Darksong

by Isobelle Carmody

  ‘Earning coin. Of course,’ a sneer in the tone.

  ‘Not only coin but, in my case, reputation,’ Bleyd said eagerly. ‘Iridom has a well-developed interest in such pleasures as song and ballad can offer and if you take the girl, I will have something to give my name lustre.’

  The hostess gave a low, lovely chuckle. ‘You imagine that I would present to the sort of patrons I have, and during the festival days no less, a mere student of songmaking? Even if her voice is as you claim, no student can have a good enough grasp of politics or satire to titillate the sophisticated appetites that will be brought here tonight.’

  ‘Only hear her, Mistress,’ Bleyd begged. ‘You can offer her as an addition to the advertised entertainment, if nothing else. A gifting for the loyalty of your customers or a gifting to celebrate the occasion … It is true that she cannot offer the height of satire and political comment, but I swear to you that her songs will touch the hearts of your chilly, sophisticated customers as they have never been touched before. Your name and the name of your night garden will be whispered over and over after the evening, as a place where strange and unexpected pleasures may be found. And although you must not say that she goes to the Darkfall landing for your sake as much as hers … afterwards, what a tale it will make to whisper to certain favoured customers! Especially when, after she has gone, I will be free to reveal the illustrious name of her family.’

  The dark eyes flickered again, but it was a long time before she turned from Bleyd to Ember. ‘Very well, I will hear you. If your voice is as fine as the agent claims, it may be that I can use you. But you will have to be dressed differently.’ She looked at Bleyd. ‘The gown she wears now is finely made but it covers too much of her for a night garden. No matter how wondrous the voice, my patrons will want to see her flesh as well.’

  ‘I am sure she understands that,’ Bleyd said suavely, knowing that she would not need to live up to any of the promises he made on her behalf. Even so, Ember felt queerly humiliated to hear it said bluntly that those who would hear her wanted to see her body as much as hear her songs. I am more than my body or my face, she thought. I am more, even, than my songs.

  Bleyd had made a triumphant signal to Fridja, who now moved quickly to unpack the a’luwtha. The myrmidon was careful to place herself between the instrument and the hostess so that the a’luwtha would not be seen until it was safely in Ember’s hands, and encompassed by the glamour of the headdress. As soon as she stepped back, Ember set her fingers upon the strings and began to strum a few neutral chords to distract the woman from noticing the slight confusion of the air about her. Fridja had gone back to the table and lifted the jug to refill the glasses, but she had barely taken it up before one of the woman’s own servitors swooped on her and took the jug, waving her back with a hostile glare.

  Ember bit her lip, wondering how on earth Fridja would now manage to administer the drug. The hostess began to tap a nail impatiently, so Ember closed her eyes, the better to focus, and began a song from her own world that needed little alteration because it dealt only with the difference between masculine and feminine definitions of love. It was light-hearted and made much of the physical differences between men and women, but it was out of joint with her mood and Ember sensed she did not perform it well. The hostess sipped at her drink, her expression showing neither pleasure nor disapproval as Ember moved into another song from her world about longing for someone who did not return your sentiments. The words suggested ultimately that even an impossible dream was better than no dream, and that dreams bestowed their own glamour upon a life. The wistfulness in the words and in the music fitted her mood better, but still the hostess showed no reaction. Nor did Fridja, though Bleyd beamed with pride.

  After two more songs, one of which was Alene’s song about a shipmaster seeking his home port, the hostess lifted her hand. ‘Where are these love songs that your agent so extols?’ There was a distinct slurring in her tone and Ember realised with a sudden thrill that Fridja must have managed to administer the szerim, for this was supposed to be one of its effects. If she was right, any minute now, Bleyd would have the hostess send her servitors out of hearing.

  Ember began to sing a song about a man desiring a woman who loved another man, changed to remove any references to her world. It was a song she had always liked because of its sombre sensuality but this time it seemed to her that the song was actually a paean to the beauty of longing. She followed this with a piece about two lovers meeting after a long parting and, halfway through, Bleyd leant over and whispered persuasively to the hostess. She immediately waved her hand and the two servitors, exchanging a swift look, hurried away. Ember breathed a sigh of relief because the need to get the servitors away had been one of the weak points of Bleyd’s plan. Under the szerim, she was to be instructed that this was her idea.

  Nothing appeared to change after the servitors had gone. The hostess and Bleyd appeared to be conversing as before, but Ember noted that the woman was no longer listening to the music. Ember continued to play, of course, for the sake of the unseen watchers. Since it hardly mattered what she played now, she performed several of the slightly more political songs that she had composed for the Vespian performance, but when she lifted her head to ease the muscles in her neck at one point, she realised with a little shock that she had been wrong in imagining she would not have a true audience. For all about the garden, servitors had ceased to toil and stood listening. Many had drifted closer, and some had actually been bold enough, or entranced enough, to have come some way up the small knoll. Ember could see the rapt attention in their expressions. As with the audience on Vespi, she could not resist weaving the power of their regard into her music. Prompted by the nature of her audience, she sang an old spiritual dating back to the time before the American Civil War. The song dealt with the need to believe in joy even in the darkest moments, lest hope die. That these were sentiments she had never applied in her own life struck her, but she was learning that the music she played and sang was only partly her creation.

