Almost directly across from her was a side postern gate leading into Gerun Eberict’s estate. The Finadd disliked ceremony upon his return. Modesty was not the issue. More relevant, however, were the innumerable positions from which to stage an attempted assassination near the estate’s formal entrance.
None the less, there was some commotion attending Gerun’s appearance. Bodyguards drifting into the street announced his imminent arrival. Shurq melted back into the darkness as they scanned the area. Taking defensive positions around the side postern, they waited. Their officer appeared next, striding past them to unlock the gate and push it back, revealing a narrow passage that opened out into the sunlit courtyard. All at once, there were fewer citizens in the area, thinning as if by some prearranged signal until only the guards remained within the range of Shurq’s vision.
‘Don’t make me laugh,’ she muttered under her breath.
Gerun Eberict then strode into view, one hand resting on the pommel of the sword scabbarded at his left hip. He did not pause, but continued on directly into the passage. The guards swept in after him, followed at last by the officer, who then slammed the gate shut behind him.
Shurq walked further into the alley until she came to a rusty ladder more or less fixed to the wall of the building on her right. She climbed, ignoring the protests of fittings and weakened metal, until she reached the roof. Clambered up the slope, testing the firmness of each slab of grey slate she set her weight upon, then over the edge. Sidling along until she could look down upon the front entrance of Gerun’s house and part of the courtyard. She lowered herself as far as she could on the opposite side, until only her fingers, eyes and top of her head were visible – as unlikely to be noticed as she could manage, should someone in the courtyard glance up in her direction.
Gerun Eberict was standing before the doors, listening to the captain of the house guard, who was speaking at length, punctuating his statements every now and then with gestures indicating bafflement.
His report was cut off when Gerun’s right hand snapped out to close around his neck.
Even from this distance, she could see the man’s face darken to a curious shade of blue.
Of course, no person with any courage would take much of that, so she was not surprised when the captain tugged a knife from his belt.
Gerun had been waiting for that, having palmed his own knife, with which he stabbed the captain, up under the breastbone, pushing it to the hilt.
The captain sagged. The Finadd released his hold on the man’s neck and watched him crumple to the flagstones.
‘It’s just coin, Gerun,’ Shurq said quietly. ‘And a missing brother who you killed a long time ago. Your lack of control is dismaying… for your other employees, that is. For me, well, little more than confirmation of all my suspicions.’
There would be a bloodbath, if not tonight, then the next night. The city’s countless spies and snitches – those who had remained – would be stung into frantic activity, and the great hunt for the thief would begin.
All rather unpleasant.
Gerun’s wealth had paid for the exodus of the city’s indigents, meaning he would have to make most of his victims Letherii rather than Nerek, Tarthenal or Faraed. Indeed, he might find victims hard to find. Besides which, there was a war, and the Finadd might well find his time otherwise occupied. The man’s rage would be apoplectic in no time.
She watched as Gerun stormed into his house, guards scrambling after him, then she lowered herself along the slope, rolled onto her back and slid towards the edge.
There was a balcony directly below—
No, not any more.
She fell, struck a clothes line that snapped with her weight, cannoned off the side of a ledge thick with pigeon droppings, and landed spread-eagled on a heap of rubbish. Where she lay for a time, unmoving.
That was the problem with cities. Nothing ever stayed the same. She’d used that balcony at least a half-dozen times before, when staking out the estate. She lifted an arm. Then the other. Drew her legs beneath her. Nothing broken thus far. And, after a careful examination, nothing overly damaged. Fortunately, she concluded, the dead did not suffer much from pride, said wounding being minimal.
It was then that she discovered the bar of rusty iron projecting from her forehead. Perfumed liquids were leaking out, blurring her vision. She probed the offending object with her fingertips. Punched right through the bone, all the way, in fact, to the back of her skull, if the grating noises the bar made when she wriggled it were any indication.
‘I’ve made a mess of my brain,’ she said. ‘But was I really using it? Probably not. Still, was I in the habit of talking to myself before? I don’t think so.’
She stood, knee-deep in the refuse, contemplating physically removing the bar. But that might make things even messier. Less than a hand’s width projected out, after all. Hard not to notice, but far less egregious than, say, an arm’s length. A visit to Tehol Beddict seemed incumbent, if only for endless advice she could take pleasure in rejecting.
Alas, she realized, she would have to wait for night, since there was no way she could get to his home without being seen. There had been a time, long ago, when she liked attention. Admiring regards and all that, and it was always satisfying to flaunt her qualities. But a bar in the head took fashion sense to excess by any standard of measure. People would notice, and not in a good way.
Disconsolate, Shurq Elalle sat down in the rubbish. To await the coming of night.
****
‘What happened to the legs of my bed?’
‘We needed the wood, master.’
‘Yes, but why only three of them?’
‘I was saving the other one for later. I found a bag of something that might be tea.’
‘Well.’ Tehol sat up. ‘I’m just amazed I slept through it.’
‘You were clearly very tired, master.’
‘Yes, which is very understandable, given how busy I’ve been. I have been busy, haven’t I?’
