by Karen Myers
“So, how will you spend your time?” she asked him.
“Divided between you two, and the city, of course.” He waved a hand at Munraz to include him in the conversation.
“You will be in school, nal-jarghal, and so will I, when Penrys is working with the chained wizards.”
Very softly, now that they’d put some distance between themselves and the foreign wizards, he bespoke her. *Maybe it’s the chained wizards who will need organizing this time.*
She slid her eyes to him, avoiding Zep Pangwit’s attention, and nodded slightly.
“But you can’t be in school all day,” he said cheerily, “so we will spend time in the city. I have a caravan to plan.”
He smacked his hands together and rubbed them. “Now, we must organize ourselves—we need a place to sleep, and we’re expected at the ambassador’s tonight for dinner.”
Penrys lifted the roll of papyrus sheets. “And we have homework to do. Where do we stay while we’re here?”
Zep Pangwit interrupted. “I was told to bring you to your ambassador for the evening. Housing you will be his responsibility. And if you don’t get started, you’ll never get there.” He turned north on the street, toward Tegong Him, and the bulk of the cliff face was a shadowed presence that dominated the blocks of compounds at its feet as the sunlight faded into dusk.
“One more formal affair, nal-jarghal,” Najud called over his shoulder to the wilting Munraz. “At least we’re already dressed for it.”
Penrys raised her own sigh and followed them both.
“What were they doing there, all day?” Rin Tsugo asked the runner.
The young woman who knelt before him was still breathing hard from her long run through the darkening streets all the way from the diplomatic section of Mentsek Tep to the gewengep in Chankau Tep.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but we only started watching the place when the woman arrived, the Zannib-who-is-not-a-Zannib. I left Am Limzu there to see if anyone else interesting came out later.”
“These Zannib with their shaibo guide ended up at the Zannib ambassador’s compound. The guide parted from them there and arranged to return in the morning—I heard him. I assigned Paik Kanau to watch, just in case, but I think they’re there for the night. She’ll stay as long as necessary to be sure.”
Rin Tsugo evaluated the story. Kit Hachi was reliable—that’s why he’d put her in charge.
“Well done,” he said. “They didn’t see you?”
She reared her head back indignantly. “I was well-shielded. It’s not my first follow.”
He smiled. “Nor your last. Now go get some dinner.”
She stood up, bowed, and left.
The smell drifting through the dilapidated corridors made his stomach growl, but he preferred to wait until the end of the meal, when fewer were there. Even after months in the artificially close quarters of the compound with others chained like himself, he couldn’t shake the discomfort of watching all the diners sitting at their tables carefully spaced beyond the proximity range of the chains. Close enough to talk, but without intimacy.
When he’d been the only one with a chain in the village that had given him shelter, just another wandering laborer who was hired to help in the blacksmith’s workshed, the family and their servants all ate together, companionably, warmed at the same fire.
Here, no two of them could get close. He missed the human contact, the casual touches among friends. You had to learn to restrain your gestures and keep your distance.
And he wasn’t the only one. He had to remind all the ones with Kigali features, those who were the brotherhood’s face to the city, that they needed to remember to relax when they were outside the compound’s walls, to lose their new stiffness lest they stand out and prompt a second look from the City Guard.
*Am Limzu coming in to see you.* Sek Seto’s warning from the compound’s gate gave him time to settle back down cross-legged on his raised platform and compose himself.
The sound of Am Limzu’s footsteps preceded him, and the gleam in his eye alerted Rin Tsugo. “Wo-chi, big doings at the shaibo lair today. The brown-robes are up to something.”
He bowed briefly and sank to his knees, then launched right into his report without much of a gesture to formality. “I don’t know when they arrived, but well after Kit Hachi left with her Zannib folks, a group of three Ndanum left, one of those slithery women and her two attendants.”
He drew in the air to make the shape of her vivid, and Rin Tsugo suppressed a smile.
