“We have an inkling of their long-term goals, Inspector, but their intermediate plans are less scrutable.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but not always. When they took Valenwood, that was pretty straightforward, and quite logical—they put the old Aldmeri Dominion back together, which makes perfect sense in terms of their ideology. Their harassment of refugees from the Summerset Isles and Valenwood also fits their broader pattern, as does what little we know of their activities in Elsweyr. But the murder of a prince—I’ve tried many ways of looking at that, and it doesn’t make sense.”
Vel started to retort to that, but the Emperor shook his head and held up his hand. Then he spoke again to Colin.
“What is your opinion? If my son is not dead, do you believe him kidnapped? And if so, by whom, and for what purpose? And why leave this trail that seems to lead to the Thalmor?”
Colin took a another deep breath, and began to lie.
“If we assume that much of the ‘evidence’ left for us was false,” he began, “then I might suggest it’s someone interested in drawing our attention to the Thalmor. A distraction to keep our eyes turned, perhaps even coax us into a fight.”
“Leyawiin?” the Emperor muttered. “They are still restless under our rule.”
“Maybe it’s not someone restless under your rule, majesty. Maybe it’s someone who would prefer someone else inherit the throne.”
“My brother?” He massaged his head. “It’s not impossible. I do not like to think it.”
“Sire,” Vel said, “your brother did not hatch this plot. He is more than adequately surveiled.”
“He is perhaps more clever than you think,” Mede replied. “But lay that aside. If we find my son, we find our enemy. So I want him found.” He frowned and stroked his upper lip. “Captain Gulan was among the dead?”
“He was,” Vel replied.
“Is there any question regarding his identity?”
“No, sire,” Vel said. “He was killed by arrowshot, and his head was not taken. Sire, I know it isn’t easy to accept, but we must consider the possibility that the body we have is that of the prince, the inspector’s opinion notwithstanding. It is the right size and shape—”
“My son had a birthmark on his right side, just where the ribs end. I have seen the corpse; that portion of it is charred while other parts are not. Like the inspector, I find that too convenient. And it does not feel like Attrebus. So—I believe him alive. Someone has him. I want him found. Inspector, is there any indication of where the attackers went?”
“They broke into smaller parties and left in different directions. But I would look south for Attrebus, your highness.”
“And why is that, Inspector?”
“Because it is the only direction in which there were no tracks whatsoever, sire.”
The Emperor grunted and nodded. “Inspector, Intendant, Administrator,” he said, addressing the three, and left.
Vel waited a moment and followed him, shooting Colin an unpleasant look.
“That wasn’t the brightest thing you could have done,” Marall said.
“The Emperor asked my opinion,” Colin said. “Isn’t it my duty to give it?”
Marall sighed. “The Emperor doesn’t care if you get assigned to sewer cases for the rest of your life—or worse, sent to spy on Nords. It’s better if these things go up the chain of command. Now, Vel appears to be less well-informed than his most junior inspector.”
“I fully intended to follow that chain,” Colin said. “I came here believing Administrator Vel was going to hear my report. It isn’t my fault that the Emperor was present.”
Marall nodded. “You’re right, of course. It’s just your inexperience showing. You shouldn’t have so bluntly disagreed with a superior. There are more subtle ways to go about things.”
How subtle is a knife? Colin angrily thought, but then pushed that away.
“I’m still learning, sir.”
“If Attrebus is alive, and they find him on your counsel, you will gain the Emperor’s favor, and that will be a good thing for you. But if they do not find him, or if that body is him, then the Emperor will not think of you again. I advise you to keep as quiet as possible now, and find some way to come to Vel’s attention in a more positive way.”
“In that case,” Colin said, “I wonder if I could be reassigned?”
“Oh, I can guarantee that,” the intendant said. “Vel will put you under a rock. The only question is for how long.”
When he emerged from the palace, night had fallen and the sky blazed down upon the Imperial City. He was tired, but he wanted a walk and a pint. He needed to think.
He was missing something. He had an idea what it might be, and that went well with the stroll and the ale.
In Anvil, where he was born, darkness brought quiet to the city; people went home or to the pubs and taverns, but the streets were pretty empty.
Not so here, at least not in the Market District, which was his destination. The streets were crowded with trinket vendors and soothsayers, self-styled prophets of any daedra or Divine imaginable. Women, mostly comely ones, stood outside of alehouses, flirting to attract business, and there were others of both genders and all races flirting to sell somewhat different wares. Beggars choked the edges of walkways, and little stalls were turning out the enticing smell of roasted oysters, fried cheese, bread, skewered meats, and burnt sugarcane.
People wandered in crowds, as if afraid the city would swallow them up if they found themselves alone for long.
The Crown’s Hammer was off the main thoroughfare, around a corner and almost hidden in an alley. It was a half-timbered building, very old. He pushed his way in the front door.
The barkeep was a withered old fellow who favored Colin with a nod.
“You’re having?” he asked as he cleaned a mug with a rag that looked slightly dirtier than the container it was wiping out.
