Dangerous Gifts

by Gaie Sebold

  “I’ll tell you why. Because in the very midst of our rulers these people have friends and supporters. Some of them even have high positions of their own; and you can’t always tell, can you? Because not all of them are obvious, oh, no. You can spot Dra-ay or Monishish or Barraklé. But can you spot weres? Not unless it’s a full moon, you can’t. And I say it’s time we fought back. It’s time we rooted out these weeds” – he made a yanking gesture with one pudgy hand – “before they can grow and spread. Root them out, I say, before they strangle all our futures! Root them out and let the good crops grow!”

  “Root them out!” the chicken-necked boy yelled, with squawky enthusiasm, jerking his fist. “Root them out!”

  “Root them out!” someone in the crowd yelled. “Root them out!”

  Failing to be picked up by the crowd, this rousing cry whimpered out. “What do you mean, exactly?” someone else said. “Are you saying, you know, that people should, like, attack people? Because the Millies’d have something to say about that.”

  “No, of course I’m not saying any such thing!” Filchis said. “Why, that would be incitement, and I wouldn’t dream of it. All I’m saying is that maybe those who don’t belong here should be encouraged to leave. Although I will say to you: ask yourselves what happens when someone breaks the law. Someone who, perhaps, is supported by those very forces I speak of. Is justice done?”

  He leaned forward. “Let me tell you about something that happened recently. A friend of mine was walking home, minding his own business, and he was set upon, because he was in some part of the city the Dra-ay consider theirs! In our own city! He was beaten bloody! And when he went to the Militia, what did they do? Why, they gave him a warning.And you know why?Because the Militia itself, the Militia that’s supposed to protect our interests, has been infiltrated. So ask yourselves how you feel about a law that is biased against you.”

  “This friend of yours,” I said, “where was he?”

  “A district that is being overwhelmed by the Dra-ay,” Filchis said. “The point is, it was in Scalentine. Our own city!”

  “Only I’ve been in a Dra-ay district, and I didn’t get beaten up.”

  He looked me over, then smiled with a sort of greasy gallantry. “But you, madam, carry a sword, and look as though you could use it. Perhaps they felt it was easier to set on a man walking alone and unarmed.”

  “Your friend was walking around unarmed?” someone else said. “Daft, is he?”

  There were a few snickers, and Filchis shot the speaker a flat, ugly look. “And shouldn’t the Militia be doing something about that?” he said. “What sort of city is it where everyone needs to carry weapons? Besides, what right have the Dra-ay to tell us where we can’t go in our own city?”

  “Well, I can’t walk into your house any time I please,” I said. “That’s called the law, I believe.”

  Another voice rose, if that was the word for a bass rumble like someone rattling gravel in a drum. “You know what I heard? I heard some human tried to get into one of the sacred spaces, where they keeps their gods. ’Cos that, that really annoys ’em. They tend to be real specific about it, too. They have signs up in like eighteen languages telling people to piss off out of it, and if you can’t read, they’ll tell you, in yer own language. Smart bastards, the Dra-ay. So either this friend of yours is a bit soft in the head, or he was looking to cause trouble. That’s what it sounds like to me.”

  Filchis was peering over the crowd. “Would you trust the propaganda and rumour-mongering of Dra-ay over the words of an honest human?”

  The crowd was shifting back and I finally got a glimpse of the speaker. “Depends,” she said. “Show me an honest human, first.”

  She was short – as in, she came up to just above my waist. Her skin was a deep green-brown, the colour of river water under trees, and she had small sharp tusks, a shortsword tucked into a battered leather scabbard, and the easy, flexed stance of a professional fighter.

  “Well,” Filchis said. “I see. So you’ve been listening in. Perhaps you’ve been sent to infiltrate our ranks, hmm? To act as a spy?”

  “A spy?” She grinned a grin that looked as though it might have been a few people’s last sight. “And me so carefully disguised, eh?”

  There was more laughter.

