As with all pier districts, this one was crowded and lively despite the swirling mists. Ember had the impression that there were more nobles about the Iridomi piers than there had been upon Ramidan or Vespi, and more of every other sort of person as well. Many people were elaborately dressed and some even wore face paint, though how they did not simply sweat it off bemused her. Most people seemed to be slicked with sweat, even the nobles, but they seemed largely impervious to it. There were also numerous merchants, recognisable because, like the port officials, they favoured less extravagant clothes. And of course there were hundreds of servitors hurrying about with packages and parcels and barrels and pushing two-wheeled barrows. Of the septs represented, other than Iridomi, most were Ramidani or Acanthan by their colours.
Ember noticed suddenly that Hella appeared to be avoiding even an exchange of glances with a group of gay-looking Acanthans clad in blue, passing by them in the other direction. She wondered at this but it was no time to ask even if she could bring herself to it. Bleyd led the way efficiently through the crush of people with no sign of the weakness he had shown since waking, and Ember wondered again if he really had taken a stimulant.
There was no opportunity to talk until they had left the main street, which ran parallel to the shore, and had entered one of the streets feeding down into it.
They stopped to collect their breath in the shade, and Bleyd commented that he had forgotten how exhausting the Iridomi heat mist was. ‘It will be cooler when it is dark,’ he said.
Hella nodded to the a’luwtha. ‘You did not say that you were a songmaker, Gola.’
‘She has a truly beautiful voice,’ Bleyd enthused quickly. ‘If only she would have applied herself to her studies she might have become a songmaker, but the academy released her. Now she plays for her own pleasure and that of her friends when the mood takes her, and she uses an a’luwtha given her by our mother …’ He responded to Ember’s swift startled look with an indulgent brotherly smile.
‘You are a balladeer, then?’ There was faint disapproval in Hella’s voice.
Ember said awkwardly, ‘I was not dedicated enough to become an academy songmaker.’ She felt her words to be stiff alongside Bleyd’s smooth tone, but Hella did not seem to notice.
‘I think one gains from discipline,’ the Acanthan girl said quietly. ‘True passion is about dedication.’
‘You speak as if you understand both,’ Bleyd said, smiling mischievously at her.
Instead of smiling at his sally, Hella gave Bleyd a look composed equally of sorrow and bitterness. ‘I know enough of the passions of men to mistrust them, and in the end even friendship is a deep mineshaft with many pitfalls and few lodes of brightness. I spoke just now not of the mercurial passion that can flow between humans but of the passion for doing a thing well.’
‘Such as windwalking?’ Bleyd asked, leading the way into the web of streets radiating from the pier district.
‘Of course,’ Hella said. ‘To be a good windwalker, one must have discipline. My brother has that ability but I am an indifferent windwalker, although I have a passion for gemelling. I think the subject of your passion matters less than having a passion for something,’ she added earnestly.
Bleyd grinned at her. ‘Do you carry that same philosophy into other passions?’ Hella frowned at him and he laughed and lifted his hands apologetically. ‘Forgive me. In fact I jest because I am rather impressed that you are a gemeller.’
‘My training was incomplete when I left Acantha, but I had journeyman status at the gemeller academy.’ Hella looked over her shoulder in a way that made Ember hope no one was watching them, for it was clearly the gesture of someone wanting to be sure they would not be overheard. ‘The truth is that I had no choice but to leave. My … my brother fell foul of Jurass for … Well, I do not wish to speak of it, except to say that after he had gone, it became clear that there was no longer a place for me on Acantha.’
‘But you must be very good to have been made a journeyman this young,’ Bleyd said, tactfully avoiding a matter which clearly gave Hella pain. Ember now understood her reluctance to greet other Acanthans.
‘Do you have any pieces with you?’ Bleyd asked.
