by Neil McGarry
“It is and I did.” She’d never seen him at a loss for words, and found she rather liked it. She took the cloak from his helpless hands and slipped it over his shoulders. “I’ve wanted to do this for ages, but after all that nonsense with Nigel and Pete the Pearl, my reputation took a terrible beating. An initiate’s standing derives from his sponsor, you know, so I wanted to wait until the time was right. If I’d given you this two months ago, it wouldn’t have been worth using to wipe your boots.”
He ran a finger across the fabric, as if to assure himself the cloak was really there. “Can you do this?”
She grinned wickedly. “I’m Duchess of the Shallows—I can do anything I want.” More seriously, she added, “Any member of the Grey can make another.”
“But I’ve not done anything to earn this!”
She slapped him on the back of his head. “I never thought I’d be saying to you how mad you are. Who helped me with Hector’s mad design to steal Eusbius’ dagger? Who got me out of Garden District after I raided Meadowmere Manse? Who arranged for Iris to sneak out of Albastone? I couldn’t have done any of these things without you, and after today, everyone on the Highway will know it.”
He looked at her, thunderstruck. “This may be the most insane thing you’ve ever done.”
“Hush,” she replied, standing in front of him. “Your initiation on the Grey will be complete the moment I frune it about. From today on, you’ll be expected to assist those on the Highway, and you can expect their help in kind. You can make your own marks, but must pay full value when they’re called due. Steal, cheat, and make your way by wit and guile, but know that any lies you tell will find you out.” She leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. “Welcome to the Grey.”
They held each other for a long time and there was something in it that felt as much goodbye as welcome. Finally she pulled herself away. “There’s one more thing,” she said, fumbling in her pocket. She handed him the silver brooch in the shape of a pair of dice. “Maybe this can inspire your mark, when you make it. After all, you have your own dice games now.”
“Those are yours,” he pointed out weakly.
She shook her head. “No, they’re yours. Can’t have a member of the Grey without an income, and to be honest I’m glad to be done with them. They belonged to Julius, and I don’t feel right keeping them.”
He shook his head. “About Aaron...”
“It’s dealt with. Don’t worry about it.”
“I should have kept a better eye on him, but I never thought—”
She waved a hand. “It was my job to think, and I didn’t. On the Grey you deal with the problems your people create. I dealt with it.” From the long look he gave her, she wondered if he guessed what she’d left unsaid. If not, he’d find out soon enough, now that he was Grey. Let him have today, at least.
He smiled again. “Is this how Hector initiated you?”
She rolled her eyes. “More or less, except he made the Grey sound like a punishment.”
“Hector makes everything sound like a punishment,” Lysander laughed. He carefully removed her gift and placed it back in the bag, then wrapped himself in a heavy winter cloak. “Ready at last.”
“Good. Now let’s get downstairs before Jana freezes holding our place.” As they went out the door and down the stairs, she confessed, “I still have mixed feelings about all this.”
“The Feast?” He opened the outer door and the cold slapped them in the face, along with the roar of the crowds gathered in the Plaza. She couldn’t remember a winter this cold, particularly so early in the season.
She nodded in answer to his question. “It just...given what I’ve seen this past year, what I’ve learned, it just feels wrong.”
She’d not seen Bell Plaza so crowded since...well, since the last Feast. There were normal folk, merchants and sailors and fishwives, of course, but the nobles were the most notable, dressed in finery carefully groomed to appear like the rags a beggar might wear. She saw cloth-of-silver and cloth-of-gold trimmed to appear ragged, fine damasks meticulously stained with soot, and silk that with careful stitching seemed ready to unravel. They all bore “treasures” for the beggars: crowns and tiaras of paper, vests and gowns of the cheapest fabric available. The most daring even had casks of colored glass cut to look like gemstones. Lightboys were seemingly everywhere one looked with their inevitable lanterns and their sticks for beating away cutpurses, and nearly as numerous were the entrepreneurial Shallows folk, selling hot wine and sizzling skewers of spiced goat. Every gate in the city was open for the day, drawing the highest and the lowest. Gambling of all kinds was allowed and Lysander had already set his people to filling the void that Julius’ death had left. They—he, she corrected herself—would make a good deal of money that night.
