Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [29]
Seeing all of this accumulated wisdom generated a feeling of inadequacy about his own education. He knew he was intelligent, but here was a more structured knowledge: ancient languages, history, the names of rare flora and fauna, whereas he mostly knew about swords and dancing and women. He had his wits, though, and you couldn’t find every answer in a book—some were out in the real world.
The door opened, and a woman stepped in, garbed in the same outfit as the other two cultists. Her hair was darker than he remembered, and she was leaner.
“Who wants to speak to me?” Her voice was deep, her blue eyes dazzling.
Randur walked over to her, drew out the coin.
She took it and studied it. “Yes, I remember. Folke, 1757. You’re the little boy that saved me.” She handed it back, and gave him something like a smile. The severe lines on her face suggested that this was a rare gesture. “You’ve grown, I see.”
“It happens,” Randur murmured, placing the coin back in his pocket. “You said, at the time, if I ever needed a favor to come and find you.”
“You have had a successful journey then, so far.” Papus walked over to the table, and began to shuffle some papers. “Well, what is the favor?”
“I need to find a cultist who can stop someone from dying, or else bring them back from the dead.”
Regarding him seriously, she put down the papers she was holding and took a step closer.
“I did save your life,” Randur said lamely. He thought at this point it might be an appropriate reminder.
“Yes, so you did—but you’re making an incredibly serious request, you realize? I mean, why would you want to live forever?”
“It’s not for me. It’s my mother.”
“Oh, I see.” Papus perched on one end of the table. “Could you just wait here for a moment?”
“I’m used to that by now.”
Papus reached under her cloak with her right hand—
—and vanished in a flash of purple light.
Randur jumped up, as if scalded, and stepped toward the table. He scanned the heaps of books and papers as if they’d offer any clues. “Now how the hell did she do that?”
Randur was back in the seat by the window, trying to fathom one of the books that he clearly didn’t understand. He decided that he liked the diagrams aesthetically, however.
The door opened. Papus re-entered.
“I see you’re using the door now?”
“Look,” Papus said, “I do owe you a major favor, and I’ve talked it over with a few of my colleagues here, but I fear I must tell you that what you’ve asked for isn’t really where our expertise lies.”
Maybe he was naive, but this was getting frustrating. “You’re magicians, aren’t you?”
“No,” she said, briefly.
“No?”
“No, we’re much more than that. It isn’t simple magic. There’s a whole craft involved. We devote years to studying the subtleties of our technology.”
It sounded like a speech recited many times before.
“You made a promise. So what d’you suggest?”
“Well, I’m referring you now to another sect. You’ve got to understand that we normally have nothing whatsoever to do with them. I’m not placing you in any direct danger, but you must be particularly careful. I’m only doing this, remember, because of your service to me all those years ago. I would not be doing it for any other reason.”
“They sound pretty unsavory,” Randur said. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”
“Let’s just say that this is a tough time for the orders. Relationships are strained.”
“So I gather your lot and this other group don’t like each other.”
“That is putting it mildly.” Papus laughed. “But I’m now handing you over to them, and that is my favor to you in exchange. I don’t think you’ll ever understand just how big a favor it is.” She paused, then explained. “We have radically different ways of thinking.”
“How so?” Randur inquired,