Cities and Thrones

by Carrie Patel

  “See? There’s no one here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. So spit it out before someone joins us.”

  Jane heard a swish of fabric as one of the women looked from side to side.

  “They say it’s about that city to the south. Recoletta.”

  “And the warlord who’s torched half the districts? Everyone knows about this.”

  “No, that’s a silly rumor. But I have it on good authority that he lives half the time in Old World ruins outside the city.”

  “Anyway, what does this have to do with the chancellor?”

  “That’s the whole reason he’s here, of course. To oversee the takeover of Recoletta.”

  “What? That can’t be right.”

  “Tsk! You’ve heard the way the Qadi’s attendants talk about her black looks and the long, loud meetings between her and the other two, yes? They won’t let this continue.”

  The footsteps drew closer.

  “I really think there’s someone here.”

  “You’re imagining it,” the other woman said, but still they got closer.

  Suddenly, a door opened at the other end of the bathroom. The two women collected themselves in a flurry of whispers and rustling fabric and fluttered away like two birds startled from a bush.

  Grateful for the timely interruption, Jane gave the newcomers an innocuous smile as she made her way back to the sinks to time her exit.

  When she arrived at the office she shared with a dozen other low-level jurists, several pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. Her heart sped up as she mentally ticked through the possible causes. Was this about her lateness? Had someone caught her eavesdropping?

  Her breath caught in her chest. Had Lady Lachesse given her name?

  Just then, something stirred in the far corner of the room. She turned.

  A man with a pleasant face and a curling mane of blond hair smiled at her. “Miss Lin? I’m Farouk Bailey. If you’d be so kind as to come with me?” He gestured at the door politely enough, but Jane knew a command when she heard one. She obliged, hiding her fear behind a tight smile.

  In the hall, Bailey drew up next to her and pointed their way further down it, away from the front door and the areas of the Majlis Jane knew best. He straightened the immaculate sleeve of his ivory robe. “I understand that you’re from Recoletta.” He said it with the characteristic stiffness of a man who had no interest in small talk but who’d realized that it was sometimes necessary.

  “Yes,” Jane said.

  “Mm.” They continued in silence for several seconds, passing rooms with ornately carved wooden doors, all closed. Jane had never been this way before.

  He finally spoke again. “And... how are you liking Madina?”

  “It’s lovely,” she said, trying to keep the edge out of her own voice. She wished he would stop attempting something that was clearly so awkward for him and, under the circumstances, trying for her.

  “Wonderful to hear. Hospitality is a virtue here.” Coming from him, the statement was almost comical. “The Qadi in particular wanted to ensure that you were having a pleasant transition.”

  Something in his careful, rehearsed tone suggested that he’d been specifically instructed to say that. And Jane suddenly realized that he would not spare her the courtesy, perfunctory as it was, if she were in trouble.

  She risked a glance at him and saw the calculation in his expressionless brown eyes.

  She wondered what he saw in hers.

  “Yes, well, it’s nice to be someplace a little more... stable,” she said. “If you know what I mean.”

  Jane looked into his eyes and saw that he did, indeed.

  He grinned. “As I said. We do pride ourselves on our hospitality.”

  She knew enough not to say more.

  They continued the rest of their walk in a comfortable silence.

  They reached the end of the hall, and Bailey stopped in front of her to ceremoniously push the door open. Jane smelled the sweet vapors from the tea before she saw the setting on the other side.

  The carved door swung open, and Jane saw the Qadi, veiled and robed, seated in front of a tea service. The jolt of recognition she felt told her that she’d correctly foreseen this tableau at some point during the walk.

  “Miss Lin,” the Qadi said. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  The Qadi was one of the only people in Madina who referred to her as “miss” instead of “sayideh.” Jane circled around to a chair that had been conveniently pushed away from the table, watching her for some sign of what she was looking for.

  Behind the tinted veil, the Qadi’s eyes darted somewhere over Jane’s shoulder. “Ah, the biscuits.”

