A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Rather, another world.

  At first she struggled to make sense of where she was, given where they’d been. There was no water in sight. Instead, a broad cobbled road ran like a river between towering buildings. They leaned and tilted, as if in conversation. Or did the clouds that wreathed their roofs press down? In places, buildings met overhead, with the road going right through them, and in all were windows with bright curtains billowing through their openings, for there was a breeze here, the air cooler and drier. There were doors, too, most open to offer bewildering glimpses of what lay within, but no yards or gardens between.

  If sight bewildered, sound was worse, for they’d come up in the midst of what had to be everyone in Channen.

  Ancestors Crushed and Crowded. People were everywhere. Leaning out of windows, going through doors. Meeting on sidewalks. The cobbled road could hardly be seen for the wheels of elegant carriages and carts, and the smartly moving legs of horses. Everyone in a hurry, and everyone talking or shouting, and everywhere clatters and loud thumps and was that music or was it her heart beating so quickly she felt ill—

  “This way, Dearest Heart.” Bannan took her hand, drawing her to his side. “Quickly.”

  Though she’d never been exposed to so many eyes at once, no one seemed to notice as they walked over tiles to where an open door promised shelter. Seeing that, Jenn was proud not to break into a run.

  Safe inside, she found herself in a room larger than any in Marrowdell, other than a barn or the mill. More lamps curled out from the walls, these polished and gleaming. At the far end of the room were three doors, the rightmost being only half a door, like a stall.

  As was the floor, of wood that more rightly, in Jenn’s experience, should have been made into fine furniture and not a walkway for people.

  And horses, for the kruar crowded in behind. They looked, if anything, more bewildered than she by their surroundings and Jenn felt a rush of sympathy. She supposed the expected arrival of horses explained the lack of furnishings, for there was nothing other than a set of familiar-looking trunks against a wall.

  Arrangements, indeed.

  The cloaked man closed the outer door, shutting out the din and them inside. Using two hands, he pulled off his hood.

  Jenn found herself disappointed by her first up-close look at a full-blooded Naalish, though really, what had she expected? Most of Rhoth and all of Marrowdell had Naalish blood and this man might have been Anten’s older cousin, with a similarly blunt nose and high cheekbones. His skin was paler, but in a place called the Shadow District her tanned skin might be thought odd. His gray hair was longer than Bannan’s, swept neatly in a braid.

  As for his expression? It was what Aunt Sybb would call a polite face, which showed nothing at all but pleasant attentiveness.

  Bannan let go of her hand and touched his shoulder once more. “Our thanks.”

  The Naalish echoed the gesture. “I must apologize,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. “We’d not readied attire of the correct size or coloring. There will be a brief delay.” Jenn thought she saw a flicker of curiosity in the other man’s eyes, but he must have been well-schooled in the privacy of turn-born. “You will, I’m sure, wish to bathe.” His hand lifted to point to the middle door, then shifted to indicate the half door. “As usual, your mounts are welcome to hunt the rooftops. We ask only that they leave any banded birds alone.”

  So he knew what they rode or had instructions, which was all well and good, and they needed a bath and wouldn’t new clothes be a delight? However, hospitality, as far as Jenn was concerned, ought to include something more basic. “Forgive me, good sir, but is there something to eat?”

  Bannan half smiled. “My thought as well,” he agreed. “We’ve had a long journey.”

  Oh, then curiosity flared, but the Naalish restrained himself. “Refreshments await by the bath.” As if they should have known.

  Then he waited, as if they should know what to do next too, so Jenn lifted her head and walked straight to the door to the bath.

  Hoping the tub wouldn’t be outside and in view of strangers.

  The Naalish had taken their arrival in stride, a bland acceptance Bannan didn’t trust. Though he’d seen no lie in the man’s face, a delay to obtain clothing could be a delay for something else as well, including a message to bring constables or whomever else might care about strange turn-born in their city.