  “But if you were,” Filchis said, “and you went before the authorities and accused the humans here of attacking you, of causing trouble, who would be believed?”

  “If I accused you of attacking me?” She looked him up and down, and snorted. “They’d ask me how much cloud I’d smoked.”

  “Shut up, greenie,” the older of Filchis’ two companions said.

  I had definitely seen him before. And there was something familiar about his idiocy, too; although, let’s face it, it’s not exactly rare.

  “Greenie? Greenie? That’s the best insult you can come up with? Bloody hells, mate, my son can do better’n that and he’s only just got his first sword. My name’s Gornack, if you want it. What’s yours?”

  “Brendrin Klate. A proper human name.”

  I caught Gornack’s eye as she briefly sought, and gave up on finding, any sort of response to that. Considering some of the human names I’ve encountered, which you had to practically knot your own vocal chords to pronounce, it made about as much sense as anything else.

  “Of course, at least with her sort you can tell,” someone in the crowd said, a female voice, soft and cultured. “Not like those weres, now. They hide. They sneak.”

  “My sort? Now you want to explain exactly what you mean by ‘my sort’?” Gornack said. “’Cos I’d like to know. Really.”

  Filchis said, “We honest citizens have nothing against people who go about their business openly. But what about those who pretend to be other than they are, who turn into uncontrollable animals every full moon? Even their laws insist they be restrained. That tells you something, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, so I’m all right because you can tell I’m a savage? That’s real forgiving of you,” Gornack said.

  “You said savage,” Klate said. “No one else said savage.”

  “Now,” Filchis said, “we don’t want any trouble. It doesn’t take much for others to accuse us of starting things, of being the source of disturbance, so let’s keep it calm, shall we?” His voice was smoothly, eminently reasonable, his gaze moving over the crowd, pausing briefly, moving on.

  Then something hit him high on one well-padded cheek. The sudden jag of red on his pallid skin was startling in the grey winter light. He yelped and clapped his hand to his face.

  “Bastards! They’re throwing rocks!” The older bully-boy started forward, and I saw the glint of a dagger. I dropped my shoulder ready to shove into the crowd, to get between him and whoever he was aiming for.

  A child screamed, ear-drillingly high.

  Crap. People were pushing forward to see, pushing back trying to get out of the way. A figure in a blue cloak ducked out of the crowd and skittered away, a flicker of pale green about her feet; someone deciding they liked their politics less physical. Gornack roared, “Get those cubs out of here!” She grabbed the children and pushed them towards their mother, who was standing, her hands up, looking wide-eyed and helpless.

  “She’s attacking the children!” Klate was aiming his blade for Gornack; I got in front of him and kicked him in the crotch. He gaped and buckled, bringing his head conveniently close to be grabbed and firmly introduced to my knee. He dropped. I glanced up at Filchis, who was wiping his face, and watching with remarkable calm. Then there was the drum of boots, and a battlefield yell: “Militia! Break it up, break it up now!”

  About time. No one else seemed in immediate danger of death, so I decided to make my exit before I got arrested. I didn’t have time, and it always irritated the Chief something rotten. Making up with him was fun, but I generally preferred not to have anything to make up for.

  Gornack was also making a hasty exit. She nodded at me as she went past, as th
ough we knew each other, and I felt a little pang. There was something about her that reminded me of my friend Previous.

  Filchis was wiping juice from his face – it had been some sort of fruit, not a rock – and ranting at the Militia. ‘This is none of my doing. I was stating my opinion, as the laws and ordinances of the city entitle me to do, and I was viciously attacked by some thug…of course they’ve disappeared. That sort isn’t going to stand around and face the consequences. No, I did no such thing. It’s because of what I was saying, isn’t it? There are forces in this city… oh, I could be a babe in arms, and somehow this would be made to be my fault…’ and so forth. Well, he did bear some resemblance to a baby, I suppose – babbling nonsense and creating shit. I didn’t wait to hear the rest.