“You’re thinking it’s like Doctor Domae?” he asked as he led the way down.
“Yes. It’s just a mockery, isn’t it? Even Dorian won’t have anything to do with it. He called it a tedious bit of show-offery.”
“He’s not wrong. But it’s also a golden opportunity to catch up on the gossip, and to check out the newest fashions. Like that unfortunate there...in the gown, do you see it? Dear gods, someone should put the poor dear out of her misery.”
She shook her head. “Then you’ve no problem with this—great Mayu, but it makes her look like a giant, square orange—this sop the nobility throw to those below them?”
He looked suddenly thoughtful. “I remember my first Feast,” he said, his eyes on the crowd. “I’d heard how things went, of course, but hearing was not like actually seeing it. Every rule of the city was turned upside down. We robbed the nobility blind and they practically thanked us for it, and when we got to the Godswalk—” He shrugged. “There are very few good memories I have of my time in the Deeps, but the nights that we got to go home with full bellies are some of them. Yes, it’s showy and patronizing, but if it gets hungry people fed...”
“...maybe it’s not all bad.” She hadn’t considered this before. Sometimes what you did mattered as much as the why.
“Shame about Dorian not making it,” Lysander said as he scanned the crowd. “Will we be seeing any of your new friends from among the nobility this evening?”
Duchess rolled her eyes. “Feast or no feast, I can’t see the Lady Iris making her way down to the Shallows. Besides, she has her hands full at the moment.” Everything Duchess had heard indicated that Iris hadn’t wasted any time taking control of her House, via her brother Stavros. Not only was Isabelle’s betrothal canceled, but Martin had been assigned new duties, managing the family’s controlling interest in an iron mine far off in the northlands. Duchess hoped he was cold.
“That’s too bad,” Lysander said around a grin. “Well, let’s get moving—it looks as if Jana’s saved us a good spot.” He was a veteran crowd-cutter, pushing through the press with little trouble. “That Dorian’s not half-bad, for a noble,” he said, craning his neck to look over a gaggle of short, plump blonde women, so alike they might have been sisters. “He actually troubled to learn the name of a ganymede, and not many high-hill folks can say the same. Also, he’s utterly beddable, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He gave her a wicked look. “I’ll bet he’s very polite between the sheets, which means you’ll need to teach him. Or I can break him in for you, if you’re too busy.”
She elbowed him, giggling. The young man was indeed unlike other aristocrats. Of course, the city was full of tales about noblemen who sported with lowborn women for illicit thrills. When a man with two names speaks that way to a woman with just one... He was different, she told herself. “I don’t think you’re his type,” she pointed out.
“If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that...” By then they had reached Jana, Mikkos, and Far, who had indeed found a good spot just before the Vermillion. Looking up, she could see Daphne, Lorelei, and some of the other ladies hanging from second-story windows, watching the excitement. Lysander blew them a kiss and they scream
ed approval, a cry taken up by those nearby until it reached thunderous proportions. Nobles who would not be caught dead in an establishment like Minette’s cheered like commoners, caught up in the moment. A musician struck up a tune, and a few daring couples took up a lively dance.
Minette herself was nowhere to be seen, which was not surprising. As a rule, she avoided public displays, preferring to remain behind the scenes. Still, in the last few weeks Duchess had learned more about Minette than she’d ever imagined she would know. The Uncle had observed that she was placing her people into positions of prominence, most notably Sheriff Galeon in Temple District. And of course Duchess herself had seen Ferroc with access to far more money than any Shallows seamstress had a right. Mikkos proved the link between her and the Vermillion’s mistress. How many more of Minette’s allies, ones Duchess did not even know, were being maneuvered into place? And to what end?
