen had been listening without interrupting.

“We can arrange an inspection,” she said.

“Tomorrow morning,” Daravan answered. “I need the access points, personnel and equipment list first.”

Halal frowned. “I have inspected that wall for years.”

“Then the access points should be easy to identify, Master Halal.”

Arvellan lowered his eyes to the papers.

Marielle covered her mouth.

Halal looked at Daravan for a moment.

Then drew the map toward him. “Here.”

Serali moved beside Marielle to see.

After Halal and Arvellan left, Serali remained at the worktable.

Daravan was speaking to Allandra about tomorrow’s route.

Marielle sorted the copied tables into a new folder.

“I dislike him,” Serali said.

“He dislikes your appointment.”

“He was unusually thorough about it.”

“Yes.”

Marielle sounded almost approving.

Serali turned toward her. “You consider that useful?”

“In this context.”

“Explain.”

Marielle set the folder down. “When someone objects to me and does not say so, I have to infer it from tone, expression, phrasing, conversational timing, or information from other people.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

Serali looked at her more carefully.

Marielle continued. “His opinions are objectionable. But the data is clearly labeled.”

A laugh escaped Serali.

Marielle frowned. “What?”

“You described the Headmaster of the Mage College as clearly labeled data.”

“Yes.”

“That may be the kindest thing anyone has said about him.”

“It was not intended as kindness.”

“I know.”

Serali gathered the notation reference Arvellan had left.

Beside it lay the construction table Halal had identified.

She still disliked him. That didn’t change the fact she needed both pages.

Marielle held out the folder, and Serali put them inside.

Chapter 24 — Closing Ground

Daravan watched as Harrek moved a red marker three streets east.

“You moved that yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because yesterday I thought they were using the tannery district.”

“And today?”

“Today I think they wanted us to think they were using the tannery district.”

Daravan looked at him.

Harrek sighed. “I hate them.”

“Useful.”

“It is not.”

The Watch office smelled of damp wool, old paper, and coffee strong enough to constitute a disciplinary offense. Rain tapped against the narrow windows.

Daravan had come from the palace with tomorrow’s wall-inspection plan beneath his arm.

He had put it down when Harrek showed him the rental records.

That had been an hour ago.

The four fugitives had not become easier to find while the College discussed construction tolerances.

Neither had Harrek stopped looking.

“The inland gates?” Daravan asked.

“Departure records checked against the officers’ accounts. Again.”

“Harbor?”

“Berth records, hired boats, crews and cargo hands. My men are still following discrepancies.”

“No credible departure.”

“Not yet.”

Daravan studied the map.

He had learned to distrust the comfort of an empty route. No evidence someone had left was not proof they remained.

But the balance had shifted.

Harrek tapped a black marker near the abandoned cooperage.

“They had the safe house prepared before First Sun. False renter. Cash. More than one way out.”

He pulled a report from the towering stack next to the map.

“The empty six-compartment case establishes that someone brought equipment worth concealing.”

It had not established where they went afterward. Daravan did not say that out loud.

“Three short-term rentals in this quarter used cash and false references before the festival,” Harrek said.

“That is common enough.”

“Yes. One was tenants avoiding tax. One was a married pair avoiding both families.”

“The third?”

“Interests me.”

“Why?”

“The landlord remembers the renter asking whether the back stair opened into the alley or the courtyard before asking the price.”

Daravan straightened. “Description?”

“Brown hair. Unremarkable height. Apparently possessed a face.”

“Harrek.”

“That is approximately the quality of the description.”

“When was it rented?”

“Eight days before First Sun. Paid in advance. The landlord saw him twice, then not again after the festival.”

“Search?”

“Clean.”

“Too clean?”

“Possibly.”

The word had become intolerable.

Harrek slid the search account across the table.

No personal effects. No scraps worth reading. No evidence that anyone had settled there.

“How many exits?” Daravan asked.

“Three if you count the adjoining roof.”

“I do.”