‘I have my student pieces and a small show of cut stones, as well as three special raw pieces that I will fashion and sell once I reach Myrmidor. Of course I have my tools. She patted a pouch at her side possessively, then gave a surprised laugh. ‘You know, I have just realised that meeting the two of you has helped me to make up my mind about what to do. I meant to ask my sister to advise me, but speaking of gemelling reminds me of how much I love it. My mentor at the academy gave me the name of his former mentor who lives on Myrmidor. He is very old and has retired, but perhaps, if I can impress him, he will make an exception and take me on as his journeyman …’ She shrugged as if to throw off a burdensome cloak. ‘Well, that is a problem for another day. Where are we going?’
‘The best place to stay on Iridom is a nightshelter called the Golden Feinn-Bane, but it is far from here. We will have to take a carriage …’ Bleyd’s face changed and he looked suddenly aghast.
Ember guessed that he had realised that he had no coin, and said quickly, ‘I think we should stay somewhere close to the shore, even if it is expensive, since we have the coin for it.’ Fortunately her earrings, and the coin she had not yet found time to return to Revel, were more than enough to keep them in relative comfort for a few days.
Bleyd gave her a swift glance. ‘Well then, there is a place that I know quite near here, called The Secret Horn. The only trouble is that it was recommended to me by Darkfall supporters.’
‘How is that to trouble us?’ Hella asked, looking puzzled.
‘This is Iridom and the political climate all over Keltor is volatile. It might be wiser not to advertise our preferences,’ Bleyd said. ‘Have you noticed that there were no Myrmidori in that crowd, nor Fomhikans either. Or at least none that show sept colours. What does that tell you?’
Hella frowned. ‘There must be people from those septs here. Trade cannot have stopped altogether.’
‘I do not say that it has stopped, but I believe that most business done between those septs and Iridom nowadays is conducted through intermediaries from other septs. Ramidan and Vespi, mostly.’
‘I will not deny my support of Darkfall.’
‘I did not say to deny it, but there is no need to use it to make yourself a target,’ Bleyd said softly.
‘In any case we ought to get off the street,’ Ember said, noticing a troop of green legionnaires scything through the crowd towards them.
Hella turned and saw them and drew herself up. ‘I have done nothing to …’
‘Let me see how much coin we have left,’ Bleyd cut her off in a loud, suddenly jovial voice, turning to face Ember and thereby obscuring the legionnaires’ view of her. Ember rummaged diligently with her head bowed, until the legionnaires had marched away. Hella was staring at them oddly, so she handed the heavy purse of her Vespian earnings to Bleyd as if the charade had been real. His brows lifted at the weight of it. ‘I think the best place for us is three or four streets away. A place called The Songmaking Aspi. It is said to be quiet and rather dull.’
‘Dull sounds perfect,’ Ember said promptly. ‘Let’s go.’
Bleyd led the way again and, after some slight casting about during which he claimed not to be able to remember the exact route, they entered a lane which he announced would bring them to the street they wanted. The lane was narrow enough that they had to walk in single file and Ember fell in behind the other two. It was difficult to see very far clearly. The steam caused a peculiar discolouration of the air, as well as shrouding anything more than a few paces away.
‘Here we are,’ Bleyd announced suddenly, as they came to the end of the lane. He pointed to a building on three levels with a pale elegant facade and an ornately scribed sign announcing The Songmaking Aspi.
Once she had put her bag in the room she had been allocate
d, Ember made her way reluctantly back down a slightly shabby set of stairs. The exterior of the building had promised an elegance that the interior did not deliver, although at some point the nightshelter clearly had been a very grand place. Bleyd had looked disappointed but Ember insisted that they remain at the nightshelter rather than wandering about looking for another place, and Hella had agreed.
Ember sighed to find that neither of the others were yet in the foyer. She had wanted to remain in her room until they heard from Revel, but Bleyd had firmly proposed a carriage ride to see the famous fire falls, saying lightly that only a person with something to hide would come from a ship and go straight to their room. Hella had agreed to come, since they might easily be leaving the following morning, and the opportunity would be lost. Since this conversation took place in front of a receptionist with avid eyes, Ember had acquiesced.
