The Boiling Seas – Non-Canon Adventures, Part 2

Here’s the next instalment of the little non-canon Boiling Seas side-story I wrote a while ago. If you haven’t read part 1 yet, you can find if here. Once/if you have, enjoy the next bit.

Tal stepped over to the door and bent to the lock. Max caught the flash of picks in his hand, and shook her head. Enough magic at his fingertips to melt metal, and he still relies on this. But it was his way, and she wasn’t about to interrupt – and besides, she thought as the lock clicked open, he was very good at it.

“Anyone there?” she whispered, wary of the guards. She didn’t want to start a fight if they could help it, and knew that Tal didn’t either. They were neither of them warriors. She saw him close his eyes, concentrate. Another trick I need to learn. Max watched him taste the wind, feeling its currents – draughts, breezes, and breathing.

“Nobody in the corridor,” he muttered. “Clear.” He opened his eyes and opened the door, and Max followed him into the corridor. The light hurt her eyes; the cells were dim but the corridors were warmly lit by chemical lanterns at regular intervals. Automatically she leached a little of their heat, replenishing her reserves. She had a feeling she’d need it.

“This way,” she said confidently. Tal shut the door – there was no sense advertising her absence – and followed her. Max hadn’t had much chance to look around but she’d seen enough to know where they were going. She trod carefully, mindful of her bare feet. Wish you’d brought some boots, Tal. The asylum was a warren of outbuildings, and its main keep a maze of corridors, but she walked with confidence towards the nearest stairwell. A madman would have been hopelessly confused on their way in, as the orderlies marched them to their cell. But Max had been paying attention, and if there was one thing her time at the Lantern had given her it was an excellent memory. They slipped down the stairs silently, padding along the next corridor past cell after cell, each one locked securely, each with its own occupant. The doors were heavy, oak bound in iron, but they were not completely soundproof. Max’s lip curled in discomfort as she heard whimpers, moans in many voices, many accents. There was nobody around to listen, except for them, and they could do nothing. They were here to steal something, not on a rescue mission. And even if we did, what would we do with them? The Lantern might be able to look after them better than this place – but the Lantern was far away, and its wardens would not be best pleased if one of their wayward daughters turned up without warning and with a hundred invalids in tow. One day, she promised herself. But it could not be today. They had another job to do.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Tal raised his hand sharply, his fist clenched. Max froze in place, watching him as he closed his eyes again and felt the air. They’d realised a while back that they’d need to communicate in silence sometimes. Max had spent some days developing a simple sign language and teaching it to the thief. He might have always worked alone before, but he was a quick learner, and she was, it turned out, a decent teacher. From his fist, Tal extended two fingers without looking around, then tipped them to the left. Two guards on the left. Max thought for a moment, recalling the layout of the corridor, then nodded. That would work.

For a moment she thought herself a fool as she patted her very empty pockets, but in the tunic Tal had brought she found what she needed; a few small coins, each one in its own pocket so they did not clink together. He does think of just about everything. She took one, closed her own eyes, visualising the angles… and then as she tossed the coin she breathed out, sharply, and grabbed at her own breath with her mind, and the wind came with it, and the coin shot off into the darkness like an arrow from a bow. She kept up the push for a long moment, then let go, and an instant later she heard the coin strike a distant wall with a sharp, metallic noise. Perfect. Max listened, and could hear a faint murmur of confusion. Then she heard footsteps, faint again but there, moving away.

“Nice,” Tal whispered. Max smiled to herself, then followed him as they moved again. Down the corridor they crept, and down another flight of stairs, and then another, seeming to double back on themselves at least twice. Max began to doubt herself as the corridors stretched on and on… but then she felt fresh, cold air on her face, and she and Tal slipped through a heavy door and out, at last, into the asylum grounds.

The huge keep loomed behind them, six floors tall and broad with it, all dark stone and dozens of tiny slit windows. She had been in there only a few days, and had known escape was coming for all of them, but Max still sighed with relief when she stepped outside. Freedom. It was as simple as breathing cool night air, tasting a hint of salt on the breeze.