“Had to decide whether I should follow them or wait for more. So I waited.”
He smiled. “Glad I did, ’cause the next ones out were two men from Rasesdad. Here, in Yenit Ping! All dressed like priests they were.”
He winked at Rin Tsugo. “Well, all good things come in threes, I thought, and sure enough right after them came three men—must have been from Ellech. Tall and pale with hair all over their faces like bears. They chatted with the Rasesni ones, and then each group went off in a different direction. Made noises like they’d be meeting up tomorrow.”
He spread his hands. “I hung around to see if there’d be anyone else, but after a while I figured you’d rather hear all this even if something else came out that wasn’t just another shaibo or duimur, a lousy civilian.”
Well-pleased, Rin Tsugo told him, “And you were right. I’ll be setting up a schedule of runners for tomorrow. I want to know when they come, where they go, and where they’re staying. Speak to your togebi, your captain, in the morning.”
Sek Seto popped to his feet and managed to make even his bow seem cocky, before he spun on his heel and left.
Rin Tsugo shook his head. How did he ever manage to keep a low profile in whatever village housed him? What did they make of him?
There was no point speculating. The gewengep left the privacy of its members largely undisturbed. They revealed only what they felt they must. Once they found their way here and took the oath, they found sanctuary.
Time to draw up a plan for runners for tomorrow—three each for four groups of foreigners. That was a lot to try and conceal in the ordinary traffic that passed the Imperial Security building, but there were ways.
CHAPTER 8
“What do you think of the city so far, Munraz?”
The noise of the merchants and traffic had lessened, partly with the close of the day, and partly because they had entered a more wealthy and private district. Many of the compounds they passed occupied an entire block, and their discrete stuccoed walls were well maintained.
“There are so many streets they have to name them,” Munraz said, trying to keep his voice down and avoid a scornful look from Zep Pangwit.
He cocked his head at the characters on the walls of the compunds or individual buildings at the corners, sometime accompanied by an illustration. The gates of the compounds were marked by the family names or, less frequently as they penetrated further into this district, by business concerns.
Penrys pointed out the tops of trees, all you could see of the gardens which she assured him were probably inside. She’d seen compounds like this in Gonglik, but Najud had told her they were modest compared to Yenit Ping. Now she believed him.
The compound that occupied the next block on the left was distinguished by the presence of two Kigali guards bracketing the gates in the middle of the block. In addition to the characters chiseled and filled with color on the wall, a small horse had been painted, at chest height, complete with the colorful abbreviated saddle of the Zannib nomads.
She read the characters and snorted. “Can you make those out?” she asked Munraz.
“South, horse, no-house…” he said, puzzled. “Wait, is that how they signify sarq-Zannib?”
“I expect so,” she said, grinning.
Najud looked back to see what they were laughing about and read the characters for himself. “Could be worse. I think the sign for ‘monkey’ figures somewhere in the Ndant name.”
P
enrys glanced across the street while Zep Pangwit spoke to the guards. A young woman in a high-necked robe standing there looked away impatiently, as if she were waiting for someone. Not many were out in the dusk, and those that were all walked as if they were eager to reach their destinations. Odd place to just wait. Watching us?
She’d just about decided to drop her shield to look at her more closely when Najud distracted her. “Planning to come in?”
The gates had swung inward, and Zep Pangwit hastened past her, back the way they’d come. When she looked again, the woman was gone.
“He’ll meet us again in the morning to take us to our first day of school,” Najud said. “I invited him to stay but…”
He waggled his hand.
“So, you say you’ve met this fellow before? The ambassador?” she said, stepping up to accompany him side by side.
“His name’s Talqatin. Three years ago, the last time I was in the city. It’s a courtesy to let him know one of his countrymen is here. I was never invited to dinner, though, so this’ll be a first for me, too.”
The gates closed behind them, and Penrys got her first good look at a fashionable dwelling.
