by Gaie Sebold
Passing one, I felt a sudden chill, and paused, rubbing my arms. This bit of the corridor seemed darker, somehow. Then I heard Fain’s voice.
“...No, stuck,” he said. “...No, I do not! ...There may be...” He must have been moving towards the door, because one phrase came through loud and clear. “I want Chief Bitternut watched. Constantly, you understand?”
What? I moved as fast and quietly as I could around the nearest corner, my heart pounding. I only just made it out of sight before the door opened. I risked a glance; Fain was walking away, back towards the companionway, shoving something into his pocket.
I waited for whoever had been in there with him to appear, but the cabin door stayed stubbornly shut. I was trying to think of an excuse for knocking on it, when someone behind me said, “Hey, you Babylon Steel, yah?”
It was one of the sailors, a skinny type who looked a little like a rather handsome ferret, with sleek golden fur and a long nose. “Who wants to know?”
“You don’t remember me? I come to your place last shore leave, I save up. Had a real good time.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I said, giving him a smile while desperately wishing he’d go away so I could keep an eye on the cabin.
“So,” he said, leaning against the wall of the corridor and grinning, “I’m off duty, I was thinking, maybe... I got some money, huh?”
“Sorry, friend. I’m on other duties right now, but you come see us when you’re next in Scalentine, all right?”
“Okay.” He gave me a cheery wave and walked off.
I made up my mind and walked up to the cabin Fain had come out of, and pulled the door open.
No one there. Damn. Whoever it was must have left while I was talking to the sailor.
What was Fain up to? Who had he told to watch the Chief, and why? The only person who seemed to make sense was the Scholar, but how could Bergast watch anyone when he was here, and the Chief was back on Scalentine? Unless there hadn’t been anyone there at all. I’ve heard of people who can mindspeak, though I didn’t think they did it out loud. I’d not heard of someone – or something – that could do it across planes, but it was exactly the sort of thing Fain might have up his sleeve. Still, I thought I’d check on the Scholar in any case.
When I got back to the main cabin, Bergast was still tucked up in his chair, reading and scratching notes with a quill pen, not looking as though he’d moved. Still, he was a wizard.
I went over to the porthole nearest to him, and pretended to look out, all the time trying to sneak glances over his shoulder. I couldn’t make head nor tail of the book, it was all squirmy symbols and tiny cramped handwriting, and if he was using it to watch what was happening on Scalentine, he was doing a damn good job of disguising it. A notebook lay next to it; as I watched, Bergast copied one of the symbols into the notebook, then cursed quietly as the end of his quill splayed and blotted the page.
“Can I help you with something?” he said, looking up.
“Is that part of what you’re planning to use?”
“This? No. I’m studying for the next stage of Service exams.” He glanced up at me and looked away, flushing slightly. I wondered why; there’s no shame in study. Quite the reverse. Unless he was doing something else. If he was involved in some plot against the Chief, he’d do more than blush. He’d bleed.
“It looks complicated,” I said.
Bergast glared at the book. “It is. And considering the last known speakers of this language died out a thousand years ago, and no one who wasn’t of their race could work any of these spells in any case, I really don’t know why it’s considered useful to memorise pages of them.”
“I suppose the Service has its reasons.”
“Oddly enough,” he said, “it’s one of the old languages of the Thralian continent.” I must have looked bemused. “Where we’re going?” he said, in a somewhat patronising tone. “It shares some root words with Old Andretic, which was one of the major Gudain tongues on Incandress until the Perindi Empire spread Lithan through the planes. A country’s history is drawn in its languages, you know.”
Enthemmerlee walked over to us. “You study very hard, Scholar Bergast. I hope that assisting me will not interfere too much with your learning.” She looked at me. “He has not moved in an hour at least!”
Bergast smiled. “Oh, no, not at all. I’m happy to be of service. Travelling to your country will provide me with new opportunities for study. In fact, I was hoping to ask you about some of the wording of religious rituals.”
