“My morning maid.” Tabaea grinned. “Fine. Excellent.” She glanced around the room, and then down at the robe she had just torn.
“Fetch me some clothes, Lethe,” Tabaea said. “Clothes fit for an empress. And rouse my court—the ones I brought with me and anyone who didn’t flee with old Ederd. I intend to hold audience in half an hour, and I want them all there.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lethe vanished, closing the door behind her.
Tabaea hopped back onto the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, swinging her feet and looking around the room, at the carved and polished woodwork, the ornate ceiling, the fine tapestries.
Then a tap sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Tabaea called.
The door opened, and Lethe reappeared, but still did not fully enter the room. “Your Majesty,” she said, “I’ve passed on your orders, and the mistress of the wardrobe is bringing selections from the closets of Annara the Graceful and others, but she asked me to tell you that there’s been no time to make new dresses or alter what was here, so that she cannot promise any will fit properly at first.” “Who’s Annara the Graceful?” Tabaea asked. Lethe blinked, startled. “Why, that’s the overlord’s... I mean, the former overlord’s granddaughter.”
“Oh,” Tabaea said. She had never taken much of an interest in politics. “He has grandchildren?” “Only the one.” “Too bad. Is she pretty?”
Lethe hesitated. “I couldn’t say,” she answered at last. Tabaea hopped off the bed again. “I take it she dressed well, at any rate.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I don’t expect miracles about the fit...” Tabaea began. Then she stopped.
“But on the other hand,” she said, “why shouldn’t I expect miracles? Lethe, go fetch me the court magicians!” Lethe’s face turned white.
“YourMaj... Majesty,” she stammered, “I can’t.” “Why not?” Tabaea demanded, more curious than angry. “Are they so terrifying as all that?”
“No, Your Majesty; they’re gone. They fled last night, for fear you would slay them all. They said that you had already killed many magicians.”
“Oh.” Tabaea considered that. Even after spying on several magicians as they discussed the murders, it had never occurred to her that killing half a dozen people could terrorize all the other magicians so thoroughly. It wasn’t quite the effect she had in mind. She had just wanted one of each, to absorb their powers and abilities.
Well, what was done was done. “It doesn’t matter,” shesaid. “We’ll make do with ordinary tailors and seamstresses to adapt my new clothes, then, rather than magic.” “Yes, Your Majesty.”
A thought struck Tabaea. “What do they pay you, Lethe?” she asked.
“I have a room here in the palace that I share with three other maids, Your Majesty, and I get my meals, and six bits a day, as well.” She lifted a comer of her apron. “And my clothes,” she added.
“Is that all?”
Lethe nodded.
“From now on, Lethe, you’ll be paid a round and a half— with none of those expensive magicians around, I’m sure the treasury can pay all you servants twice as much!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.” Lethe curtsied.
“And the dungeons—last night Ista showed me the stair to the dungeons, but we didn’t go down. Are there prisoners down there?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I want them freed. Right now. All of them.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lethe started to turn to go, then stopped and stepped out of the way as two men marched in, hauling a large wooden trunk. Behind this came a tall woman in a green and gold gown, perhaps the most extravagant garment Tabaea had ever seen. “Your Majesty,” this new arrival said, as the men set the trunk on the floor, “it’s such an honor to meet you! I’m Jandin, mistress of the wardrobe.”
“I’ll go tell the guards,” Lethe called, ducking out. Almost out of earshot, she added, “If I can find any.” The two men departed close on her heels, and the door closed behind them.
Jandin flung open the trunk, revealing a glittering array of expensive fabric, fine embroidery, and bright jewelry. Tabaea gasped, and her eyes went wide.
“Now, if Your Majesty could give me just the tiniest clue as to how you wish to appear today,” Jandin said, “I’m sure I can find something here that will suit us...”
An hour later, as the nervous courtiers milled about the Great Hall in two distinct groups, the old and the new, their desultory conversations were cut short by the sound of trumpets. All eyes turned toward the rear staircase, and a few unfortunates quickly scurried to one side or the other to get out of their ruler’s path.
