Dangerous Gifts

by Gaie Sebold

  “I’ll report it,” Malleay said. “But it still doesn’t mean they’ll do anything. Now, the rooms.”

  “Rikkinnet needs to be here,” I said. “I can’t watch Enthemmerlee every minute, there have to be at least two of us.”

  “Well, I can watch her,” Malleay said.

  I was still trying to come up with a tactful way of telling him why that wasn’t going to be good enough when Rikkinnet arrived, scowling.

  “Rikkinnet!” I said, with relief. “Excellent. Will you have any objection to sharing my room? It’s more than big enough.”

  “I do not object. Others will.”

  “Others will have to. I’m here to guard Enthemmerlee, not be a damn diplomat,” I said. Although according to Fain, I was supposed to be doing both. And, of course, I needed to track down the blasted silk, if possible. But Enthemmerlee came first. Which meant I was going to have to have a word with Bergast, too.

  MOVEMENT IN THE corridor had me rushing out again half-changed, to find servants with jugs of steaming water knocking on the doors. Enthemmerlee opened her door as I was confronting the nervous Ikinchli lass who stood in front of it.

  The girl took one look at her changed mistress and nearly dropped the jug. Enthemmerlee smiled at her, and took it gently out of her hands.

  “May I?” I said, following her into the room.

  “Of course, please.”

  I shut the door behind us on the staring girl. “Would you hold off on using that water for a moment?” I said

  “Certainly, but why?”

  “Just a precaution. At least... Do you know if humans and Gudain can crossbreed?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t... I don’t know.”

  “It’s just that species close enough to crossbreed are usually susceptible to a lot of the same poisons. And this” – I took out my jug, a tiny thing of pale blue opalescent stuff which held barely a thimbleful of liquid, and dripped a little of the washing water into it – “detects most of those poisons.”

  Enthemmerlee peered at it, fascinated as a child. “And if there is poison, what happens?”

  “It turns red.”

  “What a wonderful device,” she said. “So useful. Where did you come by it?”

  “Don’t know where it came from, originally; I got it as part payment for a job. I was transport security for a Farhiseer Kai tripart, dealing in precious metals.”

  “What is a Farhiseer Kai tripart?” Enthemmerlee said.

  “They’re actually three interdependent beings. Each of them performs part of the physical function for the whole, but they have separate identities.”

  “Oh, how strange! They gave it to you?”

  “No. They tried to pay me in fake currency. I took it as compensation.”

  “You have seen so much,” she said. “I must seem very ignorant.”

  “It’s surprising how much you see when you’re running away,” I said. “I spent a lot of my life doing that. You could have done the same, but you didn’t.”

  I realised I was still slightly mis-buttoned, and showing more cleavage than was probably acceptable. I buttoned up, and Enthemmerlee blushed.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I will try and stay within the code of dress, but when I heard people... your safety comes first, you know?”

  “No, please,” she said. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, as though she was trying to force the blush away. “Oh, this is very foolish! If you are not embarrassed, why should I be?”

  I fiddled with the washstand for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “I’m used to a life with a lot of, well, skin in it. And where I came from, clothes are mostly ornament; it’s a hot country. It’s different here.”

  “Not for the Ikinchli. I am still... In that way, I am still very much Gudain.” She indicated her robe. “The first time I put this on, I felt as though I were walking around naked. I wanted to find something that was a good compromise, between the way both races dress, but I do not think I have done very well. The Gudain think I look outrageous, and to the Ikinchli I look no differently dressed than any other Gudain.”

  “I think your attempt is perhaps more successful than Malleay’s.”

  “Neither of us is really successful,” she said, sighing. “We look foolish. It is perhaps too trivial a matter to spend so much thought on.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t think you look foolish.”

  “But you think Malleay does?”

  “No, no, just... He’s not at ease in them.”

  “You are too polite to say, but I know you think... People underestimate him,” she said. “He is a good man. He is perhaps a little impatient, and not always careful in what he says, but he is a good man, he wants to do what is right. I only wish...” She shook her head. “But now, I must wash.”

