by Bunch, Chris
So it was that Amiel, Countess Kalvedon, came to live with us.
• • •
The emperor sat motionless at his desk, the top of which was made of various colored woods forming a map of Numantia, sealed in a clear glass. Behind him on the wall hung an ornate sword and, beside it, an equally flamboyant wand. Two braziers, taller than a man, sent red flames swirling up toward the chamber’s high ceiling, flames that never smoked or emitted heat.
The emperor’s face was stern, hard. “Sit down,” he ordered, and I obeyed. There was only one thing on his desk, a standard heliograph message form, some pages long. “Here. Read this. It came from King Bairan yesterday near dusk.”
I read it once, then again, more carefully. The document was amazing. Bairan opened with a greeting using all of the emperor’s titles. He had finally received word from the frontiers about the terrible incident in question, the unfortunate fight between soldiers of our armies. He said various explanations had been offered, and he was satisfied with none of them. He’d ordered a royal commission of inquiry, which would provide a true and complete story within a time, perhaps two. But in the interim, he wished to extend his fullest apologies to the emperor and to the Numantian Army. The Maisirian unit had been restricted to barracks and would be dissolved. Its men would be broken to the ranks and sent to other units. The three officers in command had been hanged as common criminals. As for the native auxiliaries, he’d have them tracked down.
He’d further ordered all border units to withdraw two full days’ march back of the frontiers, to make sure another terrible occurrence like this wouldn’t happen. He promised to make generous restitution to the widows and children of the slain Numantians and would hardly object if reparations to the state of Numantia were required.
I whistled. “Sire, your diplomatic note must’ve been incredible. I’ve never heard of any king being this humble.”
“That’s what you think, eh?” the emperor said coldly.
“What else could there be?”
“Read the end of his message again.”
The last two paragraphs said the king was tired of the bickering about the border between Numantia and Maisir and would like to arrange a conference between the two rulers to settle the lines. In addition, it was time to consider the Border Lands, long a prickle to both countries, and devise a solution that would make everyone, except perhaps the bandits of those regions, content. It was time, the letter said, “for absolute peace to reign.”
“My congratulations, sir,” I said.
“You believe all that?” His tone was a sneer.
“Well … I don’t have any reason not — Yes, sir. I do. Shouldn’t I?”
“Now we see,” the emperor went on, “why sorcery is given to but a few who are capable of piercing the veil and seeing beyond words, seeing truth, seeing what is real.”
I blinked, wondering why I’d been rebuked.
“King Bairan sends this message, and might as well have crawled from the borders on his knees. He abases himself,” Tenedos said. “Why?”
“Maybe he’s afraid of provoking you?”
“Perhaps,” the emperor said coldly. “Or perhaps he’s trying to buy time to build up his army. Or perhaps he’s planning a surprise attack. My magics have sensed something building, something coming, something from the south. Or perhaps his hidden dagger lies in this prattle about a conference. It wouldn’t be the first time that a kingdom was betrayed under a flag of peace, would it?” Tenedos was barely controlling rage.
“No, sir,” I said, my voice neutral.
“Very well,” Tenedos said. “He chooses to hide in silk. We shall do the same. For the moment. Damastes, you remember that the post of general of the armies was never filled after General Protogenes’s death?”
Of course I did. It was gossiped about in the officers’ messes, and everyone wondered if the emperor were keeping that title for himself. Older officers said this was more important than it appeared, for a king who attempted to be all things would end by being none of them. It mattered not at all to me — the emperor controlled the army with or without the title, for we’d sworn an oath to serve him, and there were few fools in uniform who wished to return to the old days of puffery and nonsense.
“Tomorrow morning you shall be named to that post,” the emperor said. “I shall be studying this matter of Maisir even more intently than before and will need to spend a great deal of time in other worlds and times to touch the heart of this matter. I want the army to continue to be a smooth, fine-running mechanism and know you, as first tribune, will guarantee that.”
I knelt.