At least an hour? In that case, he wasn’t the one Fain was talking to. But something was going on, and I didn’t like it.
I want him watched. Why? What did Fain think Hargur was up to? I knew the Chief, in and out of bed; and he was as straight-line decent as anyone in the planes. Why would the Diplomatic Section suspect him of being up to something? Had they been given false information? Was someone out to cause him trouble?
But the Diplomatic Section had its own agenda, its own ways and means, and a habit of keeping its cards so close to its chest they were practically inside its skin. Maybe someone, maybe Fain, thought the Chief was onto something the Diplomatic Section didn’t want him to know. And that could be worse.
Either way, it seemed as though Hargur was in a very nasty situation, he didn’t know it, and I was stuck several hours’ journey from Scalentine, for ten bloody days, and couldn’t even warn him.
Or could I?
I found the ferret-fella in the middle of losing at cards down on the lower decks. “Hey,” I said, as other members of the crew stared and commented. “Got a minute?”
“Got two hours,” he said, throwing in his hand and grinning. “Then we coming into port.”
He followed me into the corridor, and gestured hopefully at one of the empty cabins.
“I need a favour,” I said. “Payment in kind, a freebie, once it’s done.”
He paused in the act of undoing his trousers. “Not now?”
“Sorry.” Enthemmerlee was probably safe enough for the moment, but I really wasn’t in the mood. “I’ll give you a password, for the Lantern, and you get to have whatever you want – within our rules – next time you’re in Scalentine, all right?”
He sighed, and did his trousers back up. “So much for thinking it’s my lucky day for once.”
“It will be – but first I need a message taken back to Scalentine, soon’s we hit port.”
His mouth turned down. “Ship’s going out along the coast, not back to Scalentine.”
“Can you get me a message from the port? On another ship?”
“Oh sure. Cost, though.”
“Right. How much?”
“For Scalentine? Three, four silver maybe.”
I dug out the coin; then struggled with the words.
Hargur. I had to warn him, but what could I say? And how to get a message to him without tipping off the Section? If Fain was having Hargur watched, there was every chance he was having the Lantern watched too.
Laney. Laney was a Court Fey. They lived on intrigue; I’d have to take the risk she’d get what I was talking about. I scribbled a note.
Laney. Remember the fella who likes to gamble? Not been a client yet but might be – he seems to be interested in our dear Millie. You might warn her that he’s keeping an eye on her – it could be to her advantage to be very careful.
I sealed it with my ring, and gave it to the ferret-man. It wasn’t much; I just hoped it was enough. He promised to get it on the fastest ship he could find. “Anything I want?” he said, tucking it away.
“Anything. Within the rules.”
I went back up on deck and stared, trying to make out the glow of Bealach portal. There was a faint bluish smudge on the horizon that might have been it, or might just have been wishful thinking.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
WE FINALLY REACHED Calanesk as the evening was falling. It’s huge, noisy, and reeks of its trade in some sea-crawling
thing known as purple thepalia. They’re a delicacy, apparently, but having seen them (and smelled them) I’d have to be paid a fairly substantial sum to actually eat them.
The sun was going down, smoky and red.
Coaches, sedans, and riding animals were lined up at the quay, from the very fancy, all gilding and sleek-looking matched beasts (the favoured animal was something like a fat snake with two big muscular legs), to little rickshaws that looked as though they’d fall to grimy matchsticks if anyone actually sat in them. There were a few Gudain and Ikinchli at the port, along with a number of other species, milling, shouting, buying, selling. You could spot the Gudain at a distance by their clothing: wide-ruffed, straight-falling robes, the cloth pressed into rigid little pleats, so it looked as if each person were moving about inside a small, stiff column of material. So designed, I realised, as to give almost no hint that there was a body beneath at all. The width of the ruff varied. As with most fashions, only the leisured dressed in the most exaggerated version, the material hanging at least a foot from the body, the sleeves huge puffed things, out of which their hands protruded like stranded starfish. If everyone around Enthemmerlee dressed like that, it really wasn’t going to make my job any easier; you could hide half an armoury under the damn things.
