What no one ever expected, looking at Gerrard, was that he was so damned fast for a man of his size. He did something Zerafine couldn’t see, but which enraged the man with the chain wrapped around his fist, because the man snarled and ran at Gerrard, readying a punch. Gerrard twisted under the awkward punch, booted the man in the seat of his trousers, and used his momentum to run him headfirst into the wall. Zerafine shrieked; he’d come within inches of hitting her. “Sorry,” Gerrard said, and that moment of inattention was enough to allow the short fellow, the gang’s leader, to land a blow in the area of Gerrard’s kidneys. He made a pained sound and turned on the man. “That hurt,” he said, and smashed the man in the face with the staff, then scythed his feet from beneath him.
The man in the stairwell clawed his way upright, saw the carnage, and dropped back into hiding. The remaining assailant looked terrified, but kept his fists up, hopping from side to side as if hoping to avoid Gerrard’s staff by never staying in the same place for more than a second. Gerrard watched him do this for a while, then lowered his staff. “This is just embarrassing,” he rumbled.
“You afraid to fight me?” jeered the thug.
“Sorry, was I talking to you? Seriously, what am I supposed to do here? It’s like fighting a little yappy dog.”
“I a’nt a dog!”
“Fine. Come at me and prove it.” Gerrard raised his longstaff again. The man, still dancing, seemed to consider the size difference between his own fists and Gerrard’s, then abandoned his friends and took off running.
“You can beat me all you want, can’t change what she is,” coughed the gang leader, who’d sat up and was vainly trying to stanch the blood coming from his nose, which appeared to be broken.
Gerrard lifted him by his shirt collar with one hand and held him at eye level, letting the man’s feet dangle ten inches in the air. “And what is she?”
The man glared at Zerafine with such hatred in his eyes that she took a step backward, feeling the alcove press against her shoulders. “Murderer,” he said, vicious and low.
“What?” Zerafine exclaimed.
“You killed Alestiou!” the man shouted. “We all know it. Kalindi’s people will be avenged on you, gore-crow! Struck him down in full view of everyone, but the truth can’t be silenced!”
Zerafine covered her mouth. She felt as though she might throw up. Surely Atenas would not stand for this, but no, His curse still didn’t rise to her lips. Angry, bitter, vengeful the man might be, but somehow he was also innocent of evil. Nacalia screamed, “She didn’t murder no one, you...you bastard! You take it back!”
“Can’t silence me,” he muttered, then shouted, “The Goddess will strike you down!”
“Put him down,” Zerafine said. Gerrard dropped the man, who collapsed on the stones of the road. “I didn’t kill Alestiou,” she told him. “When you wake up from this dream of vengeance, you’re going to remember that the theloi of Atenas do not lie. Alestiou was old and sick and in more pain than you can imagine, and the god gave him rest. Tell your friends. Tell the world. And be sure to remind them that Atenas is merciful as well as just, because you attacked a thelis of the god of Death and came out alive.” She removed her robe and shook the clot of feces off, flicking it at him, then wrapped the robe around herself again. “I’m going home,” she announced to the air, and let Nacalia take her hand.
They were all silent for the rest of the journey home, and Zerafine’s first act upon arriving was to shuck her noisome robe and hand it off to Aesoron. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said. “It’s a disgusting thing to present you with.”
“I’ve cleaned worse,” he said, smiling his faint smile.
“Well, thank you anyway,” she said, and went to her bedroom. Once there, she couldn’t think of anything to do, so she sat down on her bed and stared at her sandals.
“Don’t start,” said Gerrard from the doorway.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come in here.”
“I’m not in there. I’m in the doorway. And I’m telling you, don’t start.”
“That woman Cimelia at the Capitol. She was a Kalindi worshipper. Two-thirds of the people in this city worship Kalindi. And they all hate me now because somebody started a rumor that I killed their Marathelos. Gerrard, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Wait for it to blow over. As you told my favorite thug, they’re going to wake to reason at some point and remember what Atenas’s blessing is for.”
“You can’t fight two-thirds of the city.”
“I bet I could fight one-third of the city. You’d have to handle the rest. Sorry. You’re not ready for jokes yet.”
“I’m—Gerrard, I’ve gotten used to the way people treat the red robe. I forget that there’s a reason they’re all so afraid of it.”
“People are always going to be afraid of death. It’s unknown. The best we can do is try to show them why there’s nothing to fear.” Gerrard sat down next to her, making the bed creak. “But that’s not what’s bothering you.”
She shook her head. “Alestiou had such faith...I felt the god’s presence, Gerrard. For them to take something that sacred and twist it into something vile and ugly...I can’t tell you how it makes me feel.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry, Zerafine.”
She leaned her head on his broad shoulder. “Do you suppose Genedirou started the rumor?”
“He could have, but it doesn’t feel like his work. He’s a vindictive little wart, but he’s respectful of the gods. All the gods.”
She sighed. “I hope this blows over quickly.”
Gerrard craned his neck to look down at her. “Maybe your beloved Dakariou can spin this too.”
“He’s not my beloved.” At least, I don’t think he is.