  I walked home with my insides all of an itch. And it might have been my imagination, but I couldn’t help feeling that there were more sideways looks, more mutterings, more people huddled in groups like nervy sheep who’ve smelled a wolf, than was normal for Scalentine.

  This city’s not the safest in the planes. But generally, it’s an accepting sort of place. If you’re willing to rub along with your fellow creatures and don’t cause more trouble than you can help, it’ll welcome you with open arms, at least one of which won’t be holding a dagger because it needs to be free to take your money.

  Seemed like Filchis and his friends wanted to change that.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  I FOUND LANEY in the hall, hands on her hips, staring at the curtains with such fine Fey disdain they should really have crumbled to dust out of sheer shame.

  “I think we should have yellow,” Laney said. “They’d make everything look so much brighter.” The old curtains, their once rich crimson velvet now faded in stripes, drooped mournfully, as though aware they were about to be retired.

  “The only thing is, Laney,” I said, “not all our clients want it that bright, you know? Especially the new ones. Some of them prefer things a little more... discreet.”

  “Hmm. True. I must think.” She pushed her blonde curls back behind her elegantly pointed little ears and frowned fiercely.

  “Try not to think of anything too expensive, there’s a love. I’ve already had Flower moaning at me about food prices. Bread keeps rising, he said. I thought that was a good thing, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “Babylon. We have to do things properly, or what’s the point?”

  “The point is spending money faster than we make it. Look what happened the last time. How many clients do you think we can take on?”

  The knocker boomed. “Speaking of clients...” I said, and went to open the door.

  The doorway was full of furry muscles. I looked up; masses of shaggy hair, moustaches as long as my arm, eyebrows you could lose a dog in.

  “Flossy!” Laney sped past me, and caught our visitor by the hand.

  “That is a very disrespectful name,” he complained, as she tugged him into the hall. Well, she pretended to, and he allowed it, despite the complaints.

  “But you’re my own dear Flossy,” Laney said. “Stay and talk to Babylon, darling, I won’t be a moment. I must change.” She sped away up the stairs.

  “Why must she change?” Flosgrim said, frowning. He was wearing embroidered linen trousers with a hole for his tail, and his own tawny fur. That’s practically overdressed, for a Nederan not actually on the battlefield.

  “Beats me,” I said. Laney was, as usual, wearing about two hints and a shimmer; I always had a problem telling the difference between her bedroom clothes and her casual-lounging-around clothes. “Come into the parlour a moment, she won’t be long.”

  Flower was putting out some fresh pastries on the sideboard. “Afternoon,” he said. Flosgrim nodded, a little stiffly. Flower is even bigger than a Nederan, has four-inch tusks, muscles in competition with his other muscles, and some serious battle-scars lacing his smooth green hide – all things a Nederan can respect. But he also wears an apron, and cooks. Very well, as it happens.

  “Anything for you?” I said.

  Flosgrim swallowed and looked away. “No.” I could swear, the bits of his face that weren’t covered in hair were actually blushing. It was almost sweet. I picked up one of the pastries, like a little gold cloud laced with honey, and took a bite just as Laney reappeared. She shook her head at me and led her prize away to her room.

  Flower growled. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”

  “You haven’t been to Nederan, have you?” I said. “Know much about it?”

  “I know they like fighting and very long poems.”

  “Well, you know how the Vessels of Purity regard sex?”

  “Yes?”

  “The Nederans are kind of that way about food. Decent food, anyway.”

  Flower looked at me with horror all over his big tusky face. “What?”

  “Anything that’s too much pleasure to eat is a bit dodgy. Corrupting. They take their food as plain and indigestible as they can get it.”

  “That’s...” Flower shook his head. “No wonder they fight all the time.”

  I HAD TWO clients that afternoon; one a rollicking wine-merchant of generous dimensions and roaring laugh who was hairy enough to be a were in change and as enthusiastic and easily pleased as a puppy; the other a rather stately and subtle lady from Third Turning, whose profession I hadn’t yet discovered but whose shimmering skin, graceful snakelike appendages and liking for taking things extremely slowly made for a pleasing contrast. They managed to keep my mind mostly off the morning’s events, until it was time to bathe and get ready for my last client of the day.

