Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 7

Miranda had been avoiding Banage’s office since she’d come back to Zarin. Going in now was even harder than she’d expected, but there was nowhere else she could talk to the West Wind’s human representative the way she needed to, as the Rector of the Spirit Court. The room looked exactly as it had the morning they’d left for Osera. As she held the door for Lelbon, she almost expected to see Master Banage sitting at his desk like always. But the desk was empty, and, after a short hesitation, Miranda walked over and slid behind it, sinking into the Rector’s high chair with as small a grimace as she could manage. Lelbon took the seat in front of the desk, the one that was usually hers.

“You’ve been promoted since last we spoke, I see.”

“Considering the last time we spoke I was exiled from the Court, that’s not saying much,” Miranda said, straightening up in a vain attempt to keep from being overshadowed by the enormous desk. “But it’s been made clear to me that I won’t be here long, so I’ll just get right to the point. I have reason to believe we’re facing a crisis the likes of which has never been seen in the Court’s existence. How much has your master told you of the Shepherdess and her stars?”

Lelbon tilted his head. “My master would never tell me anything the Lady did not wish humans to know,” he said cautiously. “However, what I deduce on my own is outside of his control. Considering I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life in service to the winds, most of them are comfortable enough to forget I’m there half the time. As a result, I’ve heard enough to draw my own conclusions.”

“Good,” Miranda said. “Then you know that stars are at the very top of the spirit world. Ancient spirits, some even older than the Shepherdess herself, chosen by the Lady to guide those spirits beneath them.”

“And fixed with her mark of authority,” Lelbon added. He smiled when he saw Miranda’s brows furrow. “That’s the part of the story the spirits themselves focus on. Benehime’s mark is what makes the stars so powerful, even outside of their areas of control. That mark allows them to act in the Lady’s name. For a spirit, disobeying a star is the same as disobeying the Shepherdess herself.”

Miranda nodded. She hadn’t heard it phrased quite that way before, but considering her own spirits’ reactions to the stars they’d met, it made sense. “Well,” she said, “if you understand all that, then you’ll understand the crisis we’re facing. I have reason to believe that stars are disappearing.”

She paused, waiting for his reaction, but Lelbon just nodded. “Go on.”

“Do you need more?” Miranda said, pulling herself forward until the edge of the desk cut into her stomach. “The largest spirits in the world are vanishing without a trace and leaving the spirits who depend on them in a state of panic. This isn’t some minor emergency.”

“Have any of your spirits been affected?” Lelbon said.

“Not yet, but that’s hardly the point,” Miranda said. “The Spirit Court stands for all spirits, not just the ones who serve us. If stars are vanishing, it’s a problem for all the spirits below them, and we need to stop it.” She held up her hand, counting off the questions on her fingers. “We need to know why they’re disappearing, where to, how many are already gone, and how we can stop this. That’s why I need Illir’s help. He may not be a star himself, but he’s certainly powerful enough to know what’s going on.”

“And what will you do with that knowledge?” Lelbon asked.

“I’m going to use it to mobilize the Court,” Miranda answered. “Even if we can’t stop the stars from vanishing, we might be able to help prevent the panic. But I need to know what’s going on so I can explain it well enough to get the Tower Keepers moving; otherwise idiots like Blint are going to claim I’m making this up as an excuse to hang on to power.”

Lelbon raised his eyebrows. “Blint?”

“One of the sort of Spiritualist who’d sit around arguing over the Rectorship while the world crumbled under his feet,” Miranda said bitterly, leaning over the table at him. “I need answers, Lelbon. I swore an oath to protect the spirits, and I will not be forsworn.”

Lelbon leaned back with a long sigh. He’d watched her carefully while she was speaking. Now he looked down at his hands resting on the folded cloth of his robe.