‘I could not say, having been too busy myself to take much notice. But I have faith in your proclamations, master. You certainly slept like a man who’d been busy.’
‘Seems proof enough, I would say. I’m convinced. Now, while I’ve been working myself senseless, you make claim to having had many things on your table. Let’s hear about them.’
‘Very well, master. We’re more or less done with the wings of the Eternal Domicile. Dry, foundations restored, my crews cleaning up. There have been some complaints about the cold draughts in the Fifth Wing, but that’s not my problem, strictly speaking.’
‘Why the cold draughts, Bugg?’
‘Presumably related to the shoring methods I employed, but they don’t know that.’
‘And why should your shoring methods make it cold? Bugg, do I detect some discomfort in your demeanour?’
‘Discomfort, master? Not at all. Are you certain you want the details of this matter?’
‘When you put it that way, probably not. So, is that all you’ve been doing?’
‘I’ve also been here and there, working through all the rumours to see if I could glean some truth. I have accordingly assembled a list of facts.’
‘A list. Wonderful. I love lists. They’re so… ordered.’
‘Indeed, master. Shall I proceed? Well, the northern frontier belongs to the Tiste Edur, as do all the coastal cities all the way down to Height and possibly Old Gedure. It is believed the Edur fleets are in the Ouster Sea, opposite Lenth and therefore on the edge of Gedry Bay. From this one must assume they intend to sail up Lether River. Possibly with the aim of arriving in concert with the land armies. It is clear that the Tiste Edur are marching on Letheras and are planning to conquer it and take the throne. Whether this will succeed in triggering the capitulation of the entire kingdom remains to be seen. Personally, I believe it will. Nor do I think the protectorates will go much beyond restlessness. To do otherwise would be suicidal.’
‘If you say so,
Bugg. Are the Tiste Edur that formidable, then?’
The manservant ran a hand through his thinning hair, then glanced over at the bodyguard who was standing, silent as ever, near the hatch. ‘Again, master, countless rumours. I would hazard the following observations regarding the Tiste Edur. Their new emperor is in possession of terrible power, but the sorcery the Edur are using does not come from their traditional sources. Not Kurald Emurlahn, although it remains part of their arsenal. In the battles thus far, they have been profligate in their use of shadow wraiths and KenylPrah demons, both of whom are reluctant participants.’
‘Kurald what? Kenyll who? Who’s whispering these rumours anyway?’
‘Ah, that brings me to my third set of observations. Having to do with the dead.’
‘The dead. Of course. Go on, please.’
‘This subcontinent, the region ranging from Tiste Edur lands to the north, Bluerose and Awl’d’an to the east, and Descent and D’aliban to the south – it is a rather peculiar region, master, and has been since, well, since the earliest times. There are, uh, no pathways. For the dead, I mean. For their spirits.’
‘I don’t quite understand you, Bugg,’ Tehol said, rising from the rickety bed and beginning to pace along the rooftop. The bodyguard’s gaze tracked him. ‘The dead are just dead. Ghosts linger because they have nowhere else to go and are disinclined to go sightseeing in any case. What kind of pathways are you talking about?’
‘Into what could be called the Hold of the Dead.’
‘There is no Hold of the Dead.’
‘Which is what has been so… unusual. There should have been. All along. Those of Kolanse, for example, include in their worship a Lord of Death. You will find something similar in the Bolkando kingdom—’
‘The Bolkando kingdom? Bugg, nobody knows anything about the Bolkando kingdom. Nobody wants to. You are starting to alarm me, my dear manservant, with the breadth of your knowledge. Unless, of course, you are making it all up.’
‘Precisely, master. To continue. There was no Hold of the Dead. It once existed. That is, the original Tiles of the Hold from the First Empire contained one. As well as a number of other Holds, all of which have been discarded by and by. It would be nice, indeed, were a scholar to address this strange diminishment. The passage of time in a culture invites elaboration, not simplification, unless some terrible collapse triggers a fall of sorts, but the only trauma Lether has suffered came with the original fall of the First Empire and the subsequent isolation of these colonies. There was, at that time, some degradation, leading to a short period of independent city-states. And then there were wars with the tribes south and east of Kryn, and with the atavistic Andii remnants of Bluerose. But none of that was culturally disturbing. Possibly because the Hold of the Dead could not manifest itself here. In any case, the closing of the pathways for the dead was already a fact, frozen in the very earth of this region. Worse yet, it was all an accident—’
‘Hold on, Bugg. Now I do have some pertinent questions.’
‘Your questions are always pertinent, master.’
‘I know, but these are particularly pertinent.’
‘More so than usual?’
‘Are you suggesting that my normal pertinence is less than particular, Bugg?’
‘Of course not, master. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the accident. In the earliest texts – those that came with the Letherii from the First Empire – there is the occasional mention made of a race called the Jaghut—’
‘There is? You are speaking to a man whose head was filled to bursting with classical education, Bugg. I’ve never heard of these Jaghut.’
‘All right, they were mentioned once, and not specifically by name.’
‘Hah, I knew it. Don’t try any sleight of hand with me.’