  True music is not tame …

  The voice was that of Ronaall.

  ‘Long live the Unykorn!’ someone suddenly shouted.

  Ember stopped, shocked, but already the servitors were melting away and turning back to their work. No doubt the shout had frightened them. Ember looked over to the table and was horrified to find both Bleyd and the hostess watching her. Bleyd wore a stiff smile, but his eyes were anxious. The hostess showed no emotion at all, nor did she signal Ember to stop, so she had no choice but to continue the song. She cursed her stupidity in becoming so involved in performing that she had forgotten to watch for Bleyd’s signal that the szerim was wearing off.

  When the song finished, Ember stopped.

  ‘Why do you wear a device to confuse the eyes?’ the older woman asked.

  Ember could think of no answer but Bleyd said smoothly, ‘It was my advice, hostess, so as to make it difficult for the ruffians sent by her parents to identify her. I should have mentioned it to you but indeed I had forgotten about it. Servitor, pack away the a’luwtha and help Enora to remove the device.’

  Fridja took the instrument, again using her own body to shield it from the eyes of the hostess, and then she removed Ember’s headdress, careful not to disturb her mask and veil.

  The hostess regarded her for a few beats then said severely, ‘The last song is not for this place and this time, no matter how well performed. Save it for Darkfall if the soulweavers take you.’

  ‘I am sorry if the song did not please you,’ Ember said evenly. ‘That last was a song my master at the academy used to test new students because it requires the ability to follow minute nuances in tone and voice. It was this that I thought of, rather than the content.’

  ‘I doubt that a woman desirous of becoming a soulweaver would be unaware of the meanings in the song.’ The hostess turned back to Bleyd. ‘I believe you are right in suggesting that this songmaker would make a successful addition to the enter
tainments I have planned for this evening. However I will contract her to sing only three love songs. And I will have the scribed words before me by this afternoon.’

  ‘Then the terms we have been discussing are satisfactory?’ Bleyd asked.

  Their voices dropped and they spoke for some little while longer before touching palms in agreement. A servitor appeared just as they were all rising and the hostess gave him an irritated look, but this changed as he spoke softly into her ear. Ember’s heart bumped at her ribs but it seemed that whatever message had been received had nothing to do with them, for the hostess signalled to be helped to her feet and dismissed them.

  ‘See that both the songs and the songmaker arrive early this evening for much will have to be done to make her presentable. The contract will be ready for you to sign then.’

  Bleyd made a low bow, and Ember did the same. Fridja, as a servitor, was irrelevant. Then the servitors beckoned them to follow. Bleyd chattered the whole way back to the gate about the negotiations and his own prospects once it was known that he had offered such a prize on such a night. Ember could not help but think he played the chattering fool almost too well.

  When they reached the entrance, the same lithe, dark-eyed boy opened the gate to let them out but, as Ember went through, he gave her a look of such bleak hatred that she stumbled.

  ‘What is it?’ Bleyd asked, turning to her. ‘Have you turned your ankle?’

  ‘No. I … I am fine,’ Ember said, wondering what she had done to provoke such a look.

  None of them spoke again until they were seated in the moving carriage, and of course they left their masks on in case the carriage was stopped by festival guards, who, albeit briefly, possessed immense and far-reaching powers. They were as likely to burst into someone’s house as to stop a carriage and inspect the occupants, in the hope of finding someone who was infringing the festival rules. These unfortunates were paraded, and then hung up in stocks to be pelted with rotten fruit.

  Fridja dropped her stiff pose first. ‘I can see why Alene gave you her instrument, Lady, for songmaker you truly are. I do not think I have ever heard so fair a voice.’

  ‘I told you,’ Bleyd said smugly.

  Fridja ignored him. ‘That last song you sang. I have never heard it before, or the sentiments it contained. They were … stirring. No wonder a servitor called out in defiance, although that was a dangerous moment.’

  ‘I got carried away,’ Ember admitted. ‘It was seeing those servitors listening to me, and remembering what you said … That was a terrible place,’ she added in a low, heartfelt voice.

  ‘You are an unusual woman, Songmaker. Most would praise the beauty of that night garden.’

  ‘But it is the very beauty of the place that makes what happens there the uglier,’ Ember said softly.

  ‘Well?’ Fridja said, cocking her brow at Bleyd.

  He gave a laugh. ‘To begin with, I thought we had failed when those servitors stopped you from pouring the cirul. I could hardly believe it when the hostess began to slur her words.’

  ‘I do not want a drawn-out balladeer’s tale,’ Fridja snapped. ‘Get to the point.’

