Grace disappeared again as the sound of Elliot’s footsteps drew near. The strange, hungry-looking man held a thick, leather-bound book in his ink-stained hands. “I’m quite sure that this tome will have some mention of those runes. I was reading it last month, and if I recall correctly, it had something to do with the Novigrad Coven on Aetheris.” He began thumbing through the pages, and Ward watched, trying to decide how ignorant he wanted to sound.
“Remind me, would you? Novigrad Coven?”
“Oh, of course! I must remember that you’re a traveler. I learned about the Novigrads while at the academy. A coven of witches—some related by blood, but most by blood ritual—who ruled most of Aetheris some four or five centuries ago. They had quite an influence on the course of magical and alchemical studies, even into modern times.” He paused his page turning and leaned closer. “Let’s see here…”
Ward watched him, trying to get a good look at the page, but the printing was tiny, and reading upside down didn’t make it easy to decipher. After a minute, Elliot pulled the metal box closer and began scribbling on a sheet of paper. “You found it?”
“Yes! A matching alphabet. Just give me a few moments, and we’ll unravel the mysteries of this unpleasant vessel.”
While the man worked, Ward looked around the shop, noting that the front area, accessible to anyone, was mainly dominated by bins of herbs sold by weight. Other mundane items like soap and candles were free to be picked up and examined, but the interesting items—potions, ointments, salves, and tinctures—were kept behind the counter. Ward saw several that interested him, from healing tonics to antidotes to something called “Flame Grease.” However, he kept his questions in check, not wanting to interrupt Elliot’s work.
After ten minutes of scribbling, Elliot gave the box a thump, picked up the paper, and began to recite, “Beware, all ye who dare lay hands upon this accursed reliquary. Let no drop of thy blood fall upon the medallion within, for its whispers shall unsettle thy very soul. Only those possessed of unyielding will and ironclad mind should seek to claim the power entombed herein, lest madness devour thee from within.”
Ward couldn’t help noticing how Elliot’s free hand had wandered to the metal box, grasping one end of it between his long, pale, ink-stained fingers. Ward took ahold of it and, with a none-to-gentle tug, slid it toward himself. “Thanks for deciphering that. It explains a lot about what happened to the former owner.”
Elliot’s tongue darted out to furtively lick his thin, pale lips. “Ah, oh, um, yes. A dire warning, indeed. Still—a relic, and no doubt from the Novigrad Era! Quite a find there, sir. I don’t suppose you’d like to sell it?”
Ward frowned. Something in him instantly rejected the idea, but another part of him had to wonder at the wisdom of keeping a box that contained an object that could supposedly drive a person mad. Was that really what happened to Nevkin? Hadn’t the box been whispering to him before he even dug it up? Suddenly, Ward made a logical leap that made much more sense: maybe Nevkin had seen this box before. Hadn’t he been speaking with it almost familiarly when he pulled it out of the earth? Maybe he’d hidden it in a grave to keep it safe? Or perhaps someone had taken it from him?
“You seem troubled by my question. Will you consider it, at least?”
Elliot’s words jolted Ward from his musing, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. I was just thinking about the last guy who held this box. I think he might have opened it in the past.”
“That alchemical seal looks fresh, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Ward turned the box to look at the shiny metallic seal that had been poured into the seam where the box’s lid connected to the base. “You can tell that?”
“Without question. I make seals like that all the time, and the copper component rises to the surface over time, eventually giving the seal a green, tarnished patina. Even if it were polished, you’d see the copper—it wouldn’t be so silvery.”
“All right, well, thanks again, Elliot. I’ll think hard about this box, and if I decide to sell it, you’ll be the first to know. Fair?”
“Certainly, though I do value my time. I’d charge you ten glories or so for the translation, but how about we keep things friendly since we’re about to discuss a possible exchange of words?”
Ward nodded, then took the box and stuffed it back into his pack by his feet. When he stood, he clutched his grimoire; it looked more impressive than it was, thanks to all the blank pages it contained. “Sure, let’s talk spells.”
“A moment!” Elliot turned and hurried back through his beaded curtain.
