by Prue Batten
‘I have an affinity with language. I speak Raji and the Trevallyn tongue as well.
Belle’s hand clenched on her napkin.
Count to ten, calm yourself. Yain, tain, tethera…
‘Why should you wish to learn? Does the Han not prefer to keep itself secreted away?’
‘This is true but I have a desire to seek knowledge and speaking other tongues interests me.’
The Son bit on a crispy fried roll of pastry and pickled vegetables, dipping it first in the dark sauce ground from the soybean. He patted his mouth as if it were a delicate piece of porcelain.
‘You seem interested in my slippers. That is the third time I have noticed your attention upon them.’
Belle was surprised at her companion’s acuity. She had thought by his appearance he would be unobservant, certainly uninterested.
‘The embroidery is very fine. My mother would be impressed. She is an embroiderer.’
‘Your mother is an embroiderer? And yet you say, I believe, that you are from noble lineage?’
Watch yourself, Belle. You make mistakes with your emotions.
‘It is customary for women of all ranks to sew. Within the higher ranks, it’s viewed as an accomplishment to embroider with great skill. Within the Traveller hierachy, it is expected because traditionally the Travellers are renowned for their embroidery.’
‘You are a Traveller?’
‘Not fully, no. My mother was a Traveller of noble line and my father…’
What shall I tell you? Another lie? For my mother was just an ordinary Traveller. There is no hierarchy, no noble house. And my father was the son of a Raji rug-merchant but he died and I was adopted by a Færan noble who rejects his heritage.
Belle’s eyes pricked dangerously and she blinked.
Forgive me, my father. I must deny you to survive. I claim Phelim as my blood kin.
‘My father is a nobleman on Pymm. You may have heard of him? Lord Phelim of Merricks?’
‘No, it means nothing.’ The Son bent down and ran his finger over the goldwork of the beetle. ‘It’s a Mirradon beetle. Found in the rainforests of Trevallyn, deep in the vales of the Styx.’ He added very quietly so that Belle had to bend to hear. ‘And I wish your father’s name did mean something.’
Isabella quailed, convinced he had tumbled her lies as there was something almost apocalyptic in those whispered words. Her appetite died as Lucia stood in front of her with a platter of pork strips and Belle smiled at the frozen face in the hope of eliciting some comfort as she picked at the food with her chopsticks. But Lucia backed away, no expression, no response.
Lucia, what is wrong? We were such friends and I want to leave you in good humour.
The Son broke in upon her reverie.
‘Excellence is such a term of remove. You may call me Ming Xao.’
She bowed her head, confused on many points, and remained lost in silence for the rest of the refreshment.
Less than half an hour had passed and Belle wondered at how far she had come in that time. From servant to noble and from virgin to the life of a concubine in the time it took to eat a lantern roll. As Master Koi watched the last of his servants carry the remains of the food away and as the imperial party assembled under silk sun umbrellas to protect them on their way back to the litters, thoughts flicked with rapidity through her head.
Have I made a convincing show? Do they believe I am what I am not? Will this succeed? Why did he say he wished my father’s name did mean something to him? Why is he so…different?
The assembly had reached the litters and the First Household lined up as before and kowtowed in a rush of soughing fabric. All except the Master, Madame and Belle. The Emperor and Empress stepped on the backs of the litter carriers and into their conveyances but Ming Xao turned back just as he lifted a beetle-decorated foot.
In the Pymm tongue he said, ‘Lady Isabella. A fourth litter will arrive in moments. Make your farewells within the First House and follow the Family shortly. We shall await you at the palace.’
He stepped into his own litter then, the sunlight catching his spectacle lenses and blocking any expression in his eyes. A shiver raced across Belle’s skin and she thrust her hands into her sleeves as she and the Master and Madame bowed low over their toes.
With no acknowledgement beyond a self-satisfied nod, Madame Koi departed, leaving Master Koi alone with Belle as the staff dispersed around them. She looked for Lucia amongst the women but could see her small stocky friend nowhere.
