‘You really are a worrier, aren’t you?’ he gently teased.
‘I’ve just found you; I don’t want to lose you again.’
He planted a light kiss on the side of her face. ‘What is it?’
‘Your pacifism.’
‘You don’t approve?’
‘No, no, it’s not that. Far from it. It’s just …’ The words tumbled out. ‘You know I killed someone. I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, or at least unintentional. But how can you respect me when I’m a murderer? Being a whore was bad enough, but –’
‘Don’t ever call yourself that. Nor are you a murderer. And believe this, Tan: I can’t think ill of you, whatever you might have done. You took a life, and that pains me, but I see it as righteous self-defence. If you hadn’t …’
‘I know. The thing is, I have a code, too. I follow Iparrater, who values the sanctity of human life above all else. I’ve violated that precept, which must mean I’ve cast myself out from her protection.’
‘Not if the goddess’s reputation for compassion means anything. She’ll understand that you acted through necessity, and that your motives were pure.’ He sighed reflectively. ‘People think trying to live non-violently is an easy option. But my actions have put lives at risk, and no doubt caused the loss of some. All any of us can do is what we believe to be right, for a greater good. You’ve no more reason to blame yourself than I have.’
‘That gives me comfort. Though I wonder if your opinion’s clouded by your feelings for me.’
‘Possibly. But I think not. I’ve found life to be a series of moral compromises. That’s as true for you as anyone else. There should be no burden of guilt for you to carry.’
‘Would you say the same of Serrah Ardacris?’
‘Serrah? Yes, I believe I would. Why do you ask?’
‘From what I know of her she made a profession of murder.’
‘That’s too harsh. I’m sure she thought she was doing the right thing, too. I can’t approve of what she did before coming to Bhealfa, but I’m grateful to her for helping us.’
‘So am I, don’t get me wrong. It’s just … she seems so troubled. As though she shoulders some awful weight.’
‘Do you know anything about her background?’
‘Only that she was an assassin.’
‘She commanded a special forces unit. Her superiors saddled her with a member of one of Gath Tampoor’s more powerful families; little more than a boy, who fancied himself a warrior. When he was killed they made a scapegoat of her.’
‘She must have been bitter about that.’
‘There’s more to her misery. Karr told me a little of the intelligence he had about her. Apparently she lost her daughter a few years ago. Due to ramp.’
‘That explains why she appears so tormented. She’s forfeited everything. How sad.’
‘One thing you’ll learn about the Resistance is that it attracts strange bedfellows. Unhappy and even bizarre stories aren’t uncommon.’
‘I’ve seen something of it already. That young sorcerer’s apprentice, for instance.’
‘Kutch.’
‘Yes. There’s a boy who’s been through bad times for one so young. But he seems to have kept his innocence. I think he’s sweet.’
‘And Caldason?’
Her smile evaporated. ‘Ah, that one. In my line of work I saw many men who were hard-hearted and callous. Men who had no respect or real liking for women. The worst of them gave off a kind of dangerous coldness. But I never came across any like him. He frightens me.’
‘I’m surprised to hear you say that.’
‘Why? Because we’re both members of the same race and should have so much in common?’
‘Well …’
‘People have stopped me on the street and asked about Qalochians I’ve never heard of. They think we all know each other! Every Qalochian is bound together by blood and our history. But that’s not to say we have to like each other. I mean, do you get on with all the other singers?’
Kinsel had to grin. ‘Now that you come to mention it, no, I don’t.’
‘They say he has fits, did you know that? Violent, crazy, frightening outbursts when he’s a menace to himself and others. A berserker.’
‘Yours is a warrior race.’
‘It goes far beyond that, from what I’ve heard,’ she said, frowning. ‘There’s something about him, Kinsel. The way he’s supposed to have lived so long, yet doesn’t look it. And those eyes … Do you know what I think?’
‘Go on.’
‘I think he wants to give to others what he can’t have himself. Death.’
‘But there’s no need to fear him. He’s on our side, remember?’
