The Elusive Taste of Kolchoan Blue
by Patrick Honovich
Satet Nosso is trying to finish his apprenticeship at the Verrin School. He’s equipped with quick wits and potent magic in the form of a set of intricate, enchanted tattoos that embed his spells literally under his skin.
Satet serves a strict and calculating master. As his last task, to get his master’s approval to continue to the next part of his magical education, Satet is sent to acquire a few key items at Auntighur, the Imperial Auction House. When he arrives on the coldest day of winter, he encounters Sarah Bailick, another apprentice who might just be his equal or better.
Can he win the items he needs and keep from being hamstrung by the maneuvering of the other bidders? Or will the schemes of Sarah’s own Mistress be his downfall? Will his own arrogance doom him? If he wins his items, will he survive long enough to get them back to the school? The doors are open at Auntighur, and Satet feels ready for anything, but is he?
Chapter 3: Quiet Offers
“The next room is open.” Pausha waved at the gradual flow of people from our side of the room to the other. We crossed, following with the rest of the buyers. I glanced at Sarah, a careful flick of the eyes towards and away, but she caught me at it anyway. She raised an eyebrow, almost asked a question, but let it drop. We filed towards the door, moving only as quickly as Div and Pausha’s old hips would allow.
I looked around at the other people, men and women whom I would have to outwit or overpower in some fashion to leave successful. In the crowd, nearly every kingdom or province east of the Tier was represented, although Correm showed more than her share, presumably by virtue of the auction-house’s location.
Div cleared his throat. “Mr. Nosso, it would do you well to pay attention.”
“I’ve been told what to expect, roughly. I’ll be visiting the silent house first, to place a bid — I was told to tell you it will be my one silent bid — I can’t recall the term. It’s...”
“For you?”
Master Tellrus had technically given me permission to use his name. This was the big gamble. If I screwed it up... “For my master. Sotto anne.”
“Then this item is the only item he’s interested in, and he’s willing to make arrangements if he doesn’t secure his bid. And yourself, Mr. Nosso?” He tucked his free hand into his belt, and gave me a look of pure scorn.
“There are supposed to be — ” I looked at Sarah, who was carefully keeping an eye on me as she spoke quietly to Pausha. “A few cultural relics in the open house, a minor lot.”
He nodded, glanced at Pausha, gave a small sigh that I couldn’t quite interpret. “Have you conferred with your charge?”
Pausha smiled, showing a mouthful of dainty white teeth. “The door is open.” She turned to whisper something to Sarah — Sarah whispered back — I could hear the words, but couldn’t make them out. All my training, all my study, I wasn’t quite quick enough.
I honed in on the tag, seeing the various hues and streams, each color a different way of measuring. Other than some situational nervousness, I came up with nothing solid. The trace on her did not give me the ability to read her mind. I think she knew it, from the way she smiled at me.
“Proceed.” Pausha grinned, gestured go-ahead.
We walked through the doorway into a long hallway, first on cold stone floors, then on rugs fine enough to cushion and muffle our steps, down the hall to the center quartet of doors, two on either side. Some passed us, others we passed by: the hall wasn’t crowded, nor was it empty; rather it was as if someone had applied some rough idea of street traffic without castoffs and lost causes to the men and women around us, the meat minus the broth. These people didn’t have to worry about keeping clean or keeping fed.
Something else became clear, as well, from the stride and fashion of movement: they were uniformly tense and precise, over-focused, their steps too light and too stiff. We stopped, waiting our turn to enter the next room. I looked at Div, who was looking at Pausha, who cleared her throat with a half-cough and looked at me.
Div pointed with two fingers, standing with his back to the guarded end of the hall, leaning on the cane but not seeming to need the support. I wondered, if the cane was for show, what else was he hiding? The gesture was unmistakably Hessar, which explained Div’s build, but maybe not his studies. “Here, we have the silent house. Behind us, the open house. Take a moment to collect yourself.”
Pausha nodded.
I thought about it, in the time it took to blink twice and turn to the door of the silent house, where I took in the glyph-work over the jamb and lintel. I wasn’t sure how the glyphs over the door would affect me; a test of my inviolability at school is not the same thing as a test out in the world, and I couldn’t be certain, but added it to the mental list of acceptable risks, and reached for the handle.
The doors opened under their own power, to still air and less light. Then we were through, the doors clacking shut unaided, and stood a moment in near-dark, waiting for our eyes to adjust.
Div coughed, once, then drew himself up straight. “The rules, Mr. Nosso.” We stood to one side, a few paces off from the doors.
“Rules?” I’ve never met a rule I didn’t immediately want to bend. Or break.
“Can you smell the scent in the air?”
I sniffed — fresh bay leaves and cut cucumbers — and nodded.
“The silent house is flooded with smoke from the combination of enchantment, patience, and certain rare oils. The details are not entirely known to anyone outside the Pentesi.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow, and Pausha looked away. I was watching Divezha, and listening to what he didn’t say. Those sod-green eyes didn’t blink, but they were well-shuttered. Nothing came through.
He continued. “This smoke keeps the house cool and restrained, by imposing severe penalties on those who attempt to behave rashly. You’ll notice, I hope, that I said, ‘attempt’.”
“A very reasonable choice of words,” said Pausha.
