Practical adept book 17.., p.30
Practical Adept: Book 17 of the Spellmonger Series, page 30
“What in seven hells?” I asked, surprised. “Is he well?”
“Apart from being dead,” Darriky said, casually. “The gentleman apparently had a bad cup of tea. Don’t move,” he urged, “until the City Watch gets here. Otherwise there might be questions. Do you know the man?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” I admitted, as the proprietor realized that one of her clients was dead in the middle of her shop. She screamed, and looked like she was about to faint. There was a murmur that ran through the crowded shop, and a few got to their feet to investigate.
“I’ve seen him before,” Darriky informed me, quietly. “From a distance, at least. He’s a trader, specializing in slaves. Despicable trade,” he added with a curl of his lip. “But he’s one of the ones supporting that Alshari Count who’s living at the palace.”
“There’s an Alshari count here?” I asked, feigning surprise.
“Well, I don’t think he’s a count anymore. But he goes by Count Cingaran. He’s one of the rebels that held Alshar during the occupation. He came here with the pirates and gangs three years ago, after that stupid prince of yours commandeered the defensive boats. Hell of a scandal, that was. He wants to be named Doge of Farise. He’s an idiot, too. Stupid Narasi! No offense,” he repeated, as one of the customers volunteered to summon the Watch and dove through the curtain into the rain-swept streets.
“None taken,” I assured him. “I had no idea. And that man supported Count Cingaran?”
“A lot of slavers do,” Darriky agreed with a sigh. “He has delusions of ruling in Farise as a base to re-take Alshar and reimpose slavery. So the slavers tend to support him. The problem is, they can’t sell their human stock in Alshar anymore, and so they’ve tried to unload all of their slaves here – and there just aren’t enough buyers. You can buy a man cheaper than a team of donkeys, now. And who can compete with that?”
“Repugnant,” I agreed. “So you think this man died of natural causes?”
“In Farise?” Darriky snorted, as speculation and gossip began among the patrons about the nature of the unexpected death. “Not likely. Not many die of natural causes, here, not when they dabble in politics. Poison, I’d wager,” he said, studying the man and perhaps using magesight. “Yes, definitely poison.”
“So who would poison a slaver?” I asked, curiously.
“Oh, no doubt he had no end of enemies – that trade attracts them. It takes a certain kind of bastard to coldly buy and sell human beings. But in this case, I’d say it’s one of Pratt’s people,” he suggested. “He wants to be Doge, too.”
“Pratt? As in Orril Pratt?” I asked, feigning more confusion. Mirkandar was a novice at Farisian politics, after all.
“His nephew, or some relation,” Darriky informed me, dismissively. “He’s a cocky little bastard, from what I hear, and he has Talent, but he’s more pirate than adept. He says he wants to re-found the Magocracy, like his uncle. He has a fleet, or at least a squadron of ships. He has men. He has irionite,” he added, his eyes narrowing. “And allies, especially among the old aristocracy.
“But Pratt would use poison. I’ve heard he likes potions. He probably had someone dose his tea in the middle of the day as a warning. They do that sort of thing.”
I stared at my cup suspiciously. Darriky laughed. “Don’t worry, Mirkandar, when someone is poisoned in Farise, it’s for very specific reasons. It was probably that girl I saw in here earlier,” he added. “She was too young to have business in the Parchment Plaza. Maybe someone’s mistress, maybe someone’s sister, but that’s who I think did it.” He sounded certain in his pronouncement.
“I didn’t even see a girl,” I confessed, as I studied the murder scene. “You say this sort of thing happens often?”
“It’s the Game of Whispers, my friend,” he said with a resigned sigh. “It’s played with daggers, when swords fall silent. And poison. And by sudden falls from high buildings. And a hundred other ways you can remove your opposition to what you desire . . . or strike in retribution against those who’ve wronged you. It’s a game of the elite, and the rest of us are just pawns in it. Look! The rain is letting up,” he observed, calmly.
