“Is this all of them?” the Empress Tabaea said, looking over the immense crowd that was jammed into her throne room and spilling down the three grand staircases.
“All who would come,” her newly-appointed chancellor replied.
Tabaea turned to him, startled. “Some wouldn’t come?”
“Yes, your Majesty. Some people refused your invitation.”
“Why? Did they say why?”
“Some of them did.”
“Why, then?”
The chancellor hesitated, scuffed a foot on the marble, and then said, “Various reasons, your Majesty.”
Tabaea could smell his nervousness, but was not in a mood to let him avoid explanations. “Name a few, Arl. Just for our enlightenment.”
“Well, some...” He glanced warily at her, and seeing more curiosity than anger, he continued, “Some didn’t trust you. They suspected a trick of some kind, that you were going to enslave them all, or kill them.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Tabaea was honestly baffled. She could smell that Arl was telling the truth; his tension had decreased as he spoke, rather than increasing, and liars didn’t do that.
Chancellor Arl shrugged. “I couldn’t say, your Majesty.”
“What other reasons did they give?”
“Well, some said they were happy where they were, that they enjoyed living in the open—there are a few people who are like that, your Majesty...”
“I know.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I never understood why they stay in the city, instead of out in the wilderness somewhere, if that’s what they want, but I’ve met them. What else?”
“A few said they wouldn’t bother moving because they didn’t think ... uh ... they said that it wouldn’t last, they’d just have to go back in a few days...”
He was getting nervous again. “Why?” the Empress demanded. “Do they think I’m going to change my mind and throw everyone out again?”
“That, or that you ... um ... won’t remain in power.”
“Oh.” Tabaea frowned. “Well, they’re wrong about that, anyway. The overlord’s run for his life, and isn’t coming back, and I’m going to stay right here.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
Tabaea turned back to the crowd, then asked her chancellor one final question. “How many are there, here?”
“I have no idea, your Majesty,” Arl admitted unhappily. “I didn’t think to count them.”
Tabaea nodded, then addressed the crowd. “People of Ethshar!” she said. “Welcome to my palace!”
A half-hearted cheer rose, then died.
“I am Tabaea the First, Empress of Ethshar, your new ruler!” Tabaea continued. “The days of oppression are at an end, and the cruel descendents of Anaran driven from us! All the people of Ethshar of the Sands are now free and equal—there shall be no more nobility to lord it over us, no more slaves to suffer unjustly!”
She paused for more applause, and after an uncertain beginning she received a satisfactory ovation.
“No citizen of my city need cower in the Wall Street Field for fear of the overlord’s guards and tax collectors,” Tabaea said. “Those who have no homes of their own will now have a home here, with me, in the palace built by the sweat of slaves...”
The chancellor cleared his throat and looked up at the dome—the dome which every educated person in Ethshar knew had been built mostly by magic, not by muscle. Tabaea carried on, ignoring him.
“...a palace far larger than any conceivable government might need, built entirely for the ostentatious display of power and wealth! You may all stay here as long as you wish, and in exchange I ask only that you help clean and maintain the Palace, that you run those errands I and my aides might ask of you, that you stand with me against any misguided fools who might try to restore the foul Ederd to my throne. What do you say?”
The applause was not all that Tabaea had hoped for—several of her listeners were unenthusiastic about those unspecified errands and the call to help defend the place—but she decided it would do.
When the crowd had quieted—which really, Tabaea thought, happened a little too quickly—the empress raised her arms for silence, and continued.
“As some of you probably know,” she said, “much of the former overlord’s city guard has not yet accepted my authority. I ordered them to turn in their swords, as a sign that they would no longer rule through fear, and many have refused to do so.” In fact, fewer than a hundred had handed in swords, and she knew that there were supposed to be ten thousand men in the city guard. “Some of these renegades have scattered among the people, abandoning their posts; others have gone into hiding, where they seem to have maintained a semblance of organization, in defiance of my orders. While I, since I am no oppressing tyrant, have no need for the large numbers of thugs and parasites my predecessor retained, still, there are some tasks appropriate to soldiers that yet need doing—searching the city for slave-owners who ignore my order to free their prisoners, for one. If any of you would like to volunteer to help with this glorious liberation, report to my new and loyal general, Derneth, formerly Derneth the Fence, at the northeast door of the Palace today at midday. And all of you are free to come and go as you please—this Palace is home to all my people, from this day forward!”
The applause was a little better this time, Tabaea thought. She smiled and waved, then stepped back and sat down on her throne.
The crowd dissipated slowly as Tabaea sat and watched, her smile gradually growing rigid and fixed. She had expected it all to vanish rather quickly, as her guests went about their business, but it didn’t; some stubbornly refused to vanish at all, quickly or otherwise. Some of the people simply stood, watching her nervously, and gave no sign of leaving; a few approached the dais cautiously, then stopped, or changed their minds and retreated.
“You haven’t told them what to do,” Arl whispered.
“They can do what they like,” Tabaea snapped, the pretense of a smile disappearing instantly.