Master Koi took her elbow.
‘Walk with me, Ibo. I wish to speak with you.’
She fell into step beside him, thinking on Lucia and wishing the Master would say his piece so she could run to the kitchens and find her only friend.
‘We owe you thanks, Ibo. I am aware of as much. You are a curious woman, full of enigmas, somewhat free spirited I think. And yet I look at the beauty of my wife today and I see the friendship offered to you voluntarily by the Son, and it is completely your doing. I can see only good in you.’
‘Thank you, Master Koi. I am grateful for your words. I shall miss much of the First House and shall remember my time here.’
She could hear the bells in the elm tree spreading their familiar music across the compound, Madame Koi’s voice pealing from the verandah near the kitchens. She took a breath.
‘Master Koi, I am but a humble slave-servant, lately of the Koi House, and yet I find I must ask you a question.’
Master Koi inclined his head as he looked down from his eminent height, the white silk peony on his red cap brushing the dangling branches of the elm.
‘Yes, Ibo?’
‘Why did you gift me as a concubine without telling me? Have I not encouraged your trust in me?’
Master Koi’s eyes widened.
‘Indeed. I trust you as if you are my daughter. And as my daughter, I have done what any father would do when he looks for the best for his child. But before I tell you more, look me in the eye and tell me honestly, do you have noble blood?’
Belle almost spat, aghast that this man who had bought her as a slave should pretend he had done everything for her benefit.
So much to gain from a connection with the Imperial House, Master Koi? How dare you say you are but a father caring for a daughter. A father doesn’t gift a child as a whore.
She twisted her hands behind her back and crossed every finger.
‘I am the daughter of a nobleman of Pymm with a long and distinctive lineage. As I told Excellence Ming Xao.’
Master Koi gave a satisfied nod.
‘A truth deserves a truth. I haven’t gifted you as a concubine, Ibo. You are not to be the Son’s whore. You are to be his wife.’
In the distance, Belle heard a faint yip and wished the fox-spirits would leap into the compound causing murder and mayhem.
Aine where are you, Fox Lady? Help me.
Master Koi cast a perturbed look over his shoulder and made the sign of the horns.
‘Go and retrieve whatever you wish to take with you and say your farewells. And Ibo, do not to be afraid of the Imperial House. I can see a look of concern in your eye. There is much in the palace you will love. The library, the gardens, so much.’
He made a small bow to recognise her rising status and walked away.
*
In her room she could see nothing of significance except the boots in which she arrived and the tiny dyed sample of copper fabric. She stuffed the scrap into her boots, wrapped the footwear in a shibori cloth and left, eager to move on – past the kitchens where she could find no trace of Lucia and along the verandah to the main pathway. As she stepped down, she noticed something white half-concealed under a camellia bush and bent down.
Madame Koi’s fan lay closed at her feet. A matter of moment and she had the thing in her palm and peeled it open, feeling under the ivory frame on the outer edge where she removed the cruel stiletto. Her fingers curved around the handle momentarily and then she quickly threw the weapon into the shru
bs and with a flash of pure anger, cracked the fine fan blades in half, dropping them at her toes.
Payment, Madame, payment for the scar on my hand and for so much else besides.
The litter waited with two women to carry it, their breadth and height more than capable of the task. The silk panoply wafted in an uneasy welkin wind that stirred the hair on Isabella’s neck and she turned, expecting the Fox Lady to appear in the broad light of day. Instead she met the trader, Xuan, the man who had accompanied her to the Gate and beyond.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘I so badly wanted to talk with you before I left.’
He raised his eyebrows and bowed over his hand.
‘I am at your service, Lady Ibo.’
Belle lowered her voice as the man assisted her into the litter and he had to lean close.
‘You know and I know that I am no lady and you and I both know that you will tell no one. For some fateful reason, there is a fragile thread of trust between you and I and I value it. I am not about to lie to you because you saw me in the forest when I followed you and yet you did not tell Master Koi on your return. You know what is in my heart and indeed in my head. And before you caution me as you did before, let me say that nothing will make a difference. I want merely to know of the shifu cloth. I know it was sold because there is evidence of huge wealth having been spent in the First House. Tell me who it was sold to.’
