by S L Farrell
“So am I,” Mahri answered blandly. “As much as you.”
Karl decided to ignore that. “If the A’Kralj worries you, then why not kill him? You know where he is and from what I’ve seen, you’d have no problem getting to him. Get rid of the man.”
“Death doesn’t kill beliefs,” Mahri said. “It only gives those beliefs more strength. A philosophy is not a person-if it’s a truly vital way of thinking, the death of its founder only feeds its growth. That’s the mistake ca’Cellibrecca and Hirzg Jan would make. It would be a shame if the Numetodo did the same.”
“Then what kills a belief, if not the death of those who believe?”
Mahri didn’t answer. Under the shadowed cowl, the man’s single eye stared back at Karl. “Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?”
Gschnas
Ana cu’Seranta
“Have you a costume yet for the Gschnas, Ana?” Kenne asked.
Ana shrugged. She glanced past Kenne, seated at his paper-strewn desk, to the open door of the Archigos’ reception room, where she could see Archigos Dhosti and three of the a’teni: Joca ca’Sevini of Chivasso, Alain ca’Fountaine of Belcanto, and Colin ca’Cille of An Uaimth. Also in the room was a tall and rather handsome man she didn’t recognize.
All five of them were in the midst of what appeared to be an energetic discussion. “Beida and Watha tell me that they have something put together for me, but they won’t show it to me yet. What about you?”
Kenne shook his head. “Not going. The Archigos has me working here tomorrow evening.” He tapped the nearest pile of paper. “Going through reports from Firenzcia.”
Ana felt a guilty blush creep up her neck from the high collar of her green robes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d known, I’d have told the Archigos to have you accompany him instead of me.”
Kenne chuckled at that. “Do you think you’re not going to be working? Believe me, you will be, and far more visibly than me. No, I’m quite content with my lot, Ana. Besides, you’re the new celebrity and he has to show you off.”
Her blush heightened and Kenne laughed again. “And before you go apologizing for that, too,” he continued, “let me tell you that I’m not even slightly jealous. I’m happy where I am, where I can pass along any difficult problems to the Archigos or the a’teni.” He must have noticed her gaze drifting, for he glanced over his own shoulder to the open door.
“Envoy Karl ci’Vliomani is with them,” he said.
That made Ana’s eyebrows rise. “The Numetodo?”
Kenne nodded. “For a heretic, he’s on the attractive side, don’t you think? He speaks very well also. I’ve always found the Paeti accent enchanting.” Ana’s eyebrows lifted even higher on her forehead, and Kenne grinned at her. “I’m just telling you what I’m thinking. I’ll wager you’ll feel the same way.”
Ana decided not to answer, but she continued to stare at the man.
“Why is he here?”
“The Archigos asked to see him. I think the Archigos wanted to allay fears that what happened in Brezno would be repeated here. He wanted the envoy to know that not all the a’teni have the same opinion as A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca. Ah, here they come.”
The group was moving toward the door. Ana caught a hint of the envoy’s speech, colored-as Kenne had intimated-with a strong accent and a pleasing, sonorous baritone. The man had a voice any teni at the High Lectern would envy. “. . pleased to have been able to speak to you, Archigos, A’Teni. I would appreciate it, too, Archigos, if you could speak to the Kraljica on my behalf. I would be most grateful for the chance to meet with her and directly address any concerns she might have.”
“Perhaps after the Jubilee is over, Envoy,” the Archigos answered.
The envoy smiled-he had a pleasant smile, one that seemed genuine and guileless. Lines creased around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, well-worn and telling Ana that the expression was one comfortable and familiar for him. She found herself staring at his features, imagining what he might be thinking, trying to visualize him performing the forbidden Numetodo magic or denying the existence of Cenzi. This was the enemy, yet it was far easier to have imagined heretical thoughts being reflected in a twisted, ugly visage, not this. Not this. “Ah, yes,” the envoy said, and his green eyes sparkled in the teni-light from Kenne’s desk lamp. “The Kraljica should have her much-deserved celebration first. After the Jubilee, then-and I’m in your debt, Archigos. I can see myself out. . ”
With that, he turned to go. His gaze swept momentarily to Ana with the movement, and he smiled and nodded faintly to her before he began to walk away.
