Vergence

by John March

  All the guards were gone.

  Ebryn tried to focus his mind. He felt Sash next to him, with remnants of some power clinging to her as sharp and fresh as evergreen needles, making the hairs on his body stand on end. In front of him a roaring boiling mess centred on Orim.

  Sash touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Ebryn? Are you hurt?”

  He shook his head, although it cost him a sharp jabbing pain behind his eyes. He could hear real fear in her voice.

  “No, I’m fine. I didn’t anchor my ward to anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Sash asked.

  “Something went through it from this side, broke it. If you don't attach a ward to something solid nearby, then part of the force goes back through the caster when it's hit by something,” Ebryn said as he clambered back to his feet. “Why did they run so quickly?”

  Sash coloured a little. “I cast a mind glamour at them, to drive fear into them. I don't think they expected us to do anything. We surprised them.”

  Orim turned to them, looking relaxed, almost amused. “You fought well.”

  “Let us continue on before these men find their courage and return,” Addae said, as the militiaman at Orim's feet groaned and rolled over.

  “Yes,” Orim said, casually kicking the downed man in the side of his head as he moved past. “Vittore is waiting.”

  The palace turned out to be a long plain-looking structure on the far side of Vergence. The reception had an impressively long marble staircase that divided and curved outwards, then back over itself to the next level. A pair of cheg guards at the foot of the stairs watched them impassively as they ascended.

  The rest of the building turned out to be a maze of hallways, and twisting corridors. Humourless looking white robed men moved briskly from room to room clutching ledgers and bundles of paper, but stood aside to let Orim pass. Ebryn's head still ached, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He’d expected the ruler of Vergence to live in a grand palace, or at least a fine manor, on a scale and grandeur similar to the library.

  They followed Orim to the third floor, along a high ceilinged passage, and past another pair of cheg guards.

  Vittore sat in the middle of a small room surrounded by floor to ceiling book cases. Every corner seemed to be taken up by shelves, each crammed to overflowing with hefty tomes, and bundled manuscripts.

  He wasn't what Ebryn had been expecting. A large man, deep through the chest, with a pallid, fleshy appearance, he wore plain dark clothing which increased the apparent bulk of his ample frame, but gave no clue to his position or rank.

  Ebryn found himself staring. Apart from the handful of scribes, functionaries and cheg guards they had encountered on the way in, there was nothing about the man to indicate they were in the presence of one of the most powerful rulers in any of the many worlds.

  For a moment, Ebryn wondered if Orim had involved them in some kind of elaborate ruse.

  As they entered the room Vittore looked up. “Ah, Orim … please come in and close the door.”

  He had an unremarkable face, almost bland, and showed nothing of what he thought, but his eyes were like two shards of razor-sharp flint.

  “I see you brought companions with you Miss Enash. “Vittore said, raising one eyebrow fractionally at Orim.

  “I couldn’t keep them away,” Orim said. “We met young Lord Bae as we set out. He is investigating this matter himself and insisted on a private interview with this young lady.”

  “Were there any casualties?” Vittore said.

  Orim shrugged. “No harm came to Bae.”

  “Good. So to the business at hand — Miss Enash, I must ask you some questions about what passed between you and Lord Muro last night. Can I have your oath as a Senesellan you will give me the truth? ”

  “If I choose to answer your question you have my word I will answer truthfully,” Sash said. She stood facing Vittore squarely with her hands on her hips.

  “Then I will do you the courtesy of going directly to the heart of the matter, if you have no objection? I'm sure we all have better things to be doing with our time.”

  Sash nodded.

  “Good. Let's start with yesterday evening. Can you tell me what you did in the evening?”

  “Yes. I went to the Ulpitorian ambassador's dance, with Lord Muro.”

  “And why did you do that?” Vittore asked.

  “I like dancing,” Sash said, “and he invited me to a dance.”

  “So you knew Lord Muro?”

  “No, not until he invited me.”

  Vittore looked at Orim, who seemed to be stifling a grin.

