Fanuilh Read online

  Liam whistled in awed admiration and the dawning of an idea.

  At the far end of the table stood a lectern, over the edge of which hung a heavy chain. With his eyes fixed on the model, Liam moved around to the lectern. A massive leatherbound book lay open on it, held down with the chain. Tarquin's spellbook, Liam supposed, and read the first few lines on the page that lay open. Abstract,.theoretical language, studded with phrases in some foreign tongue Liam had never met; nonetheless, he understood enough of what was written in Taralonian. It was a spell for removing matter to another plane of existence; "translating substance," the text called it.

  "He made the Teeth disappear," he whispered. "Damn!" As a last act, Liam thought, there could be few better. A final testament to Tarquin's power, grandiose proof of his reputation in Southwark as a truly great wizard. Liam wondered if Tarquin knew that it would be his last spell when he cast it.

  A paper-thin piece of wood projected from further on in the book, marking another page. Liam pushed the heavy pages aside and scanned the lines of the second spell. Much of the language was the same, and he recognized some of the foreign phrases, but the point of this one was to cloak matter, to make it invisible.

  If Tarquin had been trying to decide which spell to use, he must have chosen the one for transforming matter, or else Necquer's ships would have been resting quietly beneath the sea, not to mention Necquer himself.

  Could someone have killed the wizard for that?

  Liam's eyes lost their focus on the page as he thought.

  Who would want to kill Tarquin? As far as Liam knew, the old man had no enemies—at least none that he had spoken about. Then again, he did not know much about the wizard. When they had spoken, it had only been in generalities, about faraway places or things long past. Nothing about each other's lives in Southwark, or their present business. But then Tarquin was a wizard, and they made enemies everywhere. They quarreled among themselves, they had disagreements with those ,who sought their services, they were marked out by power for the fear and suspicions of the masses. It would not have been hard for Tarquin to acquire enemies, but it was strange that a man who could alter the work of nature in such a way could not defend himself.

  I am awake.

  It was a thought like the first; hard-edged and stony, brazenly pushing other thoughts away to grab his attention. His head snapped over to look at the table where he had put Fanuilh.

  You have eaten. I should eat as well.

  There was no doubt the thought came from Fanuilh, and

  Liam remembered the bite. Why had the thing bitten him?

  So that we would be one. I must eat, but I am weak.

  Liam crossed the room slowly, eyeing the little dragon. Its yellow eyes never left his.

  "Are you doing this? Putting thoughts in my head?"

  You do not need to speak. Only think. And I am.

  "How?"

  We are one. May I eat?The serpentine head nudged at the final bun Liam held in his hand. Liam knelt by the edge of the table, so that his eyes were on a level with the dragon's, and held out the food.

  Fanuilh's head snaked out and ripped off a large bite, chewing and swallowing in rapid gulps. Liam watched, fascinated, as the dragon ate more, gulping down the whole bun in seconds. When it was done, it began very gently licking its claws, though it continued to stare at him.

  You are confused.

  "How are we one?"

  You know already. You are wiser than you seem.

  "Then—you are like a familiar to me? Bound in that way?"

  As you are bound to me. We share a soul now; your soul rests partly in me, and partly still in you.

  Liam rose, shaking his head in confusion. "Why did you never speak like this before?"

  We were never one before. This can only be done between those who are one. Look.

  Suddenly, Liam's sight went black. He cried out, and then his vision returned, but his perspective was wrong. He was looking up into an angular, unlined face, framed with close-cropped blond hair. Pale blue eyes rolled sightlessly on either side of a long, thin nose. It was his nose; he was looking at his own face.

  You see with my eyes.

  "I want to see with my eyes!" he said, and there was another sickening jolt of blindness before he returned to his own perspective. The dragon's head was cocked to one side, regarding him curiously. "Never do that again!" he admonished shakily.

  You can do it as well.

  "I don't want to!"

  Perhaps you will.