“Ah, Ana,” Archigos Dhosti said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to introduce you formally to A’Tenis ca’Sevini, ca’Fountaine, and ca’Cille.”
Ana tore her gaze from the envoy, walking briskly down the corridor away from Kenne’s desk. Kenne was smiling at her; she ignored him. “Certainly, Archigos,” she said.
“Look!” Ana pointed and laughed with delight.
Outside the Grande Palais, the shrubbery had been placed upside down, their greenery half-buried in the earth and bare roots curling like gnarled fingers toward the cloudless night sky. Teni-lighted globes were set inside the nest of roots, surrounded by colored glass so that mul-ticolored root-shadows crisscrossed the grounds. The grass had been painted a white that gleamed eerily, as if the moonlight illuminating the city had been poured out on the land, while the fountains set between the wings of the Grande Palais bubbled water that was jet black and opaque. Ornate, brightly-colored birds from the jungles of Namarro and South Hellin, their wings clipped and bound, strutted and preened over the skeletal grass while several well-groomed and jeweled-collared dogs, looking rather startled and uncertain of their fate, were suspended by ebon strings from cables strung between the palace roofs, so it appeared that they were treading air.
It was the festival of Gschnas, when reality was set topsy-turvy and nothing was as it seemed to be.
The Archigos nodded and grinned at Ana’s excitement. “This is the Kraljica’s favorite celebration,” he said. He was seated across from her, but instead of the usual green robes of the teni, he wore the shrouds of a corpse, and his face was hidden behind a porcelain skull mask. The eyes behind the open sockets of the face startled Ana every time she glimpsed them in the dim carriage.
Ana, with the help of Beida and Watha, was dressed as a young male chevaritt, her breasts bound tightly (and rather uncomfortably, she had to admit) under a frilled bashta decorated with medallions, a wooden sword girt to a wide leather belt, and leather boots that reached her knees. Her hair was pulled severely back and braided like one of the Garde Civile, and a floppy cap with a long feather teetered jauntily on her head. “You look quite the handsome creature,” Beida had said, stepping back after they were finished dressing her. “Why, you may have to fend off some of the ca’-and-cu’ women who are looking for a husband.” She’d giggled at the thought.
The carriage stopped, and a footman-dressed, Ana recognized with a start, in the very outfit that the A’Kralj Justi had worn for his official portrait, and with a golden crown encircling his head-opened the door for them. Ana peered around at the fantasy landscape, at the dark fountains and bright grass, at the spidery cracks and fissures that had been painted in the walls of the palais, so that it appeared the building had been shaken and broken in an earthquake and the Grande Palais was a ruin in a lost land.
As she stepped from the carriage, Ana heard sudden discordant and strange music, and saw a trio next to the main doors. The dulcimer player was striking her instrument with the hammer held in her bare feet while she reclined on the ground; the tambour player had set his drum on a stand in front of him and was bouncing three metal balls onto the stretched goatskin while juggling them-and keeping surprisingly good time, Ana had to admit. The man with the sacbut seemed to be playing with the mouthpiece of his device lodged in his nether regions; Ana decided she didn’t want to know how he was produci
ng a sound. She grimaced at the distressing blat of his instrument.
“They’re not very good,” Ana said to the Archigos. His skull face peered up at her.
“The marvel,” he said, “is that they can play at all, isn’t it?” She heard muffled laughter behind his mask.
They handed their invitations to the attendant-wearing a goat’s head and mittens that looked like a goat’s feet-who promptly announced them by reading their names backward-“Callim’ac Itsohd
Sogihcra dna Atnares’uc Ana Inet’o”-impressing Ana with his facility. Inside the ballroom, the ca’-and-cu’ milled in interweaving knots of conversation. For a moment, Ana was overwhelmed at the sight of the upper society of Nessantico in all their grand finery and elaborate costumes. At the far end of the hall, an orchestra was playing-properly this time, though they were seated high above the crowd in the frame of a gigantic crystalline figure, his massive outstretched hands the seats for the musicians, his flesh a carapace of colored glasses, his bones white stone. A thousand candles blazed everywhere in the statue’s frame, and twin fires blazed in the sockets of his skull. Red liquid poured from his open mouth and splashed into a pool in which the giant knelt, as if praying.
