Vengeance ttr-1

by Ian Irvine

  ‘I’ll never sleep now. I’m going to work on the portrait.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, right now?’

  ‘No, but it’s like a wall across my mind.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘I should be working out tactics to combat the enemy’s new weapons … but how can I concentrate with the bloody portrait hanging over me like an executioner’s axe?’

  He climbed the stairs to the studio, donned a paint-spattered smock and directed his lanterns onto the portrait. And started.

  Tali was lying on the couch, staring at him. His father had driven her out of mind and all he wanted was to get the stinking portrait finished without interruption.

  ‘How is he?’ said Tali.

  ‘Drunk and delirious,’ he said curtly. ‘Nothing unusual.’

  ‘But he’ll be all right?’

  Why did she care? Or was she just being polite? ‘He’ll sleep until he’s sober — another ten hours at least — then wake as mean as a caitsthe with an axe through its ear.’

  She relaxed visibly. ‘I’m glad he’ll be all right.’ He stared at her and she added, hastily, ‘I lost my father when I was six. I still miss him.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve got to work,’ he said pointedly. ‘You can have my bed.’

  ‘I can’t take your bed.’

  There was a strange look in her eyes, a wary, trapped look, but Rix had to get on. He mixed paint on his palette and touched a fine brush to it.

  ‘One of the downstairs couches, then. Anywhere but here.’

  ‘I don’t like that painting,’ she said.

  ‘I loathe it, but I’ve got to get it done.’

  She picked up her sandals and limped down the steps.

  When Rix went down at midday, starving and exhausted, Tobry was on one of the couches chuckling over War and Wantonness, and Tali was curled up on the other, asleep. For the first time since Rix had known her, she looked at peace.

  He studied her, wondering about her life. Her skin was so fine that he could see the veins underneath. There was hardly anything to her; she almost disappeared in Tobry’s shirt and pantaloons, yet she was stronger than either of them. How had a slave race produced such a woman?

  ‘How’s it going?’ Tobry said quietly.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Rix collected a tray of food and a jug of water, and took them upstairs.

  Tobry followed, inspected the portrait and studiedly took up his book.

  Rix tried to paint on, but Tobry’s presence blocked him. ‘What?’

  ‘Did I say anything?’

  ‘You don’t have to. What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘I did suggest that you not work on it in this mood.’

  ‘If I don’t it’ll never be finished,’ Rix snapped. ‘And if last night is an example of the way Father carries on, it’s no wonder House Ricinus is on the nose.’

  ‘On the nose,’ Tobry said meaningfully.

  Go away, leave me alone.

  ‘Does the portrait really matter that much?’ Tobry added.

  ‘I already told you. If the Honouring doesn’t go perfectly, House Ricinus may fall.’

  ‘Take another look at it. Not even Lady Ricinus could accept that much truth.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The nose. Why change it?’

  Rix went to the window and leaned on the malachite sill, looking out. ‘It wasn’t right.’

  ‘It was more right than it is now.’

  Rix had repainted his father’s nose in a blind fury and had no idea how he had changed it. He always worked better when his mind was disengaged from what was in front of him.

  ‘It looks like a drunkard’s pizzle, and not even Lady Ricinus would allow you to portray your father that way. He’d be laughed out of the Honouring.’

  Pain stabbed through Rix’s chest; he ran to the portrait and the nose was grotesque. It made him sick to look at it, even sicker to think he had painted his own father that way. What if Lady Ricinus came in?

  He grabbed a brush, any brush, and painted the nose out.

  ‘How did Father come to such a state?’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘What turns a good man bad, Tobe? Is it one wrong step, or a lifetime of small errors until there’s no going back?’

  And how far had he, Rix, advanced down that path?

  ‘I’m sure it’s different for everyone,’ said Tobry. ‘In the great melodrama of the fall of the House of Lagger, for example — ’

  Rix stalked across to the storeroom, yanked open the door and the first thing he saw was his sketch, facing out.

  ‘What’s this doing here?’