  There was a long silence. Liam wondered, and then stopped wondering, realizing the dragon could read his thoughts.

  "I want you out of my head!"

  You can keep me out.

  "How?" he demanded.

  I will show you, but you must do things for me.

  "Do things for you? You've stolen my soul, you little beast! I want you out of my head!"

  I am sorry. It was necessary. I was dying. We may—

  Liam felt the edge of the thought, notched like the blade of a broken sword, as the dragon paused—We may make a bargain.

  "A bargain! What have you got in return for my soul?"

  We only share it. I would not have taken even a small pan, were it not necessary. Master Tanaquil thought my gifts wonh a small pan of his soul. And it does you no harm. But if you help me only a little more, I can teach you things.

  "What things?" Liam demanded.

  There are things that must be done, and then I will teach you.

  "What things?"

  How to keep me out, how to see with my eyes. Other things as well.

  Despite himself, Liam was intrigued .

  "Magic?"

  Not much. You do not have the mind for the complicated kinds. But smaller ones, perhaps, and other things. I can help you write your book.

  "My book? How did you know of that?" The dragon cocked its head again, and Liam raised a hand. "No, never mind. I understand."

  I shared all these things with Master Tanaquil. I can teach you. If you will do things for me.The dragon still looked directly at him, but there was no expression in the creature's eyes.

  Liam heaved himself to his feet, favoring his unbitten leg. "What things?"

  First, you must bring me more food. In the kitchen, think of raw meat, desire it, and look in the oven.

  "I noticed that. An easy enough condition." He limped to the kitchen, and though it was difficult to make himself desire raw meat, eventually the oven produced an uncooked cut of beef, which he brought back to the dragon.

  Fanuilh tore into it, biting and chewing in the same convulsive gulps. It did not stop sending its thoughts, however.

  Second,the message appeared in Liam's mind, you must tell the Duke's man in Southwark of Master Tanaquil's murder. His name is Coeccias. Can you find him?

  "The Duke's man? The Aedile? Yes, I can find him. I would have told him in any case. What else must I do?"

  Third, you must nurse me to health. As painful as the sharing was for you, it was much worse for me. I almost died when Master Tanaquil was struck down.

  "When he was struck down," Liam echoed, and then asked intently: "Do you know who killed him?"

  I do not.

  Liam mused over this, disappointed, and the dragon did not interrupt him for a while. Then:

  I am weak. It will perhaps take a month for me to recover.

  Brought out of his reverie, Liam nodded. "Yes, of course. Simple enough. Is there anything else?"

  One other. I will tell you when you return with the Aedile.

  Liam balked. "Tell me now."

  It will be simple enough for you, and there will be time enough when you return with the Aedile. You must be sure he brings a ghost witch.

  "A ghost witch? What's that?"

  He will know. Tell him that. Is it a—again, the shorn-off thought, as though the phrase was unfamiliar—a bargain?

  "Yes," Liam said, after
a moment's thought.

  Then go.

  Stung, he turned abruptly for the door, only to tum back. "Why don't you know who killed Tarquin?"

  Master Tanaquil could exclude me from his mind at will. He often did.

  "You can teach me to do that?"

  I can. I will, when you fulfill the last thing I will ask. Now go.

  Still Liam paused, wondering to himself. It was strange to talk and receive the response directly in his head; it was strange to take orders from a tiny, weak dragon; it was strange not to argue—but what, he asked himself, could he do?

  It is as strange for me to give orders as it is for you to take them. When you have fa/filled my last request, I will teach you how to be my master.

  With that in his head, Liam limped out of the house and onto the beach.

  Between Liam's limp and his distracted thoughts, it took far longer to return to Southwark than it had to come out the night before.

  Fanuilh had taken part of his soul, but for some reason he felt neither violated nor angry. Liam knew himself to be accepting by nature, taking what was given and making the best of it. There was, really, nothing he could do: he had heard enough about wizards and their familiars to know that the link could only be broken through the death of one of the sharers. He had no idea what would happen to his soul if Fanuilh died, and he had no intention of finding out.