“Get up, you damned fool,” the emperor said, a smile pushing across his face. “All I’ve done is create more work for you … although I still want you to concentrate on building my Imperial Guard. I believe we shall need them sooner than ever, and more of them then I’d planned.”
Obediently I rose, saluted. The emperor nodded dismissal. I walked backward to the door, reached behind me, and opened it. As I went out, I glanced back at the emperor and saw his face darken. He held the heliograph transmission in both hands.
“You bastard,” he muttered. “You cowardly bastard! Trying to ruin everything!”
• • •
The delowa may be the only sausage ever banned for immorality. About a hundred years before I was born, the always-incompetent and generally laughable Rule of Ten looked around for something to be outraged about. The Festival of the New Year caught their eye.
Numantia has always celebrated the New Year with the first glimpse of spring. For one full day all work ceases, and most laws are ignored. Traditional customs are suspended or reversed. Lords dress and act like peasants, and peasants become ladies. Men become women, women men, and frequently they let their dress dictate their behavior.
One symbol of the festival is the delowa, and the first time you see one you realize the Rule of Ten wasn’t utterly foolish. It’s made of white chicken meat, egg yolks, bread crumbs, salt, pepper, parsley, chives, thyme, and savory. These ingredients are well mixed, then carefully stuffed in casing about ten inches long by two inches in diameter. The casing is string-tied flush at one end, then at the other the meat is patted into a taper, and finally the casing is tied off at that end with just a bit protruding. It looks very much like a man’s cock. The sausage is boiled, then smoked for a short time, then grilled by sidewalk vendors. The image is further encouraged by the special bun the delowa is served in, a cradle closed on either end. For spicing, a hellishly hot white sauce made from Hermonassan peppers is spread, and then the sausage is ready for the lascivious eater.
The Rule of Ten tried to ban not only the festival, but its symbol as well. The result was that the nobility were mostly forced indoors with the wardens and officials and ignored what was going on around them, while the masses ran riot, doing vast amounts of damage. After that year the ban was never mentioned again, and things returned to happy anarchy.
“We are,” Marán announced one evening after dinner, “going to celebrate Festival three days hence as it’s never been celebrated before.”
A smile came to Amiel’s lips, something that was very welcome. She had been trying hard to be her usual cheery self, but with infrequent success.
Marán had followed through on her promise, and the men of the law had attacked Pelso like rabid weasels. He must have been surprised at their ferocity, for he and his ladylove fled the capital for the temporary anonymity of Bala Hissar.
“I’m game,” I announced, then reality struck. “But there’ll be a bit of a problem.”
“Problems exist to be overcome,” Marán said, in her most royal manner.
“Excellent. Attack this one: There are certain people in Nicias who do not wish either you or I well.”
“The Tovieti,” Marán said.
“Yes. So if we go out, we’ll have to have a great clanking set of bodyguards with us. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm,” my wife said. “Well
, what had you planned?”
“Not much,” I said. “I thought I’d work until dusk. Then maybe we could invite half a dozen friends in for dinner and watch the fire-play and apparitions on the river afterward.”
“How fascinating. Lady Kalvedon,” Marán said, “bear you witness to the fact my husband, once in the forefront of frolic, has turned into a pooptitty.”
“A pooptitty?” I snickered. “What, pray, is that?”
“Look you in the mirror,” she said. “Come, Lady Kalvedon. We women will, as usual, save the day.” She took her friend’s hand and stalked out.
I thought wistfully of the festival, and how I’d only once been in Nicias at Festival with my wife. But no one ever said, as the soldiers put it vulgarly, generalling was all bangles and blowjobs.
• • •
That night Marán announced, quite smugly, that she’d solved our problem. She refused to say how. I thought I’d subvert her and find out from Amiel, but all her friend would do was giggle and say I’d see, and it would be even better than Marán had predicted.
• • •
“Oh ye who lack faith in the true magic,” Seer Sinait intoned, “now ye shall weep bitter tears.”
“And then carouse until dawn,” Marán put in. They were behind my seer, trying to stay straight-faced. Sinait carried a small case of instruments and a tiny flask. She set both on the table, opened the case, took out chalk, and drew on the library floor.
