Emissary

by Melissa McShane

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Zerafine asked. “Even the smallest detail might help guide my investigation.”

  Gordou said, “We’ve encouraged people to report sightings and have collected hundreds of them from throughout the city. A cursory analysis seems to show clusters of apparitions in a number of places in the city, mostly in the lower-income neighborhoods. We don’t know what it means, but we can save you time running around collecting the information again.”

  Vessa said, “Paola has that information. I’ll have her bring everything to you.”

  Zerafine nodded. “Not to be too blunt, madamas and sirrahs, but what exactly do you expect from me? I can investigate and with luck find the truth about your problem, but am I to solve it also? By the Marathelos’s instructions, my services are at your disposal.”

  “A spiritual problem will require a spiritual solution,” said Castinidou after a pause. “I hope you’re not saying you’re unwilling to see this through.”

  “On the contrary. I don’t want to overstep my bounds. This is your city, and you are the ones responsible for it. I don’t want to usurp your authority.”

  Castinidou looked relieved. “Of course. Then, yes, we would like you to implement whatever solution you deem necessary—as far as that’s possible, of course. And please consider our resources at your disposal.”

  With that, the meeting appeared to be over. They rose and exchanged salutes again, then Vessa drew Zerafine aside to confer with Paola. Zerafine noticed that aside from Castinidou, none of the others seemed happy to let Vessa have a private conversation with Atenar’s emissary. But Vessa only said to Paola, “Please get the emissary all the information we’ve collected,” and then, when she had gone, said, “Don’t be swayed by how certain each of us are about our pet theories. I believe the truth will be something different from either one.” She went back to join the others, leaving Zerafine confused. Had Vessa just put on a show to get the others to reveal their partisanship?

  “We really are pleased to have you in our city,” Alita said, coming up with Gordou on her arm. “I hope you’ll have time to take in the sights. It would be a shame for you to miss everything just because you’re working too hard.”

  “I’m sure my investigation will take me all over Portena,” Zerafine replied.

  Alita looked up at Gerrard, who continued to stay close to Zerafine. “I’ve never met a sentare before,” she said, almost purring. “You’re so quiet.”

  “I’m not sure what to say in such company,” Gerrard said in his deepest, most heavily accented voice, and Zerafine had to stifle a smile. He was playing the dumb Northerner again, something that amused him when he wanted to be underestimated. Good for him. Let this council underestimate them both. Alita wore the superficially pleasant smile of a woman who believed her conversational companion was beneath her, but she had it aimed at both of them. You’re still a snob.

  “So what is it you do, exactly?” Gordou asked him. Zerafine answered for him.

  “Oh, this and that. He keeps ghosts away from the public when I’m preparing for a consolation, acts as a bodyguard when someone gets antagonistic, keeps me entertained on the road—” From the way Alita’s thin, plucked eyebrows went up, Zerafine guessed she’d said something wrong. Had she just implied that she and Gerrard were lovers, or was Alita just prone to think that way? Oh well. Explaining that she was too busy to think of sex, and certainly wouldn’t think about sex with her best friend, would just make it worse.

  “You must have an interesting life,” Vessa said, inserting herself between Gordou and Alita as if she didn’t notice they were there. “I wonder that you were willing to give it up, even temporarily, for our little problem.”

  “I go where the Marathelos tells me,” she said cheerily, then found Paola at her elbow with a folder crammed full of papers. “And now I think I should be off to begin my investigation.”

  Back in the Rotunda, Gerrard said, “I think—”

  “Not yet,” whispered Zerafine. “I wouldn’t put it past them to try to eavesdrop, and I have no idea how far sound carries in this room.”

  So they went outside, where they found Nacalia loitering at the foot of the stairs. “I ha’nt been here long,” she said, “’cause I had to keep moving on account of they don’t like my kind hanging around.”

  “I don’t think anyone will bother you now as long as we’re here,” Zerafine said. “Well, Gerrard? What did you make of that?”

