The Assassins of Tamurin

by S. D. Tower

  Or was she up to the same game as I? Did I have a rival? Had Terem really been going to see the Chancellor, as he’d told me, or was it this woman he went to meet? The possi-bihty of competition hadn’t occurred to me. There had been no gossip to suggest a rival, and if Terem were sharing his bed, I was sure I’d have sensed it. But still—

  I was now annoyed enough to disregard caution; I wanted a look at her face, so I’d know her again. I picked up my pace, intending to overtake her before we reached the gallery’s end.

  Then, as I was catching up, I began to notice that the clothes and hat weren’t just good copies of Merihan’s grave dress. They were exactly alike. And die figure before me carried itself like a young woman, as if Merihan herself glided along the gallery ...

  Years before, on the foggy walls of Repose, I’d been badly frightened by the ghost of the magistrate’s wife. But that was nothing to what I felt now. Such an unreasoning dread seized me that my steps faltered and I could suddenly not put one foot ahead of the other. I stopped short, and to my greater horror the woman stopped short, too. She knew I was behind her. She would tum around in the next instant, and she’d look at me.

  The thought almost unhinged my knees. I didn’t want to see her face. I didn’t need to. I knew who stood there before me. She’d come out of her tomb because of me. She knew who I was. She knew what I was.

  She began to tum around.

  “No,” I screamed, but my tongue was like wood in my mouth and my scream became a croak. I wanted to mn, but the thought of having her behind me froze my heart. Helplessly, I closed my eyes and waited for I knew not what. I tried to pray to the ancestor who’d saved me in the Quiet World, but even these words failed me.

  How long I stood there, like a trapped thmsh who had given herself up for lost, I have no idea. It wasn’t really a day and a night, but it seemed as if it were. And with every instant, I imagined, the specter approached. I could feel it, the cold radiance shriveling my flesh.

  Suddenly, a frightened and angry voice said, "‘Mistress Navari! What in the gods’ name are you doing here?”

  My eyes flew open. Merihan was nowhere to be seen, but Kirkin was hurrying around the gallery’s curve toward me, looking distraught. My savior. I could have kissed him.

  He halted before me, pale and sweating from heat and distress. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.” He was so upset that he forgot his usual deference.

  “Did you see her?” I asked, still befuddled.

  “What?” He glanced into the gardens. “See who?”

  “The woman. She was—she was looking at me.”

  He looked at me, too, and realized that something had just frightened me very badly. His gaze flickered uneasily around the gallery. “I didn’t see anybody. You were just standing here. Alone, with your eyes closed.”

  “She had a hat on,” I told him. “With a plume in it. There were butterflies on her jacket.”

  He’d started to regain his color, but at this he suddenly lost it again. “Butterflies?”

  “Yes. Her shoes were white. She had a silver skirt on.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “Did you see her face?”

  “No. Have you—”

  “Don’t speak of it,” he said hurriedly. He took my elbow, began to pull me along the gallery, then disobeyed his own order by muttering, “But she’s never appeared here before.” I halted, making him stop, too. “It’s a ghost, isn’t it? The Surina’s.”

  “Be quiet.” He sounded angry. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. The Chancellor forbade us.”

  “But it is her, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. She’s walking. Nobody knows why. Three people have seen her in the last two months. You’re the fourth.” Kirkin was very upset. I could tell because he was talking like a normal person, without his usual pomposity. But at his words I felt an enormous relief. I’d been frightened that the Surina’s ghost had come out of its tomb because of me. But if she had appeared to other people as well, that told me that I was nothing special in its sight, which meant I wouldn’t likely wake up tonight and see her staring at me from the foot of my bed.

  “Does the Sun Lord know?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not—^he doesn’t talk to me. All I know is, we’re not supposed to mention it to anybody. It’s a very bad sign.”

  This was true; an unquiet ghost often presaged misfortune for the household in which it walked. “Has anyone tried to ease her?”