Mind you, extracting a weapon from all that cloth probably wasn’t easy.
“Where is our transport?” Malleay said. “It was supposed to be waiting.”
“You can’t see it?” I glanced at Rikkinnet. She shrugged, but I noticed she was holding her sling in one hand. So was Lobik.
Bergast stood calmly, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. I hoped he had something ready if there was trouble.
“Who was arranging this transport?” I said.
“The family,” Rikkinnet said. “Ah, there...”
She shaded her eyes, looking at the road leading into the docks. There were two carriages, drawn by pairs of those long-legged snake things. Several outriders and twenty or so figures in dark blue trotting alongside.
“The ones in blue?” I said.
“Family guard,” Rikkinnet said. “One in the helmet with the tall crest, you see him? That’s the captain. Tantris.”
“Got him.”
Another, much smaller coach followed. Rikkinnet hissed something.
“What is it?”
“See the other coach, close behind, with the bird symbols around the top?”
I peered, and could just make out the little shimmering figures; carved pieces of metal raised above the sides of the coach. Birds, in flight, leaping for the air. Pretty.
“Is the Defraish family carriage,” Rikkinnet said. “The betrothed.”
Enthemmerlee came up beside me. “So, the Defraish are here. That is unexpectedly courteous.”
“Wait,” Lobik said. “The Defraish have come with no guard, and only one driver?”
Enthemmerlee shaded her eyes with her hand, watching a figure descend from the coach. “That is... oh.”
“What is it?” Malleay said.
“Tovanay.”
The former betrothed himself. Alone, by the look of it, except for his driver.
I suspected his motives. But then, a good bodyguard suspects everyone’s motives.
His hands were at his sides. Wound around his wrist, below the huge puffed sleeve, was a thick, gleaming bracelet. I kept him in my vision, while scanning the rest of the crowd for a tell-tale movement, a lift of the hand, the glint of metal.
“Well,” Enthemmerlee drew a deep breath, and lifted her chin. The gangplank was in place. She reached out her hands to either side. Lobik clasped her left. Malleay looked at her hand a moment, then took it. She squeezed them gently, let go and stepped forward, putting on dignity like a cloak.
SECURITY THEY MIGHT be, but I could have wished the family had brought a smaller escort. Every sailor, stevedore, lounger, pickpocket and passer-by was now watching us with great interest, wondering who the disembarking figures were to have so many people come to meet them.
The family guard – whose uniforms, thankfully, were a tunic with only a small ruff, and trousers – were a mixed bunch: roughly half and half Ikinchli and Gudain. Most of them carried their weapons like something they’d picked up by accident, and many of their uniforms were a disgrace. It’s possible to make a worn uniform neat and mended at least, and keep the buttons polished, but a lot of them had failed to manage even that much. Those that had, I noticed, were mostly Ikinchli.
Of the Gudain, some kept flicking their glances to Enthemmerlee, and away, as though embarrassed. A couple sneered when they thought no one was looking. Most of the Ikinchli watched her with fixed, avid expressions; one stared straight ahead as though determined not to see her, and at least two were weeping. I remembered something Kittack had said, when he first met Enthemmerlee. Is not often a legend is walk out of the story and say, hello.
Two Gudain got out of the family carriage. Enthemmerlee greeted them with what I assumed was the Gudain equivalent of a bow, a sort of sideways sweep of the head and hands; a graceful gesture which her new physique turned into something like a move in a dance.
They dipped sideways in return, looking, in those strange stiff gowns, like bottles on the verge of tipping over. The male had one of those bracelets wrapped around his arm. It wasn’t until it lifted its head and stared at me that I realised it was, in fact, a live snake. Rather a beautiful one, too, with scales patterned in reds and corals.
“Father,” Enthemmerlee said.
