Cloak of Obscurity

Cloak of Obscurity

An Edward Red Mage Mystery by Angela P. Wade

For my family, in memory of my daughter Lillian

Original cover drawing by Jen Cunningham

Edited by Leona Wisoker

Second digital edition copyright 2015, published at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Except for the cat.

Contents:

Chapter One: The Elf, the Apprentice, and the Blonde

Chapter Two: Saint Michael's Eve

Chapter Three: Rude Awakenings

Chapter Four: At the Roots of the Great Rose

Chapter Five: A Bellyfull of Stories

Chapter Six: Advice From My Elders

Chapter Seven: A Pyre and a Penance

Chapter Eight: Mellie

Chapter Nine: The Trial of Weihlya Leah

Chapter Ten: On the Cliffs of the Bel

Chapter Eleven: Something Fishy

Chapter Twelve: For Love and Money

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About Edward Red Mage

Queen Isabeau's Book: Prologue

Chapter One: The Elf, the Apprentice, and the Blonde

I was staring so hard at the blonde, I didn’t even notice the cold, filthy water leaking into my boot. She was standing under the awning of a merchant stall, haggling with the owner over something. Dried fruit, I think. I was standing under a similar awning across the road, shamelessly gawking at her. I freely admit I’m no saint.

The girl was wearing gowns cut and laced in exactly the right manner to show off her full bosom and tiny waist. The shawl she had draped carelessly over her shoulders hung just low enough for the fringe to caress the curve of her hips. I envied that fringe. I wondered if she was betrothed to anyone. Her ash-blonde hair was braided, but only partly covered by a close-fitting, clean white cap. She was of marrying age, then, but not yet married. I was surprised that she was still unwed, as pretty as she was. She knew she was pretty, too. I could tell by the way she swayed when she walked that she knew exactly the sort of effect her looks had on men. The merchant she was haggling with didn’t stand a chance.

I wondered if I could work up the nerve to go speak to her. But what would I say? Hello, I’m Edward Red Mage. I’m a wizard, want to see my magic wand? Only if I wanted her to smack me. Hi, my name’s Eddie. Would you like to join me for a drink? I live in a tavern. Oh, yeah, that would impress her. God, you’re gorgeous, can I please kiss you? Honest, but again, I’d be smacked.

Finally I settled on a tasteful, innocuous speech of, May I help you with your parcel, m’lady? My name is Edward. What’s yours? Of course by that time I was too late. Another young man had approached her as she left the fruit-vendor’s stall. He was about as tall as I was, and as broad-shouldered, though considerably smaller through the waist. His coat was cut fashionably short, and his knit hose showed off his extremely well-shaped legs. His chestnut hair was curly, his chin had a handsome cleft, and it took about a moment for me to realize that he and the blond were already very well acquainted. Her face lit up at the sight of him like sunshine breaking through the late winter clouds overhead. He took her package in one arm and put the other around her shoulders. He looked about furtively, as if to assure himself he wasn’t being watched. Either he didn’t see me, which was doubtful, or he didn’t see me as important. He drew her back into an alleyway beside the fruit stand, and she threw her arms about his neck. As they kissed I forced myself to turn away, closing my eyes and wondering what a fellow had to do to get a girl to want him that way.

Flesh and blood, Eddie, are you going to help me or are you going to stand around staring into space all day?

I turned back into the stall at the voice of my employer, Sadie Brewer. What was so fascinating over there, anyway? she asked, adjusting her rain-dampened headwrap. When I didn’t answer right away, she grinned at the flush creeping over my face.

A girl, was it? she said. Well, why didn’t you talk to her? You’ve no cause to be shy, a fine, strapping young fellow as you are. And a wizard, too. Now there can’t be that many of them about.

There weren’t. But I doubted the others were wearing waterlogged boots.

Here, said Sadie, thrusting another parcel into my arms. I was certain the other mages in town would have considered it beneath their dignity to tote bundles of herbs and pepper for a fisherman’s fat daughter, but I felt lucky for the chance. Sadie was not only my employer, but also my landlady, and my salvation. She had taken me in when I’d had no money and no prospects, and all my worldly goods fit in one small trunk. I kept her inn free of fleas, mice, cockroaches, and other vermin, and in return slept in a narrow room walled off at the end of her second-floor hall. It wasn’t elegant, but it was warm and dry.

That should be the last of it, Sadie continued. Let’s go home, the weather’s horrid!

I spared one last glance over my shoulder at the beautiful girl. She was now speaking demurely with an older man. Her lover stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, trying to look innocent. I wondered if the man were the girl’s father, and if he’d just caught her with the young man. I supposed I would never know, and turned to go home.