  They were tossing the ’stones, they were. High and wide and wild. But the real truth was they couldn’t move about as they were. The turn-born who came here regularly to trade had put measures in place, as they had in Marrowdell, measures they’d use to their advantage.

  Before Jenn could go through that door without him, Bannan reminded her, “The horses.”

  She turned with a quick smile. “Of course.”

  The Naalish not volunteering to assist with that duty, Bannan led the way through the half door, the kruar coming behind Jenn.

  Behind the door was another empty room, with saddle racks on one wall. It was more landing than room, for one set of stairs led to a doorless opening that showed sky, while another led down into dark water. The kruar prowled around, nostrils flared. “Not a trap,” the young male concluded with an “I-told-you-so” air.

  The mare’s lip curled. “There’s always a trap.”

  “That’s the attitude,” Bannan said cheerfully, setting down his pack—and the toad. “Let’s get those saddles off.”

  That brought their heads around. “‘Off?’”

  “You can’t want to keep wearing them.” Jenn went to her mount, then turned to Bannan. “I don’t see a girth.”

  He’d gone to the mare only to discover the same problem. The saddle appeared one of leather, simple yet well fitted, but there was no strap to undo.

  The truthseer looked deeper.

  Armor and crest of shimmering blades. What had seemed a leather saddle? A callus grown from the kruar’s back, like proud flesh on a leg wound. Exactly like, he realized, for the armor beneath had been cut away to expose the flesh. Bannan shuddered as he regained his normal sight. “I don’t understand,” he said numbly. “The kruar who came to Marrowdell wore normal harnesses. Why this?”

  A red eye considered him. “We are nameless. The turn-born do not expect us to be faithful.”

  “Or to return.” With a familiar dark humor. “We will prove them wrong. We aspire to the greatness of Scourge the Malevolent!”

  “You did this to yourselves,” Jenn breathed, her hand going to the soft spot under the chin of her kruar. “You volunteered. How brave you are.”

  He could think of several other words for it. How many “brave” and naive youngsters had joined the border guard?

  To join their Blessed Ancestors soon after.

  “There are rules, in this world,” Bannan said, harshly enough that Jenn lost her smile. “Rules you must learn and obey without question.”

  Heads lifted in offense, threatening the ceiling.

  “Rules Scourge learned and obeyed.” He frowned. “Would you do less?”

  The mare’s head lowered first. “Tell us these rules.”

  The bath wasn’t outside.

  And wasn’t a tub.

  It was pure luxury and they’d no time for any of it. After a quick supper from the refreshments, those being a tray of unfamiliar yet delicious fruits and cheeses, Jenn knelt on the lip of the tiled pool, and dipped a corner of a large soft towel into the warm perfumed scented bubbles, using that to give herself a quick, dutiful scrub. Though she held the towel over her face just a little longer than necessary, her eyes closed, to savor the scent.

  Bannan stood looking out one of the high windows. The sun had set, but not so long ago. Thinking of worlds and suns, of her map—where it was, where they were now—made her a little dizzy, truth be told.

  Jenn focused on her
e, which was remarkable enough.

  The truthseer’d changed into the clothes brought by their cloaked Naalish, garments they were informed suited a moderately successful merchant. A blue, almost purple, jacket wrapped from neck to right waist across his chest, the front and cuffs trimmed in coin-sized gold buttons. The bottom of the jacket had a fringe of brighter blue threads, tied into clusters to allow the gold of his belt to show. The belt had compartments, disguised as decoration; to take the place of pockets, she supposed.

  His wide pants, of muted lilac, were gathered snug above tall boots of excellent brown leather. In sum, Bannan Larmensu looked every bit the part, prosperous and handsome.

  They were, however, indisputably no longer in Rhoth.

  Wrapped around Bannan’s neck was a collar of gold and blue that served as the upper part of his jacket. His shoulders from collar to the start of his arms were bare, as was his neck below the collar. The dark blue shirt under his jacket was similarly constructed.

  His back was covered. That, at least.

  “Are you ready?”