Master Koi’s factotum settled a silk coverlet over Belle’s lap.
‘It was sold to a Pymm merchant, I understand.’
‘Oh!’ Belle’s breath caught. ‘What was he like?’
‘Beyond extremely wealthy, I don’t know.’
‘What say you?’
‘A prince’s ransom was asked for the cloth. The fellow didn’t demur. Apparently he bade his servant to pass over a bag of gelt and then picked up the bolt as if it were a toothpick and walked off.’
‘He did?’ Phelim hasn’t got that much money. ‘Do you know who…’
‘Ibo!’ Master Koi’s voice called as he strode toward them. ‘You must leave now, it is more than half an hour.’
‘Please, Master Koi, I want to ask…’
The factotum’s eyes beetled together, a warning of sorts and she changed her mind.
‘I cannot find Lu, Master Koi. Please would you be so kind as to give her a message? Tell her…tell her I shall miss her.’
Master Koi nodded and this time he bowed low, as did the factotum, as if Isabella’s meteoric rise was complete and she was indubitably a member of the Imperial House. As if to underline this, the Voice called as the gates of the First House were opened and Belle watched as the street hastily prostrated itself so that her last view was of many indigo backs, like so many beetles, all bent and in the dust.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas
Damn you to hell, Poli.
Nicholas set off at a run, ten paces and nothing through the mist and then twenty.
Poli’s voice sounded, muffled by the vapour.
‘Come on, this way. We must nearly be there, I can hear such music. Nico…’
The pause in his voice added speed to Nicholas’s legs and he pushed through a break in the mist, aghast at what he might find.
A nix sat cross-legged on a log that floated at the side of the bridge. He strummed his harp, an ancient melody of rising and falling notes of such entrancing beauty that Nicholas almost felt himself beleaguered by sleep. But he pushed the somnolence away, realising he was using the part of him he most hated. His Otherness had taken stock and begun its work. He had no time to wonder as Poli, paces ahead of him, entranced and mesmered, stepped onto the log.
No, you fool!
The nix placed his harp carefully in a sack and strung it across his back. His locks gleamed palest gold in the light of the moon and his beard dripped into the lake, casting up ripples in water that had calmed eerily. His pleasing face turned toward Nicholas and smiled a frosted smile, one tipped with cruelty at the corners.
‘What do you want, half-time mortal? For you cannot take my prize.’
Nicholas closed his eyes. Maeve Swan Maid used such a description to describe Phelim’s need to live as a mortal rather than an Other.
But in truth I am a half-time mortal.
Just briefly he thought how easy it would be for a grown man to cry with animal frustration.
‘Do you not speak?’ The nix bought a finger to his lips and grinned revealing long teeth in a wide mouth. ‘Aah. But you are the mute son of a Færan, the one who is cursed. We know about you.’ He laughed and slivers of fear slid down Nico’s backbone. ‘Mindspeak then, idiot. Not that anything you say will make a difference.’
The nix moved the log, a gentle tip-tip, but enough to send Poli falling sideways into the water, droplets dashing up and falling on Nicholas’s’ clothes.
‘No!’
Nicholas bent to grab him as he disappeared into the blackness, but the nix beat him to the prize.
‘No indeed.’
His arm went round Poli’s neck and the mortal stared into some never-land, oblivious to the nearness of death. The nix positioned him so that the water lapped over the chin and brushed against the slack mouth.
‘You cannot want him, he is a mortal. Give him back to me.’
‘Not even a please?’ The nix pushed Poli under the water.
‘Wait!’
Pulling with ill grace, the nix re-positioned his arm as Poli coughed and gasped, as oblivious as a loon.
‘Yees?’ The water-wight drawled. ‘I’m waiting for the magnitude of your offer.’