* * *

Damn, I muttered, slipping on a wet cobble just a few feet from the inn.

What’s wrong, Eddie? asked Sadie, pausing with her broad rump filling the doorway.

Nothing. . . . I said. Now I was noticing the leak in my boot. The sole had worn clean through, and that last slip had torn it away from the upper. I flapped into the inn after Sadie.

Eddie, love, your boot’s coming apart! Your feet are soaked! Sit down and put your feet up by the fire, before you catch your death! Sadie insisted, snatching her bundles from me and practically shoving me into a high-backed chair. You need to get yourself some new boots, boy, and I know exactly where you should go. My cousin Dolores works for the best boot-maker in the city, Roger Tanner. You should go to him. He’ll fit you out with something nice and respectable-looking. Something fit for a wizard. I’ve been telling you and telling you that you need new boots. I could see they were worn out, and no one’ll believe you’ve got magic if your boots are leaking. When you go, Eddie, give my love to Dolores, and tell her she needs to come down and see me. . . .

Sadie kept chattering non-stop as she threw a clean, if somewhat moth-eaten, blanket over my lap and bustled off to find me some food. She was always trying to feed me. She herself was a very large woman, and very proud of her size, as she felt her imposing girth reflected well on the food served in her establishment. She did not approve of thinness, associating it with sickness and poverty. If she had been Queen of Belerin, she would have established a kingdom-wide charitable distribution of bread and dark beer to ensure the plumpness of her subjects. I myself had been quite thin when I had moved into the tavern; Sadie was working hard to rectify the situation.

* * *

A few days later, when the rain let up, I limped out to Leather Lane.

Being in high spirits at the prospect of dry feet for the first time in months, I was singing to myself.

Master Roger’s shop was at the northeasterly end of the road, close to the wealthier part of town. Like most of the craftsmen’s shops in Belcamp, it was a two-story affair, crammed in against its neighbors. The front part of the ground floor was the shop itself, with an open door and two large windows with wooden shutters that folded down into shelves for the shoemaker’s goods. The master of the shop and his kin slept on the second floor, in some luxury, I guessed. The windows had glass panes.

A number of belts, bags and pouches were lying out on the front shelves on display. Sadie had not been exaggerating the skills of her cousin’s employer. His wares were obviously of the highest quality. I paused to inspect an elaborately tooled belt, still humming softly. Then I considered Master Roger’s prices. They were most likely far more than I could afford. I stopped singing.

Oh, do go on, m’lord, said a soft voice from the shadows. I started, and looked to see who had spoken.

A small, slender figure emerged from the shop door—a lad of twelve or thirteen years, I judged. He seemed to be some sort of servant. His coat and hose were drab, well worn, and cut for someone considerably huskier. His glossy black hair was cropped raggedly at his shoulders. His eyes were an odd shade of deep blue-gray, all the more unusual in contrast to his copper-colored skin.

Oh, I’m sorry, the boy said, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just you have such a good voice, m’lord.

I smiled. Thank you, Master Elf, I said. Coming from one of your sort, that’s high praise indeed.

The elf-child smiled back, revealing even white teeth. Oh, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with both hands, he said, but I love singing. He glanced at the belt I was holding. Do you like it?

It’s very nice, I said.

Really? he asked.

Oh, yes, I said, completely sincere. The leather had been tooled in an intricate pattern of vines and leaves, which had then been stained in various colors. I could see how Master Roger had gotten his reputation. This work is beautiful. It must have taken days to tool these vines.

Over a week, said the boy, gazing up at me shyly from beneath the shaggy fringe of his hair. I’m pleased you like it.

Of course, I added, a lovely belt like this would probably be wasted on me. I patted my stomach and grinned. I’m putting on so much weight these days, it’d probably be lost out of sight under my belly within a year.

Lee, are you bothering the customers again? came a woman’s sharp voice from within the workroom. You know you aren’t supposed to be talking to them!

He’s no bother, I called back.

The owner of the voice came out from between two racks of half-finished shoes. Welcome to the house of Roger Tanner, she said, in a voice much gentler than the one she’d used to the servant. May I help you?

It was the blonde, the girl I’d seen in the market that day in the rain. My heart tripped over itself. I immediately thought of several answers to her question, all of which would have gotten me slapped. Ah, no, I’m just looking. I tried to sound rich and bored, but I’m sure I came across as nervous, poor, and intimidated. The presence of a beautiful woman did that to me. I could feel myself blushing.

The blonde raised one delicate eyebrow. Are you sure there isn’t something I could show you?