  “I assume you arrived at the dance without any incidents, as other witnesses have reported seeing you there together … dancing, and then you left together. It looks like you were the last person to see Lord Muro alive.”

  “Well, obviously I wasn't,” Sash said.

  “What do you mean?” Vittore asked.

  “The last person to see him alive would have been whoever killed him.”

  Vittore nodded, his face unreadable. “Would you mind telling us what happened after you left the dance together?”

  “We left before the dance finished. Lord Muro said he wanted to walk back through the city, rather than take a symor—”

  “And you ended up at a small ornamental pond, which is where his body was found in the early morning — at least the remnants of the body. What happened at the pond?”

  Sash glanced at Ebryn. For the first time since they'd arrived she betrayed a hint of uncertainty. “Lord Muro tried to force me—”

  “That's how you got the bruise,” Ebryn said, feeling like he'd swallowed something indigestible.

  “Yes, he hit me.”

  “I assume he wasn't successful?” Vittore asked.

  “No,” Sash said. “He tried to grab me, but I escaped, and he slipped.”

  As she finished, shouting erupted outside the room, followed by a loud thump against the door. It swung open to reveal Lord Bae, struggling red-faced with a balding grey-robed man who seemed to be trying to hold him back.

  “You cannot see Lord Vittore — you have no appointment,” the grey-robed man said.

  Bae threw off the restraining arm, and pushed his way into the room.

  “Thank you, Clay, you may let Lord Bae pass,” Vittore said. “My goodness, Bae, you are irrepressible today — oh, how unfortunate — did my guards mistreat you on the way in?”

  Bae looked dishevelled. His belt, along with his scabbard, sword and knife were missing.

  “I’ve come about that woman. I want justice for my brother,” Bae shouted.

  “As do we all,” Vittore said. “I had just finished hearing what Miss Enash had to say about the events of last night, when you decided to join us.”

  Bae glared at Sash. “What punishment will she receive then, I demand blood, as is my right.”

  “Miss Enash was not the one who killed your brother, Bae. The only harm she did him was to his pride, and she has said when she left him your brother was alive.”

  Bae's face reddened again. “You believe her lies?”

  “Miss Enash is Senesellan,” Vittore said. “She is less likely to break her word than a Haeldran.”

  Bae stared at them, the colour of his face deepening, his eyes finding Ebryn. “I see how it is. You're all in this together. I should have known. That's how you got past his sevyric iron.”

  “If he'd annoyed me enough to want him dead, I assure you he'd have been charred to the bone, not eviscerated,” Vittore said pointedly. “I'm satisfied we have an idea of events leading up to your brother's murder, no doubt at the hands of one of those low-lives he spent his time with. As a caster clearly had some hand in it, I'll be asking Nee Daelith to investigate.”

  As if acting on some unseen cue from Vittore, Orim moved to usher Bae out.

  “No, you can't,” Bae said.

  “Orim will arrange a symor for you and your friends,” Vittore said to Sash. “I apo
logise, if you found any of this distressing. Given all those involved, I felt it would be better that I establish the details of this matter myself.”

  “You haven't hear the last of this, I promise you,” Bae said, almost spitting the words out as Orim manoeuvred him from the room.

  Following behind Addae and Sash, Ebryn stopped short at the door. In an alcove next to the doorway rested three heads. For a moment, he mistook them for real heads, then realised they must be copies, near-perfect models made in their likeness. They were positioned to be visible only when he faced directly at the door.

  On the left, looking back at him, a lifelike representation of Lord Conant, complete with spotted pale skin and wispy white hair. The second head wore Master Spetimane's features, and the last Master Yale's.

  He turned to Vittore, confused. “What are these?”

  Vittore looked up from his desk. “That's what Orim and I have been wondering. Do you know who these faces belong to?”

  Ebryn nodded. Despite Vittore's deliberately casual question he sensed a keen interest in the answer.

  “Lord Conant, Master Spetimane, and Master Yale,” Ebryn said, pointing at each in turn.

