Five days passed and Devary heard nothing from Greyson. He spent that period of time combing Indren's library and the more public collections at the faculty building. The most interesting find was a tumbled stack of research notes without a title or any indication of the author, but what caught Devary's attention was the repeated use of the word "istore".
When he showed them to Indren, she merely nodded. 'Those are the records from my brief research project on that stone you brought me. I wanted to pursue it further, even after you took back the pendant, but Krays cancelled it.'
'Did he? Why?' Sifting through the papers, he found three pages of scrawled notes on the so-called stone's magical properties. It enhanced summoning ability, amplified sorcerous talents and imparted a sense of well-being even to those humans without a shred of magical talent.
'He said it was a waste of time. Like I told you, I don't think it was ever a mystery to him.'
An unpleasant thought occurred to Devary's habitually suspicious mind. 'Indren. Greyson told me that Krays's two favourite agents were sent to take the draykon bone. That would've been well before I arrived here with the pendant - and Llandry. Did you know about that?' He remembered her manner when he'd turned up with that stone. She had been enthused about the project - and, apparently, shocked when Llandry was attacked over it. Had she been acting a part? He now recalled that visiting that restaurant had been her idea; it sickened him to think that she might have colluded with Krays to get Llandry away from her guards.
If she had, then she was still acting a part now.
'No!' Indren blurted. 'I swear, I knew nothing about it at the time save what I heard in the papers. And I had precious little time even to read the news during those weeks. Whatever Krays and his friends were doing at that time, I wasn't involved in it. Not until later.'
Her face was white with alarm and she stared at him with such horror that he was inclined to believe her. Indren was one of those women who was rarely discomposed, and it took a lot to shake her.
'When were you involved?'
'Only recently, truly. This genealogy project is the first assignment I've been given that has any direct relationship to the draykon bone.'
Devary sighed. It was becoming harder than ever to choose allies that he could trust.
'You wouldn't lie, Ren, would you?' They had been closer friends, once, before Indren had been promoted so far above him and he had been sent across the Seven. Ren was the name he used to have for her. He hoped it would encourage her to be sincere.
'I lie, Dev. All the time, these days - I have to. But I wouldn't lie to you. Please believe me.' She caught his hand in a pleading gesture.
He frowned, letting out a long sigh. Life had truly become impossibly complicated of late - dating precisely from his return to the Sanfaer home in Glinnery.
Though if he could turn back and undo that action, he still wouldn't.
He summoned a smile for Indren, watched her face relax in relief. 'What of Greyson? Where did you find him?'
She gave a crooked smile. 'The white-hairs aren't popular within the faculty. Last year some of the agents formed a co-operative to share information. The ultimate goal, I suppose, is to be rid of them, though I don't see how that is to be achieved. Greyson is their leader.'
'Oh?' He looked narrowly at her. 'Are you a member?'
'I joined.' She paused. 'Recently.'
He looked a question; she fixed her gaze on the floor.
'When I was given the genealogy project, I realised... it wasn't hard to guess who was behind Llandry's attempted abduction. I felt awful. I might not have known beforehand but it was me who took the two of you to that restaurant. I had been serving Krays's purpose without even realising it. And I was so full of myself.' She raised her eyes at last. 'I was awful to her, wasn't I?'
He shrugged one shoulder slightly. 'I don't think I noticed if you were.'
She rolled her eyes and gave a quick laugh. 'How like you. Yes, I was perfectly horrid to her. I can scarcely remember why, only... I hadn't seen you in so long, and then for you to arrive with...'
She trailed off, then shook her head with an air of finality. 'No matter. I joined soon after that. I have no love for Krays's methods or his agenda, and I am tired of being manipulated by him and his friends.'
He smiled. 'You're a better woman than I thought, Ren.'
'Thanks.' She spoke the word in a flat tone, and he realised the statement hadn't emerged as he'd intended.
He hastily changed the subject. 'Ah, so, Greyson. He's trustworthy then?'