“Your dedication is a credit to your organization,” he said. “But I’m worried you’re missing an important point.” He glanced up at her. “Stars are beloved by the Shepherdess. They are her lieutenants, overseeing their segments of her flock. If you’re right, and they are disappearing without explanation, would it not be logical to assume that she had some hand in their disappearance?”

Miranda set her jaw stubbornly. “My wind spirit mentioned something to that effect,” she said. “But I thought the Shepherdess’s purpose was to care for the spirits? Why would she do something that throws them into such chaos? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Lelbon said matter-of-factly. “But who else could make stars vanish? They are enormous spirits with an echo of the Lady’s own authority, unassailable by any save a demon as large as that which waits under the mountain. So, either the Master of the Dead Mountain has made his escape at last, in which case I’m sure we’d already know, or the Shepherdess is stealing her own stars.”

“But”—Miranda was openly gaping now—“ why? The Deep Current was vital to the function of the oceans. If my Mellinor hadn’t taken it over, the sea would be falling stagnant even as we speak. And what about the tree at the heart of the Allva? Its loss has thrown the entire forest into a panic. If a demon did half so much, the whole League would be down there. How could the Shepherdess condone such actions? What end could possibly justify such painful means?”

“I cannot presume to tell you the Shepherdess’s mind,” Lelbon said. “One thing, however, is deadly certain. The Shepherdess’s attention is on us, now more than ever. All spirits, especially those large enough to know the consequences of her wrath, are minding her rules to the letter. To do otherwise under such scrutiny would be suicidal folly.”

Miranda stiffened. “Now I understand why you’re here and not Illir himself,” she said. “The Shaper Mountain may have let the cat out of the bag, but the West Wind can’t very well come and talk to a human about the Shepherdess’s affairs, can he?”

Lelbon smiled delicately. “My master did not share his reasoning with me, but I think that is a safe assumption.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Miranda shouted. “Let it go? Sit back and watch while the Shepherdess yanks her stars out and leaves the world helpless and panicked?”

“Could you do that?” Lelbon said.

Miranda glared daggers at the old man. “Of course not.”

“Then I suggest you find another way,” Lelbon said. “One that works around the Shepherdess, rather than against her.”

Miranda sat back with a disgusted harrumph. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Well,” Lelbon said, “the first step is to figure out exactly what you want to do.”

“Help the spirits,” Miranda said.

Lelbon sighed. “A bit more specificity would be helpful, Miss Lyonette.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Fine. Our problem is that stars are disappearing. When they disappear, they disrupt the world and leave their spirits in chaos. So, the first thing I’d want to do is stop any more stars from vanishing.”

Lelbon shook his head. “If the Lady’s the one calling them back, stopping the disappearances isn’t within the realm of our influence. What’s next?”

Miranda frowned. “If we can’t stop stars from vanishing, then we’ll need to respond to the disappearances themselves. The panicking forest, for example. If I had a team down there, we could ease the strain. Of course, to do that we’d need a way to know which stars have vanished and where so we could get there before the panic could do lasting harm.”

“You’d have to move very fast for that,” Lelbon said quietly.

“I know, I know.” Miranda ran her hands through her hair. “But I don’t know what else to do! I can’t just stop trying.”

“A noble sentiment,” Lelbon said. “But let us think practically for a moment. The stars are scattered all across the world. Many are in places people never go, like the bottom of the sea or high in the mountains. Even if you knew exactly where and when a star disappeared, could you get there in time to do any good? And even if you could, many stars’ spirits are spread out all over the world. Say the star of fish vanished, what would you do? Send your Court to comfort every mackrel who was tearing out his gills in terror because he thinks the world is ending?”

“Are you trying to dissuade me from my duty?” Miranda cried, clenching her fingers so hard her rings dug into her skin.

“I am trying to be reasonable,” Lelbon said. “Has it never occurred to you, Miss Lyonette, that perhaps this time you are in over your head? That the scope of these problems is simply beyond what the Spirit Court can handle, and that by attempting to blindly follow the right path, you risk doing more harm than good? It is true, the spirits suffer when stars vanish, but they won’t suffer forever. Even the greatest panic fades in time.”

