The Spirit Thief

CHAPTER 5

Miranda stood at the center of the empty prison cell, her bare feet resting on a springy bed of new moss that spread out from the moss agate ring lying in the middle of the floor. The heavy door to the cell was open, though it would have been useless even if closed, owing to the gaping hole in the middle where the wooden boards should have been. The boards themselves lay in disgrace a few feet away, piled against the far wall of the cell.

She could feel the moss humming under her toes as it crept across the stone, feeling for slight changes in the dust. “He’s very light-footed; I’ll give him that,” the moss said. “It feels like he spent most of his time by the door, but”—Miranda got the strange sensation that the moss was frowning—“every spirit here is dead asleep, mistress. If he used any spirits, he was uncommonly quiet about it.”

Miranda nodded thoughtfully. “What about the door?”

“That’s the strangest bit.” The moss crept over the pile of boards, poking them with thousands of tiny rootlings. “The door is sleeping soundest of all.”

“Thief nothing,” Miranda said, rubbing her palms against her temples. “That man is a ghost.”

The cell was only the latest in a long line of failures as night turned to morning. “Well,” she said, “Eli’s not a Spiritualist. Maybe he used something else.”

“Enslavement, you mean?” The moss wiggled with displeasure. “Impossible, mistress. Enslavements happen when the wizard’s will completely dominates the spirit’s until it has no choice but to obey. It’s not a subtle thing. Why, even a momentary enslavement just to open the door would spook every spirit within earshot. They’d be moaning about it forever. But this room is so relaxed even I’m feeling sleepy. If you hadn’t told me otherwise, I would have guessed these idiots hadn’t so much as smelled a wizard in a hundred years.”

“Why do you say that?” Miranda sat down on her heels. “If he didn’t do anything flashy or dangerous, like enslavement, I doubt these rocks would notice a wizard standing right on top of them. Most spirits won’t even wake up enough to talk to a wizard unless we stand around making a racket for a few hours. Remember how long it took me to get your attention, Alliana?”

Alliana ruffled her green fuzz. “Spirits might not always respond, but we always notice a wizard. You’re very distracting.”

“You mean we’re loud and obnoxious,” Miranda said. “But then why did no one notice Eli?”

“Sometimes, spirits choose not to notice,” the moss said wistfully. “There are some wizards it’s better not to look at.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda leaned closer to the moss’s fluffy green surface. “Is Eli one of those?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Alliana said with a huff. “I’ve never seen him.”

“Then what—”

“It’s no use asking any more questions, mistress,” the moss said. “I can’t say it any clearer. It really is too bad you humans are spirit blind. It’s so hard to explain things like this when you can’t see what I’m talking about.”

Miranda blew the hair out of her face with an exasperated huff. Spirits were eternally complaining about the human inability to the see the spirit world, as if humans chose to be blind out of sheer stubbornness. As always, she tried to remind herself that it was very hard on spirits. All humans had the innate ability to control the spirits around them, though only born wizards could actually hear the spirits’ voices, and thus actually use their power. But this power came with a price, for, wizard or not, no human could see as the spirits saw. It was as if the whole race lacked a vital sense, and this lack was a source of endless frustration for both sides. It wasn’t that Miranda didn’t appreciate the difficulty. She did, really. For Alliana to explain how a wizard was distracting would be like Miranda trying to describe the color red to a blind person. Even so, it was impossibly frustrating when, every time she got a little closer to finally understanding, the spirit would pull the whole “Well, you can’t see, so I can’t explain” cop-out. Her spirits might serve her willingly, but sometimes she got the feeling she didn’t really understand them at all.

“Let’s move on,” she said. “Go ahead and wake up the door. You said Eli spent all his time beside it. If he’s as powerful as Master Banage seems to think he is, the wood should have noticed something.”

The wood was not cooperative. First, it took thirty minutes of Alliana’s poking to wake it up. Then, as soon as the wood recognized the moss as a wizard-bound spirit, it shut itself down in protest. Even after some direct threats from Miranda herself, the most she could get out of it was that Eli had been a nice and helpful human, with a strong implication that she was not. After that, the door buried itself in a sound sleep and nothing Alliana did could wake it.

Miranda threw herself down on the cell’s narrow bench with a frustrated sigh and began to tug her socks back on. She still didn’t know how Eli had escaped, but at least the door had mentioned him. Her attempts in the throne room had been a disaster. The officials had trailed her every step, muttering suspiciously, while the spirits remained sleepy, distant, and decidedly unhelpful. Ten hours wasted, altogether, and nothing but frustration and an attack on her personality to show for it. It was enough to make her spit.

