Dreaming Death

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Aldassa peered around the corner of the office door. “Orders, sir?”

  Lieutenant David Aldassa was one of the many workers in this office whom Cerradine had managed to snag for the army before the Daujom could hire him. When half-Larossan children raised by the Lucas Family finished their three mandatory years of service as sentries, they usually left the fortress. Joining the army was an appealing option for them. Since they’d been raised to military discipline, they often advanced through the ranks quickly. Cerradine had even won grudging permission to hire young women, a saving grace for many of them, who would not have fared well when dumped into the Larossan populace without any family. Most knew little of Larossan culture, religion, or society. Most didn’t even know how to find a place to live, clothing to wear, or food to eat.

  Not having had such an opportunity himself when he’d come out of the Lucas Family, Cerradine had never regretted acting as an advocate for those young men and women. And David Aldassa had the best organizational skills of anyone Cerradine had hired for his office. He rarely forgot anything and always seemed to have the information needed in every crisis. “Go see if you can borrow a few squads to comb up and down the banks of the river.”

  “Body, male, unknown name, possibly blood magic?” Aldassa asked, proving that he already knew about Shironne’s dream.

  “That’s the one,” Cerradine told him.

  Aldassa nodded once. “Right away, sir.”

  The young lieutenant had no sooner disappeared from the office doorway than Captain Kassannan appeared, looking like he might be Aldassa’s older, and larger, brother. “Colonel?”

  Like Cerradine and Aldassa, Kassannan was taller than most Larossans, a facet of their shared Anvarrid heritage. Kassannan showed more of his Larossan blood, though, with darker skin and a heavier build. Cerradine took after his late father. He’d inherited the man’s height and leanness. Unfortunately, his father had passed on his prematurely white hair as well. Cerradine was only forty-four, but people often thought him far older on first sight. At thirty-six, Kassannan had not a single strand of gray in his hair.

  “Sorry for dragging you up here, Aron,” Cerradine said, “but I wanted to ask if your friend still worked at the city’s morgue.” Kassannan was a field surgeon, but he served as the army hospital’s medical examiner, shut away in the hospital’s basement morgue. He worked with Shironne more than anyone else did currently, so he would better grasp the meaning of the details she’d provided.

  “Harinen? He does,” Kassannan said. “Do we need his help?”

  “Did Filip tell you about the latest dream?”

  Kassannan nodded quickly. “On the walk over.”

  “Can your friend let us know if the man shows up there?”

  Kassannan’s mouth drew to one side as he seemed to consider making a macabre joke. He apparently thought better of it. “I can go down and talk to him. He should be there if I go now.”

  Cerradine was grateful for the captain’s willingness to get involved in things that weren’t his affair either. “If you will.”

  • • •

  It was nearly noon by the time Mikael reached the office of the Daujom on One Above. When he unlocked the door, he found no one within. Dahar must have gone off to seek his lunch. Mikael locked the door behind him and went to sit on the edge of his desk, letting loose a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to worry about his loud emotions bothering the sensitives when he was doing something as unexciting as reading files. He unhooked the high collar of his uniform jacket and contemplated the piles of paper on his desk.

  Across the entryway from his own, Kai’s desk was completely cleared, everything neatly tucked away where it belonged. Mikael’s desk was a mess by comparison, even though nothing secret lay in view. This office was the public face of the Daujom, the place where Anvarrid House members filed complaints against one another, or railed at the Lucas Family for some imagined slight, so Mikael and Kai had to be prepared to deal with outsiders on short notice. Thinking of that, Mikael hooked the collar of his uniform jacket again. He needed to look official.

  Dahar also had a desk at the far end of the office, a monstrosity carved of mahogany that rested near the black-draped windows. He rarely sat at it, though, preferring to pace the black and gray patterned floorcloths that separated the three desks. Over the years, Dahar had done his best to make this office into an extension of the fortress below, stripping away the bright colors, soft carpets, and wall hangings.