Ember moved towards the seats, thinking she would sit and wait, and hoping that her clothes were appropriate. She had been unable to ask what would be suitable, for this would be an admission that she knew nothing about the fire falls. She had dressed fairly casually in the green dress, which had shorter sleeves, and a pair of flat sandals, and she had donned a thin veil that nevertheless made her feel half suffocated.
Noticing her, the thin, toothy girl behind the bar hailed her and said that her brother had gone out to arrange a carriage for the fire-fall expedition. ‘Your friend went out too, but she said she would be back directly.’
‘Thank you,’ Ember muttered, hoping that Bleyd did not stupidly over-tire himself, and wondering where Hella had gone.
The girl approached with a mug of chilled let milk that had been ordered in advance by Bleyd, and Ember accepted it, realising that she was terribly thirsty. The drink was far more spicy than the let milk she had drunk on Vespi or Ramidan, but was deliciously refreshing. ‘Your brother said you are merely stopping over on a crossing and I was thinking that you might not have masks,’ the girl said, refilling her mug.
‘Masks,’ Ember echoed stupidly.
‘For the Olfactors Festival. Did you not know it begins tonight?’
‘No … But I do not think we will be going anywhere …’ Ember began.
The girl stared at her. ‘But even if you do not, the wardens might come here, and even if they do not, you will need masks to move about the streets tomorrow.’
Ember wondered if she was right in gathering from this that festival wardens could enter establishments and maybe even rooms to check people wore masks. And if they did not, what then? Of course she could not ask. So she said meekly, ‘Where can we get masks?’
‘There are booths selling them, but given that the Festival begins when Kalinda sets, they will have very little left. However, I have a friend who is a gifted mask-maker and, for a price, she will be able to make you something special.’
‘I suppose we had better have three, then, and they must be ready by morning,’ Ember decided.
‘But you must have them tonight for the Olfactors Grand Parade!’ the girl exclaimed.
‘Of course we must!’ Hella’s voice rang out. ‘They shall be splendid creations and I shall pay for them.’ Startled, Ember turned to find the Acanthan girl standing in the doorway glowing with excitement and pleasure. ‘What do you think, Gola!’ she asked rhetorically. ‘I have just traded one of my stones and the price I got was very, very good. I thought it would be reasonable when I realised there was an Olfactors Festival, because lovers traditionally gift one another, but the seller said the cutting was the finest he’d ever seen. So please let me gift you and Bendi with masks and we will see the Olfactors Parade tonight after we return from the falls.’
‘You had better let your friend gift you,’ the girl behind the counter enthused. ‘It would be shameful, truly, to wear a dull mask to the Grand Parade.’
Ember gave in, and Hella grinned her pleasure and began to haggle expertly with the servitor over the price she asked. Once this had been agreed upon, they conferred over fabric and design. Bleyd returned in the midst of the negotiations wearing new loose green trews, a green shirt in very light material and the loose caftan style that seemed popular on Iridom, at least on festival days, and a loosely woven, bead-encrusted cap which covered his blond hair. He had also darkened and elaborated his make-up to give his eyes an Acanthan tilt, which meant he had brought more face paint or had gone to some sort of face-painting establishment. He looked very theatrical and very handsome and Hella’s eyes lit up at the sight of him, as did those of the girl serving them. Ember wondered sourly why it was that the Fomhikan did not stir her even slightly.
But when Bleyd stepped closer, Ember’s irritation dissolved into alarm because his pupils were wide, his lips bloodless and a sheen of sweat lay over his face paint. Worst of all, it seemed to her that he actually smelled of sickness again.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly.
‘No,’ Bleyd admitted, panting slightly. He laid his hot damp hand on her bare arm and she felt that he was trembling. ‘The stimulant I took has worn off sooner than I expected. I must not be seen to be sickly.’ He broke off as Hella turned to them, having concluded her instructions to the servitor.
‘I have ordered three wondrous masks and they will be ready for us when we return from the fire falls,’ Hella gloated.
‘Speaking of our expedition, did the girl tell you I have ordered a hamper of food?’ Bleyd’s voice was strained enough that Hella’s smile faltered.
