All That Glitters by Auston Habershaw Page B

for you, Hool, acting like a human is an integral part of the plan. I’ve gone to some lengths to make this work, now, so don’t let your negative attitude get in the way.”
    Artus shook his head. “How can we avoid them if they already see the future? I don’t get it—­how will Hool acting like a human fool anybody? Won’t they be using magic—­won’t she be detected?”
    Tyvian grinned. “Of course she will. My plan relies upon that fact, actually.
    This time both Artus and Hool spoke in unison. “What?”
    â€œIn fact,” Tyvian said, delighted at their reaction and not quite willing to let them off the hook, “in Derby I sent letters ahead of us to ­people I know to be Defender informants, saying that I and my companions intend to cross into Saldor via spirit engine, and that we will all be wearing shrouds, so they will definitely be looking for us, and what’s more, I’ve already furnished them with a description of all three members of our party.”
    There was dead silence for a few moments as Tyvian waited for them to catch up. Hool got there first. “There are four of us.”
    Artus was a close second. “We aren’t all wearing shrouds.”
    Tyvian nodded. “My mother perhaps said it best: a little misinformation will go a long, long way. Furthermore, by letting them know who they think they are looking for, they won’t bother to scry the future, since scrying is an inexact science, at best.”
    Hool narrowed her eyes at him, which on her shroud Tyvian thought was a very fetching expression. “Explain. Don’t make it confusing.”
    Tyvian took the teapot from Hool and held it over the map. “When I pour this, which way will the tea go?”
    Artus frowned. “It could run in almost any direction, I guess. Whichever way is downhill.”
    Tyvian nodded, “And, given the rocking of the train on its tracks, what constitutes ‘downhill’ at any moment is subject to random chance. So . . .” Tyvian let a drop of tea fall on the oilcloth map. It beaded up and ran toward Hool. He repeated the process, and this time it ran toward himself. “It could be different every time. Scrying works similarly—­the future is wide-­open, not predetermined. Auguries are not destinies, my friends. However, they are pretty good predictors of likely events. Somebody unaware that they were being scryed and contemplating murder can be predicted as committing the murder sometime in the future—­that much is easy—­but predicting when they will murder and how is far less precise, since those things rely on chance as much as planning. Furthermore, if the murderer is aware ­people are trying to predict his behavior, he can alter it, therefore making it even harder to scry accurately. This means that even talented augurs—­such as the ones employed by the Defenders—­will only be able to predict an action with any specificity sometimes less than an hour beforehand. This makes interception a rather dicey proposition.”
    â€œSo, I still don’t understand what we’re going to do.” Artus rubbed his head and stared down at the map as though it might have Tyvian’s plan scrawled into a corner somewhere. “Don’t telling them where to find us still kinda screw us over?”
    Tyvian sighed. “The description I gave in the letters depicts me as a middle-­aged man with a spreading paunch, a nice jacket, and a guild medallion around my neck. Now, Artus, how many such gentlemen are currently aboard this spirit engine?”
    â€œA lot—­at least six or seven, I think.”
    â€œThere are seven, and good for you for noticing—­it’s those eyes of yours that make me keep you around. It’s no accident it’s that many either—­what I’ve just described is at least fifty percent of the fellows