Before the strange figure, the crowd swayed and glittered and preened, their intermingled conversations nearly overwhelming the musicians. They danced in pairs and circles and lines; they gathered around the periphery of the dance floor to talk-and many of them were staring at Ana and the Archigos standing by the door. Ana began to feel intimidated and a bit frightened, sweat beading on her forehead under the powder she wore, but the Archigos took her arm. “Remember,” he whispered to her, “most of them are just as uncertain as you are, maybe more so. They’ve just had more practice hiding it. You are O’Teni cu’Seranta, and you arrived with the Archigos. That puts you above nearly everyone you see.”
“I’m not used to that.” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper as she leaned toward him, his head only level with her elbows.
“Get used to it,” he whispered. “And learn to use it to your advantage. Come. Let’s go down. .”
She linked her hand to his arm. They went down the stairs together, into the whispering sea of faces and costumes.
“O’Teni. .” she heard from a dozen directions as they reached the floor, and she nodded politely to the greetings. A waiter dressed as an ape offered her a glass; she took it and sipped sweetened, chilled wine.
She stayed close to the Archigos, following him as he made his way through the crowds, away from the dancers and into the relative quiet of one of the alcoves.
“Archigos,” she heard a voice call. “I must say that it takes a certain bravery to wear grave shrouds. I would be too afraid to dress that way, thinking that I was tempting fate.”
A trio of shadows detached themselves from near a fireplace along the wall, where cold green flames leaped up from a pool of water set in the hearth-most likely created by another teni-spell. Ana’s eyes widened: in the uncertain light of the water-flames, one of them appeared to be a muscular and bare-breasted woman walking on her hands, but as they approached, she realized that what she’d thought was skin was not flesh at all, but cloth bound tightly to a frame and painted to look realistic, that the “woman’s” head was bewigged and waxen, and that a man’s features peered from just above the frozen skirt, his hands encased in shoes and his feet clad in hosiery that looked like hands. Ana shivered: the sight was not pleasant.
A genuine woman stood next to the man, dressed all in colorful feathers that frothed around her attractive face and accentuated her figure, with equally flamboyant wings sprouting from her back. The third person was an older man, heavier and double-chinned, and wearing a simple peasant’s costume, with his face artfully streaked with black paint that must have been intended to represent dirt.
He was smiling at them, and Ana recognized him suddenly: A’Teni Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca. “And my guess is that this must be O’Teni cu’Seranta,” ca’Cellibrecca said, and Ana realized it was his voice that had spoken a moment ago.
“A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca,” the Archigos said. “I appreciate your concern for me, and I hope that your rags don’t presage a loss of your own fortune. Death, at least, is over and done with. Poverty lingers.”
Ca’Cellibrecca sniffed as the Archigos waved a hand toward Ana. “I suppose I should be giving everyone a formal introduction. A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, this is indeed O’Teni Ana cu’Seranta.”
Ca’Cellibrecca bowed his head and gave the sign of Cenzi; Ana did the same, bending a bit lower with her bow as etiquette demanded. “I was there when you intervened with the assassin, O’Teni,” ca’Cellibrecca said. “Very impressive, I must say. You’ve been well-Gifted by Cenzi, if all the rumors are true.” His smile seemed as cold and false as the flames in the fireplace. There was a predatory look in his eyes, as if he were a snake looking at a mouse in front of him. Ana found herself wanting to look away, and forced herself to lift her chin and return his smile.
“Rumors tend to become exaggerated with each telling,” she said. “I wouldn’t believe them, A’Teni.”
“Ah, and modest, too,” ca’Cellibrecca said. “I’m pleased to meet you in person at last; the Archigos has sadly kept you away from me, though I know he must have had good reasons to do so. And I forget myself.