Grace appeared and hissed, “Be careful, Ward! I don’t trust that g—” Suddenly, she was gone, and Elliot returned, proudly holding a thin but heavily rune-inscribed, red leather book.
“I have a few wonderful words, traveler. I’m hopeful I can find something to interest you.”
Ward’s only experience with “exchanging words” had been with Maggie back in Tarnish, and she’d been someone he’d felt he could trust. This shifty guy was different, and Ward didn’t even know how to approach the topic without giving too much away. He decided to try letting Elliot lead the way, keeping his cards close to his chest. “Well, what did you have in mind?”
Elliot’s eyes darted to Ward’s book and then down to his own, cradled in his arms. “Do you want to trade simple words, or do you want to trade full spells? If it’s the former, I have a wider variety. As far as spells go, I have one complete and one that’s partial—I’m sure I have the words right, but the forms need work.”
The statement intrigued Ward. He’d speculated that, as he mastered the words, he’d be able to use them to construct spells of his own, but it wasn’t as straightforward as knowing what each word meant. As Elliot had just indicated, the act of memorizing the spells, forming them with intention in his mind, required the proper meditative forms, which were a lot less clear. Still, he felt like having complete spells that worked would lead to more understanding than Elliot’s half-figured-out prototype. Frowning and scratching his chin, he slowly nodded. “I think we should deal in complete spells.”
Ward had three spells, but only one he felt comfortable sharing—the one he’d gotten from Maggie. He felt like his Reveal Secrets spell was too good, too tailored to his interests. Something in him didn’t want to spread his…secret. As for the spell he’d used to bring Haley back, Ward couldn’t put something like that into the hands of a person like Elliot. Ward wasn’t sure why, but he could imagine the guy experimenting with it in all the wrong ways. Though, in all honesty, he doubted he could pull it off. Still, there were some potent words in that spell, and Ward felt that those, in conjunction with the forms, were far too valuable to trade away.
All that considered, he was left with “Strike True” to bargain with. Deciding he held the upper hand—he could walk away without too much disappointment, but Elliot looked desperate for the exchange—Ward said, “Tell me about your spell, and I’ll see if I have anything worth trading for it.”
Elliot’s expression remained mostly neutral, but Ward thought he began to blink a little more rapidly as he slowly nodded his head. His gut told him the fellow was nervous. Licking his lips, nodding slowly, Elliot said, “I’ll do better than tell you; I’ll show you.” He turned away from the counter and reached for a small brass knob in the wall. He turned it, and the gas lamps illuminating the shop shrank to almost nothing, throwing the space into deep shadows. “It won’t work in the light.”
Ward frowned, resting his hand on Blazewitch’s stock, his finger just an inch or two from the trigger. Elliot was giving him seriously bad vibes; the shifty little man reminded him of a sociopath he’d interviewed once in an arson investigation—someone who’d been setting fire to houseboats in Portage Bay. “Don’t do anything stupid, Elliot,” he growled, and the man shot him another nervous glance.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Nothing of the sort, sir. You’ll understand why the lights had to be dimmed when I show you the spell. You see, shadows are a requirement.” Ward continued to frown, but Elliot moved back to the counter, directly facing him, and carefully opened his spellbook. With the cover facing Ward, he turned to a specific page. “As I said, it’s a spell that requires deep shadows. It’s called ‘Shadow Step,’ after all. I, well, I have it prepared, so I don’t really need my book open.” His voice was strange, monotone, as though he were trying to avoid any inflection. He laid his leather-bound book face-down, then nodded. “Are you prepared to hear the words, Ward? Must you guard your ears?”
Ward couldn’t stifle his, perhaps, overly confident chuckle. “I’ll be fine.”
Elliot nodded, gathered his breath, and then, with a strained, red face, ground out two words that seemed to fight their way from his guts, pulling flesh along with them, “Dhrak Vel!” The sorcerer-alchemist’s lips flecked with blood, and capillaries burst in his eyes, but then the words, echoing strangely, seemed to fill the air, and dark wisps of palpable shadow swirled up around him, and he was gone.