  “Yes, the best spirit summoner in Kuijain, a month ago. The Chancellor thought he’d done it, but now you’ve seen the thing, too, so it didn’t work.”

  He’d got me moving by this time, and we were nearing the end of the gallery. “She hasn’t hurt anyone, has she?” I asked.

  “No, just frightened them badly. Like you.”

  This annoyed me; he didn’t have to make such a point of it. “So I can’t say anything about her? Not even to the Sun Lord?”

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Kirkin said. “If he knows and wants to talk about it. I’m sure he’ll say so.”

  It occurred to me that I’d be better off not mentioning the ghost to Terem, anyway. Merihan was rival enough, lying quiet. She’d be more a distraction if Terem knew she was still wandering around the palace.

  “I think I’d better go home,” I told him.

  On the way to the Wet Gate, Kirkin again asked what I’d been doing, and being in no mood for meekness I berated him for having left me waiting. Then I told him I’d gone for a walk and gotten lost. He was in no position to castigate me for my wanderings, for he’d failed to attend me when he should have and would have been blamed if I’d suffered harm. He was aware of this, and almost begged me not to say anything about his tardiness. I promised, and left him standing on the quay looking both relieved and annoyed.

  As it tumed out, I did have time to go to Nilang’s on the way home. I told her what Terem had said about marriage and alliances, and when I finished she said I was doing well, and that his interest in Yazar was important. And was there anything else?

  “There is,” I answered. I described my reconnaissance in the gardens and my encounter with the Surina, and passed on what Kirkin had said about the other sightings.

  Nilang studied me with her enormous blue eyes. “And why do you think she walks?”

  I shrugged, to show how nonchalant I was about seeing ghosts. I'd glossed over the terror the apparition had raised in me, but I don’t think Nilang was fooled. She knew a lot more about spirits than I did.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Is it important?”

  “If it affects your hold on the man. Not otherwise.”

  “It won’t,” I told her. “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t.”

  Still she studied me. I got the most uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to perceive my thoughts. What for? She could have no doubts about my loyalty. My reports were all Mother could wish. I never stinted my efforts on her behalf, and I always did as I was told. And I did it willingly.

  “You may go,” Nilang said. She closed her eyes as if releasing me, and waved in dismissal. I got out of her presence as fast as I could and went home to Chain Canal, where I worried all evening over what she might be thinking about me. But finally I told myself that my loyalty to Mother was just as perfect as Nilang’s, which meant I had nothing to fear. And with that I put the matter out of my mind.

  Nineteen

  Summer’s end drew near and I began to wonder whether Terem was as taken with me as Mother’s grand design required. The Elder Company would retum to Istana in little more than a month, and he seemed pleased to go on as we were. This was most unsatisfactory. He had to ask me to stay in Kuijain, either because he’d already become my lover or because he intended to.

  But what would I do if he didn’t ask? I couldn’t go back to Istana. I’d have to manufacture some excuse to remain, although I felt it was poor tactics. He’d assume it was because I couldn’t be
ar to leave him, and that would remove some of the challenge my aloofness represented. His interest in me might then diminish, a result I was very unwilling to risk.

  Nilang was no help. She merely frowned at me when I expressed my concems and said, “This is your responsibility. See that you fulfill it.”

  Perin was more useful. She’d had a lover in the city last year and had taken up with him again; he was a poet of independent means and a formidable reputation among the aesthetes of the capital. However, she needed occasional respites from his intensity, and on these occasions we went to the luxury shops in the various markets or made an excursion to the Mirror.

  Perin knew I was seeing Terem every few days, as did the whole of the Elder Company. Everybody except her thought I’d become his mistress by now, and I didn’t bother to correct them. But with the exception of Harekin, who was beside herself with envy, the troupe saw a good thing in my meteoric rise, for it never hurts to be a colleague of someone close to the mighty of the realm, or in this case, to the mightiest. Only Master Luasin, who alone had an inkling of what I was up to, kept his opinions to himself.

