by Gaie Sebold
“I see.”
Jivrais chose that moment to pop his head round the door. “Did I leave my – oh, sorry, don’t mind me.” He came in and started rummaging about for something.
“So, was there something you had in mind?” I gave the woman a reassuring smile. Not too big, just a calm, matter-of-fact sort of smile.
“Only... well. You see, I’m... I like...” I gave her plenty of time, not looking at her directly. Often, the ones who are most nervous aren’t really asking for anything that outrageous; they just think they are.
She took a deep breath, and said, finally, “I like weres. Shifters.”
Damn. “I’m very sorry. I’m afraid we don’t have a were on the staff at the moment.”
“Never did persuade the Chief, did we?” Jivrais said, emerging with a long silk scarf in one hand. “Pity, they’d line up.”
I glared at him; but domestic arguments in front of clients are not good for business, unless staged on request. He grinned at us both and slipped back out of the door.
I turned back to the woman. “If it’s the fur you like, we do have someone who’s furry? No? Or we can arrange for a convincing imitation of a were in change. Some of my crew are very talented actors, and a glamour...”
“No,” she said, “No, thank you.” I saw her shoulders drop. I felt briefly sorry for her, wondering how long she’d spent nerving herself up for this, and whether she’d get up the courage to do it again any time soon. Even on Scalentine, it can be tougher for a woman to indulge her personal tastes, although it’s better here than elsewhere. “In that case,” I said, “why not try the Midnight Rose, on Upper River Street? They’ve got at least three weres on staff, and it’s a nice place.” I knew Sometimes Betty, who ran the place; we often referred clients. I know we say ‘all tastes’ and we do our best, but we couldn’t possibly cover them all, not even with a crew of several hundred. People can come up with more variations on a fairly basic theme than I would have thought possible when I started out.
“Yes, I... thank you.” Having made the effort to get here, and been balked, she seemed to be finding it hard to move. I wondered what sort of culture she came from; whether having an interest in weres or simply being sexual at all was the problem. Humans turn up all over the place, and cultures vary so widely – but they do seem to have a tendency to be twitchy about sex, one way or another.
Well, not my lot, obviously. Tiresana was a place with a lot of problems, but disapproving of sex wasn’t generally one of them.
“I can escort you to the Midnight Rose, if you like,” I said. “I’m going past there.”
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” she said. “Thank you.” Paralysis finally broken, she scurried for the hall and was out of the door before I could even open it for her.
I couldn’t help a faint sense of relief, although the All knew we needed all the clients we could fit in at the moment. Those rampant nerves, the way she’d kept looking around all the time, made my back hairs tickle.
Anyway, she was gone and it was time I was likewise. “Jivrais, you’ve got a client at three, and please make your room nice, it was appalling last time I looked.”
“We need someone to come in.”
“We need you to hang your clothes up and make your bed. I have to go.”
“Will you be back for supper?” Flower said.
“I hope so.” I was on my way to talk with High Panjandrums. That sort of thing makes me nervous. And hungry.
Not long ago, we’d run out of money close on tax time and I’d ended up, out of fear of poverty (and, admittedly, a few other motives), working for Darask Fain, socialite, gaming-house owner and unofficial member of the semi-official government of Scalentine: the Diplomatic Section. Fain was the man I was about to see, together with the girl he’d asked me to look for, her being missing at the time.
Although I supposed “girl” was no longer appropriate, now she was the Itnunnacklish.
I HADN’T VISITED one of Scalentine’s government buildings since I’d first been to get my papers, along with a hundred or so, other new arrivals down near the docks, by Portal Bealach; a permanent portal and the main trade route into and out of Scalentine. The doorway Fain had directed me to was as discreet as a good servant, so it took me a while to find it, which meant I was even later than I was going to be anyway. I decided not to worry about it. I didn’t exactly want to offend Fain, but I didn’t want him thinking I was at his beck and call, either.
I knocked.
