I thought about pressing Lord Edmund on where all his servants were, but pushing the client around could be dicey, and there was a good chance he didn’t even know. In my experience, someone like him didn’t pay attention to who was serving him, as long as his needs were being met. Quince would be the one to ask, and he was off delivering that message, so I’d have to save that line of questioning for now.
Lysander and I made our way through the gardens, which were even nicer up close than when I’d seen them from the carriage. The balance of color from one section to the next was perfect, often with gentle gradations I hadn’t even known were possible. The walkways were paved with the same tiny stones as the front drive, and there were little stone benches here and there so a person could sit and admire the work. The attention to detail made it clear that whoever was in charge gave their life to this garden. I might not admire things like this much, but the level of dedication was awe-inspiring.
As I was looking around, I noticed a small separate building tucked away in the back of the garden. A little cottage, probably for the head gardener.
“I want to check one more thing before we go,” I told Lysander.
We carefully picked our way through the gardens back to the cottage. It was a simple, one-story structure with shutters on the windows and a slate roof with a chimney jutting out the top. When I saw that, it made me turn back to look at the roof of the mansion. Not a single chimney there. Interesting. Did he heat his entire home with magic? There was such a thing as being too dependent on spirits.
“What are you two unsavory types doing, wandering around his lordship’s garden?”
An old man’s face poked out the front door of the house, giving us a tremendous scowl that reached nearly to the crown of his wispy head.
“Unsavory?” Lysander looked hurt.
“His lordship’s garden?” I gave the guy a smile. “Looks to me more like your garden, old timer.”
“His lordship owns it, I just tend it,” he snapped.
I shrugged, walking slowly closer. “Whichever. We happen to work for his lordship now too.”
“Yeah, we’re looking for his missing kid,” said Lysander.
The gardener eyed us both warily. “I don’t know nothing.”
“You sure you didn’t see or hear anything strange?” I asked. “Maybe two nights ago?”
“I told Mr. Quince the same thing I’m telling you now. I didn’t hear nothing.”
I was right at the door now, less than three feet from the gardener. I put my hands on the doorframe and gave him my very best smile, but he glared at me like I was there to steal his house right out from under him. Maybe he spent so much time with plants because he didn’t like people.
I appreciated the old guy’s moxie, but it seemed like he might be holding out on me. I thought about pressing him a little less gently, but then my glove caught on the doorframe. I turned and saw a hastily scratched sigil. Unlike the other two, this was ragged. Amateurish, even. But there was no mistaking that it was a spent sound-dampening sigil. That would explain why the gardener hadn’t heard anything. While the sigil hadn’t been well executed, it had clearly been carved with intensity. And that was another ingredient to sigil work—the focus and intention of the mage who drew it. Incantations held no real power on their own. Spoken words were nothing but breath on the wind. But they sharpened the focus of the mage in such a way that by sheer force of will, the caster could bring a more powerful spirit to the binding, thereby amplifying the sigil. Professor Ratcliffe, one of the few decent teachers I’d had back in school, used to tell us that a simple sigil done with a lot of heart could be nearly as powerful as one crafted by a master.
I looked back at the old gardener. “Well, if you think of something, anything unusual at all, keep it in mind for the next time I come by. And I will come by.”
Now that I’d seen the sigil, I wasn’t sure he was actually holding out on me. But he was the only person I’d met besides Edmund and Quince who had been there the night of the kidnapping. That alone was enough for a follow-up. And now it looked like we had more than one mage on the premises that night, most likely a master and apprentice.
Simon and a new Rosalind?
The thought popped into my head as I turned away from the old gardener, and it gripped my stomach like a fist. If this was Simon’s doing, and he had some crazy new theory about the Nevma Year that involved Edmund’s son, he might have dragged some other young, naive sucker along with him. Suddenly I wasn’t just thinking if I cross paths with him. Now I wanted to find him before he fucked up some other kid as badly as me.
“I can hear those gears turning,” said Lysander as he fell in step beside me.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“That guildmaster Lord Edmund mentioned? If he got the name right, it might be someone I know. Someone nasty.”
“We’re pretty nasty ourselves.”
“True.”
“It’s more than that, though,” he said.
I sighed. Damn friends and their damn caring.
“Yeah. If I’m right, it’s the guy who branded my palms when I was in school.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. I knew it was pointless, but I didn’t want him looking at them even gloved right then. I guess because fifteen years later, I was still ashamed. Of what? I wasn’t sure. But sometimes it made me want to crawl right out of my skin.
“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today,” said Lysander.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, naturally the best news was learning how much money we’re making on this job. But finally getting to beat the shit out of the guy who tortured my best friend?” He cracked his knuckles with obvious relish. “That is a close second.”