“That’s just as well,” I decided, glancing at our freshly deceased neighbor. “I don’t think I want another cup of tea.”
Chapter Seventeen
Porsago, The Bread Of Farise
One cannot discuss the Matter of Farise without mentioning their staple foodstuff, porsago. Oft considered the bread of the Farisians – and many in islands of the Shattered Sea – this wholesome but humble little tuber is the backbone of the Farisian table. It is ubiquitous in their diet and symbolic of the plentiful flavors that Farise has to offer the discriminating traveler.
Explorations of Farise, Enshalada, and the Shattered Isles
Author Unknown
After the first week, things at the practice began to settle down into a routine. I would keep office hours either in the morning or afternoon to interview new clients, and the other portion of my day I would go out into Farise and complete the work I’d been commissioned. It was the kind of work that I hadn’t done since Boval Vale: simple, helpful, useful magic that actually made a difference to people’s daily lives and livelihoods.
For the most part, the spells were simple. Residential cases usually revolved around wardings and protections, with the occasional preservation spell or anti-fungal enchantment – in the wet climate of Farise, mold and mildew were persistent problems. Lost pet spells were an infrequent but always adventurous commission. Usually I could show up at a home or flat, sit through the inevitable cup of tea, get an understanding of what kind of spell my client wanted, cast it, collect payment, and be gone within a half an hour.
I admit, on a lot of these cases I conjured and used one of the small peas of irionite I was making now, just to hurry the process. There’s no real way you can track whether or not you’ve irionite to power a spell, the way you can discern a particular spell signature, so as long as no other magi were around I felt safe indulging. Besides, wardings are dull.
My commercial clients were more demanding, but more interesting. Often they did not even know what kind of spell they needed, they just had a problem, or an idea, or saw an opportunity that they thought a wizard – sorry, a Practical Adept – could help with.
For those clients, hydrophobic spells were most popular. The regular rains made keeping anything dry problematic by normal means, but I had a whole range of enchantments that would encourage water to find a better way down hill. When you have a warehouse full of dry goods that sort of thing is important.
Dowsing for incipient sinkholes was also popular, as a number of them had opened up unexpectedly of late, including a crater ten yards wide that had suddenly swallowed a block of flats in the Porsago District in the middle of the night. And spells against algae growing in the cisterns that provided most of the water for the people of Farise were almost ubiquitous. That was as much of a problem as mold on your building’s walls.
But the work was very fulfilling. Helping people solve problems always feels good, and there were a lot of situations where a little applied thaumaturgy could make a big difference. It also gave me chance to introduce Ruderal to the life of a normal mage, not the adventurous life he was used to. In retrospect I wished I had spent more time on such regular applications of our craft with my previous apprentices. Perhaps they would have made something of themselves instead of becoming noblemen.
Ruderal took to the work well enough; he quietly listened to my conversations with the clients, the friendly banter and rote responses I had developed to answer questions and allay concerns. I patiently explained to him the process of casting those common spells, including tips to ensure that the enchantment was constructed and laid down properly. He was a lot more shy with the clients than I was, of course – Rudy is an introvert – but when he did he usually find something interesting and valuable to say to them. It helps when you can stare into someone’s soul and learn what they’re really most concerned about.
That got Rudy labelled a “nice young man” early on in his career as a Practical Adept. There are worse professional courses, I suppose. Before the second week was done he had already gotten two invitations to meet eligible young Farisian girls that our clients thought he might like, and one actual proposal of marriage to a terribly homely girl in the Cooper’s District. I knew it bothered the boy, but Ruderal – nay, Rudimon, now – was just so polite, so quiet that he attracted plenty of attention, much to his dismay.
Occasionally we’d bring along Parru, to give him some good field experience. The Farisian lad was actually quite skilled at his spellcraft, for someone without the benefits of irionite, and those spells he wasn’t familiar with he learned quickly. He had a lot more ambition than Ruderal did, and he had a clever mind that sometimes saw things that Rudy and I missed. While he was not officially my apprentice, I like to think I gave him an excellent introduction to commercial magic.
