Cartomancy

by Michael A. Stackpole

  And made him very suspicious.

  At least it’s a nice break from moon-blossom tea.

  Keles had been given a black robe trimmed in gold, with his family’s crest embroidered in all the right places. He’d not be allowed to wear a sword, but instead had tucked a baton into his gold sash. It marked him as being someone of rank, though he hardly needed it. Most of the people remaining in Felarati had been involved in his building project and knew him by sight.

  He’d arrived at the Ministry of National Unity and been surprised to see swordsmen guarding the entrance. Aside from a few old men and women armed with knives, he’d thought anyone with enough training to hold a sword had left the city. Other than the embassies where the visiting nation provided security, Felarati had been left all but undefended. While Keles did not doubt that the Desei had plenty of shadows and secret police lurking, the fact was that very few people inclined to cause trouble remained.

  The guards had conducted him to a small room with cedar paneling. Blond reed mats covered part of the floor, but had been edged in red cloth that married them to the redwood floors. On one wall hung a rice-paper painting in black ink with red commentary. The simple representation of a cedar provided a quiet dignity and made the room seem even more of an intimate place.

  Then the paper-paneled door had slid back to admit Grand Minister Rislet Peyt and a tea-master. The Grand Minister bowed in greeting, then he and Keles bowed to the tea-master. Keles would have towered over Rislet, and certainly weighed about a third more, yet the young man’s presence filled the room. He’d shaved his head so it glowed a soft gold that contrasted well with his deep blue eyes. His robe, decorated with the Desei Hawk, was likewise blue and secured with a white sash.

  The only sound in the room came from the preparation of the tea, which the tea-master poured for each of them. He then bowed and withdrew. The Grand Minister offered Keles his cup, then they both drank and sat in quiet contemplation of the tea.

  After a respectful silence, the Grand Minister put his cup down. “I take great pleasure in your visit, Master Anturasi. Your work has transformed Felarati. The people are pleased, as is my master.”

  “Thank you, Grand Minister.” Keles took another sip of his tea, then set his cup down. “You have had word from the Prince?”

  “Not recently, but tragic news travels more swiftly than good. Had ill befallen him, we would know.”

  “So then, things are going well?”

  The Grand Minister nodded solemnly. “Just over a week ago, our exalted leader met and defeated a Helosundian host nine times the size of his army. He is advancing on Vallitsi and will crush the Helosundian rebels once and for all.”

  “Very good news for the Prince.” Keles smiled slightly to hide his sinking heart. If Helosunde truly were pacified, it would make escaping Deseirion much more difficult. Instead of just heading south, he might have to head out west, then sail on the Dark Sea to the Gold River and down to Moriande. It would lengthen the journey intolerably, and force him to reconsider the supplies they would need to get away.

  The Grand Minister smiled. “I shall see to it that your congratulations are conveyed to His Highness.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “I fear you have not thought so, Master Anturasi, which is why I invited you here.” Rislet smoothed his robe over his thighs. “I have heard that you have voiced dismay over the fact that you are not getting all of the stone and brick you require.”

  “It’s true.” Keles kept his voice even. “I know that not as much stone is coming from the quarries because there are too few wagons to transport it, but I was once getting ten an hour. Now I get seven, and yet ten pass through Westgate. I’m told the other three have been diverted to a project I know nothing about.”

  The cartographer watched the minister’s reaction to his lie. When he’d been invited to visit, Jasai had coached him on how to deal with Rislet. “You can tell him what you know, but you cannot accuse him of lying. He is a minister, so lying is taken as given. You must approach everything as if it is a misunderstanding, and allow him to clarify. If the clarification does not satisfy you, ask for further clarification.”

  “Ah, I see where a misunderstanding has occurred, Master Anturasi.” The Grand Minister smiled. “It is entirely my fault. Though I have done well in the ministries, and have risen far further than I ever imagined I would, I fail to communicate as well as I should. You see, I meant to ask for your help with my project and while my subordinates swung into action, I had not yet scheduled this meeting. Please, forgive my lack of manners.”

  “It is forgiven. You will appreciate my alarm because I had intended the stone and brick you have taken to build a small stronghold on the river. It would secure the new houses until the walls can be extended.”

  “We appreciated this, Master Anturasi, but it seems that our Prince’s successes make the likelihood of an attack on Felarati very small.” He opened his hands. “His successes are creating another demand. We have diverted the stone and brick to begin construction of a new ministry building. There we will house those who will help oversee both the conquered territories and the vast new holdings your work has opened up for us.”

  Keles nodded. “And you would like my help with this?”

  “So kind of you to offer, Master Anturasi.” The man gave him a simple smile. “We hoped we could ask you to integrate our building into your plans. I was especially certain you would undertake a construction of this nature if you realized how events were progressing. We wish for our building to fit seamlessly with what you have already created.”