  Perin approved of the way I was making Terem dance to my tune. His very reticence, she assured me, proved that I was no passing fancy. She had even begun to hope that he would make me his Inamorata, rather than a mere unofficial mistress. I certainly hoped he would, too, because as Inamorata I would be socially recognized, so that I could not only appear in public with Terem but also attend state occasions at his side. And while being the Inamorata would not give me the rank or power of a Surina, I would still be a very important woman indeed—even if I had little formal authority. I’d have the Sun Lord’s ear beside me on the pillow. That was no minor thing; every magistrate, mihtary officer, govemment minister, and magnate in Kuijain would tread carefully in my presence. More to the point. I’d be much better placed to influence Terem’s actions and to know and hear things that Mother could use against the power of Bethiya.

  But as time passed and Terem still didn’t declare himself, Perin began to fret. One day at the end of Hot Sky, as we were on our way home from a poetry recital at her lover’s villa, she took it on herself to question me.

  “What are you going to do about him?” she asked. “It’s not all that long till we leave for Istana.”

  “I don’t know.” Our periang was gliding along Copper Bell Canal. Beneath the etemal watery odor of the city the scents of late summer drifted in the air: flowers a httle past prime, fading leaves, dry moss. And the sunhght fell differently, with a tint of msty gold.

  We were on facing seats and she leaned toward me, eyes worried. “Lale,” she said, “do you love him?”

  This was a part I knew how to play. “I think so,” I answered with just the right touch of tremulousness and a perfect quiver of the lower lip.

  “Oh, dear Lady of Mercy,” she said, sighing, “that’s too bad. Look here, can’t you keep your head a little better than this? You won’t know what you’re doing if you let your heart rule you. It gives him all the advantages. And if he’s besotted, too, it just makes everything worse. Neither of you will know hand from foot.”

  “I can’t help it. Hasn’t it ever happened to you?”

  She looked sour. “Once, and I’ll never let it happen again. But this isn’t the Lale I know. I thought you were very levelheaded. What will you do if he doesn’t ask you to stay?” “I don’t want to think about that,” I said piteously. “Maybe he will.”

  She sighed again. “Well, if it’s really what you want, don’t give in to him till he does ask, and—this is very important—^not until he’s established a household for you. Not a place inside the palace, if you can manage it. Nothing’s worse than having a lover under the same roof. Also, the domestic staff always knows everything you do, so remember you won’t have any secrets at all''

  “I’ll be extremely careful,” I said. “But maybe he’s waiting till his official year of mourning for the Surina is almost over. That’s not till the end of Ripe Grain.”

  “But surely he could give you a hint.”

  “Maybe he will. I don’t want to press him.”

  “Well, if he does ask, he must agree to let you keep acting, because you may need an income of your own for when he gets tired of you—he might cut off your allowance, no matter what he promises. The High Theater troupes here aren’t very good, so they’ll be glad to have someone with your training. I’ll have a word around.”

  “Thank you, Perin. You’re very kind to me.”

  “If I were truly kind to you,” she said gloomily, “I’d tie you hand and foot and take you back to Istana with us.” Then she brightened. “But look, if you do this right and you have enough time, you can be set for life. Get a fat allowance out of him, make sure he pays it regularly, and invest it well. Don’t spend it all, which is probably what I’d do. Then, when it’s over, you’ve got your independence. Look at Alidz Ayraman. She was Minister Dermenj’s friend, and now she owns land everywhere and has literary parties every month.”

  All this was good advice, and if I’d been what Perin thought I was. I’d have been wise to take it. Not every girl in that position did; the last two Sun Lords had maintained mistresses by the shipload, but most of these finished their days in impoverished obscurity. I wasn’t concemed about that, though, because no matter what Terem did, I could always depend on Mother.

  But as the events of the next day informed me, even Mother could not protect her daughters from everything.