  Tobry strolled across. ‘You left it out, and I put it away after I brought Tali up … but I didn’t leave it like that.’

  ‘How did you leave it?’

  ‘At the back, facing the other way.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So Tali saw it?’

  ‘Does that matter?’ said Tobry.

  ‘I don’t want the whole world to know about my nightmares.’

  ‘Calm down. Who’s she going to tell?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘What is the point?’

  ‘Forget it. Leave me alone.’

  Tobry did not move. Rix made a couple of circuits around his studio, cursing his father, and himself for the way he was portraying him. Lord Ricinus was a deeply troubled man and he, Rix, should be supporting him, not flaying him in this portrait.

  But Rix’s art was the one thing in his life that was truly his — the one thing that was not given or withheld at Lady Ricinus’s whim. He had discovered the gift within himself as a little boy, though only after his illness had it burst into magnificent flower. He had nurtured it against the wishes of Lord Ricinus, who considered fighting and drinking the only manly arts. Painting was an occupation for idle ladies and effeminates, not for his heir.

  The people whose opinions mattered to Lady Ricinus viewed painting as a tradesman’s occupation, unsuited to the son of a noble house. Not only had she refused to pay for his paints and brushes, or allow him to be tutored in his art, she had hidden him away in this tower at the rear corner of the palace from the age of twelve so no visitor could accidentally see his work. Only after the chancellor had heard about Rix’s gift, came to see for himself and praised Rix, had she relented.

  Nothing was too good for her brilliant son then, Rix thought sourly, and he resented everything she had bought him with.

  ‘My art was always about truth. When one of my paintings reveals an inner truth, I feel as though I’m taking a stand, that my life really matters.’

  ‘Of course it matters. House Ricinus’s army would follow you anywhere.’

  ‘That’s not something I feel very often. Mostly I feel that Lady Ricinus has cut me out and pinned me to the wall.’

  Tobry rolled his eyes.

  ‘The portrait doesn’t matter a damn to me,’ said Rix, more calmly, ‘but this sketch does. There’s a dreadful wrong here and no one else can find the truth in it.’

  He put the canvas on its easel and took up a handful of brushes. ‘What are we going to do with Tali?’

  ‘I’ve made some arrangements. I can get her out, but it won’t be easy to hide her from the chancellor.’

  Rix made some random marks on the canvas. ‘Haven’t you got friends you could take her to?’

  ‘Away over in Reffering. But it could fall at any time.’

  Rix shivered, for it was cold in the studio. He made a few more dabs, then stepped back, frowning at his palette.

  Tobry inspected the sketch and swung around, fists clenched. ‘That’s not funny!’

  Rix dragged his gaze back. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Tobry hissed at him, ‘You’ve painted Tali’s face on the woman on the bench.’

  ‘Gods!’ said Rix. ‘What’s the matter with me today?’ He clutched at Tobry’s arm. ‘I’ve had
a horrible thought.’

  ‘I think I know it already.’

  ‘Sometimes my paintings are divinations. What if she’s going to be caught and killed, and I’m seeing it?’

  He stared at the canvas, worms squirming under his skin. Why would he paint such a thing when Tali had risked her life to save his? The bond between them was indissoluble.

  Tobry walked around the sketch a couple of times, reached out towards the woman’s cheek, then drew back sharply and walked away.

  Rix checked the sketch again. Why would he be seeing Tali’s death? ‘Tobe? Answer me.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. Some of your paintings have divined the future.’

  ‘Most haven’t.’

  ‘But this is a powerful imagining, the strongest I’ve ever known from you. Even when you white the sketch out, the scene comes back the next time you pick up a brush — only more of it.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Rix. ‘I can’t think.’

  ‘These two people at the end of the bench are the key. Paint them and, if we recognise them, we’ll have the answer.’

  ‘I’ve tried a hundred times, but nothing comes.’

  ‘Keep trying. This is getting dangerous.’

  Rix had a sudden flash of poor Luzia and the red mouth opened across her old throat. ‘I know! Clear out and let me work.’

