Exiled: Keeper of the City

by Peter Morwood

  She pushed the thought aside, and looked up and spoke brightly to the attaché, even as she felt the bluegreen eyes fasten on her with purpose, as she felt the tall strong shape approaching her from behind. “But these parties tend to be so boring,” she said to the attaché, and felt the presence pause behind her, the heat beginning already, though she had done nothing yet. And she readied the claw….

  •

  The dispensary and infirmary in Constables’ House had once been a library, and was ridiculously ornate, considering its present purpose. The place was paneled and shelved in some old wood, now rare and expensive; that was the only reason why Teloi the police physician had not long since had much of it ripped out—the carvings, at least, all along the ceiling and floor, which made him furious. They gathered dust, Teloi claimed, and were impossible to keep clean, and besides, he hated the fussy carvings, the leering mrem-faces, and ornamental plant life. Teloi thought things should be simple, clean, plain; so he told Reswen every time he saw him, and every time Reswen would have to apologize for the carvings.

  But Reswen was in no mood for it today, and when Teloi started, he was brusque with him. “I don’t want to know about it,” he said. “I need to talk to Thabe.”

  Teloi scowled at him. “ ‘Talk’ is something she won’t be doing any more,” he growled. “The devils! Have you caught who did it?”

  “Not yet. How is she?”

  “Awake. I wish she weren’t, either, but I daren’t give her any more sedative at this point. It might interfere with her breathing. But the pain woke her up, and she keeps waving her stumps at me and grunting. It’s you she wants. The grunting gets louder when your name is mentioned than it does for anything else. Get in there, for pity’s sake, don’t stand out here talking to me and keeping her waiting.”

  Reswen nodded and went in, refusing to rise to the bait of Teloi’s well-known temper. He went into the little curtained cubicle that had been set aside for her, and pulled the curtain closed after him. Thabe lay there on a soft couch, quite still, until she opened her eyes and saw him. Her paws, or the places where they had been, were great swathes of bandage. Her face was drawn with pain—there was nothing to be done about that wound but to let the place where her tongue had been heal naturally. Here and there the ginger of her fur was still dyed brown with blood—not all just hers, Reswen suspected; in a fight, Thabe was a terror. Had been a terror ... for what was a mrem without claws? She was struggling to sit up. “Don’t,” Reswen said. “Thabe, lie still!—” but it was useless; sit up she would. Reswen helped prop her up with some pillows against the raised end of the couch. She rested there for a moment, reeling a little, perhaps an aftereffect of the sedative.

  “Thabe,” Reswen said, “I’m so sorry.”

  She hissed at him. That she could still do, and her eyes flashed scorn. Apparently Thabe thought there were more important things to be tended to than apologies for what was done. At least that was what Reswen suspected, for Thabe had much of the so-called “ginger” temperament—quick-tempered, clever, impatient with idiocy.

  “You got too close,” Reswen said. “You got too close to what we were looking for, and they caught you.”

  She nodded.

  Reswen put his face in his paws for a moment. If only she could tell us what it was, what she saw—

  Thabe hissed again, annoyed. Reswen looked up at her, at her anger, her tail lashing, and wanted to weep. This was his fault—

  Her tail lashed so hard, thumping the bed, that Reswen was startled. He was more startled when he realized that he was hearing a pattern. Thump. Thump thump. Thump

  thump thump—

  Reswen stared at her. “Aszh;” he said, “veh, raih—”

  Thabe nodded violently, and grinned, then winced; the movement stretched too hard at the place where her tongue had been. She settled for showing her teeth in a smug snarl.

  “Right,” Reswen said. He put his head out the curtain and said to Teloi, “Send your runner upstairs and tell him to get one of my office people down here. Tell them to bring wax pads and parchment. Move it.”

  He turned back to Thabe. “How you can even think of something like this,” he said, “when you’ve got such injuries—”

  She hissed at him again, but it was a softer sound. “Yes,” he said softly, “I suppose. Before they come in: Magic, Thabe—was it magic?”