‘Men like Caldason have only one side: their own.’ She shrugged. ‘Or perhaps being a prostitute made me too cynical about everything.’
‘Let’s forget all that for now. This is our first night together in our own home. We should celebrate.’ He reached under the table and brought out a small wooden box. It was chestnut, smoothly lacquered, and had no catch or hinges. Its top bore the red outline of a heart. He set it down in front of her.
‘What is it, Kinsel?’
‘It’s for you. Go ahead, open it.’
‘How?’
‘The heart.’
Tanalvah stretched a hand and lightly touched the heart with her fingertips. The box took a breath, or so it seemed, and she drew back.
A criss-crossing of fine lines appeared on the lid, all bisecting the heart. The lines marked segments in the wood, which began to rise, like the unfolding petals of a flower. They revealed an interior of brilliant white light.
Tanalvah stared, enraptured. Kinsel watched her, gladdened by her wonder.
The white light dimmed to a softer glow. With the improbability of magic, the fully-opened petals formed not a serrated bloom but a perfectly round, flat disc. It resembled a mushroom, and the base of the box its thick stem. A little smoky eruption occurred in the disc’s centre. The turquoise cloud blossomed, spreading outwards and up into a swirling pyramid. That held for a second, then popped. Vanished.
Leaving two miniature figures, tall as a man’s hand. Male and female, dressed in flowing gowns of choice silk. Music rose. Soaring strings and dulcet voices laid over a leisurely but insistent rhythm. The tiny man bowed as his partner curtsied. They moved together, clasped hands, and began to dance.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Tanalvah whispered, eyes shining.
The petite dancers reeled and weaved, glided and swayed. Their discreet jewellery caught the light and flashed brilliantly. The hems of their gowns floated as they spun.
‘Oh!’ Tanalvah exclaimed, recognising the figures. ‘They’re us!’
‘Yes, except he dances better than I ever could.’
‘We’ll have to see about that!’ Laughing, she began dragging him to his feet.
‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘I’m a terrible dancer!’
‘You’re blushing!’
‘So would you if you danced as badly as I do.’
But now she had her arms around him, and his around her. They melted into a shuffling imitation of the little people moving about their pure white dais.
It seemed to go on for a long time, music directing their footfalls, the large mirroring the small. Then a sound more demanding cut through their reverie.
‘Ah,’ Tanalvah said, ‘they’re awake.’
A child’s voice called from inside again. The words were muted but the tone was clear enough; the anxiety that follows a bad dream.
‘I’ll go,’ Kinsel offered.
‘Sure?’
‘I’d like to.’
They lingered for a moment, locked in a tender gaze, then kissed and parted. She sat to enjoy her glamour. He went into the house.
Teg and Lirrin shared a room, their beds side by side. The girl was sitting up.
‘What’s the matter?’ Kinsel asked.
‘Had a nightmare,’ Lirrin replied, massaging h
er eyes with balled fists.
‘It’s all right,’ he soothed, sitting beside her. ‘It’s not real.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Dreams are just little plays that go on in our heads when we’re asleep. They can’t hurt you.’
‘I can’t sleep either,’ Teg piped up.
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos she had a bad dream.’ He pointed an accusing finger at his sister.
‘All right, settle down, both of you.’ Kinsel tucked them in. ‘Tanalvah’s here and so am I. We’ll keep the dreams away.’
‘How?’ Lirrin asked with a child’s shrewd logic.
‘Well, I know a song that can keep you safe. It’s one my mother sang to me when I was about your age, Teg. Would you like to hear it?’
They consented, sleepily.
He began the lullaby, singing softly, bathing them in the warm comfort of its words. Soon, their eyes grew heavy.
Outside, the nightly display lit up the metropolis.
23
Anybody noticing them would assume they were siblings running an errand.
A little girl, nine or ten years old, wearing a flowered apron and buckled black shoes, her blonde hair in pigtails. She walked with a gangling, older boy, nearly a young man, clutching his hand. In the way of growing lads, this was naturally very embarrassing for him.
