Free Magebane by Lee Arthur Chane Page B

in front sat his usual driver, Robinton; beside him was a young man he didn’t know.
    Robinton pulled the brake lever to bring the magecarriage to a stop, then clambered down from the high seat. “Sorry for the delay, my lord,” he said. “I felt the coal bin should be topped up for an overnight drive in this weather, and then, of course, there was the crate to load.” He pointed to the carriage roof, where the large rectangular box containing—though Robinton surely didn’t know it—the assassin’s charred body, magically preserved, had been strapped. “Heavy, that. Cold, too.”
    â€œQuite all right, Robinton,” Falk said. “Better to delay the start of the journey than to be stranded halfway. And though the crate is awkward—and cold—it is also the reason for my journey.” He glanced up at the young man, who, like Robinton, wore Falk’s gray livery. “And you are . . . ?”
    â€œShand, my lord,” said the young man, looking very pale and serious.
    â€œI’m sure it was very short notice for you, Shand,” said Falk. “Thank you for agreeing to help Robinton.” He sighed. “Normally I would take two days for the journey, but this trip is urgent. We’ll be driving straight through, and at top speed.” Shand, he noted, was wearing a heavy fur coat, with enormous fur mitts and a fur hat on the black leather of the seat beside him. Falk glanced at Robinton; he wore no extra layers at all. “Will you be warm enough?” he said skeptically.
    â€œOh, yes, my lord, thank you for asking.” Robinton pulled off his broad-rimmed black hat and turned it over. “Gift from the missus. Enchanted silver threads in the lining. I give ’em a kick before I set out, and they wrap me in nice warm air for most of a day. Plenty of time to get us to the valley. And just in case, I’ve got my old beaver-fur coat in the trunk.”
    Falk laughed. “You have a wise missus, Robinton.”
    â€œThank you, my lord. Though I’m not certain a truly wise woman would have chosen to marry me .” He opened the door. “My lord . . . ?”
    Falk settled himself in the well-cushioned red-velvet interior, warmed by the heat of the coal burner that also provided energy to the enchanted gearbox that magically turned the magecarriage’s wheels, settled his briefcase on his knees, and with a brief push of magic, unlocked it.
    Before the carriage had rolled through the Gate at the end of the bridge, out of perpetual spring into the stillfalling snow of late winter, he was deep into work once more, never once raising his head to look out the window.
    Otherwise he might have glimpsed, here and there in the snow-choked streets of New Cabora, the bright blue uniforms of the Royal guards making the arrests he had ordered.

CHAPTER 4

    ANTON DASHED THROUGH THE DESERTED STREETS of Elkbone, the mixture of slush, mud, and horse manure a recent thaw had created splattering his leather pants, even reaching as high as his sheepskin coat. The boardwalks on both sides of the street, fronting the few shops the cattle town could boast (half of which were saloons), were covered with ice, and he couldn’t risk a fall . . . not now, not today. The sky overhead had just turned to blue from pink as the sun rose above the horizon, and for the moment, at least, there was no wind: perfect flying weather.
    Elkbone nestled in a low valley, sheltered from the cold winds that scoured the prairie above by the valley slopes and a few straggly trees . . . if you could call them trees.
    If you could even call Elkbone a town. Lord Mayor Ronal Ferkkisson liked to call it a city, but perhaps that level of delusional grandiosity was to be expected from someone who also insisted he was not just a mayor, but “Lord Mayor.”
    Elkbone wouldn’t even have made a good-sized neighborhood in Hexton Down, Anton thought as he skidded around