Sven glared at me across his desk, his lips set in a thin line.
I returned the glare. “Couldn’t you be mistaken about any Fire Warlock having the authority to abolish the conspiracy? You said there were variations in how they are created. Maybe when Old Brimstone set it up he put some twist in it so only he could destroy it.”
Sven shook his head. “He couldn’t. Yes, private individuals can, and often do, but when that happens the conspiracy dies with them. The Fire Warlock can’t. I’ve spent most of my time over the last two years studying the spells making up the Fire and Water Offices, and I have a clearer picture now how they work. The Fire Office would have forced the creator to be seen as the Fire Warlock, not as Old Brimstone.”
I didn’t ask if he was sure. If he wasn’t, he would have said so.
“Face the facts,” he said. “Warlock Quicksilver didn’t expose the conspiracy when he could have. That makes me want to vomit.”
I turned to stare out the window at the pigeons. “There’s some other explanation.” I couldn’t blame Sven for being angry, not even for hating Jean. I did when I first learned the secret. But I had calmed down. Sven was getting angrier.
He said, “We’ll have to fight him when we expose it. We’ll never be strong enough.”
“Nonsense. Jean wants me to expose it. If he could have exposed it himself, he would have. He didn’t, so he couldn’t. That’s all there is to it.”
“Are you sure?”
I swivelled to face him, lifting my eyes heavenward. “No, of course not. I’ve only studied the man’s every move for three years. I have no idea what he thinks about anything.”
“Okay, okay, forget I said that. But maybe, and I’m not saying this is certain, you could be so indignant over what’s happened to these women, that you overlook the idea others may have different concerns they judge more important.”
I leaned on his desk and breathed fire. “What could be more important than protecting Frankland’s women and children?”
He retreated as far as the clutter would allow. “You know that isn’t the Fire Office’s prime mandate.”
“Yes, that’s so, but Jean does care. And there’s no mandate dependent on this conspiracy.”
“No, but…”
“But what? Sven, you’re beating around the bush. Why would a Fire Warlock, who can’t take advantage of it himself, and who has no love of the nobility who can, keep this a secret?”
He edged further away. “To preserve the Fire Guild’s reputation.”
“To preserve… Sven, tell me you’re joking.”
“You do realise, don’t you, that when this is exposed it will give us a black eye that will take decades, maybe centuries, to recover from? You know Warlock Quicksilver cares what people think of the Fire Guild.”
“Yes, but not that much. I will not listen to any more of this unless you come up with a better reason than that.”
He shrugged. “We don’t have time to talk now anyway. If we don’t hurry we’ll be late for the meeting of the Reforging Coven. Let’s not discuss it in front of René, either. Let him enjoy his hero worship.”
“René doesn’t… Oh, never mind.” More than two years of daily, sometimes intense, contact with Jean had stripped both René and me of the worst excesses of hero worship. René respected Jean, to be sure, and loved him as one loves a grandparent or a revered teacher, but he idolised Beorn, not Jean.
No, Sven was the one displaying the anguish of a man whose hero has turned out to be human. I believed Jean couldn’t expose the conspiracy, rather than wouldn’t, but it was a matter of faith. Neither option was palatable for Sven.
I let the matter drop, but couldn’t quell the sense of disquiet. We would revisit the question, I was quite sure, whether I liked it or not.
“We have covered, in broad strokes,” Sorceress Lorraine said, “everything that must be readied for the reforging, but much detailed work remains. We must continue this meeting, and many more over the coming weeks, but only the mages need stay, as the problematic spells are those spanning guilds. The rest are welcome to stay if they choose.”
The younger air witch, Enchantress Winifred, bolted for the door before Sorceress Lorraine finished speaking. Sven watched her go with a look that might have been either relief or disappointment. The older enchantress murmured polite thanks and followed with as much haste as dignity allowed.
Beorn said, “Celeste and I have problems we’ve got to deal with, and I need Jean’s help. Sven can handle everything for the Fire Guild. Right, Jean?”
“Certainly,” he said, and followed Beorn out the door. Sven’s head snapped around. He stared at the closed door long after they were gone.
Besides the other mages and the two sorceresses, Lorraine and Eleanor, that left René and me. René sat with his head down, doodling on a scrap of paper.
With the enchantresses gone we wouldn’t be held up waiting for one of the more patient mages to explain everything, twice. I settled into a more comfortable position, eager to listen to these learned men argue minutiae. I might learn as much in an hour as in our earlier meetings combined.
We made good progress until Enchanter Paul, the sole air mage, got into a wrangle with the senior earth mage, Father Jerome. I had trouble following the esoteric details, and asked questions. Eleanor mouthed a thank you at me. My questions drew satisfactory answers from Jerome, less satisfactory, and increasingly curt, answers from Paul, until finally, he said, “My dear Madam Locksmith, I know the Fire Guild has other pressing matters which require your attention. As Her Wisdom said, you don’t need to stay. We won’t think less of you for not understanding every jot and tittle in every spell.”
For two seconds there was dead silence. Eleanor stiffened, her eyes widening. Sven’s lip curled. My wretched face burned.
“Lucinda and I,” René said, without looking up from his drawing, “are under orders to learn everything we can about the Water Office. Arturos and Quicksilver said that will help us understand the Fire Office.”
Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Do they expect two near-novices who have never been to university to keep up with the mages?”
Sven said, “Yes.” The other mages turned to stare at him. He flushed. “They didn’t say it would be easy. Just that the effort would be worthwhile.”
“Is that so? Then it would be better,” Paul snapped, “if René paid attention.”