Chapter Fifteen
Dakariou appeared precisely at two. “Did you have any trouble getting here?” Zerafine asked.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Let’s use the dining table, shall we?” So, the streets didn’t move around all the time. Maybe just when it would be most inconvenient. Now I’m ascribing motive. This city is making me paranoid.
“You must have heard the latest rumors about you,” Dakariou said as he held her chair for her. His hand brushed hers, and from the glance he gave her, it had been on purpose. It seemed Dakariou was interested in making their relationship a little more serious. The idea intrigued her. “And to think,” he continued, “that when I woke up this morning I thought my biggest problem would be cleaning up after your spat with Genedirou.”
“I must be such a trial to you,” Zerafine said.
“No trial at all,” Dakariou said with a wink. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry for what’s being said about you and Alestiou. As far as I’ve learned, even before the Marathelos passed away there were rumors that you were here to kill him. There’s a faction of Kalindi’s worshippers—not, I should point out, among Her theloi—who have turned Alestiou into...I don’t know, something of a cult figure, venerated for himself rather than in his relationship to the Goddess. They aren’t always rational where he’s concerned; I think they believed he would live forever. They were fine with Atenas as represented by Berenica and the theloi because they mostly stayed in their compound, but then you showed up, walking all over town, and strange things followed you, and...the stories just went from there. I promise, the theloi are doing their best to set people straight, but it might take a while. You should be careful.”
“I have plenty of protection,” Zerafine said, smiling fondly at Gerrard. He smiled back, but maintained his position of stolid readiness, staff at a diagonal across his chest.
“Even so, don’t go anywhere alone. For my sake, if not for yours.” Dakariou smiled. “I can’t imagine what the Council might do to me if you were hurt.”
“I’m grateful for your concern,” she said. “I take it the thing with Genedirou is now a non-issue?”
“Might just as well never hav
e happened,” he said. “But Genedirou thinks he’s scored one off you, so he’s satisfied, even though no one else remembers that you even spoke. And a satisfied Genedirou is a Genedirou who’s not making trouble for me. On that subject, would you care to explain why you felt you had to get up his nose so very publicly?”
“That’s part of what we’re here to discuss.” Zerafine glanced at Gerrard, who shrugged just the tiniest bit. “This is my analysis of the reports the Council has received about the apparitions around the city.” She pushed a well-marked map across the table to him. “You’ll notice that, according to the Council’s records, there are concentrations of activity in these four places. Everywhere else, they’re distributed more evenly. However—” She pulled out a new map. “Last night I discovered that in these four estates, the numbers are either much higher or much lower than has been reported to the Council. This means that here, here, and here—” she pointed at the Rodennos, Vidannos, and Akennos estates—“suddenly have as many appearances as the places of highest concentration down in the city, while the Talarannos estate has had zero. That last piece of information is what I had to get out of Genedirou, because Alita Talarannos lied to my face when I asked her about it.”
Dakariou’s face had gone very still. “Four of the five most powerful families in Portena,” he said.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Oh, I am.” But he maintained that blank façade until Zerafine, impatient, said, “Now would be a good time for you to share what you’ve learned. Unless you’re ready to admit that you’re in on it.”
He startled, then laughed. “Me? No. It’s just—you’ve stumbled onto a connection I didn’t realize existed. I’m just working out how much to tell you.”
“It had better be everything, unless you want us to tell Castinidou you’re a spy,” Gerrard rumbled.
Dakariou seemed surprised to hear Gerrard speak. “Castinidou already knows I’m a spy,” he said. “I’m his spy.”
“You’ve been spying on me?” Zerafine exclaimed. “All this time?”
“No, I really have been your liaison with the Council,” Dakariou said. “It’s the rest of the Council I’ve been spying on. Alita Talarannos and Gordou Kerynnos, mostly. And if Castinidou learns I’ve told you this much, he’s going to hang me upside down and beat me until all my secrets come out. But I think—” He paused, covered his mouth, then added, “I think your investigation and mine have just come together.”
Zerafine leaned back and made a “go on” gesture with her right hand. Dakariou took a deep breath and let it out, slowly.
“You’ve probably noticed that Castinidou, while head of the Council in name, doesn’t get much respect from some of the younger councilors. A while back—say about two years, right after Alita and Gordou were ‘elected’ to the Council—”
“Yes, and how exactly did that happen?”
“I’ll get to that. Castinidou noticed that they, Alita and Gordou, had started building support among some of the other councilors in a way that indicated that one of them, almost certainly Alita, was angling for his position. Castinidou has been in politics his whole life, so he was able to head them off, but he worried that they might take action in ways he couldn’t see. He asked me to keep an eye on them, learn what connections they were making, that sort of thing. I’ve been following them around ever since.”
He leaned in closer to Zerafine. “The first thing I found out was—no, let me back up. The official story is that Alita and Gordou got to know each other better after joining the Council, hearts skipped a beat, and next thing you know they’re happily married. Romantic, no? But I learned later that their attachment was of much longer standing. As in, ten years or more.”
“They concealed it until after both were safely elected.”