  The tray slid onto the table with barely a sound. Bailey had taken a seat between her and the Qadi in the intervening moments.

  The older woman took the pot and filled three glasses. Jane raised hers and swallowed a scalding mouthful.

  The Qadi had not touched hers, but she smiled at Jane, her lips a sharp line behind her veil.

  “Miss Lin seems to have settled in quite nicely,” Bailey said. He sounded rehearsed again.

  “One must not presume,” the Qadi told him, then turned to Jane. “And how have you settled in?”

  “Very well,” Jane said.

  Bailey’s shoulders relaxed, but the Qadi sat as tall and regal as ever.

  Even behind the veil, Jane knew the calculating look in the Qadi’s eye. She’d seen it in her former employers’ eyes back in Recoletta. And in the eyes of the other two jurists that day, months ago, when she was first told how to cast her vote. She was being evaluated. For what, she wasn’t sure, and she reckoned she had a handful of minutes to figure it out.

  Bailey’s fingers pressed along a fold in his garment.

  “I’ve been made very welcome here,” Jane said. “The job, the city, the hospitality of the locals – it’s all made for a pleasant adjustment.”

  A brief dilation of the Qadi’s pupils, nothing more. “That’s good to hear.”

  A silence followed. “Has there been any concern about the quality of my work?”

  This time, the Qadi’s eyes widened in surprise, and a little sliver of teeth showed through her smile. “Your efforts have been more than satisfactory. We have few among us who understand Recolettans as well as you.”

  And there, in that pause, in the minute tilt of the Qadi’s head, was the invitation.

  Jane had to speak slowly, pausing herself to pretend that she did not see it. “Indeed,” she said. “It’s just nice to be away from there. And to be someplace I can make a difference.”

  “In that case, I have another job for you.” The Qadi’s lips widened in another grin, her chin tilted back, and Jane saw what the Qadi had perhaps seen in her.

  Grievance.

  “Mr Bailey is overseeing certain meetings with representatives of Recoletta. He needs someone who can take notes and who can observe the proceedings with discretion.” So, the Qadi was interested not only in her habitual prudence, but also in her apparent isolation from the rest of the Recolettan expatriate community.

  And the willingness she’d exemplified to turn against it when it served Madina’s interests.

  The Qadi continued, reaching for her tea. Bailey hadn’t yet touched his. “Your unique insights into the mannerisms and inclinations of your former fellows would also prove useful. If you would see fit to employ them again on our behalf.”

  Even if she hadn’t, the correct answer would have been clear enough. “Of course. When do I begin?”

  The Qadi looked at Bailey.

  “The coach is ready and waiting,” he said. He began to rise, his glass still untouched on the table, but a swift look from the Qadi seemed to drain the strength from his knees, and he sat back into his chair.

  “You’ll want to be off. After you’ve finished your tea, of course.”

  “Of course.” he said, picking up his glass, his face reddening. He
took two quick gulps so that the level in his glass was even with Jane’s. “As soon as Sayideh Lin is ready.”

  Jane looked from Bailey to the Qadi, both of whom watched her with anticipation and varying levels of patience. She drained the rest of her tea, and Bailey did the same.

  The Qadi nodded. “It gives me pleasure to share my table with you both.”

  Bailey rose and gave her a quick bow. “The honor is mine.”

  Both sets of eyes swiveled to Jane, and she followed with a quick nod. “An honor, Qadi.” She’d seen too little of the woman to have grasped what was expected in situations like these.

  Nevertheless, Bailey was satisfied enough to signal her with raised eyebrows and a brisk walk toward the door. She followed, exiting with him back into the hall.

  When they’d passed a dozen feet from the meeting room, Bailey whispered to her between clenched teeth. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  Jane was on the cusp of asking what she’d done, but the furious set of his brow told her that anything further would only insult him. So she murmured her apology and followed him the rest of the way.

