Meralda’s next four days passed in a blur. The Vonats arrived, to little fanfare, and were stationed in the vacant north wing. The Hang held a feast of their own, complete with Hang delicacies prepared aboard the Hang flagship, served with Hang eating utensils consisting of a pair of plain wooden sticks. Meralda was told that Yvin made a great show of using the chopsticks, until Que-long relented and handed Yvin a fork.
Were it not for the papers, the Bellringers, and Mug, Meralda would have heard nothing. She saw no Vonats, dined on cold sandwiches, went nowhere save the laboratory and, twice, the park.
She sent Donchen a letter, begging pardon for her absence at his table, and other court functions since. She had given as explanation only “pressing business for the king,” and she hoped that was sufficient.
Well, it’s absolutely true, thought Meralda, with a frown. Even so, she had very nearly dropped her work and gone to the feast aboard the flagship. Only the thought of losing yet more sleep, and the sight of her bloodshot eyes and wild hair in the mirror, had kept Meralda in the lab and working.
And work she did. Dreading a return to the flat, but deeply troubled by the sight of the flying masses about the top of the Tower, Meralda fetched her weak spell detector, gathered her notes, gritted her teeth, and took it apart.
New spells replaced the old, a fourth glass disk was added, and, much to Mug’s delight, the worn broom handle was replaced with a straight length of polished cherry wood.
“Now it looks like a wizard’s gadget,” said Mug, as Meralda wrapped fine silver wire around the handle. “Got nice heft, too. Just the thing for bopping heads, if need be.”
Meralda sighed, put the detector aside, and called for the Bellringers. By then, night had fallen, but there were no lights in the flat. Nor had there been, since Meralda’s latch had failed and fallen.
Meralda ordered coffee and began to design a new latch for the Tower. This latch, Meralda decided, would extend no higher than the halfway point of the Tower’s bulk. “That will put Yvin’s platform in the light,” she told Mug, as she began to sketch. “Though the back rows of the seating stands may catch a bit of shade.”
Building the new latch for the Tower’s lower half took all of two days. Meralda struggled to cast fifteen refractors a day. With the Accords and Yvin’s commencement speech only nine days away, Meralda didn’t bother with a scaled down latch. This one was, if it worked, intended to be a full-scale version of the Commencement Day spell.
As such, it required more refractors than the first latch. Meralda cast thirty-five in one grueling day, working from well before sunrise until late into the night.
Through it all, Mug remained at her side, basking in the uncertain light of Goboy’s scrying mirror, which had quickly returned to its former habit of spying out bathhouses and dress shop dressing rooms. “Mirror, mirror,” Mug would mutter, when the sunlight failed. “Sun and sky, looking-glass, or I’ll have the Bellringers clean you with a hammer.”
And the sun would return, for a time.
The king sent word, at odd intervals, inquiring as to Meralda’s progress. She would scrawl hasty replies in return, often suppressing the impulse to add notes such as “Abandoning spellwork to continue this fascinating correspondence,” or “Slept late, long breakfast, taking the day off for a stroll in the park.”
“As if I have nothing better to do,” grumbled Meralda, late in the evening of a long day of refractor calculations. She planned to cast the new latch early the next day, which left her to finalize refractor spacing, charge all the holdstones, and load her staff with the framework of the latch.
Cast the latch, and dare the Tower. She thought of the long climb in the dark, of the echoes and the way her magelamp shone bright, but was soon swallowed whole by the wide and hungry dark. And she saw the face in the park again, heard the words, saw Tervis and Kervis cast back, spilling down the stair…
There came a knock, loud at the door, and Meralda started and dropped her pen.
“A missive from His Highness, no doubt,” said Mug. And indeed here was yet another nervous young guardsman at the door, with yet another note. She took it from his hand, exchanged an exasperated roll of the eyes with Kervis, and stomped back into the lab as the Bellringers shut the doors.
“You would think the man’s hand would get all cramped, badgering you with letters every quarter hour,” said Mug.
Meralda halted at her desk and unfolded the thick royal paper.
Thaumaturge, it read, in an unfamiliar hand. I do hope you’re hungry.