  The advantage of Gerrard acting like a big dumb Northerner was that he could watch everyone without attracting attention. “Alita and Gordou would like to seem independent, but it’s clear they’re lock-stepped. Strange that they both managed to be elected to the Council.”

  “I thought that myself. Anything else?”

  “Castinidou’s taking the lead, but I think he’s being marginalized. He should have been the one to head off that argument, not Alita. Vessa’s playing her own game, but she supports Castinidou. This is just instinct, mind, but I don’t think she’s got the chief councilhood in her sights, and Alita does.”

  “Did you notice all the family names? I think Portena’s famous democracy is a crock.”

  “I’d like to know more about the district representatives and how they’re chosen. Did you notice they didn’t have surnames, unlike the Hill representatives? That one woman didn’t even speak. See, I can’t even remember her name.”

  “Cerilia. She was so nondescript I forgot she was there.”

  “She never even gave any indication that she wanted to chime in. She might be someone else’s puppet, but who knows? Also, who’s Alestiou?”

  “Are you joking? He’s the Marathelos of Kalindi. Only the most important prelate in the known world!”

  “Excuse me for not being on speaking terms with the man to know his first name. So why won’t the Marathelos of Kalindi make a statement on the matter? I bet two-thirds of the people in Portena owe primary allegiance to the Queen of Heaven. His weighing in could be a huge step toward calming things down.”

  “That would be another thing to investigate. I wonder what the protocol is for me calling on him? Does the Marathelos of Atenas trump the Marathelos of Kalindi? Atenas being outside the hierarchy?”

  Gerrard shuddered. “Can we please not find out? Besides, we’re boring the whelp with all this political talk. Let’s get her cleaned up.”

  Their next stops were, in quick succession, a shop selling reasonably priced but well-made clothing and a public bathhouse. Zerafine supervised both transactions and made sure the girl scrubbed her skin and hair well. Nacalia did have a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and her clean hair hung in loose ringlets past her shoulders. By the time she was washed and groomed and neatly dressed, with the exception of her ratty old leather sandals—Nacalia refused, as she said, to break in a new pair—it was only half past nine.

  Zerafine weighed the heavy folder in her hand. “How close are we to Sukman’s temple?” she asked Nacalia.

  “It’s just a few streets over,” the girl said.

  “Let’s see if we can talk to Genedirou as long as we’re here. It sounds like he’s had more personal interaction with these apparitions than anyone else.” Zerafine adjusted her hood. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a long day.”

  Chapter Four

  Sukman’s temple was on a corner where two smaller streets off the plaza met. It sat far from the road’s edge, as if it had been caught in the act of sidling away from an accident. Its walls were painted a brilliant white, but they were walls of wood instead of stone. Large glass windows pieced together from random colors adorned each side of the building, surmounted by silver spirals that were the god’s symbol. It was said that if you looked long enough at Sukman’s windows, a pattern would emerge, but it would be a pattern only madmen could see.

  Zerafine said, “You two wait here and I’ll see if I can talk to the thelos. Maybe we can get this whole thing str
aightened out before lunchtime.” She went up the steps into the sanctuary.

  The colored windows let in light that cast crazy shadows over the unvarnished wooden floor. Despite this, the room was dim, and Zerafine had to pause to let her eyes adjust. Other than a travertine basin on a wooden pillar carved with indistinct figures, the room was empty. Two doors and a hallway led off the main room. Zerafine crossed to the basin, making the floorboards creak in an unmusical tune, and touched the rim: bone dry. The carved figures turned out to be grotesques of human faces, melting from one expression, one face, to another. Zerafine felt profoundly uncomfortable looking at them. She turned and went into the hallway.

  She found a comfortable, if shabby, sitting room furnished with uncushioned chairs of some dark wood, a desk, and a cold fireplace. A man in a frayed shirt and ancient trousers looked up from the desk when she entered. She saw him register the red robe and cowl and swallow whatever he had been about to say. “Thelis,” he said instead, rising. “You must be the emissary from Atenar. I thought the forbiddance we laid on the building was active. Please, come in.”