‘What about that one?’ the little girl exclaimed loudly, pointing across the road to a man loitering outside a tavern.
‘Please, Master,’ Kutch appealed in an undertone, ‘I do wish you wouldn’t draw quite so much attention to us.’
‘Nonsense!’ Phoenix snorted. ‘People can mind their own business. Now do as you’re told. The man over there. Yes or no?’
Kutch studied the target and made his decision. ‘Yes.’
‘Good!’ Phoenix snapped his fingers in a dismissive gesture.
Opposite, the glamour posing as a man vanished. It left a cascade of expiring sparks. A pedestrian walked through them, absently waving a hand to clear the fug.
‘Stay alert, boy, stay alert!’ Phoenix barked.
A passing stranger gave them an odd look, and slowed down to rubberneck.
The bogus child glared back at him. ‘Move along there! There’s nothing to see!’
Head down, the man hurried off. Kutch went scarlet.
They walked on, scanning everybody and everything on the streets. At last Kutch said, ‘That one.’
‘No! Only those with my signature. Not the cheap, counterfeit stuff. Just the ones I’ve conjured.’
‘That one isn’t real. On the bench.’
‘Even I can see that,’ Phoenix came back testily. ‘Remember what I told you. What are the two cardinal rules of spotting?’
‘Look and Don’t Believe.’
‘Precisely. Carry on.’
The streets were as crowded as Kutch had ever seen them. And now Phoenix was skipping along beside him, tiny feet pattering, ponytail swinging. The boy’s discomfort returned.
Phoenix caught the look. ‘Well, you wanted me to act more naturally, didn’t you? Keep watching. Do your job.’
Kutch sighed.
A moment later his eye alighted on something. He dismissed it, looked again and muttered, ‘Oh, clever.’ Indicating it, he said, ‘That.’
‘Well done.’ The sorcerer made a swift, complex hand gesture.
A citizen’s transport wagon drew level with them. Four horses pulled it, and it was full of passengers. The wagon, drays and passengers, the driver and his mate, all turned transparent for an instant. There was a glimpse of the skeletal structure of the horses and the people, attesting to the thorough job Phoenix had done on the casting. Then everything turned into smouldering motes and drifted away. A small inrush of air could be felt, as was common when large glamours expired. It caused some small inconvenience to the other road users, but nothing they weren’t used to.
‘You saw, didn’t you?’ Phoenix said. ‘Not only that the wagon was a glamour but also the signature I’d woven into the spell.’
‘Yes, Master. It was a bit like … I don’t know … a watermark on a piece of parchment.’
Phoenix nodded and allowed himself a small smile, crinkling his freckles. ‘You’re making a little progress, my boy.’ Then sharper: ‘Come on, come on! I’ve conjured plenty more.’
‘We’re supposed to be at the meeting.’
‘We’ll be there in time if you don’t dawdle. I’ve planted more likenesses along the route, so look about you, lad, and doubt. Look and Doubt.’
Carrying on at a faster pace, Kutch pointed things out and Phoenix either nodded or berated. To onlookers they were merely a brother and sister, bickering on their way home. With an unusually large number of glamours expiring in their wake.
They approached Karr’s hideout more soberly. Slipping in one at a time, they ran the gamut of precautions that established they were who they appeared to be.
In a corridor somewhere between the front door and the cellar, they paused so Phoenix could resume his normal form.
When they got to the subterranean conference room they found Caldason, Serrah, Karr and Quinn Disgleirio waiting for them.
‘Good, now we can start,’ Karr said. ‘Please.’ He invited them to sit with a sweep of his arm, and everyone gathered at the largest table. ‘I take it we’re cloaked against eavesdropping?’
‘I did it myself,’ Phoenix assured him.
‘Reeth’s band did well yesterday,’ Karr began, ‘and made a valuable contribution to our coffers. It’s to be regretted that this was achieved with the loss of three band-members, and the wounding of five others.’
‘I take full responsibility for that,’ Caldason volunteered.