Meralda creased her brow.
“What is it?” asked Mug.
There came a knock at the door.
“Oh, no,” said Meralda. “It can’t be.”
“Can’t be who?” asked Mug. He brought twenty eyes to bear upon Meralda. “Mistress?”
From beyond the door, Kervis spoke. “Thaumaturge?” he said. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”
“A gentleman?” piped Mug. “Oh, a gentleman!”
“Quiet,” said Meralda. She pushed back a lock of hair and made for the door, note still in her hand.
I could beg off again, she thought. I could explain I’m in the midst of a complicated spellwork, one that requires more time, one dangerous to onlookers. I’d even be telling a good portion of the truth.
Meralda frowned. Why should I do that? He’s only a man, Hang or not. I’ve not been made Thaumaturge by hiding behind doors and hoping men who made me uncomfortable would just go away.
Meralda took a breath, straightened her blouse, and opened the doors.
There, in the hall, stood a smiling Donchen, flanked by a confused pair of Bellringers. Donchen stood behind a silver-trimmed kitchen serving cart, which smoked and made a faint sizzling sound. The aromatic steam that wafted from beneath the closed lid crept into the laboratory and immediately set Meralda’s stomach to grumbling.
Donchen wore an apron. A palace-issue, heavily starched white kitchen staff apron, complete with a palace sigil over the heart and an oversized key pocket sewn onto the right bottom hem. Under the apron he wore plain black pants and a white round-collared Phendelit button-front shirt. Crumpled in a ball on the lid of the serving tray was a soft, shapeless Eryan beret, which half the serving staff wore to fight off the chill of the palace halls.
Just the thing, Meralda realized, to go sneaking about the palace in.
Donchen stepped back from the cart and executed a perfect Phendelit bow, keeping his hands clasped at his back, his heels together, and bending his body smoothly at the waist. “Good evening, Thaumaturge,” he said. “My, doesn’t this smell good?”
“It does,” said Meralda. Behind Donchen, Kervis met Meralda’s eyes and made a frantic ‘what do we do?’ shrug.
Donchen couldn’t have seen, but his smile widened all the same. “I see you received my note,” he said, looking at the paper Meralda still held.
“I did,” said Meralda. She took a breath and found a smile. “And I am.”
She flung the doors open wide, and stepped aside, motioning Donchen within. “Won’t you come in?”
Donchen cocked his head. “I brought picnic gear, as well as dining utensils,” he said. “I realize the Royal Laboratory to Tirlin might not be an appropriate place to host a foreigner.”
“The Royal Laboratory of Tirlin is, at the moment, mine,” said Meralda. “I keep no secrets here. So if you promise not to make off with state treasures I’ll vow not to ask you pointed questions about your nation’s foreign policy. Fair enough?”
Donchen bowed again. “Fair enough.” Donchen broke from his bow, lifted the cart’s lid, and withdrew two bulging white paper bags from within the steaming depths.
“Here you are, gentlemen,” he said, turning and thrusting a bag at each Bellringer. “Dinner, compliments of the Mighty Dragon, long may he reign, so forth and so on.”
The Bellringers went wide-eyed, but took the bags.
“Sir, thank you, sir,” said Tervis, hefting the bag as if to see if it might move in his grasp.
“Egg rolls and fried rice,” said Donchen. “And forks. I do hope you like it.”
Then he turned back to Meralda, and put his hands on the cart handle. “Are you sure, Thaumaturge?” he said, before he started to push. “I won’t be in the least offended…”
“Nonsense,” said Meralda. You’re not the only one who can be bold and thumb your nose at propriety, she thought. “Let’s eat.”
Donchen smiled, and pushed, and crossed the threshold.
The meal, Meralda decided, was fabulous.
What the meal consisted of was still largely a mystery to her. There was a tiny yellow grain that Donchen called rice, which formed a bed for most of the other entrees. And there was pork in a thick, sweet red sauce, and chicken with garlic and almonds, and a fried roll that crunched when Meralda bit into it, and was full of, among other things, chopped shrimp bits.