As Tabaea rose into sight someone stifled a giggle. The empress was wearing the most incredibly gaudy dress that anyone present had ever seen. The basic colors were red and green, in alternating panels divided by gold borders. Jewels in a dozen hues glittered along every golden border and in elaborate patterns on the panels, as well. Gold braid circled the waist, hips, and bust, and edged each cuff; fine gold chains draped across the bodice. Padded crests rose from either shoulder. Gold-edged slashes in the puffed sleeves revealed tight black velvet undersleeves. She also wore dangling earrings of intricately wrought gold, and a headpiece of woven peacock feathers.
Several jaws dropped at the sight.
“I’ll be damned,” someone muttered as Tabaea made her slow march down the full length of the hall to the throne. He leaned to a companion and whispered, “I know that dress— Annara had it made for a show in the Arena. It was supposed to represent greed and tastelessness.”
“Do you think Tabaea knows?”
“She couldn’t—she wouldn’t wear it if she knew.”
“Maybe someone’s played a trick on her?”
“That’s one very risky trick to play on a known murderer and self-proclaimed empress!”
The speakers had no way of knowing that Tabaea, with her stolen abilities, could hear every word they said. She flushed angrily, but continued her procession, up onto the dais. With each step she considered what, if anything, she should do to Jandin; the wardrobe mistress had not suggested the dress, but she had not said anything against it when Tabaea had pulled it out, either. And she had put it in the trunk in the first place, hadn’t she?
But on the other hand, Tabaea realized that this incident might well determine the whole tenor of her reign, whether she was seen as a ruthless tyrant or a merciful and generous benefactor. She had heard those courtiers call her a “known murderer,” and she didn’t like it. That was not the image she wanted.
Therefore, when she reached the dais, she turned and announced, “Welcome, my people!”
No one answered; no one knew what reply was expected.
“The brutal reign of the heirs of Anaran is ended!” Tabaea announced. “Today we begin a new era of justice and mercy! I hereby decree an end to slavery in this city; all slaves in Ethshar of the Sands are to be freed immediately! I decree forgiveness for those who have been driven to crime by the cruelty of my predecessors; all prisoners in the dungeons are likewise to be freed immediately! I decree that the brutal oppression of innocents by the city guard is to cease immediately; all guardsmen are to surrender their swords and are hereby charged with finding food and lodging for all those who have been forced to take shelter in the Wall Street Field! I decree that those who serve me shall be paid according to their true worth, and that for the present, that shall be assumed to be twice whatever my foul predecessor, the so-called overlord, saw fit to pay them!” “She’s mad,” a courtier muttered, “completely mad!” “No!” Tabaea shouted. “I am not mad!” She leaped from the dais and marched across the room, a pointing finger thrust out before her.
The courtiers parted, and she confronted the man who had dared to speak.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The man bowed. “Lord Sancha, Minister of the Port,” he said. “At Your Majesty’s service.” “Minister of the Por
t?” Tabaea asked. “I have that honor, Your Majesty.” “Not anymore,” Tabaea said. She laughed. “Sancha is no name for a portmaster, in any case. You’re now Sancha the Fool, and your job is to entertain me with your foolishness.” She had heard of such things in old tales about the Small Kingdoms; she had no idea whether Ethshar had ever had a court jester before, and she didn’t much care. It had one now.
“As Your Majesty wills,” Sancha said, bowing more deeply— much more deeply, an exaggerated, absurd bow.
Tabaea smiled. He was taking to his new post already. She reached out and grabbed his nose, then turned and led him to the dais. Those watching assumed that Lord Sancha was playing along as he followed, struggling wildly to keep his nose from injury; they had no idea just how strong Tabaea actually was. She was, in fact, hauling Sancha against his will, and the process was quite painful. She pushed him to the floor beside the throne, then sat down.