  As he thought of it, he reasoned that the experience must indeed have been worse for the dragon. He still had his soul; part of it was simply resting in Fanuilh. The dragon, for a time, had not had a soul. Liam tried, but could not imagine what that would be like.

  On the whole, he thought he should pity the little creature, but he could not manage it. It was, perhaps, the nature of the thoughts Fanuilh sent into his head. They were just that—thoughts, without any emotional content. He had never realized just how important the voice was in conveying feeling. Fanuilh's thoughts could not reveal pain or humor or sadness, only information.

  Did the little dragon feel emotion?

  The tasks it had set out for Liam were relatively simple and, apart from nursing the dragon back to health, would take very little time. It seemed a small thing to do, and when the nursing was over it would teach Liam to close off his mind, and maybe other things of greater value. It seemed a fair bargain, if the dragon could be trusted.

  He reasoned all this out on the long walk back to Southwark, through the still-damp pasturage and stubbled fields. The sun was two hours above the horizon before he reached the city, hanging weak and watery in the fall sky, lending no warmth. It was chilly, and he felt dirty and hungry again. He decided to return to his garret before searching out the Aedile.

  Walking up the steep hill to his lodgings, he realized that the pain in his ankle was lessening, and he could place more weight on it. He stopped in the street and examined his boot. There were two punctures the size of large nails in the tough leather. He scowled, wondering what sort of holes had been left in his flesh.

  Once in his rooms, he called the landlady for hot water. She brought it up to him in a bucket, with an indulgent expression.

  "Overmuch wine, Master Rhenford?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and grinning. "I thought scholars never indulged."

  He exaggerated a frown and shooed her away. Sitting in the chair, he tenderly tugged off the punctured boot and checked his ankle, prepared to wash away a crust of blood and bandage a wound.

  His ankle was clean, and only two small, circular scars indicated where Fanuilh had bitten him. He gave a short whistle, shook his head, and stripped to wash.

  Refreshed by the hot water and feeling much less sick, he dressed in clean tunic and long breeches and felt ready to find the Aedile. He snatched a warm cloak from a peg on the wall and went out.

  The Duke in whose lands Southwark lay was a great believer in the very old ways of Taralon. The title Aedile was taken from the language the Seventeen Houses brought with them to the land; so all titles used to be, before the last king of House Quintus died childless and the throne fell to lesser lines.

  Even in Liam's Midlands, where they prided themselves on maintaining the old customs, such a man would have been titled colloquially, called Sheriff, or Constable. But Southwark's Duke held to the old ways, and the man was called Aedile.

  It impressed Liam, this respect for the days when Taralon was strong under the Seventeen Houses.

  He found the Aedile at home, directed there by a member of the Guard who was hurrying home from his shift. It was a small house on the fringes of the rich quarter, neat and well maintained, though somehow out of place beside the larger houses of merchants and rich tradesmen.

  A bald servant reluctantly let him in, and bade him wait in a spartan parlor.

  A bachelor, Liam thought, noting the decorations—swords and armor, a few hand-drawn maps of the city, the worn but comfortable-looking furniture. He knew little of the Aedile except his name, and a reputation for tough but fair dealing. He had heard that Coeccias would rather break up a tavern brawl with his own fists than take the brawlers into the Duke's court.

  Nothing in the Aedile's appearance contradicted his reputation. He was short and broad, heavily muscled, with a thick mane of tangled black hair hanging down below his shoulders. Water beaded in his untrimmed beard, annoyance in his small eyes. Veins and scars ridged the hand with which he curtly waved Liam to a seat.

  "Your name, sirrah? And what business," he grated, "that needs must break my breaking fast?"

  The Aedile held a buttered piece of bread in his hand, and crumbs dotted his simple black tunic.

  "Rhenford, Aedile Coeccias, Liam Rhenford. And there has been a death."

