by Gaie Sebold
He looked up, and blinked, as though surprised by his own sudden eloquence. “I keep my ears open,” he said.
“Malleay knows the international situation far better than the Advisors to the Crown,” Enthemmerlee said.
“The Crown. You have a... what, a king? A queen?” I said.
“Not for many decades. The Patineshi are known as Advisors to the Crown, that is all.”
Not that it mattered. What mattered was I wanted out of this more with every passing moment. I grasped at another straw. “What about magic? Can’t help you there.”
“Magic?” Enthemmerlee said.
“Magic. Do you have it on your plane? Does it work? If so, do you have anyone who can protect you from it? If not, you’d need to hire someone who can. That is, not me.”
“The magic on our plane is not dangerous,” Enthemmerlee said. “The Gudain cannot use it, and the magics used by the Ikinchli are...” She looked at Lobik. “Quiet ones.”
“Yes.” Lobik nodded. “Magic to fill the net and find safe passage. Not killing magic.”
“If there had been,” Rikkinnet said, “the history of Incandress would be a very different one.”
Fain broke the silence that followed. “Since there are working sorceries, someone determined enough might be able to use them. Many Fey magics work on a number of planes, for example. Don’t worry; we have someone we can make available to you.”
I glanced at Enthemmerlee. She smiled. “That is most kind,” she said. “Though I doubt it will be necessary.”
“Better to take the precaution, don’t you think?” Fain said.
I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t like the idea of someone whose first loyalty was to the Diplomatic Section being so close to Enthemmerlee; part, in fact, of her protection. However, I could hardly object, since I was the one who’d pointed out that I couldn’t protect her from magic. Oh, hells.
“Someone mentioned your family guard,” I said.
“They are useless,” Rikkinnet said. “And...” She looked at Enthemmerlee. “You know what I think.”
“Then perhaps Madam Steel should hear it too,” Enthemmerlee said.
“Very well. They are, mostly, dregs, captained by a drunk. Worse than useless, maybe dangerous. Gudain and Ikinchli both.”
“But they are the Entaire guard.” Enthemmerlee turned to me. “Among the Ten Families, one’s family guard are different from other servants. Guards are never dismissed, they receive a pension, they are part of the family. It is a tradition with the force of law.”
Lobik said, “Enthemmerlee, Rikkinnet is right. Maybe once they were not so bad, but you yourself have noticed the changes, hey?”
“Why not stay here, at least until the Patinarai?” I said. “You should be safe enough.” Fain, at least, wouldn’t be able to harm Enthemmerlee – I’d pushed him into taking an oath to that effect. In the normal way of things, you can trust an oath as much as any other promise from a politician, but this was a Fey oath. Once sworn, they insist on being fulfilled, one way or another. I doubted he’d forgiven me for that yet.
“The ball is officially a social occasion, but in fact, it is politically necessary. It is vital I attend the Ikinchli Enkantishak – not to do so would be a dreadful insult – and even after Patinarai, I will still need a guard.”
“You will not hire others?” Lobik said.
“No. I will not,” Enthemmerlee said. “I will not dishonour those who have done no wrong, who have, by all custom and tradition, the right to a decent living and an honourable retirement under the protection of my house.”
“Enthemmerlee...” Malleay said.
“I have told you my decision,” Enthemmerlee said.
Her three companions exchanged glances. Rikkinnet gave a small, sinuous shrug. “You are the Itnunnacklish,” she said.
“Yes. I am also about to become the head of my household, and in this respect, that is more important. This is what I would ask of you, Madam Steel: that you would try to improve my guard to the point where my friends will cease worrying me on this subject.”
“Wait,” I said. “You want me to train the guard from useless to the point where they can protect you from assassination, while looking after you, in, what, a few days? Sorry, but that’s not possible.” It might have been, once, but I’d been an Avatar then. I could turn a man into a potential general with a few rousing words. Not any more.
And, of course, I’d have to be doing whatever other duties Fain required of me in the spying line. Something for which I simply could not fathom why he seemed to think I was qualified.
Fain sat back and steepled his hands under his chin. “You will, of course, be adequately compensated, Madam Steel.”
“How adequately?” I said.
“Very,” said Fain. “Very adequately.”
“This is no time to be coy, Mr Fain.”
He named a sum that was a substantial amount more than I could usually make whoring in the same time. Enough to be tempting. I wondered how carefully he’d calculated it. To the last penny, knowing him. He had an unpleasant habit of knowing exactly what state my finances were in, and of course he knew what my rates were – not that he’d ever indulged.
Pity, that.
But still, it felt... wrong.
You sell sword long enough, and survive, and you get some sense for a bad job. It may be nothing much: the way the patron stands, or the way their subordinates look when they walk into a room, or a certain quiet among the guards. It may be no more than a feel in the air.
That feel was draping itself around my shoulders like a chilly fog. And there was that silvery powder around the doorframe.