Above the door was an odd little brass bump, like the boss of a shield. It split open, and with a scratchy, ratcheting sound spilled out a tube made of overlapping metal rings, with a round glass globule fixed in the end. It swung around in the air for a bit, then pointed at me. It was disconcerting. Imagine lifting a rock, and the slimy inhabitants of its underside rearing up and staring at you instead of skittering away.
Then – ratchety-slurp – the thing withdrew back to a lump. Some moments later, the door opened. “Madam Steel,” Darask Fain said. His black hair gleamed, his chocolatey eyes glowed, his skin was gold and smooth as butter over elegant cheekbones.
My hand instinctively went to the pocket where I was carrying one of Laney’s lust-damping potions. His eyes followed the move, and something that wasn’t quite a smile touched the edges of his beautifully sculpted mouth.
“Do come in.”
I didn’t need the potion; yet. Fain had an odd personal trait, a form of sexual charisma so powerful it was positively dangerous, and usually under his control, except around full moon. I carried the lust-damper as a precaution. I might fancy the arse off the man, but trusting him was another matter. Not that I thought he’d ever use it to bed someone against their will; he seemed – genuinely, I thought – horrified by the idea. But he wasn’t above using it to try and nudge someone into agreeing to something he wanted done, simply because they were too busy drooling to think.
I could tell he wasn’t using it at the moment, though; it was just him. Damn the man, it wasn’t even as though he needed anything to make him more attractive.
He led me down an anonymous white-painted corridor, which at least gave me the opportunity to appreciate his deliciously well-muscled rear and the feline grace of his walk.
Eventually he stopped and opened a door. A very thick door. And there was a certain silvery smudging around the frame, as though someone had been brushing it with the dust you get when you sharpen a blade.
Seated around a table of dark wood, so highly polished it looked like something you could drown in, were a number of people, all looking at me. I heard a snick behind me as Fain locked the door.
I knew three of those at the table; two Ikinchli, and one Gudain. The fourth... “You know Enthemmerlee Defarlane Lathrit en Scona Entaire, of course,” Fain said.
“Enthemmerlee?” I tried, and failed, to keep the question out of my voice.
I’d thought I was prepared for a radical change in the girl, but I wouldn’t have recognised her. The long pale silver-gilt hair was gone; her skull was smoothly overlaid with pearly green scales, delicate as a baby’s fingernails. Her nose had flattened, her jaw drawn back. She was still, in her own unique way, beautiful; but she was no longer the lovely girl I’d first met in the sewers under Scalentine.
She was the Itnunnacklish, the One who is Both.
“Madam Steel. It is very good to see you again.” She got up, and held out a hand. The way she moved had changed, become something easier, more fluid. She was dressed in a robe of deep green silk, with puffed sleeves, a high, embroidered collar, and a rigid ruff about the neck under the cloth, so that the robe hung in a stiff curtain several inches from her skin. The tiny webs I’d noticed between her fingers were larger now, the skin had a greener tinge; but her hand still seemed very small and fragile when I took it in my own. Her eyes, too, were just the same: golden, with that straight, serious gaze. Fated, was what I’d first thought, when I’d seen those eyes.
I hadn�
�t changed my mind.
“Also Malleay Devinclane Solit en Scona Mariess.” The young Gudain man rose and bowed, a little stiffly. He had pearly-green skin and short, very curly hair the colour of wet moss. He was dressed in a high-collared jacket of some thick, stiff material, and the wide loose trousers I was used to seeing on Ikinchli. He was actually rather edible, despite his sulky expression, but that costume wasn’t the happiest of combinations. It made him look as though he’d borrowed the bottom half of his body from someone else.
He was one of the two males required for Enthemmerlee’s transformation. I wondered, privately, exactly how that had gone; he looked like the kind of lad to lose his nerve at the wrong moment, but obviously he’d managed his part adequately.
“Lobik Kraneel.” Enthemmerlee’s Ikinchli mate. Taller than average, for an Ikinchli, which meant he came higher than my chin, with rich reddish-brown scales like good leather shading to buttery yellow on the throat. He had a quiet confidence about him and a certain spark to his smile. In that odd little ménage, I doubted he’d suffered any nerves between the sheets. As he took my hand in a strong warm grip, I thought I wouldn’t have minded finding out for myself.