  Tsusane had invited me to visit her in the villa on Lantem Market Canal, where she rented rooms with the scenery painter Yerana. I’d diligently cultivated Tsusane’s friendship and by now we’d spent a fair amount of time together, often at the game pavilions in the Mirror. I’d asked her to dine at Chain Canal, but she was uncomfortable with High Theater people—except me—and had declined. She was usually good company, although over the past couple of hands she’d occasionally seemed worried and morose. I’d asked her what the trouble was, but she said it was merely her temperament.

  Along the way she’d introduced me to others of the Amber Troupe, who in tum had introduced me to more people. I thus had a widening circle of acquaintances in the city, through both her and Perin—^I knew writers, artists, some junior officials of the Bureau of Arts, a handful of well-to-do merchants with aspirations to culture, and even a brigadier of the city garrison who wrote very presentable poetry. Consequently I was becoming quite the social flutterer, a role I enjoyed immensely, although it cost me a good deal of sleep.

  So on that aftemoon I went off to see Tsusane, intending to cheer her up, if need be, with an excursion to the Mirror. I checked for followers as usual, and noticed, as my periang sculled along Lantem Market Canal, that I again had only one minder instead of two. This had been happening frequently of late, and on three occasions they’d left me entirely ^one. I reckoned they were getting tired of watching someone so patently harmless as I and had agreed that one would follow me while the other found more congenial pursuits. This time my minder was the freckled one, who was following along in a skaffie. When I disembarked at Tsusane’s villa, he stopped a few landings away under a wine shop sign, and as I told my scullsman to wait for me, I saw him slip inside. I was, apparently, to be on my own today.

  Theater musicians weren’t lavishly paid, and Tsusane’s villa was a slightly seedy one that stood across the canal from the Ten Thousand Hues Dye Works. The two rooms she shared with Yerana were on the fourth, topmost floor, up a rickety outside staircase from a dark courtyard that smelled of the nearby public latrine. But the rooms were more pleasant than the building’s appearance would suggest, for Yerana had painted them with irises, mountain landscapes, and fancifiil plumed birds in cages. Across the door to the sleeping chamber she had hung a curtain with a good imitation of Shiran’s Girl Gazing at the Moon in Water,

  Yerana wasn’t there when I arrived. She’d gone to visit her mother, Tsusane said, in a village upriver, and she wouldn’t be back
for a few days. I thought Tsusane seemed nervous and unhappy, and I suggested that we go over to the Mirror for our evening meal.

  She demurred. And then, to my surprise, she went and closed the shutters of both the balcony door and the window, leaving the room in ocher dinmess. The shouts of the canal boatmen and the clatter of tubs from the dye works diminished along with the light.

  I suddenly realized she didn’t want to be overheard, and alarm swept through me. “What’s that for?” I asked, as lightiy as I could. “Are you trying to hide from an angry lover?” Though I knew she didn’t have one, angry or otherwise.

  “Please.” She sounded distraught and frightened, and my heart sank. She gestured at the table and I sat down across from her. “Lale,” she said, “can I trust you?”

  “What is it?” I asked, thinking that it was a stupid question to ask someone you’d known less than two months. “What’s got you so upset?”

  “Please,” she repeated. “Can I trust you?”

  “Completely.” I spoke the lie without an instant’s hesitation. Even then I hoped it was something to do with the theater. I knew she’d had a fight with the sivara player two days ago, and he could be very unpleasant.

  “It’s about the Sun Lord.” She could barely get the words out, her voice shook so. “It’s said you know him.”

  “Only a little,” I said. She wanted something. A chance to play at the Porcelain Pavilion? I might be able to arrange that. But why was she so fiightened?

  “Some ... people,” she said, “some people want to know how he’s going to celebrate the Ripe Grain Festival. Is he going to Profound Tranquility Square?”

  This square was the largest public plaza in the city; at its center stood the double shrine of the Bee Goddess and Father Heaven. In imperial times a festival ceremony had been held there, but it had fallen into abeyance long ago. Terem had revived the ritual last year, to the delight of the population.

  “I don’t know,” I said. A cold premonition stole over me. “Why?”