Ahh. . . . Now that was a question I couldn’t answer honestly. Saint Marina, preserve my chastity, I prayed. The elf slipped discreetly into the shadows of the workroom. The blonde moved closer. I can see why you’re here, she said, glancing downwards.

What?

Your boots, m’lord, she said with a smile. They are very old. You wish to replace them?

Oh, ah, yes, I said quickly.

We can fit you with a pair to match that belt you’re holding for only two gold pieces, she said. Shall I take your measurements? Sit down right here, she said, indicating a stool, it’ll only take a few minutes.

Part of my mind was saying, no harm in that, while the other, more practical part was saying, I can’t afford this. The practical side lost. It usually does. Otherwise I would have stayed at home and taken up with Father in his weaving business, or apprenticed to Grandfather in the scriptorium. I certainly wouldn’t have become a cut-rate magician, sleeping in a cupboard over the Snake and Egg, eating leftover scraps of greasy food.

It was quite the experience, having the beautiful blonde kneel down in front of me to measure my feet. I was truly ashamed of my socks, and I kept having to force myself to keep from looking down the front of her gown. I wondered what her relationship to Master Tanner was, and if he approved of the way she lured male customers into his shop.

Now, she said when she was done, my father has been feeling a bit poorly lately, and isn’t taking on any new jobs himself, but his apprentice does fine work. Let me fetch Malcolm.

Before I could protest that I wasn’t really serious about new boots, she had disappeared into the workshop. She looked as good from the back as from the front. I figured her father must be at death’s door, knocking loudly, to permit his daughter to flaunt herself in a dress that tight. Or be an extremely shrewd businessman.

I wasn’t especially surprised when I recognized Malcolm as the blonde’s handsome lover. No wonder she was rushing to find work for him, I thought. Malcolm scowled at me. He probably scowled at every man who so much as glanced at the blonde. He probably spent a lot of time scowling.

So you want a pair to match that? Malcolm asked, jerking his thumb at the belt.

I nodded, wondering if the sack of copper pennies under my bed would amount to anything towards payment.

I’ll have ‘em ready in . . . He looked at the blonde.

A month? she said.

Two weeks, said a soft voice from the shadows. Lee, the elf. I’d forgotten he was there.

Who asked you? said the blonde.

A month would be fine, I ventured, hoping I could earn enough to pay for them between now and then.

Then we’re agreed, she said. Now, about payment. Half now, half when the boots are finished, so if you could give me one. . . .

I’ll give you five silvers now, and the rest later, I said.

Eight, said the blonde.

Six. Not a copper more, I said.

Done then. She took my money. I told her my name and dwelling, so that they could send for me when the boots were done, and left with a sick feeling in my stomach—poor, in debt, and still ill-shod.

* * *

About two weeks later, I was trying to drag a few coins out of Sadie’s noontime crowd, juggling a handful of eggs.

The trick, I was saying, is to make certain you know where each egg is at all times. How many have I got again?

Six! called out a fisherman’s child. I turned to the boy, leaving the eggs continuing to circle in the air on their own. The crowd gasped appreciatively Are you sure? I asked him. I thought I only had five.

There’s six! the boy insisted. I turned back to the floating eggs, quickly tucking one up my sleeve. I’m not sure, I said, I see one, two, three, four, five . . . Where’s number six gotten to? I pulled off my hat and scratched my head. The crowd gasped. Making itself a nest among my ginger curls was a disreputable-looking chicken. Illusion, of course. The actual chicken was roosting quietly in her coop in the kitchen. But the crowd didn’t know that.

Oy, Eddie, I want my eggs back! called Sadie, shoving through the crowd with an empty bowl in one hand and a tankard in another.

Take ‘em, I said, gesturing to the five flying eggs. Sadie, who’d been party to this trick before, still grimaced in concentration as she plucked eggs out of the air to deposit them safely in her bowl.

You took six eggs from the kitchen, she accused.

I shrugged, gesturing to the illusory chicken on my head. It squawked, launched itself into the air, flapped three times around the hall and vanished in a puff of smoke.

That’s comin’ out of your pay, Sadie said as the crowd roared. She handed me the tankard.

Oh, I’m not sure I can drink this, I said.

And why not? Sadie asked.

It’s awfully strong, I said, as the surface of the drink burst into flames. The crowd applauded again, some of them taking up a chant of Drink it! Drink it!

Well, if you insist, I said, blowing out the fire and downing the beer.

And don’t think you don’t still owe me an egg, said Sadie.