Donchen brought only forks. “No, we’ll not struggle with chopsticks,” he’d said, when Meralda asked how the king and court were faring with the Hang utensils. “To be honest with you, I myself may adopt your fork as my dining tool of choice,” he added, with a grin. “Chezin will have a conniption fit.”
Meralda laughed, and eyed the silver bowl that held the almond chicken.
“Oh, do have more,” said Donchen, beaming. “Nothing flatters a chef more than a healthy appetite.”
Meralda reached for the lid. “You cooked this?”
“I did,” said Donchen, wiping his chin with an embroidered palace napkin. “Cooking relaxes me. I should have been a cook, really.”
Meralda lifted the lid. “A cook, as opposed to what?” she asked.
Donchen laughed. “Well put, Thaumaturge,” he said. He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair. “But what I am is not an easy question to answer.”
Meralda heaped three serving spoons of almond chicken on her plate.
“And yet you want me to ask,” said Meralda. She noticed Mug, who had feigned sleep as soon as the doors opened, slowly swivel another half-dozen barely open eyes her way. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
Donchen stretched, and met her gaze.
“Just so,” he said. His smile softened. “I wish we had more time, Thaumaturge,” he said. “We have a proverb. Trust, it is said, must be built over time, lest it fall away as quickly as it was born.” Donchen shook his head. “It’s a bit of a cliche, really, but there is an element of truth there. I can hardly expect an intelligent person such as yourself to suddenly trust a mysterious Hang visitor, even if he does cook an excellent almond chicken.”
Meralda swallowed a mouthful of rice and chicken and put down her fork.
“And what am I to trust you with?” she said.
Donchen sighed. “That, Thaumaturge, is for you to decide,” he said. “But here. I’ve done nothing but speak in riddles and proverbs. A failing of my schooling, I’m afraid.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Enough of that,” he said. “All that blathering about trust. Well, I’ve made up my mind, Thaumaturge. I’ve decided to trust you. You. Not your king, not your captain, not your House of Lords. You. So ask me anything. I’ll tell you, plain and true.”
Meralda saw Mug blink all his open eyes at once. She wiped her lips with her napkin and stood to face Donchen.
“All right,” she said, after a moment. “Why are you doing this?”
Donchen bowed. “I need an ally here,” he said. “Someone with the king’s ear, someone he trusts. I hope this person is you.”
“Why not the king?” asked Meralda. “Why bother with thaumaturges at all?”
Donchen smiled. “The king will act with caution, at all times,” he said. “And caution would tell him that I am not to be trusted. Not yet. Listened to, perhaps. Observed, of course. But trusted?” Donchen shook his head. “He’d be a fool to trust me. A fool to trust any of us. And your king, Thaumaturge, is no fool.”
Meralda stiffened. “And I am?”
“No,” said Donchen. “You may believe what I tell you. You may not. But your office will allow you to make the choice. Is it not true that Tirlish thaumaturges often work well apart from both court and king?”
Well spoken, thought Meralda. Well spoken, or perhaps just well rehearsed.
She motioned Donchen away from the remains of their meal. “We can walk about a bit, if you like,” she said. “The laboratory is a favorite spot for touring among our guests.”
Donchen nodded. “Of course,” he said, moving to Meralda’s side.
“And we can talk about the purpose of your visit to Tirlin,” said Meralda. “Or is that question best left for later?”
Donchen shook his head. “Trust knows no bounds,” he said. “And if it does, it is not trust.”
“Why, then?”
“We believe it is time for our cultures to meet,” said Donchen. “We wish to establish regular trade, and diplomatic relations. Your Accords presented the perfect opportunity to introduce ourselves. What, pray tell, is this?”
Donchen had halted before Phillitrep’s Calculating Engine.
“It’s a calculating device,” said Meralda.
Donchen stepped close, put his face as near the whirling gears as he dared. “What is it calculating?” he asked.
“No one knows,” replied Meralda. “Phillitrep never wrote down the question, and he died suddenly in office about three hundred years ago.”
