Cold Steel
“Have the radicals no spies?” I asked.
“We have successfully insinuated a few spies into the princely courts. What we lack is any knowledge of the plans of the mage Houses, for they are closed to us.”
Vai considered his bowl of stew, then met Brennan’s gaze. “I can move easily into any mage House in Europa. But I do not stand so high in mage ranks that I would ever be admitted to councils of war.” He glanced sidelong at me in a way meant to make me smile, and it did. “However, once I introduce my wife into those halls, she can eavesdrop.”
“Are you truly willing to do this for the radicals, Magister?” Brennan asked.
“I don’t do this for you. I do this for my friends in Expedition, and for my village.”
“If the mage Houses discover you are acting as our agent, they will kill you.”
He shrugged. “If I am willing to risk nothing for freedom, then I am not a man.”
“Caith and I are not going to Noviomagus,” added Chartji. “Not if one of our older brethren is nesting there.”
“Keer also used the phrase older brethren,” I said. “By which I collect you mean the creatures we call dragons. Why can you not go to Noviomagus if the headmaster is one of them?”
She showed her teeth again, all white and sharp, and chuffed in a way meant to show amusement or, perhaps, a shiver of what a human would have called nervous laughter.
“Because he would eat us.”
On a cold late Martius day, slushy and stinging, we reached the mighty Rhenus River. The town of Noviomagus had been founded as a far-flung outpost of the expanding Roman empire and was now a thriving center of trade and textiles. The central district was crowded with opulent four-story edifices, the homes of rich lords and merchant families. In contrast, the mage House was ostentatiously single-storied, its sprawling wings and courtyards eating up several city blocks.
“Keep silence and follow my lead.” The press of his mouth gave him a sneer.
A steward starched to perfection in a magnificent orange boubou appeared at the door. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and as dark as Vai, the patrician height of all that is cultured and impeccable.
“We interview for servants in the kitchen wing. You may go around to the left.”
Vai crushed his gloves in his hands. “I am Andevai Diarisso, a magister of the Diarisso lineage, out of Four Moons House. I suggest you escort me to see your mansa as soon as we are properly purified and have made the rightful courtesies.”
The steward’s eyebrows flew up in an expression of astonishment. “Is this all an honored magister of Four Moons House travels with? A satchel and a woman?”
A chilly blast of air huffed over us as a few stray hailstones clattered down.
Here stood the Andevai I had first known and loathed!
The steward’s stare made my neck prickle. “Ah, of course. This way, Magister.”
He ushered us into an antechamber furnished with plain wooden benches and a set of tapestries depicting the diaspora from the Mali Empire. A heavyset woman in an indigo robe offered us water in the traditional way.
“Magister, you must be purified through water.” She indicated that Vai should go with the steward. “I will myself attend you, Maestra.”
The House had splendid baths in the Roman style, split into a men’s and a women’s half just as they had been at the gatehouse of Four Moons House.