“But some of them don’t know what that is, your Majesty,” her chancellor explained. “Not everyone in the Wall Street Field was there through simple misfortune, you know; some were there because they didn’t fit anywhere else—they’re mad, or simple-minded, or blind, or deaf, or crippled, or deranged in various other ways.”
“So what?” Tabaea demanded. “They’re still people!”
“Yes, of course, your Majesty,” Arl agreed hastily. “But some of them aren’t entirely capable of thinking for themselves; they don’t know what to do unless someone tells them.” He looked out at the few dozen people who still lingered. “And I think some of these people have favors to ask of you, but don’t know how to go about it.”
Tabaea glared up at Arl, then at the waiting citizens. A handful, noting her expression, headed for the stairs, but the others remained; at least one smiled tentatively at her.
“All right, Arl,” Tabaea said, “have them form a line, and I’ll hear them. I suppose an empress has to do some work to earn her keep, like any other honest citizen.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” Arl bowed hesitantly; he had never been in the Palace before Tabaea’s conquest the night before last, had never formally learned anything of court etiquette, and in any case Tabaea’s rules might well differ from what had gone before—if Tabaea had any rules—but he had seen a few plays, had seen the overlord’s visits to the Arena and how he was treated there, and thought that a bow was appropriate at this point.
Then he stepped to the front of the dais, where he paused for a moment to think how to word what he wanted to say. When he thought he had it worked out, he took a deep breath and announced, “Her Imperial Majesty, Tabaea the First, Empress of Ethshar of the Sands, will now hold audience. Those who wish to address the Emp ... address her Majesty may form a line.” He pointed to a spot just before his own feet.
He had the feeling that a true chancellor, or chamberlain—wasn’t this something a chamberlain would do?—would h
ave made that sound better, somehow. Until two days ago, Arl had been a beggar and swindler, not a courtier; he had used fancy words, all right, but for persuasion, not formal announcements. It was a different sort of skill.
Of course, it was his old skill, carefully applied to his “old friend” Tabaea, that had gotten him his impressive title and powerful position in the first place.
People were lining up, just the way they were supposed to; Arl was pleased with himself. Without waiting for everyone to settle into place, he took the first one, an old woman, by the hand and led her up onto the dais. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and sent her on her way to the throne, but did not accompany her.
Uncertainly, the woman took a few tottering steps, and then stood before the throne, looking down at Tabaea.
The Empress looked back.
The old woman was supposed to kneel, Tabaea thought, and she showed no sign of doing it. Her scent didn’t provide any useful information about what she was feeling or planning—she wasn’t scared or excited. Her movements gave no clues.
Well, she was supposed to kneel, and Tabaea decided that she would kneel. Her warlock’s touch reached out and gripped the woman’s knees, forcing them to bend.
The old woman almost tumbled forward; she was far slower catching herself than Tabaea had expected. At last, though, she steadied, and knelt before the throne.
Tabaea addressed her.
“What is it you want, woman?”
“I want a turn in the pretty chair,” the woman mumbled.
Tabaea stared at her.
“I want a turn,” the woman repeated, pointing at the throne.
For a moment, the Empress couldn’t believe she had heard correctly. When she did believe it, her first reaction was fury.
Then she remembered what Arl had said about some of the people from the Field; the old woman was obviously demented. “No,” Tabaea said gently. “It’s my throne. I’m the empress.”
“You said we could share,” the woman protested.
“The Palace,” Tabaea said. “Not the throne.”
“We don’t share the pretty chair?”
“No,” Tabaea said. “We don’t.”
“Oh.” The old woman looked down at her knees, and announced, “I fell down.”
“You knelt,” Tabaea explained. “When you speak to an empress, you must kneel.”
“Oh.” She showed no sign of rising, of leaving; the line of other petitioners was growing restless, Tabaea could see it and smell it and hear it.
“Is there anyone taking care of you?” Tabaea asked.
“No.”
“That’s too bad,” Tabaea said. “I think you could use some help. But you’ll have to go now.”
“Will you take care of me?”
“No, I’m too busy. I’m the empress.”
“I like you.”
“That’s nice. Go away, now, and let someone else have a turn.”
“But I didn’t get to sit in the pretty chair.”
Tabaea stared at the old woman, frustration beginning to overwhelm her determination to be patient and understanding. She wished someone else would come and drag the old fool away, that there was someone she could signal, but Arl was much too busy keeping order among the others, and she had no one else there to help her. Her other new appointees had been sent off about their various businesses, and what with desertions and confusion she didn’t have all the guards and servants that the overlord had kept close at hand.
To get rid of this nuisance she would either have to call for help or use her own two hands, either of which seemed beneath her dignity as empress.
Tabaea began to see that there was a contradiction here between her desire to be an absolute ruler, honored and respected, and her desire to avoid oppressing her people. She might want to be a fair and reasonable empress, but obviously, there were people in the city who wouldn’t be fair and reasonable subjects.
And with people like that, soldiers would be very useful.
Even if she had had a thousand soldiers in the Palace, Tabaea realized, in her determination to be a good and kind and fair and accessible ruler she would have sent them away while she was holding court. She now saw that this would not have been a good idea. She resolved that when things were more organized, when she had a proper city guard of her own, she would keep a couple of soldiers nearby.
