Void's Tale by Christopher Nuttall (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

“Let me know when you’re done,” Master Clawthorne said.  He picked up a lantern, lit it with a wave of his hand, and hung it from the wall.  “I’ll show you out the rear door.”

“Good,” I said.  “And thank you.”

His face darkened, but he said nothing.  I stepped forward, scanning the room.  It was bare, save for a simple iron circle embedded within the wooden floor.  The only source of light was the lantern.  I tested the wards carefully, then nodded.  The spellchamber wasn’t designed for major spellcasting - I guessed Master Clawthorne didn’t feel the need to invest in a proper spellchamber - but it would do.  I closed the door, checked the wards again to make sure I could break out of the chamber if he thought he could lock me in, then walked across the circle and knelt on the floor.  Mistress Layla’s hairs felt oddly scratchy to the touch.  I guessed she’d cut her hair short.  It wasn’t uncommon amongst unmarried sorceresses.

I placed four of the hairs on the floor, then started the rite.  It was a fairly simple spell.  If the owner of the hairs was still alive, there’d be a very small resonance even if she was behind heavy protections.  Blood would have been better, but no sorcerer with a lick of sense would leave his blood lying around.  They could be cursed from the other side of the world, if someone had bad intentions and a sample of their blood.  My eyes narrowed as I considered the implications.  The magical community really should have been able to find the missing people.  They must have relatives somewhere, even if they weren’t within the town.  Mistress Layla had siblings, surely.  Lord Ashworth could have dug up a few dozen people with blood-ties to her if he’d wished.

More likely, delegated the task to someone else, I thought, sourly.  He has plenty of assistants who will do the work for him.

The spell grew stronger, the hairs vibrating.  I grinned - she was alive - and cast a second spell, one intended to point me in her direction.  It was more subtle than most tracking spells, making it harder to block.  I had enough hairs to repeat the spell somewhere else and triangulate her location, then teleport as close as I could before she could be moved.  If, of course, her captors detected my probe.  I’d used as little magic as possible.  The spell might just pass unnoticed ...

I swore.  There was nothing.  The spell should have pointed me towards her location, but ... the arrow was spinning randomly, jerking back and forth as if the target was teleporting from position to position with impossible speed.  I gritted my teeth as I reached out to touch the spell, trying to make it stronger.  It was useless.  Wherever she was, she was heavily protected, location concealed behind powerful wards.  There was no hope of tracking her through magic.  I cursed under my breath.  The exercise had taught me I was up against a powerful foe, or at least someone who knew how to use what they had to best advantage, but not much else.  And that meant I was in trouble.

The hairs crumbled to dust as I touched them.  I picked up their remains anyway and wrapped them in cloth.  I’d have to dump them somewhere, then think of something else.  My mind raced.  If the kidnapper had chosen his targets so carefully, there was a good chance he was a member of the magical community.  It wasn’t impossible.  Magicians liked their privacy and mercilessly enforced it.  I knew from grim experience that the simplest - but heavily-warded -houses could hide the darkest of secrets.  The kindly man who smiled at children on the streets might prey on them ...

And I don’t have much time.  I didn’t like the feeling on the streets.  I have to draw the bastard out before someone starts something violent.

I stood and walked down the stairs.  Master Clawthorne eyed me warily, unsure if I was friend or foe.  He needed to get rid of me, before he had to make more concessions in front of his wife or daughter.  I understood, all too well.  It was never easy to bow and scrape before one’s betters, if one was used to being master of one’s own house.  I wondered, briefly, if Master Clawthorne could be the kidnapper, then dismissed the idea.  Tami was reassuringly normal.  She wouldn’t be so normal if she had a complete monster for a father.

And she’s probably safe, too, I thought, as he escorted me to the door.  Her father could easily track her down if she went missing.

“I’ll continue my investigation elsewhere,” I told Clawthorne.  “You are not to mention my mission to anyone.  If you are asked, you are to tell them that I enquired about a multidimensional caravan, a mansion on wheels.  You may be as dismissive as you like, when you tell them the idea was laughably impractical.  If you do this, I will assist you in moving to Dragon’s Den afterwards.  If not ...”

I let the words hang in the air, allowing his imagination to fill in the blanks.  I didn’t expect anyone to come asking questions, but it was always a good idea to have a cover story.  It would make me look stupid and ignorant - a rube ripe for the plucking - and that wasn’t a bad thing.  My mystery opponent wouldn’t think too highly of anyone who asked about a mobile mansion.  The idea sounded good, but it was about as practical as turning a necromancer into a frog and stomping on him.  Anyone stupid enough to try that deserved everything they got.

And I solved one part of the puzzle, at least, I thought.  I just need to figure out how to put it to work.