“I knew you would.”

Daravan looked back at the map.

Close enough to the cooperage to move between them without crossing the busiest streets. Far enough that searching one would not immediately reveal the other.

“Connection between the leases?”

“That took longer.”

Harrek drew another page from the stack. “The cooperage deposit passed through a property factor. He claims he never met the renter. His clerk accepted the money and references.”

“False references.”

“Yes. Both answered by the same hired messenger, according to the people who eventually admitted they had not checked.”

Daravan read the statement. “The other property?”

“Different name. Same factor’s office.”

There it was. A route through the city’s ordinary business.

“The clerk?”

“Questioned. Nothing yet to show he knew what he was helping.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” Harrek agreed.

Daravan set down the statement.

A landlord could ask too few questions without being a foreign agent. A clerk could accept convenient references because he wanted to finish before dinner.

Competent operatives knew that.

They did not require a city full of traitors, only people with habits.

Harrek leaned against the table. “I am having every short lease handled by that office checked. Quietly.”

“Both before and after First Sun?”

“Yes. And the related offices. If they found one place willing to accept those references, they may have used it again.”

Daravan studied the marked properties. “Local assistance.”

“Perhaps. Or preparation.”

“No active contact?”

“None we can establish. I am not ruling one out.”

Harrek touched the rental list. “But rooms paid for ahead of time are finite. So are caches. So is money you can spend without someone remembering you.”

Daravan nodded slowly. “They cannot use every prepared address indefinitely.”

“No.”

“And finding these removes options.”

“If they know we found them.”

“They will watch.”

“Yes.”

Harrek’s gaze returned to the map. “We are making them uncomfortable.”

“Not enough.”

“No. But uncomfortable people move.”

“And moving people make mistakes.”

Harrek nodded. “Eventually.”

Daravan disliked that word too.

Harrek noticed the inspection papers when Daravan reached for them. “What is that?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That does not answer the question.”

Daravan turned the top sheet toward him.

Harrek read.

“Lady Serali, Lady Marielle, the Headmaster and his dean. All at the same compromised defensive site while four hostile operatives remain unaccounted for.”

“The inspection is necessary.”

“I know.”

“We cannot repair what we do not understand.”

“I know that too.” Harrek picked up the route map. “I still dislike it.”

“Good. We can dislike it together.”

That earned him a look.

Daravan pointed to the approach.

His guards would retain the inspection party. Pell and Orran with Serali. Corren and Mael with Marielle. The College delegation cleared individually.

“I need the outer approaches covered without making the visit a public event.”

Harrek examined the street beside the maintenance lane. “Keep ordinary traffic moving here. Close the access lane. Uniforms at the entrance, observers above.”

“Roofline?”

“And the adjoining gallery. I will assign the teams.”

Daravan nodded.

No dispute.

Harrek knew the streets and which officers could watch them without becoming the most interesting thing in them.

Daravan knew which doors the inspection party would need.

They had survived a war by learning to use the difference.

“Transport?” Harrek asked.

“Two carriages. Equipment separately.”

“Who rides where?”

“Lady Serali with me, Pell and Orran. Lady Marielle with the College delegation and her guards.”

“Master Halal will enjoy that.”

“Lady Marielle may as well.”

Harrek looked briefly amused, but Daravan continued. “The lower maintenance ramp brings them to the inspection level without the narrow stair.”

“Longer approach.”

“Covered by the parapet.”

Harrek traced it. “Lady Marielle’s arm?”

“She should not have to brace herself against a rail. Lia wants the wound supported.”

Harrek looked at him for a moment.

Daravan waited.

“Put that in the instructions,” Harrek said. “Otherwise someone will decide the shorter stair is more efficient.”

It was sensible.

Daravan had been prepared for something less sensible.

He amended the page.

“Upper platform?” Harrek asked.

“Serali and Halal may need it. Their escorts remain with them. No separation beyond the access perimeter.”

“And no alterations?”

