by Jackson Lear
“If they’re going up then … oh, like you’ve fallen backward?”
“Exactly. Do we know who’s been invited tonight?”
“The governor, obviously. His son will likely be there as well.”
“The lieutenant?”
“Yes. The lieutenant’s fiancée, the governess I presume, and mostly likely there will be Caton Pelus.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because he’s the governor’s money man. Nothing will go by without his knowledge or approval. And as the governor’s chief-of-staff he will know exactly who killed Artavian and who is throwing the investigation. I doubt the governor knows my name but Caton no doubt does.”
“And knowing this is a good thing?”
“It’s easier to kill a man when you know what he looks like. Why would Lieutenant Gustali be there if he wants Lavarta dead?”
“For politeness’ sake.”
“I don’t suppose they’re going to forgive and forget the whole thing and become best friends by the night’s end?”
“I wouldn’t count on it. The lieutenant and commander have never gotten along.”
“Maybe because if the lieutenant doesn’t get his way then he plays the ‘my dad is your boss’ card? ‘And one day I will be your boss so you better get used to kissing my ass.’”
Zara peered over. “I hope you’ve given it some thought that in a few hours you are going to be singled out to a dozen of the army’s best soldiers and the governor’s personal assassin. A governor who also commands two other generals, one of whom I take my orders from. And you’re convinced that someone at that table arranged to have Artavian murdered when it really could have been asphyxiation brought on by exhaustion. Do you have any idea what kind of position you are putting Miss Kasera in?”
“Do you follow your orders to the letter of the law or to the spirit of it?”
“I am supposed to keep her safe. That means I might have to keep her safe from you. At some point you may become more of a liability than an asset. What happens then?”
I thought back to my exit from the Governor’s Hand and remained silent.
Zara said, “You’re walking into a trap.”
“I know.”
“And you’re outnumbered.”
“I usually am.”
“Then how are you still alive? No one’s that lucky.”
“It’s one of the perks of favoring a shorter weapon than a sword.”
Zara eyed me up, almost as though I was holding something back from her. “That’s how you win? By fighting with a dagger?”
“That, and I cheat like a motherfucker.”
Along came a big ol’ nod. “That’s more like it. How do you cheat?”
“If I can taunt them before we begin, good. If I can throw shit into their eyes, better.” I waited, eyeing Zara up like she had done to me. “Funny, I was expecting you to say something about ‘honor.’”
“Honor comes from how you conduct yourself in life. In a fight, all bets are off.”
“Then we finally agree on something.”
“We’ve agreed on more than you’d think.”
I bowed a quick ‘thank you’ but she didn’t see it.
“Keep an eye on the door.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, okay?”
I waited.
“Are you doing it?”
“I’m looking at the stupid doorway. Why?”
“Because I have a spear in my hand and I don’t want you turning around.”
“Understood.”
Zara slipped out of the water, tiptoed past her clothes, and edged into my peripheral vision as she eased into the freezing water without even a single hiss. Nothing at her knees, nothing at her groin, belly, chest, or even when she reached her neck. Then, with a quick one-two-three, she dunked, submerging herself completely. And she wasn’t down there for a short time either. Two minutes went by before she emerged, keeping her shoulders below the water.
“You’re crazy.”
“It’s refreshing.” She took another deep breath and plunged herself back under water. I started to think it wasn’t just to unnerve me.
When she returned I had to ask: “Why put yourself through that?”
“My job relies on me doing things that others are unwilling to do.”
“Your job?”
“I’m an infiltrator.”
“And you infiltrated the fuck out of the pool. Well done.”
She dropped underwater again. A minute went by. Then two. Then three.
I tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey!”
“There’s no need to be under there or even in there for that long.”
She held her arm out, a black silk wrap with a blade dangling from one end. Her other arm covered her chest under the water. “I will use this on you.”
“You’re allowed to take it easy on yourself, you know?”
“I can’t. I’m working.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“This very moment?”
She dunked again. It gave me the opportunity to reach out and re-test the freezing pool of water. It also gave me the opportunity to snap my hand back just as quickly and plunge myself back into the soothing warm water.
Zara emerged. Ran her hands over her nearly-shaved head.
“It doesn’t look like work. It looks difficult and unappealing – which I suppose a lot of work is – but I’ve seen you working and this doesn’t look like that.”
She started to ease back, almost relaxing. “It keeps me alert.”
“It’ll send your body into shock.”
“How cold do you think the river through Torne is?”
“You think you’re going to have to swim for your life away from the governor’s mansion?”
She didn’t answer. She crept out of the water, tiptoed behind the corner screen, and dried herself off. “You can get dressed now.”
I slid out of the water, grabbed my towel, dried myself off. It took a few goes to figure out which was the front of the tunic I was supposed to wear and which was the back. I was grateful to have a pair of undershorts beneath Lavarta’s tunic, until I remembered that they were his undershorts as well.
From behind the screen Zara asked, “Why do you fight with a short blade instead of a sword?”
“The shorter it is, the easier it is to travel with it.”