He watched her reaction, and when her glare refused to soften, Lelbon pressed a hand to his chest with a deep sigh. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “Long ago, before I entered the West Wind’s service, I was a scholar of history for the Immortal Empress.”

Miranda jerked back. “You worked for the Immortal Empress?”

“In as much as any junior official can be said to work for an immortal being,” Lelbon responded with a dry smile. “But that’s neither here nor there. You are very young, Miss Lyonette. I don’t say this to downplay your competence, only to point out that your worldview, like most young people’s, tends to center on the present. This isn’t to imply that the current situation isn’t bad, possibly even disastrous, but when you look at the entire sweep of history, you see that bad things happen all the time. Is it not wise, then, to consider what is best in the long run, even if that goes against your feelings in the short term?”

Miranda closed her eyes. “It’s been a very long few days, Mr. Lelbon. I’d appreciate it if you got to the point.”

“My point,” Lelbon said, leaning forward, “is that, as much as you want to help spirits, the Court is simply not equipped to handle this scale of disaster. Say you were to hop on your hound this instant; it would take you, what, four days to reach the Allva rain forest?”

“Three,” Miranda said flatly.

“Three days, then,” Lelbon said. “Now, it’s my understanding you’re one of the faster Spiritualists, but let’s assume for the sake of argument that everyone in the Court could move at your speed if pressed. The Allva is enormous, hundreds of miles of dense trees spread over three river basins that eventually braid together into the Ell, the mother river. If the entire forest is in a panic as you say, it would take thousands of wizards to cover that much ground. Even if you rallied every Spiritualist to your cause, you still wouldn’t have the manpower to handle a single lost star, assuming you could even get your people there fast enough to do any good for a panic that is already in full swing.”

Miranda clenched her teeth. “So I should just ignore my oaths and turn away?”

“You are the Rector Spiritualis,” Lelbon said, leaning back in his chair. “I would never presume to tell you how to run your Court. I can only suggest that you consider the larger picture. Even I know the Spirit Court is fractured. Noble as your intentions may be, think. Is it worth pushing an already battered Court past its limits to offer aid that will be too late and too little to do any good?”

Miranda closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands. “I can’t do nothing,” she whispered through her fingers.

“The Spirit Court is the single greatest human organization for the good of spirits that has ever existed,” Lelbon said. “I would hardly count its rebuilding as doing nothing.”

“You don’t understand,” Miranda said, pushing her head up. “The only reason I’m Rector is because Banage made me. I’m not the one who will rebuild the Spirit Court. The Conclave will reunite us, probably under Blint, who’ll waste no time turning us into an arm of the Council. That’s what we are now, just more of Whitefall’s cronies. I knew the Court was changing when they kicked me out for aiding a Great Spirit, but I thought it was just Hern’s influence. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“If that’s how you feel, why continue as Rector?” Lelbon said. “Why not give it to whoever wants it and strike out on your own?”

“Because I can’t do anything on my own,” Miranda said. “That’s why I need proof. My only hope at this point is to gather enough information about what’s happening with the stars so that when I present it at the Conclave, the Court will realize what it has to do, no matter who’s leading it. They might have gotten caught up in the power of the Council, but every Spiritualist takes the same oaths to protect the Spirit World from harm, even Blint. We may not be able to fix everything, but we can still try. Even if we can protect only a few, that’s better than nothing, and maybe in the process of trying we’ll remember what the Spirit Court’s really about: spirits, not humans.”

Lelbon stared at her. “And do you think it’ll work?”

“It better,” Miranda said, rubbing her tired eyes. “I’m all out of cards, otherwise.”

“I applaud the effort, in any case,” Lelbon said. “What is the minimum you need to convince your Court?”