Donchen watched the tiny rods shuttle and click. “Amazing,” he said. Then he straightened and once again turned his grey eyes upon Meralda.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why we’ve come now, after all those years of waiting and watching from afar?”
“All right,” said Meralda, and she recalled the time, long ago, when she’d first seen a drawing of a Hang five-master while Shingvere waggled his finger in her face. “Mark my words,” she heard the Eryan say, again. “They’re up to no bloody good.”
“Tell me why you came,” said Meralda. “Tell me how long you’ve been watching us. And then tell me why.”
Donchen nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “First, a bit of history, if you don’t mind.”
Meralda nodded, struggling to keep her face impassive.
“Oh, not at all,” she said. “Go on.”
Donchen clasped his hands behind his back. Just like a schoolmaster, thought Meralda as Donchen began, once again, to walk.
“The date was 640, as you number years,” he said. “My land was at peace, but the Emperor? Well, the Emperor went mad, one day.”
Meralda indicated a row of shelves to her right, and Donchen proceeded down it, his eyes darting from this to that as he spoke.
“He looked upon our land, and saw that it was his, as far as his eye could see,” said Donchen. “But it occurred to him that there was plenty he could not see, and that made him think. And we all know how dangerous it is when monarchs begin to think, do we not?”
Meralda laughed. “We do,” she said. The glass and silver eyes of Movan’s Talking Head swiveled slowly around to fix on Donchen, and he leaned close for a better look.
“It occurred to this mad emperor, whose name was Sosang, that his mastery of the world was incomplete,” said Donchen. “Sosang called together his ministers and bade them tell him how he might bring the farthest shores closer, that he might rule all, as was his right.”
Movan’s Head lifted a silver eyebrow, and Donchen’s eyes went wide.
“One of Sosang’s advisors whispered to another. ‘Does he think he can cast a rope about the world, and draw it to him?’ asked this man.” Donchen smiled at Movan’s Head, and it smiled back, and Donchen laughed. “Sosang, of course, heard this whisper. And, being mad, he took it not as a criticism, but as a rare fine idea.”
Meralda tilted her head. “Stretch a rope around the world?” she asked. “Why?”
“So you can hold either end and pull, of course,” replied Donchen.
Meralda frowned. I’m surprised Yvin hasn’t asked for that, she thought. It might well be true.
“Emperor Sosang was mad, but not forgetful,” said Donchen, moving away from Movan’s Head and continuing his stroll down the ranks of mageworks. “From that moment on, the resources of my land and my people were turned to one goal. We worked to stretch a rope around the world, so that a mad-eyed king might pull the horizons closer.” Donchen shrugged and shook his head. “What an awful waste.”
Meralda cast a warning frown at an unnamed glass cylinder that held a writhing bolt of bright white lightning. It tended to nip at passers-by. And now is not the time, intoned Meralda silently.
The lightning dimmed, and its writhing grew less frantic.
“Nineteen years passed,” said Donchen. “Two vessels were built. Monstrous vessels, far larger than anything built before, or since. The very first of the Great Sea ships. Each was large enough to carry one of the five-masters docked by your wharfs as a lifeboat.” Donchen sidled past the jar of lightning with a wry smile. “Of course, they built them inland, another of mad emperor Sosang’s suggestions, and it took another eight years to get either one of them to a coast,” he said. “But this at least gave the rope-makers a head start.”
Meralda tilted her head. “You mean they actually tried to make a rope long enough to cross the Great Sea?”
Donchen met Meralda’s eyes. “They had no choice, Thaumaturge. None at all. Whole provinces were planted with hemp. Two enormous cities sprang up, one on each coast, at the places from which Sosang decreed the ships should set sail. Day and night, they wove ropes, ready to pay out the line on turning wheels so large each was visible from nearly a mile away.”
“Your kings have considerable power,” she said, thinking the most a mad Tirlish king was ever able to accomplish was the line of dancing gargoyles atop the park wall.
Donchen smiled. “We are an obedient people,” he said. “To a fault, at times, as you would say.”
Meralda shook her head. “And these ships?” she asked. “What became of them?”