“The Ikinchli Ambassador to Scalentine, Rikkinnet Dree.” A female Ikinchli, Enthemmerlee’s friend and bodyguard. She had bronze scales, broad shoulders, and sharp, pale green eyes.
I held up my hand, but instead of taking it, she slapped palms with me and grinned. I grinned back. “Ambassador?”
“Yes. Good, no?”
“Very good. I’m glad to see you all.”
“Please, sit down,” Fain said. “And has everyone tea?” I was glad to see the pot, and filled myself a good steaming cup, although something a little more solid wouldn’t have gone amiss, either.
“Good. Now,” Fain said. “Madam Steel, you have agreed to escort Madam Defarlane back to her home plane, and act as her bodyguard. Is that correct?”
That wasn’t quite how he had originally put it to me. “Unofficial envoy” was the phrase he’d used. “Spy,” was my word for it.
“I haven’t agreed to anything, yet,” I said. “I agreed to come to this meeting, that’s all. I wanted to see how Enthemmerlee was getting on.”
“You shouldn’t call her that,” Malleay said.
“Sorry?”
“It is disrespectful. She is Madam Defarlane Lathrit en Scona Entaire the Itnunnacklish, even to a foreigner.”
If I had to call everyone by their full titles, this meeting was going to take a very long time. “Excuse me, Madam Defarlane, if I was rude.”
“Not at all,” Enthemmerlee said. “You are a friend, or at least, I hope you will allow me to consider you a friend. I am glad that you were kind enough to agree to this meeting, at least. Please, call me Enthemmerlee. There are few enough left who will.” She laid a hand on Malleay’s arm. His mouth twitched; not quite a flinch, but almost. Enthemmerlee did not appear to notice. “Actually my formal title is a good deal longer,” she said. “But fortunately foreigners” – she gave Fain and myself an apologetic look – “are not generally expected to learn them.”
“Being barbarians and all,” I said. That was a relief, at least. “What should I call you in public?”
“Oh, Madam Enthemmerlee will do. Or Itnunnacklish.”
“Now, to business,” Fain said. “The appearance of the Itnunnacklish has not been greeted with unmitigated joy on Incandress. Madam Defarlane is at some risk.”
“I get that,” I said. “But why me? You can hire a dozen competent bodyguards from Bressler’s in Southside; you could send half the Militia, if you wanted.” I shut my mouth abruptly. The Chief wouldn’t thank me for that, he was always complaining about being short of warm bodies who could actually be relied on to stay in that condition.
“The Militia are needed here,” Fain said.
“I’m just not sure I’m the person for the job.”
“I would be most grateful,” Enthemmerlee said, “if you would at least consider it. I plan to return to Incandress in three days. There will be a ball, held at the Palace, which I must attend. Then there is an Ikinchli ceremony, the Enkantishak, that recognises me as the Itnunnacklish, then, finally, the Patinarai, at the Advisory Hall. This is when I become Patinate: the head of my family and one of the Advisors to the Crown. Then I will have the power to change many things, and, I hope, begin to bring Incandress’ two peoples together. However, I regret that there may be those who do not wish me to survive Patinarai.”
“So I gather. But again, why me?”
“Because I have seen what you can do, and also, you are outside the politics of Incandress.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” I said, thinking of Kittack. “I look too much like a Gudain for some and not enough for others. Plenty of people are going to be suspicious of me.”
“But I am not,” Enthemmerlee said.
“Yes, well, you wouldn’t be the one hiring me,” I said. “The Diplomatic Section would. And Mr Fain told me my role wouldn’t just be that of bodyguard.” I kept an eye on Fain as I said it.
“Of course. Mr Fain has told me that you would be expected to keep him informed about the situation on Incandress,” Enthemmerlee said.
“You’re happy with this idea, are you?”
She lifted her hands. “I am very much aware of the obligations I owe to the government of Scalentine. Without their help, my transformation might not have been completed. And in troubled times, friends are always of value.” She smiled. It was a calm, knowing smile.