  He’s doing his best to make me into a secretary. Sighing, Mikael plucked the paperweight off the largest pile and lifted the top folder. Even though paperwork wasn’t his favorite occupation, he’d become reasonably proficient at it.

  He settled behind the desk and read through a series of letters copied from House Hedraya, already deciphered by the back office. Nothing there was particularly striking, although Lord Hedraya did plan to block the vote on Kai’s confirmation as the king’s heir in the spring. Instead of outright battles or assassinations, that was how the Anvarrid Houses fought now—machinations in the senate. Mikael made a note of the letter’s contents and cited the source, then set that file aside to have the back office tuck it away. Everyone expected Lord Hedraya to attempt that, so the information wasn’t surprising. And as Kai’s confirmation was months away, it didn’t pose an immediate concern.

  That was the Daujom’s primary function, to keep the king abreast of what happened in the various Anvarrid Houses. Many of the Daujom’s workers were of Larossan descent, placed as servants where they could gather information on members of the senate. Others worked in the back office, sorting through every scrap of mail sent out by those households. It would be read, deciphered if necessary, copied if pertinent, and then usually sent on its way. But the personnel in the back office of the Daujom forwarded anything they thought might warrant attention to Mikael and Kai to determine if it should be brought to Dahar’s attention and, thus, the king’s.

  As if in answer to that thought, a key rattled in the office door. Mikael glanced up in time to see Dahar letting himself in, a scowl on his face. Dahar had the tall, lean build common among the Anvarrid. He had dark hair worn short, olive skin, and bright green eyes that left little doubt as to his heritage, but as often happened with younger sons of Anvarrid rulers, he’d been passed off to the Lucas Family to raise. When Dahar’s elder brother became king, he’d asked Dahar to come live in the Royal House’s wing of the palace. Even so, Dahar persisted in wearing blacks—the uniform of the Lucas Family—just as Mikael did. If that offended the king, the man had never said so.

  Dahar favored Mikael with a narrow-eyed gaze. “You dreamed last night.”

  No point denying that; Dahar had likely had bad dreams. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  “Not much, sir. I’m sure I’ll hear when the body is found, though.” He had a standing arrangement of a financial nature with one of the newspaper writers down in the city. The man sent word as soon as he learned of any curious murders. That had saved Mikael a good deal of legwork in the past.

  Dahar strode over to Mikael’s desk, picked up his paperweight, and stared at the river stone as if he’d never seen it before. “I’ve already received word from Jon that they’re keeping an eye out for the body.”

  Jon would be Colonel Jon Cerradine, the head of the army’s investigations branch. That he’d already sent out feelers about the death meant that the army’s pet sensitive had picked up enough detail from the dream for them to know where to look. Mikael sat up straighter. “Should I go down and see them?”

  His duties with the Daujom did not include investigating crimes against Larossan citizens. The Daujom’s investigative jurisdiction extended only to crimes involving the Six Families or the Anvarrid Houses. But the army often collaborated with the Daujom because Cerradine and Dahar were old friends.

  The Lucas Family,
as part of their treaty, took in orphaned children of half-Anvarrid birth. It was a relic of the invasion, after which hundreds of children born of rape were abandoned either in temples or on the streets. Larossan women still took advantage of it on occasion, claiming that an unwanted child had been fathered by an Anvarrid master. Therefore, a handful of children were left at the gates to the palace grounds every year. Jon Cerradine had been one of those children, born to a housemaid in the home of the current Lord Hedraya’s father. When that housemaid died, her six-year-old son was handed over to the Lucas Family like an unwanted puppy. He’d thrived there, though, and had become best friends with another boy thrust into the same yeargroup—Dahar.

  Dahar sighed. “Put it off until we know more, Mikael.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dahar set down the paperweight and paced the area between Mikael’s desk and Kai’s. That meant he had more to say, but Mikael didn’t know how long it would take him to get around to it. He returned to his paperwork, peering at the file on Hedraya once more.

