Madness of Flowers

by Jay Lake

  Her words had the ring of scripture more than of history. Bijaz stared sideways. The mountebank had lifted her face to take in the cold wind, but her eyes were closed. She looked into the past.

  Bijaz realized he was feeling the touch of the noumenal. The cold wind had a faint, flat taste. His hair prickled. The reaper man's scythe was close, the grains of all their lives tossing on that cold breeze.

  In that moment, for all its bright and sunny openness, this place frightened him more than the wasps in the mine.

  "Where is the Imperator?" Bijaz asked. "We cannot march across this. It buckles like a thing alive. Or more like a thing dying. I do not even see the far shore."

  "We are here," she said. "Your precious Imperator reached the Rimerocks, then turned back in the face of what he found there. He had thought to bind himself and the powers around him to the roof of the sky, amid the highest mountains in our part of the world, but he had to settle for this instead."

  "The ice?" Bijaz tried to imagine the magick that could bind the strength of an empire, freezing it into place beneath all these tons of water.

  Ashkoliiz nodded. "Down there." She turned to her ice bear and her Northmen, releasing a torrent of tangled speech in their sliding tongue. Her hands flickered in their fingertalk.

  When Ashkoliiz finished her impassioned speech, Ulliaa glanced at him briefly, then answered.

  This was a far more complex discussion than he'd previously seen among them. An argument, he was sure. Iistaa began to growl, then the Northmen shifted into colloquy among the three of them, punctuated by further growls from the ice bear.

  He looked around to see DeNardo and Azar using the interruption to rest their men. The Winter Boy and the Tokhari walked amid their troops, inspecting gear and talking to first one then another. The two groups glared at one another and at the little knot around Ashkoliiz at the cliff's edge. There was no camaraderie today. Everyone felt the wrongness of the ice.

  The argument subsided. Ashkoliiz looked annoyed—she'd lost ground. He realized in that moment that she answered to the ice bear, and not just as a tutelary spirit.

  Something had changed here, something important to Ashkoliiz.

  Venal as Ashkoliiz was, Bijaz understood her purposes. Still, he wondered what she truly sought on this greatest of fools' errands. He wouldn't frame the question in front of the others.

  "We will strike east to find a gentler descent which can accommodate the horses," she announced. "Once we have reached the ice, we will open the riches of history."

  Bijaz wondered what had possessed the Imperator Terminus to find his resting place between nowhere and nowhere else.

  Onesiphorous

  The Angoumois braced their weapons in an eerie silence.

  "Children of Angoulême," Onesiphorous said. "She has brought me here to you. I need to speak with the plantation master."

  "You cross water with a fetch, ah." A pruning hook waved nervously.

  "One of her servants. I had no other way to reach you."

  "Who you be?"

  "I am Oarsman, a dwarf of the City Imperishable, though lately much here along the Jade Coast. I have passed through your dark kingdom on my journey."

  "Who them, ah?"

  "Ambassadors of Lord Mayor Imago of Lockwood, come to meet with the lord of the plantation."

  One of the defenders lowered his scythe. Another sheathed an old sword. In moments the barricade was gone.

  "Come then," said an unsmiling man with the same golden complexion as Boudin's.

  As Onesiphorous walked forward, men behind the front rank cast weighted nets over him, Kalliope, and Jason. The weapons were up again in a moment, poking close enough to draw blood.

  "May I do something surprising now?" Kalliope asked through clenched teeth.

  "If it's not too late," whispered Onesiphorous.

  Their captors parted once more. A thin, pale man with a lugubrious face regarded them from atop a very high horse.

  "Welcome," he said in a drawl that smacked of the most affected families of Heliograph Hill. "I apologize for the hospitality. These are dangerous times."

  Onesiphorous summoned his tact. "We must treat as equals."

  "But why? We are most demonstrably not equals." He looked to his mob of servants. "Kill the big one."

  A long pruning hook stabbed close in to the netting, catching Jason deep in the chest. He grabbed the haft with a broad smile. Leaves burst from the wood, crackling like bacon frying. The wielder dropped his weapon with a shriek.

  The blooming pole rattled to the ground. Its blade was a smoking fog of rust. The mob of servants fled, leaving their weapons behind.

  "Perhaps I shall let you free after all," said the horseman, now alone with his visitors.

  Kalliope cut them out without a word. The look she gave Onesiphorous should have flayed the skin from his face.

  The rider led them through the now-deserted town. He didn't look back. Onesiphorous was willing to follow—they had not come to fight.

  A large mansion loomed at the crest of the hill. It was built high off the ground, with a wide, low roof and huge coastal windows. Most of the latter were thrown open.

  Their host rode his horse onto the porch, where he dismounted and showed them to a set of wicker chairs. "Stewart Greathouse, of Honeywood," he said, sitting down. He pulled a large pistol from beneath his own chair. "And you must be traveling magicians."