  I KNOCKED ON Bergast’s door.

  “Yes?”

  “A word.”

  “Wha...?”

  I walked towards him, until he had to back away or be walked over, and pulled the door shut behind me.

  He had already changed into another expensive-looking robe, and redone his hair.

  “Now, Scholar Bergast. I assume you’ve not done this before?”

  “Done what?” He raised his hands in front of him, round-eyed. “Madam Steel...”

  “Bodyguarding.”

  “Oh!” he said, with a relief that was, frankly, a little insulting. “Well, no, but...”

  “I have. You’re the magical expert here, but I’ve done a fair bit of this style of work. I need to have a quick word with you about the rules.”

  “Rules?” He gave me that high-nosed look. It tends to work better if you’re taller than the person you’re trying to look down at.

  “Yes, rules,” I said. “Now, I was glad to see you keeping your eyes open, down on the docks.”

  He blinked, and flushed a little. “Well...”

  “But you walked off. You’re all we’ve got on the magical side, and that means that you don’t leave Enthemmerlee when we’re out in public, see? Even for a minute. Even for a piss. Hold it in, until you know she’s got someone else watching her.”

  High colour surged into his cheeks. “I don’t believe I was told to take my orders from you.”

  I hauled back on my temper, hard. “I believe Darask Fain will tell you the same thing. I assume you’ll be happy to take your orders from him?”

  “Certainly, since he is the one who appointed me. As he did you, I believe.”

  I decided to ignore that.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Setting wards and such.”

  “Yes,” he said, “wards. And such.”

  I TOOK A look around the grounds; or as much of them as I could in the time I had before the meal. It wasn’t a vast estate, compared with some I’d seen; if the family owned farmland, it was elsewhere. There was a park, a small wood (growing too close to the wall, that would need watching), outbuildings. A rear gate, wooden, banded with iron, and locked. No guards. I boosted myself onto the wall and looked down. A rutted driveway led down the hill. I could see the roofs of the city below.

  I dropped back, and made my way to what proved to be the stables, where they kept the carriage-beasts. The stables were solidly built – stone, not wood – and warmer than the house. I poked around; a young Ikinchli boy in stained leather jerkin and loose trousers was dealing with one of the beasts, rubbing oil into its scales with a cloth, making a low hissing between his teeth. Either the beasts or the oil had a strange scent, like a mix of cream and metal.

  “Hey,” I said.

  The boy looked up, and said, “Heya.”

  “Nice... er... What are they?”

  He grinned, and started scratching just above the beast’s brow-ridges. It stretched its neck and made a low groaning hiss. “You don’t know? So what are you?”

  “I’m a human. From Scalentine.”

  “Foreigner. Huh. You going to sta
y here?”

  “Only for a while.”

  “These’re disti. Best ones in the Ten Families.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “He’s been sick. I’m looking after him.”

  “They get sick often?”

  “No. I look after them good.” He grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth. “My lord says I’m a natural. Also I pray to the ancestors.”

  “I’m sure that helps,” I said, and left him to it.

  There were a number of empty stables, and several old coaches that had been well kept up but didn’t look as though they’d been used in Enthemmerlee’s lifetime.

  Not far from the stables was a long low building with a squat chimney, which gave out appealing smells of cooking. Near it was a neat but neglected-looking cottage. And further out in the grounds were a number of buildings of uncertain function and abandoned appearance. The Gudain habit of building in stone rather than wood meant most of them were still standing, but several had lost their roofs and held no more than a slew of wet leaves.

  The little chapel was the best-kept of all the buildings; its pillars, a deep warm red, looked scrubbed, its pale stone walls gleamed, and not one of the small polished tiles was missing from the roof, so far as I could see. The little gravelled area around it, of green and cream-coloured stones that squeaked and chattered underfoot, was raked and weed-free. There was one door at the front, and a set of steps led down to another below ground level.