Miranda took a deep breath. “I can start with proof that stars are vanishing, and that it’s a problem, but that’s just the beginning. To really show that this is a true emergency, I have to show the scope of what we’re dealing with. I’ll need to know how many stars there are, where they are, and how many are missing, all before tomorrow. You’ve already made it clear that Illir can’t give me this information. If you can’t tell me, either, then please forgive my rudeness, but I don’t have any more time to chat.”

“A fair assessment,” Lelbon said. “I’m afraid I cannot give you the information you seek, Rector Lyonette. At this point, I think you can name more stars than I.”

Miranda fell back in her chair. She’d been so sure that would work, that the old windbag would drop the act and just tell her if she pressed directly. But before she could fall completely into despair, she realized Lelbon was still talking.

“What?”

“I said there are other ways to find what you’re looking for,” Lelbon repeated. “Ways that are beneath the Shepherdess’s notice.”

Miranda wanted to throw up her hands. “Why didn’t you just say that earlier?”

“You’re not the only one with a duty to fulfill,” Lelbon said. “I was sent to give you my advice and experience as well as to answer my master’s debt. Whether you use them, however, is up to you.”

Miranda sighed. “Right. So what’s the trick, then?”

“You’ll see,” he said, standing up. “Shall we be off? You did say you had no time to spare.”

Miranda blinked at the sudden change. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” Lelbon said. “You will need a nondescript conveyance and some money.”

“Money?” Miranda froze halfway out of her chair. “How much money?”

“A great deal, I’d imagine,” Lelbon said. “Brokers aren’t known for giving discounts.”

“You’re taking me to see a broker?” Miranda was almost shouting now. She couldn’t help it; this was too absurd even for her. “Brokers are for finding stolen goods and spreading gossip. How is a broker going to know about stars?”

“Miss Lyonette,” Lelbon said with a long sigh, “if I didn’t think this was worth your time, I wouldn’t have suggested it. Now, are you coming, or should I leave?”

Miranda took a deep, calming breath. “Let me ask Krigel how much we have on hand. If you want to wait downstairs, I’ll meet you there.”

“Very well,” Lelbon said. “I’d bring a hundred gold standards at least. More, if you can manage it. This isn’t an answer they’re going to have on hand, after all.”

“Right,” Miranda grumbled. She walked her guest to the top of the stairs. Once she was out of sight, she walked back into the Rector’s office and began yanking as hard as she could on the rope pull that rang down to Krigel’s desk.

Thirty minutes later, Miranda and Lelbon were in a hired carriage bumping down a steep, uneven backstreet toward the river. Miranda sat sideways on the bench, clutching a large, leather satchel in a white-knuckled grip. Across from her, Lelbon watched with an amused expression. Miranda scowled back and clutched her satchel tighter, wincing at the jingle of coins every time the carriage hit a pothole.

Two hundred and fifty gold standards was all Krigel had been able to pull together on such short notice. Even so, it was way more money than Miranda had ever personally carried, and she was absolutely certain something horrible was going to happen. Not that forking it over to a broker wasn’t horrible enough. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she felt this was a bad idea.

The carriage rocked violently and then creaked to a halt. Miranda peeked out the window. They’d stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned shop. The old building was half stone, half timber, both black with tar and torch smoke, and the whole structure seemed to be leaning backward into the river behind it. She was about to ask why they’d stopped when Lelbon began climbing out of the coach. Miranda’s eyes flicked to the clusters of barge workers and drunks loitering on the docks down the road, and her frown inched lower. She knew she should have brought Gin.

But done was done, so she hefted the strap of the heavy money sack onto her shoulder and followed Lelbon out of the carriage and up the rickety steps to the building’s warped door. Lelbon knocked once and stood back. The door opened a few moments later, and Miranda found herself staring at a short, broad woman in a leather vest and workman’s trousers. She jumped when she saw them, which Miranda considered a natural reaction to opening your door to find a Spiritualist and an old man wearing a bedsheet, but then, to Miranda’s surprise, the woman lowered her eyes respectfully.

