‘He was in Elatine, attending the state funeral of Prince Nebunka, and decided to make a detour on his way home.’
‘Here, at this time of year? It’s hardly tourist weather.’
‘Almorante, as you know, is never the tourist.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I presume he wishes to whip us invisibly and make us dance on our toes. The winter was hard in Magrast, they say. Leonid has had a bad chest.’
‘Ah, I can virtually hear the flap of vulture wings atop the bed canopy.’
‘Nothing that serious, I’m sure, but Almorante will be here to assess loyalties, perhaps make promises. You never know.’
Merlan wasn’t sure whether Almorante knew Maycarpe’s true face. He kept secret his occult activities, behaving always as the urbane and effete governor of this incomprehensible and inhospitable country, slightly bewildered by it all. But Almorante was astute. Surely, he saw through the mask? The mere fact he was visiting Akahana and buttering up the queen meant he must sense Maycarpe was more than he appeared. Mewt was a danger because it was slippery. There were no rebellions to put down, no apparent underground treachery to quell. The Mewts were perfect subjects, who had accepted their Magravandian conquerors philosophically, yet always there was the feeling that things were going on in private and one day the plan would be revealed. It would catch them unawares. Should that ever happen, however, Merlan was sure Maycarpe would be part of it. He was thick with the Mewtish priests, almost one of them. A man of many masks.
The Palace of the Sun lay a short distance outside the city, approached by a processional avenue lined with stone gods. The wide-flagged road sloped upwards as the palace lay in the foothills of the Peaks of Silence, where certain temperamental goddesses lived, one of whom was a sister of Purryah. The great tiered halls of the queen’s abode, reached by an enormous ramp, were made of pink granite. Seated statues of Purryah, over thirty feet tall, flanked either side of the main entrance where the most handsome of Neferishu’s guard stood to attention, their spears longer than the height of two men. Neferishu had only recently become queen, since the death of her far older brother eight months or so before. Mefer had always been a prince, never king, but Leonid, the emperor, had granted Neferishu the correct royal title upon her accession. Perhaps he felt she was less of a threat, being female. A rather short-sighted assumption.
Lord Maycarpe and Merlan went to the palace by carriage, but were obliged to alight at the foot of the ramp as horses were not allowed on the polished stone. Climbing the ramp, it was possible to look down to either side and see the lower storeys of the palace where the servants lived. Here too were the workshops and offices, whose functions ensured that the queen’s life progressed in a manner of continuous luxury. Merlan thought about the human dramas that must be enacted behind those ranks of narrow windows. So many people lived there.
Beyond the vast pylons of the ceremonial entrance, the guests entered a beautiful courtyard, filled with exotic plants and trees from all the hot countries of the world. They had been chosen for their scents, which combined in the sultry evening to excite the senses. Cushioned benches were arranged around the ornamental pools and fountains, and low tables had been set out, not yet laden with the banquet. Merlan loved visiting the palace. He knew it had not changed for thousands of years and that Neferishu was the youngest in a dynasty that stretched right back to the days of Harakhte the Great himself. There was a solid certainty about Mewtish tradition. It seemed impervious to change, as if the gods had designed it millennia ago and, content with their work, saw nothing in it that needed alteration. Other cultures might rush and stumble about, have revolutions, build empires, die of plague, even, but Mewt continued at her own pace, blessed by the otherworld. It bent its knee to conquerors, yet miraculously remained untainted by their presence. And the conquerors, having secured the diamond of the world, saw no reason to reshape its polished facets. For that, Merlan was thankful.
Courtiers in pleated linen glided around the courtyard, greeting new arrivals, while exquisitely beautiful servants offered refreshment – wine from the queen’s acclaimed cellar. She was a connoisseur of wines, and many a visitor from foreign climes had won her favour merely by offering a rare addition to her collection. Neferishu was not yet present in the garden, and neither was Almorante, but Merlan recognised a few of the prince’s closest aides mingling with the other guests. There was a sense of excitement in the air, perhaps not wholly connected with the presence of an imperial prince on Mewtish soil.