  Both doors were locked; the one window closely shuttered. I tugged at the shutters, but they didn’t move.

  Not a god you just turned up and chatted to, then, the Great Artificer. But at least if they kept the building locked, it meant one less place for an assassin to hide. Probably.

  Most of the buildings weren’t worth a second look, and probably hadn’t been worth a first, but it gave me a better idea of the danger areas. The main one being the fact that I hadn’t seen a one of the so-called household guard apart from the scruffs on the gate. They certainly weren’t patrolling the grounds.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  SERVANTS CAME TO call us to dinner a few minutes after I got back. By that time I could have eaten one of the disti, whole, raw, and with carriage and harness included. Unfortunately I’d not be eating yet.

  The dining hall was a chilly low vault of a place. Enboryay, Selinecree, Fain and Chitherlee, seated around one end of a great long polished table that could have held thirty, looked like children playing at some grown-up game. Enthemmerlee took a seat partway down the table. Bergast hesitated, and Selinecree gestured him to the seat next to her.

  There were at least three times more servants than masters, standing about like furniture. No guard, though. I stationed myself behind Enthemmerlee’s chair.

  Everyone had dressed for dinner. Enthemmerlee had on another of her half-way robes, this one in dark blue with lighter blue embroidery. The colour was good, but the shape – well, you couldn’t exactly call it flattering.

  The door opened. “Ah, Ambassador Dree, Lobik, Malleay,” Enthemmerlee said. “Please join us.”

  Selinecree gasped. I heard indrawn hissing breaths from a few of the servants, too. Malleay went straight to the seat Enthemmerlee indicated. Both Lobik and Rikkinnet hesitated, then walked up to the table, as though afraid the floor might open beneath them.

  Enboryay drew in a thick breath and said, “Enthemmerlee, do you think this... this is quite...”

  Selinecree looked from her brother to her niece, a half-unfolded napkin in her fingers.

  “Father,” Enthemmerlee said, “This is, of course, your home. But it is also mine. Ambassador Dree is a guest of our house, and Lobik and Malleay are my husbands. If you do not wish us to dine with you, then we will go elsewhere.”

  “Now, my dears,” Selinecree said, as bright and brittle as the glass she picked up with shaking fingers, “we have fresh blackfish tonight, with a green sauce; don’t let us spoil it with serious talk! Enboryay, I ordered it especially for you.”

  “Blackfish? At this time of year?” Enboryay said. “Never.”

  “I have my sources, brother dear.”

  “What wine?”

  “Thressalian, from the low hills. And a little treat to follow.”

  “Thressalian wine?” Fain said. “I must enquire into these sources of yours, madam.”

  I slipped Enthemmerlee the blue jug; a flicker of feeling darkened her face as she looked down at it, in the family hall where a privileged little girl had once had nothing on her mind but her supper.

  I once attended a meal where the warlord I was working for gave his defeated enemy the choice of serving him his wine or being the main course. The enemy chose to serve wine, at which point his own retinue slaughtered him as a dishonourable coward and flung him on the fire to roast. I left shortly after, having lost my taste – as it were – for the company.

  That first meal in Enthemmerlee’s ancestral home, while less obviously lethal, was almost as uncomfortable.

  The first course, some steaming savoury thing that arrived with six or seven different sauces, was carried in by a servant who was trembling so that the lid of the great dish chattered against the bowl, and it was a miracle any of the stuff ended up on the plates.

  Thranishalak the seneschal entered with the wine, his bearing so rigid I wondered how he even managed to walk. He poured wine for everyone, until he got to Lobik, whereupon he looked at his master.

  Enboryay, it seemed, was too busy adding a number of precisely measured amounts of different sauces to his portion to notice.

  “Thranishalak,” Enthemmerlee said, her voice quiet but extremely clear. “Why do you not pour for our guests? Surely we have not run out of wine?”

  “Ma’am.”

  “How unfortunate,” she said, choosing to hear “yes,” even though it was perfectly obvious that that wasn’t what was meant. “Lobik, take mine.”