“Welcome, Voice of the Wind.”

Lelbon thanked her and stepped inside. Miranda followed hesitantly, clutching her bag as the woman bolted the door behind them. Inside was a narrow waiting room with benches on either side of the door and a potbellied stove in the corner. The tiny space was further crowded by a large desk, which the woman slid herself behind before turning to Lelbon and Miranda.

“What can we do for you, sir?” she said, opening a large, ink-stained ledger. “Have you come to check the accounts?”

“Not today, Emma,” Lelbon said. “I’ve brought you a customer.”

He gave Miranda a little push, sending her stumbling up to the desk. She recovered quickly, pulling herself up to her full height and fixing the woman with her best no-nonsense look. “I understand you answer questions.”

“That we do,” the woman said, giving Miranda a shrewd once-over that was worlds apart from the awed obedience she paid Lelbon. “The price depends on what you want to know. Simple questions are cheap, difficult ones less so.”

“And what if you can’t answer the question?” Miranda said.

The woman turned up her nose with a sniff. “We’re all licensed brokers here with a century of experience between us. Our price is dear, but our service is the best you can receive. There’s no question in the world we can’t answer.”

“I meant no offense,” Miranda said. “I’ve never used a broker before.”

The woman gave her a “well that’s obvious” glare and flipped the ledger around so it was facing Miranda. “Write your question here,” she said, pointing at the top of the page. “After that, we’ll agree on a price, and then we’ll find your answer.”

“What if I have more than one question?” Miranda said, taking a metal quill from the cup at the woman’s elbow and dipping it in the large inkpot.

The woman tapped the empty lines with her fingernail. “Write them all down, one per line, and then we’ll talk.”

Miranda obeyed, scratching her questions onto the paper. When she was finished, the woman flipped the book back around and read out loud.

“ ‘How many stars are there? Where are they located? Which ones are missing?’ ” She glanced at Miranda. “Just those three?”

Miranda blinked. Considering she was asking openly about stars, she’d expected some kind of reaction, but she might have been after the names of the last five merchant princes for all the woman seemed to care. “Yes, that’s it,” she said. “Can you do it?”

The woman didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, she grabbed another sheet of paper and began working out figures. Miranda had no idea where she was pulling the numbers from, but they were growing at an alarming rate. The woman checked her math and then circled the number at the bottom before sliding the paper over to Miranda.

“Three hundred gold standards?” Miranda cried, snatching the paper off the table. “Is that what you normally charge?”

“Hundred gold per question seems a fare rate considering we’re going to be getting answers for the whole Spirit Court,” the woman said, crossing her arms. When she saw Miranda’s startled look, she rolled her eyes. “We’re Zarin brokers, Rector Lyonette, not some small-town operation. It’s our business to know who you are and what you’re up to.”

She reached over and grabbed the ledger again. “What we’ve got here is really one question with three parts—you want names, locations, and verification. Since you’ve come to us, that means this information is either too big for the Court to gather on its own or you don’t want anyone knowing you’re after it. Both carry a premium. If you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else, but there ain’t any other broker worth the name going to give you a better deal than that.”

She put her hands on her hips as she finished, and Miranda knew she was defeated. “Fine,” she muttered, hauling the sack of gold onto the desk. “I’ve got only two hundred and fifty with me.”

The woman smiled. “Seeing as you’re with the Voice of the Wind, I’ll spot you the rest. Just have it here by tomorrow morning and there won’t be no problem.”

Miranda sighed. Krigel was going to kill her. The Court wasn’t exactly flush these days, and that two hundred and fifty was next month’s operating budget. But she was in this up to her neck now, nothing to do but keep going and hope it worked. “When do I get my answers?”

