Chapter 7

“I hate sympathetic magic,” whined the witch. “It’s so finicky!”

Nanora had spent the last half-hour drawing in chalk on the floor of her room. The runic code was so exacting, and it had taken a few attempts.

She sighed as she cast a glance at her dousing rod; she had been following the trail when the device had suddenly gone dead. It would not be necessary if the magical signature had not vanished! I wonder if he took a silver tablet to throw me off? He must be a wily villain to think of that!

“Then again, how wily could he be? He left behind a weapon with a trace of his magical signature on it. Thank the Creator for good fortune; otherwise, I would be at a complete loss.” Satisfied that she had given her cloud a silver lining, she inspected her work again, comparing it to a leather-bound tome she usually kept under her bed. Not due to secrecy; Nanora had spells in place that would tell her if her landlords were nosy. It was more due to a lack of space. If Vince thought his apartment was embarrassingly small, Nanora’s rented section of basement had once been a storage closet. Just big enough to walk around her bed on one side, with room for a small dresser.

It suited her just fine though, since she had come to Fin Island with nothing but her staff and magical manuals. Everything else she had earned or conjured, and a warrior of justice had no need of material luxury. The Hendersons had been so generous to Nanora, only charging her a little extra because she had no rental history, identification, or even a Social Security number. The Creator had smiled on her that day.

Nanora allowed herself a moment of pride, even if she knew it was unseemly. Why wouldn’t He? My cause is just and my heart is true! Nanora nodded once, finding her handiwork a perfect match for the manual. She gently set the hunter’s lost blade at the center of the chalk drawing, making sure the point was set to the north.

Now came the part she had been dreading. Taking out a knitting needle, she pierced her finger. The book had said she needed blood, but how much? Best to start with a few drops and go from there.

It turned out she only needed one; as soon as it hit the blade, the entire chalk outline burned away. A blinding, red flash filled the room, and when Nanora cleared the spots from her vision, she saw that the blade emitted a faint, red glow.

More good fortune; the spell book had not mentioned it would handle the cleanup for her! She did feel a light fatigue come on as she lifted the knife. Not from the trivial blood loss, but ritual magic was always draining. With any luck, her quarry would be feeling the same.

She tried her dowsing rod again. Instead of the vague tug towards the missing blackfish she had felt before, her right hand jerked about, pointing nearly dead south. “Excellent, it was a weapon he had for a good, long while.” As long as the sympathetic spell was active, she could use the blade to triangulate her position relative to him.

“Yes! Success!” She crowed, pumping her arm in triumph.

“Nora?” Mrs. Henderson’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Of course!”

“Then keep it down!” snapped the older woman. “We’re trying to watch a movie.”

Her hand went right to her mouth. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am!” Looking down at her ramrod-straight dowsing rod, she repeated herself, but in a whisper. She also pumped her arm more slowly. “Yes, success. Prepare to face justice, oh wicked one!”

She only hoped she was not too late; who knew what that poacher was doing with that poor creature?

****************

“This cotton candy is a lie.” Bayla glared at the confection. “See how it starts to vanish as soon as I bite it? It’s turning into a crust near my toothmarks! I thought it would be fluffy!”

“You’ll do better if you tear off a chunk,” he said, demonstrating the technique by helping himself to a bit of her snack.

She snapped at him with her pointed teeth, an inhuman squeak issuing from her throat.

“Hey!” he said.

“I apologize, it was a reflex,” she replied, offering no further explanation.

“You just said that cotton candy was a lie,” he countered. “Why should you care if I snatch some?”

She shrugged. “It’s a lie, but it’s my lie. I-I suppose you may have some. As a favor.”

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Vince grumbled to himself, though the noise was swallowed up in the activity all about them. They had wandered away from the shopping district and out onto the wharf, which might have been a mistake on a Saturday night; tourists from the mainland and locals alike flooded the wooden pier. A dozen buskers filled the night with their music, drawing crowds who in turn drew the different food-carts. The real attractions were the antique carousel and a variety of carnival games.

Vince kept losing the diminutive Bayla in the crowd. Kinda wish her magic had made her taller. I’ll have to be more careful once the sun is done setting; who knows how I’d find her if she got lost?

Not that she noticed her precarious state; Bayla was focused on her pique at the cotton candy, though she did pop a chunk of the pink fluff into her mouth. “It is sweet, but a false advertisement. I hope it did not cost many gold pieces. That is what Landmen use, yes?”

“Nah, you’re fine,” he replied. “I do pretty well for myself.” Mostly true. Well, once the candle shop pays that invoice. Yup, I’m still trying to impress an orca. “And we use dollars these days, not gold.”

