"Questor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Archibald Alaistair J.)

Chapter 3: A Spell of Technology

Grimm stood before a full-length mirror in the tiled bathroom of his Haven room. With a minimum of fuss, he selected a red-and-black robe from his travelling-bag, along with a random handful of rings and pendants with which to adorn himself. Although he found great satisfaction in the wearing of fine clothes, he did not really care for baubles and gewgaws; however, his friend Dalquist had told him during Grimm's first Quest that Seculars seemed more impressed by a mage who wore such trappings.

He donned the robe and the gaudy jewels with an air of glum resignation; even the opulence of his expensive silk robe could not lift Grimm's encroaching melancholy.

Grimm had first encountered Drex when the girl attempted to steal his purse in the town of Griven. On learning that the penalty for theft in Griven was a period of slavery, he bribed the guard to sell Drex to him, whereupon he freed her. When the girl declared a solemn obligation and refused to leave him, Xylox became enraged, and Grimm defied his senior. The older mage allowed Drex to remain in the group, as Grimm's responsibility, but he vowed to recommend that the younger Questor be stricken from the rolls of the Guild.

Whatever else Grimm might think of the acerbic Questor, he had no reason to think Xylox a liar or an emotional blusterer.

Once deprived of his hard-won status as Mage Questor, all that would remain of Grimm's years of struggle would be the Barony of Crar, and he doubted he would retain that position for long, once the Crarian Council discovered that he was a disgraced sorcerer, stripped of all power. In all probability, he would have to sell his fine wardrobe just to be able to live, until he could find a suitable trade. He was too old to be taken on as an apprentice, and he had no skills suitable for life in the Secular world.

Of course, Grimm knew, his grandparents, Loras and Drima, would take him in, but he could not bear to face the anger of his only known relatives at throwing away the wonderful chance he had been given to wash away the stains that tainted the name of Afelnor. Infinitely worse than harsh anger would be a reaction of bitter disappointment, or one of pity.

Once again, he cursed himself for his stupidity in opposing the proud Xylox.

With almost mechanical efficiency, Grimm dressed himself and began to arrange his hair and his beard, a living automaton going through a predetermined sequence of actions. As he withdrew a small pair of scissors from his bag, he felt the slightest shifting of weight in the leather receptacle. He stood back, arms akimbo, with a dark frown on his face.

A tiny, grey, bullet-like head slowly came into view. Wearing a sheepish expression, the minuscule demon drew himself from the bag and onto the slick tiles.

"Thribble!" Grimm crowed "Have you been following me yet again, in defiance of my strict instructions?"

"I am sorry, Questor Grimm," Thribble squeaked. "You lead such an interesting life that I could not bear to be left behind."

"I checked this bag three times before I left the House," the Questor said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How did you manage to sneak on board?"

Thribble gave a squeaky snort, as if Grimm's question were nothing more than an insult to a mighty intellect.

"I may be small, human, but I am still a demon, with a demon's powers. As you searched the bag, I just shifted myself an inch or so into my native dimension. I cannot completely break the inter-dimensional veil, but I can extend into it sufficiently to hide myself from crude human sight. I did think that, since I once saved your life, you might show me a little more respect."

Grimm rubbed his brow to ease the dull, throbbing pain residing there. "I'm sorry, Thribble," he said, finding a welcome laugh escaping his mouth. "Of course you're welcome to join me, although I should warn you that this interesting phase of my life may soon be at an end. I made a dreadful mistake, one that will cost me my status as a Guild Mage."

The minute demon's thread-like brows lifted.

"Really, human?" Thribble did not sound at all concerned at this revelation. "You must tell me all about it. I have been suffocating in that stifling little bag since we left Arnor, and I suffered much on the mountain. I do think you owe me a full report of what has occurred since."

The young mage sighed. Xylox would probably be furious if he ever found out about the miniature netherworld mimic and storyteller, but would a diminution of his senior colleague's already low opinion worsen Grimm's eventual fate?

Probably not, but it would be better not to take too many chances; with luck, I may still be able to convince Xylox I'm worth something, if I can do well in this Quest.

"Very well, Thribble," he said. "I only ask one thing: the senior Questor, Xylox, holds my fate in his hands, so I order you… no, I beg you, not to reveal yourself to him, and to listen with your mouth shut. In return, I'll tell you everything that's happened on the Quest so far, and you may ride in my pocket for its remainder."

The Questor sat on the edge of the bath and told Thribble all he could about the Quest. He spoke of what he knew of General Q; how he, Grimm, had ransomed Drexelica; his subsequent, fulminating argument with Xylox and the trip to Haven. In truth, he found that telling the demon about his actions was a blessed catharsis and release, and he felt surprised at his growing eagerness to recount every detail.

