Page 9 of The Mage's Rake
“You are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are—“
I turned to stare at him, opening and closing my mouth wordlessly, no doubt imitating a fish. Then, shaking my head, I continued to stomp down the main street of Rimefrost. I was not about to let myself get drawn into some infantile game with Hugh. Not today. At least, not in public. Behind me, silent once more, Hugh trailed after. He caught up with me easily, his long, loose-limbed stride matching mine. There was something graceful about the way he moved—like a dancer, a dancing fighter. It was hard not to watch Hugh walk.
Oh gods. Save me, I prayed.I’m getting distracted by the sway of a tom’s hips. I might as well cast myself on a pyre right now and be done with it.
I peeked sideways. Hugh’s gaze was riveted on the crowds ahead of us. I followed his sharp gaze, recognizing the largest market of Rimefrost open before us. As we continued down the slight hill of the road, I noticed the thick crowds gathered round the main stage. A tom had been put in the stocks and was being jeered at. Something to do with rotten fish, going by the rough plaque placed above his head. Another tom had been placed inside a barrel and was being made to walk around the square. Something about beer. Hugh told me this was a common practice.
Hugh stopped by a stall selling pastries. As he ordered two freshly baked turnovers, I glanced about with curiosity. I did not often come down to the market. It wasn’t my favorite place—too crowded, too noisy, too smelly. It was the farthest thingfrom the White Tower imaginable. Dirty, packed, noxious. Yet, there was an energy in the late winter air. The chill remained, hanging about the corners of Rimefrost, but the red cheeks, the boisterous shouts, the lively movement of Rimefrost’s citizens spoke to rising spirits undampened by the long winter.
Among them all, Hugh seemed to fit, oddly enough. He appeared to draw energy from the crowds. As mollies and toms passed by, Hugh clapped shoulders, shook hands, and even embraced a few passersby who recognized him. Everyone seemed to know Hugh. He had a jest for some, a tidbit of court gossip for others. A few kits who raced over showed off their attempt at juggling. Hugh could, apparently, juggle better.
Finally, the pastries were done. Hugh’s coin was refused. Free pastries. The bastard.
Of course, I received the second, so I bit my tongue, smiled graciously at the stall owner, and followed Hugh through the press of the crowds, as I slowly nibbled on the crispy, steaming apple turnover in my hand.
“Many thanks, Hugh,” I finally said. A little grudgingly, but I said it. “For… you know, everything.”
Hugh shot me a smile and shrugged.
“My pleasure, Alan.”
We finally managed to get past the main press of the crowds, leaving behind the gay awnings, the rows of fresh produce, the haggling, and the hawking. Now we strolled up the main street to the castle. Far from the noise of the crowd, I could finally hear myself think… and hear Hugh as well. Hugh seemed to have spoken genuinely. Three simple words. My name. My heart skipped a beat.
“What do you think?” Hugh finally asked softly, as we passed by the main gates of the castle.
“About the pastry?” I asked in a deadpan voice. “Perfectly crispy. Proper amount of honey and cinnamon. Five out of five—“ I stopped at the look on Hugh’s face. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”
Hugh led the way up to the castle’s battlements. The right side was clear of guards. Perfect for speaking in. I would have preferred the warmth of my rooms or the laboratory, but I hunkered down behind a wide merion while Hugh leaned against an embrasure, enjoying the nippy gusts of wind. He nibbled on his pastry thoughtfully and waited for my report. Hugh had remained at my side the entire time, so no doubt he had his own opinions on our investigation, but it was clear that he wanted my perspective. A warmth spread through my chest at the realization. Most people didn’t really account for my opinion when it came to court affairs. Hugh, however, seemed to consider me his equal.
“I—“ I took a deep breath, told myself to calm down, and began the most cogent report I could give without notice. “As you can guess by how chatty the shopkeepers were today, everyone knows everyone in our world.”
“The world of magick and alchemy.”
“Yes. Exactly. Like the court, you know.” I continued. “My first tests on the assassin’s stomach contents led us to believe that the culprit hailed from the west. Tests on the substance coating the knife revealed that it was poison.” Patting my satchel, I added, “I will run further tests with the ingredients I bought today in order to break down the exact concoction of said poison. However, my guess is that Mowen is our best bet.”
“Mowen. Hm. But the ledgers were clean… So I must assume that there are other ledgers?”
“You assume correctly.”
I finished the pastry, brushed leftover crumbs off the front of my wool coat, and turned to look up at Hugh.
“I suppose that means a judicious visit to Mowen’s after dark is in order,” sighed Hugh. “Unless the others took my hint? Do you think we can rely on any of the others to search for us?”
“We can.” I nodded. “Between you and me, we dropped enough hints that there’s coin to be had for any news of movement in the undermarket, or black market as you call it. The initial tests I had run on the poison suggested specific ingredients. My guess is that Earyn will come through for us. He has ears everywhere. I believe Mowen supplied the Night Blades with the ingredients, if not the poisonous potion itself.”
“Hm.”
Hugh gazed out across the city, rested his elbows on rough gray stone, slowly finished his pastry, and fell into deep thought. It was odd to see him so quiet, but I moved to stand by him and enjoyed the moment.
“And there’s the other matter to consider,” I said. “The, er, affliction you survived last night.”
“You have an idea of what caused it?”
“A potion slipped into your drink would be my guess.” I thought back to the thick tome I had quickly checked before our day trip. “I checked with one of my reference tomes. One popular brew was mentioned. Most of the ingredients are fairly common… except one. A flower from the far south. Bleezie Ellen’s ledgers. A month ago. Someone ordered it in specially. It stood out instantly. I wrote down a name, but if the true buyer had any sense or guile, they would have contacted a middle seller. Nevertheless, I did note the name. You never know. They might not be as intelligent as they thought they were.”
