For me, he was just the little brother I’d always wanted.
“Speaking of someone up past their bedtime,” I said. I looked from Garadin to Piaras. “Is there something I should know?”
Piaras looked to Garadin, and Garadin didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the empty plate on the table. There were a few crumbs left. “Sorry I didn’t have anything better to offer, though you seem to have done well enough for yourself. Considering the kind of night you must have had, I’d imagine you were hungry.”
Nigel’s house crawling with goblins and Simon Stocken’s warehouse burning to the ground must have been public knowledge by now, but not the fact that I was involved. Or maybe Garadin just assumed I was involved. Neither assumption was good or very flattering.
“Bad news must travel fast,” was all I said.
“Tarsilia sent Piaras over to the Mad Piper to tell me you might be in trouble.”
I stepped a little farther into the light. Garadin and Piaras took in my blood-spattered clothes.
“I see she was right,” my godfather said. “Any of that yours?”
“No. Why did she think I was in trouble?”
Piaras spoke. “Ocnus Rancil and two other goblins tried to break into your rooms. Then more goblins showed up. That’s when Grandma sent me to find Garadin.”
Damn.
“And considering the hour and circumstances, I didn’t want to send Piaras home once he found me,” Garadin added.
Piaras took off his cloak and gave me a halfhearted smile. “He and Grandma are plotting to protect me again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having someone watch your back,” I told him. “Phaelan was there tonight to watch mine. Who’s watching Tarsilia’s?” I asked Garadin.
“Parry and Alix were with me over at the Piper. They went to Tarsilia’s, and I came back here with Piaras. If you had stepped in anything deep, I knew you’d come here first.”
Sometimes it’s nice to be predictable. I relaxed a little. Alixine Toril was my best friend, a sorceress, and one of the finest robe designers in the Sorcerers District. Parry Arne was her sometime lover, a Conclave emissary, and when it came to creative magical retaliation, he had pretty much written the book. If a fight got nasty, the big Myloran mage was good to have by your side. Tarsilia was in good hands. Ocnus and the other goblins were not.
“Going directly home didn’t seem like the best idea,” I told him, “though I never meant to put goblins on Tarsilia’s doorstep. Were Ocnus’s friends shamans or warriors?”
“Shamans,” Garadin said. “Khrynsani.”
Damn again.
He made himself comfortable in his favorite chair in the far corner, which oddly enough was always paper free, and lit a pipe. “And they seemed determined to get into your rooms. Apparently it was all over rather quickly. Alix just met us down the block to let us know Tarsilia had the situation well in hand by the time they arrived. Tarsilia discouraged the goblins from trying to get in your rooms, and Alix and Parry will see to it they don’t feel welcome in the neighborhood. Alix said she and Parry will stay the night to make sure the shamans don’t stage a repeat performance.”
“What about Ocnus?” I asked.
Ocnus Rancil was a goblin sorcerer of marginal ability and maximum aggravation. He hadn’t crossed my path for several weeks now. Any illegal, immoral, or just plain repugnant act committed in Mermeia usually had Ocnus’s fingerprints on it somewhere. As a result, business had brought us together over the years. The results had yet to be fatal, though I had been sorely tempted on more than one occasion. I wondered if Ocnus knew about the gathering at Stocken’s this evening and just hadn’t managed to make the party. Considering his presence at my door this evening, that was a possibility I’d have to look into.
The smile that spread across Piaras’s face reached his large, brown eyes. It was open, welcoming, and like Piaras himself, completely without guile. “Ocnus wasn’t all that much trouble. Grandma let me practice on him before she sent me after Garadin.”
I answered with a grin of my own. Like myself, Tarsilia believed in the importance of practice. And if Piaras had needed help, she was more than able to back him up. “What did you use?” I asked.
The tips of Piaras’s pointed ears were visible through his curls. They blushed pink. “An illusion song Garadin taught me last week. I thought it’d be fun to make Ocnus think there were a pair of werehounds guarding your door.”
“And?”
Piaras’s smile broadened into a boyish grin. “Ocnus thought they were so real he conjured a swamp cat to lure them away. You could see through his cat, but other than that, it wasn’t half-bad.”
“What did you have the hounds do?”
“What comes naturally. They ate the cat. That’s when Ocnus ran.”
“I hate that I missed it.”