O’Teni cu’Seranta, I would like to introduce my daughter, Francesca, and her husband, Estraven, who serves here in Nessantico as U’Teni of the Old Temple on the Isle A’Kralji. No doubt you’ve heard some of his Admonitions, since I know your family occasionally attends services there.” The two bowed and gave the sign-Estraven doing so awk-wardly with his shoe-clad hands; Ana noticed that Francesca favored her husband with an odd look of mingled amusement and disgust.
A clot of people entered the alcove and stood near the fireplace, looking at the watery fire and holding their hands in the leaping, bright flames. Their laughter took Ana’s eyes toward them; one of them, a slim man dressed in the robes of a teni and wearing a simple black domino mask, nodded to her and she looked away again.
“The Kraljica has outdone herself this year,” ca’Cellibrecca was saying. “This is a very impressive Gschnas, one we’ll no doubt remember.
She and the A’Kralj should be making their entrance soon, and I understand the Kraljica’s new portrait is to be unveiled at midnight. Have you seen it yet?”
“I’ve not had that pleasure,” the Archigos told him. “The painter ci’Recroix has insisted that it remained covered until tonight. But I’ve seen other of his works, and they are most impressive-the figures look as if they could walk out of the very canvas.”
“Then I will truly be looking forward to seeing what he has done with our Kraljica. I wonder if she’ll dress again as the Spirit of Nessantico for the ball? That was an impressive costume she wore last year.”
“She has told me that tonight she will be Vucta, the Great Night Herself,” the Archigos answered. “She has had several of our more creative e’teni working with her.”
“I’m certain that she will outdo herself once more,” ca’Cellibrecca responded. He turned back to Ana then, looking her up and down slowly and obviously, as if appraising her. He spoke to the Archigos as he did so. “Have you given any more thought to our last conversation, Archigos?”
“I have given it all the reflection that it required, A’Teni,” the Archigos answered, and that brought ca’Cellibrecca’s gaze back to the dwarf.
“Indeed,” the man said. “Then I’d love to speak further with you. If you’d excuse us? O’Teni cu’Seranta, Francesca. .”
The Archigos nodded to Ana as ca’Cellibrecca ushered him away.
U’Teni Estraven was obviously fuming at ca’Cellibrecca’s disregard of him, his face suffused above the hem of the dress. “Francesca, I really think. .” he began, and stopped as the woman raised her hand.
“Not here, Estraven. Please.” Her tone was imperious and sharp, the u’teni’s mouth snapped s
hut in response. Francesca favored Ana with a smile. “I apologize, O’Teni,” she said. “If you’ll be so kind as to excuse my husband. So pleased to meet you, and I hope you enjoy the Gschnas tonight. Perhaps we can talk later; I’d love to have a chance to get to know you better. Vatarh has said so much about you.”
“Yes,” Ana said. “Of course, Vajica, U’Teni. Later.”
Francesca smiled, bowed, and gave the sign of Cenzi, her husband doing the same a moment later. Ana returned the gesture. Before the couple had gone four steps, she heard Estraven start in again. “I won’t be treated this way, Francesca. Your vatarh. .”
“They make a pleasant couple, don’t you think?”
Karl ci’Vliomani
Karl attached himself to a group that was moving in the direction of the alcove into which the Archigos had disappeared with his companion. As Karl laughed and joked with them around the water-fire, he watched the Archigos, who was conversing with A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, his daughter and her husband. He realized, with a start, that the person with the Archigos was not a young man in a rather too-gaudy outfit, but a somewhat plain-faced woman dressed as a man-and with the realization, he thought he knew who she might be. If she was the cu’Seranta woman, she looked oddly familiar to him as well, though he couldn’t remember where he might have seen her before. Once, she looked over at him, making eye contact, and he nodded back. She glanced quickly away, as if embarrassed at being caught staring at him.
He began moving closer: as the Archigos and ca’Cellibrecca left the group, as Francesca ca’Cellibrecca and her husband also departed, obviously arguing with each other.
“They make a pleasant couple, don’t you think?” he said. “An argument against purely political marriages. And that costume U’Teni ca’Cellibrecca is wearing. .” He tsked loudly, shaking his head.
