The Science of Power

by Emerson, Ru

  “Trust me,” Sil replied gravely. “I behave out there as though the Duchy were in the power of a hot-tempered old bear of a Duke—will that serve?” She looked at Ryselle. “Don’t wash those, you’ve taken that task the past five days, and we said we’d share the messy jobs. I’ll take care of them when I return.” She drew the folded, beaded scarf from her hair, bundled it into a deep pocket, fished the heavier and more practical brown wool out of another. “I’ll be back before the market closes for the night.”

  “You’d better,” Lialla said mildly. “If I have to come rescue you—” Sil laughed, waved a hand, drew her dark, heavy shawl from its hook, wrapped it around her shoulders, and clattered down the steps.

  At the bottom, she drew the door closed behind her, glanced toward the windows above, and hurried across the barren courtyard, settling the brown woolen head scarf across her ears and firmly tucking the ends about her throat. Brrr. Not remotely nice out here tonight. If Lialla had sorted but what I really had in mind for tonight—well, fortunately she was distracted enough by her two novices that I doubt she had the least suspicion of the gap between what I told her and what I meant. Sil cast a practiced glance at the sky as she slipped into the narrow, deserted street. The moon was half-full, high and blue-white enough to cast strong shadows when visible, but thick clouds had begun to roll in since sunset, and when the moon slid behind them, it was black indeed. My night vision is better than even the grandmother’s, and a night like this makes the perfect moment to overlook Vuhlem’s palace and his docks.

  Later, on the way back to the compound, she could gather gossip from the market and talk to some of the women whose men spent the night hours in the local alehouses. If there’s nothing to see out on the shore, Lialla won’t even need to know where I went. She drew the shawl more snugly against her arms as a chill breeze swept down the street, rattling dry leaves.

  The upper market was still going strong, despite the early dark, the wind, the threat of rain; the lower market would be mostly men at this hour. Sil evaded the lower by cutting through alleys and two quiet residential streets, eventually coming out near the northern edge of town and the narrow road that connected the city to the Duke’s palace.

  Like the upper market, despite the hour and the chill there was traffic along the road: Vuhlem preferred to have his provisions brought in late, when he wouldn’t be bothered by the sight of so many carts and wagons. Sil took up a position behind a cart piled high with fresh hay, cast a cautious look around her as the sky lightened: Three women came down the road heading back toward the city, one with an empty two-handled basket resting against her hip. Not far ahead of the hay cart, two boys trudged along with a cage full of dark-feathered birds. I don’t stand out at all, she decided. The long shawl covered all but the lower edges of the wide-legged caravaner britches, and her head scarf, the shawl itself, were Holmaddi. Daresay some would find it a matter for interest, a female caravaner going to the palace. Vuhlem surely one of them. Well, but she wasn’t going to bring herself to the Duke’s attention, was she?

  The moon went behind cloud once more; the driver behind her cursed roundly, and when one of the city-bound women laughed, he cursed her as well.

  Twenty or so paces from the heavy gates that blocked entry to the palace grounds: Sil slowed, dropping back behind one wagon and then another, her eye on the sky; the moon vanished under thick, black clouds. No one coming this way, and the ledge is just there. She moved quickly, crossed the road, and slid down the sandy bank, fetching up against prickly brush. Around this, quietly and quickly—there. She’d be invisible from the road, even if the clouds suddenly moved off; from the water’s edge or offshore, she shouldn’t be seen at all, if she stayed in the shadow of the wind-stunted trees that edged the high ground.

  Fortunately, her night vision really was good: The narrow bit of open ground was uneven, rocky in places and wet where water had pooled after the recent rains. There were supposed to be ravines along here. Walk carefully. You want to get back to the compound in one piece. A broken leg could prove highly embarrassing—at best.