Garadin nodded in satisfaction. “You just can’t beat the classics.”
My godfather sported a tiny smile for my benefit. I knew what it meant. The spellsong Piaras had used was one of the most advanced, and summoning realistic images of something as complex as werehounds took a level of talent that only came from years of hard work and training. Piaras could do it now. Easily. His singing voice was surprisingly deep, vibrant, filled with quiet power and impossible to ignore. He had a prodigious, natural gift. And after years of hard work and training with the right voice master, who knew what he could accomplish. The image of the Conclave Guardian instantly sprang to mind. I pushed my thoughts away from that path. That wasn’t the kind of power I ever wanted to see Piaras wield.
“After Grandma sensed the goblins hiding behind Maira’s bakery, she sent me after Garadin,” Piaras was saying. “I wanted to stay and help, but she insisted.”
“Tarsilia doesn’t doubt your abilities,” Garadin said, “and neither do I, but she needed to warn Raine. And Khrynsani shamans are a whole different beast than Ocnus.” He looked at me, and his bright blue eyes narrowed. “Care to tell me the reason for your sudden surge in popularity?”
“I have no idea what Ocnus was doing there, but I know what the goblins were after. Have you heard what happened at Nigel Nicabar’s place?”
Garadin slowly drew on his pipe, blue puffs rising toward the beamed ceiling. “We heard. Watchers coming off duty stopped at the Piper for a pint. Sounded like quite a fight.”
“It was.”
“You were there.” He didn’t ask it as a question, and I didn’t take it as one.
“Phaelan and I dropped by.”
A corner of his lips quirked upward. “And there stands the source of the trouble?”
“No, that would be Quentin.” I hesitated before continuing. I felt more than a little uncomfortable talking about Quentin’s sideline employment around Piaras. He had met Quentin, so I’m sure it wouldn’t come as any great shock, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was somehow tainting the innocent. “He was hired to acquire something from Nigel.”
“You mean steal,” Piaras said point blank.
Garadin likewise ignored my effort to tiptoe around the subject. “I take it he was successful?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Equally unfortunate is that a few people are disappointed they didn’t get to it first.”
I paused before continuing. I came to see Garadin to get his advice. That was going to be next to impossible with Piaras in the room. Quentin’s daily struggle with morality might not be the best topic of discussion around an impressionable elven teenager, but given the proper disclaimers, it was acceptable. But Khrynsani shamans and Conclave Guardians, along with the death, dismemberment and general mayhem that had made up my evening was another matter. I didn’t want Piaras hearing any of it. Knowing what had happened tonight could endanger him, not to mention I’d rather he didn’t know the finer details of what I did for a living. To someone of Piaras’s age and gender, my job could be perceived as glamorous. It was anything but. Though considering what had just happened a few blocks away at Tarsilia’s, having Piaras wait outside while I talked to Garadin wasn’t a viable option. My breath came out in a sigh.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stand in the corner with your fingers in your ears?” I was only half joking.
Piaras’s expression spoke volumes on his feelings about that idea. “Not really.”
“He’s already heard most of it at the Mad Piper,” Garadin said, making it clear he knew my dilemma and just wanted me to get on with it.
“No, he hasn’t.”
Garadin stopped midpuff. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say the fewer people who know about it, the better.”
Piaras was slouching against the door jam, well on his way to a good sulk. To his credit, he didn’t do it often. I couldn’t really blame him. I did ask him to stand in a corner. He knew I didn’t mean it literally, but my meaning was clear enough. I didn’t think he was old enough to hear what had happened tonight. And he wasn’t. Truth be told, I wasn’t old enough. The safest thing for Piaras was complete and blissful ignorance. If protecting Piaras meant he had to suffer the indignity of actually standing in a corner, so be it.
“I’m sorry, Piaras. But it’s not safe for you to hear any more of this.” Or be anywhere near me right now, my maternal instinct chimed in.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he said.
“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you. But trust isn’t the issue here. Your safety is. You can’t tell what you don’t know.”
A confused look passed over his face. “I don’t understand.”
I hesitated. Tact was called for here, and I didn’t have any. “I’m not worried about you talking to your friends. I’m worried about those involved in this. They would want to know what was said here. If they knew you were here, they would ask you.” I paused. “They wouldn’t ask nicely.”