  Orim returned to Vittore's library to find him standing in front of the collection of heads. All five were uncovered.

  “Why didn't you show him these two?” Vittore asked.

  “Return to Fyrenar, he would, were he to see the five together. The meaning of them he would then understand.”

  “So you think you know who the other two heads belong to?”

  “This has the aspect of one called Sarl, the other of a woman who is Fidela.”

  Vittore pursed his lips. “The first three I understand, these two not so much.”

  “They are newer, these ones,” Orim said. “Who it is guides this seeks to kill these two for another purpose.”

  “Please enlighten me.”

  “A man would, for his friends, return home. Were they taken by another his loyalty to them would bind him to serve.”

  “So now Ebryn is here, someone wants him to stay, and possibly remove any form of leverage over him. If the last two heads were added later, it suggests an evolving plan. It may be none of this was intended at the start.”

  “I should protect this Fidela and Sarl?” Orim asked.

  “No,” Vittore said. “For us, it's a distraction, and I prefer the boy to stay here too. Losing Spetimane was unfortunate. Do you have any idea where to find Yale yet?”

  Orim picked up the head resembling Yale and studied it. “In Vergence, Spetimane I would have found, had he not learnt of Ebryn's arrival. Were you to hide, where would it be?

  “Here, in Vergence,” Vittore said. “Do you think Yale might be here too?”

  Orim shrugged. “This head I will need to search him out.”

  Phar Salsa

  EBRYN THOUGHT the strip of land surrounding the lenders guild building looked meagre by the standards of Conant, but generous for Vergence, extensive enough for a hundred or more of the smaller dwellings found in other parts of the city.

  He'd discovered the location of the guild house, built on rising ground about halfway between the Vergence menagerie and the library. A single private road turned out to be the only way to arrive at the imposing structure, without cutting across other properties. A high brick wall, topped with effective looking barbed spikes, enclosed the garden.

  The garden, in turn surrounded the guild house, a blunt construction of dark stone and black iron, easily the height of four buildings, like a giant anvil pressing down into the earth, leaning forward over approaching visitors.

  Plyntoure had cautioned them to make an appointment before they set off. Phar Salsa would be friendlier, he'd argued, if they were expected, and arrived bearing gifts. Addae ignored the advice, insisting on going to see Phar Salsa at once, perhaps bargaining on his own intimidating size and casters-clasps to gain them entrance.

  The guards at the gate were solid, efficient looking men, dressed in armour of heavy leather, covered in overlapping metal plates. Ebryn remembered their sky blue and egg yolk coloured helmet decorations from a contingent in the Tranquillity festival parade, belonging to one of the trade guild, although he couldn't recall which one.

  To Ebryn's astonishment they were admitted immediately, almost as if they'd been expected, and a junior soldier was detached from the squad to guide them up the winding path towards the guild building. He thought Addae looked surprised too.

  The path, made from thousands of tiny pale yellow stones, crunched under their feet as they asceded. It was easily as wide as many of the smaller streets in the crowded parts of the city, wide enough for a carriage, yet Ebryn couldn't see a single one of the small stones out of place.

  They walked between ornamental rockeries, filled with a wide rage of exotic looking plants and flowers, a storm of colours and scents, all contrasting strangely with the bleak structure looming ahead.

  Looking down, Ebryn noticed Addae wore his tight fitting sandals, the ones strapped almost to his knee, which Ebryn had only seen him wearing on their journeys through the between, and saw the hint of two heavy knives under the fold of his robes.

  The soldier led them to the left, around the side of the building and through a gap in a stone wall. Inside, they found themselves in an kind of garden, with dozens of fountains and water features, each uniquely built from carved stone. They walked through the garden surrounded by the sound of slow running water, and the finely perfumed spray of water jetting from decorative spouts.

  Ebryn needed no introduction to identify Phar Salsa. Standing under a wide arch where the water garden met the main building, the man looked enormous, almost as if he'd set himself the task of competing with the building behind him.

