Four days later, Chrysanthemum and Aitonala turned into the gateway of a country house half an hour’s walk outside Dtlag. They slowed to take in the formal gardens at the front, the park sloping away to the river to one side, the statuary moving smoothly from pose to pose, then climbed the steps to the main entrance, where a servant awaited.
“The Magician Chrysanthemum and Probationer Aitonala of the Guild of Select Services.”
“You are welcome. The Gentle Ferdino awaits you in the library, together with others of your party. This way, please.” She ushered the two through a hall illuminated by antique stone globes hanging from silver chains, through an ante-room whose pale gold walls were covered with parchments, medallions and glass tablets attesting to honours won and ranks bestowed and into the library. This stretched across the wing, letting large windows at each end admit afternoon light on books, maps, trophies and a circle of couches drawn up around a hearthstone. Around this, admiring the flickers of illusory flame over the stone and the faint scents of burning wood emitted by a fine porcelain vase, stood a small group. The room and the mansion as a whole breathed wealth carefully accumulated over the centuries.
Ferdino came forward to welcome them, a man of perhaps thirty years of age, not so much plump as well-padded, clad in the soft velvet gown and slippers of the Dtlag gentry at home.
“Welcome to my home. If you will permit me, I will introduce you first. These gentlemen are the Magician Grymwer, Comrade of the Three Faces Doryid and Ensign Rakt of Tonish; this lady the Aspirant of the Falling Leaf Society Kosohona (have I pronounced that right? Splendid!). Grymwer, Doryid, Rakt, Kosohona (ha! I got it right!), may I introduce the Magician Chrysanthemum and Aitonala, Probationer of the Guild of Select Services.
One other is expected shortly, and then we will begin. In the meantime, may I offer you something to drink? Redflower wine? Cordial?”
As Ferdino chattered away to Aitonala, Chrysanthemum exchanged formal greetings with those named. Grymwer was tall, heavily-built, not much older than herself, with the blonde hair and pale eyes of the Brahnak, his skin deeply tanned by exposure to sun and wind. His polite murmur of greeting was accented but perfectly understandable. Kosohona had the classic red-brown skin and high nose of the Saka, while Doryid was less typical but still, by his dress, a Saka. Both were clearly members of high-craft orders: a leaf tattoo accented Kosohona’s left cheek, while Doryid’s cheeks and forehead were marked with three lines, one for each of the Saka aspects of death. They set aside plain swords in worn scabbards to touch hands briefly to heart, head and face-mark. Rakt had dark skin, blunt features and a soldierly bearing. All had clearly put some effort into their dress, and Chrysanthemum was glad she had polished her boots and picked out a fine moth-silk scarf from the finery her mother sent her.
Chrysanthemum was searching for something neutral yet not banal to say when Rakt saved her the trouble.
“It is just Chrysanthemum, no? That is a flower, yes?” This was said with an easy smile.“Yes, just Chrysanthemum,” she agreed. “I have other names – one set from my father, another from my mother, but Chrysanthemum is simpler. I prefer Chrys. Is it ‘just Rakt’?”
“I too have other names but, like you, I will not burden others with them. You have word-magic, no?”
“I do. I gained my scroll just last week.”
“That is good. I am told magic runs strong in the Wild, and we have,” - he scanned the group - “two with word-magic, three with body-magic and two with steel. It is a good balance. And here is the last.”
Chrysanthemum looked across to see the servant ushering in the last of the party, a compact man whose clothes and manner marked him as an ordinary member of the Dtlag gentry. As Ferdino introduced the newcomer as the Gentle Venalse, Chrys took a second look. Dusty boots, a discreet patch on a sleeve, worn cuffs to the shirt, no jewelled pins, hair a little ragged – clearly the Gentle was not currently enjoying prosperity.
Ferdino coughed, recalling Aitonala from her study of the south garden. Just outside the window a statue of a lithe youth had flowed into a particularly striking pose, one that nearly dislodged his skimpy loincloth.
“If you all would gather around this table, ladies and gentlemen, I will be happy to lay out my proposal. I do, of course, ask that you keep confidential what you learn here today, whether or no you agree to the venture.” The party assented and Ferdino moved on.
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“The task I propose you undertake is to recover the Ancestor Book of my house. It looks much like this present one,” here Ferdino gestured at a set of thick leather covers, ornately embossed and holding a collection of parchments covered with seals, ribbons, tablets and stamps, “although thicker, of course.