As he finished his account, he heard a sharp rap at the door to the chamber. "Quickly; inside, now, Thribble," he said, opening wide a pocket in his robe. Obligingly, the demon hopped inside and lay still.

Grimm opened the door to see a sour-faced Xylox. "So, Questor Grimm, you think my summons beneath you? Let me remind you that you have sworn to commit yourself to my authority for the remainder of this Quest in return for simple dismissal from the Guild. Have you forgotten that the alternative is banishment to the nether regions of the House for an unspecified period? You seem determined on the latter course."

Grimm felt his anger at Xylox's didactic manner rise within him, like lava welling up inside a volcano, but he held it in check. "Questor Xylox; on my honour, I have received no summons of any kind from you. My aura will reveal to your Sight that I speak the truth."

Xylox's gaze bore down into Grimm's eyes, but the younger man did not flinch. "I have been competent in Telepathy for some fifteen years now," the senior Questor growled. "Are you trying to tell me that my efforts to contact you for the last ten minutes have been to no avail?"

Grimm fought to contain his fierce, roiling emotions, but a hot tinge of ire licked though his body at Xylox's contemptuous, dismissive tone.

"Xylox the Mighty," Grimm said, his eyes narrowed, "you may be proficient in a thousand spells, but the simple truth of the matter is that I have received no contact from you. You may well decide to call me irresponsible and feckless, unfit to bear the Guild Ring; indeed, you have already done so. But I will accept from you no imputation of deceit. I have never lied to you or any other Guildbrother, and I will never do so. My offer remains. Look within my soul, and you will see within me emotions aplenty, but no deception."

His voice rose to an impassioned shout. "You have destroyed me, Questor Xylox; I may not find that palatable, but I must accept it. Thoughtless I may be, but a teller of falsehoods I am not, and I resent the implication with all my heart."

Grimm folded his arms across his chest, and his eyes remained locked upon those of Xylox. For a few moments more, the older man stood impassive before his junior, but he then looked away and nodded.

"I apologise for doubting your word, Questor Grimm," the senior mage said. "I shall not inspect your aura, since you have never given me the slightest cause for doubting your veracity, despite all your other faults.

"However, I admit to grave misgivings. If my comments caused offence, I withdraw them. However, I have sent you several telepathic messages over the last few minutes, and I know they were well sent; some aspect of this hell-spawned hotbed of accursed Technology must have prevented them from reaching you."

Grimm rubbed his chin. "Perhaps these metal walls prevent the free passage of Telepathy," he said. "Magemaster Crohn once told me that iron absorbs magic from the outside, but blocks it from the inside. Until now, I have never quite understood what he meant, but I think these homogeneous metal cells must act as some kind of prison for magical energies. When I was callow enough to study the art of Technology, I read of a mysterious construct the ancients called a 'Faraday Cage', which somehow preserved secrecy by blocking the passage of energy to the outside; perhaps these rooms are such cages."

Xylox nodded slowly. "This smacks of intrigue, Questor Grimm; we must all be on our guard. I was already suspicious of our welcome here. Such an isolated place can know little of thaumaturgic ways, and yet Armitage seemed to be well aware of the existence of Guild Mages such as you and me. Perhaps the 'Pacification' of mages that was mentioned during our encounter outside Griven is carried out here. What could persuade a group of Guild Mages to ally themselves to the forces of this General Quelgrum other than Technology?

"I wished to tell you that I have a magical gem that can detect the presence of noxious, pernicious or narcotic substances, and that I will use this to assay all food or drink offered to us at Armitage's table. I suspect incipient treachery, and I believe that Haven may well be in league with General Quelgrum. You will allow me to appraise each kind of refreshment or sustenance offered before partaking of it. If I should say that any such matter is forbidden to us, then you must refuse it; my gem will have signalled to me that it is poisoned. Kindly summon our companions from their rooms, for I wish to ensure that nobody is befuddled or enslaved by the ingestion of strange substances."

Grimm could not help but note the stress Xylox laid on his last few words; perhaps the older man had heard of his earlier narcotic addiction. The haughty mage had not preserved his amicable mood for long.

"Dear friends, I welcome you once more to the bounteous haven of Haven," intoned Armitage, raising a glass of wine to the adventurers, as they sat at a large, round table, on which was laid a bewildering array of cutlery.