“Inspection first. Any test that changes the live wards requires authorization.”

Harrek nodded. “Then you have enough people.”

“I want you there.”

“No.”

Daravan looked up.

Harrek held his gaze. “If the operatives move while you are inspecting the wall, someone needs to remain here looking at the city.”

“My officers can—”

“Manage palace security. Yes. Mine can continue the search. I intend to be here to direct it.”

Daravan stopped.

On the table lay two sets of papers: a controlled visit to a known danger and an uncontrolled search for four people who had already learned how to disappear.

Harrek tapped the rental statements. “These do not stop being useful because the Headmaster has an appointment.”

“No.”

“Lady Serali will have you, her escort and a secured site. Let me keep looking.”

Daravan considered the inspection plan once more.

Then nodded.

Harrek put it down. “Excellent. I dislike agreeing with you about sensible things. It creates expectations.”

A Watch officer arrived while they were reviewing the return route.

Harrek took the folded report.

His expression changed as he read it.

Daravan knew that expression.

“What?”

“Possible sighting. South market.”

“When?”

“Yesterday evening.”

“Description?”

“A hooded woman favoring one leg.”

The uneven track at the cooperage.

Daravan looked at the report.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ask another question.

“Who saw her?”

“A shopkeeper. One of the patrols questioned him this morning. When they asked whether any customers had been favoring one leg, he remembered a woman from yesterday evening, said she was not a regular customer.”

“Purchases?”

“Bread, dried fruit, lamp oil and bandage cloth.”

“Quantity?”

“He thought it was for several people. I would prefer his item list before accepting the estimate.”

“Language?”

“Solvari. No accent he noticed.”

“That tells us little.”

“I know.”

The officer waited.

Harrek looked up. “Have the market team speak to him again. Purchases, exact time, which way she went. Ask the neighboring stalls separately.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“No description passed between witnesses first.”

“Understood.”

Harrek glanced at the map. “Keep the inquiries ordinary. I do not want half the market searching for limping women.”

“Or treating every Night Fae resident as a suspect,” Daravan said.

“The patrols have their instructions,” Harrek said.

Myrae drew people from across the kingdoms. Some of its Night Fae residents had been born in Avalusia; others had lived here for decades. That had not spared them suspicion after First Sun.

The officer nodded and left.

Daravan remained over the table.

The south market was not near the cooperage. It was not near the abandoned rental either.

That could mean the woman was unrelated.

It could also mean movement, or a deliberate trail.

Harrek put a marker beside the market square.

“We do not know if the uneven track belonged to a woman,” Daravan said.

Harrek looked at him. “I have not arrested her.”

Daravan exhaled.

The impatience had nowhere useful to go.

Every delay was another hour in which the agents could choose what happened next.

Harrek knew that too.

He drew the rental list nearer the map.

“Bread and oil are ordinary,” he said. “Buying them while someone is watching is ordinary. But if the witnesses give us a direction, we can compare it with the properties.”

“And ask fewer questions in more useful places.”

“Yes.”

Daravan looked toward tomorrow’s schedule.

Harrek followed his glance. “We don’t have any reason to believe the Lyehiran agents are involved with the wall.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Do not make one because you dislike having the party outside the palace.”

Daravan met his eyes.

Harrek did not look away.

After a moment, Daravan folded the route map. “I will keep the inspection controlled.”

“And I will keep searching.”

The officer returned before Daravan left.

Another witness had remembered the woman turning south toward the lodging streets. A porter had seen her stop to shift a parcel from one arm to the other and thought he saw a shimmer on her sleeve. It could have been a glamour, or it could have been a trick of the light.

Two accounts. Still no identity.

Harrek asked where the porter had been standing, then moved the marker one street farther down.

Daravan watched the distance between it and the rental properties and tried to find a pattern. There wasn’t one that he could see, but then again, that was Harrek’s talent.

Harrek reached for the next statement.

Daravan took tomorrow’s plan from the table and left him to it.