“Soon as we do,” the woman said. “Which means it’ll take as long as it takes.” She lifted the sack of gold off the table and set it down behind her desk with a grunt of effort. “You can wait in the back, if you’d like, sir,” she said, straightening up. “It’s nicer than up front, and more private.”

This last bit was directed at Lelbon, who accepted graciously. The woman led them behind her desk and through a small door into a much larger room full of the strangest contraptions Miranda had ever seen. Each was the size of a large loom, but rather than lines of yarn, these were strung with squares of cloth in a rainbow of colors sewn onto ribbons at various heights. Each cloth strip had two sides, and each side was stamped with a symbol Miranda didn’t recognize.

There were four of the contraptions in total, all alike and each set well apart from the others. Three other women, all about Emma’s age, stood clustered in the far corner around a table set with sandwiches and a battered kettle. They all bowed when they saw Lelbon, and he waved politely as Emma led them between the strange machines and through another door to a small, cozy room overlooking the river.

“There you are,” she said, motioning for Lelbon to take a seat in one of the worn but very comfortable-looking chairs under the window. “You can stay here as long as you like. I’ll bring you your answer when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Lelbon said, sinking into the closest chair.

Emma beamed at him and retreated back to the large room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“I didn’t know you were such a celebrity,” Miranda said, sitting down in the chair beside Lelbon’s.

“All part of the job,” Lelbon said with a smile.

Miranda arched an eyebrow. “So,” she said, leaning back. “The West Wind runs the brokers.”

The old man shrugged. “What gave you that impression?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Miranda said. “Come on, they called you ‘Voice of the Wind.’ ”

As though in answer, a gale began to bellow inside the room they’d just walked through, howling against the warped board walls and rattling the door on its hinges. Miranda smiled triumphantly, but Lelbon’s face was unchanged.

“Your assumptions in this are entirely your own, Spiritualist Lyonette,” he said, glancing out at the river. “Isn’t the water lovely today?”

“Why would a huge spirit like the West Wind care about running an information-selling organization?” Miranda said, completely ignoring the attempted subject change. “Brokers have nothing to do with spirits that I know of. I’ve never even heard of one who was a wizard. Why would a Wind Lord put his efforts into spreading information for spirit-deaf humans?”

Lelbon gave her a dry look. “You’re not a subtle woman, Miss Lyonette.”

Miranda crossed her arms over her chest with a glare.

“As a loyal scion of the Wind Courts, I cannot answer your questions,” Lelbon said at last. “You know that, so stop asking.”

“So don’t answer me as a servant of Illir,” Miranda said. “You were an historian first, not to mention a wizard so interested in the Wind Courts you actually convinced one of the four winds to employ you. I’m asking your opinion as a fellow knowledge seeker. We do have some time to kill, might as well fill it with good conversation.”

Lelbon’s mouth twitched. “Very well, Spiritualist, let me put it this way. The Wind Courts are different than other spirit hierarchies, mostly because they have no lands to call their home. Other than that technicality, however, three of the four Wind Lords are much like any Great Spirits—sleepy, overbearing, sure of their own way, and fanatically loyal to the Shepherdess.”

“But Illir is different,” Miranda said.

“Very,” Lelbon said. “Of all the spirits I’ve met, Illir is the only one I’ve found with a real sense of curiosity. He’s especially interested in humans.”

Miranda frowned. “Why?”

“Because of all the spirits, humans are the only ones created by the Shepherdess,” Lelbon said. “We are unique. Unlike everything else in the world, our strength is not bound by our size but by our will, and though over ninety percent of us are deaf and all of us are blind, we are the only souls in creation with the power to dominate other spirits. You can see then how studying such creatures would be of great interest to my master.”

Miranda frowned. “But why brokers? I mean, I can see how making your winds into a conduit of information would be a great way to learn about humanity, or its underbelly at least, but why charge for it? What’s a wind going to do with three hundred gold standards?”