She’d been idealistic enough to risk her life and who knew what else for this transformation, but it seemed the girl was also a realist when it came to politics.
“How do we know you’re even capable of protecting her?” Malleay said.
“Tell me,” Fain said, leaning forward, “if you were to take up this offer, what would you do?”
I thought about it. “First, I’d need a good look around wherever Enthemmerlee would be staying. If I could get drawings, detailed drawings, of the layout, even better. I don’t just mean, ‘there’s a guard tower here,’ I mean, ‘just south of the postern gate there’s a stair leading up to the interior of the wall, there’s a window here big enough for a well-aimed arrow, there’s a place here where a dog once got in...’ everything. The same for anywhere she’d be spending time, particularly where the ceremonies take place.”
Malleay said, “But there will be the family guard.”
Rikkinnet snorted loudly enough that Malleay glared at her. “And,”he went on, “at the ceremonies there will be the guards of the other families, and the Palace’s own guard, that’s at least a hundred guards. Maybe more.”
“And who commands the loyalty of the Palace guard, and the guards of the rest of the Ten Families?” I said. “And what about the Ikinchli ceremony, the Enkantishak? Besides, I’ve dealt with political assassination before. Sometimes it’s done on the quiet, a knife in the bedchamber. Sometimes, it’s done in a big noticeable public way, to make a point. It’s the possibility you don’t think of that comes back to bite you. Also, I’d want to know exactly who would have access to her. Everyone. Family, friends, servants. Down to her old nurse.”
“Is that truly necessary?” Malleay said.
“People can be bribed. People can be threatened. And sometimes, people just change sides.”
Enthemmerlee’s hand rose, and touched her jaw, an odd, unhappy little gesture.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But the less trusting you are, the safer you’ll be. I’d need to know if anyone new had come into the household recently, too.”
Fain, damn him, was smiling smugly to himself. I began to wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Your overview seems comprehensive, Madam Steel,” Fain said. “And may I ask where you learned these skills?”
“A number of places, over a number of years. And I lost my first charge to a sneak attack. Not only did I not get paid, I nearly got killed as a result. And I had a soft spo
t for the gentleman. I regretted failing him. I learned.”
“I see. And did you lose any more?”
“Two.” I shrugged. “Advancement by assassination is hardly uncommon, whatever the plane.”
“How... how did you lose them?” Malleay said. Enthemmerlee simply watched me with those wide gold eyes.
“One in battle, when nothing I could say would prevent her riding out at the head of her troops, wearing extremely recognisable armour, and protocol prevented me from knocking her out and tying her up until she got some sense. Another... well. You know what I said about watching those closest to you? His brother. Close companion, trusted friend, just happened to have a much-loved wife who’d fallen into enemy hands. They promised they’d free her if he did the deed. They lied. Everyone died. A mess.”
“But you escaped,” Malleay said.
“Barely.” I’d exited via the garderobe with nothing but a short sword and the clothes I stood in, and spent too long running, stinking, scavenging and starving, until I was out of that unhappy kingdom. Not one of my pleasanter memories.
They looked at each other.
“Look,” I said, “even if I was to take the job, one can’t foresee everything. And it’s been a long time since I did this kind of work. And I don’t speak the language.”
“But mainly we speak Lithan, as you do here,” Enthemmerlee said. “The influence of the Perindi Empire.”
Damn.
“What about the Empire?” I said. “Do they have a finger in this pie?”
“They have a finger, but they don’t want to risk shoving their whole hand in,” Malleay said. “The Empire’s overstretched. So long as Incandress keeps the roads open, they’ll be happy enough to leave us be; Incandress may nominally be a satrapy, but the Empire hasn’t the resources to waste on forcing the issue. They’ll only do so if it seems a war might spill past our borders, and even then, they’d be pushed. They’ve got troops out in Belasia, the uprising in Lorf and the difficulties they’re facing with the Sanz-Rubolt Convocation. We could see a massive power-shift over the next three years. Imperator Locreint made a mistake naming a successor at this stage.”