The height of the walls, ten feet and more, blocked out most of what was left of the noise of the street. A small graveled courtyard, with a gatekeeper’s shelter to her right, defined the area just inside the closed gates. A mature tree of a variety she didn’t recognize filled the interior right hand corner and towered high above the outer walls. The lower internal wall behind the courtyard was closed off from the back half of the compound by a double gate.
The smell and sound of horses drew her eye to the outer edge of the stable block which made up most of the right side of the courtyard. The curious heads which popped out of the openings with tied-back shutters to investigate the new arrivals made her smile.
“Do all compounds have their horses right up front?” she asked.
Najud grinned. “Probably not. Only the Zannib think of horses as part of the family, after all.”
To the left and up two steps was the grand entrance to the house. She envisioned the size of the city block and realized the house must occupy all or most of the left side of the compound. Beyond the wall in front of her there must be access to the stables, and by implication, all the work areas for the servants, and probably their dwellings, too. And another entrance, she suspected.
A dignified Kigali, his gray braid swaying along the back of his formal robes, walked down the steps and bowed to them. “Please be welcome to this bit of sarq-Zannib, binochiwen. I am Mir Tojit, the katsom for the likatchok Talqatin. He has asked me to show you to your rooms and then bring you to him after you’ve refreshed yourselves.”
Penrys rotated her head on her neck until the bones cracked and then accompanied Najud up the steps behind. She was more than ready for the day to be over. Too many people, too much death. On impulse, she gripped Najud’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. At his surprised look, she said, “Just grateful there’s someone here who’s not a stranger and doesn’t expect the impossible.”
She glanced back to include Munraz. “And glad to still be walking around above ground unlike those poor drepfarar we saw, those lost souls.”
It was chilly indoors, with all the stone walls. Cooler in summer that way, she supposed. There were two stories to the building, near the wall, with a grand staircase and two entryways leading deeper into the building. Mir Tojit led them smoothly up the steps and then straight back to another staircase. Penrys realized there must be another story for the central portion.
The third floor left the world of polished stone flooring for smooth and worn wooden floors and walls. Not servants’ quarters, these, but more like the rooms of old retainers or lesser family members. Everything was clean and in good repair but not quite suitable for formal display, for public entertaining.
The change in sound as their footsteps transitioned from stone to wood relieved some of the tension Penrys had been carrying. Her shoulders dropped and she almost smiled. Mir Tojit stopped to open one broad door on the left and gesture them in. The room was small and lightly furnished. He crossed over to an inner door and opened it to reveal another room.
“This is intended for the two of you,” he said, bowing to Najud and Penrys. “The likatchok felt that you might also need a workplace…” he waved his hand at the open doorway beyond, “…or perhaps you wish for another bed or other arrangement.”
Najud slipped an arm around Penrys’s waist and shook his head. “Are we intended to stay here long, then, katso-chi?”
“Did the notju not inform you? The likatchok invites you to stay here while you are working on this Kigali project.”
Penrys ducked out of Najud’s grip and opened a wardrobe. “They brought our things,” she told him. She spun to ask Mir Tojit, “All the horses and packs, too?”
“The riding horses are here, and the pack animals have been moved to the stables we use when we exceed our own capacity, a few blocks away, along with their tack. All the packs are in your second room. We will be happy to rearrange anything that doesn’t meet with your approval.”
This was looking better and better. “And our student?”
“Come and see.”
Mir Tojit led them back out and walked them further down the corridor. The door he opened revealed a smaller room, in a line with theirs. Its inner door opened back into the room in the middle. “Is this suitable, binochi?” he asked Munraz.
“It’s very fine, katsom-chi,” Munraz said. Penrys noticed he looked rather worn, too.
“One more thing, and then I’ll leave you to yourselves for an hour.” Mir Tojit took them across the corridor to a small room at the end. As Penrys had hoped, after what she’d seen during her day spent in the Imperial Security building, this led to indoor plumbing for sanitation. Civic water engineering was clearly a strength in Yenit Ping, and a good thing for the health of its people.