“It seems we need a new Minister of the Port,” she said, “and undoubtedly there are other posts to be filled, as well, as I understand many of the officials of the city chose to depart with old Ederd. Fortunately, I brought some people to fill these vacated positions.” She waved at the motley group that had followed her from Grandgate; some were still in their own ragged clothing, while others had plundered the palace and put on newer, cleaner, and better domes. Some were dressed splendidly, others ineptly; the result was a far more mixed group than the original rags had produced, and a far more mixed group than the more uniform and sedate crowd left from the overlord’s court.
“Now, if you’ll come forward, one at a time, and tell me who you are,” Tabaea said, “we’ll see if we can’t put together a better government than this city has ever seen before!”
CHAPTER 29
At first glance, Harbor Street appeared unchanged—but upon a closer look, Sarai noticed differences. Windows were broken, buildings blackened by smoke, and walls chipped by blades and flying debris. Dark stains could still be seen in the dirt. And several businesses, perhaps the majority, were closed, although it was full daylight.
At least there weren’t any bodies or other remains; someone had cleaned up after the fighting, clearing away the dead and wounded, dropped weapons, broken glass, and the rest.
Even so, the journey impressed upon Sarai that Tabaea had done real damage to Ethshar of the Sands. She arrived at the Guildhouse in a very somber and thoughtful mood indeed.
Someone she didn’t know opened the door to her knock, and showed the three of them, Sarai and Kelder and Alorria, into the parlor. Alorria inquired after Tobas, and was promptly led away; Kelder and Sarai waited in uncomfortable silence for a second or two before Mereth, rumpled and worried, came to welcome them.
“How many died?” Sarai asked Mereth, after only the most perfunctory greetings.
“I don’t know,” Mereth said. “I don’t think anyone’s counted. At least, no one here; I suppose Lord Torrut knows.”
“Where is Lord Torrut, then?”
Mereth shrugged. “I don’t know, Lady Sarai. In hiding somewhere, probably—or perhaps he’s holed up in the barracks towers; so far, almost all of the city guard has remained loyal to him.”
Lady Sarai looked around at the parlor, which had continued undisturbed by Serem’s murder, by the house’s usurpation by the Wizards’ Guild, by the overthrow of the city government. The animated plant still fanned the air endlessly.
She shooed away a spriggan and then settled slowly onto a divan embroidered with pink and green flowers.
“Is that wise?” she asked.
Mereth blinked, puzzled. “Is what wise?”
“I take it that Lord Torrut is still resisting,” Sarai said, “even though Tabaea’s in the palace and the overlord has fled.”
“Well, he isn’t actually fighting anymore,” Mereth said, seating herself in a nearby armchair, “but I’m sure he isn’t taking orders from her.”
“And I wonder if that’s wise,” Sarai said. “Maybe we should just let her govern and not damage the city further.”
“But she’s a murderer!” Mereth protested, “and a thief, a burglar! And she’s... wizards aren’t allowed in government.”
“Is she a wizard?” Sarai asked. “She’s not a member of the Guild.”
“She’s a magician, and she’s something like a wizard, and the Guild doesn’t want any magicians interfering in politics. It’s dangerous. It’s a bad precedent.”
“Then perhaps it’s the job of the Wizards’ Guild to remove her,” Lady Sarai said. “I don’t see any reason to throw away more lives trying to depose her. And whether we like it or not, at the moment she is the ruler of Ethshar of the Sands, and she can’t rule without the city guard—the guard is what gives the government authority, and no one can run the city without it. I think perhaps Lord Torrut should reconsider.”
“I don’t,” Mereth said. “Maybe if she finds out that she can’t run the city she’ll pack up and leave.”
“Somehow, I doubt she’ll do that,” Sarai replied. “And who’s to say that she can’t be a good ruler? It’s not as if Ederd was chosen by the gods, or worked his way up to be overlord; he just happened to be born right.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Mereth asked, shocked. “He’s Anaran’s heir!”
“Anaran was a fine general, but does that mean all his descendants are going to be natural rulers?” Sarai said. “They’ve ruled Ethshar of the Sands for seven generations now; doesn’t that mean that less than one part in a hundred of Ederd’s blood comes from Anaran?”