Lelbon’s mouth twitched. “There are other forms of power besides wizardry, Spiritualist. My master likes to keep his interests diverse.”

“Is he bribing politicians?” Miranda said, laughing at the idea. “Running merchant empires on the side?”

“I don’t pry into my master’s private affairs,” Lelbon said. “But I do know he’s contributed to certain criminal bounties.”

Miranda’s smile fell instantly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Monpress has provided him with a great deal of entertainment over the years,” Lelbon said. “My master likes to pay for a good show.”

Miranda clenched her jaw and said nothing, glaring out the window at the river below.

“He also writes from time to time,” Lelbon added, almost as an afterthought.

“Writes what?” Miranda said, still looking at the river.

“A variety of things,” Lelbon said. “Histories, travelogues. You might have heard of him, actually. His books are under the name Morticime Kant.”

“Are you kidding me?” Miranda roared, nearly launching out of her chair. “The West Wind is the source of that overwrought, misleading, misinformed, horribly written nonsense about wizards? The books that say we wear pointed hats and robes and do nothing but brew frogs into potions all day? That Morticime Kant?”

“I hadn’t heard the bit about the frogs,” Lelbon said, trying hard not to laugh. “But yes, that Morticime Kant. It was part of a long-running experiment to see if he could influence human behavior through suggestion.”

“That’s absolutely insane,” Miranda huffed. “You don’t see any members of my Court wearing pointed hats.”

“Not in your Court,” Lelbon’s grin widened. “Others are less prejudiced.”

Miranda snorted. “Thank goodness other spirits aren’t as curious as your master or we’d be up to our noses in ridiculous ploys.”

“It’s not that spirits aren’t curious,” Lelbon said, his voice growing suddenly bitter. “Curiosity isn’t a quality the Shepherdess values. She prefers obedient silence to questions, and since she is the Power, what she prefers becomes the way of the world.”

Miranda frowned, tucking that knowledge away for future use. “That still doesn’t explain why Illir runs the brokers, though,” she said. “You’d think he could learn everything he needed to know about people from watching. He is a wind, after all.”

“Knowing what people want to know tells you more about them than any simple observation,” Lelbon said sagely. “Watching a man bake may tell you he’s a baker, but learning what he would pay to know tells you infinitely more about the man himself.”

Miranda sighed. “Well, it seems like an overly elaborate setup to me.”

“It is,” Lelbon said. “But my Lord Illir enjoys it immensely. Plus, it keeps the winds busy. They can be a handful if left to their own devices.”

Miranda thought of Eril and agreed heartily. “So,” she said, scooting to the edge of her chair. “Now that we’re on the subject, how do the big looms work? Since the brokers are spirit deaf, I’m guessing the machines help them interpret the winds without hearing them? Do they read combinations from the symbols on the cloths?”

“That I certainly could not tell you,” Lelbon said. “Industry secret.”

“Seems like a lot of hassle,” Miranda said. “Why not just use wizards?”

Lelbon closed his eyes as the warm sunlight drifted over his face. “Because that would defeat the whole purpose.”

Miranda flopped back into her chair. “Are you deliberately being infuriating?”

“Quite the contrary,” Lelbon said. “I’m being very open. More open than I should be. You, however, seem to be making an effort to be thick.”

Miranda glared at him and said nothing. Finally, Lelbon sighed. “I’ll add this, and no more. The Shepherdess watches her spirits closely and her wizards when they catch her fancy, but she completely ignores the spirit deaf. They are beneath her notice altogether, and she certainly would never take the time to learn any sort of code a wind or other spirit could devise to communicate with them. With that in mind, consider, if the winds wanted to pass on information they usually couldn’t say without attracting her anger, what would be safer? Whispering to a wizard or flipping a piece of cloth?”

Miranda’s eyes went wide, but before she could say anything, Lelbon cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Let’s leave it there.”

She nodded, and they lapsed into silence, listening to the howling wind on the other side of the wall.