Donchen shrugged. “Oh, they were crewed with the sons of noble houses,” he said. “Again, at the whim of the Emperor, who bestowed it as an honor. The crews, being sane, if overly obedient, considered themselves doomed and bade their families farewell.”
“The day came for departure,” said Donchen. “And so they set sail, vanishing from sight as they dragged their ropes behind. One went west, the other east, and soon the only evidence of their leaving was the slow, steady turning of the monstrous wheels on the shore.”
Donchen had begun to walk again, and the pair quickly reached the end of the row of shelves. Ahead of them now lay the shadowed rear of the laboratory, where larger mageworks were stored. There, tarps stretched across hulking frames of wood or dark iron, and all was silent and shadowed and still.
Meralda halted at the end of the shelf, and motioned Donchen toward the right.
“And did one of these vessels reach the Realms?” she asked.
Donchen entered the next rank of shelves and nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “But only after three years of sailing. Three years of drifting, actually. Mad kings make poor sailors, as the saying goes. The ship couldn’t tack, dragging such an enormous weight. After a time, both ship and rope were simply dragged along on the current, and the captain struck his sails and gave up.”
Meralda walked and nodded. Wait until Shingvere hears this, she thought.
“There was a storm, and the rope was torn away, and lost,” said Donchen. “The captain sailed and searched for the rope, determined to fulfill his charge, fearful that if the rope wheels stopped, his family would suffer Sosang’s mad wrath. But the captain never found the rope, and soon another storm cast the vessel upon a reef, and tore it apart,” said Donchen. “One sailor clung to a floating door, and I imagine you can guess the rest.”
“He was cast up on an Eryan beach?” asked Meralda.
“A bit farther south, but correct in essence,” said Donchen. He leaned down and peered into the eyepiece of Delby’s Far-Seeing Glass, and laughed when he was presented with a bird’s eye view of his own backside. “Our castaway sailor awoke to find himself in the bed of a Kiltish fisherman.”
Meralda went wide-eyed. “Kilt is only forty miles south of here,” she said.
Donchen nodded, and continued his stroll. “I know,” he said. “Charming place.”
“Is it,” said Meralda, blithely.
“The sailor was afraid, at first,” continued Donchen. “As he recovered, he realized he was in a foreign land. This was a new concept, for him. How would he be treated? Would he be held prisoner, or cast into the wilderness?” Donchen shrugged. “He didn’t know. Time passed. He healed, learned a bit of Kingdom, rose from his bed. And found that, after a time, he was welcome among the fisher folk.”
Meralda slowed. “How do you know this?” she said. “If the ship was lost but for him, how did word get back to your people?”
Donchen shrugged. “Our sailor settled down,” he said. “Married, even. Had children.”
Meralda halted.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Donchen. “All those black-haired, small-framed fishermen? My cousins, many times removed.” Donchen chuckled. “The Hang have always been closer than anyone thought.”
Meralda heard Mug whistle softly. She suspected Donchen heard as well, but if so he pretended not to notice.
I’d whistle myself, if it weren’t impolite, she thought. Centuries of watching the distant horizon, while the fisher folk laughed and went about their business.
“Children aside, though, the tale is not yet done,” said Donchen. “You see, while the ships were at sea, mad Sosang died. Messily, I’m afraid, by means of a sack of serpents and a bottle of poison, proving that he was King of Death as well as life.”
Meralda lifted an eyebrow, but was silent.
“The mad king dead, the families of the nobles aboard the two doomed vessels set forth to rescue their fathers and their sons,” said Donchen. “They built ships, crewed them with wizards, and set sail from the rope-weaver cities, just as the big ships had. And they searched. Searched for years. Forty years, in fact.”
“Forty years?” said Meralda, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice.
“Oh, they weren’t continually at sea for forty years,” said Donchen. “Five years was the longest single voyage.” He saw the confusion on Meralda’s face, and smiled in sudden comprehension. “Ah,” he said. “All our vessels can make fresh water from salt. And the original Great Sea rope haulers could grow their own food, as well. So it was feared that the great ships might lie, becalmed, with the crew helpless, but very much alive.” said Donchen. “Also, the rescue ships did not merely search at random. Each of the original sailors wore a chosong. A chosong is a small medallion, which houses a finding charm specifically designed and secretly crafted against the day the mad king might reign no more.”
