Dead Letter Read Online Free PDF Page B

bought these fair. Go
ask the wharfies. Any of ‘em will vouch I tell it true.”
    The
guard waved her off. “Piss off back to the docks then, and leave my
line alone.”
    “ Take your leave,” said Lanuille to the peddler.
    “ Where’s the justice?” The woman spat a bloody gob and
retreated, shouting, “You guilders are all alike!”
    The
mages returned to the queue. Kettna was annoyed at Lanuille for her
cold regard of the poor woman’s treatment, and waiting in line
fanned that frustration. Two guards inside the gatehouse collected
the shine as the citizens filed through. Kettna handed over a
silver tab and received a moustached scowl.
    “ Anything smaller?” asked the guard, his twitching moustache
and bunched eyebrows mirroring each other.
    “ I have half a silver,” replied Kettna. “Will that
help?”
    The
guard’s frown deepened and he snatched the full silver tab from
Kettna’s open hand. “Bloody mages. I swear you’ve never seen a
copper in your life.” The guard counted back six full coppers and
eight halves. “Don’t go dropping it in the nearest beggar’s hat
neither. It only encourages ‘em to ask for more from folk like me
who can nary afford it.”
    Once
through the gatehouse, Kettna headed straight for the vibrant
market square across the street. She pressed into a thick crowd
gathered about a trio of street performers. One juggled daggers,
another spiked maces. Both did so on a pole balanced on the
shoulders of a minotaur. The bull wore only loose cotton pants, and
his formidable muscular physique drew as much awe as the juggling
did. Women blushed and giggled with bawdy humour. They fluttered
fans and caressed their moistened skin with floral
handkerchiefs.
    A
distraction like this was just the thing to test her escort. Novice
Kettna watched the performers a while longer, waiting for the
adepts to think she was mesmerised by the show. Then Kettna ran,
dodging through the crowds and heading for the nearest backstreet.
Lanuille fell behind, but her companions wouldn’t be shaken. No
matter which way she turned or how fast she ran they kept up. More
infuriating still, they appeared in no way breathless from the
chase. Kettna ran through a maze of back alleys until she reached a
dead end and knew she was lost. There was no way to outsmart these
two men. “Fine then,” she said, admitting defeat. “You’ve caught
me, guildermen. I yield, for I’m all out of breath.” They made no
response, only stood in the alley and resumed their conversation,
as though the wild chase had been no annoyance at all. “You two
never gave your names. I’ve not seen you around the Island before.”
The two men continued their reserved discussion. “No need to be so
rude about it. Just give me your names and we can all get
along.”
    They
didn’t even look at Kettna. What conversation could be so
interesting? She tried to listen in, but she only identified
incomplete words and fragments of speech that made no sense alone.
While every specific detail of the discussion dropped out of her
comprehension, her mind persisted to evaluate the discourse as
legitimate. Kettna reached for the arm of the closest mage to get
his attention. His robes felt softer than any she had known. The
man took a step away from her grasping appraisal, but kept
directing his attention and conversation towards his companion.
Kettna waved a hand in front of his face and garnered no response.
She summoned a connection to the weave, watching the men converse
and listening to their indiscernible dialogue. The more she
examined their interaction with the surrounding world—the light and
shadows, the movement of the breeze, their impossibly diverting
conversation—the more she became convinced of their true nature.
She reached out again and her hand passed through the man’s arm,
her doubt an antidote to their mental trickery. Neither man was
real.
    The
illusion was masterful, but how was it functioning when Adept
Lanuille was