The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

amount of scrubbing would remove the smoky stains. Kindling and firewood lay neatly prepared for the touch of a flame. Long worktables stretched down the center of the room, clean and clear of equipment or debris. The scrub sinks were equally clean and empty.
    Someone had taken time to clean and tidy up—as if they didn’t want to leave a mess for the next cook.
    Quinnault’s footsteps echoed eerily across the stone flooring. Nimbulan tried to walk more silently. The extreme emptiness of the entire building suddenly struck him. Noise of any kind seemed out-of-place.
    Nimbulan forced himself to speak in normal tones rather than whisper. The vast emptiness made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
    Had the guardian spirit come back?
    He looked around. No writhing mist awaited them.
    “The last inhabitants weren’t attacked and driven out. Not if they took time to clean the kitchen. Perhaps a plague decimated their numbers and they combined with another facility.” Quinnault opened cupboards to reveal more emptiness.
    “Perhaps. A hot, wet summer could breed any number of diseases in stagnant pools among these islands.” Nimbulan drifted toward the pantries and storerooms at the west end of the room.
    “My people have never suffered any plagues living on the islands or nearby shoreline. Summers are either hot and dry or cool and wet. But the river is constant. The tides from the Great Bay keep the level fairly regular, regardless of rainfall or snowmelt.”
    “We must search further for answers. Perhaps another monastery has records. De Tanos, can you light the fire someone so kindly left us? I’m still rather damp and chilled.”
    “Not without a firestone and tinder. Is there a firebox around? My magic is too minimal to generate flames.”
    “What can you do? That’s the first spell I learned.” Nimbulan stomped back to the hearth. An image of flames dancing merrily among the kindling brightened his mind. With a snap of his fingers and two words to trigger the spell, he transferred the image from his mind to the reality of the hearth.
    Flames licked eagerly at the dry wood.
    “I never wanted to be a magician. I only wanted to be a priest. When I try very hard, I can pick up people’s thoughts. It’s so much work though, I haven’t tried since I passed the preliminary examinations.” Quinnault didn’t drop his head in shame at his paltry talent.
    Ackerly would have.
    Nimbulan smiled at the comparison. Successful magic was as much a matter of attitude as talent. De Tanos would have been a very good priest, and his magic—the ability to help people confide their troubles so he could find ways to help them—would have grown. Ackerly’s talent, though stronger than the lord’s, hadn’t improved one bit in thirty years of constant practice, because he wanted to have more rather than work to improve what he had.
    Too bad Ackerly had no respect for his wonderful talent as an administrator. Nimbulan and his apprentices depended upon Ackerly every day.
    “At least you can build up the fire while I poke around the pantry, Quinnault. There might be more wood in the firebox by the back door.”
    The pantry door opened as easily as all of the others, except the center room. Again, Nimbulan found shelves and cupboards swept clean. “Do you know what’s really missing? Cobwebs and mice droppings. It’s almost as if someone cleans this place from top to bottom frequently.”
    “Maybe the guardian kept the vermin out as well as people.” De Tanos leaned against the pantry door, blocking what little light filtered in from the kitchen. The three high windows in the outside wall offered little illumination.
    “Possibly, or . . .” Nimbulan sniffed the air and stamped his feet. “I wish that pool of ley lines hadn’t been barricaded. I sense magic of some sort, but I can’t tell the nature or source. Maybe there’s a stasis spell on the monastery. Nothing changes until someone breaks the spell.”
    “In which case, our coming here, and the guardian’s disappearance may have disrupted the magic field enough to erode the spell. Will the walls come tumbling down once the magic dissolves?” Quinnault looked anxiously at the thick stone walls surrounding them.
    “I doubt the mortar will crumble so quickly. How’s your fire?”
    “Fine. Did you find anything in here?”
    Nimbulan peered into the pantry. He held his left palm up and brought a hint of magic into his vision. The shadows took