Part 6 (2/2)

The shopkeeper clucked his tongue. ”There are some who might be disappointed not to be able to wear that ring. It bears the crest of Myrrgon. Of all the Old Houses, none has given Altania more of its greatest magicians, and these days no ring I have would win you more praise and admiring looks than this one. But there's no use fretting about it. This one's not for you.” He s.n.a.t.c.hed the ring back.

Rafferdy hardly knew what to think of all this, except to wonder if maybe he had just been insulted. The little man dug through the drawer of rings, at times picking one up, studying it a moment, glancing at Rafferdy, then putting it back. ”I doubt it would be Xandrus,” he would mutter as he sorted through the rings, or, ”Oh, I should think not Vordigan!” Just when Rafferdy was ready to put a stop to this, the little man plucked a ring from the corner of the drawer and held it toward Rafferdy.

”Try this one.”

The ring was rather plain compared to the others; the silver band bore only a single stone, bluish in color, as well as a line of thinly etched runes around the circ.u.mference. Rafferdy was growing rather perturbed by then, so he fairly s.n.a.t.c.hed the ring from the shopkeeper and jammed it onto his right hand.

The ring slid on smoothly and easily, fitting snugly but not too tightly around the base of his fourth finger. Rafferdy stared at it.

”Well, that's rare enough,” the shopkeeper said, and clapped pudgy hands. ”I must say, I am rather surprised. I almost always pick the correct House on the first or second try, and I really wouldn't have thought it would be this. But Gauldren it is; there can be no doubt of it. I suppose you should consider yourself fortunate. Many would give much to have a claim to that name-Gauldren the Great, who quelled the wrath of the Wyrdwood and made all of Altania safe for the establishment of civilization. Without doubt it is the most revered and respected of the seven Old Houses. But the most powerful?” He shook his head and let out a gurgling laugh. ”No, I wouldn't say that.”

Rafferdy had no idea how to respond. Had the man just played some trick on him? He raised his hand and looked at the ring; the cloudy blue gem had a faint sheen to it despite the dim light of the shop.

”What is your name?” the little man asked.

”Rafferdy,” he said, studying the ring. ”Dashton Rafferdy.”

The shopkeeper opened a ma.s.sive book on the counter and flipped through its pages. ”Would that be the north country Rafferdys or the Rafferdys of County Engeldon?”

”Engeldon.” He gave the shopkeeper a look. ”And you are...?”

”I am Adabrayus Mundy, purveyor of magickal books and arcane objects.” The squat little man bowed.

”Well, Mr. Mundy, here is your ring back,” he said, taking off the silver ring and setting it on the counter.

”But do you not wish to purchase it, Mr. Rafferdy? I am certain we can agree upon a...fair price.”

”The price does not matter, as I would not wear such a hideous thing were it given away free,” Rafferdy said. Besides, he was increasingly certain the shopkeeper had indeed played a ruse upon him, one intended to dupe him into thinking the ring was special and buying it. ”But as I have indulged you in trying it on, I hope you will return the favor by answering a question. The man who was in here before me-do you know him?”

”Mr. Bennick? Yes, I know him.” He gave Rafferdy a sly look. ”And do you know him as well?”

”I have made his acquaintance,” Rafferdy said, though this was not entirely true. ”Tell me, does Mr. Bennick...Is he something of a magician, then?”

”Well, he is a scion of House Vordigan.” Mr. Mundy licked his fingertips and flipped through the book. ”Throughout the ages it was always the least of the Houses-until recent years, that is, when it gave Altania its last great magician. You have no doubt heard of Slade Vordigan.”

”Yes, I heard the tale, like every child,” Rafferdy said with growing annoyance. ”How Slade Vordigan stood on a hill at Selburn Howe, waved his hands, and mumbled some nonsense, which served to drive the Old Usurper back to the sea, no doubt by confounding him with absurdity, thus winning the day for king and country.”

”A tale, you call it,” Mr. Mundy said. ”But is it not King Rothard who sits upon the throne rather than Huntley Morden? Here we are, the Vordigan crest.” He tapped a page that bore an engraving of a serpent devouring its own tail. ”Mr. Bennick is Slade Vordigan's grandson. In his youth he was a very promising magician. He is no lord in name, but few lords can best him. Or could, at least. He does not practice these days.”

”Really? And if he does not do magick, why was he here in your shop?”

Mr. Mundy closed the book with a boom. ”My customers expect and receive complete discretion, Mr. Rafferdy.”