“This is not a spell,” Seer Sinait said, as she marked figures inside a strange triangle with curving sides, “so much as an anti-spell. We use hyssop, slippery elm, squaw vine, yellow dock, goldenseal, and others. But where these herbs are generally beneficial for vision, we will cast a spell of polarity. If you three would now stand at the points of this figure …”
We obeyed, and Sinait stood in the center. “The words I use have power,” she chanted, “power of themselves, power to give, power to take. Let not your ears hear what I say, lest these words take power over you,” and as she spoke I was suddenly deaf. Her lips moved, but I heard nothing. The sound from the crowds already thronging the riverfront outside was gone. I remained deaf for several moments, then she took a small, leafy branch from a belt pouch and swept it in measured gestures at us, and hearing returned. “Now, each of you come here, and let me touch you with this ensorcelled branch. First you, Damastes.” I obeyed, then she summoned the other two. “That’s that,” she said briskly.
“What’s what?” I asked.
“That’s my protective spell,” she said. “Quite a good one, too. It’ll take a master magician to see through it, and he’ll have to be concentrating. I think you’ll like its effects. When someone looks at you, they’ll not recognize you, even if they’re a close friend. They’ll think, dimly, you resemble someone they know, but of course it can’t be you. A stranger will not be interested at all, and his or her eye will seek to pass on, to more interesting sights. Of which I doubt not there’ll be plenty on this night,” she went on. “Now, however, if you do wish to be seen, all you have to do is whisper ‘Pra-Ref-Wist,’ preferably without laughing at the silly words, and the person you’re looking at will recognize you.”
“I told you, Damastes,” Marán said, “I’d figure out a way to not need bodyguards.”
I grinned. “It’ll be as if we’re children again, and our parents are away for the night.”
“Exactly,” Marán said. “But even better. Do your second marvel, Seer.”
Sinait walked to the table and picked up the flask. “I’ll need three drops of blood,” she said. “One from each of you.”
“What does this one do?”
“This is what I’m proudest of,” Marán said. “Something Amiel said made me come up with the idea. She told me once she was sorry that you can’t drink.”
“Won’t, actually,” I said. “Tastes like dung and then my head’s the source of the dung for the next day.”
“But there’s something to be said for wine,” Amiel said. “It loosens the mind and gentles the senses. Some, anyway. Others it makes more acute.”
“Then you’re throwing up in the gutter,” I said.
“So what we want,” Marán said, “is something that’ll give you all the good that drink can bring, but none of the evil. I consulted Devra, and she said such a potion was possible. Amiel suggested we should all take the same potion, so we’re on the same level.”
“What’s in this potion?” I asked suspiciously.
“A bit of a lot,” the seer said. “Nothing that magical, other than that I said an efficacy spell when I mixed the potion, like a cook sautéing his spices for greater effect. As to what’s specifically in it, mostly herbs from the Outer Islands. Some you might recognize, like Carline thistle, lovage, water eryngo, gelsemine, centaury, sweet flag root, three or four varieties of mushrooms — the usual witch’s hell-broth, in other words.”
“Do we drink it or pray to it?” I asked skeptically.
“First your finger,” Sinait said, and there was a needle between her fingers. It darted, and a drop of blood welled on my fingertip. She held the flask under it and the blood dropped, further discoloring the murky solution. “This, and some things I did earlier, will seal the potion to you.” She did the same for Marán and Amiel. “Now drink,” she said. “Share it equally.”
We obeyed. The mixture was bitter, tangy, but not unpleasant.
“Now what do we do?” Marán said.
“Whatever you wish,” Sinait said. “The potion will be quite long-lasting, well into tomorrow morning.”
“When will we know what its effects are?” Amiel asked, a bit nervously.
“You will know when you will know,” Sinait said. “And there’s certainly nothing to fear. All that I put in it is natural.”
“So are nightshade and fly agaric,” Amiel muttered, but appeared a bit reassured.