  He gestured to one of the seats next to the fireplace and took a seat across from her. “Why would you place a forbiddance on a temple?” she asked. She hadn’t even noticed it. That might say something about the power of Sukman in this city.

  The man rubbed a hand across his receding hairline. “We’ve been overrun,” he said. “It’s the only way to get some peace in the mornings. We take it down around ten o’clock so the people can come for Sukman’s protection. It’s been madness here for the last three weeks—no irony intended. I’m Rovalt.”

  “Zerafine of Dardagne,” she said. “I would like to talk to your tokthelos, if possible.”

  “Genedirou’s up Kerynnos hill banishing another one of these apparitions,” said Rovalt. “But he’ll no doubt go elsewhere before he returns here for the noonday ceremony. The god only knows where the madness will strike next.”

  Zerafine leaned forward slightly. “Rovalt, what are these things?”

  He shrugged. “They appear with no warning and they seem to interact with things and even places that aren’t there. Some of them vanish within moments, but others wander around until Genedirou banishes them. Genedirou says Sukman is punishing the city, but then he would say that—” Rovalt shook his head. “It’s a question of whether they’re real or simply a mass hallucination. We’ve used up a bale of ceratis trying to learn Sukman’s mind on this, but either he’s madder than usual or he’s just not talking. For all we know, he is punishing the city, but for what?” He rubbed his scalp again.

  “But Genedirou is able to banish them?”

  “He’s devised a ceremony in which he propitiates Sukman for his intervention. Or something. Genedirou says it’s too complicated for any but the tokthelos to understand. He’s probably right. It makes no sense to me.”

  “Do you think he’d be willing to talk to me about it? If it’s too sacred—”

  “Maybe, but you never know. It’s worth your asking, I suppose.”

  “The Council also told me that the apparitions seem to concentrate in certain spots. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  Rovalt shrugged. “I know we get a lot of complaints from down by the temple of Hanu and Kanu, near the docks. People there are always sending runners, but...Genedirou doesn’t have time to answer every call...” which was code for Genedirou doesn’t want to waste his time on low-class people with no money. Zerafine wondered if the ritual was really as complicated as Rovalt believed, or if Genedirou was just trying to keep all the power and prestige for himself.

  Rovalt stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to prepare for the first ceremony now. If you come back around one o’clock, Genedirou will be able to spare you some time.”

  “Thank you, Rovalt,” Zerafine said, rising and saluting him. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  Rovalt saluted. “I’ll make sure Genedirou knows you’re coming.”

  Zerafine returned to the street to find both Gerrard and Nacalia waiting for her. Both had mulish looks on their faces. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “He wouldn’t let me buy a seed cake with my own money,” Nacalia said, with a jab of her thumb toward Gerrard.

  “I told her not to wander off,” Gerrard growled. “She’s making it sound like I’m a monster.”

  “Let’s all go have a seed cake,” said Zerafine, rolling her eyes, “and then we’re going to see if we can find a ghost. Not a real ghost. Damn. Now I’m doing it.”

  “You don’t want to go back to the house and go through those notes?”

  Zerafine waved the folder in his direction. “Would you want to?”

  “Good point.”

  She shepherded her companions to a nearby food stall, where they bought deliciously sticky cakes drenched in scented honey. Then they had to stop at the fountain to wash their hands and faces. The black-veined marble fountain rose ten feet in the air and the spray of water jetting from its top added three feet to its height. Men and women carrying pottery jugs stopped in the act of filling them to stare at the newcomers, though it was not obvious who attracted more attention, Zerafine or Gerrard. The red robe drew nervous glances, but Gerrard, well over six feet tall, broad as an ox and white-blond from the summer sun, got his share of attention as well; in the case of some of the women and a couple of men, it was appreciative attention. Gerrard wiped droplets of water from his beard—another thing that set him off from the mostly clean-shaven and dark-haired Portenan men—and acted as if he didn’t notice the stares. Possibly, Zerafine thought, after living ten years in the South, he didn’t.

