Hollo (The Magic of Thedes, Book 1) *preview*

Chapter 4.2

"I heard," Mr. Packerd cringed.

Amit stared pointedly at him. "Perhaps you heard who they say will be re-elected for this position? They say it is again to be the fabled dark puppet master, BanderClou."

"No!" Mr. Packerd exclaimed.

Amit shrugged. "That's what they say. The Practitioners whisper and I hear some of it. Despite being thrown out of their Order, they want him back. They're afraid. Hermetic Mages are coming out of the woodwork and parading their phenomena around in daylight. The Practitioners are taking action, action such as reinstating BanderClou to do the very thing that got him removed in the first place."

Mr. Packerd rubbed his forehead in distress. "The Hermetics will be hunted again, murdered. That is grave news. But how do they know that there even are still Hermetics?"

"There will always be Hermetics. A new generation is coming. Younger, stronger, foolishly brave people," Amit said with an odd bite of frustration.

"The ones who learned their craft from beyond the grip of the Practitioners. The next generation of Hermetic magic will lust for power. There are Hermetics gathering on the high seas now, beyond the law. Even here in our own Artisan District, upstarts are vying for attention, like the Black Rider, have you heard? It is said he hunts the Practitioners themselves. Everywhere there are stories of danger, magic, and devilry. The young mages will surely have the attention they wish for unless they keep their heads down. There will be blood, always blood, and I only hope it won't be the blood of children."

"Yes," Mr. Packerd muttered gloomily. "We shall see. Here," he offered as Amit raised his cup to his lips. "Let me freshen your tea, it's gone cool by now."

"Contrarily," Amit said. "It is very much as hot as it was."

"Ha!" Mr. Packerd shook his head. "Imagine that. What weather today!"

"Indeed," Amit smiled, and then changed the subject. "Do you know much about BanderClou?"

Mr. Packerd frowned. "Can't say that I do. I know of his legend, the stories of what he did to the Hermetics he hunted down. Heard that he rips people out of their bodies and seals them away into puppets. What about you?" he leaned in again, eager for more gossip.

"Hmm," Amit tapped the cup of steaming tea before him. "I hear he's always been hard to find. He moves easily in the world, from circle to circle, certainly, it could be that he's been nearby many people without them knowing who he is. I don't know that anyone knows his true identity."

"Odd thing," Mr. Packerd said, taken aback. "Why would you assume that?"

Amit stared into space for a long moment, and then his fingers crept slowly to the folded piece of paper on the table beside him. He opened it casually, eyes darting all around it, then widening slowly. "Odd indeed," he muttered distractedly. "Who did you say this was from?" he asked.

Mr. Packerd's neck jiggled as he shrugged. "I do various things for people so long as they pay, and not knowing who they are is one service I am valuable for."

"Clever," Amit mumbled. "Very clever, yes, you are, aren't you..."

"Well," Mr. Packerd frowned again, put off slightly by his guest's changing mood. "Not so clever, just a scoundrel for the right price."

"Aren't we all," Amit said quietly. Refolding the paper, his eyes then fixed on Mr. Packerd. "Well if you know little of BanderClou, perhaps you also know nothing of the other puppet-master, GauerDen?"

Mr. Packerd shifted in his seat, struck with agitation by Amit's wild stare.

"I'd say you're right about that," he answered. "What's all this now, Amit? What's riled you?"

Amit tapped again on his teacup, sniffing his sharp nose into the steaming tendrils.

Mr. Packerd frowned at him, eyeing the tea, seeing the steam wafting up in front of Amit's face, clouding his already cloudy-blue, wild eyes. It was an odd intensity; one Mr. Packerd did not recognize in this man who he considered a friend. There was something definitely amiss in the room, and Mr. Packerd had now begun to put the pieces together as to what.

Amit continued to tap on the teacup. "Your assistant has an uncanny skill with making tea. How rare it is to find good help, especially for a man of your... financial overhead," he eyed Mr. Packerd's overlarge midsection.

"My assistant," Mr. Packerd tried to chuckle amusedly, but it came out very uncomfortable sounding. He began fumbling clumsily with some of the ornaments on his desk, casually fogging a hand-mirror with his breath and wiping it clean with a sleeve. "Ah, yes. She's burned my mouth out many times. Has a charming knack for making tea much too hot."

"Indeed," Amit replied coldly, drawing the letter from the table beside him and examining it once more. "So now... pretense aside," he said conversationally, causing Mr. Packerd's blood to run cold. "GauerDen lives, does he?"

Mr. Packerd gulped slowly, determined not to show his agitation. "I don't-"

"Pretense aside!" Amit hissed at him. "There will be no more lies out of you, now, tell me," he raised his eyes to Mr. Packerd's, the kindness in them entirely gone. "Wherever did that little girl run off to?"