  Keles picked up his cup and sipped more tea. He might not have been sophisticated in the ways of ministers and bureaucracy, but Jasai had been correct. The Anturasi family had moved beyond the point where ministers could manage them. This attempt to hide the ministry building within his plans, however, was not so much sophisticated as childish. If Pyrust returned and objected, the ministers would place the blame on Keles. They would say they could not countermand Keles since the Prince had given him a free hand. If Pyrust approved, then Keles would gain praise for foresight, and the ministers would get their new building. Control of Pyrust’s burgeoning empire would be maintained in Felarati, which would make Rislet Peyt more powerful.

  What made it seem more childish was the ministry flexing its muscles in the absence of the Prince. Rislet was far younger than any Grand Minister Keles had heard of. He might well have been brilliant, but Keles guessed he’d been offered the position because the other ministers felt he was expendable. If Pyrust did not approve of his actions, Rislet would end up dead, but would have insulated those who began the policies that angered the Prince. Rislet, by creating the new building, would position himself to advance over those who had been using him.

  It was a ploy that both fascinated and disgusted Keles. But, as Jasai had taken pains to make clear to him, it was part and parcel of how the world worked. Rislet had to make his move at this time because if Pyrust died on his campaign, he would be without an heir. The nobles who sought to replace him would have to deal with Rislet, and there was every possibility that Helosunde’s Council of Ministers formed a model for how Deseirion might be governed in the future, making Rislet prince in all but title.

  Ministries manipulated to get what they wanted and, therefore, could be manipulated themselves. This, too, Jasai had assured him would be part of his discussion with Rislet. Between the two of them, they came up with a few things he could ask for.

  “I believe, Grand Minister, I can accommodate your request.” Keles set his cup back down. “And your news is interesting in that it plays along with a dream I had recently. A prophetic dream, akin to those which guide Prince Pyrust.”

  The Grand Minister smiled, but clearly it took a bit of an effort. “Please, relate to me your dream.”

  Keles nodded, and for a moment was tempted to tell him of the one where he had found himself walking with his sister in her paradise. That would confoun
d him. Instead, he stuck with the script he’d created with Jasai.

  “Deseirion has a rich Imperial history. I’ve studied maps and, west of here, there are several ruined Imperial fortresses. I would like to travel there and select stones to incorporate into the new buildings. It would create a linkage between old and new. You see the importance of that.”

  “I shall have people fetch you stones, Master Anturasi.”

  “No, I am afraid that will not do.” I need to get out there to scout the landscape. “Truth be told, I do have an ulterior motive.”

  “It would not matter, Master Anturasi, because the Prince’s orders were clear. You are not to leave the precincts of the city.”

  “I know what his orders were, Grand Minister.” Keles flashed a smile. “You know that Lady Inyr Vnonol has been my companion. I hoped to take her with me on these trips, so I could spend time with her away from Felarati. You can understand that.”

  The Grand Minister nodded. “I do, but again there is the matter of the Prince’s orders.”

  “Yes, I have thought of that as well. I suggest, Grand Minister, that, in the Prince’s absence, you simply annex those sites and make them part of the city. You can even be credited with the foresight of seeing growth in that direction, too. When Felarati is the Imperial capital, you know it will continue to grow.”

  The small man’s eyes narrowed. “Your plan has merit, Master Anturasi. I shall consider it.”

  And approve it once you have bought up the best tracts of land in that area.

  “As I shall consider the best design for your new building.” Keles looked around the cedar room. “I can see a room like this becoming your sanctuary in its most heavenly precincts.”

  The Grand Minister raised his cup. “And, if you do travel west, you will agree not to escape?”

  Keles gave the man a surprised look. “I have promised the Prince I should not leave Felarati. I will maintain my word until released of it by him.” Or by necessity.

  Rislet Peyt bowed his head. “Then let us drink to the growth of Felarati and Deseirion. The world will look here to see where miracles were wrought.”

  “So they shall, Grand Minister.” Keles likewise raised his cup. The first among them being the escape of Princess Jasai and the free birth of Deseirion’s next ruler.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  33rd day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

  10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th year since the Cataclysm

  Vroankun, Ixun

  Nalenyr

  Though he detested the pious mouthings of sympathy to Jarana Vroan, the widow of Donlit Turcol, Junel Aerynnor was happy to be out of Moriande. As a result of Turcol’s death, he had been summoned again to the opium den and given an assignment. He traveled to Jomir for the funeral, and from there, he’d accompanied the widow’s party back toward Ixun. It had been far too soon for him to do anything but express his deep regrets to Jarana, but she seemed to welcome his offer of looking in on her again, at a happier time.

  Junel could hardly imagine a happier time, for things were progressing perfectly. He didn’t know, nor did he care, who had betrayed Turcol’s plan to Cyron. He did allow that it might not have been betrayal at all, since Cyron’s Lord of Shadows was hardly stupid, whereas Turcol had all but wandered the streets of the capital throwing gold at anyone he could imagine was an assassin. Regardless of how Cyron had learned of the plan, it had ended badly for Turcol and worked out better for both his patrons.

  One thing he had not accounted for was Jarana Vroan and her influence over her father. Jarana had actually loved her philandering husband and had desperately wanted to bear his child. Junel suspected her dead mother had groomed her as the link that might bind both counties together. Count Vroan seemed to dote on his daughter, and her distress became his.