“Ale,” Colin said.
The man nodded, held the glass under the tap of a wooden keg and filled it with a rich, dark red liquid.
Colin paid for the drink and then found a table in a corner. He took a seat where he could see the door, and sipped at the ale. It was strong, sweet, and had just a taste of juniper, a Colovian Highland style now popular throughout western Cyrodiil, but hard to find here in the East.
The place was nearly empty when he came in, but it was starting to fill up now, because the patrol and the soldiers were changing shifts. The Hammer catered to Colovians, and Colovians in this part of the world were mostly military.
So he wasn’t surprised when Nial Sextius walked in, noticed him, and grinned.
“Colin, lad,” he said. “It’s been an age.”
“It’s good to see you, Nial,” he replied. “I was hoping you would be in tonight. Have a seat—let me buy you a drink.”
“Well, fine, if I can have the next round.”
When they were both looking over foam, Nial cracked his knuckles and settled his elbows on the table. He was a big man, thick in every dimension, with a ruddy, wind-worn complexion that made him look older, although he and Colin were of an age.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “It’s almost two years. I thought you’d left town.”
“No, just very busy,” Colin said.
Nial wagged a finger at him. “Come to think of it, you were a little thin on why you’re all the way over here last time we talked. Distracted me with that story about my sister.”
“Yah,” Colin said, taking a drink. “I—ah, work in the palace.”
Nial’s eyes widened. “And don’t I, too?” he asked. “So why haven’t I seen trace of you?”
“I’m in a different part of the palace, I guess. In the tower.”
“Doing what? Making ladies’ dresses?”
“Studying,” he said. “In school, as it were.”
“In school? But that—” He stopped, rolled his eyes and took a drink. Then he lowered his voice. “Ah, Colin, you’re one of the
m—you’re a specter, aren’t you?”
“I serve the Empire, same as you,” Colin said.
“Not the same as me,” Nial disagreed. “Col, why?”
“They offered me a way up, Nial. A way so my mam doesn’t have to work herself to death. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense to you.”
“Now, don’t get your back up, scruff,” Nial said. “I’m just surprised, is all. I don’t fancy most of your fellows, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
“I don’t fancy some of my fellows,” Colin said. “But I don’t fancy being judged either. If the Emperor didn’t think we mattered, we wouldn’t exist.”
“Fine, like I said,” Nial said. His voice dropped even lower. “So, see here,” he said. “Maybe you’d know, then. Is all this true about Prince Attrebus?”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard.”
“Heard he finally got himself—and all of his guard—murdered.”
“It looks like that,” Colin said. “Did you know any of them?”
“Yeah, a few. I thought about applying a few years back, but I didn’t think I could handle it, you know?”
“The danger, you mean?”
Nial grunted out a laugh. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You mean you’re a specter, and you don’t know about the prince?”
“Not my field of expertise,” Colin said.
“Well, he was just for show, you know. Only he didn’t know it.”
Colin nodded. That fit with the picture forming in his head. So why hadn’t he been briefed about that before being sent to fetch the prince back?
“Well, he walked into a bit of danger this time,” Colin said.
“Yeah.”
“I wonder how? I mean, he must have been watched, if what you say is true.”
Nial thumped his glass on the table. “You’re prying me, aren’t you? In specting.”
Colin sighed. “It’s this, Nial,” he said. “I’m new to all of this. I think there’s something strange going on, and I’m not sure who to trust. Except you. I believe I can trust you.”
Nial stared at him for several long moments, then took his mug back up.
“What, then?”
“The Emperor asked about a man named Gulan, specifically. He wanted to know if his body was found.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah.”
Nial nodded. “Gulan was Attrebus’s right hand. He kept him out of trouble. Whenever the prince would try and go be a hero in the wrong place, Gulan would bring it to the attention of the Emperor, and something would happen to stop it.”
“Well, he didn’t this time, it seems. He didn’t report directly to the Emperor, did he?”
“No, he’d go through the prime minister’s office.”
Colin nodded. Now he was sure about what he was missing.
“Thanks, Nial,” he said.
“You look tired, boy,” Nial said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I have some trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
“You used to sleep so sound thunder wouldn’t wake you,” Nial said.
“Things change,” Colin said. He studied the table for a moment, before looking back up at his friend. “Look, try to forget we had this conversation. Don’t ask any questions, just leave it be.”
“I might be able to help,” Nial said.
“You’ve helped me more than enough. Now, come on. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Like what a slut your sister is, for instance.”
“If it weren’t true, I’d thwack you for that. Maybe I should thwack you anyway. Let’s have another round while I think it over.”
“That’s good for me,” Colin replied.
He finished the ale and watched Nial walk off to fetch two more. There wasn’t anything else to do tonight, and it felt good to talk to a friend. It had been a long time since he’d done that.
And it might well be the last.
EIGHT
Qijne glared down at the trays and the food they contained.
“Explain,” she snapped. “Start with the fish.”