Enthemmerlee leaned forward and fixed me with those beautiful eyes. “The Itnunnacklish is a symbol, yes. But it is an important one. If I become Patinate, I will represent the union of two peoples who are in danger of tearing each other apart. It is only a start – there is a great deal of work to be done – but if I can survive long enough to begin the work, long enough, even, for people to see what my existence actually means, to see the possibilities for their own futures, then...” She leaned back in her chair. “Then, perhaps, there is hope.” She suddenly sounded very young, and very tired.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could help you. But you need more than me. You need at least one dedicated bodyguard, and a trainer, and if your own guards are not merely bad, but, as it sounds, possibly untrustworthy...” I left it there.
“If it is money,” Fain said, “more can be found.”
“No. No, it isn’t.”
“You will not reconsider?” Enthemmerlee said. “Please.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.” I didn’t want to look at her, or at any of them. I pushed myself to my feet. “I wish you the best, but I’m not the person you need. I hope you find people. Try Bressler.”
I saw their faces despite myself. Malleay looked vindicated; Lobik was leaning towards Enthemmerlee with concern; Enthemmerlee herself had lowered her head, as though she was too tired even to keep it steady on her neck. The one who seemed most upset by my decision was Rikkinnet, who was glaring. Then she shrugged and turned away, which was worse.
Fain, unreadable as ever, stood up with swift grace and said, “Would you excuse us for just a moment?”
He unlocked the door and ushered me ahead of him. I clamped my fingers around the little bottle of anti-lust potion in my pocket, just in case he was planning to try a bit of extra persuasion.
He ushered me into another room with a very thick door, and locked this one too; I saw the same faint dusty shimmer around the frame as I’d seen on the meeting room door.
There was a delicately pretty desk of some rich reddish wood, a matching armchair and couch upholstered in worn green velvet, a low table with a rather lovely tea set in scarlet and gold porcelain.
Fain gestured me to take a seat.
“No. I’m not staying.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“It isn’t a cha
nge of heart. I never promised anything other than to listen.”
“True.”
“If you’re planning to try that little trick of yours...”
“Since you have already proved yourself immune to my charms, Babylon, I have no intention of trying any such thing.”
“Who says I’m immune to your charms?” He blinked, and I felt a brief triumph that I had, for once, managed to surprise him. “I just don’t like them artificially enhanced for the purpose of messing with my ability to think. Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I don’t want to take this job, however much money you throw at me.”
“Why not?”
“Because my gut doesn’t like it. And I have a lot of respect for my gut, it’s in the habit of keeping me alive.”
“I hope that your gut is, on this occasion, overanxious.”
“I don’t think so. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? In the Section.”
His gaze sharpened as though on a whetstone. “Now what would give you that idea?”
“The fact that you’re after me, an outsider, and no damn diplomat, to do this. Again. The fact that you’re locking every door in what’s probably the most secure building in Scalentine, and there were what looked like wards on the meeting room door as well. This does not bode well for anyone you’ve hired, Mr Fain. I don’t need arrows aimed at my back as well as my front.”
He looked down and straightened one of the cups on the tray. “I can say that I need someone on Incandress that I trust.”
“I thought you had a magician?”
“The Scholar in question would not have been my first choice, had circumstances allowed, and he is not excessively experienced. You are.”
“I’m experienced at surviving. I’d prefer to continue doing so. It sounds to me like there’s a civil war brewing in Incandress; in a situation like that, anything can happen. I doubt that one person can make much difference to the outcome. Especially if there are other influences trying to mess things up.”
“That’s not what Enthemmerlee believes.”
“I admire her. I’m not her. Why is the Diplomatic Section suddenly so interested in Incandress anyway?”
“It’s on a major trade route. Our situation on Scalentine makes the free flow of goods uniquely important; civil war would disrupt that. And an unstable situation anywhere close to the portals by which we connect to the other planes is something on which we wish to keep a very close eye indeed.”
“But it’s not as though anything really dodgy could get through, is it?”
The portals to Scalentine prevent anyone coming through with big armies or really powerful magic, and they stop the worst infectious diseases. It makes it a good place to run a whorehouse. It also makes it the ultimate in buffer states, and extremely useful as neutral ground on which to trade and conduct the kind of political negotiations better done outside all parties’ home territories. But they’ve learned not to send negotiators who have a case of the sniffles.
“Unpleasant things getting through the portals is not the point,” Fain said. “The point is that we, like any other country, must be aware of what happens near our borders. And I believe that if Enthemmerlee survives to become Patinate she is the best hope for stability that Incandress has. Symbols are powerful; she understands this, and so do those who want to destroy her. But if your mind is made up...”
“It is.” I looked at him with some apprehension, but he only sighed, which I found rather worrying.
“You need not be anxious, Madam Steel. I do not intend to try and force you into this.” He gave a slightly twisted smile. “A willing participant is almost always more effective than one under duress. I ask only for your discretion regarding any suspicions you might have about what is going on in the Section.”
“You have it.”
“Thank you.” He stood up and gestured me towards the door. We walked in silence down the corridors, and he whisked me out of yet another small, discreet door. “Babylon?” he said.
“Yes.”
“You don’t think one person could make a difference. But one did, on Tiresana.”
I turned, but the door had closed behind me.