  “Has Kai said something to you?” Dahar asked abruptly.

  Mikael paused in the midst of closing up the file. “No, sir. Kai doesn’t confide in me.”

  “Something has gotten under his skin.” Dahar scowled.

  When is that not the case? “Perhaps you might ask Elder Deborah,” Mikael suggested. “He’s more likely to talk to his aunt than me.”

  Dahar shook his head. “I talked to her this morning.”

  He’d likely yelled at her. The two of them didn’t rub along well, mostly because Dahar had been married to Deborah’s sister. Deborah was Mikael’s sponsor, though, the adult who’d taken responsibility for him when he’d first been sent to the Lucas Family by the Lee elders. Even though he was an adult and no longer required a sponsor, he still went to talk with her regularly. He respected her, even if he didn’t always agree with her. Not only did she and Dahar argue over Dahar’s children; since Dahar was Mikael’s employer, they often fought over him as well, like two well-intentioned dogs with a bone.

  Mikael sighed inwardly but did his best to swallow his resignation. Dahar would feel it. He was a sensitive, although not a very strong one. “I can’t imagine whom you could ask, then, sir. Perhaps Rachel?”

  Kai had two younger sisters, but they moved in very different circles than he did. Rachel, like Kai, lived among the Lucas Family in the fortress below. She was an engineer, though, which meant she spent all her time in the deepest depths of the fortress—Deep Below—and usually slept during the day. She was Mikael’s age, and although he didn’t know her well, he found her likable. Sera was a different story. Eighteen or so, Sera was difficult and angry and got along so poorly with her father that he’d sent her to a cousin in Halvdan Province to foster.

  “I don’t think Kai sees Rachel much.” Dahar stalked away to the far end of the office, where the windows overlooked the courtyard at the back of the palace.

  A knock came at the door, distracting Mikael from the letter in his hands. Glancing at Dahar for permission, Mikael went to the door and opened it. A young girl, a fifteen- or a sixteen-year-old, stood in the hallway, a slip of paper in her hand. Her uniform, similar in cut to his own but brown and without trim, identified her as a child. As she was assigned to runner duty, she was allowed to speak to him, although only in the course of her duties. She peered up at him with a properly expressionless face. “Mr. Lee?”

  He nodded, and she handed him the paper. She inclined her head and jogged away to resume her post at the end of the hall, braids bobbing behind her.

  The paper had his name on the outside in Deborah’s tidy hand. As he’d guessed, a reminder for him to stop by the infirmary to speak with her before she got off duty. She always had him check in with her after one of his dreams. He only hoped she didn’t ask too many pointed questions this time. He sighed, tucked the note in his jacket pocket, and headed back to his files.

  “You left the door unlocked again,” a voice said from behind him. Kai had come in so quietly that Mikael hadn’t noticed him.

  “Yes, I did,” he admitted.

  “You’re supposed to keep it locked.”

  With himself and Dahar in the office, as well as a dozen sentries in the hallway, it was unlikely that a stranger could creep into the office unnoticed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Kai, leave it alone,” Dahar snapped.

  Kai raised one dark eyebrow. Mikael didn’t need to be a sensitive to know another argument was brewing between them. He hated getting caught up in the Valarens’ fights. They always wanted him to take sides.

  As such, it seemed a good time to go down to the mess, get something to eat, and make his requested visit to the infirmary. Mikael asked for Dahar’s permission and then headed for the door, under Kai’s baleful glare.

  Just inside the doorway, Elisabet silently stepped to one side to let him pass. She held her precious rifle in one hand now. Mikael thought a frown fleeted across her cool, perfect features, but she turned her attention back to watching the office as if she’d never seen him at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mikael trotted down the wide stairwell that led from the first floor of the palace to the fortress below it. He paused at the halfway point, where the steps changed. At that point the white marble treads set in place by the Anvarrid gave way to the gray stone laid centuries before that by the Founders. He leaned down, touched the ancient stone, then brought his fingers to his lips, his unspoken oath of fealty as he entered the sovereign territory of the Lucas Family.