They finally reached their little party. Mikkos and Jana were dressed warmly in cloaks and hoods, and Far was so bundled up that he seemed almost round. The boy had been delighted when his father had told him he might go to the Feast, never knowing how hard Duchess had labored to persuade him. “Far is hiding in plain sight,” she’d told Castor. “No one’s going to take special note of one little boy, particularly one in a cloak and hat and scarf.” Castor, who had his own work that evening, had reluctantly agreed to surrender his son to her care.
Mikkos pulled Lysander into a hug, and Jana linked arms with Duchess. “So they are to come soon?” Jana asked, rubbing her hands together for warmth.
Duchess nodded. “See that clear path everyone has left? At last bell, the beggars will come right up there from the Deeps, then they’ll go on to the Godswalk where there’s a feast left out. No one goes home hungry, not tonight.”
“I’m hungry,” Far said, “and I can’t see anything.”
“Up you come, then,” Lysander said, setting the boy on his shoulders. “We’ve our own feast back at the shop. Think you can hold out until then? Or will you be just skin and bones?” Far giggled, and Duchess wondered idly what the future held for him. The work of her small hands might have some effect high upon the hill, but there were no guarantees. Some day things might change, but for now the important thing was keeping him safe and keeping him hidden.
Suddenly, over the din of the crowd, the bells in the palace were heard. At the first there was a cheer, but by the third ring, it seemed every voice had hushed. The anticipation was palpable as every eye turned down Beggar’s Way waiting for the parade of fools dressed in false finery to make their way up the hill to the Godswalk.
Four, five, six. In the silence the bells seemed louder than she’d ever heard. Still there was no motion from the end of the Way, and some strained on tiptoe to catch sight of the first beggar.
Eight, nine. “When are they coming?” Far asked, and Lysander shushed him.
Ten, eleven, twelve. The last of the bells faded into silence. Now, certainly, there would be something—some movement, some sound from down the hill.
She waited along with the rest. A murmur arose somewhere behind her, and spread slowly throughout the throng. Jana and Mikkos exchanged a glance, and Far squirmed impatiently on Lysander’s shoulders.
She leaned in close to Lysander. “Where are they?”
He shook his head, just as confused. “The beggars are never late.”
She looked across the crowd, where bewilderment reigned. Back near Beggar’s Gate she caught sight of Burrell arguing with one of the nobles, who was clearly upset at the wait.
“I don’t think...” She turned back to find all of them—Mikkos, Jana, Far, and Lysander—looking at her expectantly. “I don’t think they’re coming.”
She thought then of Morel’s garden, deep within the Narrows, of the door he’d opened with the Key of Mayu. How many beggars lived in the lower city? And how much food would one have to produce to feed them all? How long had they starved during the Evangelism? As she regarded the emptiness of Beggar’s Way, it occurred to her that perhaps they had found another source of sustenance and hope that night. In Rodaas, the fog is not all that rises.
They all stood there—nobles, artisans, merchants, laborers, whores, and lightboys—united for one night as at no other time, waiting for a parade that would never begin, to dispense charity that none had wished nor wanted.
And then in the confusion, silence fell once more as one last miracle occurred.
It began to snow.
* * *
Duchess refused to let what had happened dampen their spirits. When it was clear that the beggars were not coming, the crowd began to disperse, and she led her people back to the shop, where at least they could celebrate among themselves. As they headed down Dock Street towards the Foreign Quarter, she heard a thousand tales as to why things had gone awry—the Evangelism had frightened the beggars away, the empress had sent the Whites to shut down the Feast this year, another Great Fire had occurred in the Deeps and all had perished in its flames. Duchess thought she knew the real reason, but it wasn’t one she cared to share.
By the time they reached the shop, she was happy to have something to do. The food was already cooked; Duchess, Jana and Mikkos—the last worse for the previous night’s wine—had spent the day making the feast, which now needed only to be heated. Far had insisted upon doing his share, and he’d spent much of the afternoon watching pots with a gimlet eye, stirring this and spooning that as if the very empire depended on it.