  “There’s no need,” Lobik said.

  Malleay opened his mouth, caught Enthemmerlee’s look, and closed it again; he pushed his glass over to Lobik instead.

  Lobik nodded his thanks, tilted half the wine into his own glass, and returned the rest to Malleay.

  “If he can have some, I should have some,” the child piped up.

  “Chitherlee!” Selinecree said. “Hush.”

  “Why is everyone so cross? And why is that person sitting in my aunt’s chair?”

  “Now, now, itni,” Malleay said. “You know you can’t have wine, you’re too young. And I told you, that lady is your Aunt Enthemmerlee.”

  The girl glowered. “Isn’t.”

  “Yes, she is. It’s like a costume, you see? You know how you wear your costume for the festivals? Well, it’s like a costume you can’t take off again, that’s all.”

  “Don’t like it.”

  “But it’s a very pretty costume. And you’re going to hurt her feelings if you don’t like it.”

  “S’a costume?”

  “Like a costume.”

  The girl got down from her chair, and came up and looked closely at Enthemmerlee. “All your hair’s gone,” she said.

  “Yes, Chitherlee.”

  “Why do you have to wear this costume? It’s silly.”

  “Because it will let me help people, darling.”

  “But you can’t ever take it off?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Can I have some wine now?”

  “No, you know you can’t.”

  “Can I go play then?”

  “You haven’t eaten your supper yet, have you? Now sit down, there’s a good girl.”

  The child looked up at me. “Why are you standing there?”

  “So I can watch,” I said.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  My stomach answered for me, loudly, and the child laughed. Even that bright sound seemed to fall flat in the room’s leaden atmosphere. Her Ikinchli nurse, stifling a grin, ushered her back to her chair.

  “I hope our g
uests will excuse us in the morning. We must attend privaiya,” Selinecree said. “Oh...” She looked at Enthemmerlee. “I mean...”

  “Yes, Aunt, I will be attending.”

  “But you... I’m not sure... the priest...”

  “It is written that only Gudain may attend privaiya. If I go, I go as the Itnunnacklish. And I will go to the public precinct.”

  “The public precinct?” Selinecree wailed. “Oh, dear, Enthemmerlee, no.”

  “Aunt, soon I will be seen everywhere in public.”

  “Yes, I know, but please, dear, can we have the family ceremony first? You’re only just home.”

  Chitherlee said, “I don’t want to go to privaiya. I don’t like the smoke. It smells funny.”

  Enboryay leaned forward and winked at the child. “I don’t like it either,” he said. “Shall we go to the stables instead?”

  “I said she wasn’t to be taken to privaiya,” Enthemmerlee said. “Selinecree?”

  “But Enthemmerlee, it’s privaiya. We have to go! The priest...”

  “The priest says if we don’t go we’ll turn into animals,” Chitherlee said. “I’d like to be an animal. I want to be a boom beetle.” She filled her small chest and bellowed, “Boom!”

  “Chitherlee,” Enthemmerlee said. “Be good. Selinecree, I do not want Chitherlee to be taken to privaiya. The incense is not good for her. If he stops using it...”

  “What animal would you like to be, Aunt Selinecree?”

  “I don’t think that’s what the priest meant, dear,” Selinecree said. “Enthemmerlee, please. Fodle is very old, and set in the old ways. He would never accept so radical a change.”

  “Then I will go, if it pleases you, but Chitherlee is not to. I do not wish to see her in the chapel again.”

  “But must you go to the public precinct?”

  Enthemmerlee sighed. “How bad has it been, since you got back?”

  Selinecree looked at her plate, twisting her napkin.

  “What have they been saying?” Malleay said. “Oh, don’t tell me, I can imagine.”

  “No, I don’t think you can,” Selinecree said. “I really don’t.”

  “I’ll go to the family chapel,” Enthemmerlee said. “Tomorrow. Then... Well, then I shall be out where I can be seen, and people will say whatever they must.”