The truth is, I needed the help. Thanks to the ice trade I was getting more inquiries for service than I’d anticipated, and by the end of the second week of business I was sending one of the boys out to handle the more routine cases while I specialized on the more complicated enchantments. Often I could only see one or two clients during the day, depending on how far away from the shop it was and the weather. That was enough to sustain a single mage in practice, but as the number of clients rose it became clear I would have to delegate some of the simpler work.
The field work wasn’t always actually in the field. I had plenty of new clients who wanted personal enchantments to enhance their lives or repair problems they faced. While not always lucrative, these clients were important for my reputation. Curing a taverner’s habitual bad breath, for instance, improved his business and led to further commissions.
Casting temporary glamours on girls seeking courters was a frequent request, though I drew the line at selling actual aphrodisiacs. There were several quasi-medical issues I helped people with, from crooked teeth to poor eyesight to problematic acne to the removal of warts. Nothing builds a client’s loyalty like improving their personal lives.
I took almost all of those calls at the shop, in my office. Most Practical Adepts have what are known as “clinic hours” – though there is often nothing medical involved – where your clients come to you for service and consultation. I held my clinics twice a week at the shop, two days before market day and one day after. I also saw anyone who showed up, while most of my competitors screened their clinic clients rigorously to keep their time from being wasted. Indeed, many of my colleagues hated doing clinics in favor of more field work.
I actually enjoyed the discussions I had during my clinic hours. I got to meet a wide range of people from across Farise, some of whom spent the entire day walking across town to seek me out. I did my best to accommodate them, and rarely charged for my services until I had actually cast a spell, which helped my professional reputation immensely – even if it put a dent in my ledger.
But after two solid weeks of work, I celebrated with a little party on my patio at the end of the week. I invited several local clients, Asalon the Fair and some of his business associates, Darriky, and some of my neighbors for wine, brandy, and spirits at the practice after the work day. A small gathering to talk shop, and extremely casual, these little parties were an essential part of the trade that I had perhaps missed out on in the wilderness of Boval Vale.
It also gave me the opportunity to introduce Mavone (who was calling himself Mavoros, the Imperialized version of his name) to everyone as an associate I’d met in Castal. He kept his Gilmoran accent and mannerisms and even accentuated them – Gilmorans have a well-deserved reputation for graciousness that is appreciated even in Farise. Indeed, along with the Remerans and the Wenshari the Farisians consider Gilmorans to be almost civilized.
By coincidence, that party also marked the arrival of Iyugi in Farise.
My half-breed magical spy had only been to Farise a handful of times in the past, but he had an excellent command of the local accent and customs because that’s just the kind of footwizard Iyugi is. He had prospered greatly since I had granted him a witchstone, but that had not diminished his desire to ferret out secrets across the Five Duchies and beyond. So when I had summoned him for special duty, he had leapt at the opportunity to help based solely on the fact that I gave him some of his most interesting missions.
In person, Iyugi is a distinctive and imposing figure, and he was an immediate hit with my guests. Iyugi never looks like he fits in with any social group, of course – his style of dress and mannerisms are designed to make him an outsider. He sported garments and accessories from half a dozen different cultures, and knew more languages than I did. But his adept conversation and intriguing insights made him popular no matter where he went, from pirate’s den to formal court functions. Iyugi was just Iyugi, and he wasn’t likely to change for any circumstance.
“So what service can I provide for you, Master Mirkandar?” he asked when we were briefly alone on the patio. He had picked up on my alias instantly, and didn’t have to be reminded of my new name more than once. When it comes to subtlety, no mage has it in more abundance.
“Mavoros will have specifics, but in general we need your help identifying the powers who control Farise,” I explained to him in a low voice.
“You wish to court them?” he asked, surprised.