“Enthemmerlee.” Although he had been back on Scalentine when his daughter had changed, and had seen her since, he seemed unable to take it in. His gaze went from Enthemmerlee, to Lobik, to Rikkinnet, to Malleay and back to his daughter. He had been handsome, once. Now he was jowled and suety. His gown was rumpled, and muddy around the hem.
“Selinecree.”
The aunt. She was still handsome, with a long slender nose and dark gold hair in a jewelled net. And if I remembered rightly, she was definitely the woman I’d seen at the Roundhouse Tower party.
“Enthemmerlee, darling, introduce us to your friends!” she said.
“This is Babylon Steel. She is here as my friend, and my consultant on matters of security,” Enthemmerlee said. I bowed.
“Ah,” Enboryay said. He made that sideways sweep of head and hands, though in a fashion so perfunctory he looked as though he were shaking a broom free of dust. “Security.”
Selinecree made, much more gracefully, the same gesture. “Of course, I know who you are. You found our poor girl when... oh, well, yes.”
“And this is Scholar Bergast, a distinguished magical expert, who is here at the most kind offer of the government of Scalentine, to help ensure that everything goes smoothly in the run-up to the Investment.” Bergast bowed, briefly. His gaze was darting about, skimming the guard and the passing crowd. I was glad to see him keeping his eyes open, but he looked twitchier than I’d have liked.
“And this gentleman is Darask Fain. Mr Fain sees Incandress as a possible area for financial investment, and perhaps may be persuaded to stay and see the Patinarai ceremony.”
Fain bowed and smiled, every inch the merchant. “It sounds most intriguing,” he said.
“Finance, eh?” Enboryay said. “What sort of finance would that be, Mr Fain?”
“Entertainment. Gambling. Tredecta, the Seven-Pointed-Star, Chasing the Leaf... Such games are permitted in this country, are they not?”
Enboryay’s face lightened. “Oh, indeed. Though if you plan to gamble with Gudain, I hope you have deep pockets. We have some notable players.”
“Perhaps this is something we should discuss at home?” Selinecree said. “Mr Fain, if you have not yet arranged accommodations, maybe you would do us the honour of staying with us? We are very close to Lincacheni, where the ceremonies will take place.”
“The Gudain ceremonies, at least,” Enthemmerlee said.
“That is a most generous offer,” Fain said, “Though I
am not sure if I will be able to stay. Excuse me a moment.”
He strode off, down the quay. I saw him approach someone, reaching for his pouch; I supposed he was looking for a ride home.
“Ah, that reminds me. Enboryay, look after our guests. I ordered a little something special for our dinner and I simply can’t trust the servants not to fling things about and bruise the fruit. You’d really think they’d know by now...” Selinecree sighed like a woman burdened by massive responsibilities and hurried off down the quay, in the opposite direction to Fain. Though there were a few other Gudain about, none were wearing quite such wide-ruffed, huge-sleeved gowns. Ugly as the thing was, it stamped her as upper-class Gudain as clearly as a brand. I hoped no one would take it into their heads to rob her or, worse, kidnap her; we could do without those kind of complications.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Tovanay, the rejected suitor. I shifted my stance, and realised that Bergast had gone off, like Fain, along the dock. Dammit.
As Tovanay approached, the guard shuffled and glanced around. An aura of awkwardness rose like heat.
Enthemmerlee stepped forward. “Tovanay. How kind of you to come and greet me.”
The guard shifted aside, and I watched Tovanay’s hands. The green and gold scaled snake he wore appeared to watch me in return, its tongue flickering in and out.
He kept his gaze rigidly fixed on her. “Is it true, then?” he said. “You are Enthemmerlee?”
“I am.”
“And these...” He looked at Malleay and Lobik, then back at Enthemmerlee. “I see. This, then, is what you have chosen.”
“Tovanay...” she said. “I...”
Tovanay turned away; walked back to his coach, climbed in, and called out to the driver. The coach bowled away, the flat slap of the beasts’ feet and the rattle of the wheels loud in a sudden silence.
