It was very early in the day; only the first rays of dawn were peeking through the window. She was unused to waking so early, especially from the comfort of the fine bed she’d been given. The cause of her early rousing from welcome rest was clear: the banging and yelling echoing through the vent in the floor. Still groggy, she bent down to listen. The warm air hit her feet first, then her head as she leaned closer to the vent.
“…mad at me for using the salt in my own house! I needed it last night for my stinging slime—stop throwing pots at me!”
Skate winced and tried to cover her ear as the resounding clangor of cookware shot through the vent.
“Rattle, I mean it, these things cost money to replace, and you might dent them.” Silence greeted this last warning, and when Belamy spoke again, it was in much more controlled tones. “I’ll get you some more salt as soon as I can. I know,” he said over the sound of clicking legs. “I know food needs salt in order to have flavor. You’ll just have to make do until I can get to market to buy another bag. Or maybe Skate will want to go; it’s her food you’re worried about.” Lighter clicks followed. “You’re right, I should have told you about it beforehand. Even better, I should have purchased some for the lab instead of using up the kitchen supply. As I said, though, I can’t fix it right now. I’ve got a bigger problem to deal with. I’m sure Skate won’t mind helping you.”
A few more clicks, then the faint shuffling of feet. Skate stood up and chuckled. “He’s going to send me shopping,” she said, and shook her head. She got dressed and went downstairs. When she saw Belamy at his desk, she almost fell down the remaining steps.
He was no longer dressed in his green robes that he had worn every day since she had first met him. Instead, he was bedecked in the bright red robes gifted to him as a payment for his service in the war. He was not sitting with a book open in front of him, as she was used to, but was standing with his shoulders hunched over a pair of leather bandoliers, each slot filled with glass jars of varying size, shape, and contents. As she walked, he selected a vial and placed it into the inner folds of the magnificent robes.
He looks like he belongs with the Baron’s court, she thought. The robes changed his entire appearance. Instead of a doddering old man wrapped up in old dusty books, he looked like a commander, an aristocrat. There was something military about his appearance, though he bore no weapons or insignias beyond the royal seal at the collar. This warlike character had not been nearly so pronounced when the robes had merely been on display, and seeing them fully in this way was jarring. Something about Belamy’s face had changed, as well; he looked determined. He carried himself with a surety and determination that was at odds with the old, unimposing scholar she knew. She was looking for the first time at the Iron Wind, readying himself for a battle.
He turned his gaze at Skate, and softened immediately. The frown of cold command melted into a polite and welcoming smile. “Good morning,” he said, taking another vial and putting it into a different pocket without looking at it. “How was your rest?”
“Good. That vent does a really good job keeping the room warm,” she said while she pointed at the one on the wall. “Unfortunately, it also lets in sounds that might otherwise not have reached upstairs.”
“Ah,” Belamy said, glancing at the kitchen. “Yes. Well.” At a loss, he returned to his inspection and storage.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, I think so. Or, I think it will be. I, uh, may have used up all of the salt in the kitchen in my work last night. I had run out, you see, and no one would have been willing to sell to me in the volume I needed in the middle of the night, so I had to improvise. He’s sore at me,” he said, jerking his head toward the kitchen, “but it couldn’t be helped. There’s no telling how much of this I might need today, and I refuse to be caught unprepared.” Though he was looking at his assortment of glass bottles, his gaze seemed far away as he spoke. “I do not wish to cause harm to anyone, least of all innocent bystanders or victims of the troupe. I must have these tools available for their sake. No casualties, no injuries if it can be helped.” He shook his head and blinked, clearing his head. “Anyway, I say that to explain that your breakfast will likely be somewhat bland—” His words were accompanied by a banging in the kitchen. He spoke a little louder to be heard over the tumult. “Somewhat bland this morning. Would you mind going to pick up some salt later? Perhaps after breakfast? Rattle will gather the coins you need.”
“Sure. What’s going on with all this?” she asked, gesturing toward the robes he wore, the surface of which shimmered in the morning light, the glint of rubies noticeable to the point of distraction. “Going to some party or something later?”
“Not at all,” he said, laughing. “These robes were a gift from the king. I’ve told you about them, I think. I’ve taken them out of storage because they’re not merely ornamental. They’re heavily enchanted, both for attack and for defense. I do not know the extent of the abilities of these minstrels, and I doubt our conversation will go entirely peacefully. I expect a fight ahead, so I’ve put on my armor, so to speak.” He took two more vials and placed them in their appointed places within the fold of his robes. Satisfied, he rolled up the remaining bottles in the leather bandoliers and closed the straps on each. “These,” he said, lifting both of the containers off the desk, one under each arm, “are what I was working on last night. Some tools besides magic to try to make sure no one gets hurt, if it can be helped.”
He swept past her with the potions and down the hidden staircase, which stood open and swung lightly on its hinges. She moved to follow him, but remembered the burning in her eyes and throat from the night before and thought better of it. Instead, she went to the kitchen. Rattle was busy cooking, though its movements were jerkier than usual, and its wings flapped with more force.
“Hey, Rattle.”
It turned to look at her, not slowing in its movements. Though its speed was unaffected, its motions smoothed out when it saw her. It freed one leg and waved it at her, then returned to its business. She left it alone and turned back to the living room in time to catch Belamy headed for the door. “Hey, when are you coming back?”
He had his hand on the door. “When I have the information I need.” His voice was hard once more. He did not turn around.
He’ll be fine. The Ink would be present, but Belamy was a lich prepared for battle. Any mention of the thieves would invite unwanted and uncomfortable questions. “Good luck.”
He nodded and walked through the door. The day outside was bright but cold. The sunlight shining down and reflected on white snow made the glare painful to look at. The brightness created an aura of red around the wizard as it refracted and reflected on his robes. He stepped lightly from the doorway and floated into the air. Skate hurried to the door and leaned against the jamb, watching him float. Some pedestrians pointed and clapped as he soared like a red fluttering bird late for its migration through the cold. Skate smiled and went back inside.
The Ink was expecting her to take advantage of his absence, to take his most precious possession from downstairs and flee. Instead, she went back in and closed the hidden bookcase.