Senotep, the queen’s vizier, noticed Lord Maycarpe, excused himself from a clutch of guests and came over. ‘Her majesty is conducting a private gathering within,’ he said. ‘Your presence is requested.’
Merlan wondered whether he’d be left in the outer court, but neither Maycarpe nor Senotep said anything as he followed them into the palace itself. Lamps hung from the ceiling, burning scented oil. Statues of Neferishu depicted as various goddesses clustered in every alcove, as well as a few of her dead brother, Mefer, who had been like a father to her. Senotep led them to a reception room nearby. Merlan heard Neferishu’s voice speaking, low and huskily, even before the great doors were thrown open.
The Mewts were famed for their beauty, but the queen did not conform to the usual slender template of perfection. She was a big woman, in her early thirties, who carried herself like a goddess. Her dense black hair, when unbound, fell to her thighs. Tonight, she wore it plaited with golden thread, crowned with a wreath of fleshy purple flowers. Her voluptuous body was draped in cloth of gold and indigo and there was gold dust upon her eye-lids. Her jewellery was scant, and in comparison with some of the other ladies present, she seemed underdressed for the occasion, but there was no doubt that the queen dominated the scene, both in splendour and presence. She turned to the door as it opened, and her face bloomed into a smile. ‘Darris!’ she exclaimed, sailing over to kiss Maycarpe’s cheek. ‘You are late.’
Maycarpe bowed. ‘Apologies, your majesty.’
In fact, they were not late at all. The queen eyed Merlan closely, an experience that always made Merlan’s spine tingle. ‘And you have the lovely Master Leckery with you.’
Merlan bowed to her. ‘Your majesty.’
‘Come, join the gathering,’ Neferishu said, slipping a hand through one of Maycarpe’s elbows.
Merlan saw Prince Almorante sitting upon a couch, surrounded by Mewtish courtiers. It seemed most of his party were outside in the garden. He straightened up as Maycarpe approached. ‘Good to see you again, Darris. You look well.’
‘A deception,’ said Lord Maycarpe, bowing. ‘The climate here disagrees with my constitution. My poor frame is plagued by the season.
Neferishu laughed. ‘You should not believe him, Mante. Lord Maycarpe is almost a native now.’
‘You’ve been here long enough,’ said Almorante, grinning.
Maycarpe grimaced. ‘As a Magravandian, my body will never become inured to the rigours of the climate.’
It was all an act, and everyone was aware of it, yet they indulged the governor. It was one of the ways he made friends. He was such a character. While Maycarpe, the prince and the queen exchanged more bantering remarks, Merlan surveyed the gathering, wondering if there was anyone he wanted to talk to. A few of the Mewtish ladies caught his eye, and he made a mental note of which cliques to join later on, but then he found himself looking into the face of a young man who seemed both shocked and bewildered. The face clearly recognised him, yet Merlan had never seen this person before. For the briefest moment, and with a shiver of pure dread, he thought it was Tayven Hirantel. But no, this youth was younger, less bitter of countenance. Merlan glanced away, slightly discomforted, and made to attach himself to a group of Mewts standing around the refreshment table. But the staring young man came over to Merlan and touched his shoulder.
Merlan turned round, composing his face into an expression of mild annoyance. ‘Excuse me?’ he said.
The young ducked his head. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he responded. ‘I don’t wish to seem importunate, but I must ask you. Are you Merlan Leckery?’
Merlan nodded. ‘I am. What of it? Do I know you?’
The young man ran his hand through his hair. ‘No, butc the resemblance is extraordinary. I knew it had to be you.’
Merlan frowned. ‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘Your brother. Your brother, Khaster. You look so much like him.’
Merlan’s flesh went momentarily hot, then cold. He helped himself to a sliver of smoked fish from the table. ‘That has been commented upon before. Are you in the prince’s party?’