René looked up, eyes blazing. “I was listening. Father Jerome used Lucinda’s questions to clarify his thinking, and refine his arguments. If you—”
“Enough.” Sorceress Lorraine at her chilliest commanded attention. “Neither the Locksmith nor Warlock Snorri need justify their presence here. The Locksmith has earned our respect, and the right to have her questions answered. Even frivolous questions, which these were not. Shall we continue?”
With a murmur of ‘Yes, Ma’ams’, and a rustling of papers, the other mages struggled to hide smiles or raised eyebrows. Enchanter Paul harrumphed and went on doggedly with his losing argument.
You were about to insult him, weren’t you, little brother?
All I was going to say was that if he followed Father Jerome’s example he wouldn’t sound like such an airdick.
All? Calling him names, and comparing him unfavourably to an earth wizard? If that’s not an insult to an air wizard, I don’t know what is.
Hey, I’m a fire wizard. I have a reputation to uphold.
Oh?
You know, the Fire Guild’s reputation for speaking the truth, even when it hurts.
I thought you meant our reputation for being obnoxious, tactless wiseasses.
Same thing, more or less, isn’t it?
Be careful, little brother. Your mouth will get you in serious trouble someday.
“Given the size of this conspiracy,” Sven said, when we next met in his study, “we’ll have to use both the second and third approaches. That is, bring as many mundane commoners in on the secret as possible to dilute it, before we put pressure on it from outside to break it.”
“So how do we reach all the commoners,” René asked, “when the Air Guild can’t do it, and it’s their business?”
Sven’s lip curled. “They haven’t made a serious effort. I have friends in the Air Guild—”
René said, “Like that enchantress you’ve been flirting with?”
Colour rose in Sven’s cheeks. “I have not been flirting with Enchantress Winifred.”
René hooted. I said, “She’s been flirting with you. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
Sven’s blush deepened. “I had noticed, but those coven meetings are serious business.”
Hey, big sister. He won’t marry an airhead, will he?
Not likely. He values intelligence too highly.
Sven said, “As I was starting to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, I respect a few members of the Air Guild, but most seem stuck in the tenth century. Their idea of spreading the word is to magically make a few hundred copies of a song or story and send it to the lower ranks, who travel from village to village telling the news. They ignore the printing press because they didn’t invent it, and it’s non-magical, so it doesn’t count. To them, anyway. But I’m not a mage for nothing. I have connections in the printing business. We could print thousands of copies of a broadsheet and blanket the country with it.”
“Will that help?” I asked. “Out in the countryside most people can’t read. More in the towns and cities are literate, but—”
“Even out in the country most are within a few miles of someone who can read—a pastor, a retired scholar, a professional letter writer—somebody. If we put copies into their hands, the news will spread.”
“Yes, but fast enough? In Cathay, the air wizards create notices that read themselves out loud.”
Sven’s eyes went round. “Wow. How do they do that?”
“No idea. But if we could figure it out, that would help.”
“You bet.”
“And we’ll light a fire under the Air Guild by showing them up.” René’s impish grin was contagious. “Make them do a better job of pulling their weight.”
“And make a few enemies, too,” I said.
René’s grin widened. “Do I care? How soon can we do it?”
Sven said, “Good question. It has to be synchronised with exposing the secret to the noblewomen. It’s the queen and her ladies that matter.”
I said, “We need to do it at the end of August—before unlocking the Water Office—when all the nobles are gathered in Paris.” I described my idea.
René laughed. “That’ll serve the king right. Let’s do it.”
I said, “Sven?”
Sven frowned, tapping on his desk. “Might work.”
René said, “What can I do?”
Sven said, “Find out which witches and wizards aren’t members of the conspiracy. We’ll recruit the ones that would be sympathetic.”
“I’m on it,” he said, and bounded into the fireplace.
“Sven, you’re worried,” I said. “Why won’t it work?”
Sven continued his relentless tapping. “It can work. But what will happen if it does?”
“What do you mean?”
“You brought up the subject of making enemies. Remember what I said about giving the Fire Guild a black eye? There are guild members who don’t give a farthing about the lives of mundane women, but will be pissed off at you—us—for making the guild look bad.”
“Why should I care about such reprobates?”
“Warlock Flint, I expect, will be one. He’s attacked you more than once already, with little justification. What will he do if he has justification? You live in Blazes, not in the Fortress. Can you be on your guard against him, day and night, for weeks on end? And not just for yourself. Who will protect little Edward when you and Quicksilver aren’t at home? A level three lady’s maid and a level one nursemaid are no match for a warlock.”
The room spun. The next thing I knew Sven was bending over me, pressing my head and shoulders down to my knees.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You look ghastly.”
I pushed him away. “I won’t faint. I just hadn’t… I mean, I said the conspiracy was dangerous, but I didn’t…”
“No, you don’t expect your neighbours to hurt you, do you? What normal, sane person does? Maybe I’m exaggerating how Flint will react…”
I shook my head. I’d seen evidence of Flint’s mean streak, and he wasn’t the only one in the Fire Guild with a vindictive nature. My obligation to protect Frankland’s women fought with my primal urge to protect my family. Jean had been right in making me learn to fight. When this was all over, I would have to apologise for my stubborn streak.
Sven said, “I don’t have a family to protect. Maybe you’ve already done all you needed to do. René and I can let you out of the counter-conspiracy, and we’ll carry on without you.”
“Aren’t you…” I stopped. Sven wouldn’t lie to me; I shouldn’t ask a question he wouldn’t care to answer. Sven, in his own way, was as good a model of a fire wizard as Jean. Like Jean, like Beorn, he would do what he had to. Even if, like me, he was afraid.
Jean’s words, from months earlier, echoed in my head. A warlock’s primary responsibility is to Frankland’s security. That trumps everything else: family, personal comfort, one’s own life.
“No,” I said. “You can’t do it without me.”
“If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “then let’s get on with it.”