“Exactly. If they’d been married before the election, only one of them would have been eligible to run for office. Instead, not only are they both on the Council, but the circumstances are such that no one wants to be heartless enough to protest in the face of True Love. And it was a plan they were working on for more than ten years, which speaks to a cold-blooded political machination that I’d admire if I were sufficiently cynical.”
Gerrard muttered something under his breath. Dakariou flashed him a brilliant smile. “I really had no idea you were anything more than a bodyguard,” he said. “It’s astonishing, really.”
“Back to the point,” said Zerafine. “Where do we come in?”
“Five weeks ago,” said Dakariou, “the Talarannos and Kerynnos estates started closing themselves off from the outside world. People still come and go, but the doors don’t stand open anymore. Alita used to host these amazing parties, and now—nothing. Gordou’s all but locked the doors at Kerynnos...he lives with Alita now anyway, but he still oversaw his own estate, and now he’s hardly ever there, and the place seems deserted. The official story is that, in this crisis, they don’t want to waste time and money on frivolities until the problem is solved. But, coincidentally, five weeks ago is when the first apparitions showed up, and it took nearly a week for anyone to realize it was a serious problem. Something happened five weeks ago that made Alita and Gordou circle the wagons, so to speak, before the crisis came.”
“Something that might be caused by the apparitions instead of being a result of their appearing.”
“I think the reason for the artificially lowered numbers at these three estates is to conceal whatever’s going on at Talarannos,” Dakariou said. “And before you ask, I don’t know what the situation is at Gordou’s estate. I didn’t bother to watch Genedirou; he’s harmless, if a bit nutty. I have no idea how often, or not, he may have gone there.”
“But who would be in a position to change the reports?”
“Anyone.” Dakariou ran a hand through his curls. “But assuming that Alita is the mastermind, she’s got friends in all five families. Morica Akennos, for one, though she’s kind of a strange girl. The Vidannos twins are the same age she is, they might be close. I’m not sure about Rodennos...unless, ew, Akelliou is involved. What a waste of air. I’m told he and Gordou used to be great friends when they were young, but as Gordou got more heavily into politics, he let that relationship drop. Unless that’s a ploy, too. I wish I didn’t see conspiracies everywhere.”
“I wish there weren’t so many to see,” said Zerafine.
“I wish I could get someone inside one of those estates, but the servants are all fiercely loyal to their masters, and the families are all, well, clannish,” Dakariou said. He leaned back in his chair and ruffled his fingers through his hair again.
“How interesting. Because I want you to get me an invitation to Alita Talarannos’s house,” said Zerafine.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “She doesn’t invite anyone in anymore. Not possible.”
“Not ‘anyone.’ The official emissary from Atenar. The person who, if she’s told ‘no,’ is going to put her entire official weight behind finding out why she’s just been told ‘no.’ And, coincidentally, make life a misery for the nay-sayer. I just want you to put all that in diplomatic terms so Alita can pretend it’s her idea. I’m certain that if any man can do it, you can.”
Dakariou regarded her silently. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”
“You think you can make conditions?”
“Have dinner with me. My home. Tomorrow night. Just the two of us.” He turned that brilliant smile on her. “No politics, no conspiracies, no agenda. Just a pleasant dinner with good conversation.”
The idea made her heart beat a little faster. “I wonder if you ever don’t have an agenda,” she said.
The smile went even brighter, but his eyes were totally serious. “Come tomorrow, and find out,” he said.
Zerafine considered it for a long moment. She was aware of Gerrard, bristling with disapproval, behind her, but Dakariou was clever and handsome and, amazingly, attracted to her. “I’ll come,” she said. “But I expect truly excellent conversa
tion.”
“You’ll have it, madama,” he said. He rose from the table and saluted her. “Expect to hear from Alita by tomorrow morning at the latest. I think I can put this in terms that will light a fire under her. And—don’t go walking alone.”
Zerafine saw him to the door. She expected Gerrard to explode once Dakariou was safely out of the house, and he didn’t disappoint her. “Dinner? Alone? Are you out of your mind?”
“I thought it was a very rational choice.”
“Zerafine, we hardly know the man. He’s an admitted spy. You don’t know if he’s telling you the whole truth. And he wants you on your own. I think that’s suspicious.”
“Why is that suspicious? What kind of ulterior motives do you think he has?”
“I think he wants more from you than information.”
Zerafine snapped. “And what’s so wrong with that?” she shouted. “Is it so awful that a handsome, clever man thinks I’m beautiful and wants to spend time with me? Well, Gerrard, it happens that I like him. I like talking to him. I want to have dinner with him and talk about things that aren’t apparitions and conspiracies and Genedirou and...and I don’t know what else. Yes, I think he’s got an agenda, but right now I really don’t care!”
Gerrard stared at her, his jaw set. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. You want to put yourself in the hands of someone you’ve known less than a week, that’s your business. I can’t stop you.” He stomped off to his room and slammed the door.
Zerafine clenched her fists and screamed, a short burst of sound that sent Nacalia cowering. She was immediately sorry. “Come back, Nacalia,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” But Nacalia had already run off to her room. Frustrated, Zerafine went to her room and did a little door-slamming of her own. Then she flung herself face down on her bed and screamed and beat her fists into the mattress for a full minute. Then she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Emissary Page 13