For now, she had to improvise. The warlock power reached out and pinched the old woman’s nostrils shut.
“Go away,” Tabaea told her, as the woman gasped for breath.
The invisible grip vanished, and the woman got to her feet.
She did not leave, however; instead she reached out and slapped Tabaea across the face. “You nasty!” she shrieked. “You squeezed my nose!”
Tabaea, with her animal responses, had seen the blow coming and ducked aside; what should have been a resounding blow was just a gentle brush across one cheek.
Still, it could not be tolerated; in an instant, Tabaea was on her feet, picking the old woman up by the throat, one-handed.
She looked up at the astonishment on the ancient face and said, “You should die for that. The person of your empress is not to be touched. Because of your age, because my reign is new and you understand little, you won’t die this time, but don’t ever let me see or smell you again.”
Then she flung the woman out onto the marble floor of the audience hall. Brittle old bones snapped, and the woman lay in a heap, moaning softly.
“Get her out of here,” Tabaea said.
No one moved.
“Get her out of here!” Tabaea shouted, pointing at the line of waiting petitioners.
Two men from the back ran to obey; a few of the others abruptly decided that whatever requests they might have had could wait until a more propitious time, and scurried away down the side stairs.
Tabaea settled back on the throne, touched her unmarked cheek, then turned to Arl and snapped, “Next!”
Chapter Thirty-One
It had been Lady Sarai’s own suggestion that she not stay at the same inn as Tobas and his wives; she had been worried that such a group would be too distinctive. Instead, she had gratefully accepted a loan of a dozen copper rounds and had found herself lodgings at the Fatted Calf, an inn on Soldiertown Street, a block south of Grandgate Market. The rather inept painting on the inn’s signboard had given it the nickname the Bloated Beef, and that had seemed to imply a cheerful good humor.
That was not, Sarai discovered, reflected in the inn’s rather tense atmosphere. Her night there was an uneasy one; whenever she had set foot outside her own room she had been in constant fear that someone would recognize and denounce her.
The conversation in the common room had been strained for almost everyone; two burly men had announced that they were friends of the new empress, members of the new court, and as such entitled to the best oushka in the house, at no charge. The innkeeper had been inclined to refuse, and a former guardsman—at least, he wore no sword, though he was still in the traditional red and yellow and had spoken of fighting Tabaea’s mob on Harbor Street—had supported that refusal, whereupon the two thugs had beaten the guardsman soundly and thrown him out into the street.
Those others among the guests who might have been inclined to help found themselves badly outnumbered by those who were cheering the thugs on, and had declined to intervene, thereby avoiding an all-out brawl.
The thugs got their oushka. They also got the company of a frightened young woman. One of them eyed Sarai herself, but when Sarai bared her teeth, in as threatening a snarl as she could manage, he turned away and didn’t pursue the matter.
And Sarai stayed the night, as she had planned, since it was too late to go elsewhere and she had nowhere else to go, but the next morning she left quickly, taking a pastry with her for her breakfast.
Like anyone strolling in that part of the city with no particular destination in mind, she found herself wandering into Grandgate Market. For a while she strol
led about, nibbling her pastry while looking over the merchants’ goods and the farmers’ produce; superficially, it all appeared quite normal, unchanged by Tabaea’s accession.
On a closer look, though, anyone reasonably observant—and Sarai knew herself to be at least reasonably observant—would notice that there were no guards at the gate.
There were subtler differences as well. The great gates themselves stood open, but the doors that led into the towers did not, were instead locked and barred. The familiar yellow tunics and red kilts of soldiers were not only not to be seen at the gate, they were nowhere in sight, not in the gate or the market or the streets.
The rather sparse crowd in the marketplace did not seem particularly troubled by the guards’ absence; in fact, if anything, Sarai thought the buyers and sellers looked somewhat more prosperous than usual.
That didn’t seem right; she looked again.
There was a real difference, she realized, but it was not that the merchants or farmers or their customers were attired any better than their usual wont. Rather, the difference was that there were no beggars. In all of Grandgate Market, no one wore rags, any more than anyone wore the red kilt of the overlord’s service.
Sarai wondered at that. Tabaea might well have promised to eliminate poverty, but how could she have possibly made any significant change so quickly?
And for that matter, where did all the soldiers actually go? Ten thousand people—well, seven or eight thousand, anyway, she knew that the guard had not been up to its full authorized strength for decades—could not simply vanish.
Or could they? It was a big city, after all. There were hundreds of miles of streets and alleyways out there, and all a soldier needed to do to hide was to get out of uniform.
And there were plenty of little-used military and government installations, as well—the towers at Beachgate and Northgate and Smallgate, the Island Tower out past the South Channel, the Great Lighthouse, the four towers guarding the harbor, all the dozens of watch-stations along the wall, the tunnels and passages under the wall, even the Arena’s maze of storerooms and corridors, all of those were under Lord Torrut’s jurisdiction before Tabaea’s arrival. Companies of guardsmen could be gathered in any of them.
The Spell of the Black Dagger Page 25