  “Where to now?” Gerrard asked.

  “We’re going to find the temple of Hanu and Kanu,” Zerafine replied.

  Nacalia sucked in a breath. “That’s not the best part of town, thelis.”

  “We’ll have to depend on Gerrard to protect us,” Zerafine said. Gerrard snorted in amusement. Nacalia stared up and further up at the sentare as if weighing their chances.

  “I guess he’ll do all right,” she said. “But I bet you’re the more frightening one.”

  Gerrard winked at her. “You figured it out. I follow her around so she can protect me.”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look,” Nacalia retorted, then danced away as Gerrard sputtered in mock rage and amusement.

  “You’re sure we need the whelp?” Gerrard asked Zerafine, who was trying not to laugh.

  “Fairly sure, yes. I think she has a crush on you.”

  “Me? No, it’s you she wants to hero-worship. I’m the inconvenient lunk hiding behind your robes who trips over his own feet and probably eats too much.”

  “You may be reading too much into her attitude. Anyway, you do eat a lot.”

  “I need to regain my strength from tripping over my feet all the time.”

  Nacalia led them through the vast central plaza and past the temple of Kalindi, queen of the gods, with its bright golden roof and pillars of rose-colored marble. It was the only building in the plaza that hadn’t been damaged in the fires. At least one hundred steps led up the side of a manmade hill to the temple portico, but a steady procession of worshippers made the journey nonetheless. Other temples clustered around: the pillared block of Endelion, the ornately carved and painted pavilion of Marenda, Sintha’s unadorned but elegant temple, its spire challenging the heavens, surrounded by offertory boxes of coins mixed with luck tokens. Another wide street led south from the plaza, and Nacalia went that way.

  They passed the grand amphitheater famed for its races and wrestling matches and soon found themselves in a much less grand part of town. The road continued to be well maintained, but the buildings showed signs of age and wear. Five- and six-story apartment buildings leaned into one another for support, as though their weathered wood and mortared stone weren’t enough to hold them up. Women called to each other from open balconies, shaking out laundry or preparing food. Zerafine saw someone dump a chamb
er pot out of a third-story window. “I thought Portena had indoor plumbing,” she said.

  “Most places, yes, but they ha’nt got around to everywhere, and it’s the poorest places get things last of all,” Nacalia said. “We got ours last Sukmor and mam’s so grateful she could cry, if she ever done cry over things.”

  The temple to Hanu and Kanu stood in a cleared-out space within sight of the dock gates. Its stone façade gleamed with newness; Zerafine estimated its age at no more than forty years, more post-plague construction. The relief carving over the doorway picked out in bright colors depicted the twin gods wrestling, neither winning, neither relenting.

  “You want to go in?” asked Gerrard.

  Zerafine shook her head. “The thelos of Sukman said this was one of the loci for so-called ghost appearances. I want to see more of them--with luck, one that lasts for more than a minute.”

  “We’re just going to stand here and stare at people?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “You there!” a strident voice exclaimed. “You need to move on!” A skinny, gray-haired man dressed in the blue and brown robes of a thelos of Hanu, or possibly Kanu, was waving at them from the doorway to the temple. Zerafine asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Is something—Young lady, we can’t have theloi of the god of Death hovering near the entrance to this temple like...like gore-crows, or the like. Take your walking mountain and the imp and be about your business.”

  Zerafine felt her temper begin to rise and had to sit on it, hard. “Actually, you may be able to help me with my business,” she said as politely as her anger would allow. “I’m looking for one of the apparitions that have been plaguing Portena. Do you know where I might find one? Perhaps an area around here where they’re common?”

  “Young lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen one of those delusions and I don’t care to. Ask at one of Sukman’s houses if you’re so interested.”

  “The thelos of Sukman directed me to this district. If you haven’t heard anything, could you possibly direct me—”