Jackal Among Snakes - Chapter 217: Golden Ticket

Chapter 217: Golden Ticket

“What do you think?” Argrave questioned Anneliese. The two of them sat on rather comfortable chairs just before a table. Despite the safety of the tower, neither removed their enchanted armor—the Tower was safe, but it was still better to be overcautious. They were in a private room, warded to block sound—commonplace in the tower.

Anneliese crossed one leg over the other. “Of the tower?” she asked, and when Argrave nodded to confirm, she said, “It is a bit… ostentatious, if I am honest.”

“Got that right. It’s no coincidence it’s in the middle of a plain. It’s a big, useless monument to pride. I think Castro would agree. You met him before, now that I think back,” Argrave settled into his chair, then sighed. “Induen’s dead.”

“You feel relieved,” she said—a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Argrave said, voice distant. “The provisional route I made at the beginning of… whatever the hell you call my presence in this realm, it’s veered quite far off course. And now, I’m planning to take us further from it.”

“I will help as best I can,” Anneliese only assured him.

“How are you handling these developments?” Argrave asked her.

Anneliese shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “I have been trying to focus myself on this place, this tower, and what might be within… I suppose that should tell you enough. I am nervous. I am afraid. We have angered something very powerful.”

Argrave snorted. “Hearing you’re curious about this place just tells me you’re the same person at root.” He looked to her. “But forget about who we’ve angered. Induen’s death wasn’t a crime of passion—it was a great damned opportunity. King Felipe’s angry, I’m a kinslayer—all of these consequences pale in comparison to the good that one act did, pragmatically and morally.”

“I never said I doubted your actions,” Anneliese soothed.

“I know you didn’t. I said it half to myself, honestly. But…” Argrave adjusted his sleeve. “Hearing him make that suggestion about your future—that got under my skin like nothing else. If I could have made him—”

The door to the room opened, cutting Argrave off. A short man with a straight back and a wrinkled, almost leathery bald head entered. He seemed kind and harmless. He looked far too small to threaten or intimidate, and the amiable smile practically writ on his face spoke to his kindness. Calling him kind was true enough, but Castro was light years away from being harmless.

Argrave rose to his feet at once. “Tower Master Castro,” he said eagerly. “Thought we’d be waiting longer—planned for a long conversation with Anneliese.”

“Ah…” his eyes jumped between the two of them.

“I’m Argrave,” he put his hand to his chest. “We spoke at—”

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” Castro interrupted, then stepped a bit closer after he shut the door. “No, I was simply… deeply awed by your progress. Both of you… my memory is not perfect, but your improvements seem utterly tremendous.”

Castro’s words had an intense sincerity to them that practically forced both to smile. The fact he was happy eased Argrave—it likely meant he had not heard of Induen’s fate quite yet, nor had the rest of the tower.

He stepped up to Argrave, his smile faltering. “Your eyes, though… reminiscent of certain products from certain schools of necromancy, Order of the Rose-era creatures… large portions of both soul and magic power crystallize in the eye, preventing decay while retaining sight. The crystallized soul is the gold color, while the blackness is the magic.”

It was Argrave’s turn to be awed when Castro so quickly identified the source of his eyes.

“Well, that’s… not why we’re here,” Argrave redirected, trying not to act nervous.

“Necromancy is illegal. I won’t insult you by implying you don’t know that,” Castro said, raising one finger above his head until he tapped Argrave’s chest. “But beyond that, I would not like to see such promising growth sullied by—”

“You know an awful lot about necromancy. Can pinpoint exact details,” Argrave noted.

Castro pulled his finger back. “I am a curious person, and I enjoy learning.”

“Well, I’d consider myself the same. But for the record—these,” Argrave pointed to his eyes. “These are from surgery and alchemy, not necromancy.” Argrave shook his head, then sat back down at the chair. “Can we sit, talk? Like I mentioned in the message I sent you, I have more druidic books to offload.”

Castro nodded, though Argrave couldn’t tell if he was quite content. He turned to Anneliese. “Ah. We meet again, young lady Anneliese. Though your friend here drew my eye… you are no less the achiever, I see. Both of you are well into B-rank. Such a thing.”

“Hello again, Master Castro,” she greeted with a nod.

“Both of you have grown… and not merely in terms of magic, that is evident.” Castro bobbed his head as he thought of something. “Well, I imagine you had other matters to discuss,” he said as he sat. “Come to milk me more, hmm? Another offer to turn a profit? How is business in Jast?”

Argrave smiled. “If only I saw a penny of it,” he lamented, realizing denying things at this point would just be insolence. Castro did not lead the Order of the Gray Owl because he was powerful alone—he was a shrewd and capable leader, under whom the Order had come to prosper greatly.

“I’m not particularly pleased at what you’ve done, illicitly distributing spellbooks through Jast,” he leaned back into the chair. “But, at the end of the day, more members of the order are learning druidic spells. In time, they will permeate throughout the Order. All is well that ends well. And nothing concrete traces back to you… or your smuggler friends, there. After all, Elaine of Vyrbell might not have recommended Anneliese to be an honorary Wizard had you not done what you did. That would be a shame indeed, being deprived of a talent.”