“Thank you,” said Div, suggesting so much more than was spoken. Our old guides had old blood between them, too, beyond their history. I put the thought on a list reserved for “investigate later” hoping it wouldn’t turn around and sink a tooth into my ass.
“If you become agitated, the smoke you’ve already taken into your body will react.” Div waved at the mist already in the air and seeping under the antechamber door, eddying with the sweep of his arm. “You won’t die, but you will be removed from the floor of the auction house so that the effects can be handled.”
When the word came from Sarah, “How absolutely wonderful, how kind of the house,” I hid my grin. A woman who has the right kind of mind for this world is a treasure and should not be informed of that fact.
“By ‘agitated’, he means this,” said Pausha: “You must not raise your voice, must not run, or throw a punch, or let your fears carry you away. Be mindful of your hearts. Do not tax them.”
“Body?” asked Sarah, looking me over. “Or mind?”
“The effects are not pleasant,” said Div. “The poison works on and reacts to your body’s vital fluids. Your thoughts, young miss, are your own, until they demand action. Should you lose your calm, your muscles will seize, and lock, for longer than you have in Auntighur. It can be abated, but it is not pleasant. And...”
I took a deep breath of the stuff swirling near the floor as I bent to retie my boot. No sense trying to avoid exposure if it was already in me.
“And? That’s not enough?” asked Sarah. I stood, letting my eyes linger on her curves as I considered her mind and its quick questions. I actually thought, at that point, that she was doing my work for me. As Master Tellrus often reminded me, a healthy ego can have unhealthy effects.
“You will be asked to leave,” said Pausha.
“And next season?” I asked. “Will we be allowed back in?”
Our guides exchanged a look, so I was betting I wasn’t the first one to ask the question. Div answered, “Yes.”
“Come on then.” I opened the next door, leaving the antechamber. I checked the tag on Sarah, and made note of the differences in color, assuming that seen in reverse I would be similarly affected. The smoke couldn’t dampen the ink in my skin, couldn’t touch it at all. I took a step forward and felt a wave of dizziness, but it passed.
“Slowly, Mr. Nosso.” Div walked beside me, at my left elbow. I looked to my right at Sarah, then past her to Pausha: our eyes were almost all color, the pupils shrunk down to the size of a quill tip.
I nodded. “How is this arranged?”
“You know your master’s lot number?”
The ‘master’ reminded me: in fact, we were here for my lot, not his, regardless of what I’d told Div. If by some chance I failed to secure the lot in the open house across the hallway that I’d said was mine, there was a high chance Master Tellrus would cast me out with my ink unfinished, possibly arranging for someone to break my neck as soon as I picked myself up out of the street.
Thankfully, I think he suspected my intentions, because the lot I’d been sent for was not one of the high-contention items. The chance was there, I could lose it all. But if my research was correct, if months of poring over ancient vineyard tallies and abbey records and bills of freight paid off... If I did get the lot here, I stood to gain a prize above price: Kolchoan Blue. Not a liquor, not a potion: a little of both, better than either. One bottle might kill you, but with two, if I was right, a man could step outside life and death entirely.
“Lot forty-six A. Some relics, a book that might be useful for my master’s studies.”
Div nodded, stroked his beard as he looked down the rows.
“The topaz section. This way.” He offered his arm to Pausha, who took it.
As they tottered down the aisles, Sarah and I fell into step behind them, keeping our distance. We passed a section marker three rows down, then another, before she spoke.
“You don’t see a danger in some harmless conversation, do you? Or am I misreading you?”
“No danger, but you’re not harmless.” The ink on my bicep prickled. Someone was watching. I looked right, left, then back — a woman was walking behind us, about ten yards back, seeming half-sculpture and half-scrap-heap. She had wide-open features on a tiny neck, delicate hands at the end of child’s wrists, green eyes with the sure gleam of wet marble, some sort of metallic cloak... I kept walking and turned back to Sarah. “What did you say?” I glanced down at my hands.
“I asked where you want to go after Auntighur.” She caught the redirection, and looked down to see me flip out one of the first signs anyone learns: We’re being followed.
“You going to show up there, too?” Don’t look.
She nodded, and responded with lips and fingers. “Maybe I’ll get there first.” How many?
“I think you might want to come back to my miserable little room this evening. I may have something interesting hidden away there, if you follow me.”
I looked at Sarah again, checked the hook, and noticed a little agitation, a few colors shifting into a more vibrant shade. I slowed my pace just as the same toxin took some of the flex out of my joints, and nearly stumbled anyway.
“That’s a fairly poor attempt to get under my skirt, you know.”
I took a breath, tapped a spot on my shoulder, sharpening my senses, drawing off a little calm.
“Do you really think I’m so simpleminded?” I asked, telling her, A woman. Close behind.
“Smart doesn’t mean trustworthy. In fact, usually it’s the opposite. Could be you’re just bluffing.”
When? She tapped me on the clean arm as if somehow I wasn’t paying complete attention.
“I’m not.” Something she saw on my face made her hesitate. I answered her question with the sign for Unknown.
Sarah spoke up. “Pausha?” Both guides stopped, turning with measured care.
“Yes, dear?”
“We’re being tailed.”
Copyright © 2023 by Patrick Honovich