The Book left here with my great-aunt Maudil, fifty-seven years ago. She was a noted magician, and felt that her brother failed to support her researches in the art, so she left for the Wild.”
Chrysanthemum shared a grimace of understanding with Grymwer. The tendency of senior magicians to become erratic, remove to remote locations and pursue increasingly arcane branches of the art was proverbial.
Ferdino resumed “Great-aunt Maudil’s motives in taking the book are unknown. She took a number of other objects as well, possibly just to annoy my grand-father. He was not a ..” Ferdino hesitated, “a sympathetic person. In any event, nothing more was heard of Maudil, although it may be that my grandfather was so bitter about the cost of repairs to the east wing (never mind the un-transmogrification of the rose-garden) that he refused any communication.”
“The Eig Wild is a large place,” remarked Kosohona drily “and the trail would seem rather cold.”
“Yes, yes. Yet, after all these years, a clue has emerged, a thread which, if it holds, might lead to the Book. Just five weeks gone, one of the objects taken by Great-aunt Maudil was seen. If there is one, there could be others.”
“And this was..?” Venalse raised an eyebrow.
“An herb-hunter, one of your nation,” Ferdino bowed to Doryid and Kosohona “taking scream-wort in the Wild was concealed above a path when an underman passed. Fortunately she had an Item bestowing sharp sight and her scrutiny showed, among other things, that the underman wore a silver pectoral engraved with our family emblem: three swallows above a stream. She mentioned this to a colleague, who happened to recognise the emblem and directed her to us.
There is no doubt the pectoral was among the objects that left with great-aunt Maudil – it is listed so in the inventory my grandfather took shortly after the event. It occurred to me that, with a little daring, the underman might be captured and persuaded to yield the origin of the piece. I took precise notes on the place of the encounter, and the herb-hunter was able to indicate the most probable location of the undermen lair or den.”
“I have done a little hunting in the Wild,” observed Venalse, “Several questions arise: assuming we find the undermen, how do we take their chief alive (for an object such as the pectoral would be worn only by the chief)? And, if we do so, how do we ask him where he got it? Also, of what type was this underman? The smaller ones are not too much trouble, although they do run in packs, but the bigger ones can be awkward to deal with.”
“I understand he was of the middling sort,” Ferdino responded, “As for the other issues, while gathering you all here, I discussed the matter with a former Wild-runner, and then made inquiries about suitable Items. If you accept this venture, I will provide two Toffee-Apples, which enwrap those they hit in a sticky mass. This should allow you to take the underman alive. I have also procured some Green Liar Paste. Smear this on the tongue, and any lie spoken will cause a flash of light.”
Grymwer added “I can understand some underman talk. I lived for a time in Salweil, up north on the Green Sea. They use undermen as shock troops, and I picked up a bit.”
“So,” Ferdino looked around “We have a guide to the lair, the means to take the underman alive, to question him, and to sort truth from lies. You have several sorts of magic, a variety of talents and skill with weapons. What more can we want?”
“That brings us to money,” Aitonala noted cheerfully. “My Guild-Mistress gave me a broad outline, but it would help if we could have an exact understanding.”
“Of course.” Ferdino hunted about on the table until he found a small stack of papers. “These contracts specify that each of you is entitled to ten League silver tulips per day, to a maximum of fifty days, and all those who return will receive an additional one thousand silver tulips on return of the Ancestor Book.”
The amount seemed fair, even generous, to Chrysanthemum. The daily sum was more than a skilled crafts-person might earn in Dtlag, certainly more than her fellows would earn as Practitioners in training. Still she watched quietly as half an hour of exquisitely courteous exchanges between Ferdino and Venalse resulted in agreement that Ferdino would meet any reasonable expenses incurred in outfitting and advance each member five days’ pay.
Chrysanthemum used the time to again think on whether she really wanted to do this. It was, after all, still a long way from the career options she had been considering (and rejecting) a week ago. Her intended companions all looked to have more experience or more training suited to this venture than she. Would the two or three word-spells she could cast each day make much of a difference? On the other hand, the money was nice, the experience could do no harm, and how much risk could there be in a month’s hike, even in the Wild? Undermen could be dangerous, but were not in the same class as dragons. She would, she decided, give it a go. She could use the time to think about her future career and then move on when she got back. When the time came, she pressed her seal into the wax and squiggled her signature beside it. Aitonala concealed a smile.