  "We are of the City Imperishable," said Onesiphorous. "Come to restore the Jade Coast to its rightful state."

  "You plan to close the mines and ship all those dreadful miscreants home?" Greathouse asked.

  Kalliope snorted.

  What little patience Onesiphorous still possessed was rapidly eroding. "You are aware of events in Port Defiance?"

  "Politics." Greathouse waved a hand airily. He hefted his pistol, sighting down the barrel at Onesiphorous. "If I cared about politics, I'd have moved to the City Imperishable."

  "They've stopped all trade along the coast."

  "Trade will be back. I've got first quality hemp and indigo here. It can wait in the warehouses awhile longer. The markets will only pay greater prices then." He pointed the pistol at Kalliope. "I can afford to—"

  She moved so fast Onesiphorous saw only a blur of leather. The pistol wheeled to one side, discharging through the porch roof in a shower of shattered wood. Kalliope followed up with a hard slap to Greathouse's face. She was back in her chair before anyone else could react.

  "Never point a weapon at me unless you are planning to kill me."

  Jason just kept smiling.

  Onesiphorous decided he was doomed.

  "What about you, dwarf?" Greathouse rubbed his cheek. Kalliope's fingertips had drawn blood. "Is this some children's tale where the three of you each demonstrate a mystical power?"

  "No," said Onesiphorous. "I've got no power but conviction."

  Greathouse raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Gunmen stepped out of a dozen of the coastal windows onto the porch, Angoumois and City men alike. They surrounded the little cluster of chairs in a moment, keeping their distance from Kalliope and Jason. All but one of the weapons was trained on those two.

  The last was shoved in Onesiphorous' ear. He could too readily imagine what a pull of that trigger would do to his head, his brains, his thoughts.

  "In that case," Greathouse said, "convince me."

  Words raced through Onesiphorous' head, pursued by the imminent possibility of a bullet. His legs trembled, his colon clenched, and all he could smell was the sour acid of his own gut.

  Greathouse of Honeywood did not care about the City Imperishable. He did not care about Port Defiance. Onesiphorous wasn't even sure the man cared about himself. His captor was embedded in the warm ennui of the south, living out the quiet, dead-end dream of a plantation lord.

  He followed that logic. "Nothing will convince you, I'm afraid." Onesiphorous tried to keep the quaver from his voice. "You are beyond passion."

/>   Greathouse yawned. "What? No appeals to my patriotism?"

  "You said it yourself. If you cared about politics, you would have moved to the City Imperishable. What you care about is a private place here at the head of the swamps where you can pursue your own indolence without interference."

  "Oh, very brave. A nod from me and you'll be wearing your face in your lap, so what do you do? You go on the attack. I am impressed."

  Onesiphorous cast his eyes at Jason, then Kalliope. She sat almost perfectly still. He figured her for a killing rage, but not even her unnatural speed could outrun bullets.

  Jason continued to smile, vacant as ever.

  "Attack?" Onesiphorous paid no mind to the cold gun barrel in his ear, or the little clicks which echoed nearby. None whatsoever. "Hardly. I go on the descriptive. You want nothing from the world except a ready market for your crops and an unreasonable distance otherwise. I'm here to help ensure that fulfillment of your desire continues unabated."

  "I can see why I haven't had you killed yet." Greathouse steepled his hands and closed his eyes, as if resting. "You are interesting. Do go on."

  "If we do not prevail," Onesiphorous said fiercely, "your markets will fail. Someone may yet send a boat up the river, but that will be the last journey, not the first. Your money will run out. There will be no trade in whiskey, silk, or other luxuries. By Dorgau's brass hells, there won't even be bread. You'll be eating hemp and indigo, or dining at the Angoumois table."

  "Hardly." Greathouse shuddered. "I've no fondness for stewed snake heads."

  The gun barrel on Onesiphorous' ear shifted slightly.

  "Then help us," he said. "Our little war relies on the hulls the plantation lords can put in the water. We'll fight and win, or we'll fight and die. We win, you get your river trade back and people leave you alone. We die, you get to eat snake head stew and people leave you alone."

  Greathouse stared at him awhile. "You are a political little animal," he finally said. "Filthy, filthy, filthy. I like that in a man." A smile quirked. "Or even in a half-man. Keep your servants leashed. We shall dine and speak more of this."

  Onesiphorous gave Kalliope and Jason a long, searching look. Her lips were pressed white, but she nodded. Jason continued his amiable vacancy.

  "Very well," said the dwarf. "Let us reason like men."

  "Oh, no, that's what we've been doing." Greathouse waved his hand. The guns were withdrawn. "Men reason with their fists and the size of their throbbing cocks. Now we will reason like women, who talk their way free of their troubles."

  "What do you know of women?" Kalliope demanded.

  "When you've chained as many to your icehouse walls as I have," Greathouse replied with a slow, malicious smile, "you learn a lot about women. At least while they still can talk." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Though there's more to be learned after that, too. Just of a different nature."