“What the—” Ward’s words were cut short as a razor-sharp blade touched his neck just below his chin. He could feel the fine edge scraping along the stubble of his beard.
Elliot’s hoarse, ragged whisper sounded in his ear, “Open your spellbook, Ward, and place it on the counter. Do so, and I’ll allow you to leave with your life.”
Ward’s first instinct was to elbow the guy or grab his wrist, but he stopped his reflexive response and forced himself to reconsider; this wasn’t Earth. This strange man knew magic, and he was clearly an asshole. He wouldn’t risk Ward turning the tables on him; rather, he’d slit Ward’s throat and try to figure out what he could from his corpse. Ward knew he wouldn’t let him go, either. The only thing he had going for him was that his spellbook was closed and required him to open it. Very slowly, he slid the book onto the counter, drawing out the motion, hoping Elliot would become impatient and do something stupid.
That was when Grace, in a rather perky voice, announced from behind them both, “My goodness! The service in this shop has gone downhill.”
Elliot gasped, and Ward felt the pressure of the blade on his neck loosen slightly, so he reached up and wrapped his fingers around Elliot’s wrist in a crushing grip, jerking the knife away from his throat. Elliot gasped again, perhaps more in pain than surprise this time, and Ward twisted his wrist, driving the much slighter man toward the hardwood floor. “My arm!” he cried.
As Ward continued to twist, furious that the little asshole had gotten the jump on him, furious that he’d let a shifty little creep cast a spell in front of him, Grace continued to taunt the man, “Does your arm hurt, baby? Maybe you should think about that before you threaten a man’s life! Maybe you shouldn’t be playing with magic you can barely comprehend!”
“Wh-who are—Ack!” he cried as Ward vented his frustration on his arm, twisting until something in his elbow cracked. As Elliot sobbed, Ward pressed his boot into his back, holding him face down.
“Thanks,” he muttered, nodding to Grace.
“Get his spell. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“N-no! Please!”
“Shut up, or I’ll take your life, too.” Ward was red-faced with rage. He wanted to hit something—angrier with himself than the little creep. He forced himself to take a calming breath, then turned to the counter. Sure enough, the idiot had left his book open, face down. He jerked his thumb at Grace, nudging Elliot with his boot. “You see that woman?”
Between sobs, Elliot looked at Grace, sitting daintily on the countertop, her bare feet swinging. “Yes,” he whimpered.
“Make a move, and she’ll burn you from the inside out. Look at her eyes! She’s a fire sorceress!”
Elliot said something, but it was too garbled by his sobs to understand. Ward dropped his limp, twisted arm and turned to pick up the other man’s spellbook. “I’m going to take this spell.” Ward read the page to ensure it had the correct words—Dhrak Vel—in the title. It did, and, more than that, it had the forms diagramed in neat, clear notations beneath the spell description. He tugged it free from the spellbook, ripping the page from the binding but careful not to tear anything important.
“No!” Elliot cried again, genuine tears pouring from his bloody eyes.
As Ward flipped through the other pages, noting rambling diatribes about possible words of power but no other pages of neat printing like the one he’d torn free, Grace said, “You should lock the door, Ward.”
The admonition drove home the seriousness of the situation. To a witness who wandered in, it would surely look like Ward was robbing the place. If he left Elliot to spin a tale, it could look bad for him. Not only could the man describe him, but he knew his name.
“You know what? Screw this.” Ward slammed the sloppy spellbook shut, then reached down to grasp Elliot by the back of his arm, wrapping his fingers around his slender biceps. Eliciting another yelp of pain and more sobs, he yanked the would-be thief to his feet.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked, hopping down from the counter.
“Watch him for a sec.” He winked at her. “If he moves, immolate him.”
Grace’s eyes seemed to flare more brightly as she moved closer to Elliot. “Do it, little man. Move! I’ve been wanting to burn something!”
While Grace toyed with his prisoner, Ward stuffed his new spell into his spellbook and tucked it safely away into his backpack. He slung the pack on, put his hand on Blazewitch’s stock, then prodded the thick barrel into Elliot’s back. “Come on, asshole. I’m turning you in to the city watch.”