She called Alliana and the circle of bright green moss began to shrink, returning to the moss agate ring that lay on the floor. When the moss was completely gone, Miranda bent down and picked the ring up. She ran her fingertips lovingly over the smooth stone, soothing the moss spirit into a light sleep. When Alliana was quiet, Miranda slipped the ring back onto its home on her right pinky finger.

“What are you doing now?” a perky voice behind her asked. “Did you find anything?”

Miranda’s smile vanished. She’d almost forgotten about the girl.

Of course, Mellinor, a country that had built a long and proud tradition out of hating wizards, wasn’t about to let one roam around alone. When it became clear they couldn’t follow her all night, the masters of Mellinor had insisted on providing a “guide” who stayed with her at all times “for her convenience.” Unfortunately, because of that long and proud tradition of hating wizards, volunteers for the position of wizard watcher had been scarce. Finally, the masters had given the job to the only person who actually seemed to want it, an overly inquisitive junior librarian named Marion.

Marion peered through the doorway, her round face beaming. “Are you done growing moss?”

“In a manner, yes.” Miranda leaned back against the cool stone.

The girl poked around the cell, growing more excited by the moment. “Amazing! The moss is gone! Was that a spell?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. A spell? No one had talked about magic in terms of spells since before the first Spirit Court. “The moss was my servant spirit,” she said, and she held up her hand, waggling her fingers so the rings glittered in the torchlight. “She was very helpful, but, unfortunately, we’re no closer to finding where Eli took the king. I’d like to try—”

“Did the spirit cast a spell?” The girl looked hopeful.

Miranda pressed her palm hard against her forehead. “Marion, this would go more smoothly if you wouldn’t ask questions.”

The girl’s face fell, and Miranda immediately felt awful. Fabulous effort at making a good impression, she thought. The one person in the whole kingdom who doesn’t think you’re the living incarnation of all that’s wrong in the world, and you yell at her.

“Look, Marion,” Miranda said gently, “how much do you know about wizards?”

“Not much, really,” Marion said sheepishly, tugging at her long, formless tunic dress, which Miranda had come to recognize as the Mellinorian librarian uniform. “All the books about wizards were destroyed generations ago.” She reached furtively into one of her cavernous side pockets and pulled out a slim leather book. “This was all I could find. I’ve practically memorized it.”

The book looked ancient. Its leather cover was cracked and worn and missing chunks in several places. Miranda took it gently and stifled a groan when she read the title, Morticime Kant’s A Wizarde’s Travels. Of course, the one book the Mellinorian purge missed would be the most ostentatious, misinformed plague on wizardry that had ever stained a page. If you wanted someone to get the wrong idea about magic, this was the book you would give them.

Out of morbid curiosity, she flipped it open to a random page and started reading a section labeled “On the Dress and Manner of Wizardes.”

“A wizarde is easily separated from his fellow men owing to the Presence of his Person. Often he will carry the Fragrance of Old Magic, gained from his years over the cauldron brewing his fearsome Magical Potions. If you do not wish to step close enough to determine his odor (for doing so may put you in his thrall, beware!) you may determine his demeanor from a safe distance, for all wizardes wear, by oath, the marks of their Station, namely the ever present flowing Robes of State, the flashing Rings of Enchantment, and the long-pointed, elegant cap of a Master of Magicks. Further more—”

Miranda snapped the book shut in disgust. Whoever had purged the library had probably left it on purpose.

“Well,” she said, handing the book back, “that explains much.”

The girl cringed at the scorn her voice, and lowered her head until the thick woolen veil that covered her blonde hair slid down to hide her face as well. “I did not mean to offend, lady wizard.”

“Spiritualist,” Miranda corrected gently. The girl peeked at her quizzically, and Miranda tried again. “Let me explain. Wizards don’t do magic—at least, not like the book describes it. What Kant calls ‘magicks’ are actually spirits. The world we live in is made of spirits. Mountains, trees, water, even the stones in the wall or the bench I’m sitting on”—she rapped the wood with her knuckles—“they each have their own souls, just as humans do. The word ‘wizard’ is just a catchall name for a person who can hear those spirits’ voices. Now, it’s possible for anyone to hear the spirits if they are seriously injured or dying. Death brings us as close as humans can get to the spirit world. What makes a wizard different is that wizards hear spirits all the time, even if they don’t want to. But a wizard’s real power is not just hearing the spirits, it’s control. Wizards can exert their will over the spirits around them and, if the wizard’s will is strong enough, control them. Though, of course, this control must always be used responsibly and only with the spirit’s consent.”

She looked at Marion to make sure this wasn’t more explanation than the girl was willing to listen to, but the librarian was practically leaning on to Miranda’s shoulder in rapt attention, so the Spiritualist continued.