  Kalliope kept her silence this time. The armed servants stepped back through the windows.

  Greathouse gave her the vaguest ghost of a bow. "I believe we're having roasted heron stuffed with water chestnuts and fingerling eels. Will you join me?"

  They followed him toward chiffon curtains billowing from a wide-thrown double door. As Onesiphorous passed Jason, the dead man threw out an arm.

  Onesiphorous met the green glow in his eyes. Jason was back from wherever he'd gone. He pushed a fist toward Onesiphorous. The dwarf opened his hand. A dozen heavy little balls dropped onto his palm, some rolling to the floor of the porch with loud clacks.

  Bullets, he realized. From the guns. "You conjured these out of the barrels?"

  "I live this borrowed life like a plant in spring," Jason said. "Blooming now in the madness of flowers, soon to go to seed and die once more." He grabbed Onesiphorous' arm so tightly that it hurt. "This is not yet my time."

  "Tell me when your time comes," Onesiphorous told him. "I don't want to be standing nearby."

  "Believe me, you will know."

  They followed Greathouse into the wicker and velvet darkness of the house.

  Greathouse finally broke the silence of their meal while rolling up something blue-green from his vegetable plate. "I always like to see a healthy appetite. Who knows when we may meet with an accident? Best to die on a full stomach, I say. With a glass of wine and a woman in hand, if possible."

  Onesiphorous suppressed his irritation. "The meal stands quite well with me. My thanks to you and your cook."

  "Indeed." Greathouse bit off his crudité and chewed slowly. "So tell me. Should I choose to lend you my barges, with whom would you crew them?"

  "We are raising the jade miners."

  "You do not propose to strip me of my men?"

  "Your men are welcome," Kalliope said. "As are your weapons, frankly. But we have been told the Angoumois will not fight shoulder to shoulder. We did not presume to raise troops from the plantations."

  "Mmm. And what is in this for me?"

  "Restoration of the status quo," Onesiphorous said roughly. He wanted to cut off that line of reasoning before it began. He could not afford to make promises at every plantation.

  Assuming they managed to escape Fallow Acres alive.

  "Yes." Greathouse's voice was filled with exaggerated patience. "You've claimed that already. I am concerned now with rental fees, degradation of my assets, potential losses due to enemy action, or incompetence on your part."

  "I have no monies with which to lease your hulls," Onesiphorous said flatly. "Your boats can rot in their slips, or they can take to the water in hopes of reopening your needed trade." He placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. "You decide, Greathouse of Honeywood. We will be on our way soon enough."

  "Not unless I lend my boats," Greathouse said. "You've got nothing but feet. Believe me, they will not get you far without crossing water."

  "I can sweeten this pot," said Jason.

  Greathouse made a face of mock surprise. "The mute speaks!"

  "Hardly. I will raise you a season's crop in one of your fields this coming night. That is the work and wages of your hands for two months or more."

  "Then I must incur costs to harvest and store such wondrous bounty," said Greathouse. "So it is not such a great advantage as all that. Still, I would like to see this miracle. Raise me a field of hemp between now and tomorrow's dawn, and all my boats will be yours." He smiled with magnanimity. "I will not even require the loan of your woman."

  Kalliope shot Onesiphorous a venomous look. He shook his head slightly. For the love of the City, woman, do nothing.

  "Meet me at dusk upon your porch with a peck of seeds and a twist of hemp from your most recent harvest," said Jason. "We will walk the fields by moonlight. I will show you true power."

  They were escorted to separate rooms by silent servants. The three closeted themselves in the parlor of Onesiphorous' suite. "He is no more to be trusted than a crocodile floating in the river," the dwarf said. "That maniac would gig us like frogs if it suited his desires."

  "Little matter," Kalliope told him. "Jason, do you want us to accompany you on this moonlight errand?"

  "No." Her brother looked thoughtful. "Let me lead him myself. The lesson will be more salutary when delivered privately."

  Onesiphorous marveled. Jason had spent the recent days deep in a spell of his own devising. "Best we spend our evening on the docks. We'll need to cast off at dawn. Kalliope, you and I can ask what water road is best for reaching the next plantation. Names, too, if these people will speak freely."

  "Nobody here speaks freely except Greathouse." She stared at her hands. "I for one would like to see the inside of his ice house."

  "He was surely making a jest," said Onesiphorous.

  "No." She shook her head.

  "We need his help, even if he eats babies for breakfast. When this is all over, you can come north with an army and burn him out if it pleases you. For now, hold back."

  "And what if it was Beaulise chained inside his ice house?" she asked qu
ietly. "Or me? Would you come back another season?"

  "For the City Imperishable," Onesiphorous said gravely, "I would."

  "Then you are an idiot." She turned her back on him.

  Imago

  He was tottering around inspecting the armor when Saltfingers arrived. "Your worship's ready to begin the assassinations, I sees," the old dwarf said cheerfully.