  Despite the Qadi’s apparent assurance about her flexible loyalties, it seemed odd that she’d been chosen for a job of such seeming urgency.

  After several tense seconds, Jane risked a question. “May I ask where we’re headed?”

  “To the carriage,” he said in the same tone as before. Jane suspected he was being deliberately obtuse, but in either case, her inquiry didn’t seem to bear repeating. The rest would become clear soon enough.

  Bailey led out her to an exit she’d never seen before. They passed through a narrow and altogether forgettable door and into a cobbled alley where a featureless black carriage waited. This wasn’t like the open coaches or thinly curtained litters she’d seen elsewhere in the city, nor was it like the rumbling, rolling boxes of Recoletta, by turns stately and forbidding. This was a vehicle that was meant to be forgotten, and something about it made her shiver.

  She must have stopped, because Bailey stopped beside her and leaned in. “I told you we were going to the carriage, yes?”

  She nodded and followed him inside. The space was small and cramped, with two benches facing opposite one another. Bailey took the forward-facing bench, comfortably occupying the middle of it, and so she slid into the seat opposite him, her knees almost knocking against his.

  He finally smiled. “Frightfully sorry about all this cloak and dagger business. I just wanted to get away with a minimum of fuss. I’m sure you understand,” he said, inflection rising. He seemed to expect an answer.

  “Of course,” Jane said, though she still didn’t. Some unseen figure outside the carriage closed the door.

  “Ever so glad to hear it.” He gave her a smile that was just deep enough to rise above contemptuous. “Here, you’ll need this.” He took a black leather satchel from beneath his bench and placed it on hers. Inside, Jane found several sheaves of paper and a couple of pens.

  She regarded Bailey as their carriage slid into motion. Something about him had changed. Away from the Qadi, he seemed on a more comfortable footing. And he was also sizing her up, a fact that should have made her more uncomfortable.

  “So, this is about the envoy from Recoletta?” Jane asked. Perhaps that was why they needed her – to deliver more bad news in the proper accent.

  Bailey tilted his head downward in a motion so slight she wasn’t sure it counted as a nod until he spoke again. “We’re just going to hear what he has to say.”

  As if she had suggested anything different.

  “So much upheaval in Recoletta. You must be anxious for your home city.”

  It was such an obvious baiting, especially after their chat with the Qadi, that she almost didn’t respond. But he continued watching her with those brown eyes and that nearly contemptuous smile.

  “Not really my concern these days,” she said a little too emphatically.

  “No need to get upset,” he said. “I was merely wondering how you’re handling everything.”

  It occurred to Jane that Bailey might not have been in favor of her inclusion in this errand. The thought didn’t surprise her, though she wasn’t sure what the source of his objection might be. Did he think her an untrustworthy foreigner, unsuitably low-caste, or, laughably, a competitor for the Qadi’s favor? She’d known types in Recoletta that would have objected on all of these grounds, but she didn’t yet know what kind of man Bailey was.

  Regardless, she would have to play her part carefully around him.

  If only the curtains had been tied back, she could at least have distracted herself with the scenery. Instead, she listened to the muffled rumble and creak of the carriage wheels.

  She might have dozed off. When they stopped, she looked around with a start, waiting to see what Bailey did. He got out of the carriage without a word or look in her direction. She followed.

  They emerged in front of a heavy wooden door, the lone feature of note in a short, rough-hewn tunnel. There was none of the delicate patterning found elsewhere in the city, no elaborate carvings, no skylights. Only a row of stalactites silhouetted against the far end of the tunnel, grinning back at her like jagged teeth.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Bailey said. She looked over to see him holding the door open, a thick and splintering monstrosity. She passed through it, and it slammed closed with a thick thump that made her jump. “Nerves, sayideh,” Bailey said again. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  She passed into a parlor, surprisingly well appointed for the derelict tunnel outside. It was scattered with an assortment of short-legged, mismatched tables and low, cushion-strewn seats. Pictures hung on the walls, stylized representations of horses, fish, and unfamiliar birds with long, fan-like tails.