‘Sorry, master. In any case, in the most proper sense, the Jaghut are represented by those poorly rendered, stylized images you will find on tiles of the Hold of Ice—’
‘Those frog-like midgets?’
‘Only the green skin survived, alas. The Jaghut were in fact quite tall and not in the least frog-like. The point is, they manifested their sorcery with ice, and cold. It remains common to this day to consider only four principal elements in nature. Air, Earth, Fire and Water. Absolute nonsense, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘There is Light, Dark, Shadow, Life, Death and Ice. There might even be more, but why quibble? The point I am making, master, is that, long ago, a Jaghut did something to this land. Sealed it, in a manner of speaking. Using its aspected sorcery. The effect was profound.’
‘Making the pathways of the dead snowbound, like a mountain pass in winter?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘So the dead loiter in Lether. Ghosts, shades, and people like Shurq Elalle and Kettle.’
‘Indeed. But that is all changing.’
Tehol ceased his pacing and faced Bugg. ‘It is?’
‘Alas, yes, master. The sorcery is… thawing. A Hold of the Dead is manifesting itself. The situation is unravelling. Quickly.’
‘Does this mean Shurq is in trouble?’
‘No. I suspect the curse on her will remain. But the initial efficacy of that curse derives from the fact of the Hold’s having been non-existent in the first place.’
‘All right. It’s all unravelling. Have you visited Kettle lately?’
‘Interesting you should ask, master, for it is at the site of the now-dead Azath tower that the Hold of the Dead is manifesting itself. From that, one might conclude that Kettle is somehow connected with the entire event, but she isn’t. In fact, she’s no longer dead. Not as dead as she was, that is. It is now clear that her purpose is… otherwise. As you know, there’s trouble coming from the barrows.’
‘What’s that smoke? Over there.’
Bugg squinted. ‘Another riot, I think. Counters’ Quarter.’
‘Well, they’ve been a little skittish ever since the ghosts stormed the Tolls Repository. Besides which, the Tolls themselves have been tumbling with all the bad news from the north. In fact, I’m surprised it’s taken this long.’
They could hear bells now, as the city’s garrison began responding to the alarm from various stations near the area.
‘That won’t last long,’ Bugg predicted.
‘Yes, but I am reminded of something,’ Tehol said. ‘The time has come, I think, to see Shand, Hejun and Rissarh on their way.’
‘Will they complain?’
‘Less than one might expect. This is a nervous city. The few non-Letherii remaining are being subjected to harassment, and not just by citizens. The authorities are showing their racist underpinnings with all these suspicions and the eagerness to tread over hard-won rights.’
‘Proof that the freedoms once accorded non-Letherii peoples were born of both paternalism and a self-serving posturing as a benign overseer. What is given is taken away, just like that.’
‘Indeed, Bugg. Is it because, do you think, at the human core, we are naught but liars and cheats?’
‘Probably.’
‘With no hope of ever overcoming our instinctive nastiness?’
‘Hard to say. How have we done so far?’
‘That’s not fair. Oh, fine, it’s perfectly fair. But it doesn’t bode well, does it?’
‘Few things do, master.’
‘Well, this is uncharacteristically glum of you, Bugg.’
‘Alas, I fear the Tiste Edur won’t be any better. Coin is the poison, after all, and it infects indiscriminately.’
‘As I suspected,’ Tehol mused, ‘clearly, now is not the time to destroy the economy.’
‘Either way, you’re right, master.’
‘Of course I am. Furthermore, it seems incumbent that, for the moment at least, we should do nothing. About anything. The Rat Catchers’ Guild has done a fine job thus far; we need make no adjustments there. I know the details of who owes what from the Tolls Repository and Shand has acted with impressive facility on
that information. We know the dire state of the royal treasury. You have been paid for your work on the Eternal Domicile, haven’t you?’
‘Just yesterday, master.’
‘Excellent. Well, that was exhausting. I think I’ll go back to bed.’
‘Good idea, master.’
‘After all, this rooftop is probably the safest place in Letheras now.’
‘Indeed. Best stay here.’
‘And you, Bugg?’
‘I thought I’d take a walk.’
‘More rumours to track down?’
‘Something like that, master.’
‘Be careful, Bugg, they’re press-ganging recruits with some ferocity.’
‘I was wondering about that, master. No-one’s paid you a visit?’
‘Why, they have. But our silent bodyguard sent them away.’
‘He said something?’
‘No, it was just a look, I think. They scurried.’
‘Impressive. As for me, master, I have ways of making myself unpalatable, even for desperate recruiters.’
‘You have always been unpalatable, it’s true,’ Tehol noted as he gingerly lowered himself onto his bed. ‘Even the fleas avoid you. Just one more of those eternal mysteries, Bugg, that so endears you to me. Or is it endears me to you?’
‘The former, I think, master.’
‘Oh, no. You don’t like me. I discover this after all this time?’
‘I was only commenting on your usage of the appropriate phrase in the context of your statement and the sentiment you presumably wished to express. Of course I like you, master. How could I not?’
‘You have a point there, Bugg. Anyway, I’m going to sleep now, so if you don’t want me for anything else…’
‘Right, master. I’ll see you later, then.’
Midnight Tides Page 69
