Od Magic by Patricia A McKillip

Author:Patricia A McKillip
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

News of the flamboyant and mysterious doings in the Twilight Quarter made its way swiftly out of the Twilight Gate, up the streets to the office of the quarter warden, who for once was actually in his office. He was trying to decipher a bill of lading for a ship docked in waters under his watch. Lord Pyt seemed to think it suspicious; Arneth found it nearly unreadable. The few words he understood seemed to have to do with exotic varieties of fish. Or was it trees? He couldn’t say with certainty. He opened his mouth to summon his secretary, a knowledgeable young man; the secretary put his head in the door before Arneth produced a sound.

“One of your street wardens is here,” he said. “Paquin Bel. He says it’s urgent.”

Arneth closed his mouth. Perhaps it was urgent, perhaps not; Paquin Bel had an exalted sense of duty. He nodded; the door opened wider, emitting the brawny, red-haired man.

“Sir,” he said briskly.

“Yes.”

“In the matter of the magician Tyramin, we have finally found a face.”

Arneth raised his brows. “Really?”

“Yes, sir.” Expression came into Paquin’s eyes then; he leaned impulsively over Arneth’s desk. “There was magic tonight in the streets of the Twilight Quarter.” He found his hands on Arneth’s desk and straightened hastily. “True magic.” He stopped, then added, “I think.”

Arneth grappled with that. “What form,” he asked finally, “did this magic take?”

“Fire.”

“Fire? Fire as in what? Tyramin uses fire in his tricks like a cook uses pepper.”

“A house on fire. As in, Tyramin put it out.” He paused, added again before Arneth could speak, “I think.”

“What do you mean you think?” Arneth demanded. “A house on fire anywhere in the city is an extremely dangerous matter. Don’t tell me what you think, tell me what you know.”

“Yes, sir,” Paquin said, his face wooden again. He fixed his eyes somewhere on the wall above Arneth’s shoulder, and continued without thinking, “A giant juggling fire tossed a brand too high; it fell onto the top balcony of one of the houses. The house caught fire. A woman was trapped on the balcony. A young man in the crowd below rescued her by means of a dancer’s sash, which he caused by magic to elongate itself to reach the balcony and remain stiffly in the air while she made her way down it by means of her hands. While she did that, the young man broke open a fountain nearby, pulled the water out of it with his hands, and directed it toward the fire, which had spread by then to the roof and was threatening the buildings next to it. There was a puff of smoke. Or steam. Or both. When it cleared, the fire was out, the woman on the ground, and the”—he hesitated, continued doggedly—“and the house and fountain as they had been before the fire broke out.”

“What?”

“Unchanged, sir. Not a mark on them. The streets were bone-dry. The crowd chose to see it as a trick of Tyramin’s. They

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