  Coeccias laughed loudly. "Come, Liam Rhenford, death is commoner than cheap bawds, and those are very common in Southwark. Surely my breakfast is worth more than mere death!"

  "Not mere death, Aedile," Liam contradicted politely, still standing, "but murder. The wizard Tarquin Tanaquil has been murdered."

  "Has he? In truth? Now that—that might be worth more than my breakfast. That might, in truth."

  Liam explained the circumstances, avoiding any mention of Fanuilh, and watched Coeccias take it all in, suitably sober, nodding. When he had finished his brief account, the Aedile nodded firmly once more.

  "Well, it seems there's more in it than in my breakfast. I must see the body. Y'have a horse?" Liam nodded. "Good. Collect it, and meet me at the city gate."

  "Wait a moment, Aedile. Shouldn't we have a ghost witch present?"

  "Aye, that we should." Coeccias paused and regarded him strangely. "It'll little like Mother Japh to be dragged out of her house this early, but we should. I'll fetch her."

  The burly man bustled him out of the house into the street, and strode off towards the heart of the city. Liam turned towards the stable where he kept his horse.

  It was only a few moments before Diamond was saddled and ready, and Liam was mounted before he thought of his appointment with Lady Necquer. He called the stable lad over and offered him a small sum to take his regrets to the merchant's wife. The dirty boy grinned hugely at the amount and dashed off without a word.

  Shaking his head, Liam spurred his mount towards the city gate.

  He had a suspicion that Coeccias was not the man to find Tarquin's murderer, unless it could be done easily. And he feared it would not be easy. Honest and competent as the Aedile might be when it came to keeping sailors in line and patrolling the streets at night, Liam did not think he could pry secrets out of Tarquin's corpse.

  Which, he further thought, was a shame, since there was no one else in authority to pursue the matter, and he already liked the blunt Aedile.

  Southwark had no wall; the steep inland sides of the rise on which the city sat and the jagged Teeth seaward had always been considered protection enough. So it had no gates to speak of, but the beginning of the track to the east that led past Tarquin's cove was marked by two standing columns of worn gray s
tone, and this was called the city gate.

  Liam arrived there before Coeccias and waited on his mount beside one of the pitted stone columns, watching the traffic of farmers' carts and horsemen that straggled along the muddy track.

  He had waited far longer than he thought necessary, and. for the tenth time was about to go back into the city to look for Coeccias when the Aedile's voice called to him.

  "Liam Rhenford! Hark, man!"

  Coeccias now wore a tabard over his black tunic, gray linen emblazoned with the Duke's three red foxes, and he rode a mare that looked worn down beside Liam's snorting roan. Two mounted Guardsmen carrying upright spears flanked him, the Duke's foxes on gray badges sewn to the shoulders of their boiled leather cuirasses. Behind them, astride a walleyed pony, was an ancient woman bundled in shapeless, faded robes, her face wrinkled as an old apple.

  "The ghost witch," Coeccias said, when he noticed Liam's glance. "Mother Japh. This is the man who found the corpse, Mother."

  The old woman snorted and mumbled.

  "More like the fool saw the master in a trance; he isa wizard, all said." Her voice was no more than a whisper, but Liam caught it.

  "It may well have been a trance, Mother," he said politely, "but I was not aware wizards cast spells with daggers in their chests."

  The woman sniffed indignantly, and Liam arched an eyebrow at the Aedile, who, it seemed, could not decide whether to laugh or frown. He settled for taking charge.

  "We'd best to't, then."

  He booted his mare into a walk, and the Guardsmen followed suit.

  Chapter 3

  "NO SPIRITS," THE wrinkled old woman announced in a soft voice, returning to the entrance hall, where Liam and the Aedile waited.

  They had waited for her judgement for over an hour while she wandered around the house, humming a little tune to herself, her bright, birdlike gaze darting here and there. She passed through the entrance hall several times, each time favoring Liam with an unpleasant look.