Indren shrugged. 'You know as well as I do that it's hard to be sure. But if we can't trust Greyson, we can't trust anyone. He has my confidence, if that helps at all.'
'Thank you, Ren.' He picked up her hand and kissed it lightly, smiling his thanks. A light appeared in her eyes for an instant, then faded.
'Anything for you, Dev,' she said lightly.
A few days later, Devary was walking through Draetre's eventide market when he felt a light touch on his arm. Thinking of pickpockets, he was instantly on his guard. Checking his pockets, he found his money whole and untouched - and a scrap of paper.
Astendre Wharf 17.
He knew that area, though not well. It was near the river that marked the city's south-eastern boundary. The area was mostly occupied by tradesmen's storage buildings.
He stopped and looked about himself, knowing it was already too late. Nobody waited to see if he found the message. He saw nothing but crowds of shoppers moving briskly from stall to stall. Puzzled, he folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket.
'That's Greyson's writing,' Indren confirmed later.
'You two have been writing to each other, have you?'
Her cheeks flushed slightly and she spoke with infinite dignity. 'He has communicated with me on occasion.'
'Always by letter?'
'Don't forget the tracers,' she reminded him tartly. 'It's unwise to keep too many meetings with the same agents. It arouses suspicion.'
He grinned at her. 'You've been spending a lot of time with me. Is that not then a risk?'
'That is different.'
'Is it? How?'
She ignored the question. 'Are you going?'
He frowned, smoothing the paper in his fingers. 'Do you know what this is?'
'I've never heard of it before. That doesn't mean much, you understand. I'm viewed in some circles as a higher-up but I'm not given access to much.'
'I must investigate,' he decided.
'Dev, those tracers aren't to be just ignored. If he looks for you while you're there, I don't know what will happen to you but it won't be good.'
'Do not be worried about me,' he smiled.
She snorted. 'Someday, Mr Kant, that abominable overconfidence will get you killed. I am coming with you.'
His smile faded. 'Two tracered agents in the same - very secret - building? Will that not merely double the chances of our both being caught?'
She glared at him. 'Two of us can cover the area faster, meaning we can be out again sooner.'
'Flawed logic.'
She was adamant, immoveable and would not be argued down.
In the end, he simply left without telling her.
The seventeenth building on Astendre Wharf was tall, narrow and squashed haphazardly between two much larger warehouses. No windows adorned the front, so he couldn't immediately tell whether the building was occupied.
He paused to check the position of his weapons. He had given up carrying them for a time; having learnt about the tracer, he'd felt such hopelessness about his situation that he'd lost faith in his ability to control his own fate. But he shouldn't have allowed those events to affect him that way. His daggers, sometimes so repulsive to his essentially pacifistic nature, now imparted a feeling of confidence that he hadn't felt in some time.
He jogged down the street, darted through the first alley he found and circled around to the back of the buildings. He had opted to go at night in the hopes of finding the area deserted, and so far he was in luck.
The darkness, though, was a problem. Heavy clouds covered the sky, hiding the light of the moon, and this part of Draetre wasn't worth the trouble of lighting at night. It took him a few minutes to find his way to the rear door of building number seventeen.
It was, as he expected, firmly locked. Far from feeling discouraged, he felt a thrill of anticipation. Something important was here; no sense in using locks otherwise.
He hadn't picked a lock in at least a year, but the skill hadn't faded. He had it open inside a minute. He entered, moving with soft, silent steps into the building.
The interior was so dark he could see nothing at all. With an inward curse, he fished a small, portable light-globe from the pack he carried. He had no wish to draw attention to his presence, but he could investigate nothing without light. He activated it with a swift thought, dampening its radiance down to a gentle flicker of white light. It was just enough to illuminate his surroundings, but it wouldn't carry far. Or so he hoped.
His heart sank on finding himself standing in nothing but a cramped and empty antechamber. Ahead of him loomed another door, bigger and no doubt much more securely locked. He released the globe, guiding it to hover a few inches above his head, and set to work.