  There came a forceful rapping at the entrance door.

  ‘That’s Lady Ricinus,’ said Tobry. ‘White it out, quick! I’ll bring Tali up.’ ‘What are you going to do with her?’

  ‘Take her out a window with the climbing straps.’

  ‘With an injured leg?’

  ‘I hauled you back up the other night.’

  Tobry ran down the stairs. Rix painted over the sketch with broad strokes and put the canvas in the back of the cupboard. He was on his way down when he heard his mother’s key in the door, and Tobry still had not brought Tali up. What was he supposed to do? How could he choose between Tali and his house?

  He sprang the rest of the way and skidded across the floor at the bottom of the steps. Tobry was in Rix’s bedchamber, looking under the bed.

  ‘Where is she?’ Rix hissed.

  ‘I can’t find her.’

  The door opened. ‘Rixium?’ came Lady Ricinus’s voice.

  She was advancing down the hall, and next to her tottered an absurd, hunched little figure in shoulder-length wig, high heels, knee britches and stockings — the chancellor of Hightspall.

  Absurd but deadly. His nose and chin formed a nutcracker and his eyes were like miniature black olives, so deeply sunken that nary a gleam escaped them. He was a small man with a big voice, and he was accompanied by a dozen female flunkies.

  ‘Good day to you, Lord Rixium,’ said the chancellor, bowing. ‘Where is Thalalie vi Torgrist?’

  CHAPTER 67

  A bellow of fury shook Tali from a sleep blessedly free of pain and shifting shadows. She shot upright, her heart thundering.

  Another roar. ‘Damn you to the Pits of Perdition!’ It was Rix, up in his studio. What was the matter? Was he being attacked? She crept up the steps. He was across the studio, brush in hand, dabbing at his father’s face and cursing the portrait with each stroke.

  The shocking cellar sketch came flooding back, and all her previous doubts about him. She limped down to the scalderium and sat on the cold floor. Could he be a cold-hearted hypocrite, or did he genuinely not remember her mother’s murder? How could he not remember? Was he covering up for the killers?

  Another glimmer of memory came back. The boy had appeared some time after the killers had gone up that corkscrewing stair, and there was no evidence that they had known he was there. Could he have been in the cellar innocently? Had he witnessed the murder, or only arrived after Iusia was dead?

  She had to confront Rix and demand to know what he had been doing there. It was risky, though. If he was covering up for someone and she forced him to choose, why would he choose her? But then, why sketch the murder cellar and leave it out where anyone could see it? It made no sense.

  As she was sitting there, Tali caught a faint, musty-mouldy smell, which was odd since everything here was perfectly maintained. She walked around, sniffing. The smell reminded her of the tunnel through which she had entered the palace, though she could not tell where it came from.

  Rix’s studio was quiet now. She went up the stairs, taking them slowly, wondering how best to approach him. He was ten yards away and had his back to her, dabbing distractedly at the sketch and talking to Tobry — the racket must have woken him. Damn. She had hoped to find Rix alone.

  ‘That’s not funny,’ cried Tobry.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Rix.

  Tali backed down the stairs until only her head was showing.

  ‘You’ve painted Tali’s face on the woman on the bench,’ said Tobry.

  ‘Gods! What’s the matter with me today?’ Rix clutched at Tobry’s arm. ‘I’ve had a horrible thought.’

  ‘I think I know it already,’ said Tobry in a low voice.

  Tali raised her head, straining to hear.

  ‘What if she’s going to be caught and killed, and I’m seeing it?’

  They gathered around the sketch, blocking her view. Tali slumped onto the step, quivering. Could Rix be right? His paintings certainly had a power she had seen nowhere else. If he had divined her death, her enemy was going to succeed.

  She the one. What if Mad Wil had it wrong? What if Tali was the one who made it possible for the wrythen to succeed, and for Cython to regain the land it had lost two thousand years ago? How could she matter that much? But if she did, and the fate of Hightspall rested on what she did next, she had better think carefully.