Crest and Tordun wore their customary simple clothes, but even they seemed to have taken great pains over their appearance. Even Xylox had chosen to wear lush velvet in place of his usual rough, homespun robes. However, the most startling change was in Drexelica's appearance. Her former tangled rat's-nest of hair now shone, hanging down her back like a long, silken snake. In place of the grubby rags she had worn before, she now wore an emerald-green satin dress that changed her aspect from that of a street urchin to a lady of the court.

In the corridor between their rooms, she had enthused to Grimm about the new-found elegance Haven had given her. Gleefully, she had told him of how three Haven women had worked on her hair, her clothes and her face; he had to acknowledge that their efforts and the subtlest application cosmetics had transformed her from a bedraggled waif into a true beauty. The effect was dazzling, and the young mage, who had led a cloistered life in the company of boys and old men, had had to make a conscious effort of will to direct his mind to the task at hand: the gathering of information concerning the General and his operations.

Xylox lifted the glass of ruby-coloured liquid before him, and regarded it with a critical eye. "Administrator Armitage, I believe this is an alcoholic brew. I regret to inform you that such beverages are forbidden to Guild Mages, and to the people of Drute. Pure water will be quite acceptable to us."

Armitage laughed. "How foolish of me; of course, I was quite unaware of your local customs. We have been isolated for so long from our cousins on the flatlands that we are ignorant of valley traditions."

Grimm sensed that the man was deceiving them: his Sight confirmed it. Regardless of protocol, regardless of Xylox's opinion of him, he chose to confront the Administrator directly. The smug, confident air of the man infuriated him.

"Armitage, you have made the mistake of offering us tainted wine," he growled. "You may now end your pathetic deception; you are discovered. You intend to keep us here, not as guests, but as prisoners or as experimental subjects. Know now that you have invited the wrath of a pair of Guild Questors who can sense your deception, and who can destroy your vile nest of Technology with a mere word. You are not the benign philanthrope you try to portray, but a worthless minion of General Quelgrum.

"Ha! You cannot deny it now; I have seen the change in your aura at my mention of the name. You are discovered. Tell us what you know and give us passage to the other side of the mountains, or die. The choice is yours."

Grimm looked towards Xylox, and the senior mage nodded vehemently. Enough of polite detente!

"Talk and live, Armitage, or resist and die," the senior Questor breathed. You have no idea of the destructive power of an angry Questor, and you do not wish to encounter it, I assure you."

Armitage raised his hands, as if in surrender to superior forces. "Very well, gentlemen, I am discovered. Your pale-faced friend there looks as if he could tear my head off with a single gesture. Let him try. Come on, pink-eyes: attack me if you can."

The Administrator spat at the giant Tordun, who leapt to his feet, his huge fists balled, and Grimm expected carnage. However, after a few moments, the albino sat back in his chair and shrugged, his face breaking into an improbable, seraphic smile.

"Is there no spirit left in the world?" Armitage asked. "Hey, look at the pointy-eared freak! Are those daggers real weapons, or are you just posing as a dartboard? Perhaps you would like to attack me, scarecrow?"

Grimm knew well how Crest responded to either real or imagined insults, but the hot-tempered half-elf only shrugged at Armitage's slights.

The Questor knew at least that his mind was still his own, but he bided his time until the Haven Administrator might address him. The others might be ensorcelled, but he, at least, was free.

"What about you, Mr. High and Mighty Mage?"

Armitage pointed at Xylox and then leaned forward to flick the senior mage's lips with his index finger. Xylox's only reaction was to frown and brush Armitage's hand aside.

The Haven man stepped behind Drexelica and squeezed her left breast. Under normal circumstances, Grimm would have expected the fierce hellion to scratch his eyes out; however, she merely muttered, "Please don't do that, Armitage."

The master of Technology tickled the underside of the girl's chin.

"New, fresh genetic material is just what we need to survive. Soon you will be welcoming my touch, I assure you."

Grimm could feel the power building within him. His companions had succumbed to the Administrator's mysterious power like lambs going to the slaughter; it seemed to be up to him to resist and to prevail.

"Ah, the skinny kid; you have no idea of the effect of tight-beam ultrasonics, do you, boy?"

"I will defy you and defeat you." Grimm felt a cold shock as his voice emerged from his lips dull and listless. It sounded as if another man had spoken.

"Oh, very well then, Grimm," Armitage sneered. "You've beaten me. Strike while you can, by all means. I am undefended."

Grimm strained to find the words to turn his boiling inner power into action, but a deep ennui seeped through his soul. "I don't want to hurt you," was all he could say.

Armitage smiled. "They told me Questors were dangerous, but they seem as soft as butter to me; Technology can beat superstitious delusions any time. Gentlemen, and my dear, dear lady, you are all mine now. The General will be pleased."

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