They followed him back out to the corridor, and he handed each of them a key. “These are for your rooms. The inner room’s doors bolt on either side. There is always a guard at the two entrances who will admit you at any hour, and someone will always be on duty at the main entrance to the house—you have but to knock. The likatchok understands that you may have duties that might call you out at unusual hours and he wishes you to have the freedom to come and go as you need to.”
Najud bowed to him. “That is very generous and understanding of the ambassador. We’ll try not to trouble his household unnecessarily.”
“Ring the bell in your room if you need anything, at any time. I will return for you in a while.”
He walked off with a firm step and descended the stairs.
“Nap,” Penrys said, looking at the others. “I need a nap before a diplomatic dinner, and I advise you to do the same Munraz. Nothing like sleep to give events a little distance.”
She left both the men and reentered the room she shared with Najud. The view through the windows from the doorway ran south and the abrupt end of the buildings many blocks away betrayed the beginning of the river. When she walked over and looked down, she discovered there was a bit of a garden two stories below, bordered by the outer wall and surrounded by the house. On the left was a compact tree, rising up to her left past the window. And on the right, across a cultivated space from the tree, where plantings were flush with the bright green of spring, stood a good-sized kazr— hidden, colorful, and completely out of place in the center of Yenit Ping.
Her peal of laughter drew Najud to her side, where he grinned appreciatively. “Do you suppose that’s to contradict the ‘no-house’ sign out there for sarq-Zannib?” he said.
Penrys hooked a thumb at their packs in the next room. “Think we should break ours out and pitch it next door?”
Penrys eyed the Zannib ambassador warily. She’d met the Zannib-hubr, the traditional nomads of the central steppe, a class to which Najud also belonged. And the merchants and various functionaries of the Biziz R
ahr were like others she’d met, though merchants tended to stay put in Ellech rather than travel.
But this was the first of the Zannib-taghr she’d encountered, what the nomads called the “slow Zannib,” the ones who were settled into farming and agricultural districts. These were the most cosmopolitan, especially those living in the capital city of Ussha.
She looked him over in the small but elegant reception room—a man in his fifties, his curly hair a mix of pepper and salt. He and his wife wore robes similar to hers and Najud’s, so at least she didn’t feel as if she were attired as a country bumpkin. Munraz as always tried to fade into the background, but it wasn’t easy for him, since he was already taller than Najud and likely to keep growing a while.
“Talqatin, son of Shaldaj of clan Umlaqlud, of the Nazghib tribe.” The ambassador nodded his head affably to them while she smiled and nodded back. “My wife, Qulsharma, and our daughter, Baijukti.”
The wife had a polished expression. She’s hosted dozens of encounters like this. No challenge at all. Penrys was careful to let nothing appear on her face.
You could tell the daughter was happy to see countrymen, Penrys thought. Her smile was spontaneous, especially when she looked up at the face of the young man closest to her in age. Munraz shuffled a step back as though she were dangerous, and then belatedly nodded.
“And of course you know our names, but let’s do it right.” Najud’s tone of good humor cut through some of the formality. “I’m Najud, son of Ilsahr of clan Zamjilah, of the Shubzah tribe. This is my wife, Penrys, lately of Ellech, and our nal-jarghal Munraz, adopted into my clan.”
He smiled at them all. “There—that’s done. And, yes, we’re all bikrajab.” That last was addressed to Baijukti, with a grin, and he winked at her.
“Aren’t you young to be taking an apprentice?” Qulsharma asked him.
“Well, yes, lijti, but circumstances…”
“Ah, circumstances.” Talqatin nodded. “I often hear of ‘circumstances’ when I’m visited by my countrymen here. Whenever I hear the word, I think of something that will end up difficult to untangle.”
