Chapter 1    -   Chapter 2   (page 6 of 6)    -   Chapter 3

         Lorham had returned to the bedroom a while before, leaving a tray of tea and coffee bitters for the two men. Their conversation had continued until well after midnight, and the candles were getting low as they sipped their beverages in delicate cups of hand-painted porcelain. A good spot of tea had always made for a better evening, and Perriman felt as if he was gaining back a little of his lost vigour. He understood most of Willoughby's tale, but there were still a few points that needed clarification.

         "So it had come to your attention that the individual purchasing the arms plans to use them against Tulla? Tulla? What fool would set himself against the power of the mages? And, more importantly, how would he ever find it? The only people who know its location…are…" Perriman trailed off, beginning to understand.

         "Now do you see why I was so cautious in contacting you, Mr. Smythe?" The gnome's words were shrewd, but his eyes were fearful. "Only someone from Tulla would know how to find the city, and use such weapons against her."

         "You didn't know in whom you could trust."
         "Precisely."
         "And you've no idea who this individual is?"
         "No, not yet."
         "Good god. Tulla-betrayed by one of her own! Its unthinkable!"
         "Yes, quite. And it wouldn't surprise me if this afternoon's robbery wasn't a staged attack." The gnome smiled warmly. "Had you not been there, Lorham and myself might have been killed. Again, my thanks to you."
         "Of course. But an attack would imply that the perpetrator knows that you're on to him. And now he knows that I have arrived as well. Perhaps you're not safe even here, Mr. Willoughsby."
         "I think we're safe, for now. I don't think this criminal would attack so soon after the botched attempt this afternoon. Besides, I've guards patrolling the grounds, and Lorham is a formidable foe when agitated."
         "Yes, I'm sure." Perriman was quiet for a moment, mulling over the facts in his mind. "I've a question for you, good sir. And please don't take this the wrong way…"
         "Yes?"
         "What is your interest here, Mr. Willoughsby? You've put yourself into grave danger over something that really isn't your affair. "
         Edward Willoughsby was silent for a moment, looking gravely at the young mage. "Have we gnomes changed so much that you are surprised when we lend a benevolent hand? We are creatures of magick as well, the oldest magick." His eyes softened then, and he leaned in, whispering. "I've also a brother among the elders of Tulla. A certain master Oakwood, the cartographer. A stubborn and disagreeable sort, but my blood just the same."

         Perriman smiled, amazed at the way of things, the magick of coincidence, the smallness of his world. They were silent for a while, each with their own thoughts. After a time, Perriman spoke.

         "Mr. Willoughsby, you never told me how it was you came to know about the plot against Tulla. Where did you come across that information?"
         "Ah, yes. I've a man in my employ that does things for me when they need to be done. A man of many talents, and quite resourceful. It was he who ferreted out the information about the attack on Tulla, and he's currently looking into the identity of the responsible party."
         "I see. And who is this man?"
         "Sebastian. His name is Sebastian. And I've the utmost confidence that he has the situation well in hand."

         Sebastian awoke to the slap of cold water on his face, shirtless, his arms tied behind his back and his left shoulder alarmingly numb. The cords around his wrists dug deeply into his flesh; he could feel blood dripping from the cuts to the floor. Some of his ribs seemed to be floating freely in the bruised flesh of his abdomen. The left side of his face was an indistinct and swollen mass. He spit two of his teeth to the floor, and looked up to see what awaited him.

         A man stood in front of him, tallish, with a finely-tailored wool suit and soft leather shoes. His face was chiseled, the uneven light of a single lantern casting angular shadows upon it, his eyes lost in the darkness of a thick brow. Two men stood behind him; another knelt on the floor, attempting, unsuccessfully, to revive the victim of the Tesla Rod. Sebastian chuckled.

         "You find this amusing? " The tall man looked down on him, his voice deep, and his speech as precise and proper as a nobleman's. "You truly are a hard man if you can laugh in the face of your own death."

         Sebastian looked up at the man, saying nothing, but smiling crookedly. Try as he might, he was having trouble finding the lighter side of the situation.

Continued in Chapter 3