Rafferdy stepped back from the cloud of dust conjured by the shutting of the book. He had learned all he could-and had endured more than he could tolerate-from this toadlike little man. ”Thank you for your time, Mr. Mundy,” he said, and made his way to the door.

”Do come back when you change your mind about the ring!” the shopkeeper called after him.

”Thank you, but I'm quite sure I won't,” Rafferdy said, and closed the door behind him.

Rafferdy made his way down the dank lane back to the carriage, absently rubbing his right hand as he went. He was suddenly weary and instructed his driver to take him back to Warwent Square.

Rafferdy leaned back in the seat. So Mr. Bennick fancied himself some sort of magician-or had at one time, at any rate. It could not be surprising, given his comments that night at Lady Marsdel's. All the same, Rafferdy found himself disappointed. He had not thought a man of such keen mind would be seduced by such a silly fas.h.i.+on. Perhaps Mr. Bennick was neither so intelligent nor so intriguing as he had thought.

Constrained by the tangled lanes, the carriage had no choice but to escape the Old City by the Hillgate and make its way around through the streets of Gauldren's Heights. This part of Invarel was populated by gentry and well-to-do professionals, and its streets were lined with st.u.r.dy houses of brick and stone. It was a decent and entirely respectable neighborhood-that is, of no interest to Rafferdy.

They were nearly to the edge of the Heights when they found the street ahead of them blocked by a hack cab with a broken wheel. While its driver tried to effect a repair, the hapless pa.s.senger-a man dressed in an ill-fitting black suit-stood to one side.

Rafferdy instructed his driver to go around, but as the cabriolet pa.s.sed the broken-down hack, an astonis.h.i.+ng thing happened: the pa.s.senger standing in the street waved and called out Rafferdy's name in a cheerful, rather high-pitched voice.

”Shall I stop, sir?” the driver asked, turning around in his box.

Rafferdy's first thought was to tell the driver to whip the horses into a gallop. However, it was too late; he had been recognized. If he tried to flee now, Lady Marsdel would surely hear of it, and he had no desire to earn another scolding. Instead, he directed the driver to pull up in front of the hack cab, and its pa.s.senger hurried over to the cabriolet.

”I say, good day, Mr. Rafferdy!”

Rafferdy managed a pained smile. ”Good day, Mr. Wyble.”

”What marvelous fortune that you should happen upon me at this moment,” the laywer exclaimed. ”What a remarkable and happy occurrence! But I say, I would never have thought to find you in this part of the city.”

”Yet here I am,” Rafferdy said. There was an awkward pause, and he could hardly bring himself to say the words that must follow next. However, at last he managed to utter them. ”Are you in need of a.s.sistance, Mr. Wyble?”

”Oh, indeed! Indeed I am, Mr. Rafferdy, if you would be so kind. As you can see, I am utterly stranded.”

As was Rafferdy. But there was nothing for it, and he soon found himself sitting next to Mr. Wyble as the cabriolet continued through the streets of Gauldren's Heights.

The lawyer clutched his hat to keep it from flying off his head and affected a broad smile. ”Well, out of misfortune comes opportunity, as wise men say.”

”How so?” Rafferdy asked.

”I mean now is the perfect chance for us to engage in our postponed conversation, Mr. Rafferdy.”

”So it is,” Rafferdy said. ”In fact, I imagine it can in no way be avoided.” And he settled back in the seat, bracing himself for the long ride to Mr. Wyble's destination.

CHAPTER SIX.

E LDYN WATCHED THE two men in gray coats depart the inn, then sighed into his half-empty cup of ale. His conversation with Mr. Sarvinge and Mr. Grealing, though brief, had filled him at once with new hope and new dread. His opportunity was not yet lost, as he had feared, but it soon would be if he was not able to acquire a hundred regals. And Eldyn's pockets were as empty as ever.

”What did those men want with you?” Sas.h.i.+e asked, alighting on a chair across from him.

Eldyn looked up in surprise. The inn's public room was not a proper place for an unaccompanied young woman, and he had told her she was never to come down here without his permission-though that was a rule, he had to admit, he had not been able to strictly enforce.

”Is it money they want?”

Eldyn fidgeted with the cup. So far he had not told Sas.h.i.+e of his plan to earn back the Garritt family fortune; he did not want to worry her about their situation. However, the look in his sister's blue eyes was earnest and trusting, and he could not lie to her, not like their father had. How often had he promised her fancy dresses and pretty baubles, only to leave her crying once he drank and gambled the money away?

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