  She nearly fell anyway, when the ground dropped steeply and unexpectedly away. Sil cursed under her breath and clung to chill, damp rock, waiting for the moon to reappear. “Not even that deep or long,” she grumbled when it did, and she could see around her once more. She crossed uneven ground quickly, scrambled up the opposite bank, and moved on. Ten paces further along the ledge, another sharp dropoff, but this one seemed more useful. Trees along the east side and it’s both deep and broad at the far end. It was steeper than the last one, the dirt and rock unpleasantly crumbly; she clung to exposed roots and brush to let herself down as the moon went under cover once again. Wind soughed through the branches above her. Sil felt her way with a cautiously extended foot, worked slowly down to the end of the cut and crouched down to catch her breath; one hand clung firmly to one of the thick, slightly prickly bushes. I think I remember this seemed a good idea when I first had it, she thought dryly.

  At first, there wasn’t much to see, even with the sky clearing just a little, and with the water to reflect the diffused moonlight. Still—the ledge wasn’t as high at this point as it had been, and the beach was fairly shallow; there were two long Lasanachi ships rocking gently on either side of the long stone mole, their sails stowed, their decks deserted. Docks: to her right, built into the base of the cliff that held Vuhlem’s palace; a stack of unremarkable crates away from the water, mostly under the cliff shadow. Sil narrowed her eyes and stared hard: Caravaner rumor had it that there were passages inside, so goods could be brought across the docks, inside and up to the palace without need of the broad path she could see leading in the direction of the outer gates. All she could see was the partly lit dock and a black cliff, and she finally gave that up.

  The mole, then, and the two long ships. Not the galleys one used to see; maybe the rumor’s true, after all. There had been recent outcry over slave rowers—not just in Rhadaz after Thukar Dahven’s escape but, it was said, in foreign places as well. The Lasanachi were said to be refitting their sleek ships with brightly patterned African sails—which were, of course, faster and cheaper anyway than slave labor.

  As she watched, two men came from under cliff shadow and strode across the sand, onto the mole. The muted thunk of footsteps on hard wooden decks; one remained on the nearest deck while the other went below, only to emerge moments later with a bundle. That’s a child, Sil realized. What are they doing with—with a pale-haired lad? Moonlight flooded the mole and the ship’s deck, reflecting blue-white off a thatch of short-cut hair. She swore under her breath; the moon was gone again, and she couldn’t make out anything else, except by sound; a child’s fretful cry, a man’s growled, threatening response—retreating footsteps. The faint sploosh of low tide slapping against the beach.

  I’d better go, she decided. It’s growing late, and I don’t want to face an empty road when I reach it. Also, Lialla would begin to worry before much longer. As to what she’d seen—well, it might be useful; Lialla could help her decide. She edged around cautiously, stood with care, wincing as chill, stiff muscles protested. She began working her way up to level ground by feel.

  Above her, sudden light; a branch snapped. Sil froze; pale yellow lantern light raked the ground just in front of her feet; “I know you’re down there! Show yourself!” Ah, wonderful. Sil drew the shawl around her shoulders, hugging herself close with trembling hands, and took two wary steps forward, blinking in the sudden light. “Female? What is a woman doing out here, alone at such an hour? This place is Duke’s land!”

  Sil swallowed. “Um—yes, sir. I know that, sir.”

  “Then what are you doing here? Do your men know where you are?”

  Men. It wasn’t much of an idea, but nothing else suggested itself. She fumbled the beaded scarf from its deep pocket, let it slide from her grasp and shoved it away with her foot. A nervous giggle escaped her. “Um—well, sir, it’s—you see, Bertril and I came her
e, three days ago, and—” She froze as the guard slid down the bank; the lantern was suddenly almost in her face and what she could see of the man behind it wasn’t reassuring. Nearly as black-a-vized as Vuhlem himself.

  “This is no place for a tryst,” he snapped.

  “Well, no, sir—I know it’s not, but there wasn’t anyplace else for us, and—well, sir, I lost my scarf and tried everywhere else it might be and this was all that was left….”

  “A scarf!”

  “Well, sir, but it’s—you see, my husband gave it to me, and he’ll be furious if it’s gone when he returns, and—”

  “This—wait. This Bertril isn’t your husband?”

  He was taking it, Sil thought.

  “Uh—no, sir.” She bit her lip as the lantern moved, taking in her face and then her shawl; a hard hand yanked at the heavy brown wool. Sil let the shawl go. Her caravaner shirt and the silver clan token were plainly visible.

