A Secret Atlas

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “I have heard, but that is a problem of their own making. They maintain their Council of Ministers beyond any practical purpose.”

  Hisatal frowned. “But without leadership, Helosunde would collapse into disorder. It is our purpose to maintain order.”

  “But we must do this within the shell of the state, Hisatal. Leaders, princes, make decisions—but we provide them the choices from among which they select. Leaders come and go, but the bureaucracy is eternal. To those outside we are the instrument of state, carrying out the dictates of the leaders. To the leaders we are eyes and ears, hands and feet, making it possible for them to administer their nations. Before the time of Emperor Taichun, the Empire was in chaos, with warlords fighting warlords and the Emperor’s dominance measured by how widely his army ranged.”

  Pelut’s blue eyes narrowed. “The Helosundian Council governs in its own name, allowing resentment to be directed at the ministers. Neither Prince Cyron nor Pyrust need heed them since they cannot speak to them as peers. If the ministers feared poor leadership, their retaining power could be understood, but they fear losing it and the riches it brings them.”

  He let a bit of an edge enter his voice and Hisatal found within himself a shred of dignity that prompted a blush. It had not been difficult for Pelut’s agents to learn that Hisatal had entered into a series of agreements with shipping houses and cartographers to give them information about what the Stormwolf discovered. It would make him and his family very wealthy, and that wealth could be used to guarantee patronage that would vault him into the Ministry’s upper echelons.

  “You are correct that we must maintain order, but how we do that is just as important. You cannot divorce the two things.” Pelut slipped his hands from his sleeves and held them out, palms up. “The people cherish stability and cling to hope. They hope things will get better. They believe that if they work hard and are diligent, they may someday be blessed with jaedunto. With that comes fame, fortune, and many other benefits.”

  “More realistically, we know that jaedunto is a mere fantasy for most. As good as we can be, as hard as we study and work, such a thing is not possible for us. There are rumors, yes, and Taichun’s Grand Minister Urmyr might have achieved it. But he was a celebrated warrior before becoming a minister, and his life has largely been mythologized. He existed, and his precepts are still followed.”

  Pelut looked over at Iesol. “Which of his sayings would apply here?”

  The young man bowed his head. “Book Seven, Chapter Four, Verse Twenty-seven. ‘And holding up a nut, the Master said, “We take nourishment from the kernel, discarding the shell.” ’ ”

  Disdain flashed over Hisatal’s face. “Yes, looking at the truth of a thing is important, but you are saying we hide the truth of things from the leader and the led respectively.”

  “Because Urmyr’s words were for us, not them.” Pelut let a smile tug at the left corner of his mouth. “The rice is a problem because of Helosundian protests, as well as protests from the inland lords who will still have to send rice to Moriande. It is a problem because Pyrust’s army will not starve. We will need to initiate an effort to divert eight percent of the grain into stores from which we can disburse them as needed.”

  Hisatal nodded. “A wise precaution, Minister.”

  “And a bold undertaking. I will be making the delivery of the rice your problem, Minister.”

  The man’s head came up, shock widening his eyes. “But, Master, I am prepared for the journey. Things have been made ready. My things are already aboard the Stormwolf.”

  Pelut shook his head. “By the time you return to your home you will find they have been restored to you.”

  “You cannot—”

  “I can and I have. I have because you violated Urmyr’s saying.” Pelut allowed disgust to fill his words. “Iesol, the quote about the perils of greed. The bathing one.”

  “ ‘And the Master said, “The just sip from the river of Reward, the greedy drown in it.” ’ ”

  “But, Master—”

  “You are a fool, Hisatal, and had I known you were such a fool, I would not have appointed you to the Stormwolf in the first place. Were you expected to find a way to enrich yourself? Of course. I fully expect that you will divert one percent of the rice into your own treasury, and do I dispute that? No. I know you will do it, I know you will share your largesse with me and the others who are appropriate. That is the way of things. We reward those who help us.

  “But in doing what you did with the Stormwolf you became enamored of the shell and neglected the kernel. I placed you on the Stormwolf so you could befriend Keles Anturasi. You were to win his trust and be his helper. This was not so you could steal his secrets, but so you could influence him in the future. His grandfather will not live forever and Keles will replace him. What matter gold in your pocket today, when the world could be yours tomorrow?”

  “I did not think, Master.”

  “Wrong. You thought, but you did so without discipline. If there is no discipline, there is no order. If there is no order, there is only chaos. Chaos destroyed the world and only we, the bureaucracy, have been able to remake it by establishing order.”

  Hisatal bowed deeply, pressing his forehead to the floor.

  Pelut allowed him to remain down until sweat began to drip on the floor. “Enough.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Pelut shook his head. “You are Fifth Rank, Hisatal, and you have forgotten all you learned when you were but Third as is our friend here. ‘The house stands, but dry rot invites the disaster of a breeze’s caress.’ Do you know that?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Have you not listened, or have you become truly stupid? Iesol, the citation.”

  “Book Three, Chapter Eight, Verse Four in Meditations on collapse.”

  “I knew that, Minister. It is that I am distracted.”