Half an hour later, tense and sweating, Devary finally found his way through the maddening door. No less than three locks secured the portal, two of which were operated by codes rather than keys. More evidence that something here was not intended for general access.
The building was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. A long hall stretched before him, and he guessed that three more storeys of similar size rose above. The room in which he stood was furnished with benches set at regular intervals, each spacious and, he guessed, well-lit when they were in use. The exterior looked ramshackle, but the interior had the polished air of a professional setup.
All of the benches bore clusters of objects. Devary bent over the first, drawing his light-globe down close to the surface. It didn't avail him much; he recognised nothing in the complex structures of metal and glass that he saw.
But he did recognise the smooth indigo substance that was securely clamped into place in the centre of the contraption. Opaque and glowing faintly silver under his light, it was undoubtedly draykon bone.
Moving as fast as he dared, he checked the other benches. The constructs varied widely but all bore a piece of draykon bone locked into place somewhere in the convoluted machinery. He received the impression that the bones were integral to the workings of each one; could they be powering the devices in some way?
If only he had a better knowledge of engineering. He had no chance of understanding the workings of these horrifically complicated objects, so he didn't waste time trying. He climbed instead up to the next floor, and the next. Each held the same layout and contents, though on the third storey he received a shock.
Happening to glance down, he discovered that the floor beneath his feet was virtually transparent.
He jumped back with a soft cry, then silenced himself with a swift inner curse. Fool. He may be able to see straight down into the floor below, but the strange, clear substance was obviously firm enough to hold his weight securely.
He climbed steadily up more long flights of stairs, noting that each storey bore the same transparent floors and ceilings. Reaching the top floor, he found that the roof was also clear and obviously well-tended, for he saw no dirt obscuring the clarity of the glass-like cover.
Light, he realised, would pass straight through those clear expanses and stream uninhibited all the way to the bottom of the building. In which case, light must be as important a component in those curious technologies as the draykon bone. That made sense, as far as it went: many of the Daylands technologies used sunlight as a power source. But then, why build a workshop in Nimdre rather than one of the Daylands realms, where there was always good light?
Perhaps some of them were intended to function without light as well, in which case Nimdre was the only option for development and testing. It was the only one of the Seven Realms that experienced both conditions in equal measure.
He passed silently between the benches that lined the walls of this room, pausing to examine each machine. The appearance of these differed somewhat from the ones on the lower storeys. He was hard pressed to define precisely how, but that some of the parts eerily resembled human limbs was difficult to ignore. He shuddered, staring at a device that looked like some kind of robotic arm...
A faint noise startled him, sent him backing away from the machine and searching for a hiding place. He had spent too much time here, distracted by the puzzle of the peculiar machines that surrounded him. If Krays found him here -
A cold voice interrupted his thoughts. 'I'd invite you to participate, but it is clear that you cannot be trusted.'
Krays. His heart leapt into frenzied activity and he began to run, tearing for the stairs.
His flight was useless. Krays caught him up easily and grabbed him in a ferociously painful grip. He didn't say anything else, merely stared at Devary with complete coldness.
An instant later, Devary found himself back in prison, in a room similar to the tiny cubicle that he had woken in after his recovery. The same narrow bed dominated the cramped space, the same small sink and chamber pot the only other items present.
Krays said nothing more. He released Devary, dropping him to the floor. Then he vanished.
Frantic, Devary picked himself up and searched the room. One door, a massive thing that he knew would be unbreakable, its lock unpickable. No window, no weaknesses or openings in floor, walls or ceiling. No way out.
Heart pounding, he sought with his mind for the mode of escape that had saved him last time. As he feared, it was gone. The area was shrouded in an enchantment that muffled everything he tried to do and obscured any means of outward travel. He could not break through, no matter how violently he hurled himself against the misty walls in his mind.
At length he was obliged to give up. He collapsed on the bed, spent and in despair.
He was stuck, thoroughly so, and this time he had no doubt that there would be no escape.