A Certain Lack of Precaution (34)

In the moment of hesitation that was allowed by good manners and an expectation of surprise, I considered the possibilities

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It’s not that we were cornered in any way. The two of us, Mother and I, were surely enough to outwork one failed Agalin mage and his lackey. We were not cowed. We were not beaten.

But in the moment of hesitation that was allowed by good manners and an expectation of surprise, I considered the possibilities, and I’m sure Mother did the same.

Godiar said he was a failed mage. The lackey behind us might be merely that, but could just as easily be something more. Godiar might have allies inside the building. We might be easy victors, but we might also be utterly outmatched.

More pragmatically, even though we didn’t trust Godiar, he would certainly be of use in figuring out why Father had been murdered, either by what Godiar told us himself, or by what we learned about him beyond and besides that.

We smiled, and approached. Our embarrassment and discomfiture were real, although perhaps exaggerated slightly, especially on Mother’s part.

“Oh, Mister Godiar,” she simpered, “I fear I must apologize for this —”

Godiar waved us inside. “All in good time. Let us sit and discuss things like civilized acquaintances, no?”

The room we entered fit my impression of Godiar precisely, or rather, my impression of his story. One side of the room overflowed with clutter, papers, books, arrayed on shelves, splayed across tables, and scrolls stuffed into pigeonholes.

The other, sparse in comparison, contained a number of low chairs, enough to seat six or seven, arranged around a low table. Godiar waved us in the direction of the chairs.

Mother and I instinctively seated ourselves with our backs to the wall, affording a view of the front door, but also of the narrow staircase that led to an upper level, and a small door leading to another room, perhaps a kitchen.

The lackey loitered at the front door, and looked at Godiar with the expectation of receiving a command.

Godiar gathered a handful of scrolls from one of the tables in the far end of the room, which I recognized as the maps we had copied, and loaded them into the arms of the lackey. Godiar uttered a few quiet words, and the lackey departed.

Godiar turned to face us, and clapped twice, in quick succession, and with some enthusiasm.

I blinked at him, momentarily confused.

He yelled, “Shegla!”

The tone of authority must have carried into the back room better than a pair of mere claps. Shegla, a wizened crone with snow-white hair, stark against her ebony skin, hurried into the room through that small door.

Godiar barked a few commands, and Shegla bowed slightly before hurrying away. He turned to us, and explained, “I’ve asked for tea, and some sweet pastries.” He sat across from us, in a way that suggested he was a judge about to interrogate a witness. Even so, he was all smiles.

Before he had a chance to begin, Mother asked him, “Are you a scribe by trade these days, Mister Godiar?” She’d been eyeing the other side of the room.

“Indeed. I can still read and write, mercifully. Although, not as easily as before. Old age comes upon us all.” He shrugged in a way intended to disarm.

We agreed, quietly, and the moment of silence extended to the edge of discomfort. I wasn’t sure how best to proceed, and Mother said nothing while she watched Godiar intently.

Godiar broke the silence. “Following me home in this fashion was quite unnecessary. If you’d expressed any interest, I would most certainly have invited you to visit.”

He knew, I was certain. He knew we had a Trace on him, or had used our arts to follow him. By downplaying that truth, he was attempting to charm us, to lull us, to encourage unguardedness.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Mother lied. “We had thought to go out for a stroll, only, to familiarize ourselves with the area, and with reading the map in relation to our surroundings.”

To support this unexpected fabrication, I held up my hand which still clasped our rolled map of Mill Precinct.

Godiar glanced at it briefly, then into my eyes, and then returned his gaze to Mother.

“We happened to see you at the water statue, and only then did we become curious and decide to follow you.”

“Ah,” Godiar began, but Shegla returned with a tray of sustenance, and he subsided until she had deposited a tall, steaming, metal pot with an elegant spout, a trio of small glasses, and a plate of pistachio-encrusted delicacies, and returned to the back room.

Godiar reached for the pot, and served the rich brown tea. “Please, help yourselves,” he said, waving to the pastries. “They are very sweet, to offset the bitterness of the tea.”

I tried to keep the suspicion from my face. Bitter teas could easily contain detrimental herbs, and sweetness seemed like an obvious way to mask any telling flavours.

Still, we were at a disadvantage, and accepted the apparent hospitality.

Godiar reached for both tea and pastry for himself, which lessened my worries, even though I had a list of toxins running through my mind, toxins that one could build up resistance to, toxins that might cause injury in a sudden large dose, or, at least, could induce a certain lack of precaution.

Mother gasped. “Oh, these pastries are heavenly! Very kind of you.”

Godiar nodded, as if accepting the compliment. “I understand your curiosity, and even an amount of suspicion. I have come into your lives in an unexpected way, and the circumstances of our acquaintance are unfortunate, to say the least. Still, I confess that I am ... disheartened by the way we have come to be sitting here. I have been open with you about my history with Aranon, and I hope you can see that my only intention here is to help you to ascertain the truth about Aranon’s fate.”

He seemed sincere. But he had also made a couple of quite specific statements that he surely intended we would apply in a wider fashion.

“Please accept our apologies,” I said, as much to free Mother from his gaze as to actually apologize.

Godiar looked at me, and I wondered again how much he could sense our truths and our falsehoods. He nodded, though, after a pause.

Mother interrupted. “A most unfortunate misunderstanding. I hope we can put it behind us?”

“Of course. And now that we are finished with that, let us discuss our plan for tomorrow.”

We agreed readily enough, and went through the options together, rather openly.

Because I only had the Mill Precinct map with me, Godiar sketched out a rough map of the wider city to explain his suggestions, a map good enough for me to recognize the main features.

Before too long, Godiar sighed, and seemed to be wrapping things up. “I suggest we meet here in the morning, early, so we can fit in some of those key sites in other precincts? Now that you know the way here, it seems to make sense, no? I am on your way.” He smiled, as though he had won some kind of concession.

We couldn’t argue with his point, although I took exception at his smugness. We’d soon get started in earnest.

We said our goodbyes, stepped out into the night, and navigated the deserted streets from one pool of light to the next, our minds free of the influence of any herb.

Continue reading with Part 35 next Thursday.