Damn the man. Again. Tiresana was different. I hadn’t had a choice, I was the only person who could do what needed to be done.
As I walked away, there was no denying my gut was suddenly easier. The backs of my thighs, on the other hand, were not. For some reason, that’s where guilt makes itself felt for me; a kind of stabbing ache that’s not so much in the flesh as in some hollow place inside it. I wandered around for a while, trying to shake off the memory of Enthemmerlee’s weary eyes, and ended up on the outskirts, watching Carnival open. A line of purple-red light showed against the swirling, dark not-quite-nothing of Scalentine’s borders, broadening, pulsing, then spreading open, emerald and vermillion coruscating along its edges, and beyond the opening, a strange, heavy, grey-yellow light, like the look of clouds before snow.
My gut turned over again.
I realised it wasn’t just Incandress that had my insides all of a roil; it was the thought of leaving Scalentine. It made me feel like a turtle about to be stripped of its shell.
CHAPTER
FOUR
IT WAS GETTING on for evening. There were a scattering of Ikinchli in the streets, heavily bundled against the chill, as I headed home; fewer than usual, even for the cold weather. I remembered what the touchy fella in Kittack’s had said about humans beating them up. Was it the Builders? Filchis had made a big thing about not starting trouble, but maybe some of his followers weren’t so careful.
There weren’t many freelancers about, either, human or otherwise. Not many people at all. I whipped around at a scratchy sound behind me, only to see a piece of paper tumbling along the paving stones, before it was trapped by a murky puddle, where it stained brown and turned limp.
When I got home, I went round back, to the garden.
There was a small grey headstone there. Previous. Brave warrior; best of friends.
A couple of weeds had pushed their way up through the gravel. I tugged them out. “Hey, Previous,” I said. “Getting cold.” I crouched down next to the grave, sitting back on my heels. “I’ve turned into a right homebody. Funny, isn’t it? All those years we spent wandering about, and now, I don’t want to leave.
“Some of it’s you, probably; but, I mean, I wasn’t planning on taking anyone with me on this job and still... I don’t know. The gut’s a funny thing. What would you do, Previous?”
I knew the answer, of course. That’s how she’d got her name, and quite a few scars; belting in ahead of the line, taking the fight to the enemy.
But now I wasn’t even sure who the enemy was. All I knew was, I didn’t want to be in this fight, and I felt bad about not being in it. I sighed and pushed myself to my feet. “Well, this won’t pay the rent.”
“Stay where you are, in the name of the law,” a voice growled behind me.
I spun around. “Whatever the charge, I’m innocent.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Chief Bitternut shook his head at me. “I really doubt it, Babylon.”
“I’m hurt,” I said. “You’re so suspicious.”
“That’s my job,” he said, putting an arm around my waist and kissing me. “So. What have you been up to?”
He looked desperately tired. I wanted to feed him, and get him into a hot bath, and into bed. Not necessarily in that order.
I wrapped my fingers in his long hair, and tugged, gently. “Oh, the usual. Trying to stay out of trouble. You?”
“Much the same,” he said. “What’s that nice smell?”
“Stew, I think.”
“Good. Am I invited to supper?”
“You’re ordered to supper.”
“You can’t order me, I’m the Chief of the Militia. I do the ordering about. It’s written down somewhere.”
“Then you’re invited to a good supper and a decent night’s sleep, and if you don’t accept, I’ll force you at swo
rd point. How’s that?”
“I look that bad?”
I hooked my arm through his. “A little weary.”
He sighed. “We’ve had another murder, and it isn’t even full moon.”
“Ouch.”
I unlocked the door and waved him in. The Twins were on their way up from the basement. “Hey, Chief,” Cruel said.
“Hi, Cruel. Unusual.”
The Twins smiled and disappeared into the dining room. Hargur shook his head. “How can two people wear that much leather and metal and still look so... naked?”
“Talent?”
I got a jug of hot water from the kitchen and we went upstairs to wash up. Hargur cheered up enough to put his arms around me while I was splashing my face; a certain amount of wrestling ensued, and it was only because we were both very hungry that we actually made it to supper at all. Even then we were a bit damp and the last to arrive, and got a severe glowering from Flower as we slid into our seats.
“You have no idea of the trouble I’ve had getting this lot to leave you any,” he said. “I had to take it back out to the kitchen. Sit there, don’t move.”
“Yessir,” Hargur said. Flower went out, muttering.
“I’m surprised you’re here, Chief,” Jivrais said, bouncing up and down in his seat. “After that party at the Roundhouse, we must look very dull.”
“Trust me, I’d rather be here.”
“You can’t mean it,” Jivrais said. He sighed. “All those rich people, all that wonderful food.”
Flower came back in with a pot and ladled aromatic red-brown stew – dotted, I was happy to see, with fat fluffy little dumplings – onto our plates.
“Thanks, Flower,” I said.
“Hmph.”
“It looks gorgeous.”
“Three hours, that took me, so it had better be,” Flower growled. “And the food at the Roundhouse isn’t that good.”
“How would you know?” Jivrais said.
“I used to work there. Note the ‘used to.’”