  “Ah, seven hells, you’re a caravaner!” His disgust was plain.

  “Well—yes, sir.”

  “Well, just you listen to me! You get yourself back to that compound of yours, and don’t let yourself be seen out here again, or even the Emperor won’t be of any use to you! It’s a long way down to that beach; take the wrong step and you might just break your neck, d’you understand me?”

  Sil swallowed, nodded. “Yes, sir. Ah—my scarf?”

  “Scarf,” he muttered. “All right, you can have a moment to look for it.” He held the lantern high; Sil made a show of beating the near bushes for it, then snatched it up with a little cry. “That’s it? All you lost here?” She nodded again. The guard took her by the arm and half dragged her back to level ground. “All right. There’s the path and that way’s the road. I’ll be right behind you with the light.”

  He still sounded suspicious, Sil thought warily. But not much short of the road, she could hear shouting up by the gates; the guard came up beside her, listened a moment, then pointed. “I’m needed up there; I’ll be back along this way, though, and I’d best not find you anywhere near. Understood?” Sil nodded meekly. “Then be gone!” She nodded again, and moved as quickly as she could toward the road. Without the lantern, it was suddenly very dark out here indeed.

  4

  Chris locked his personal bag and booted it across the luggage-crowded car to join the rest of the bags. Ariadne stood near the door, fingers drumming nervously and impatiently against her skirts while Dija adjusted the new broad-brimmed straw hat and pinned it firmly to the tight braids coiled at the back of her head. Edrith slouched over the back of the seat Chris had used for most of the long journey, chin on crossed arms and eyes fixed on the wide, tree-lined boulevard that led to the San Philippe station. “Too early to see anything, guy,” Chris said. He blotted his forehead with a dark cotton handkerchief, tugged his sleeves straight, and shoved the handkerchief into his trouser pocket. The air had become increasingly muggy as the train came down out of the high country.

  “It can’t hurt if I keep a watch,” Edrith replied absently. “You know?”

  Chris joined him at the window, arms resting on the seat. “Yah. All I can see out there is, it’s hot. Lookit the color of that sky, and there’s no one out in the open.” He eyed his shirt’s long sleeves with distaste. “I had to come up with this idea. I’m gonna be really pissed it if all turns out to be for nothing.”

  Edrith glanced at him, went back to his study of the boulevard. “I can see water out there; we’re very close.” He glanced back toward Ariadne and Dija; the maid gave Ari’s hat a final tug and went to gather her own things. Ariadne gave the hat a tentative pull and winced, then slid a small, tassled bag onto her arm. “It’s a good idea, Chris,” he went on after a moment. “I still think so, or I wouldn’t have agreed to it, you know? People in this end of the world who know the two of us expect to see us together, dressed for the climate and not like the fashionably rich. If we are divided into two couples”—he lowered his voice so Ariadne and Dija couldn’t hear him over the racket of the train—“and if there is trouble—”

  “Yeah. Better safe than sorry, I’ve always said so. And if there’s a better idea, I sure’s hell can’t think of it. Hey. Maybe we’ll finally get lucky and there won’t be anyone hanging around San Philippe station or the docks who knows us. Or, if there is someone—”

  “Then they should not know us, separated and looking like this,” Edrith said as Chris hesitated. “Particularly you and the lady, since you both are so very recognizable, ordinarily. And if the worst comes to pass, then at least there is a decent chance two of us will know where the other two have gone.”

  “Have been taken,” Chris corrected him. “I don’t know—it sounded fine last night. Practical, all like that. This morning, it seems to have more holes than a Swiss—never mind.”

  “Since you and the lady would not remain in Sikkre behind locked and guarded doors, any notion has as many holes as a Swiss,” Edrith said.

  “Like it’s safe in Sikkre anyway,” Chris said gloomily. “How many times has someone nearly done Jen and Dahven?”

  “Who counts? Any is too often.”

  “Yeah. Sure. But they got brutes with broadswords all around ‘em, and so far that’s worked.”

