There were rumors that Lume was not the only place that had experienced outbreaks of violence in recent days, though Anrel was unsure how much credence to give these reports, either.
The last dishes had been cleared, Po and Mieshel had run out of news, and Shoun was struggling to find a few more tidbits to report, when a knock sounded somewhere. Anrel glanced up as Harban slipped out of the dining room, and a moment later he heard low voices, followed by departing footsteps and the click of a latch.
Then Harban stepped back into the room and coughed quietly. Shoun stopped in midsentence—Anrel thought he looked relieved, as the sentence had not seemed to be going anywhere useful. Lord Blackfield turned and looked at his servant.
“My lord, Delegate li-Parsil is downstairs and wishes to see you,” Harban said. “He says it’s urgent.”
Lord Blackfield turned to Anrel. He said nothing, merely gave his guest a questioning look.
“I think perhaps I should take these boys out the back way,” Anrel said.
The Quandishman nodded. He rose, and offered Mieshel his hand. “Your company has been a delight, sir, and I look forward to working with you—come back for your first report the day after tomorrow. Harban, see that each of these young men has sixpence as an advance on his salary, and then go bring up the delegate.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Coins appeared in Harban’s hand as if by magic, and were swiftly distributed; as they were, Lord Blackfield shook Shoun’s hand and told him, “I expect to see you four days from now. Come to the rear entrance and Harban will admit you.”
Harban, having paid the three, somehow manifested Po’s cap out of thin air and placed it on the boy’s head. Then he vanished as Lord Blackfield squeezed Po’s hand. “Six days from now.”
“Yes, my lord,” Po said in a squeaky whisper, clutching his coins tightly with one hand and straightening his hat with the other.
Then Anrel gathered the three boys and herded them out; he glanced back as he did, and saw Lord Blackfield opening his wine cabinet.
Night had fallen, and the courtyard and alley were dark; Anrel hesitated before sending his former roommates out into the gloom. A thought struck him.
He did not want Derhin to know he was living as Lord Blackfield’s guest, so he did not want to reenter the rooms until Derhin had left, but he had no idea how long that might be. What’s more, he did not want to watch the front door himself; Derhin might spot him and recognize him when he emerged, and in general, someone standing around watching the front of Dezar House might well attract unwelcome notice.
That could wait, though. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.
The boys exchanged glances. “No,” Mieshel admitted.
Anrel frowned. He did not like the idea of sending the boys out onto the streets for the night, but he did not really see any practical alternative. Each of them had sixpence, a tenth of a guilder—perhaps they could find a room for that much.
But then what would they do tomorrow? No, they would have to make do, as they had for the past several days, ever since the Pensioners’ Quarter burned. There was nothing Anrel could do for them.…
Well, almost nothing. He had a few pence of his own, carefully hoarded. Perhaps he could do something to add a little more money to their meager store—not enough to matter, really, but a little.
“Listen, I want to know when Lord Blackfield’s guest leaves—Delegate li-Parsil. I’ll pay a penny for one of you to watch the front door and let me know when he emerges.”
The three looked at one another; then Shoun said, “I’ll do it. Mieshel can keep an eye on Po.”
“I don’t need anyone watching me,” Po protested.
“You have me anyway,” Mieshel said. “Come on.” Then he looked at Shoun. “Same as last night?”
“Unless you know somewhere better.”
“Same place it is. See you later, then. Come on, Po. Good night, Dyssan. Give Lord Blackfield our thanks.”
“Of course.” Anrel bowed, and watched as Po and Mieshel trotted off into the night, Mieshel’s hand-me-down clean white blouse gleaming. Then Anrel turned to Shoun. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “You go watch. Try not to let him see you.”
Shoun gave Anrel a look that he could read even in the dim glow from the shuttered windows, a look that plainly said he was an idiot to think Shoun needed to be told to stay out of sight; then the boy slipped away into the darkness.
Anrel watched him go, then sat down on the rear stoop, wondering what Derhin wanted with Lord Blackfield.
He also wondered what he would do with himself. Living as the Quandishman’s guest was all very well, but he could hardly stay on indefinitely. He had spent a season as a swindler and thief, but he had no desire to return to that line of work, even if he could—and he had rarely worked alone, in any case, but usually with a partner. With no way to find Doz, or another partner he trusted, and with their homes in smoking ruin, Anrel did not see how he could resume his criminal career.
Before his arrival in Lume he had spent a season as a witch in training, but he knew from conversations with Mother Baba and others that he would not be welcome in that trade; Lume had its own witches who did not feel any need for additional competition.
Before that he had been a student, living off his uncle’s generosity and his inheritance, neither of which could he draw on now that he was an outlaw.
No, none of his previous occupations would serve. He would need to find an entirely new career. But what?
He had no money to invest—at least, no money he could reach. He had no personal connections to draw upon, or at any rate none for which he saw any obvious utility. His skills, such as they were, had their uses, but did not immediately suggest a profession he could pursue while under sentence of death. He had intended to become a lawyer or clerk, but neither of those was open to someone who had been condemned to hang.