I put my hat back on. Something squelched. The crowd howled as trickles of egg ran down my face. I removed my hat in mock-chagrin. As folks began tossing coppers into my upturned, egg-sodden headgear, I reflected that Saint Roland the Sorcerer probably never had to sink to low humor to make a living.

I was rinsing egg from my hair in the kitchen when a slim brown hand tugged the sleeve of my coat.

M’lord, said the owner of the hand, my mistress sent me to tell you your boots are ready.

Oh, Lee, I said, recognizing the elf. I’ll come to the shop directly. Let me get my bag. I figured there was no sense putting off the inevitable; the sooner I’d emptied my purse, the sooner I could start filling it again. At least the egg trick had made me some money.

We walked uptown together, mostly in silence, Lee keeping a pace or two behind me. For some reason, that made me uncomfortable. He wasn’t my servant.

You can talk to me, you know, I said.

It’s not my place to speak to my betters, the boy mumbled.

I’m scarcely more than Sadie’s servant myself, I replied. Hardly one to call myself ‘better’ than someone. I bit my tongue before I could add even an elf. That would have been beyond insensitive.

Finally, as the cramped, dirty alleys of the fishing district gave way to the broader streets of the craftsmen’s quarter, he said: I was watching you in the tavern. You made it all look so easy. I shrugged. It is, really. If you can do it. Just illusions and levitations, mainly.

But other wizards make it look complicated. All chants and charms and hand-waving.

Chants and charms have their places, I said. Of course, it’s true that most mages go through a lot of extra ritual in public, trying to impress people. The stuff of magic, the energies, the elemental forces, they’re all around us, all the time. It’s just that not everyone can reach it. The charms and potions and such contain their own power, and anyone can use them, but only people born with a certain gift can work magic by themselves.

And you were born with this gift? Lee asked with a smile. I blushed, realizing that I’d been lecturing to the boy. He probably thought I was boasting.

Yes, but it’s no different than being born with good looks or perfect pitch. I mean, it’s not really something you can take credit for. Our powers as wizards aren’t our own doing. I can’t really understand why some of us are so arrogant. Of course, I know some good-looking people who are pretty arrogant, too . . . I’m sorry, I said, I’m babbling. Bad habit of mine. I shouldn’t talk your ear off.

I don’t mind, he said. After a few minutes of silence, he said You love what you do, don’t you? I mean, to do it for so little money.

Yes, I love it. If I weren’t such a fool for nice clothes, I’d do it for nothing. My room and food I get for helping out around the tavern.

Would you still do it, Lee asked, if you couldn’t take the credit for it?

Now that was an interesting question. I looked at the boy. You made that belt I was looking at the other day, didn’t you?

He tried to avoid my gaze. The guild laws. . . .

Forbid an elf to practice a trade or craft in the city, I know, I said. My father’s pretty high up in the fabric guild. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not about to turn you in. For one thing, it’d be a waste of talent if you had to stop working.

Lee just grinned.

* * *

When we arrived, a grizzle-haired man of about fifty, wearing the most intricately tooled boots I’d ever seen, was out in front of the shop. It had to be Master Roger. When he finished with her, he came over to where his daughter was impatiently waiting for me to count out the balance of my payment for the boots in small, broken coins.

Well, here’s a man who stands on his own fortune, he said, eying the motley collection. Tell me, young man, is your master so hard you must scrounge to keep your feet from the stones? Or is it your father you’re trying to beggar with your pretty clothes? That’s a silk coat you’ve got on there. Who died and left it to you?

Obviously, subtlety was not one of Roger Tanner’s strong points. He didn’t look like much of a subtle man, either. He had bright, piercing eyes beneath shaggy gray brows, a wide mouth in a face deeply lined from years of grinning and laughing, shoulders which must once have been broad and strong, and huge, rough hands with long fingers. He reminded me a bit of my own father. I answered his bluntness with good humor.

I’m my own man, Master, I said. My trade may be poor, but I’m glad of it.

And what is your trade, if I may ask? he said, and paused to cough. I suspected he was still unwell; his skin was pale, and sagged as if he had recently lost weight.

I’m a wizard, I answered.

A wizard? he said. A wizard? And you say you’re poor? He started to laugh, but lapsed into a fit of coughing. His daughter passed him a handkerchief, her face drawn with concern. I thought I caught a glimpse of red on the cloth when he returned it to her. Allie, he’s trying to cheat you. Whatever he promised you for those boots, make sure he pays it. And you should’ve asked for double.

Before she could respond, I put in, Begging your pardon, Master, but these coins are all I have. I ply my trade simply from the front of a tavern. My clients are the working folk of the city, and I never charge them more than they can afford.

Master Roger raised one hairy brow. "So now you not only claim to