  She wasn’t, if the as-yet-unnamed Naalish meant allowing him, a stranger, to help her to dress, but one look at the clothing waiting for her was enough for Jenn to realize she’d no hope of puzzling it out on her own. “A moment, please.” After waiting for them both to look away, she changed her plain simples for two satiny pieces clearly meant to serve the same purpose, then tucked her little pouch of Melusine’s rose petals in the topmost for safekeeping. What she now wore was rose-red and petal-soft against her skin, not to mention distracting.

  Perhaps she’d be allowed to keep them.

  “Now, I’m ready.”

  There were, to Jenn’s astonishment, pants of the same style as Bannan’s, though hers were dark gray. They gave delightful mobility and she thought them most practical for adventuring.

  She also thought it best Aunt Sybb not see her in them, the dear lady scandalized by an excess of calf.

  The boots Jenn regarded with doubt, given her history with shoes of any sort, but when—with a little help—she managed to get them over her feet and up to her knees, they felt wonderful. Like Bannan’s, they had two handsome buckles, at ankle and top, to give a secure fit.

  Then came the top layers, the Naalish handing her one at a time, with instructions. First, a white blouse, its long full sleeves ending in tight brown cuffs. It went across the bodice and around her back, exposing not only her shoulders but a good portion of her chest and back. “Is there something to go over this?” Jenn asked, feeling the air move over her skin.

  “Here.” The Naalish handed her a white collar, showing the hooks at the back. Lace at the top and bottom, with a line of smooth ribbon in the middle, it was the width of her palm and stiffer than she’d expected.

  But hardly what she’d hoped.

  “Let me.” Bannan took it from her and Jenn lifted her braid out of the way, much happier to have his fingers on her neck.

  Silently, the Naalish gave the truthseer what looked like a necklace of golden beads but bore several hooks. He indicated where it fastened to the blouse, above the cleft between Jenn’s breasts, and to the collar.

  By the end of that, she could feel herself blushing and Bannan dared wink.

  They still weren’t done. She was to be dressed as the merchant’s apprentice, so over the blouse and pants went a tunic of the same deep purple blue as Bannan’s jacket. Around the top was a narrow froth of white lace, with more lace between her breasts. By this point, Jenn wasn’t surprised that the tunic covered no more than the blouse. At least there was a hook with which to fasten the tunic to golden necklace and so her collar, ensuring no further exposure.

  Instead of a skirt, the tunic split over her hips, with panels front and back ending at her knees. The panels were embossed with a fine pattern, and their edges were trimmed with black leather, studded with small gold beads.

  “We’re done?” she asked hopefully.

  “Just this.” The Naalish held out a corset of supple black leather, worked with a pattern of delicate leaves. When he went to put it around her waist, Jenn took it with a determined smile.

  “I can manage, thank you.” The corset fastened at the front, with good-sized metal clasps, and was more comfortable than it looked. Clothing complete, she felt as if she’d stepped out of a story, and no longer Jenn Nalynn but someone braver, someone more worldly.

  So long as no one asked her a question. “Thank you for all of this,” she told the Naalish, touching her fingers to shoulder. They were beyond fortunate to have such help. However disconcerting to have her shoulders exposed and the rest fully clad, this was the fashion here. Much as she’d appreciated the loan of Peggs’ second-best dress, it wouldn’t have served at all.

  Jenn turned to Bannan. “How do I look?”

  “Not yet ready. Please sit.” The Naalish produced a brush and comb from somewhere in his cloak. “The pair of you.”

  Bannan grinned, she grimaced, and they sat, side-by-side, on a cushioned bench. Before the man started, Jenn discreetly plucked the leaf from Bannan’s hair, letting it drift to the floor. When she checked a moment later, the leaf was gone. How the yling could hide in this room of water and tile, she’d no idea, but the creatures were adept.

  For now, the house toad was content in Bannan’s pack.

  The truthseer’s hair took little time, being gathered at the nape of his back into a braid that secured with a clip.