  Pelut half closed his eyes. “Undistract yourself, Minister, or I shall find the means to provide you focus. I would assign you to join Keles Anturasi in Ixyll, but you are as unsuited to that expedition as he is. He is being sent off to die. Though you have displeased me, I see no reason to have you die quite so soon.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Hisatal’s mouth hung open for a moment more, and Pelut knew he was searching his memory for a suitable Urmyrian quote.

  Pelut declined to restrain himself. “ ‘The wise man is content to be thought a fool, rather than to speak and have the opinion confirmed.’ ”

  Hisatal just nodded, once, curtly, and said nothing.

  “We have an immediate problem, Hisatal, which is this: we need someone on the Stormwolf. As Jorim will never head House Anturasi, it need not be someone important. Indeed, the most competent and wily must be retained, as the next two years will prove most tricky. Have you a candidate who might suffice? Someone loyal to you, perhaps?”

  Hisatal sat back, but before he could say anything, Iesol cleared his throat.

  Pelut glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You have something to offer?”

  “ ‘And the Master said, “Though the neighbor’s fruit looks more plump, the wise man harvests his own crop.” ’ ”

  A smile slowly grew on the elder minister’s face. “By this you mean?”

  “Master, Minister Hisatal will require his retainers to deal with the gift of rice. You have in your household one who could be your agent on the Stormwolf.”

  “Whom did you have in mind?”

  “I would advance myself, Master.” The man bowed low and stayed down.

  Pelut played a hand along his jaw. Iesol was useful and even competent at a variety of tedious tasks, which few mastered and fewer cared to remember once they had. He could have gone far save that he lacked any dynamism. He could neither command nor inspire and until offering his services now had never exhibited anything beyond the most mundane of ambitions.

  “You have concluded no arrangements to profit from the expedition?”

  “No, Master.
”

  “You are fleeing no entanglements or feuds?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Raise yourself, Iesol. Look at me.” Pelut shifted around to face the functionary. “Why do you wish to go?”

  “I have seen the ship, Master. I know the glory it will bring Nalenyr. In my soul I know I could perform no greater service to our nation than to contribute to the expedition’s success.”

  “You think you can make a contribution?”

  “ ‘Without kindling there is no fire.’ ”

  Iesol’s use of Urmyr’s words stung Pelut, and he should have broken him for being so bold. He did not because he knew the man was not being bold, merely earnest; and rewarding him with a position Hisatal wanted would reinforce the need for Hisatal to adhere to the codes promulgated by Urmyr. Besides, I can rid myself of him later.

  “Do you imagine, Iesol, that your action will cause this Ministry to recognize you upon your return?”

  “My place is to serve, Master, not to dream.”

  “Reward shall be considered, if I am pleased with your work.” Pelut put emphasis into his words, so Hisatal would know they were for him, too. “Serve me well, the both of you. The future is known only to the gods. If I am blessed, so shall you be. Through me you serve the nation. Do not be a disappointment.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  5th day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Xingnakun, Moriande

  Nalenyr

  Nirati shivered as she strode toward the hulking dome of Xingnakun. The structure, built on the city’s northwestern quarter, had once been an outdoor amphitheater. Construction had long since enclosed it with a mushroom cap, and eight buttresses sent arched arms to cross over the center. A tall spike rose from the intersection and there, at the top, a blue gyanri light burned. Barely visible in the day, at night it rivaled the lights high on the nine bridges—though most people fingered their talismans when they caught sight of it, even accidentally.

  Her shiver had nothing to do with the day, for it had dawned bright and warm. It came from her experience that morning, setting out from Anturasikun and walking through the streets. While they were crowded for the Festival, people moved out of her way as she went. Some dug for talismans, others toed small circles in the dirt, while the few who knew her looked past her as if she did not exist.

  Another time she would have been offended, but circles could hurt her, even social circles, so having friends turn away was more of a blessing than a curse. Besides, I could not abide the pity in their eyes.

  It was not hard to tell that she and others were bound for the Tower of Magic and the healing. Because circles could be proof against magic, their robes had been specially woven of coarse cloth, with snags and dropped threads. No sash closed them; instead, square buttons or short ties were used, with hard knots and no loops. Sleeves were slashed from shoulder to wrist and none of those wandering northwest wore jewelry. Rings, bracelets, and necklaces had circles and had to be eschewed.

  More noticeable than the robes, however, had been the effort to disguise the circles in their faces. Black crosses slashed diagonally over both her eyes, and another in red decorated her mouth. Some people clipped their nostrils closed and stuffed cloth in their ears, but Nirati thought that an unnecessary precaution.

  Drawing closer to the dome, she entered a bizarre realm where merchants had set up small booths or sold things from the backs of wagons. Circles abounded, large and small, from the tiny talismans many wore daily to hoops large enough to circle the waist. One man offered crystal disks through which things could be watched safely, while others touted potions and unguents that would ward folks from magic, or do for them immediately what the magic might do later. One man offered to store money for those who had come with purses laden with circular coins. She doubted he or his wagon would be there after the ceremony, but she admired his boldness.

  He lost most of his business to another man who, with hammer and anvil, just squared coins up for a sliver from each one.