  Surrounding Phar Salsa were dozens of functionaries and servants, all dressed in uniforms of guild colours. Ebryn had never seen one man served by so many at the same time. How they managed to work without tripping over each other, he had no idea. Yet perhaps, he thought, as he watched one bending to retrieve a small flake of pastry from the floor, this is what you needed to keep such a well tended building and garden.

  The large man watched them approach, his small eyes giving nothing away.

  Melting butter ran down his double chin. It dripped onto a thick white cloth he'd tucked under his neck and draped over the folds of his belly. Phar Salsa licked each finger clean of sticky crumbs with exaggerated care.

  When Ebryn and Addae were close enough, he waved a hand towards a small round table crowded with polished plates, each holding an assortment of small pastries, “Help yourselves. You'll find no finer delicacies on any king's plate, I promise you.”

  “I thank you,” Addae said, stepping forward. “This is food I am unable to eat.”

  “Such a shame. You don't know what you are missing,” Phar Salsa said. He picked anoher morsel from an offered platter, holding it carefully between the tip of a single finger and his thumb, before dropping it into his mouth.

  “I do not wish to trouble you,” Addae said. “I am here to—“

  “See my bondsman,” Phar Salsa said.

  “ Khet'Tuk. How did you know this?” Addae said.

  Phar Salsa chuckled. A thin mirthless sound. “There is a saying, money seeks money. Like seeks like. Who else would a caster come here for, than another of their kind.”

  “My name is Addae Bohma, and here is—”

  “Yes, yes,” Phar Salsa said, waving a hand at Addae. “I know who you are.”

  “You knew we were coming to see you?” Ebryn said.

  “A little rodent told me,” Phar Salsa said, holding two stubby fingers pointing downwards, like teeth, in front of his mouth.

  “Shiggle's assistant?” Ebryn said to Addae, under his breath.

  “Yes, that lender's little assistant. He thought he could profit twice from sending you to me. I gave him the payment he deserved for that information.”

  “I am here for Khet'Tuk. I have no intere
st in this assistant man you speak of,” Addae said.

  “Ah yes, Khet'Tuk. I sent for him when I heard of your arrival,” Phar Salsa said, the expression on his fleshy face unreadable. “I'm always eager to help my friends amongst the orders, when a chance arises.”

  Khet'Tuk stepped silently into the small group around Phar Salsa. Ebryn had no doubt who he was, the moment he appeared. He'd approached, almost invisible amongst the tall plants, his scaly skin colour a mix of evergreen and deep silvery grey.

  Khet'Tuk looked vaguely like a cheg, walking on four of his six limbs, but smaller and slimmer, and lacking any kind of fur. His head was on a level with Ebryn's, his body low slung between high arching double-jointed legs.

  Large bright yellow eyes, with vertical slit pupils, moved from Addae to Ebryn, and back again. His face and upper body showed dozens of scars, and around his neck Ebryn could see a collar made of sevyric iron.

  “Ah, here Khet'Tuk is,” Phar Salsa said, clapping his hands together like a child showing off a favourite toy. “So tell me — have you come to pay off his bond? Khet'Tuk works hard to pay it off, yet it is still a consequential sum.”

  Addae frowned. “What is this bond which must be paid?”

  “Ah, not a paltry sum, I'm afraid.”

  Addae looked at Ebryn. “What is the meaning of this word?”

  “I think it means a debt. Money Khet'Tuk borrowed, and owes to the lenders' guild,” Ebryn said.

  Phar Salsa waved the food tray away, and dropped the white cloth from his neck into a pair of waiting hands.

  “My carriage will be here soon. I have important guild business to attend, but in the spirit of friendship I will labour to improve your understanding before I leave.”

  “What is the debt you—” Addae said, speaking to Khet'Tuk.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Phar Salsa said, raising a hand. “He is my bondsman. As I forbid all my bondsmen from speaking without my permission, you must speak with me.”

  Ebryn looked over the small crowd of silent servants again, and realised most of them must be bondsmen too.