“I get that, but why fight with a short blade?”
“It forces me to get in close. It also causes them to stumble back, off balance. They’ve spent their whole life developing a sense of space around them that is sacred. Once you’re in their face they can no longer see where your blade is. Their mind frazzles. They become desperate to escape. The range on their weapon is now useless. They can’t get enough speed on a punch to do any damage. The most important thing for them at that moment is their safety instead of my death.”
“Yeah, but you still have to get into their personal space, and by then they might’ve stabbed you. Much safer using a spear.”
“How good is your spear if I’m close enough to hit you with my elbow?”
“What good is your elbow if I’ve skewered you already with my spear? Reach is everything.”
“Maneuverability is everything. I’m just as comfortable fighting in an open field as a corridor three feet wide.”
“If you’re in a three foot corridor with a spear you only need to focus on one direction.”
“Which is a problem if an attack comes at you from both sides.”
“The same can be said for anyone no matter what weapon they choose.” Zara emerged from behind the screen, her long chestnut wig draped over one shoulder and down her front. She was wrapped in the rust-colored gown which clung to her chest and hips and flowed around her ankles. The inside of her shoulder straps sparkled with a thick silver thread that crisscrossed down to her cleavage. Her chest itself seemed to glisten with some
interesting use of makeup. To complete the invitation to peak at her was a thick pendant around her neck that kissed the top of her dress.
Meanwhile, I was practically wearing a skirt with a curtain draped over one shoulder.
“Well, you got the knot to your belt wrong.”
I glanced down. “How do you get a knot wrong?”
“You’ve tied it. You’re supposed to braid it.” She came over, fiddled with the thin piece of yellow cloth around my waist, and made me look a little more presentable. Supposedly the look is to suggest to others that I had a sword by my side, even though I’m armed with nothing but a sliver of fabric. Zara stepped back to admire her handiwork. “That’s better.”
“Where do I put my blade?”
“You don’t. That’s the point of this outfit.”
“I’m not going in there without a weapon.”
“Maybe you should use this charm of yours I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“Would this be right after I tell the governor that he and his son are both colossal assholes?”
I’m pretty sure Zara stopped breathing. “Don’t do anything like that.”
“According to at least one of us in this room I can’t help but be an asshole at all times.”
She finally looked like she had just plunged into a freezing cold bath. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But please don’t do anything that might get you killed tonight.”
“Why not? You’re hardly going to miss me.”
“Well … no, but if anyone draws a weapon on you I’m supposed to stand between you and them.”
“You what? On whose orders?”
“Miss Kasera’s.”
I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing as well.
“Yeah. I’ve been told that I’m your bodyguard for the night. You’re going to need to give me your weapon.”
All things considered, I think I took the news better than most. “Oh, fuck you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I couldn’t tell if Zara was there to protect me or to make sure that I didn’t steal anything. Either way she was never more than two yards from me at any given point. Even when I had to slip behind a curtain she stood guard, waiting until I had finished relieving myself.
We passed a whole bevy of soldiers standing guard at the front gate. They all jumped to attention as soon as Lavarta came in. I scanned their faces. Didn’t recognize any of them. One more soldier stood by the front door, a spear and shield in his hands, a short sword dangling from his waist. I thought the spear would be utterly useless within the house until the inside revealed ceilings fifteen feet high, corridors eight feet wide, and rooms larger than every tavern common room I had ever dined in.
The governor’s mansion was a shrine to arches and intricate brickwork. While the outside of the building was rendered in lime and painted in a golden sunset yellow, the inside was awash with color. The corridors were a uniform pale blue with recessed walls and arched alcoves, all a crimson red. Each recess offered a bust, vase, or statue to showcase the governor’s taste in opulent art, while the ceilings were littered with chandeliers to keep the house as bright as the midday sun. The rooms were guilded in different colors which must’ve made sense to everyone who grew up in Ispar, as Lavarta, Alysia, and Zara knew where to go without requiring any direction.
I found the dining room easily enough, given the monolithic slab of oak sitting in the middle of the room, only it didn’t look remotely comfortable to dine at. It stood just two feet off the ground. Surrounding it were cylindrical red cushions to brace your back against, but none of them appeared to be locked to the ground at all, so how you were supposed to brace yourself with a rolling cushion was beyond me. You would think that a governor in a house this grand would prefer not to eat while sitting on the floor. The table was set for nine diners: Lavarta, Alysia, Zara, me, the governor, the Governess, Lieutenant Gustali, presumably the lieutenant’s fiancée, and … one more.
Zara led me to the rear of the room and pointed to the head of the table. “This is where you’ll be.”
“Either that’s really good or really bad.”
“The governor will be in the middle. The commander will sit opposite. The lieutenant will be over there. To the left of them will be their spouses.”
“Where will you be?”
She drew in a hesitant breath.
“I see. So you’re not just my bodyguard for the night?”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Who’s sitting to my right?”
“I imagine it will be Caton Pelus.”
“Ballsy. Will we be eating with knives close by?”