  An hour later I was perfumed, silk-clad from the skin out and leaning against one of the exquisitely gilded columns in the main ballroom of the Roundhouse Tower, Scalentine’s most expensive place to throw a party. The wine, I’d bet a fair sum, had cost more than its taste would suggest, and the crowd had the heft and sheen of the elite. An orchestra played something fashionably forgettable, just loud enough so as not to drown out the light chatter. Talk of styles and scandals, deal-making that could reshape countries and more rivalries than a deer-wood in rutting season. There were a handful of children, too; some racing about, shrieking with laughter, others trying to look grown-up and sneak drinks off the server’s trays.

  I’d been paid for my time, but the gentleman who had hired me to accompany him had gone off into a side room with some other people of serious and moneyed aspect. It’s always a little delicate in these situations; one must remain available to one’s client, without looking abandoned. For the moment I contented myself with watching the floorshow.

  A lean, pale creature in full Perindi Empire court dress, high embroidered collar standing halfway up his face, glided across the room as though on wheels, the motion of his feet invisible under the stiff brocade of his gown. A pair of carefully matched and extremely handsome human bodyservants strode after him. They wore loose silk trousers and nothing else but jewellery, oiled torsos gleaming in the lamplight, bearing his writing implements, paper, and personal spice-box. Servers in the Roundhouse Tower’s gold-trimmed grey satin livery moved among the crowds with trays; the drinks brimming in small glasses, the food piled high on small platters. Three silver-skinned beings with smooth domed heads, wearing what looked like armour in shades of blue and green, hovered over a spread of delicacies, pointing them out to each other and making a low hooting noise.

  I thought for a moment I saw Enthemmerlee over the shoulder of one of the silver-skins; a slight female with pale hair and humanlike, faintly green-tinged features. Why, she hasn’t changed much at all, I thought; but when I looked closer it wasn’t Enthemmerlee. This woman was not unlike Enthemmerlee as I’d last seen her, but older; dressed in an odd garment like a tube of cloth hanging from some kind of internal ruff below the neck. Definitely Gudain. Whoever she was, she was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself despite the Gudain reputation for xenophobia. Perhaps she was stunned into enjoyment by the sheer expense of h
er surroundings.

  A very small child with a mop of bright silver hair, dancing solemnly by herself, stamping her feet carefully in time to the music.

  A tiny glimmering Fey, in a vast gauzy puff of a dress that made her resemble a glittering beetle in the heart of a chrysanthemum, her slender arms waving like feelers, chattering up at someone I couldn’t see.

  The crowd parted, revealing her companion; shoulders broad and flat in his bright red uniform and long greying hair pulled back behind his head, bending low in order to hear her. Hargur, doing the polite. I hadn’t even known he was going to be here. She gestured to the small girl, who stopped her dancing long enough to trot over to them and raise her arms imperiously at the Chief. He bowed gravely, took her hands, and danced a measure with her, bent almost double.

  “Ah, now, that’s better,” said a voice beside me. “A lovely woman should always smile.”

  My new friend was a tall, solid fella in understated but expensive tailoring. He had sleekly cut grey hair, a full-lipped mouth and blue, assessing eyes. “Now, I wonder what made you smile, and whether I can make it happen again?”

  “I’m at a party in the Roundhouse Tower, drinking very expensive wine, and watching the powerful at play. Why wouldn’t I be smiling?” I said.

  He held out his hand. I put mine in it. He had soft, well-kept hands; when he bent and kissed my fingers, his mouth felt, somehow, slightly too warm. “Thasado Heimarl.”

  “Babylon Steel.”

  “Ah, indeed? I am privileged,” he said.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Mr Heimarl.”

  “I have nothing like your reputation, Madam Steel. I am merely a trader, you know.”