  She nodded hard, and hissed again, and bristled.

  “Right.” They were quiet for a moment, and then one of Reswen’s scribes came in, with Teloi behind, in full cry.

  “I won’t have you bothering her,” he said. “What idiotic thing are you up to—”

  “Teloi, be still,” Reswen said. To the scribe, who was putting down an armload of tablets, he said, “Cunnek, Thabe is going to give you some transcription, but it’s going to take a while. She can’t talk, but she can use the standard tap code, with her tail. One thump for aszh, two for veh, and so forth. If it gets tiring, make a chart and let her use her tail to point. Does that sound all right?” he said to Thabe. She nodded.

  “All right, then. Get on with it. Cunnek,” he added, and the young black-furred mrem looked up at him apprehensively. “This material is extremely sensitive. If anymrem but you and Teloi sees it, I’m going to sit you on a spike on the walls and leave you there to enjoy the view. Are you clear about that? When Thabe is done telling you what she has to tell you, those tablets go straight up to my desk, and you stay there with them until I come and take them from you.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Cunnek, sounding slightly nervous. “All right, then. This material is time-sensitive—get on it. I’ll be in the building for a while yet—if you need me for something that you or Thabe judge important, send a runner for me. I’ll be along.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Reswen stepped outside the curtain and listened to the thumping begin. Thabe was apparently in an impatient mood, and he could hardly blame her. Teloi came out of the cubicle and growled, “I don’t want her tired. She gets tired, he goes out.”

  “Teloi,” Reswen said with some patience, “she may just have to get tired, since what she has to tell us may make the difference between this city standing where it stands, next year, or being reduced to an empty pile of stones set in a patch of naked dirt. You let her go on as long as she feels the need. She’s no fool. She won’t jeopardize herself—she understands her own importance in this matter too well. You give me trouble on this one, and by the gods, you’re going to have one of those pointy seats on the wall yourself.”

  Teloi snarled and walked off, which Reswen took, as usual, for agreement. Slowly Reswen headed out of the infirmary, back for his office, trying to calm his mind. Laas. She had to be in the Lloahairi Embassy at this point; the fool mrem, the brave creature, she was going to risk herself for what he felt was important. Oh, don’t, he implored her silently, as if she could hear him. Don’t, please. There’s no need. My mrem are there, they’ll find a way. And these foreign mrem aren’t playing games any more. The thought of her suffering something like Thabe’s fate—. He shuddered. Stay away from them, be cautious, don’t get caught in this, oh love, don’t—

  No answer came, not that he had been expecting one.

  He went up to his office, went in, and shut the door.

  •

  “Madam,” the voice said in Laas’s ear, “surely you won’t do it.”

  “Do what?” she said, all innocence, turning around. His eyes met hers. She struck, struck the claw deep.

  For one moment his face lost all expression, his eyes lost their mocking bite, as his desire rose up and blinded him, drowned him, choked him. She felt it rise, felt the prospect of long slow lovemaking, a little cruel, a little sweet, now personified for him in her. She breathed out a little as she tightened her hold on his passion, bound it to her. At least this one was not a sickly welter of desired shame like Maikej. It
would be an enjoyable evening, at the very worst. She could sense skill and a pride in his ability at lovemaking, but again, that shade of cruelty on the edge of everything, like the bright edge of a knife. Laas didn’t mind. She could be cruel too, and by the end of the evening would doubtless feel like it. For he isn’t Reswen....

  “Decamp with sour old Maikej,” he said, finally. The words did not come out in the casual tone they would have originally, before she set the claw in his heart.

  “Why, who told you such a thing?” she said, demure. “Even were I about to do it, I would hardly advertise the fact. Nor would a mrem of gentle breeding inquire about it, were he gently bred at all, or even simply gentle. I think you weary me,” she said. “Your pardon.” And she turned away.