“Fresh water from salt?” asked Meralda. “How?”
“The process is very similar to that by which your guilds extract lifting gas from ordinary air,” explained Donchen. “We carry a number of spare devices. I’ll have one sent round for your inspection, if you like.”
Meralda nodded. Hang magic, at last. And one that might extend the cruising range of our own airships tenfold, if I can work out how it functions.
Donchen halted before Finnick’s Second Lifting Plate and watched the pair of spectacles suspended in the air above it bob and turn. “One by one, these new ships searched out the rope-hauler chosongs,” he said. “And, one by one, they found them, all lying on the bottom of the sea. All save one, and the wizards pointed west, and one ship sailed after,” he said. “On and on they sailed, until one day in late summer of your year 714, a Great Sea five-master dropped anchor off a beach near Kilt,” he said. “The awestruck wizards claimed the very last chosong was near. And it was. Still around the neck of their long lost countryman, who sat mending a net in the shade while his grandchildren played at his feet.”
“I imagine he was shocked,” said Meralda.
Donchen laughed. “He set his dogs upon his rescuers,” he said. “And would have taken a stick to them, as well, had his sons not rushed from their boats and stayed his hand.” Donchen shook his head. “Everything the old sailor said was dutifully recorded by the ship’s scribe,” he said. “He used a variety of colorful terms, but basically he’d had enough of mad kings and doomed quests and, most especially, he’d had quite enough of the Great Sea. ‘I am home,’ he said. ‘This is the happy land, and I am home.’”
“The captain of the five-master explained to this man that his house was minor no more, and that as the eldest of his house he was, by rights, the rough equivalent of a duke. This caused the old man to throw his stick at the captain, and once again call for his dogs. ‘Hear this, then,’ he said, as his sons held him back. ‘I tell you to go. I tell you to pass the rule of my house on to the eldest of my nephews and give him my blessing and leave me, my sons, and these people alone’.”
“And they did?” asked Meralda.
“They did indeed,” said Donchen. “Are we not, after all, an obedient people?”
“And your ships stayed away until last week.”
“Well, not entirely,” said Donchen, his lips turning upward in the faintest of smiles. “Subsequent voyages mapped the entire Great Sea, and, of course, all your coasts. And I’m sure you’ve read accounts of the dozen or so brief diplomatic landings, which were meant only to establish that the Hang mean no harm.” Donchen lifted an eyebrow, and put his finger to his chin as though in deep contemplation. “And we may have made a few other landings, as well. All to satisfy the curiosity of various naturalists, I assure you. Always in uninhabited areas, and only in the pursuit of science.”
Meralda lifted an eyebrow. “And yet you’ve learned our language and our customs,” she said. “How very perceptive of your naturalists.”
Donchen laughed. “Of late, I confess, our landings have grown more direct,” he said. “But out of necessity, not a desire for mischief.”
Meralda started walking again. “What sort of necessity, Donchen?” she asked. “Since we’re trading state secrets,” she added.
“Two reasons,” said Donchen. “First, because contact is now inevitable. The Great Sea is no longer wide enough to prevent your airships from completing the journey.”
Meralda frowned. “We’ve tried,” she said. “The Yoreland-”
“Was within a few days of sighting land,” said Donchen, gently. “Had they not turned back, they would have seen the coast. Had they come down for one last look at the sea, they’d have seen driftwood. Had they been paying attention to the sky, they’d have seen gulls.” Donchen shrugged. “Had they not been so weary, Thaumaturge, you would not be the only Tirlish woman in the world to know what you know.” He smiled. “But I would have missed telling you,” he said.
Meralda bit her lip. “The king doesn’t know all this?”
“He knows the important parts,” said Donchen. “But he doesn’t know that I grew up reading the Post and the Times, or that I’m about to give you this.”
He reached inside his shirt, and withdrew a piece of paper. “Even your king has not seen it.”