“Which way now?” Tal asked, pulling her gently into the shadow of the main building. Max saw the distant lanterns of patrolling guards, atop the thick walls, their battlements eroded by sea air but still strong, that encircled the complex of buildings. The asylum had a small island to itself, just off the larger isles that housed the nearest city. The barrier of the sea kept its poor residents safely out of sight, sound and mind. She shrunk into the shadow as best she could.

“Fifty yards south,” she muttered, remembering the layout. “The chapel’s right there in the open.”

“And the body?”

“Bones,” Max replied. “In the ossuary. It should be empty.” I hope. She was going off very little observation – from the inside, true, but still not much – and the footnote in the old and boring book that had given them the location they needed – or at least had claimed to. They had that on their side, and the information they’d teased out of a drunk former guard two weeks before in a tavern at the docks. It was amazing what you could learn with the right questions. She’d thought it would be difficult, but it was just like any other bit of research she’d done. And I’ve done a lot.

“Open ground,” Tal murmured. “Men and dogs all over the place. What d’you reckon?”

“How did you get over here?” Max asked, frowning. Why does he want my advice? She was a scholar, not a thief – of all the people to ask about stealth she was not the one.

“With difficulty,” Tal replied sarcastically. “Hence my asking. Any tricks up your sleeve?”

“You packed this shirt,” Max shot back. “You ought to know.”

“Very funny. Stretch that brain of yours. We need an edge.” He looked out into the grounds, not saying what they were both thinking: he, the practiced sneak and thief, could probably make it… but not with a gangly scholar in tow. Max knew it for a fact too, hated it. But she was glad Tal hadn’t actually felt the need to say it.

Max thought for a moment, shivering a little in the night air. There were indeed guards everywhere, lanterns in one hand and leashed hounds in the other. The chapel, squat and dark like everything else, was visible from where they lurked, but it was across almost completely open ground. The only trees within the asylum’s wide walls were tall and spindly things, offering little cover to any erstwhile thieves or burglars – and there were none between them and the chapel anyway. Whoever had designed the place had thought that much through. So, we need something else. Another edge.

“I have one thing,” she said slowly, reluctantly. “Nothing guaranteed. Bit of a work in progress.”

“Anything will do,” Tal said with a smile. “What is it?”

Max told him. His smile faded.

“Oh.”

“And you wonder why I didn’t tell you.”

“No, it’s fine.” He was backtracking hastily and unconvincingly, but Max could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“If it helps, it’s not the same thing. The same discipline, but not exactly what he did.”

“Fine. It’s fine.” Tal drew a deep breath, let it out, opened and closed his hands. They did not shake at all. Max made sure to notice. “Just do it. Let’s get this over with.”

Max nodded, and concentrated, closing her eyes. This would be difficult, but she had never shied from challenges when it came to her magic. You’re one in hundreds, she had been told repeatedly as a child, with a gift that most would kill for. You must learn how to use it properly. And she had, and learned how to use it in more ways than her teachers had ever anticipated, even at the vaunted Lantern. This trick, for instance, was something she’d only ever read about, and then only in books older than her grandfather – at least, until she’d seen someone pull it off as easily as breathing. What she had managed to achieve was a poor imitation, but for today, it would do.

She thought of her skin, and Tal’s, glowing pale in the wan moonlight. She considered that moonlight, shining down from above and casting shadows dark and deep. She took the shadows, and tugged, and wrapped them around them like a cloak. Almost immediately she started to shiver, feeling the energy leached from her veins – but it was working.

“Go,” she whispered, ashamed at how badly her voice trembled. “Go, now.” To his credit, Tal didn’t hesitate, but darted out into the night. Max did her best to follow, keeping her friend within the sphere of darkness. The theory was straightforward enough: sight worked through reflected light, so if they weren’t reflecting light, they weren’t visible. Unfortunately that translated practically as just turning them into a big dark sphere – which wasn’t exactly inconspicuous itself. In time, Max ought to be able to reflect the light not just from them but around them, that they might become completely invisible – but for now her magic worked in the dark, and that was about it. And it drained her like nothing she’d ever had to do before. Even lightning is easier than this.

