by Scott Rhine
Hisbet spread his hands, feigning modesty. “Highness, I merely listen to them, and confidence does the rest.” The by-play meant that Hisbet’s report was finished.
“So far the good more than balances the bad. Our plan survives. How goes the interrogation of the sheriff?”sing breatasked Zariah.
The crone exaggerated her own frailty as she presented. “Not well, sire. He proves resistant to normal forms of questioning. His constitution is strong, while his health and memory are endangered by a severe head injury. With too much of the drug, he babbles incoherently or passes into catatonia, and with too little of the mixture, he evades us.”
“How can he fail to answer?” demanded Sandarac.
“He’s a true man of honor. Promises of reward do not sway him: not money, lands, or desire. During long recuperation periods from his injuries, we believe that he learned to swim through dream like a fish, Highness,” she said.
“A determined man may snare even the cleverest fish.”
“He also has a surprising ability to escape,” she admitted.
Sandarac chuckled at this. Having been an excellent escape artist himself, he said, “A man after my own heart. I heard of your problems and gave the Keepers permission to hold him the last time he eluded you. What did you learn from this man?”
The crone licked her lips to slow all her responses so that the ones she wished to avoid did not stand out. “We heard his awe for an old mentor, endless religious teaching from his sect, and details about his relentless practice sessions with the blade. In short, nothing worth your highness’ time.”
“Everyone has something to hide,” asserted Hisbet with cold certainty.
Zariah fastened a withering glare on the Viper, but he seemed immune. “We’re told that he was steeped in the Wine of Bablios. An impenetrable veil covers the deepest parts of his mind. We know that something scarred him deeply in his youth, making any threat of pain or fear meaningless to him.”
The Viper scoffed. “Nothing is impenetrable. Even gods cannot erase who we are and what we want in the dark hours of the night. Even if you cover it with a blanket, the trained eye can still see the outline of the body underneath.”
Zariah bridled at the transgression into her territory. True, she had been gentler with this man than most, but only because the information he possessed was so crucial. “The last session, my expert guides tried to lead him through a map of the Executioner Guild’s inner sanctum and he spent the whole time eating plums in a tree, salivating, and refusing to leave. What does that tell you about his buried secrets?”
Hisbet started chuckling. “Was there a woman in this garden?”
Zariah frowned. “Not exactly, but there is a little girl he keeps drifting back to.”
“The plum is a woman,” the Viper stated.
Now it was Urgot’s turn to scoff. “Why? Because it has sweet meat, bitter skin, and a stone for a heart?”
Zariah was not so skeptical. “Symbolism? The curves and the juices? He could be watching the girl, wanting to devour her, or consuming her and not willing to admit it. It would fit. How did you know?”
Hisbet wrote down a name on a scrap of parchment, and passed it to her. “This is a plum-based perfume native to the south. It not only makes a young man hungry, but binds the memf the woman to the aroma so that he thinks of her every time he smells the fruit. It is a common tool in seductions.”
Zariah inclined her head. “We’ll pursue this at once. Thank you.” Her gratitude was sincere but reserved, but everyone at the table understood. One should never allow oneself to be too indebted to the Viper.
Sandarac gave a tiny clap of approval at the performance, and then moved the meeting along to the surly Urgot. “How fare matters on the western front? Have your Swamp Rats taken that little town I wanted yet?”
Urgot squirmed for a moment, trying to frame an answer. “No. Neither have we retaken the one the enemy captured. The wizards from Barnham are formidable and they know how to sway the local populace toward their side.”
Sandarac looked down as one might at a cockroach crawling on a dinner plate. “What do you suggest I do about your inability to obey? We have no forces to spare, nor I imagine does your own king.”
“Their commander, Lady Kragen, sent a message,” Urgot rumbled.
“Through your Westgate troops?” asked the emperor.