Duchess put everyone to work serving and soon enough the tables were overflowing with flatbread and chickpea paste, lentil-and-onion soup, a savory lamb stew served over brown rice, and cabbage stuffed with ground meat, pine nuts and beans all flavored with anise. For the sweet, Mikkos had prepared kateff cakes soaked in a sugary syrup, stuffed with cheese, and then baked golden-brown. Duchess, in turn, had made tarts and pies with the last of the dried fruits available in the market.
They set to with a will, and Duchess was amazed how well Far took to Domae food. Children didn’t always react well to the unusual at dinner, she knew, but Far wolfed down everything they set before him.
“Where’s my father?” he asked between bites.
Duchess did not look up from the bowl from which she spooned up stew. “He had some business to take care of,” she said as calmly as she could. “He’ll be along shortly, and said to start without him.” She sensed rather than saw Lysander watching her, but she kept on eating as if nothing were amiss.
If Duchess was reserved, Mikkos was in high spirits, and no sooner was the serious business of eating done than he cajoled Lysander into a song about an emperor who’d once dabbled with a witch. In retaliation for being spurned, she cast a spell that turned all of his clothes into ash—just as he stood to marry the daughter of a powerful ally. It was a bawdy number, but in deference to Far, Lysander switched out obscenities for innocuous words like quick, farce, and hunt. So deft were his substitutions that they were soon all howling with laughter, Far included.
She recalled the night before the Fall of Ventaris, when Castor had left her service. He’d spoken of his family, of Far and his mother, whom she now knew as Princess Esmerelda. He’d told her that he never thought them a mistake, and that he took care of his own. Mikkos started a vigorous dance to Lysander’s song, with Jana trying valiantly to teach Far the steps. Watching them now, she understood the former White better than she ever had.
Jana had found family, and not just in her long lost brother. She’d fled the traditions that had stolen her aunt Adelpha and would have stolen her as well. Mikkos had come to a frightening foreign place to protect the sister he loved. Both had found something new here with Duchess and the rest.
Such thoughts led her to her own lost family—to Justin and Marguerite. Her sister was as lost as Jana’s aunt, it seemed, and as for Duchess’ brother...she found she could not find it in herself to be angry. Justin had run, had left her all alone, but she understood his fear. If he’d had some small id
ea of the revenants left by the Domae, of Philemon and his machinations, the vengeance she still did not understand—perhaps he had reason enough to run. And running, haunted and scared, he had found Adelpha.
She looked over at Lysander and he caught her eye and smiled. She thought of the Great Fire, of Gauld and Kit and Lysander’s long ago days in the Deeps. All of them orphans, here. All of them found. There was the family you were born to, and that which you chose.
Duchess watched her family and it warmed her heart, even as the silence and the snow and the promise of what it carried chilled her.
So much remained uncertain. Attys still lived and plotted. Cecilia’s paper might be well received, Violana might somehow choose another heir, the law and custom of Rodaas might yet change. Perhaps, someday, they would live in a different world, a world in which Iris Davari might be her father’s heir in name as well as in fact, a world in which Duchess herself might once again take on the mantle of Lady Kell in her own right and not on the arm of an assigned husband. And, of course, even with her reputation restored and her influence extended, somewhere deep beneath the hill, He Who Devours still waited.
Did Philemon’s coins bring the storms, or merely herald them? Perhaps it wasn’t the right question to ask. The storms came, will you nil you. It was what you did when the winds blew that mattered.
Only Duchess noted when Castor slipped in from the night, cloaked against the cold, wearing his sword. He pulled back his hood and looked straight at her. Their eyes locked, hers brown and questioning, his gray and somber. He nodded once, and as he moved to hang up his cloak and join the party, her clenched fists slowly relaxed.
She’d finally told him of the efforts she’d undertaken on Far’s behalf, and of her deal with Preceptor Amabilis. He’d made no response, but she hadn’t needed one. They were family, after all. And when she’d told him of the work to be done that evening, he’d agreed without a word of complaint. How far the both of them had come, it seemed, since that night before the Fall.