Meralda made herself look away from the paper, and straight into Donchen’s grey eyes. “What is it?”
“The world, of course,” said Donchen. “All of it.”
Meralda took the paper.
“I should go now,” said Donchen. “I’m sure you have things to think about.”
The paper in her hands was strange. It was brilliant white, thin, yet stiff and smooth to the touch. Faintly, Meralda could see the outlines of what might be part of a map, and her heart began to race.
The world. All of it. At last.
“All the notations and measures are in New Kingdom,” said Donchen. “And I’ll be happy to supply you with a whole book of maps, later, if you wish.” He made a small bow. “But for tonight, I hope this will suffice.”
“It will,” said Meralda, and her voice nearly caught in her throat.
Donchen turned, casting his gaze down the aisle of glittering mageworks. “Is the door that way?” he asked.
Meralda nodded. “One last question,” she asked.
Donchen turned back to her.
“Anything, Thaumaturge,” he said.
“Were you the man who appeared in the palace and asked Yvin for permission to bring your ships into the harbor?”
Donchen’s half-smile vanished. “I was not,” he said. “Nor is that man among our party.”
Meralda began to speak, but Donchen held up his hand. “He was probably Hang, yes,” he said. “And the formal request for passage and lodging is an ancient tradition among our Houses. But I assure you that no one of the House of Que-long would have dared such an act, in the palace of your king.” He bowed. “That is another reason we have come,” he said. “For now that contact is inevitable, it seems there are those from both our shores who would see our peoples spend the next hundred years glaring suspiciously at each other from across the Great Sea.”
From both our shores? Meralda lowered the map.
“The Vonats,” she said.
“I believe so,” said Donchen. “And a certain small number of my people.”
Meralda gaped. “The Accords,” she said, biting back mention of the strange spells in the palace and the disappearance of the Tears.
“Precisely,” said Donchen. “Destroy the Accords. Sow discord and mistrust. Provoke hostility and suspicion.” His half-smile vanished. “We stand at a crossing of ways, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Willing or not, we will write our own history, in these next few weeks. It is my wish to avoid including the terms warfare and bloodshed.”
Meralda nodded absently in agreement, and looked again at the folded paper in her hands. “And so you’ve decided to trust me,” she said. “Knowing that I might go immediately to the king, or the papers, or both.”
Donchen shrugged. “That is for you to decide, Thaumaturge. If you choose such a thing, I am undone, but that is your choice.” He bowed, and when he rose his smile was back, and his eyes were merry. “But I must go, before friend Cook misses his serving cart. Do give my regards to the Post.”
“I shall do no such thing, and you know it,” said Meralda, unable to frown at Donchen’s smiling face. Meralda shook her head and sighed in exasperation. “Though it’s lucky for you Mage Fromarch isn’t still the thaumaturge in Tirlin.”
“Indeed,” said Donchen, as he backed the last few steps out of the aisle. “I am most fortunate. Good evening, Thaumaturge, and thank you for your company.”
And then he turned, and walked away. After a moment, the serving cart wheels squeaked, and Meralda heard the laboratory doors open, Donchen spoke to the Bellringers, and then footsteps came into the laboratory.
“Thaumaturge?” said Tervis. “Thaumaturge, where are you?”
“I’m here,” said Meralda, striding forward, out of the aisle. “I’m all right, Guardsman,” she said.
Tervis was just inside the laboratory, one hand still on the door.
“You can come in,” said Meralda. “I’ve set no wards or guard spells.”
Tervis let the door shut. “Just, um, checking, ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Donchen just left, and we didn’t see you.”
Meralda sought out her desk, shoved aside her refracting spell papers, and pulled back her chair.
“Is that what I think it is?” said Mug, all his eyes open and straining.
“It is,” said Meralda. She sat, then turned to face Tervis.
“Coffee, please,” she said. “A pot.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Tervis. He wiped his chin with his sleeve. “Not bad grub, whatever it was.”
Meralda smiled. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t.”
And then she unfolded the map, and Mug wordlessly swung all his eyes to bear on it, and they looked in awe upon the world.