“Through our own courier offices downstairs,” Urgot confessed. The entire room reacted as if the cockroach had turned out to be a scorpion. Hisbet dispatched investigators to confirm this breach of security while Keeper Ginza, the emperor’s personal bodyguard, drew his blade, fully expecting to make an example. Urgot pressed on, “She sends terms.”
“For my surrender?” Sandarac snapped heatedly. Ginza checked the blade to make sure it was sharp enough. He hated when the people suffered, or when a second stroke was necessary. It seemed so unprofessional. Ginza focused on a point just below the fire priest’s jaw.
“For a trade,” hastened the scarred old priest. “Please hear me out, Highness. It may still be advantageous. Lady Kragen offers to trade the King of Zanzibos for this sheriff that you captured.” Everyone present knew that such a suggestion was tantamount to treason. Once anything was turned over to the gods or the emperor, life, goods, or property, no one could ask for it back.
“What of Lord Kragen, that criminal fellow? What is his disposition in this matter?” asked Sandarac, deciding how offended he should be, and at whom.
“She is young and recently widowed,” stated Urgot. When the emperor asked for more details, Urgot consulted his notes. “Humi Kragen is of noble blood and bears the heir of two great families. Her head general lost his voice in the assassination and fanatically advances her cause. If her envoy is to be believed, the wench controls half the kingdom.”
Sandarac blinked and mumbled to himself, “And the mute shall sing his praises.” The air crackled with potential. This was the missing line of the prophecy. If he had this man at his side, his claim would be complete.
“Envoy?” asked Hisbet, upset that this intelligence had not been shared.
Urgot winced that his own countryman had caught the slip and exposed him. “The spirit of a man she controls that can travel great distances. It frightened most of the birds in the rookery away. We’ve been cleaning up and warding all morning. She has potent magic at her disposal. Her messenger comes again in about ten hours, and we’ve been preparing a more effective reception for it this time. My ki mages assure me we can cause him great pain and use banishing spells to prevent him from entering the palace grounds ever again. We know that anything belonging to the emperor may not be bargained.”
The emperor stared at the floor for a while and smiled. “He’s the center, the key. I have foretold my own victory. When the envoy arrives, cause him no pain, but give him this counteroffer. I deal only with equals. If the Lady comes in person to my city, I’ll make her empress and ruler by my side. If she joins me, anything I have becomes hers, and what is hers I will adopt as my own. Once the message has been given, block access to all such spirits in the future.” In one swoop, he would be able to conquer half of Zanzibos, obtain a proper wife, and produce a much-needed heir. In exchange for his obedience, the gods were handing him the keys to a complete dominion, and the start of the next great dynasty.
His eyes were shining so much that he didn’t see Ginza nick his own thumb on the blade before re-sheathing it. Whispering in the emperor’s ear, the Keeper said, “Highness, we need to talk about the prisoner in private.”
Sandarac’s face fell. “You’re all dismissed. Hisbet, you stay.”
When the three were alone, Ginza kneeled. “Highness, we have discovered that no locks or door can hold this prisoner. He’s escaped our dungeons.” Before the full storm of rage could cycle through the emperor’s face, the lead Keeper added, “But we haven’t lost him. He heads even now toward the palace. My men follow him at a distance. Nothing can move on our mountain without m
y knowledge.”
The last was a bit of a false boast, but no one confronted him on it. In truth, the guards had tracked him indirectly through doors left open or unlocked and discovered him by the luckiest accident. Regular patrols never encountered him. The Viper asked, “Where’s he now?”
“Asleep atop the east wall,” said the Keeper.
Sandarac closed his eyes. “You get to live another day, Ginza. Don’t make me regret this mercy.” When Ginza arose from the judgment, the emperor told him, “Escort Hisbet to the site. Take the prisoner to the Room with No Doors. From there even I couldn’t escape. Find me his secret whatever it takes. I would learn why so many people want this sheriff.”
Chapter 47 – Interrogation
The sheriff was awakened by voices in the distance, but was not yet able to open his eyes or move. Dream images still overlaid reality.