Argrave relaxed back into the chair. “You might start unnerving me if you know what we’ve done in the Burnt Desert, too.”

Castro only smiled. It seemed a little less genial, now. Only a little. “So, what is it you want from me? Do you wish me to expedite your ascendency to High Wizards of the Order? I am afraid that is impossible, even for me.”

“We’re aware,” said Anneliese. “And we did not come for that.”

“I’ve got two things I’d like to ask of you,” said Argrave. “I’d like help with a gift for my sister. I’m going to be visiting her soon, you see, and I can’t come empty-handed. And on that note… I’d like a ride to the gift store, and to Dirracha.”

“A gift for your sister?” Castro looked surprised. “That’s a sweet sentiment. I’m sure it will be appreciated. But how do I factor into this?”

“Well… the gift store in question is a Rose-era living fortress,” Argrave disclosed. “Plenty of things of archaeological interest, as well as preserved books from the Order of the Rose that might be recovered. That’s my offering to you,” Argrave held his hands up. “But within… there’s a little artifact that can help my sister out immeasurably.”

Castro tapped his finger against the armrest of the chair, staring at Argrave with wonder. “And how did you learn of this fortress?”

“Well, I went through the Low Way of the Rose,” Argrave explained. “Hellish place. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I learned a lot. Gained a lot.” And made some unexpected acquaintances, he left that last part unspoken, mind wandering to Garm.

Anneliese nodded in agreement, and Castro’s eyes jumped between the two of them.

“You have been busy, I see,” Castro remarked. “Well… certainly I can organize a team, have them come with you to this—”

“I was hoping it would be you, personally,” Argrave leaned forward, trying to appear as earnest as possible.

Castro frowned, bushy white brows descending. “I cannot. I have pressing matters to attend to here, unfortunately.”

“We were planning on going to Magister Moriatran to ask, next,” Argrave said—the man was ostensibly Castro’s largest rival, a councilor on the ruling body of the Order of the Gray Owl who opposed him frequently.

“That one? Well, that is an entertaining notion, young man. Do you suppose he will even agree to meet you?” Castro laughed, then scratched his cheek. “I do not say I have matters to attend to for the sake of dodging this request—I am genuinely busy. My duties are light as the Tower Master, and this tower mostly runs itself… but I do still have duties.”

“What if I give you other locations?” Argrave insisted, leaning yet more forward ‘til he nearly fell off the chair. “I can tell you places—”

“Argrave,” Anneliese cut in. When he looked at her, she shook her head to indicate it was hopeless. Argrave slumped back into the chair, finally admitting defeat.

“I am sorry, truly. Living fortresses are few and far between, and I would jump at the opportunity if I did not have other concerns. Alas, the trappings of power.” Castro scratched the back of his neck. “I am told the Margrave sought aid from the Tower for the plague by your advice,” Castro noted. “And I’ve heard other whispers, too, from the northwest. I am not ignorant of the good you’ve done, and you have earned something.” Castro smiled, then pointed. “Speaking of the good you’ve done—you’ve yet to receive your reward for the dissertation on [Blood Infusion] you submitted.”

“I can’t think of much I want from the Order they’d be willing to part with,” Argrave shook his head. “But… listen. If you can’t help me, can you at least make it easier for me to meet with the other S-rank mages in the tower? The Magisters, the researchers?”

Castro laid his hands on the armrests. “My word to Moriatran may make it more difficult to meet him… but yes to all the others. I will think of something. It is the least I can do. Why are you so insistent on being escorted by an S-rank mage, though?”

“Convenience. Ease. Reliability,” Argrave said succinctly. “Less variables to keep track of. One person to keep happy, and nothing more.”

“It takes a certain insanity to become S-rank,” Castro said bluntly. “Be careful who you choose, young man.”

“I know,” Argrave nodded. “That’s why I wanted you. Well…”

“Master Castro,” Anneliese cut in. “The enchantments that keep this tower upright—they must be something very special.”

“They are,” Castro indulged patiently.

“Do you think I might… learn about them? How they’re powered, how they function, the methods used to inscribe them. Oh—and the strange moving platforms in the center of the tower—I am greatly interested by those. Anything you might give to illuminate me would be greatly appreciated.”

Castro laughed quietly. “I can see why you advanced so quickly through the ranks of magic, young lady. Well… certainly, if it’s only that, I can give you a pass to the lower levels of the tower, where these things are managed. What you learn there—that’s up to you.”

Anneliese nodded eagerly, then fixed her long white hair. “I would have it no other way.”

“If that’s all…” the old man rose to his feet.

“Have a nice day, Master Castro,” Argrave said his goodbyes.

The Tower Master nodded and left through the door. Argrave raised a hand to his face once he left, scratching his cheek with a somber look.

“Gods be damned,” Argrave sighed. “Our golden ticket to the blood factory just walked out the door… and we have to find a new one. What’s more, they’ll have learned of Induen’s death, by then. Things are going to be difficult, Anneliese.”

“I cannot recall when last they were easy,” she returned.

Argrave laughed, then looked to the window. “Almost sunset time.”

When Anneliese smiled at his words, he couldn’t help but do the same. She stood.

“Let us go, then. Relax, speak of things alone for precious few moments,” she held out her hand to help him up.