“Oh, but they’ve intermarried with the families of the other overlords, and bred back in...” “So what?”
“Lady Sarai,” Kelder interrupted, “at least Anaran’s descendants did not take their thrones by force, or murder innocents in their beds.”
“That’s true,” Sarai admitted. “But I still don’t like it. I don’t want anyone else to be killed.”
“None of us do,” Mereth said. “Or at least, we don’t want anyone other than Tabaea to be killed.”
“Mereth?” The voice came from the archway opening into the central hall; Sarai and Kelder turned to find Lirrin, Serein’s former apprentice, standing there.
“You’re needed downstairs,” Lirrin said. “What’s happening downstairs?” Sarai asked. She blinked; was there a downstairs? She hadn’t noticed that when she visited the house in the course of her investigation.
“Guild business,” Lirrin said apologetically. Mereth rose, gathering her skirts, then looked back at Sarai. “Oh.” Sarai glanced at Kelder, who shrugged. “I’m no more a wizard than you,” he said. “We can wait here together and pass the time.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Sarai,” Mereth said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She and Lirrin vanished down the hallway.
That left Kelder and Sarai alone in the parlor; for a moment they sat in awkward silence.
“Do you still have all those talismans and trinkets of yours?” Sarai asked at last.
“Of course,” he said, gesturing at his pack. “Do you think they could tell you anything more about Tabaea that might be useful in deposing her? She was in this house once, after all.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Kelder said. “There will be traces, but what they can tell us will be limited. If you like, I can see what there is to see.” “I’d be very interested.”
Kelder bobbed his head in a semblance of a bow. “Then I’ll try,” he said. He opened his pack and began rummaging through it.
A moment later he emerged holding a thin silver box set with square-cut gems. “A denekin allasir,” he explained, tapping an uneven rhythm upon it.
“What’s that mean?” Lady Sarai asked.
“I haven’t any idea,” Kelder admitted. “It’s just what it’s called.”
“What does it do?”
Kelder proudly explained, “It reads traces a person has left— flakes of skin, bits of hair, even the air he or she breathed—and then displays for me a pattern of lights, in thi
s row of jewels here, that I can interpret to tell me about that person. What I can see will vary; sometimes it’s a great deal, sometimes it’s nothing at all.”
Lady Sarai looked at the row of jewels Kelder pointed to. She could see odd little curls of light, glowing deep within the stones, but they made no pattern that she could see. “And what does it tell you about Tabaea?” she asked.
“Well, this is the device that gave me the description I gave you,” Kelder said. “I don’t suppose it will find any trace of her in here, though; the murder was upstairs, and I assume Tabaea came in through the bedroom window.”
“Did she?”
Kelder hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “Shall we find out?”
Sarai nodded.
“If she used the stairs, we’ll probably find...” Kelder began, as he tapped at a dark blue gem on the side of his little box. Then he stopped in midsentence and stared. He began tapping other jewels and various places on the surface of the allasir.
“What is it?” Lady Sarai asked.
“She was here,” Kelder said.
“That’s not so very surprising,” Sarai began.
“No, no, Lady Sarai,” Kelder said, cutting her off. “She was here four years ago. Several times.”
“Perhaps she knew Serem, then,” Sarai suggested. “Perhaps she bought a potion from him, or sold him something he needed for one of his spells. It’s hardly as shocking as all that.”
Kelder blinked.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Yes, of course you’re right.” He sighed. “And here I thought I’d found something important.”
“Well, perhaps you did,” Lady Sarai said comfortingly. “There might be a connection. Why don’t we go discuss it with the others, the wizards?” “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Kelder asked.
“Yes, I do,” Sarai said, getting to her feet. “I’m tired of being shut out by them, anyway. Maybe we can trade this discovery of yours for some of their information.” She pushed aside the plant that was waving determinedly at her and headed for the hallway. Kelder followed.
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