  She peeped again. Tobry paced around the sketch a couple of times, reached out towards the woman’s cheek then drew back sharply and walked away. Or was Rix merely sketching her mother’s face from some lost childhood memory?

  The killers at the end of the bench still had no faces and she gathered that he was unable to paint them. It made one thing clear, though — he wasn’t covering up for anyone. He had lost all memory of the murder and, if the sketch could not bring it back, what hope did she have?

  But if the sketch was a true divination, she might not have long to live. She was withdrawing when a sudden resonance struck her about that smell in the scalderium. It so precisely matched the smell of the tunnel through which she had entered the palace that there had to be a connection. A connection!

  The original building on this site, she knew, had been a manor constructed at the time Caulderon was founded by the Five Heroes. Indeed, the manor had been built by the leader of the Heroes, Axil Grandys, and in subsequent centuries the palace had been constructed around and over it, enclosing it like a shell.

  The Two Hundred and Fifty Year War had been raging then, and there could have been many secret passages and escape tunnels. Could there be another exit in Rix’s scalderium, one long forgotten?

  She walked around it, sniffing. The musty odour came from the far side of the enormous tub, where there was a narrow space between it and the wall. Tali wriggled into the space, which was as clean as the rest of Rix’s chambers. Not a speck of dust had been missed by the meticulous maids.

  She pressed high and low on the wall and the side of the tub, which was covered in large travertine tiles, and everywhere in between. The tunnel smell was stronger here; there had to be a space somewhere close by. She wiggled her fingertips into every tiny gap and under every ledge, and using everything that her mother had taught her about the workings of the secret hidey holes in Torgrist Manor.

  A thunder of rapping on the entrance door made her jump and she cracked her forehead on the side of the tub.

  ‘It’s Lady Ricinus!’ said Tobry from upstairs.

  Should she run up and hope he could get her out the window and down the vertical wall of the tower in time? How could that succeed, in broad daylight? Lady Ricinus knew Rix had sneaked
out the other night and she was bound to have people watching. The tunnel was Tali’s only hope.

  She scrunched into the narrow space behind the tub, probing for a hidden catch. Someone bounded down the stairs, opened the two bedchamber doors, then ran through the salon into the scalderium.

  ‘Tali?’ said Tobry

  She was hidden behind the tub and did not answer. He cursed and ran out again.

  Something had moved where Tali had cracked her head — one of the foot-square travertine tiles. She pressed her hands flat on it, pushed up and down and sideways, and it moved again. She dug her fingertips into a join concealed under the overhang of the tub, tugged and the tile rotated inwards, revealing a space. She wriggled into the humid dark, careful not to dislodge any dust from inside which might reveal her.

  Her heart was thumping very fast. Dust stuck to her sweaty hands.

  ‘The chancellor’s here too,’ Rix hissed. ‘Where’s Tali?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Tobry. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

  Footsteps advanced down the hall. Many footsteps.

  Rix swore. Tali pushed gently on the tile, which slipped back into place, leaving her in Cythonian darkness.

  ‘Where is she?’ said a commanding voice, the chancellor. ‘Search the other chambers and the studio tower, all the way up to the roof. Put a watch on the doors and windows. Allow no one in or out until I give the word.’

  She caught a whiff of a cloying musk and cinnamon perfume. Booted feet clattered up the stairs. Tali could imagine what Rix must be thinking — since a determined search must find her, wouldn’t it be better to reveal that she was in his rooms? If he did, she could not blame him.

  Someone came into the scalderium, moving softly, rapping knuckles against the walls, the floor and then the sides of the tub. She put the flat of her hand against the swinging tile so it would not sound hollow and held it firm in case the catch was located.

  ‘Nothing here, Chancellor,’ a woman said after many long minutes.

  ‘Check the bedchambers.’

  ‘What have you done with her, Rixium?’ said Lady Ricinus in a voice that sent shivers up Tali’s spine. She had never heard anyone so cold.