Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,44

Willem held it up, and carefully stepped down to the cobbles of the Alley, keeping the illusion around him, moving slowly—you could break an illusion if you moved too fast, or let fear get into it.

He kept moving. He saw the guards look confused, and then charge back up the steps past Hersey, who delayed a moment, looking just as confused.

Then came the sounds of Wiggy’s bull voice from inside, and furniture being shoved about, and Hersey whirled around and ran back inside in a hurry.

“Here, you!” Wiggy was shouting, and “Where is he?” a foreign voice yelled…

…reminding Willem he wasn’t alone in the Alley. He hadn’t seen the fugitive, who had dived for cover somewhere.

I’m not here, he sent out, and turned around and found himself facing a leather-armored chest and a drawn sword and the fugitive looking straight at him.

I’m really not here, he sent, heart pounding. But a hand snaked out and grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Magician,” the fugitive said.

“Not me!” Willem protested, and backed up, pulling his shirt and himself and the loaf of day-old bread free of that grip. He sent very, very hard: I was never here!

The man looked confused for a moment, and that was enough. Willem ran for it, clutching the loaf of bread and feeling in his belt-pouch for one of the paper freeze-spells, in case.

The man was following him. But the Alley had twists, and out of sight was enough. Willem stopped with his back against grimy stone, and his feet amid blown debris, next to the potter’s steps.

Lost him. By now the only doorway the man would see was the one that had let him into the alley, and that was Wiggy’s place, where the guards were. So the man would stay there a while, and then go back up into the Merry Ox, and presumably get out and away for good.

It was a narrow escape. Really narrow. And going back to the Merry Ox right now to finish up business for the day was not a good idea. Hersey was going to be upset, Wiggy was, and they wouldn’t be in a bargaining mood, especially if the duke’s men had broken up the furniture.

And especially if the stranger came traipsing back through the bar wanting to be served.

No, it was a good time to be home, and home was two more bends down the Alley.

It was a relief, the solid sound of the door and the bar dropped—thunk!—into its slot. Willem drew his first whole breath.

But looking around at the occupants of the little house, all sitting by the fire, with its scant pot of yesterday’s beans—

Willem raked a hand through his hair. He was sweating. He had run the last block, to make sure there was no way the man could have overtaken him to spot another hole in his defense. And the faces arrayed around that waiting fireside mirrored his, in his disarray.

“Nobody followed me,” he said, first off, with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t lose the spells.” That was second. “Trouble got into the Alley and I’m sure it’s out again, by now.” Unless the duke’s men had stayed to swill down Wiggy’s warm beer and stranded the armored fellow out in the Alley for an hour or two. Neither side was going to be happy in that transaction.

“I brought bread,” he said, and admitted the truth. “I didn’t get down to trading with Hersey.” The usual pay was the butt end and bones of whatever roast or fowl Wiggy had been parsing out to his customers. And it made a big difference in supper. “And Melenne, well, this isn’t one of her best, but it’s solid.” A lot of flour was in that loaf. He took the two pieces of it out of his shirt, which it had blacked with its charred end, and it weighed like two bricks. “We might want to just add that to the beans.”

Two glum faces—Almore and Jezzy—greeted that suggestion; and one kind forgiveness—that was Master Cazimir, who tolerated everything.

“We can toast it, at least,” Jezzy said.

“Looks as if it’s been toasted,” Almore said glumly. “Twice.”

“Now, now,” Master said. “With the beans and all, it should be substantial, and maybe we can conjure up a taste of butter.”

Conjure was it, for sure: a taste, but no substance. Master could still do the butter trick, and occasionally toasted cheese. But Master wasn’t himself lately. He looked weary, and he forgot things, and occasionally his spells went astray…it