  There appeared to be other rooms further back, but Bailey made a move toward the seating area.

  “This doesn’t look much like a meeting space,” Jane said, examining a low table inlaid with some opalescent material. Several chips of the stuff were missing. It certainly looked like the right kind of place for bad news.

  “It’s not, officially,” said Bailey. “But we do hold certain informal tête-à-têtes here when needed.” He ran a hand along the curved wooden back of a chair. “It’s quiet and removed.”

  A sudden wild fancy occurred to Jane. “Do you mean to murder the envoy?”

  He laughed loudly, bending forward and thumping the back of the chair. “Heavens, woman, of course not,” he said, yet there was something in that laughter she didn’t trust. He collected himself, dabbing under one eye with a sleeve. “The Qadi didn’t tell me you were so ruthless. In all seriousness, we’ve got more to gain by talking to the envoy than by killing him. One death would hardly change the equation in Recoletta.”

  This she believed. And she believed just as readily that, were it worth the bullet, the man coming to meet them would be executed.

  “This isn’t an official meeting,” Bailey said. “We’d like to keep our discussions with the envoy quiet for now. We still don’t recognize Sato’s bloodbath as the means for establishing a proper government, and so we can’t receive this envoy as a representative of one.”

  “I understand,” Jane said.

  “Then, please, take your seat. I expect he should arrive any minute now. And don’t forget this.” He pressed the satchel she’d left in the carriage into her hands.

  Jane selected an upholstered seat near the wall, shifting and squirming until she’d made herself relatively comfortable in the legless seat, and pulled a pen and pad out of the satchel. She took a box of matches from the side table next to her and lit a thick-wicked oil lamp, adjusting the knob until the flame burned steady and bright. As much as she was at a loss for what to do about Bailey, Lady Lachesse, and the as-yet unknown envoy, it felt good to busy her hands with something.

  There was movement outside. A tremor rose through her legs, and she had to still herself, reminding herself that this was almost certa
inly their envoy.

  Boots stamped up to the door which, despite its formidable size, did a poor job of muffling sound. It groaned open, revealing three figures in a square of dull light before it slammed shut behind them.

  Bailey blinked in cool vexation.

  The first two figures to cross into the room, a man and a woman dressed in the simple garb of Madinan guards, bowed to Bailey and stepped aside. Jane’s breath caught in her chest.

  Between them limped Roman Arnault.

  Roman looked almost exactly as she remembered him, if a little gaunter and a little better groomed. His uneven gait reminded her of their parting months ago, an impression that was not diminished by his careful, prowling aspect. His face was a mask of studied nonchalance, his eyes taking in the dimensions of the neglected parlor and its mismatched furniture. He looked bored and calculating.

  Until his eyes fell on her.

  They flickered wide, the whites glowing like twin moons in the darkness, the pupils cold, unreadable pinpricks. The expression lasted only a second before he again wrapped himself in that deliberate look of apathy, like a man burrowing into a heavy coat.

  But it was just long enough that Jane’s anxious gaze darted to Bailey.

  He was dividing his attention between Roman and the pocket watch in his gloved hand. He snapped it shut. “Right on time, Mister...”

  “Arnault.”

  “Arnault. Of course.” Bailey stood motionless for two ticks, with Roman a sullen mirror image. Neither man extended a hand. “Please,” Bailey said, waving Roman to the chairs.

  He limped to one not quite across from Jane, but near enough that they could see each other clearly. He lowered himself slowly enough for Jane to detect the strain in his movements.

  While Jane did her best to keep her rate of breathing, her grip on the pen, the angle of her head all perfectly normal, Bailey sat down a few seats over.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Bailey said, nodding at Jane. “She’s just here to take notes.” His bland expression brightened with an imitation of a friendly smile.

  Roman’s eyes rolled from Bailey back to Jane, but he said nothing.