  More important, her desire to avenge her husband’s death likewise became his.

  Junel had been accepted into the Vroan household because of his rank—at least, that was how it appeared initially. Someone spoke to someone else, and word filtered through to the count that Junel might be of especial use. The count summoned him to a private meeting in chambers that were paved with stone and sparsely decorated.

  The count still wore a white mourning robe, but comported himself as anything but serene and contemplative. The tall, slender man poured Junel a generous goblet of wine and the Desei agent sipped politely, despite detesting the local vintage for its lack of subtlety.

  Count Vroan slapped a hand against the tower’s stone wall. “I know most lords in Moriande have paneled their private chamber with wood, and enclosed it with delicate paper panels. They serve tea and quietly lie to each other. You’ve seen it as well, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You know, I’ve visited Felarati. I did so as part of a delegation negotiating a bit of peace. I liked Felarati.” Again the white-haired man slapped a hand against stone. “The Dark City, but one that is strong. I know you have your differences with the Prince, but I wanted you to know that I think the place of your upbringing breeds men, not the vermin that thrive in cities like Moriande.”

  “I appreciate that, my lord.” Junel set his cup of wine down. “Your opinion is shared in a variety of places—even in Moriande. If I may have leave to speak frankly, my lord . . .”

  “Please, tell me what goes on in the capital.”

  “You don’t want to know the whole of it, my lord.” Junel clasped his hands behind his back, much as he’d bound the hands of his last victim. He’d taken her outside the opium den while she wandered in a stupor. The drugs dulled her sense of pain, but as he dissected her, realization of her death blossomed in her eyes. Had she not been gagged, her screams would have been delicious, but he had to be satisfied with the terror in her eyes. She died well—though not as well as Nirati Anturasi—and his need for death had been assuaged for another period.

  “I’ve told you already, my lord, how much your loss pains me. There is no doubt that this tale of banditry is pretense to hide murder. Prince Cyron brought Prince Eiran and his courtesan out with him to watch Count Turcol die. He then dishonors your troops by putting Eiran in charge of them. Eiran, having seen the murder, is terrified of saying what truly went on, but one has to ask a simple question. If it were bandits who attacked, why were none displayed? Why are none awaiting trial?”

  Vroan finished his wine at a gulp and poured himself more. “This I know, Count Aerynnor. Turcol was murdered most coldly.” He lowered his voice slightly. “I have no doubt he had planned things himself and got caught in his schemes. There are times he trusted charisma more than he did his intellect, which is a problem for one so vain. I was actually happy to send him off in command of our troops because it sent him east and, quite frankly, prevented me from having him killed.”

  “Really, my lord?”

  “I’d have done it. I’d have hated to do so since it makes Jarana so sad, but better she’s mourning him than mourning me.”

  “I agree.” Junel nodded solemnly. “I believe, since Nerot Scior is also resident here, that you know I have been involved as an agent for investments his mother had made in Moriande.”

  The count laughed. “I knew she had someone in Moriande. That idiot Melcirvon couldn’t find the ground if you threw him from this tower. She has consulted me about events in Moriande, feeling me out about my reaction to her plopping her ample bottom on the Dragon Throne. I remained noncommittal.”

  “The idea has been advanced, my lord, by people in Moriande, that you, she, and the late Count Turcol might have formed a triumvirate. You, of course, have the advantage, being a Naleni hero and having a child with ties to Helosunde. I believe events in Helosunde will swing things more in your favor, and that the duchess can be convinced to support you in return for promises you will never have to keep.”

  The westron lord’s head came up. “What events?”


  Junel looked down at the ground. His ministry patron had given him one view of the events in Helosunde that downplayed the reality. Based on inquiries for information from the rest of the Desei network in Moriande, Junel was able to figure out what must truly be happening. While Vroan would be alarmed by the news from the ministry, he wouldn’t be alarmed enough for Junel’s purpose. Vroan had to move quickly and boldly to effect the ends that would most benefit Deseirion.

  “The news has not circulated far at all, but a week and a half ago Prince Pyrust crushed a Helosundian army. He’s cut off all communication to the south and has advanced on Vallitsi. He is laying siege to it, and will take it by the end of the month. He then intends to move south and, in the month of the Hawk, he will attack Nalenyr.”

  Count Vroan stared at him for a moment, then set his cup of wine down. “How reliable is this information?”

  “I would stake my life on it. You know my relations with the Desei court are less than cordial. Had I not come here, I would have been tying up my business in Moriande and heading south to Erumvirine.”

  Vroan pursed his lips and nodded ever so slightly. “And Prince Cyron is not a war leader.”

  “No, my lord, he is not. I would expect he will call up more troops, westron troops, and ask you to lead them against the Desei. The mountain passes can be held, but the fighting will be bloody. It’s your people who will preserve his realm. The Komyr have relied on you to deal with Pyrust in the past, and they shall do so now.”

  “No. No, that cannot be allowed to happen. If Komyr blood is so weak it cannot hold its realm, it must give up the Dragon Throne.”

  “I would agree, my lord. The question is, how does one craft the most favorable approach?”