Zara eyed me carefully. “Do I really need to remind you that this is a trap? They had a plan on how to deal with Artavian and the commander and you’ve forced them to abandon that, so now they’re twisting things around and the only reason you’re here is because they’ve found a use for you.”
“Then I will twist it again. You look good, by the way.”
“You look like a sore thumb.”
I felt like one, too. The knee-length cream tunic was one thing, but the red drape over one shoulder made me feel like an idiot. Deep down I knew that some kid had stomped in a barrel of stale urine to get the tunic as pale as it was, while someone else mashed red beetles to death so this curtain-looking thing could be admired from afar. Worse still was being naked without my blade.
Two male and two female attendants drifted in and out, all dressed in off-white tunics, all barefoot, all with the same wooden bracelet on their right hand. I didn’t think they were slaves but the uniform styling was unsettling, as was their insistence on speaking High Isparian. I knew a smattering of phrases but, really, when was I ever going to need to speak like an imperial senator? Even Lieutenant admitted that it was riddled with unnecessarily complicated grammar.
From what Alysia told me, the Gustalis were among the oldest dynastic families in the empire, now spanning seven generations. Busts of the previous mothers and fathers lined the inside of the house. Portraits above them on the wall joined the spectacle. Vast murals showed off the family line as Grandfather Gustali dined with some emperor, both lounging around while adorned in long, fine robes. Servants at their beck and call. I presume I was looking at an emperor, since he wore a silver wreath around his head. A small table with a glass jug of wine lay slightly closer to the Gustali in the portrait, supposedly signifying that he was the more powerful of the two in the scene.
I moved on, disinterested in the spectacle of ego. If the governor really was as powerful as he made himself out to be then he sure picked a gods-awful province to rule over. Then again, maybe Syuss was paradise in the eyes of Ispar, but if that were the case then we’d be inundated with retired merchants from the capital, and we’re not.
I found myself wandering around the front wing until I reached a fountain featuring a snake-like blue marble dragon in the middle of a rectangular pool. A tiled map of some foreign land shimmered under the water. One of the attendants returned, the gentle tap tap tap of his feet against the ground. He held a silver tray in his hands with tulip-shaped glasses of red wine. He asked me something with ridiculous politeness. I took a glass. “Thank you.”
He asked me something else.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He bowed and drifted away.
Zara sidled up next to me. “Carella.”
“No problem. Quick question: Their bracelets – are they slaves?”
“They’re indentured.”
“Is that a fancy way of saying yes?”
Zara watched the young man slip away. “I guess so. Every so often the empire captures an enemy city. They loot it and hold it for ransom. When the ruler of the land doesn’t pay, the empire takes whatever remains, which is usually anyone with a trade.”
“And these four?”
“Probably worked as servants in a foreign palace until the empire came along and offered them a deal that
was better than death.”
I took a sip of wine to cover my mouth. “You’re not from the empire, are you?”
“No.”
I returned to staring at the dragon, curious to see a creature of death being treated as a thing of beauty within a rich man’s home. The statue was large enough for me to find the tiny opening just under the creature’s tongue. Everyone will tell you that the moment you see a dragon open its mouth, run. As fast as you can. And if it lifts its tongue and those openings started to flex … well, your life will be spectacularly unpleasant from that moment on.
Animal heads and skins I can understand. They are prizes from a kill, a ‘look what I can do with a bow and arrow!’ sort of thing. But no one ever carves a statue of a bear, not unless it’s showing off someone’s folly of provoking it. So why a dragon?
I turned to watch Alysia and Lavarta talk amongst themselves, looking as relaxed as possible despite the host toying with us before we all sat down to dine together. Lavarta kept nudging his left hip, the way a penny-pincher keeps checking to see if his purse is still there. I could hardly blame him. I was naked without my blade. Lavarta was naked without his sword. He stood with his left hand holding his glass of wine, his right hand free. Alysia held her glass clasped between both hands, smiling gently like her husband hadn’t been invited to eat with the people who had arranged for him to be killed.
One thing that stood out was the sheer number of family gods watching over the Gustali household. Each room seemed to be protected by at least two distinctly different gods, their names largely unknown to me as there were literally thousands of them recognized by Ispar. The dining room had eight. A god of fish so that no one fell ill. A god of lamb for similar reasons. A god of table manners probably. And … ah, Ilestra, the goddess of wine. For some reason she was always wide-hipped and flat-chested. Maybe she was also the goddess of pears.
Another attendant came by, this time with rolled up hand towels that shimmered with heat. “Carella,” I said.
Zara took one as well. “Carella.” Wiped her hands. “Get ready.”
A sun-kissed gentleman in a fine jade-green tunic emerged, his attention sweeping over the guests in one clean move. If he had closed his eyes then I was sure he would be able to recall where everyone was and what they were wearing. Short, straw hair that had some kind of oil through it to keep its shape. Someone in his fifties who had never worked a laboring job yet stayed away from the excess of food and drink. His face lit up in a smile, genuine and cordial, as he crossed the room to greet Lavarta and Alysia.