Elliot protested and begged, but Ward marched him out of the shop, taking a moment to turn the sign to read “Closed” as they exited. “If you try to run or even attempt to lie to the watch, I’m going to end you, Elliot, and I’ll call it a sorcerer’s duel. Nobody in this town is going to argue.”
“I wonder if maybe you should just do that anyway, Ward—”
“That moment’s passed. At least unless he messes up.” Ward prodded Elliot. “Straight to the, uh, city watch station.” He had no idea what to call the place. Barracks?
“The guardhouse, sir?”
“Yes. Let’s move.” He prodded him again, and Elliot, right shoulder slumped, head down, shuffled down the street. Several people stared at them as they passed, but a glare from Ward, his eyes glowing in the shadows of his hat, reminded them that it wasn’t any of their business. A member of the city watch caught Ward’s eye when they came to the far side of the market, walking toward the corner of Main Street again. “Walk over to that guardswoman.”
Elliot stumbled forward, and when the woman in her maroon tabard and conical helm understood that Ward was marching him at gunpoint, she leaned her spear against the wall and unslung a blunderbuss from her back. “What ‘av we ‘ere, gentlemen?”
Elliot croaked, “This man attacked—”
Ward stepped closer to him and gripped the back of his neck, jostling him. “Quiet, you rat!” He looked at the woman and saw her skeptical look. Her eyebrows narrowed dangerously.
“I’ll ask again. What ‘av—”
“This man tried to relieve me of a precious belonging as I perused the shop where he works—Raskin’s Alchemy.”
“My uncle’s shop!”
Ward shook his neck again. “Quiet! As he said, it’s his uncle’s shop, or I’d have killed him for his thievery, and I would have been within my rights, as we’re both on the Road.”
The guardswoman surprised Ward by shrugging. “Well, then what ya need me for?”
“N-no!” Elliot cried. “I didn’t accept any duel!”
“You held a knife to my throat, you little weasel,” Ward growled. “Anyway, I didn’t want to kill him in his uncle’s shop, so I figured I’d hand him over to you folks. If you don’t want him, I could take him out the city gates and put an end to this—”
“No! Please! Listen, Ward, sir, I made a mistake. I don’t want to—”
“Oh, bother! I’ve seen ‘nuff. Jus’ ‘and ‘im over, then.” The woman slung her blunderbuss back over her shoulder and reached out to grasp Elliot’s wounded arm. He screamed bloody murder when she tugged on it. “Got a sore arm, then? Why di’nt ya say so?” She grasped his other arm. “I’ll put ‘im in lockup. If ya want to file a criminal report, follow along.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll kick ‘im loose after his thought over his rotten ways for a few days.”
Ward nodded. “Good enough for me.” The woman shrugged, picked up her spear, and marched Elliot away, up the street toward the city gates. He tried to remember if he’d seen a “guardhouse” there but couldn’t place it in his memory.
“That worked out all right. You’ve got a new spell, and if we were criminally inclined, we could probably go and empty out that alchemy shop—”
“Grace, c’mon. We’re trying to do ‘good,’ remember?”
She nodded, rubbing her chin, the fire in her eyes dimming slowly. “Right. Right. Of course. That wasn’t his shop, so we’d only be punishing poor Raskin. He’s already got to deal with having an absolute creep for a nephew.”
“Exactly.” Ward sighed and leaned against the brick wall of a nearby building—a leather shop. “Damn, Grace. If that guy hadn’t been able to see you, we might have been in trouble. Nice distraction!”
“Well, it seems likely that most people with ‘the touch’ can see and hear me. Whatever happened to Haley gave her the same ability. Anyway, even without my help, I bet you would have figured out a way to get the upper hand. That guy wasn’t too clever.”
“Sometimes the dumbest people do the worst damn things, Grace. It didn’t feel good having that knife on my throat.”
She clapped him on the shoulder and clicked her tongue at him. “C’mon Ward. Let’s go have a couple of beers while we wait for Haley. You can check out that spell a little more closely.”
Ward nodded, already imagining the taste of cold ale on his tongue. “Sounds like a plan.”