“He's not bad, for a luarin,” Quedanga told Aly as the duchess and Dove waved goodbye to Elsren.
“Let him know,” Aly said. “He might be useful.” She trudged upstairs.
Despite permission to leave home, Nuritin advised the duchess not to allow Sarai or Dove to go out and about just yet. “The regents have to let people buy food and do business unless there is an army at our gates,” Nuritin told both girls. “That does not mean we have no dangerous criminals running about. We should answer all those invitations that have collected on Winnamine's desk. It is more personal when one of the ladies of the house replies.” Aly, Pembery, Boulaj, and Dorilize rolled their eyes at one another. For them, this meant a morning of needlework.
The morning was advanced when a sound made Aly look up. Wayan, a house message runner, peered at her around the doorframe with eyes as wide as saucers. As soon as Aly saw her, she fled. A few moments later, a footman did the same thing. Like Wayan, he stared only at Aly. A pair of kitchen maids followed him. Their whispers roused Nuritin from her concentration on the letter she wrote. She turned on her chair and scowled.
“Have you business here?” she demanded.
The maids shook their heads.
“Then get back to your work!” As the maids fled, Nuritin shook her head. “Silly young creatures, no more sense than finches. When I was a girl . . .”
This time Winnamine, as well as the other women, rolled her eyes.
It was almost time for lunch when Ulasim rapped on the doorframe. “Your Grace? My ladies?” he asked, his face locked in formal, senior-servant blankness. “I bring important news.”
Winnamine beckoned him forward as everyone but Aly looked at him. Aly, sensing what news he bore, kept her attention on her needle.
Ulasim bowed. “Your Grace, my ladies, I . . .” He paused for a moment, so oddly for him that the ladies looked worried. Ulasim was the ideal manservant and never fumbled. “It's Topabaw,” he said at last. “He's— They made an Example of him. By the harbor mouth.”
Nuritin jerked, dumping a bottle of ink on her desk and herself. As the maids rushed to stop the ink's spread and to save the old woman's dress, the duchess stared at him.
“Ulasim, this is a very poor joke,” she whispered.
He looked at her not as a servant looked at his mistress but as one human being looked at another. “Your Grace, I did not believe it, either. I have just come from the harbor. I have seen it with my own eyes. Topabaw is dead.” He looked at Aly, his eyes holding a shade of the awe the maids had showed. “There is no proclamation of his crime, but the royal seal was placed on his chest. Burned into it, actually.”
Nuritin stopped trying to clean up the ink and half-collapsed in her chair. “I know there was a time before Topabaw,” she murmured, “for I lived and bore children in it.”
“It must have been the prison escape,” said the duchess, folding hands that quivered. “I've heard rumors that he was losing his grip, that the regents had come to think he was too old for the work. . . .”
“Who cares?” snapped Sarai, jumping to her feet. “They didn't kill him for all the people he's had murdered, did they? They killed him because he let Nomru escape! They only care about luarin lives around here. They always have and they always will!”
Winnamine's eyes flashed. “Do not forget you are half luarin, mistress, whether you like it or not.”
“How can I forget?” demanded Sarai. “It's the only part of me people are interested in.” She stalked out past Ulasim, skirts flaring around her.
Dove set down her pen and corked her ink bottle. “Things will be different,” she observed quietly. “He kept all of the work of the intelligence gatherers in his own hands for years. He never replaced the assistant spymaster when the man was assassinated five years ago.”
Nuritin frowned. “I'd forgotten. He never did, it's true.”
“Whoever takes up his post won't know everything he did.” Dove looked at her mother, then her great-aunt. “They won't know his files. They won't know his agents. And his agents won't be sure if they aren't next, or if the new man isn't there simply to hand out more blame. His networks will be all chaos for a while.”
Suddenly Winnamine remembered the maids and Ulasim. “All of you, it's almost lunchtime. Go wash up. Ulasim . . .”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Tell our people, Mind your tongues. Say or do nothing that might look wrong to the regents,” Winnamine insisted. “We don't know who will be taking notes for them.”