‘I will give you whatever you want. Take me. Tell me what you want.’
‘Why should I want you? You are but half a mortal. And I doubt you could have what else I might want.’
He pushed at Poli again and held him under longer.
‘Please!’
He tried desperately to conceal his thoughts from the nix as he had done with Cassiope, terrified at the wanton destruction of innocence.
The nix pulled Poli out again and there was a dreadful silence until he coughed weakly and with only the occasional gasp for air.
‘Hmm, it hasn’t taken long to finish this one off. Ah well, what else but death can those that walk the moonbridge expect? The fellow is near gone and I shall have my sacrifice. I am allowed one a year and now’s the time.’
‘I will give you…’
Nicholas felt in his pockets for anything that may appeal to the wight, knowing he had nothing but a knife.
But wait…
He had found an odd collection on Jasper’s worktable and in an unconscious moment as his stomach had burbled with hunger early in the day, had thrust them into his pocket and gone in search of Margriet and the kitchen.
A coincidence, or Jaspers’ Fate…
He dragged the trio out and laid them across his palm, his heart racketing. He couldn’t even enunciate his inner most thoughts in case the nix caught upon the loose connection between he and Poli, the connection he didn’t want, the envy he felt for someone his father thought enough of…
‘You don’t even want him,’ said the nix and Nico’s head flew up. ‘Ha. Such an ingénue you can’t even control your thoughts!’
He tensed his arm to pull Poli under the water for the last time.
‘No. Look…three drops of black blood.’
Nicholas held up a tiny vial.
‘A black flea.’
He waggled another vial.
‘Some wet snuff.’
The third vial glistened in the light of the moon.
The nix sighed, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
‘Damn you, how did you know? All that a nix could want. You’d best give them to me then.’
‘Let me have the mortal first.’
The nix dragged Poli’s head under the water.
‘Don’t!’
‘Cease your ordering,’ the nix pushed the mortal, as pale and languorously loose as a water wyrm, onto the moo
nbridge and held out his own dripping palm.
‘It was just some last minute fun. Give.’
In a blink, the nix had grabbed Poli off the moonbridge and dived. Nicholas barely thought, thrusting off the bridge to follow the trail of silver bubbles through the darkness, sending something after the wight, something that felt outrageous and completely unknown and which caused the nix to erupt upward past him without his prize and with an open wailing mouth. Nico descended further, the weeds grasping at his fingers, the cold seeping into his bones.
His lungs strained as he felt outward with one hand. A movement surprised him and in the gloom, he realised it was his other hand passing in an arc in front of him so that his chest pain eased and he no longer felt the pressure of water above.
There.
In a dim light, floating amongst the weed was the mortal, eyes closed, mouth ajar. Nico grabbed him and propelled up, dragging the weight until he broke the ebony surface and crisp night air hit his face. He sucked in a chest full, gasping as he pushed the limp body onto the bridge, clambering after him, pulling him so that he lay outstretched…not a breath, not a whimper, not a twitch.
He knelt low and began to roll the man over to his side, then back again and pressed his chest the way Ebba had shown him years ago. Then pinched the nostrils and breathed into the slack mouth – more pushing of that broad chest, more breaths, so much more and still nothing, until…
A frightening rasp filled the night with its pain and desperation, followed by coughing and water spewing out with vomit. Then Poli slipped into unconsciousness, breathing faintly.
But alive.
Nico dragged him into a lift over his shoulder and began to walk. The shore was closer than he had imagined and he cursed the nix for sitting so close to what might have been safety. He lay Poli down carefully, the moon shining on the waxen face as a feather of a breeze slipped over the two men, the sensation anything but ordinary – like a cold-as-death finger running across the back of Nico’s neck.
He tapped Poli on the cheek, the mortal’s head lolling from one side to the other, breath coming in short jabs then fading to barely nothing.
Wake up.
He grabbed at the wet folds of clothing and shook Poli, eliciting a cough, some dribbling and then the hardly-there breaths.