  In a few places knots of hale and hearty individuals pointed and laughed at the sick and injured shambling forward. “Good luck, old One-leg,” or “Not enough magic in the world to heal you,” they’d call, then dissolve into laughter. One stepped along with a lame man leaning on a crutch, mocking his limp. Nirati hoped the man would be healed, then come back and beat his tormentor silly.

  If any of them recognized her, they probably wondered what she needed healed. It wasn’t obvious, but she needed the greatest healing of all. Nirati had no talent and while everyone told her she just had yet to discover it, she had long since lost the ability to believe them. Even Majiata had a talent, and her squandering it angered Nirati. Even as poor with plants as Majiata was, she could have been more help with Keles’ care than Nirati.

  Nirati snarled and refused to let herself sink into self-pity. She had done what she could. She’d sat with Keles while he slept, softly reading to him from the tales of Amenis Dukao. He’d always enjoyed the stories when he was a child—all three of them had—and he’d slept easier as she read. Her attending him let her mother get sleep, and that, too, was a blessing. But Nirati would have given an arm to be able to do more.

  A blush rose to her face as she came into the area around Xingnakun and saw a young boy with a withered left arm. At least I have an arm to give.

  Someone she took as his father crouched beside him at the edge of the first stone circle surrounding the dome. The man tousled the boy’s hair. “Dunos, you know I can’t go in with you, but you’ll find me waiting here for you. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not really, Father.” The tremble in the boy’s voice undercut his reply.

  Nirati walked toward them and bowed. “Peace of the Festival to you both. Might I ask a favor?”

  The man rose, then bowed, and his son joined him. “Peace with you as well, my lady. What would you have of us?”

  She smiled at the father, then pointed at the vast and empty courtyard around the dome. “It is distant yet to Xingnakun, and I worry about being able to make it without an escort. Might I be so bold as to ask your son to accompany me?”

  The man nodded, then wiped a smudge of black on his son’s cheek, keeping an eye line crisp. “Dunos would be pleased to accompany you.”

  The boy nodded and Nirati took his hand in hers. “Thank you. I shall have him lead me back here. I am Nirati.”

  “This is Dunos and I am Alait. I will find you here. Thank you.”

  “Bye, Father.”

  Nirati and the boy crossed the courtyard. A granite circle broke the line of the cobbles every hundred yards. Black at the outside, then grey and white, the circles warned people to stay away. Whereas the other streets and courts in the capital teemed with people, Xingnakun’s courtyard remained empty save for the broken wandering toward it. In the midst of a Festival full of joy and hope, the hopeless and desperate trickled in slowly.

  Dunos looked up at her. “Why are you going to be healed, my lady? You look okay.”

  “Not all of us have visible injuries.”

  “Are you talking woman stuff? That’s what my mother calls it before she tells me to go help my father.”

  Nirati smiled. “Perhaps. I just hope I bear my trouble as well as you do.”

  Dunos nodded, then let his withered arm swing forward. “Once I get this healed up, I’m going to be a swordsman.”

  “That’s a fine ambition.”

  A little tremor ran through his hand. “Have you seen Kaerinus before?”

  She shook her head. “You can only do this once, Dunos.” She’d heard from many that the omen of the years combined with a spike in the cyclical magic activity promised much from this ritual. It was thought that if a dead body could walk into Xingnakun this year, Kaerinus might even cure it.

  “Why do you ask, Dunos?”


  The boy shrugged. “Well, it’s not that I’m afraid, you know, but I have heard stories. He was with Prince Nelesquin in Ixyll. He’s the last of the vanyesh. He lived through the Cataclysm. He’s really old and he’s a monster.”

  “I’ve heard all those things, too.” She gently pulled him in front of her as they started up one of the narrow ramps leading to an entryway. The entrances were all circles, unbroken, with a low lip so one had to step over them. Though she had never seen it herself, she had heard stories of magical energy guttering out of these holes during the ceremony.

  He stepped in first, then held her hand as she crossed. “I think, Dunos, that he might be a monster, but if he is willing to heal peo-ple, he is not entirely bad.”

  The boy nodded, then looked back again. “For the healing, you’re not going to have to get naked or nothing, are you?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll have to take my robe off, so he can see my arm.”

  “Okay.”

  They strode through the tunnel and paused at the top of the steep stairs. Back in Imperial times the area closer to the earthen circle would have been reserved for the nobility. Dunos tugged her toward the left, preparatory to climbing up to the higher reaches where the poorer people gravitated, but she shook her head.

  “We’ll go down and get closer.”

  “But my father said—”

  “You’re my escort, remember?” She winked at him. “We’ll get closer so we get a good healing.”

  Nirati started down, intent on taking a place right at the circle’s edge, but she stiffened. Majiata had preceded her and stood there, head high, black hair shining. Her robe, while poorly woven and cut, had still been made of silk. Not wishing to speak with her, but interested in watching her, Nirati chose a place several rows back and directly behind.

  More people filed in and Dunos looked around, his eyes wide. He freed his hand from hers and waved to a man. Nirati turned and looked at him, wondering why he had come since he looked no more injured than she was. He moved easily down and toward them from the row in front.