“Ah, I see.” She was not sure what kind of metal a ‘dollar’ was, but she was not about to expose her ignorance. “By God, there are so many Landmen around! Is this your capitol?”

Vince barked a harsh laugh. “Not at all. Fin Island’s pretty far away from what I’d call civilization.”

Bayla’s dark eyes goggled at that implication. “That seems impossible. I’ve never seen this many orcas in one place, even for the holy days!”

Vince stole another piece of cotton candy, waving it before Bayla’s eyes. She resisted snapping at him this time. “We don’t take up as much space. If you want to see a real city, I can take you down to Seattle sometime. You could fit twenty Port Harringtons in there.”

Bayla squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fervently. “No, there is quite enough noise here.” She covered her ears with her hands, peeking through one eye. “Like that caterwauling coming from there! What is that?”

They were forced to stop by a particularly large crowd around one of the performers. The older man blew into a saxophone with enthusiasm, if not much finesse. The onlookers seemed to be enjoying themselves, though Vince wondered if it was because of a nearby cart selling beer and hot dogs. Regardless, the performers case was full of dollar bills and coins, so who was he to criticize?

“We call it music,” he said, unconsciously putting a hand on Bayla’s shoulder. “Like your whale-song.”

“I thought Landman music was supposed to be beautiful,” she said. “This sounds like a dying grey!”

“I can’t quite disagree,” he conceded. “Actually, let’s get you somewhere with some better music. I wouldn’t want you going home telling everyone Landmen can’t carry a tune.”

“Will there be fewer Landmen around?” asked Bayla. She had lost her cotton candy at some point, probably when she had gone to protect her ears from the onslaught. “N-not that I cannot handle it, but these crowds are… not relaxing.”

Not relaxing? You look ready to bolt. “Definitely,” he replied. The park it is.

**************

A bell at the door jingled, telling Will Schneider that Janet had forgotten to lock up. Again. I don’t care if she’s my sister’s kid, I’m giving that brat a talking to next time I see her! She had left for the day, but he had been in the back checking the day’s receipts and balancing the cash register. Thank God I’m still here, or somebody could’ve walked off with the whole store!

Will had removed his blacksmithing gear, though he still wore a tight, short-sleeved shirt. In another life spent behind a CRT monitor, he could not have imagined filling out the muscle-shirt so well. Maybe he was showing off a tad, but he had earned it.

By the time he emerged from the back room, the invader had already passed the smithy into the main shop. The giant was inspecting a stand covered in novelty postcards, seemingly entertained by spinning the rack in circles.

“Hi there! Sorry to say, we’re closed right now, and tomorrow, too. We open up first thing Monday, though.”

The massive figure said nothing, but he gave up his game with the spinner rack. He turned, lurching further into the shop.

Will frowned at the man’s unsteady gait. Oh hell, is he drunk?

The blacksmith could not tell; the visitor’s face was hidden beneath the broad slouch hat, out-of-season scarf, and high-collared coat. All were shades of blue and silver. Odd colors. Is that a costume? A chill ran down his spine; even in a town that attracted enthusiasts like that strange woman Vinnie had brought around, something was off about this visitor.

“Did you hear me?” asked Will.

The visitor turned, his face still obscured. “I did,” he replied in a voice like gravel. With that, he continued along the display wall without another word, stopping in front of the hunting knife display.

This isn’t a cosplayer. Will patted his side, finding his favorite longsword in place. Orcbiter was a special lady, patterned after his go-to fantasy novel series. I don’t just carry her around as advertising. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“She was here,” he rumbled. He inhaled deeply, the hat bobbing as he nodded. “The smell is hard to focus on. There is much soot and fire all about. Such filth. Still, she was here.”

What? I keep this place spotless! “Who was here?” demanded Will. “What are you talking about?”

“You must have seen her before,” said the visitor. “She would have been tall like me, just as broad. Like a warrior.”

“Buddy, I have no earthly clue who or what you’re talking about. You have about ten seconds to leave before I make you leave.” He turned, showing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

He tilted his head, and a single dead eye gleamed in the store’s fluorescent lights. “Where is she? I must find her. The master demands it.”

The master? “Last chance,” said Will, drawing his sword. “I do HEMA, so this isn’t just for show. Get out. Now.”

“You know nothing,” snapped the figure. He turned on his heel and stumbled out the door without saying another word.

Will watched the door for a long, pregnant moment, before deciding that the danger had passed. He let out a long, ragged breath. I forgot to breathe there for a bit. This time, he made sure the door was locked and deadbolted.

“Lot of crazies on Fin Island,” he muttered, sheathing his sword. “Wasn’t the first time I had to draw Orcbiter here; won’t be the last.”