‘I’m not criticising you, Reeth,’ the patrician replied evenly. ‘I’m merely reporting, and commemorating the fallen by mentioning them here. The losses are unhappy, but we judge the mission a success.’
Caldason seemed to accept that. Serrah shot him a sideways glance. As usual, his expression was unfathomable.
‘The coin you liberated yesterday,’ Karr went on, ‘after we return some to the people, won’t all go into Resistance war chests. In fact, most of it won’t. You’re here today to be told what the money bought. But first …’ He gestured towards the open door.
Several helpers brought in trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Setting them down on side tables, they hurried out. The door was secured.
Karr raised a cup and eyed the company. ‘Your good health.’
‘And confusion to our enemies,’ Phoenix added.
Caldason took a desultory sip of his drink. Serrah faked conviviality. Kutch wished he had less water in his wine.
Putting down his cup, Karr continued, ‘You know, it’s funny, but one of the most important things about the empires is an aspect we tend not to notice.’ He had their attention. ‘What we forget about Gath Tampoor, about both empires, is that for all their military might and economic muscle, at base they’re bureaucracies. They have to be, there’s so much to administer.’
‘I can confirm that from my encounters with the clerks in Merakasa,’ Serrah offered.
‘All existing states are built on mountains of paper,’ Karr stated.
‘What’s this got to do with us?’ Caldason asked.
‘Plenty. It provides a weak link in their chain of occupation, and in striking at it we can do ourselves some good.’
‘How does targeting paper-shufflers help us?’
‘It depends on what they’re shuffling,’ Disgleirio told him.
‘That’s exactly the point,’ Karr agreed. ‘Gath Tampoor’s Bhealfan minions generate vast amounts of information daily. Most of it’s administrative stuff of little interest to us. But some of it’s vitally important to them and us. I’m talking about the records they hold on individuals and groups they regard as enemies of the state. I think you can verify that too, Serrah.’
‘Yes. The CIS holds many files on criminals and politic
al activists. My unit relied on them when we were planning operations.’
‘It’s the same here in Bhealfa. There are whole armies of information gatherers compiling files on dissidents. Almost certainly they have files for everybody in this room. With the possible exception of young Kutch here. Sorry to disappoint you, lad.’ There was a little laughter at that, mostly from Disgleirio. ‘But if we could get to those records –’
‘You’re obviously saying you’ve found a way,’ Caldason reckoned.
‘I think we have. The bulk of the money you and your band seized yesterday was used as a bribe. I’m about to show you what for.’ He nodded to Phoenix.
The sorcerer produced a small cube and rapped it against the table. A glamour materialised, covering almost the entire table top. It was a meticulously detailed scale model of a section of a city. Even the houses in a dilapidated state were portrayed as such. There were minute cracks in the paving stones and the towers had flags.
‘You might recognise this as part of central Valdarr,’ Karr explained. ‘It contains a perfect example of how the orderly minds of our rulers work in our favour. They have all the records that interest us in one location. Here.’ He pointed at a building.
It was an ornate structure, boasting several spires.
Kutch said, ‘That’s a temple, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently. Actually, it’s heavily glamoured to look that way. Its real appearance is somewhat different. If you’d be so kind, Phoenix.’
The sorcerer lightly smacked the cube. What had been a temple melted into a much plainer, more functional looking building. Even on this scale it was possible to see that its doors were hearty and its windows barred.
‘What about worshippers?’ Kutch asked. ‘Don’t they get suspicious?’
‘It poses as a private place of worship, only for the influential. Ordinary people aren’t encouraged to go there.’
‘How are we supposed to get in?’ Serrah wanted to know.
‘This way.’ He signalled Phoenix again, who manipulated the cube once more.
The building expanded to the size of a rich child’s doll’s house, filling the table. All the other buildings and streets were pushed away, and vanished.
Then the building disappeared too, leaving a three-dimensional representation of its foundations. It was riddled with tunnels.
Quicksilver Rising Page 26