He had not yet come up with any new options when he heard a hiss and found Shoun peering at him from the alley.
“He’s gone,” the boy said.
“Thank you,” Anrel said. He stood up and fished in his pocket for the promised penny.
“Didn’t stay long.”
Anrel had to some extent lost track of time, but now he realized that the boy was right. “No, he didn’t, did he?” He found what he was after, and tossed the coin to Shoun, who caught it in midair.
“See you another time, Dyssan,” Shoun said, and then he vanished into the night.
Anrel stood for a moment staring at the spot where the boy had been, then turned and headed back up the stairs.
He found Lord Blackfield in the sitting room, comfortably settled in his favorite chair, a glass of wine in his hand and his head tipped back as he contemplated the ceiling. He lifted his head to look at Anrel.
“Join me in a glass, Master Murau?”
“I would be delighted, my lord.”
A moment later Anrel was seated as well, sipping a pleasant Lithrayn red.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what the delegate wanted,” Lord Blackfield said.
“I am,” Anrel admitted.
“He was hoping I could tell him where his friend, Delegate tel-Kabanim, might be.”
Anrel looked puzzled. “Amanir tel-Kabanim?”
“The very one, yes. The man we spoke of earlier. It seems our Hot friend received word from Lord Allutar requesting a meeting—Delegate li-Parsil says that the note was carefully phrased to imply that the landgrave wished to discuss terms of a surrender, though it did not say so in so many words. Tel-Kabanim agreed to meet him, against the advice of li-Parsil and others, and went off this afternoon for this private discussion, and hasn’t been seen since.”
That did not sound encouraging. “Why come to you, my lord?”
“Li-Parsil had thought I might have served as a neutral party in arranging the meeting. Rest assured, I did not. I had my own plans for this evening, as you know.”
“Indeed.”
“He also thought that perhaps, as a sorcerer, I might have some magic that could locate his friend. I regret to say that I do not, and I told him as much. If I had known I would want to locate tel-Kabanim I could have placed a spell upon him that would lead me to him, but I did not know that and did not prepare such a spell. If I had some bit of him—a lock of his hair, for example—I could use that to locate him, but I do not. If I knew his true name, I could find him, but to the best of my knowledge he does not have a true name, since he is no magician.”
“I understand.”
Lord Blackfield stared at Anrel for a moment, then said, “You know Lord Allutar—what do you think he’s up to?”
“My lord?”
“Do you think he intends to surrender himself for a trial of some sort, as the Hots demand?”
“No, of course not,” Anrel replied without thinking.
“Then why request a meeting?”
“To destroy Amanir,” Anrel answered immediately. “Or at any rate, to remove him as a threat. Through blackmail, perhaps. Lord Allutar is a great believer in silencing his foes, and is not particularly scrupulous about his methods.”
Lord Blackfield nodded. “That was my own opinion, as well, but you’ve known Allutar Hezir longer than I have.”
“Unfortunately, I have.”
“Have you any guess as to what method he might employ to ensure an end to tel-Kabanim’s harassment?”
Anrel shrugged. “Whatever he believes he can get away with.”
“Enchantment?”
“Oh, certainly. Or worse.”
“Spells can be broken.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You are the son of a sorcerer, are you not?”
Startled, Anrel acknowledged, “Yes, I am. I had not realized you were aware of it.”
“I try to stay abreast of the news, as I would think my conversation with tonight’s dinner guests demonstrated.”
Anrel nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
Lord Blackfield gazed silently at him for a moment, then said, “Not all my informants live on the streets,” he said.
“You did say as much at supper, my lord, and you have previously mentioned talking to servants in the emperor’s palace.”
“I can find uses for a wide variety of information.”
“I could scarcely doubt it,” Anrel replied, slightly puzzled by this remark.
“I am offering you employment, Master Murau.”
“You … what?” Anrel blinked.
“You seem to have friends in many quarters, from the alleys of Lume to the Grand Council.”
“I … I suppose I do, my lord.”
“That can be a valuable resource. I know you are no street urchin, to be paid in pennies; I would pay you a half guilder a day for your services as my agent.”
Anrel stared at him. He had just been despairing of his employment situation, and here was this generous offer, dropped into his lap. It was as if the Mother and Father were looking after him.
But generous as the offer was, and desperate as his situation might be, Anrel was in no hurry to accept it.
“I would be spying for Quand,” he said.
“You would be spying for me,” Lord Blackfield corrected him.
“Nonetheless, I would be spying.”
Lord Blackfield frowned. “I fear I have let my fondness for a clever turn of phrase lead this discussion in an unfortunate direction. The services I hope for need not be considered spying, surely?”
“You wish me to gather information and then deliver it to you, regardless of whether its source intended it for you, do you not?”
“I … well, yes.”
“That’s spying.”
“Very well, then, it’s spying. For me, for half a guilder a day.”