  The Naalish paused to consider Jenn’s.

  Daunted by the pins, she guessed, Peggs having used dozens. “It stayed put,” Jenn said defensively. Hadn’t only one lock of her hair come loose, despite their adventuring? Repeatedly, but still. “You could leave it.”

  Though were she to think about it, her scalp did itch and prickle, which could become maddening if she kept thinking about it.

  “I could not.” A suggestion of a smile on the man’s face, the first. “With your permission?”

  Jenn nodded, unable to hold back a sigh of relief as the tight binding over her ear came loose, hair tumbling over her shoulder. Whatever else he did in life, there was no mistaking the competence with which the Naalish disassembled Peggs’ efforts.

  While pins rained down, Bannan moved to another seat and leaned back, lacing his fingers around a knee. “You’re here to facilitate our business, are you not?”

  “In every way possible.”

  Why, he could direct them to where Lila was being held! Jenn almost held her breath, waiting for Bannan to ask. She’d not thought to find such help, so promptly.

  Bannan gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “As usual, we’ve come to trade,” he said, the slightest emphasis on the last word. “We’ve an interest in tokens, this trip.”

  He didn’t trust the Naalish, she guessed, somewhat deflated; not enough to reveal their true purpose. Clearly, she’d more to learn about adventuring.

  “I’m sure I can direct you,” came the prompt reply. “Magic is, after all, the stock in trade of the Artisans’ Market. Do you have a specific requirement?”

  “The sort not on open display.” Bannan’s eyes had taken on their apple butter hue, and Jenn knew he watched for lies.

  The fingers in Jenn’s hair briefly stilled, then went back to work. “Birr, then. His stall is set against the Seahorse Bridge. May I offer advice?”

  Bannan waved an open hand. “We welcome it.”

  “The Shadow Sect watches for such merchandise changing hands. They’d not interfere with you, of course, but Birr will be wary in their presence. I’ll send word to clear your approach, but I advise you allow them time to leave.”

  The truthseer’s expression didn’t alter; lacking his skill, Jenn was just as glad to have the Naalish behind her so she could look as shocked as she felt. Semyn had told them those in the shadows here, along the canals, were the ones Emon sought.
Could they be this “Shadow Sect?” If so, they were in the right place to start their search.

  But that there was an entire organization here that knew about turn-born? That granted them the right to break laws?

  Pots. Messy baby pants. Snowstorms and shovels. Jenn ran through her list to calm herself.

  Bannan actually winked at her, which eased her mind even more. “You, then, are a member?” he asked the man.

  “I did not—? Forgive me!” The Naalish rushed around the bench to fall to his hands and knees between the two of them, dropping his forehead to the floor with an audible thud. “Only the Shadow Sect tends the Keepers of the Source,” he chanted in a frantic monotone. “Only the Shadow Sect protects the Purity of the Source. Only the Shadow Sect dispenses What the Source Provides. By the Blessings of our Ancestors, we give ourselves to this service, as I give mine to you.”

  She’d never seen the like of it. Jenn stared wide-eyed at Bannan, who gave her a satisfied nod before turning his attention to the Naalish. “A service we appreciate.”

  The man didn’t budge. “I erred in not proving myself to you, Keepers. When you make your report, it is of Appin you must complain. Appin Arkona.”

  “We will have nothing but praise for your work, Appin, if you finish it.”

  The Naalish lifted his head and Jenn, realizing he was ever so much like a house toad, smiled reassuringly. “My hair, please?”

  That brought him back to his feet, two fingers to his shoulder. “At once.”

  As Appin—she did prefer having a name—took a brush to her hair, Bannan watched him keenly. “You were offering advice. Please continue.”

  “As you wish.” Appin appeared to regain his confidence. “While I understand the affairs of our world are not yours, Keeper, I suggest the lady speak for you both as much as possible. Her Naalish is without flaw, while yours has a distinct Rhothan flavor. Trust me, it will draw unwelcome attention.”