  He turned with her, as she expected. She could feel his excitement rising at the little stab. There was no hint of anything else, though; if he knew she was a charismatic, he didn’t care. And he was wearing no protection against her talent—that at least she could tell from this close. He stepped in front of her and bowed, a most insolently apologetic bow, saying with a flourish of arms and tail that she was quite right, he was a boor—as long as he got what he wanted from her, and not a moment longer. Laas smiled a little. “Madam,” he said, “forgive me.”

  “Possibly,” she said, “but one needs a name to know whom to forgive.”

  “Masejih,” he said. “A traveler and merchant of Lloahai, for now attached to the embassy as an adviser on matters of trade.”

  Does he then truly not recognize me, Laas found herself wondering, or is he merely keeping up the pretense for those who would be listening? ... We’ll soon enough find out. Aloud she said, “Ah, now you seek to impress me with wealth and status. If I liked the look of you well enough,” she said, shooting him a sidewise glance as she turned away, “I wouldn’t care that”—she flicked one ear elegantly—“for your salary or your connections. A brisk young mrem should be able to make his way without such crutches.” She yawned sweetly as she paced away, and he followed. “I think you are too young for me, sir. Or perhaps I should rather say too old. Catch a mrem young enough, and one can train him out of these habits and into ones better suited to please a lady.”

  The seductive twist of tone she applied to the word “please” provoked an instant response in Masejih, so that he had to force himself to keep his paws down and not seize this saucy she-mrem to teach her how much he knew about how to please ... if indeed he chose to do so. The response washed over her as well, and almost kindled her own body’s heat, but Laas pushed that down and away as she had long been able to do even in the most tempting situations. There were, after all, few things more pitiful in the world than a seduction that boiled over too early, before the things one needed had been accomplished.

  He followed after her making courtly protestations, apologies, trying to entice her as she had enticed him. Laas smiled and let him do it, let him follow her right around the room to let him realize how utterly he wanted her. Skillful, she stopped just before it would have made him angry, just at the point where he still found it humorous, and was still thinking ahead to what he was going to do to this infuriating, wicked, delightful creature when he got her where he wanted her. She gave him just enough of her eyes, just enough of her smile, to let him get a sense that she was weakening. She stopped by a sideboard, allowed him to serve her with food and drink, allowed him to drive himself wilder and wilder with anticipation.

  Finally they were standing in a corner together, he between her and the rest of the room, towering over her. He leaned in close and said, “Well then? What about old Maikej?”

  She gazed up at him, and smiled. “Who?” she said, and drove the claw in as deep as it could go.

  His whole body shouted at him, Take her, take her! She could feel it. “Come with me,” Masejih said, “Now. Oh, Laas, come, come, please come, I will do anything you ask of me—”

  Very softly she slipped her tail around behind him and stroked his with it. All his fur stood on end. “But what about the party? What about your duties, the people you must meet—”

  He was shaking so with desire that he couldn’t even make the rude suggestion about those other people that would have been the natural response. “Laas—”

  “Yes,” she said very quietly. “Yes. Yes. Go. I will follow you.”

  He went, in something of a rush, storming off up the steps. A few people noticed him, particularly Maikej; the little mrem saw that rush and mistook its hurry for fury. He smiled at Laas across the room, an expression that was a bizarre mix of sheer malice toward Masejih and desire for her. Laas smiled back, setting the claw deep in him too, for there was no telling when she might need it. He started to come toward her, but she wagged an admonitory claw at him, a “not yet, mrem will talk” gesture. Reluctant but obedient, he turned away, still smiling an awful smile of delight that the young upstart Masejih had been sent about his business.

  Some while later, feeling that the anticipation upstairs had reached that delicate point between rabid desire and rage, Laas moved softly toward the steps, went up them unchallenged, and was gone. She thought of the expression on Maikej’s face when he turned, in a little while, looking for her, and found her gone. It made her smile.