  When he reached the bottom of the grand stair, he stopped at the landing to sign the log at the main doors, large wooden ones ornately carved around the edges with the geometric patterns the Lucas Family favored. In the flickering light of the lamps, Mikael smiled at the two sentries on duty, not wanting to intrude unpleasantly on their emotions. “Good morning to you both.”

  The younger he didn’t know. Probably no older than an eighteen, she regarded him with skepticism, which told him she was the sensitive of the pair. Her pale eyes flickered over his uniform, taking in his trim markings. Then her eyes lifted to gaze at his face as she tried to judge his intentions. Mikael kept his thoughts mild and pleasant, but her nose wrinkled anyway, prompting him to reflect that her lack of control must be the reason she was down here instead of serving on the sentry line. If she couldn’t hide her reactions better, she wouldn’t ever be allowed aboveground.

  “You’re Mr. Lee,” she said, making no effort to mask her distaste.

  No, she definitely wasn’t going to be allowed up into the palace anytime soon. Despite his broadcasting, Mikael did have his emotions under control most of the time. He knew better than to push them off onto others. And if this sentry couldn’t handle him on a good day, she would find the disordered minds beyond the fortress walls unbearable. He didn’t comment on that, though. He turned to the other sentry, Tobias, a man who saw him often enough not to question his existence. “I’m going to the mess.”

  With gray hair showing in his braids, Tobias might be the younger sentry’s grandfather. He opened the main door and stepped aside. “Don’t forget to check in with Elder Deborah.”

  Mikael shook his head as he passed. Everyone knew Deborah expected him. As the door closed behind him, he heard Tobias admonishing the young sentry to control herself.

  After walking down a long hallway with bare stone walls, Mikael stopped at the inner door and laid one hand on the archway, this time assuring the fortress itself of his good intentions. Already warned by his first touch on the stair that he was coming, the fortress didn’t react to him, not in any way that he could tell. Sensitives could feel the fortress welcoming them, but the onset of his dreams when he was a thirteen had erased whatever nascent sensitivity he’d once possessed. To him this was merely a stone archway. He walked through the arch to where the hallway emptied out into the commons under
the glow of the fortress’ unnatural light.

  Here the walls and floors were worn smooth by the passage of thousands of feet and the touch of as many hands. It was a place of grayness—the walls, the floors. This far underground there was no sky, no stars at night. There was no weather to trouble them, and even in the coldest winter, the temperatures inside the fortress were bearable. That was, after all, the reason the Founders had built this place. When Father Winter returned to take back these lands, and glaciers scoured away all those living on the surface, the Six Families would be safe underground.

  But Mikael missed the brighter colors, the blues and reds he’d known as a child in the Lee fortress. Here murals of geometric patterns were painted only in grays and black and white. The patterns were meant solely to calm, giving unruly minds a focus on which to concentrate. They told the viewer nothing of the purpose of any space, nor the direction to go to find anything. It was a tactic intended to confuse intruders. Family children memorized the layout early so that even if the fortress chose to let its lights go dark—as it did periodically—they would be able to make their way to a safe spot. Chevrons set at waist height on all the hallway walls directed them which way to go, even in complete darkness.

  The commons was easy to find, though, not far past the entry. One of the great rooms of One Down, the commons was larger than most squares in the city of Noikinos and served a similar function. The mess operated out of the side farthest from the entry archway, the smells of bread and soup carrying on the air today. Groups scattered about the commons ate together and conversed in quiet voices. A yeargroup of twenty or so children in brown uniforms—eights or nines, Mikael guessed—turned to watch him walk along the wall. Their sponsor snapped his fingers, and they all turned away, although one child turned back to peek furtively at Mikael again.