Read Online The Windrose Chronicles 2 - The Silicon Mage by Barbara Hambly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Hambly
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the rain-puddled road up which they had come, until it vanished beyond a copse of wet trees. Magister Magus had been horrified by her request to be taken to Court. “Are you mad, girl? With things as they are? The abomination that killed those children in the factory district last night; the rumors in the Sykerst that the religion of the old gods is coming back; the Witchfinders up in arms; pogroms in Mellidane; the Stock Exchange shaky—it always is, in autumn—mutinies on the trade-ships coming back from Saarieque and the Spice Lands; the worst harvest in thirty years... My life wouldn't be worth two coppers if I went anywhere near the Imperial Palaces!”
“But I have to see Prince Cerdic,” Joanna had insisted quietly from the depths of one of the dog wizard's gilded ebony armchairs. “I may not know a lot about Courts and Princes and things, but I do know you can't just walk in off the street and ask to see the dude who's second-in-line for the throne. But he's a friend of yours and he favors the wizards. If anyone could help me get Antryg out, he could.”
“If anyone,” the dog wizard repeated softly. That had been last night, after Joanna had returned from her abortive interview with Caris; they had shared a glass of port in the library while the Magus had read over the various newspapers, broadsides, and scandal sheets from which he gleaned the raw material for his seemingly magical deductions about his clients' lives. “The problem is, child, I'm not sure anyone can help Antryg now. And in any case, I'd hesitate to ask. Part of the secret of dealing with Courts is knowing when to disappear. Now that the Prince Regent is married, he keeps an even closer eye on Cerdic . . ”
“Married?”
“Last month—my dear child, the town rang with it.”
The Regent's high, harsh voice came back to her... that brainless bitch I'm to marry... and Antryg's, in the firelight of the posthouse, Come, Pharos, you know you haven't any use for a woman...
“Pellicida, niece of the King of Senterwing,” the Magus went on. “They say at court his Grace calls her the Black Mare. But until he gets her with child—if he ever manages to—Cerdic is still his heir; and at the moment, both Cerdic and I know it is not the time for Cerdic to be seen associating with the mageborn.”
By dint of coaxing, Joanna had managed to secure the loan of his carriage and a letter of introduction. “Anything else?” the Magus had inquired, with some acerbity. “A team of running-footmen to announce you?
A brass band?
Fireworks, maybe?” But he had flung himself gracefully into a chair before his desk, waved absentmindedly in the direction of the two branches of candles flanking its inlaid writing surface and caused all twelve wicks to burst into a simultaneous flutter of light, then began to write.
His sole condition had been that his coachman wait for her at the gates of the Imperial Park, not at the Dower House where Cerdic stayed when he was in Angelshand. Knowing that the Regent would probably have spies in the stables, Joanna had agreed. Last night, with the rain drumming softly on the roof, this had not seemed like such a good idea, but this morning the soft autumn ship winds had blown again from the southwest, dispersing the clinging mists. The first of the Saarieque trade fleet had finally been sighted, a day or two off the out-islands. Magister Magus, like everybody else in the city, had money invested in their car goes and had cheered up considerably and given Joanna innumerable small pointers about the proper conduct at Court.
It appeared that Magister Magus wasn't the only person in Angelshand familiar with the secret of knowing when to disappear. Pharos' paranoia about Cerdic was evidently only too well-known. After a condescending scrutiny which made Joanna glad she'd invested the remainder of her dwindling funds in a new gown, an elderly majordomo conducted her to what was apparently the
“But I have to see Prince Cerdic,” Joanna had insisted quietly from the depths of one of the dog wizard's gilded ebony armchairs. “I may not know a lot about Courts and Princes and things, but I do know you can't just walk in off the street and ask to see the dude who's second-in-line for the throne. But he's a friend of yours and he favors the wizards. If anyone could help me get Antryg out, he could.”
“If anyone,” the dog wizard repeated softly. That had been last night, after Joanna had returned from her abortive interview with Caris; they had shared a glass of port in the library while the Magus had read over the various newspapers, broadsides, and scandal sheets from which he gleaned the raw material for his seemingly magical deductions about his clients' lives. “The problem is, child, I'm not sure anyone can help Antryg now. And in any case, I'd hesitate to ask. Part of the secret of dealing with Courts is knowing when to disappear. Now that the Prince Regent is married, he keeps an even closer eye on Cerdic . . ”
“Married?”
“Last month—my dear child, the town rang with it.”
The Regent's high, harsh voice came back to her... that brainless bitch I'm to marry... and Antryg's, in the firelight of the posthouse, Come, Pharos, you know you haven't any use for a woman...
“Pellicida, niece of the King of Senterwing,” the Magus went on. “They say at court his Grace calls her the Black Mare. But until he gets her with child—if he ever manages to—Cerdic is still his heir; and at the moment, both Cerdic and I know it is not the time for Cerdic to be seen associating with the mageborn.”
By dint of coaxing, Joanna had managed to secure the loan of his carriage and a letter of introduction. “Anything else?” the Magus had inquired, with some acerbity. “A team of running-footmen to announce you?
A brass band?
Fireworks, maybe?” But he had flung himself gracefully into a chair before his desk, waved absentmindedly in the direction of the two branches of candles flanking its inlaid writing surface and caused all twelve wicks to burst into a simultaneous flutter of light, then began to write.
His sole condition had been that his coachman wait for her at the gates of the Imperial Park, not at the Dower House where Cerdic stayed when he was in Angelshand. Knowing that the Regent would probably have spies in the stables, Joanna had agreed. Last night, with the rain drumming softly on the roof, this had not seemed like such a good idea, but this morning the soft autumn ship winds had blown again from the southwest, dispersing the clinging mists. The first of the Saarieque trade fleet had finally been sighted, a day or two off the out-islands. Magister Magus, like everybody else in the city, had money invested in their car goes and had cheered up considerably and given Joanna innumerable small pointers about the proper conduct at Court.
It appeared that Magister Magus wasn't the only person in Angelshand familiar with the secret of knowing when to disappear. Pharos' paranoia about Cerdic was evidently only too well-known. After a condescending scrutiny which made Joanna glad she'd invested the remainder of her dwindling funds in a new gown, an elderly majordomo conducted her to what was apparently the
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