“Have a good time,” Sinait said, and I swear she was about to add “children,” but caught herself and bowed out.
“That is that,” Marán said. “Now, what do we wear? I didn’t have time to plan a costume.”
I went to the window and opened the shutter. For once the sages were right in their weather prediction, and I felt spring rushing on the land. A warm, gentle breeze blew off the river, and I thought I could smell the sea, miles north of us, about to awake to Jacini’s gentle touch.
Marán and Amiel looked at each other. “Come,” my wife said. “Let’s raid our closets. Damastes, meet us downstairs in two hours. Dress sensibly, for we’re going to be the peacocks this night.”
I bowed obediently. This night was to be entirely Marán’s show.
• • •
I chose a flowing silk tunic in the deepest blue, black pants and kneeboots, with a matching cloak treated to be waterproof, remembering how quickly Nicias’s weather could change. Even though Sinait said it wouldn’t be necessary, I took a simple black domino. I opened one of my arms cabinets, but decided I’d be in no jeopardy this night. I considered how seldom I’d gone unarmed over the years, but put the thought aside as possibly depressing.
A few minutes after the agreed time the women came downstairs. Both were dressed very simply. Amiel wore a lavender silk button-front dress. It was strapless, and she had the top two buttons unfastened, so it was quite beyond me how it stayed up, barely covering her jutting breasts. She wore matching sandals with leather straps curling up around her lower leg. The silk was very thin, and I could glimpse her rouged nipples. Around her neck she wore a matching scarf, and a simple eye mask in the same color was atop her head.
Marán had chosen a dress of knit red cloth that fit her body like a sheath from her ankles to just above her waist, where the material came to a point under her right arm. A gold catch held a triangular cloth of the same color that ran over her left shoulder, then down her back, leaving her midriff and right shoulder to just above her breast bare. Her shoes were slip-ons and, like her feathered mask, matched her dress. Each carrie
d a cloak over her arm.
“And aren’t we gorgeous?” Amiel said. “The prettiest threesome in Nicias.” Her mood changed suddenly, and she looked sad. “Isn’t it a pity the four of us never went out more than we did? Perhaps …” Her voice trailed off, and she shook herself. “Sorry. I’m being dunceish, aren’t I? We don’t need anyone but the three of us.”
“No,” Marán said softly, seriously. “We don’t.”
We went out into Festival.
• • •
The riverfront was thronged with people laughing, drinking, eating. Some wore costume, more did not. We marveled at a man and a woman dressed as cowled demons, who must’ve spent an entire year working on their outfits, then a goodly sum on the sorcerer who animated them, for in place of the monsters’ fearsome faces were mirrors, but instead of merely reflecting they showed the faces, magically warped into evil, of those who peered under their hoods.
We started for the artists’ quarter, where Festival was celebrated with the greatest dedication.
There was a ten-piece band, earnestly playing a song that had been on everyone’s lips last year. In front of each musician was a mug. But instead of holding money, it held alcohol, and any passerby with a flask was invited to pour a measure into it. I wondered what the always-changing concoction tasted like, and winced.
There were about twenty dancers weaving about the band, and as they spun, each shed a garment. Some were already naked.
“What,” Marán wondered, “will they find to do in twenty minutes? They’ll all be bare as babes by then.”
“Maybe put everything back on and start over,” I hazarded.
“Or maybe they’ll find some other way to pass the time than dancing” was Amiel’s guess.
• • •
I felt myself grinning, without any particular reason. My body was wonderfully, comfortably warm, and the night was alive with wondrous scents. The people around us were marvelous to behold, whether they were rich, poor, ugly, or handsome. I looked at Amiel and Marán, and knew there were no two more beautiful women in all Numantia, and no one’s company I’d prefer. Everything was soft, gentle, good. My cares about my duties, my worries about Maisir — all were meaningless. I was in complete control, my senses heightened, not altered. All that mattered, all I should concern myself with, was this moment in time that would last forever, when everything was permitted and no one could mean anyone harm.