  Bleyd shrugged. ‘Bukanic and the hostess are in it together. Apparently this whole matter began when the two of them were drinking cirul late one night. Bukanic came up with a plan to lure Duran here with callstones – it is common knowledge that Darkfall is desperate and he is involved in bringing stones from the palace to the shadow market. He said that Duran would come if there were enough stones, even if she suspected a trap. They would use the night garden as their trap base, and demand a ransom from Myrmidor. As Duran guessed, they had no intention of offering her to the palace because they would get no reward. They expected her to have some people inside, and it was the hostess who had the idea of having every customer on the appointed night drawn into a side chamber and unmasked by men pretending it was a carnival prank. The make-up made it much more difficult but they had no compunction about wiping it off. Bukanic sat in the shadows waiting to recognise Duran. Once he had done so, she was locked away and he came to the garden supposedly to await her appearance as planned, for the sake of whoever was in there to guard Duran’s back. When the night ended, Bukanic played out the charade of leaving in a temper over her supposed failure to appear.’

  ‘So Duran is back there!’ Fridja said.

  Bleyd shook his head. ‘No. She was taken out in the early hours of the morning through a secret tunnel used by nobles who wish to avoid being seen going to a night garden.’

  Fridja slapped her knee. ‘A tunnel! My urchins knew nothing of it.’

  ‘It is known only to the hostess and to one trusted servitor. Anyone using it pays dearly for the privilege and is blindfolded, then led out and away by the servitor.’

  ‘Where was Duran taken, then?’

  ‘Unfortunately the hostess does not know, but she did say that the people who came to pick Duran up were sent by someone called Famaki, and that this was not who she had been expecting, so now she fears that … What is it?’

  Fridja had given an anguished groan. ‘Famaki! Are you sure that was the name?’

  Bleyd nodded, looking worried. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The most recently appointed minister in Iridom! He is responsible for the disposition of prisoners taken into the chieftain’s cells, and of their property!’ Fridja said. ‘It is an important post. You see, when Coralyn or one of her corrupt ministers charges someone with a crime, the accused and their entire family are taken into custody. The person and their family are sentenced to periods of bondage to be served working in places like the night gardens and olfactor plantations, as Duran told you before. Of course the bonded period is never stated and, in fact, never ends, and the properties supposedly held in trust are absorbed by Coralyn’s rapacious treasury. The callstones are fed carefully into the market. That must be where Bukanic and Famaki come into contact. I dare say Bukanic hinted or even boasted outright of his scheme to trap Duran. Or maybe, at some point, he got the idea of playing both sides against the middle, protecting himself in case Coralyn got wind of what had happened. The minister would have been swift to see what a coup it would be if he could capture the chieftain of the myrmidons in the midst of an illegal transaction on Iridomi soil. Duran could be interrogated for information about the myrmidons and Darkfall, and then used to humiliate the soulweavers. Coralyn would be overwhelmingly grateful.’

  ‘But … if Famaki took Duran to the palace it will take weeks to plan an assault,’ Bleyd said, aghast. ‘Myrmidor will have to try to ransom her.’

  ‘That will be too late for Duran,’ Fridja said grimly. ‘You see Famaki will not waste time trying to torture information from her because he will know that myrmidons are trained to offer misinformation when tortured. He will drug her with szerim or some similar drug. What he does not know is that her myrmidon training will activate an hypnotic shutdown the instant she is made to tell anything that she does not wish to tell. She will fall into deep unconsciousness. Famaki will not expect this, but once it happens he will guess the truth. He will wait until she wakes, or try to wake her, not realising that unless she is released from the sleep by the correct trigger words, her unconsciousness will deepen and deepen until it becomes death. That takes about two days.’

  Bleyd frowned. ‘Fridja … are you sure Famaki will have had Duran taken straight to the palace? After all, he did not send legionnaires to collect her, from what the night-garden hostess said, but his own men. The way the Iridomi are, there is every chance that credit for his coup would be taken by one of the senior ministers if he reports it. If it were me, I would keep my prize somewhere else and send a chit by courier to Ramidan to let Coralyn know personally what I have done.’

  Fridja gave him a look of radiant approval. ‘I think you may be right! I pray you are, for otherwise Duran is lost to us! As soon as we get back to the house, I will send out my urchins to investigate Famaki’s various holdings. If Duran was taken to one of them,
there is sure to be a street dweller who witnessed it, and my urchins will find them, depend upon it. But what I said before still follows. Famaki will have begun work on Duran the moment he had her, and it is very likely that she is already unconscious, so we have little time in which to act.’ Reaching up, Fridja hammered on the wall of the carriage and cried out to the driver to make all haste for a doubled fare.

  There was no possibility of speech above the racket made by the metal-rimmed wheels against the uneven cobbles after that, and once Fridja had paid off the carriage driver she set a fast walking pace back. Every face was masked and this was disorientating and somehow sinister, given what had happened. The hot, murky light only added to the ominous air of the day. At last they came to the lane which would bring them back to Fridja’s headquarters, but they had only gone a few steps when she stopped with a curse.

  ‘What is it?’ Bleyd asked worriedly.

  ‘It has just occurred to me that Duran has to be forced to answer one question in order to trigger the hypnotic suggestion that will render her unconscious, and the first question she is most likely to be asked will be the whereabouts of her comrades. We have to warn the others and move to another headquarters immediately …’

  ‘I am afraid that you are too late, myrmidon,’ a man’s voice floated eerily from a darkened doorway beside them.

  26

  Lanalor gave to his sister all the secrets of the power stones

  and bade her guard them until they were needed …