Ulasim bowed to her again. “Your Grace is always wise.”
12
MEDDLERS
There was no rest period that day. All of the servants watched Aly as if she were god-touched. Her own pack, when it met in her workroom, had that same look of awe mingled with fear. Aly was glad when callers descended on Balitang House. At least none of them stared.
For once the young nobles talked quietly about things other than themselves, though the young men were careful to tell Sarai she might count on them, just in case. They did not say in case of what. The only man of Sarai's circle not present was Zaimid. Sarai made the mistake of asking Ferdy where the Carthaki was.
“Caring for rioters over on Soursop Lane,” the young count informed her with contempt. “The Watch had taken care of them as they should be cared for, and off goes our healer to tend the wounded. I'll be glad when we see the last of that sanctimonious face!”
“At least he helps,” retorted Sarai. “At least he's doing something for people, instead of living off them and ignoring them when they need him.”
“Lady Sarai, helping troublemakers only encourages them,” Ferdy said gently. “Look at Topabaw. He got slack. Now we've had a prison break, attacks on the fortresses, and uprisings all over the Isles. It's time we had new blood to set the realm to rights.”
Chenaol touched Aly as she watched the young nobles. “Vitorcine Townsend, Lady Isalena's maid, wants you,” the cook whispered in Aly's ear. “She looks like she's in love. You'll find her in my rooms.”
Aly raised an eyebrow and went in search of the housekeeper's private sitting room. Chenaol was right. Vitorcine looked as if she had shed years of her age or a great burden. Aly lowered herself into a chair. “You heard the news of Topabaw, then?” she asked Vitorcine.
The young woman nodded. “There's more. Grosbeak! Grosbeak is gone! I report to him as I run errands for my lady, and I was late, close to the noon bell. His shop is locked up, doors and shutters! I . . .” She looked down, blushing, then met Aly's gaze. “I picked the lock. The books, papers, all of it was gone. And everything was a mess, as if he'd packed in a hurry. So I took a chance and went to his home.” In response to a question Aly hadn't asked, she rushed to say, “I tracked him there once, just . . . just in case.”
Aly tapped her chin, fascinated. She hadn't thought Vitorcine had that kind of gumption. Perhaps she could find something better suited to her talents than simply reporting on the activities of the Obemaeks. Aly had decoded the information Vitorcine had brought, to discover correspondence about the things she already knew, that Lord and Lady Obemaek belonged to the luarin conspiracy.
“What did you find at Grosbeak's home?” she asked.
“Gone, him and his family,” Vitorcine said eagerly, giddy at being free of Grosbeak and his master. “And they must have taken only what they could carry. The smith who lives next door said they went around dawn.” She reached out and gripped Aly's hands. “Please, will you not free me of my vow? The Obemaeks are so good to me. I hate watching them!”
Aly looked at her meaningfully, as a mother might look at a daughter who had not thought a problem through. “If Topabaw kept records, his successor may yet come back to you,” she reminded Vitorcine. When the maid's face fell, Aly patted her hands. “But there. Why borrow trouble? For the time being, do not fret over thoughts of spies.”
That night, when the raka leaders met, all of them, even Ochobu and Dove, stared at Aly when she e
ntered the room. She expected it. They had built Topabaw up into something more than human for years. Learning he was now an Example must have made them feel as if the earth had turned sideways. She helped herself to mango nectar. “I said it could be done. Remember, I'm an outsider. He'd been in power for so long that the people who live here forgot the man was human, and the regents more human still. Humans get jealous. That we can use, whether it is between Topabaw and the regents . . .” She paused and looked them over. “Or between Imajane and Rubinyan.”
They were startled, as they'd been when Aly had suggested that Topabaw was vulnerable. This time, however, instead of denying that such a thing could be done, the conspirators appeared thoughtful. Aly let them turn it over in their minds, then asked Quedanga, “You'll make sure people know we created this, yes? That it is no coincidence that so soon after our return, the regents turned on their spymaster?”