  “For Jen and Dahven. Remember what you tell me, Chris: You can hide until they get you anyway, or you can do—”

  “I guess so.” Chris sighed. “No, you’re right, I’m where I gotta be. And so are you. And Ari—well, she’s been a lot of use so far. I’d never have picked up on a bunch of important stuff, if I’d talked her into staying with Jen or Mom.” Chris lowered his voice even more; Edrith leaned toward him to catch the words. “I’m just—well, I’m not gonna be happy if she gets hurt because of me, you know?”

  Edrith nodded. “Remember the lady was not precisely safe at home. And that she knew the risks when she chose to come with you.”

  “I know. Doesn’t make me any happier about the whole—hell, it’s all a mess. Listen, though. You swear to me you’ll keep close to Dija, I’m nervous. Anything does happen to me and the lady, Dija’s as good as dead this far from home and on her own.”

  “And then I am dead, because Vey will murder me.” Edrith sighed very faintly, then turned his attention back to the window. “I swear to you—we are slowing. No—you move away from the glass, in case.” Chris swore under his breath, backed away from the window, and hauled the broad-brimmed dress hat from its shelf. He’d bought it a year before, on impulse, because it went with the look of the white shirt and the vest. But he’d worn it only once: he’d felt ridiculous and the inner band made his forehead itch. Me in a hat, rully. Well, a ball cap, of course… He felt sillier than ever now, playing Bogart or something. But a year of living in his luggage had flattened it often enough to take the stiffness out of it. Dija had managed to mostly uncrumple it with the steam kettle and the ornate cast iron she used on Ariadne’s clothes, so it didn’t look totally disreputable, just—used. Still not entirely comfortable, and the band still itched. But it did the job: covered his all too obvious hair and shaded the upper part of his face. He pulled it down, low on his forehead; Ariadne took hold of the brim and resettled it, back a little and slightly offside, then stepped back and studied him for a moment. “Where you had it looks—wrong. Suspicious. I still would not know this is you from a little distance.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t know you from any other classy lady, with all that hair hidden. Let’s hope no one in San Philippe has better eyes than either of us.”

  The train slowed further, then came to a halt with a hideous screech of metal wheels on track. Edrith winced, studied the platform intently, finally shrugged. “There is no one on the platform, save the two men for baggage and the master of station. Another—wait—” He moved a little to one side and was quiet for some moments. “A family, in shade just there by the station sign. Six of them, I think: man and woman, and several very young.” Ariadne came up behind him and looked where he pointed. The man
stepped into the open and pointed at something, spoke to someone behind him; two of the children came out to gaze wide-eyed down the length of the train.

  Ariadne shook her head. “I do not know them.”

  “Me, either,” Chris said. “Besides, they’re going the other way, and they’ve got all those kids—no one we have to worry about.” He stepped back from the window. “All right, I guess we’re ready as we’re gonna get. Remember, Eddie, Ari and I go first, you and Dija keep us in sight if you can, but if not, get a carriage and go down to the passenger docks, we’ll be there. And we’ll hang around if we have to until you show.”

  “Remember I have to deal with the luggage.”

  “I remember. The big pile with my leather bag on top, we store; get those four cases held here for me, I’ll have ‘em sent for when we find out what ship we’re taking. You can bring the others with you or—you decide, okay? I don’t think there’s gonna be more than one ship heading to New Lisbon from a small port like San Philippe, and there might not be anything today. Remember which hotel—?”

  “The Coq d’Or,” Edrith said readily.

  Chris glanced at him; his friend’s face was blandly expressionless. “Yeah, I know, you could tell me all this in your sleep. Indulge me, okay? If there’s more than one ship, I’ll wait until I see you somewhere close by and point out the right one to Ari; you won’t need to find a reason to talk to me that way.”

  Dija handed Edrith a length of muted red silk; he made a face but dutifully looped it around his neck and tucked the ends into his shirt. “I know.”

  “You don’t know us, right?”

  “Don’t know you,” Edrith agreed. He let Dija fiddle with the scarf, rolled his eyes when she handed him his battered hat, now cleaned, steamed, and fitted with a band and feather Chris suspected came from Ariadne’s clothing.