“Annaïg calls it ‘catfish,’” Slyr said. “The taskers bring us quite a lot of them.”
“I’m aware of that,” Qijne said. “We’ve burned hundreds for the Oroy mansion workers. What I want to know is, why are you sending a complete fish to Lord Ghol? It’s far too coarse for his palate.”
Why question us? Annaïg wondered. Except for that first time, we’ve done nothing but succeed. Can’t you just trust us?
She could not, of course, say that out loud.
“That’s true, Chef,” she said instead. “He will be surprised by it, I believe.”
“Not pleasantly, I should imagine by looking at it.”
“Ah, yes, but when he touches or breathes on it, it will deliquesce. That will release a series of odors viandic; the fish will liquefy and mingle with the void and fire salts there around the fish, which will then release their essences. That will lead nicely into the second course, here, a cold broth of tadpole bones garnished with live frog eggs. Finally, the white froth of Terriswort will cause his palate to vividly recall each aroma and taste—but in reverse order.”
“Another of your metagastrologics?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“These are tricks, stunts,” Qijne complained. “You hazard boring him.”
“I think he will be pleased,” Slyr said. “But if you have any suggestions, I would be most happy to hear them, Chef.”
Qijne narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to decide if she should feel insulted. Annaïg had to stop herself from holding her breath.
The moment passed, ending when Qijne simply walked off.
“That’s it, then,” Slyr said. “Let’s send it up.”
The news from above was good that evening. She and Slyr hadn’t been back to the little room with its view of the night sky in days, but that night they celebrated there again. Slyr brought baubles as well as food this time—little coils of glass that glowed like small suns.
And after Slyr was asleep, Annaïg felt her amulet wake.
“Thank Dibella,” she murmured. She lifted a coil, rose and tiptoed out of the room into the cellar, and only then did she open the locket.
And there was Prince Attrebus, looking back at her. The light seemed to be firelight, for shadows flickered about him, but his face was bruised and battered. His eyes were full of concern, but now his features relaxed in relief.
“There you are,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
“And I about you, your highness. It’s been days. I’ve tried to contact you—”
He nodded. “I’ve been unable to respond,” he said. “I …” He trailed off. He seemed different—not the assertive, confident man she remembered from their earlier conversation.
“I understand, Prince Attrebus,” she said. “You’re a busy man.”
He nodded. “I want you to know,” he said, “that I am coming, as I promised. But it may be that …”
Again he didn’t finish. He seemed very vulnerable.
But then something seemed to strengthen him and his tone became firmer, more familiar.
“Have you discovered anything new?”
“Yes. I’ve found a place where I can see the sky—a way in and out. And I’m trying to re-create the tonic that Glim and I used to reach this place.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Perhaps I can find something like that on my way there. We should pass through Rimmen in a few days, and then Leyawiin.”
That sounded a little odd, as if he didn’t have his mages with him, but maybe he preferred to handle certain things himself.
“I’ve always wanted to see Rimmen,” she told him. “They say the Akaviri built a magnificent shrine there, the Tonenaka. They say it houses ten thousand statues. And the canals are said to be amazing.”
“Well, I’ve neve
r been there either,” Attrebus said. “But I’ll tell you about it next time we speak.”
“That would be wonderful, Prince.”
“I shan’t be dawdling there, though,” he went on. “Time is of the essence. But I’m sure I’ll see something worth mentioning.” He paused. “I find titles cumbersome in conversation. I would prefer you did not use them.”
“What should I call you, your highness?”
“Attrebus will do, or ‘Treb.’ It will save time when we talk.”
“I’ll try,” she said. “It seems strange to be so familiar with you.”
“Try it, for my sake.”
There was that troubled look again.
“Are you—well, Attrebus? Is something wrong?”
“There have been some setbacks here,” he said. “I won’t bore you with the details.”
“It wouldn’t be boring,” she said.
“Well, then I’d rather not talk about it,” he modified.
She realized then that his eyes were glistening a bit.
“I must go now,” he said. “Keep yourself safe, above all. Will you do that?”
“I will,” she said.
He nodded, and then his image vanished behind Coo’s door.
She stood there for a moment, a bit breathless, then snuck back into the shaft-room. Slyr didn’t look as if she had stirred.
Annaïg sat with her back against the wall.
Something was wrong with the prince. That didn’t bode well, did it?
But at the moment there wasn’t much she could do but continue to stay alive, try to get in touch with Glim, rediscover the secret of flying …
Actually, that was quite a lot, wasn’t it? Her hands were full.
So she needed her rest. No use to worry about things that were, at the moment, beyond her.
But she hoped Attrebus—he’d asked her to call him Attrebus!—she hoped he was all right.
Attrebus closed the little door on the bird. This was the first time he’d seen her face; her green eyes and generous, sensual lips, a nose that some might consider a bit large, but belonged perfectly on her face. Hair like dark twists of black silk.
The face of the woman he’d failed.
“Well, she, at least, is alive,” he told Sul, who sat on the other side of the small fire they’d built.
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