Quedanga opened her mouth and drew in air, but nothing came out. She gulped from her cup and tried again. “Are you certain you are not an aspect of our Bright One? Because you begin to worry me in the same way.”
“No, just a loyal servant,” Aly reassured her, stroking her Trick-and-Secret beads. They hummed softly against her collarbone. “Things will be a mess in the spy service for now,” she told the others. “Rubinyan put his private spymaster, a man named Sevmire Ambau, in charge. He was born on the Jimajen estates, got recruited as a spy at the university in Carthak, and came home to do intelligence for the army. That was when he came to Rubinyan's attention. He's worked for the prince for years, watching the king, Topabaw, even his brother. Sevmire's competent, but he was never a part of Topabaw's organization. He'll be scrambling to find and decode Topabaw's files. He'll try to grip Topabaw's spies, which will be like trying to get control of a runaway team of hurroks.” Hurroks were the kudarung's less likeable, clawed and fanged kinfolk. “Some of you know people who worked for Topabaw. This is a good time to suggest to them that the new man is green. He's never had a network bigger than a few islands, or more than a hundred people, to run. He'll get into trouble fast. The more commotion we can stir up throughout the Isles before he can learn his job, the more overwhelmed he will be.”
Ulasim stroked his small beard. “I can think of a few . . . possibilities.”
Aly looked at him, then at their two mages. “Should something happen—should they fear the worst—Their Highnesses might well start calling in their best generals and mages. It would be nice if some, if not all, of them were unable to respond.”
Ulasim chuckled. “We were at this before you came, Bright Eyes. Our plans in those areas already move forward.”
Aly smiled back. “Then I won't worry, unless you tell me to.”
The meeting went on as the raka discussed all they had learned that day. When they finished, Aly went to her workroom and shut the door. She lay on the cool wooden floor with relief. A muffled squeak made her sit up quickly as Trick and Secret dropped away from her neck. Only when they were free did she lie flat again. The two darkings trickled up her shoulders and onto her chest. If Aly tucked her hands behind her head, she could just manage to see them, ink against shadows in the dark.
“I take it you are not offering yourselves as a new, more fashionable breast band?” she asked softly.
“What is—” began Secret, and halted. Aly suspected that Trick had explained in that manner the darkings had, because Secret then said, “Oh. No.”
“Bean get bored in eating room,” Trick announced. “Bean explore in Gray Palace. Bean follow Sevmire to new workplace. Bean sitting under Sevmire desk now.”
“Ah,” Aly said. “Very good. What has Bean to say?”
The venturesome Bean confirmed what Aly had suspected: Sevmire could not find many of Topabaw's files. He knew his predecessor's code, but translations took time. Then Trick relayed something that made Aly pop up so fast the darkings tumbled into her lap. Sevmire was issuing writs for his people to kill Topabaw's principal agents throughout the Isles, and to take their places.
“Never blame an enemy for his stupidity,” Da and Grandfather had often told her. Aly didn't blame Sevmire at all. She would have kissed him, if she kissed stupid men. Sevmire was doing to his agents what Rubinyan had done to him. He was placing them in jobs much too large for them.
The next afternoon the nobles came to call, more composed than they had been the day before. With Sarai's friends and their parents came Baron Engan and the priestess Imgehai Qeshi. They disappeared into the study with Nuritin, Winnamine, and Dove.
Once again Aly used her spyhole to watch the young nobility. Ferdy Tomang had thought to buy his way back into Sarai's good graces with an offering of an armful of blue-violet flowers. She simply thanked him and handed them off to a footman to put in a vase. It was only when he proposed a riding party the next day that she smiled at him. Then her smile faded. “Not if Winna and Aunt Nuritin have anything to say about it.”
“Mother is talking to them,” Ferdy assured her, unaware that his mother might go aside with Sarai's female relatives for more serious purposes. “She says the sooner we show people we're back to our daily lives, knowing the regents are in control, the sooner people will feel better. And maybe we'll even get Zaimid to come. If he doesn't have another emergency. I told him, you'd think we don't have healers in Rajmuat, but he only says this is the kind of healing he won't be able to do once he's the imperial physician.”