Anrel shook his head. “I owe you a debt, my lord, for taking me in when my home burned, for treating me as an honored guest, and for a thousand other considerations. I think I must consider you a friend, as well, for I have very much enjoyed my stay here. For these reasons I assure you that I will happily pass along information I think will interest you, should the occasion arise and my ethics allow it; you need not pay me for it, as I already owe you so much. That said, I am not ready to formalize our association and declare myself to be in your employ. I prefer not to place myself under any further obligation to you. I believe you to be an honest and honorable man with only the very best intentions, but the fact remains that you are a Quandish Gatherman, and I am a loyal subject of the Walasian Empire, and we are both caught up in political affairs, one way or another. You have chosen to involve yourself in the Lantern Society and the doings of the Grand Council, and I have inadvertently made myself infamous as Alvos, the orator of Naith. It may be that our loyalties and circumstances will force us into conflict. I would hope that our friendship might survive such mischance, but I would not put the additional weight of employment upon it.”
Lord Blackfield set his wineglass down and stared at Anrel. “Mother and Father, Master Murau, but you surprise me! I would hardly expect such scruples in a man who by his own admission has been earning his bread by theft and deception, but I cannot help but admire them. I am honored that you consider me your friend, and I hope to remain worthy of that honor.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Mind you, I am not accepting your decision as final and irrevocable. The offer will remain open for the present; should you reconsider, simply say so.”
“I will keep that in mind.” Anrel began to find his host’s scrutiny uncomfortable; he set his own glass down. “If you will pardon me, my lord, it has been a long and eventful day.”
“Indeed it has. Sleep well, Master Murau.”
With that, the two men rose and went their separate ways, and as Anrel prepared for bed he found himself grimacing at what he had done. Although every word he had spoken in explaining his reasoning was true, the facts were that he needed an income, and Lord Blackfield had offered him one, yet he had refused it. Could he really afford such scruples? He had spent a season as a thief, and a season as a witch; would a season or two as a spy be any worse?
Well, he would give the matter serious thought for a few days, and see what he conclusions he might reach. Perhaps another, more acceptable opportunity might fall into his lap, just as this one had.
He hoped that the three boys were safe.
And he wondered what had become of Amanir. Surely, despite the obvious provocation, even Lord Allutar would not simply murder him, not after so openly arranging a meeting. Perhaps the delegate would be found alive and well, come morning.
But knowing Lord Allutar, Anrel doubted it.
19
In Which Anrel Is Offered Unexpected
Political Advancement
Lord Blackfield had already left for the baths when Anrel rose the next day, and Anrel once again took refuge in the Quandishman’s library. There he mused on whether he might somehow make a living reading books, since that was what he found himself doing every day of late. He could not think of how that might be managed.
But then he realized that he was reading a book in colloquial Quandish—an account of a shipwreck in the northern isles of the Quandish Archipelago—and it occurred to him that there were not so very many people in the empire who could do that. Might he perhaps find work as a translator? If he found these Quandish travelogues so enthralling, might not other Walasian readers enjoy them, and pay for the privilege?
This might even be an occupation he could pursue more or less anonymously, so that his death sentence would not be an insuperable problem. If he could find a reliable publisher, perhaps use someone he trusted as a go-between …
This, he felt, was a very promising notion, so promising that he found himself distracted from his book. He knew very little about the book trade beyond the fact that as a student he had thought his texts too expensive, but surely, he could learn. A single new copy of a book might sell for a guilder, or even more; he wondered
how much of that money found its way back to the author or translator. Did the publisher pay the author a lump sum, or was the money dependent upon how many copies sold?
As a translator, would he need to share his proceeds with the original Quandish authors? He had no idea what the law had to say on the subject, if it said anything at all.
How long would it take to translate a book?
This was intriguing, and offered the first viable alternative he had come up with to working as Lord Blackfield’s spy, so that after some further meditation he decided it was time to visit one of the bookshops off the east end of the Promenade, near the courts, and ask a few questions. He gathered himself up, informed Harban of his destination, and set out.
He discovered that booksellers and publishers were all very willing to discuss their trade, but that no one was sure whether there would be a market for translations from Quandish. A few seemed startled to learn that there were books written in Quandish; the thought had apparently never occurred to them. After all, Quand was outside the Bound Lands, and therefore assumed to be rather barbaric; one didn’t ordinarily think of barbarians as literate. Quand was associated with foggy forests, rocky coasts, and rain-swept moors, not with books.
When all was said and done, Anrel was not sure whether he had found himself a viable career or not. He returned to Dezar House in midafternoon with his head full of information about typesetting costs, print runs, royalty schedules, and the like, through streets that seemed alternately unnaturally quiet or full of angry voices. He was so focused on his newfound knowledge of publishing that it took him some time to realize that something must have happened to disturb the city, but that obvious conclusion had been reached well before he climbed the stairs to Lord Blackfield’s rooms.
He wondered what had caused this fresh unrest, and hoped it was not Amanir’s murder. Amanir had been Valin’s friend, and for that reason, if no other, Anrel hoped he was still alive and well somewhere.
Above His Proper Station Page 18
