Night of Madness by Lawrence Watt-Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m just a potter.” She looked back and forth along Newmarket Street. “Are there any more?”
    â€œThere were other people screaming earlier, but I don’t—”
    Hanner’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.
    â€œI think there are more,” he concluded.
    â€œThen I’m staying inside,” the potter said. “And you should go somewhere else.” She pushed Hanner out of the doorway into the street, then stepped back inside her shop and slammed the door shut.
    Hanner looked around.
    â€œGo somewhere else,” the potter had told him—but where? He could just go home—while it was his responsibility in general to keep order, no one could fault him for not getting involved with some mysterious magical mess that was none of his doing.
    But he would fault himself. He and his uncle were the closest thing the overlord had to experts on magic, and it was his duty to find out what was going on.
    â€œIf you want to deal with magic, find a magician.” That was obvious advice—and obviously good advice. And the best place to find a magician in Ethshar of the Spices was the Wizards’ Quarter.
    Presumably the wizards and the rest would already know what was happening, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure and see whether he could be helpful. If he went on down Newmarket to East Street, then turned left on Fishertown Street …
    He began jogging, despite his tired feet.
    The route wasn’t quite as simple as he had hoped, as Fishertown did not go through to Arena Street, but twenty minutes later he was crossing Games Street into the Wizards’ Quarter.
    Along the way he saw at least a dozen more instances of the strange magic running amok—looted shops, people or objects flying, doors and windows shattered, and a distressing number of buildings aflame. Although the streets were largely deserted, even more so than usual at this hour, the few people Hanner did see either seemed to be using the magical power, fleeing it, or caught in it. Several people ran and hid at Hanner’s approach.
    For his own part Hanner refused to be cowed—he was a public servant, a city official, and was determined to act like one, within reason. He marched on, facing the out-of-control magicians he encountered.
    In one case a woman was walking along with a man held screaming in the air over her head—eight or nine feet over her head. Hanner hesitated, considered intervening—but then she took off as well, flying away with the man in tow.
    Whatever had happened had clearly not been limited to Newmarket and Fishertown; Hanner saw people and things flying about in the Old City, the New City, Allston, and the Arena district. He wondered just how widespread the mysterious effect really was—did it extend outside the city walls of Ethshar of the Spices? Were the other two great cities of the Hegemony affected? Or the Small Kingdoms, or the lands to the north and west of Ethshar?
    But that was absurd. Who would unleash a spell powerful enough to cover so great an area as that?
    Of course, the broader the affected area, the less likely the effects would be permanent—perhaps the spell, whatever it was and whoever was responsible, would fade away soon, and his trip halfway across the city in the middle of the night would have been for nothing.
    He was here now, though—and he was not the only one. He could hear voices ahead, angry voices.
    He hoped the madness had not affected any wizards or other magicians—that could be really dangerous. He forced himself to trot faster.
    At the corner of Wizard Street he turned and found himself facing a crowd.
    It was perhaps less than an hour before midnight, but unlike anywhere else he had been, the street was full of people. Torches and lanterns, ordinarily extinguished by this hour of the night, were brightly ablaze; doors and windows stood open, and dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people were