‘Why don’t we go and wait in the carriage,’ Ember said quickly. ‘The basket can be brought to us there. I am nearly fainting from this heat.’
Bleyd nodded, gratitude flickering in his eyes, and they went out.
The moment the carriage wheels began to turn, Bleyd lay back against the seat, mumbling that he needed to sleep.
‘How can he be so blasé!’ Hella asked, craning her neck to gaze at people and buildings they passed, and exclaiming aloud at the exaggerated statuary that seemed to sprout from every bit of wall and roof space.
‘The stimulant has worn off,’ Ember murmured. In fact she had not been sure that Bleyd really had taken a stimulant until he had spoken of it, and she thought him a fool. Even she knew that stimulants drained the vital energies of a body in order to produce a false and fleeting sense of energy and wellbeing. On the other hand, he was right in saying he could not afford to be seen to be ill.
The deeper they penetrated the city, the fewer people there were about, which suggested that the festival was primarily confined to the area nearest the sea. This also explained the crowds of lavishly dressed people she had seen when disembarking. The shore also seemed to be where most of the selling booths were, although they did pass a few small clusters of stalls elsewhere. Gradually they gained speed, but the city seemed to go on and on, until even Hella grew tired of gazing out and relaxed back against her seat, her eyelids drooping.
Ember was the only one awake as the carriage passed through a stone gateway and into what was clearly the dense wilderness surrounding the city that she had seen from the deck of the ship. The carriage entered what was virtually a dim green tunnel, for the branches of the trees growing alongside the road interlaced and knotted above, and all but the tiniest amount of the veiled light of Kalinda was extinguished. Ember gasped a little at the sudden dimness, which at first seemed a blackness. She breathed deeply, finding it hard to draw breath. It was as if the almost palpable odour of mulched undergrowth had thickened the air, leaving too little oxygen, though it might as easily have been anxiety that made it seem so. It was much hotter, too.
It was probably the heat that roused Hella, who gasped at the darkness, but she relaxed when she saw Ember sitting calmly opposite and began to detach the long tight sleeves of her wind-walking suit and segments of cloth at the midriff, neck and calves. The detached sections fitted neatly into the small bag she carried belted around her hips, obviously for this purpose.
‘I had heard the wilderness on Iridom was thick, but I n
ever imagined it to be like this. It is almost like a wall about us,’ she murmured, now bending down and fastening flaps open on her boots, baring slots in the cloth. She slid back into her seat with a contented sigh.
Ember felt herself wilting, and the memory of the icy let milk that she had drunk in the foyer of the nightshelter arose to torment her. Again she wondered what could have possessed Bleyd to think this boiling hot carriage ride into the wilderness a good idea? She did not like his pallor nor the flaccid loll of his head, but there was nothing to be done now until they had reached their destination. She had not dared to ask how long their journey would take, in case this should be a well-known fact, but the picnic lunch suggested at least half a day.
She was relieved when Hella drifted back to sleep, so she could avoid having to stare fixedly out of the carriage to cut off conversation. She liked Hella but conversation held too many pitfalls, and they were on Iridom. The road went on and on, a living tunnel growing ever more dense. It was a strange greenish dusk they now travelled through, and the air became almost sticky, as if the space beneath the trees had compressed into something close to liquidity.
At some point Ember, too, slept and dreamed of swimming and of being dragged under water. This became a dream of Glynn’s Asian martial-arts instructor, Wind, who had died. He was poring over masks in a dimly lit room.
‘I have to get into the palace to see her,’ he was saying. ‘Something has happened to them … to her. She is in danger.’
His burly red-haired companion gave him a quizzical look. ‘You can not know that.’
The martial-arts instructor turned and Ember realised that, after all, it was not Wind, but only someone who looked like him. ‘I know it sounds like madness, but I do know.’
‘Even if you are right, entering the palace would be a risk, but to enter the Iridomi compound is madness. If they catch you, you will technically be upon Iridom, and you can be sure they will hand you over to Jurass for execution, but only after Kalide has been at you. What would the Shadowman say to it?’
Darksong Page 40