“Why wasn’t he brought to the Most High as
ordered?”
“The Keepers who found him asleep are convinced he is protected by the gods. They say he speaks to them in his slumber. The Keepers refuse to lay a hand on a holy one lest they offend those who dwell in the sacred city. After walking up here, I think the reason may have been a different sort of self-preservation. Did you see that narrow ledge he’s laying on?”
“It’s amazing he could walk at all with the drugs in him. I’ll send a few braver, less imaginative sorts over and put him on a spare palanquin. That way they can carry him over to the balcony without violating any taboos.”
The landscape spun, the cool of the stone under the sheriff became warm sunlight. When Tashi stirred, he was on a wooden pallet. The pallet sat on a steep, rocky hillside surrounded by greenery sculpted into all manner of geometric shapees.all patches of reddish-purple flowers entwined with the pale, stone railing. Above him was a veranda with a light-green tile roof. Two men sat on padded furniture, deep in discussion. Below the balcony were a cascading series of small terraces cut into the hillside. His terrace held a round table sheltered by a white parasol and surrounded by delicate, white, wooden chairs. On the table was a bone tea set painted with a single, faded rose.
A woman sat at the table, sipping tea. She had flawless skin, long, dark-brown hair, and green eyes. Her dress, cut generously at the bosom, was full of unspoken promises. When she noticed his gaze, she glided over to where he sat. As a gentleman, Tashi stood in the presence of a lady. A wind stirred the tiny, reddish-purple flowers, and he noticed several minor discrepancies at once. The only flaw with her beauty seemed to be her complete lack of a shadow. The men on the veranda, though somewhat distant, seemed more real, more mundane. The first was a street beggar wrapped in rags, with feet turned black from frost. This was the Pretender. The second, smaller man was dressed like a minor aristocrat, but his face didn’t move. It was just a mask. Behind the eyeholes were tiny flames, fires of ambition that never died and were never satisfied. This was the spymaster. The small man was hollow, controlled by the Burning One. Intaglios had been the first of those faithful to Osos and once among the most mighty.
However, the woman without a shadow wasn’t human. “You’re...,” Tashi started to say, but the goddess Semenos interrupted.
“Hush,” she commanded with a musical voice. “No names. The moment you name anyone, this meeting is over.” When he nodded, she continued. “Besides, in dreams we can all be gods. What was lost can be regained. Time itself is clay to be shaped. You can have anything you desire.” Her nearness and attempted seduction kindled something he thought long buried.
Tashi closed his eyes, muttering a mantra to himself. “Hear the wind and the water. Do not let the mood rule the will.” When he had recovered focus, the sheriff asked, “I would’ve visited you soon enough in your den, but you came to me instead. What do the impatient gods want of me?”
Colder, but no less beautiful, the goddess took a step back. “To be our new high priest. Join us. Turn back from your course and return to the people. Tell them: on the Holy Mountain it was revealed that I and my husband embody all the ancient lore. We are the divine couple, the wedding producing more than each combined.”
Tashi read her words as if seeing secret candle-writing beneath. As he made his deductions, his very thoughts seemed to be broadcast. “Is this necessary for your continued immortality?”
Businesslike, she said, “We’ll have as much power as Osos himself, but with a brain.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?”
She smiled. “A follower of the Traveler may speak for any of the gods as he chooses.”
“Won’t the other gods have something to say about this arrangement?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “The twins Zanzibos and Bablios are always collaborating against all reason. This will be their undoing soon. Mandibos will always follow the strong majority; the god of cattle behaves like a cow himself.”
“And Kis?”
She wrinkled her perfect nose at this thought. “He lays among the fallen now, unable to return. Osos should never have made him a god in the first place. He was a mere workman, a technician, no more.”
Tashi knew he couldn’t hold back his conclusion from her hearing. Therefore, he relaxed his hold on the abbots of the past and bombarded her with several thoughts at once. The most seditious and softest of the voices was a revelation. “But you couldn’t stop him or didn’t dare. He knew something you didn’t dare leave behind, built something the rest of you couldn’t.” While on the top layer, louder than all the others he shouted, “Lies! You want me to lie to the people?”