“I wish to overthrow them, if possible,” I answered. “Mavoros has already done a good job identifying the military elements involved in such an enterprise. But I need someone to learn the secrets of the powers that truly control the province . . . secrets I can exploit to dismantle them.”
Iyugi seemed unconcerned of the scope of that task. In general, he isn’t interested in generalities but specifics. He didn’t object to nature of the mission, he merely nodded.
“I’ve heard there is a council ruling the city,” he ventured.
“Ruling might be an overstatement. The various factions on the council seem to be more interested in keeping the other factions from ruling. There is a distinct lack of legitimacy underlying their authority, and the people are starting to tire of their antics.”
“A fertile ground upon which to cast your seed,” he said, sagely. “Every man has secrets, Mirkandar. And every secret can lead to his undoing.”
“Exactly so,” I agreed. “Which is why I knew you would be invaluable to this enterprise. I need you to tell me exactly how I can overthrow any man who stands against me, when I move. I trust you can learn what motivates my future opponents – what they fear, what they desire, what they are hiding – and suggest ways to use that information as leverage.”
Iyugi gave me a rare but impressive grin, displaying his wide, bright teeth. “I shall be happy to do so, Master Mirkandar. Shall I take quarters in the city?”
“We have room here at the shop, for the moment,” I informed him. “Ruderal will get you set up. He’ll also issue you coin for expenses. I’ll be paying you for this myself, out of my own purse. And discretion is, of course, absolutely required, although I’ve never suspected you told any secret you were entrusted with.”
“This is an intriguing commission,” he acknowledged, his grin disappearing back into his usually stoic expression. “Farise has always been a fascination of mine. Such history, such culture, such beautiful women. The libraries here are priceless. Founded by Archmage Andregran before he ascended to the throne. He was assigned here as an administrator, in his youth.”
“I didn’t realize you are a scholar of history,” I said, surprised. Iyugi cultivated a particular look in his manner of dress. He always looks a little like he’s considering the merits of cannibalism. I knew he was intelligent, of course. He was proficient in Imperial Magic, as well as being an adept footwizard, and both of those require intelligence. He was certainly literate. But he sounded more formally educated than I’d suspected.
“I like to read,” he dismissed. “A man who does not know history turns his back on wisdom. It helps to know it, if you want to learn secrets. Farise is filled with ancient texts and institutions that trace their roots to Perwyn. I’ve been here before, both before and after the Narasi came. It was a pity that your people invaded. It is a tragedy what has happened since.”
“So you approve of my mission?” I asked, cautiously. I knew Iyugi would do as I asked out of a sense of obligation and duty. That had been our bargain when I granted him his witchstone. But knowing how he felt about what I was doing – whatever I was doing – was important for me to know. I didn’t want anyone working on this unless they were committed to . . . whatever I was doing.
He gave me a long and thoughtful stonefaced stare, the kind that makes you wonder if you inadvertently said something insulting to the wizard. It’s meant to be unnerving, but I’ve dealt with all sorts of colorful characters in my profession and I wasn’t about to be intimidated.
Finally, Iyugi sighed and looked down. “History teaches us that nothing is forever. Wisdom teaches us that what was will never be again. Farise was once great. Now it is rotting. I would see it prosper once again.” It was the closest I’d ever heard to an aspiration from Iyugi.
“That’s my intention,” I agreed. “But how I get there is open to question. Thank you for helping me.”
“A word of advice?” Iyugi suggested. “Tread carefully, my friend. Nothing in Farise is what it seems. The magic here is strong, but it is wild. There are forces at play you may not suspect. And danger and death lurk in places where you will not expect them.”
“I understand the dangers . . . and the opportunity,” I replied quietly to his purposefully enigmatic warning. “In truth, there may never be as good an opportunity as this to save and preserve Farise. But I may have to burn it to the ground in the process.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that, my friend,” he said, clasping me firmly on the shoulder. I wasn’t certain if the gesture was meant to be reassuring or threatening – likely a little of both. Iyugi has a flair for the dramatic.