  But then she thought of Reswen ... and it took many moments to get the smile back against before she opened the door behind which Masejih waited.

  “Laas,” he said. For so softly spoken a word, it was almost a cry of triumph.

  Reswen, she thought, and smiled, and went in, and closed the door.

  •

  Reswen sat with his paws folded, and he twitched a bit while he waited. He was trying to keep a rein on his patience, but finding it difficult. It’s just so annoying, he thought. The place is full of our people right now. There are any number of places we could be prying into. But until Thabe tells us what we should be looking for, I don’t dare spoil our chances, if we should get caught looking for something else, something of lesser importance. And Laas, oh, Laas, what are you doing, please stay out of it!

  The knock on his door almost made him jump out of his fur. It was the scribe, come back up to his office. The burdened-down youngster put down most of the pile of tablets he was carrying, and handed Reswen just two of them.

  “Good work,” he said to Cunnek. It had to have been wearying work, counting thumps and making sure they belonged to the right letter, scratching one letter at a time, starting all over again.

  “She fell asleep, sir,” Cunnek said. “She was hurting a lot.”

  Reswen looked at Cunnek suspiciously. Were his eyes red? And from what? “All right,” he said. “Get out of here ... you’ve put in enough overtime for one day. Take tomorrow off, if you like. And find me a runner on the way out.”

  “Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

  “I seriously hope so,” Reswen said, letting his eyes fall again to the tablet. The report was terse, but then Thabe’s reporting usually was, even when she wasn’t having to spell it out letter by letter. Oh, poor kit, what can we do for you now....? He sighed and read the thing.

  Investigated most of embassy and was unable to find anything of interest except in subbasement. This area usually guarded, door almost always locked except when subbasement is occupied. Persons seen to enter it: once, Maikej, more than once, Masejih (alleged trade attaché). All entries take place at night. Took advantage of slack guard to pick lock and enter. Room is large and square, walls rough, appears to be a late addition. Lacks supports, probably not dug by licensed workmen, looks liable to collapse. Possible building code violation? Contents: bookshelves: small box of roll-books on one shelf, written in numerous languages, some locked, most seeming quite old. Drawing on floor, large circle with various letters and numbers inscribed in it, along with numerous geometrical figures. Some bottles, large and small, most contents unidentifiable, but one with scentless clear liquid (water?).

&nb
sp; At that, Reswen’s whiskers stood out in a mixture of alarm and pleasure.

  Three braziers, ashes in them indicating coals no older than two days. Narrow sticks leaning against wall. May be more smaller objects in small boxes against wall, but uncertain since operative was discovered at this point by alleged attaché Masejih: surprised from behind, knocked unconscious, bound. Guards were not called in, but subject Masejih declared that operative “would not tell anyone about this” and removed paws and tongue.

  Reswen shivered at the dryness of the account.

  Guards were then called and instructed to “dump this refuse somewhere. Maybe she’ll save us some trouble and bleed to death.” Was dumped somewhere outside the Whites in the neighborhood of Clock Lane. Left area, waited for pickup.

  Reswen rubbed his forehead with one paw. A little removed from this, dug into the wax with more than necessary force, were the words,

  Kill the motherless bastards, sir. In some legally permitted manner, of course. Thabe.

  Reswen clenched his fists and thought. Water, then. But no stone. Where is it? In one of those boxes she didn’t have time to check? Gods, the place stinks of magic. Lorin has got to see this ... I need advice. I need more than that. Oh Laas, stay out of there—

  He moaned softly to himself. No one had ever told him that love was such a terrifying thing....

  Reswen got up to find out where that damned runner was—and then found out, as the youngster hammered on his door. Reswen flung it open.

  The runner was gasping. Reswen recognized her, with an awful sinking feeling, as one of the ones he had attached to the Easterners at Haven for their use. “Sir,” she gasped, “the priest Hiriv says to tell you to come right away, the stone and water they were given have been stolen!”