Her face remained polite, but the ice in her voice could cut. “We prefer to call it simplification. The new message will eliminate all this terrible, fractious behavior we’ve been seeing lately. Besides, the pursuit of truth should have nothing to do with religion. The ideal religion should keep the herds happy, unquestioning, and productive without causing too much inconvenience.”
“What would my incentive for spreading the vision of your simplified world be?”
She led him to the edge of the tea garden and stretched out her hand. Green hills, cities, and by some trick of dream geography, the whole world lay stretched out before the base of the Holy Mountain. “We only want the mana we need to survive. Anything from the physical world is yours, including the Fallen—anything you desire.”
The words were flush with intimacy and emotion. Tashi calmed himself again for a final question. “But you don’t like me. Why are you making this offer?”
She sighed, weighing the commodity of honesty like a coin in limited supply. “You’re a permitted conduit. Divine laws on this are very strict, and there are very few conduits remaining. If you cut all ties with the old ways and declare that endorsement of Sandarac was the last word of the Traveler, we’d be willing to overlook all of your former transgressions.”
Wrinkling his forehead, he asked, “Cut all ties, how?”
“Stop meddling with the Doors and complete the disposal of all the writings of Calligrose.”
Tashi shook his head. “My master would never agree.”
The goddess licked her lips. “When he dies, you’ll be the master.”
Tashi blinked. “You’re ordering me to kill Jotham the Tenor?”
She looked away, bending to examine a blossom. Her dress tightened in several interesting places as she tried to sound light and casual. “Those words never passed my lips. But I can tell you that such an occurrence would greatly please me. In fact, I can think of none of the gods remaining who’d object to that course of action.”
Tashi struggled for a moment against the impulse to please this goddess. Then he shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“Or won’t?” she countered, as resoundingly as a carpenter striking a flooring nail that sticks up too far.
“Neither.”
The goddess sighed again. “Pity. I’ll win either way, but this would’ve been more convenient. Since you refuse my offer of mercy, I can no longer protect you. My husband will ha
ve his way with you. I assure you, his enticements will be far less pleasant.”
Tashi noticed the man with the porcelain mask beckoning him to the veranda. Small, white, honeysuckle blossoms scented the breeze. When he turned his head back, the goddess was gone. The sheriff strengthened his resolve and walked up the terraces to the pair of men on the covered porch. The small, masked man remained silent, allowing the beggar to speak. The beggar wore an almost-absurd circlet of tin around his head made of items rummaged from a trash heap.
“Who are you?” demanded Sandarac.
“The Sheriff of Tamarind Pass.”
The beggar king scoffed. “A soldier? You can’t be much of a soldier with no weapons or armor.”
“Even without a blade, I could defeat you,” Tashi thought out loud. It was not a challenge but a flat statement.
Sandarac pulled back a little. “So you admit you are a spy from the south.”
“You watch the distant mountains instead of the hills.”
Now recognizing both statements as being quotes from the holy tomes, Sandarac changed his tactics. “A wise man, then. An ascetic, I assume, immune to the charms of money?”
At this, Tashi was amused. “Your worm should have informed you that I’ve learned the secret of creating sesterina. After this, mere gold seems cumbersome and petty.”
Again, the beggar king seemed taken aback. He did some calculating. The value of his cooperation just rose again in Sandarac’s eyes. He continued probing for any leverage he could use against the captive sheriff. “We also know you were disowned from your clan. This means you have no lands, no possessions, no loved ones I can hold hostage. As far as we know, you have no real name. As far as the world is concerned, you don’t exist. I can give you all that—more than treasure, I can give you belonging. You’d be a valued part of something greater than any one man or kingdom, honored and loved, admired and revered. Only tell me who you are and swear allegiance.”