“Ferdy, what do you mean?” demanded one of Sarai's female friends. “Zaimid left again today?”
“He got word of sickness over in the Honeypot and ditched us on our way here,” complained Ferdy. “He said he'd come by and pay his compliments if he had time.”
Sarai tossed her head. “Well, I'm not one to get worked up over a man who finds some Honeypot kennel more attractive than me.”
Her friends laughed. Aly didn't. She knew that trick. Sarai was hurt that Zaimid had been absent two days in a row, and was going to show she didn't care. She flirted outrageously with all her young men, leaving even her female friends tapping their toes.
Feeling sorry for Sarai—Aly knew what it was like to miss one particular man—Aly turned away. She had a table full of reports to read, and the darkings' news to hear. Perhaps she could find some crows to talk with later.
The next day Winnamine reluctantly agreed to a riding party, but no farther away than the closest park, which had only simple horse trails and no room to gallop. At least Ferdy had been right about one thing, Aly thought as she and Dove watched the young nobles ride off. The prospect of riding—or the lack of emergencies—had even brought Zaimid back to Balitang House.
If the Carthaki's presence sweetened Sarai's mood, it was not evident when she came home. She slammed into the family sitting room. Dove and Nuritin were there, fanning themselves as they discussed preparations for Matfrid Fonfala's birthday party and for the king's birthday celebrations. Aly, passing in the hall with a load of Dove's gowns to be pressed, heard Sarai's outraged shout after the door slammed: “Five times! Five times they stopped us, and asked us—us!—our business, even after we told them who we were, and they poked in our saddlebags!” Aly leaned against the wall to eavesdrop as Sarai continued, “And then they did it to us again, on our way back! The same soldiers! ‘Am I a Tomang or not?' Ferdy asked them, and they said it didn't matter who he was, it was the regents' orders!”
Nuritin's brittle voice cut the air. “Sarai! You forget yourself! Are you a lady or a shrieking Dockmarket trollop?”
“Neither, apparently, according to the regents!” Sarai replied, her voice a little quieter. “And it's sad when people who are related to the royal family aren't allowed to express opinions! In Tortall the monarchs must listen to the Councils of Lords and of Commoners. In Carthak the emperor has created an assembly of nobles. Landholders matter there, but not here. We are just going to rot from within.”
The family was at supper when a Crown messenger arrived. Word spread through the house that Princes
s Imajane had requested Duchess Balitang's company the next morning when Elsren went to join the king. Winnamine accepted, puzzled. “Unless she wants to press her case to have you join her ladies-in-waiting,” she remarked to Sarai as the ladies, children, and maids whiled the stormy evening away in their sitting room. Elsren squeaked each time lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and Petranne giggled.
“If she does,” Winnamine continued, nudging Petranne and Elsren with a slippered toe, “I shall tell her I cannot allow you to join her at present, for the sake of the family's honor. You're not fit to serve in polite company anymore, Sarai.”
“Because I'm not blind and complacent?” demanded Sarai bitterly. “Because I get angry when common people are treated badly and no one of our class tries to help? Or because I resent being pushed around by a bully in armor? A girl wanted to give me a flower on our way back, and a soldier shoved her away. He knocked her down! Zaimid cared for her—while Ferdy and the others looked on—but still, Winna, how can we stay in such a place? No one can live a decent life here anymore. Look what happened to Topabaw. He gave a lifetime of service, and they made an Example of him.”
“Definitely not fit for polite society,” Nuritin commented, her voice dry as she pushed a needle through silk.
The duchess, accompanied by Pembery and Yoyox, who looked most respectable in a footman's livery, joined Elsren and his escorts from the King's Guard on their morning ride to the palace. A squad of household men-at-arms fell in step behind the guards, the duchess's protection when she chose to return.
Dove waved goodbye until the house gate closed behind them, then turned to Ulasim. “I think I'll go visit Herbrand Edgecliff,” she told Ulasim firmly. Looking at Aly, she added, “I had better request an escort of men-at-arms before it's forced on me.”
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