“Not all spirits are the same, of course. There are Great Spirits, a mountain, for example, and small spirits, like a pebble. The larger the spirit, the greater its power, and the stronger a wizard’s will has to be to control it, or even just get its attention. Almost any wizard can wake up a small, stupid spirit, like a pebble, or that door you saw me yelling at earlier, but it’s how they treat the spirit once they’ve woken it that determines what kind of wizard they are.”

Miranda pointed at her rings. “I am a Spiritualist. Like all wizards, I have the power to dominate spirits and force them to do my bidding, but I don’t. The Spirit Court does not believe in forcing the world to do our will. Instead, we make contracts. Each of these rings contains a spirit who has willingly entered my service.” She wiggled her fingers. “In return for their work and obedience, I share my energy with them and provide a safe haven. That’s the way a Spiritualist works, give and take. Often, it’s a good deal for both wizard and spirit. Born wizards often have large and powerful souls, and spirits love to share that power that is often greater than their own. In return, the wizard gets a powerful ally, so it works out both ways. Still, service is always by choice. We never force a spirit to serve us against its will. Any wizard who does is not a Spiritualist, and thus not someone you want around.” She pointed at the only ring on her hand without a jewel, a thick gold signet on her left ring finger stamped with a perfect circle. “This is the mark of the Spirit Court. The only legitimate wizards are ones who show this ring proudly. It is a sign of the vows Spiritualists make to never abuse that power, or the spirits who depend on us.”

“I see,” Marion said, her blue eyes widening until her wispy eyebrows were lost under her square bangs. “But there are wizards who aren’t Spiritualists, right? Who can dominate any spirits? Could those wizards dominate another person?”

“No,” Miranda said. “A wizard can move mountains if her will is strong enough, but no wizardry can touch another human’s soul. Brush it, maybe, press upon it, certainly, if the other soul is sensitive to spirits, but no power I have could force you to act against your wishes. I could make trees dance and rocks sing, but I couldn’t even make you bow your head if you wanted it straight. Does that make sense?”

Marion frowned thoughtfully. “I think so, but—”

“Good.” Miranda stood up with a smile. “Then today hasn’t been a complete waste.” She looked dolefully around the small cell. “I don’t think there’s much more I can do here. We need a change of scenery.” She took a small leather folder out of her bag and began to flip through a neat stack of papers.

Marion looked quizzical. “Scenery?”

“Ah-ha,” Miranda said and smiled triumphantly, holding up a small, tattered note. “Looks like we’re going for a walk to the west side of town.”

A horrified look spread over Marion’s face. “Why?”

“I’m getting nowhere around here.” Miranda stuck the folder back in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Either Eli is a much more powerful wizard than I anticipated, which is unlikely, or he’s got some trick that lets him march around unnoticed. Either way, I need to learn more about him, so we’re going to see an expert.”

Marion’s look of horror deepened. “An expert? But what kind of—lady!” She had to scramble to keep up as Miranda swept out of the room, past the prison guards, and up the narrow stairs. “Lady wiz… Spiritualist! Lady Miranda! Wait!” She chased her through the maze of narrow passageways and caught up just as Miranda pushed open the outer door, where the prison let out below the stable yard. With a gasp, she threw herself in front of the Spiritualist. “Wait!” she said, panting. “The west side of the city isn’t exactly, that is, I have to alert the guards. You’ll need a security squad and—”

“Security squad?” Miranda pushed past her with a grin. “Gin!”

He must have been waiting for this, because the ghosthound appeared with a speed that surprised even Miranda. Gin slid to a halt right in front of them, grinning toothily, while the misty patterns flew over his coat in a way that meant he was feeling extraordinarily pleased with himself. Miranda shook her head and turned to the librarian. Marion was almost sitting on the ground in her scramble to get away from the monster that had not been there a second before. It was all Miranda could do not to reach down and shut the girl’s gaping jaw for her.

“I don’t think a security squad will be needed,” Miranda said, vaulting onto Gin’s back. “Coming?”

The girl had barely nodded before Gin swept her up with his paw and tossed her on his back. The stable dogs howled as the ghosthound loped across the castle grounds, fast as an icy gale. He took the castle gate in two leaps and hit the city street running, sending the well-dressed townsfolk screaming in all directions.

“Did you find anything?” Miranda asked.

“Of course not.” Gin sighed. “So, do we have a destination, or are we just putting on a show?”

“West side of the city, and slow it down a little.” She glanced over her shoulder at Marion, who was clinging to the ghosthound’s short coat with everything she had. “We have a delicate flower with us.”

The ghosthound slowed just a fraction as he took a narrow alley westward, downhill toward the river.