But while they might not be invisible within their cloak of shadows they were at least much harder to see. Tal’s instincts were unerring, and Max followed his lead as they crept across the grounds. She could see, just, through the shadows that surrounded them, see the bright spots of guard lanterns approaching – but then Tal would steer them clear, keeping them firmly in the darkness. He held them briefly in the shadow of a single, spindly tree, as a dog handler walked past, his hound broad-shouldered and drooling. Max gritted her teeth as she bent the light away, feeling her hands shaking. But the guard did not notice that the shadow was larger than it should be, and then Tal was moving again, and she stumbled after him, trying to be as quiet as possible. The thief’s soft steps made no sound whatsoever.

“Here,” Tal whispered, pulling her gently forwards, and she realised that they were at the chapel, its dull stone walls filling her view. It was a small building, blocky and ugly, its windows narrow, with none of the stained glass or ornamentation that other such places had. It was utilitarian to the extreme.

Tal led them round the building and into the narrow porch that sheltered its door. There were no guards there. Why would there be? Max thought as she shuffled herself into the corner, as out of sight as she could manage. Why would a patient sneak into a holy house?

She released her magic, and the light flooded back onto their skin. A wave of fatigue washed over her, and she leaned against the wall heavily, hoping it would pass. Damnit. I need food. And sleep. But she could feel the warmth leaching back into her limbs, slowly but surely. She would have pulled what she could from the air if it hadn’t been so cold already.

“Good job,” Tal muttered. He was examining the door’s lock, picks held loosely in his offhand. Max peered over his shoulder, but there were no guards in sight. There was but a single lantern above the chapel door, but it was shuttered, dim. They were safely shadowed in the porch.

“Just get us inside,” she murmured back. She wanted to sit down and never get up.

“Trying,” Tal said. She heard the almost inaudible sound of his picks scraping metal. “Damnit.” The curse was muted but heartfelt.

“What?”

“Too stiff,” the thief muttered. “One of those heavy-duty old things. Can’t push the pins – damnit.” He pulled his hand back. In it was a cleanly broken pick. He produced a flat-bladed knife and worried at the edge of the frame, trying to catch the lock-bar itself and push it sideways. Max waited for a moment, until Tal gave up with a scowl.

“Allow me,” she said quietly, pushing Tal gently aside. The thief raised an eyebrow.

“Have you been practicing?”

“Not with picks,” Max said, laying one hand flat on the lock plate. She felt the metal, the mechanism – stiff, not oiled in far too long, its tumblers coated in a thin layer of rust. They would move, but only with something much heavier than a lockpick to turn them. They needed the key: that, or Max would have to get creative. She considered the mechanism. She might be able to manipulate a lighter lock by pushing at the air, but this one was too stiff. Were she a more skilled mage she could warp the structure of the metal itself – but that wasn’t something she was yet capable of. If she hadn’t already exhausted herself reflecting the light she could have melted it, but she didn’t have the energy. But I don’t need it.

“Do you have water?”

Frowning, Tal produced a slender metal bottle from his satchel. Max took it, and, carefully, poured the contents into the keyhole. She held it in place with a skin of air, letting the water fill as much of the mechanism as it could, covering all the springs and tumblers and ratchets. She set the bottle down. Then she took a deep breath, and pulled, not pushing her body heat into the lock but pulling the lock’s warmth out,and the metal plate grew cold beneath her palm, so cold that her skin stuck to it, and inside the lock the water she had packed there cooled too, then thickened, then froze. And as it did so, it expanded. There were a series of dull cracks, thankfully muffled by the water, as old metal gave way. Looking around, Max saw more than one distant, bobbing lantern pause, their bearers turning at the sound – but Tal was already pulling her hand free of the lock and turning the handle. The door protested, but the ruined mechanism ground, then gave way. The door swung open.

“Go,” Tal whispered, and Max slipped through the chapel door, wincing at the rawness of her palm, a little skin left behind on the icy metal. Tal followed, pulling the door gently closed behind him. Max saw the lock from within, frosted with ice, and she smiled as the warmth she’d drained from the metal and water stopped her hands from shaking.

“We need to be fast,” Tal muttered, looking around the inside of the chapel with a practiced eye. “Someone will want to have a look.” He whistled softly. “Though at what, in here, I can’t imagine.”

Part 3 next week. Stay tuned.