The young man shook his head. ‘No, no. I am at present a barely tolerated member of the household here.’
That surprised Merlan. The youth didn’t seem the type to belong in the queen’s palace. ‘May I ask in what capacity?’
‘I am training under General Tuya. My master sent me here.’
Merlan knew that many occult masters sent their apprentices to Tuya to be trained in certain mystical aspects of the martial arts. The general’s apartments were in part of the palace complex, so he could be close to the queen at all times. Training under him granted certain privileges, but it also meant this young man must be worthy of Tuya’s attention. He didn’t take just anybody as a student. Appearances could be deceptive. ‘You must be an ascetic, then,’ Merlan said.
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly,’ the young man said.
‘Are you Magravandian?’
A pause, then, ‘Yes. My homeland is part of the empire.’
‘So, how did you know Khaster?’ Merlan thought the young man wasn’t old enough to have known his brother.
‘It was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘I visited Magrast as a boy.’
Merlan felt this might be a lie, but why? He smiled. ‘You must have a good memory.’
‘I didn’t know Khaster,’ the young man said hurriedly. ‘I only saw him, but yes my memory is good.’
‘He must have made an impression, all the same,’ Merlan said. ‘Where did you see him exactly?’
‘Oh, at some function or another. I was with my parents.’
‘What function?’
The young man’s mouth had thinned to a pale line. Merlan could see he was discomforted. ‘It was a long time ago.’ He bowed his head. ‘I won’t detain you.’
He began to walk away, but Merlan said, ‘Wait. Who are you, anyway?’
The young man stopped. ‘I am Shan,’ he said.
Merlan knew then, instinctively, that he must get to know this person. Perhaps this was what Purryah had portended. ‘Please, there’s no need to rush off. I won’t plague you with questions. You clearly have your reasons for reticence. Try some of this fish. It’s very good.’
Shan turned, smiled hesitantly, then began to heap a plate with food.
‘Clearly, you have a good appetite,’ Merlan said.
Shan shrugged. ‘My usual fare is nowhere near as lavish as this.’
‘Whose is?’ Merlan took a drink of wine. ‘How long have you been here in Akahana?’
‘Only a couple of weeks. I wonder if I will ever get used to this heat.’
‘The answer is no.’ Merlan grinned. ‘Still, there are compensations. Where else in the world would so many beautiful women be gathered together in one room? Have you met the queen, personally I mean?’
‘Oh yes. I am here tonight at her request. She comes to watch me training with Tuya. It is like being stalked by a lioness.’
‘I can imagine!’ Merlan said. ‘It is said she has a taste for pale-skinned, fair-haired youths. As far as I know, only one has ever eluded her, so beware. But perhaps you don’t need the warning.’
‘I am her humble servant,’ Shan said dryly, then: ‘Who eluded her?’
Merlan sensed a certain pointedness about this question, and, unlikely though it seemed, he guessed his new companion already knew the answer. ‘Someone called Tayven Hirantel. Perhaps you have heard of him.’
Shan’s face had coloured. Could he be an erstwhile lover of Hirantel’s? ‘Yes, I have heard the name. When did Queen Neferishu try to seduce him?’
Merlan was silent for a moment, as his mind made equations of all he had learned. Khaster, Tayven – where did this youth fit into the picture? ‘She never stops,’ he said carefully.
‘Hirantel is here, in Akahana?’
‘He may be. I don’t always know. My employer, Maycarpe, has dealings with him.’
‘I thought he was dead.’
‘He was – for quite a while.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you already know. What is your connection with Hirantel? Does it concern my brother?’ Perhaps these questions would frighten Shan off. He looked pained in the extreme.
‘It’s nothing. Just gossip.’
Merlan laughed. ‘You are not adept at subterfuge, my friend. Come, tell me. I will not be shocked.’
‘There’s nothing shocking to tell. I heard that Tayven Hirantel died in Cos – about the same time as your brother.’
‘But everyone knows what happened to Hirantel. It seems strange you are aware of only half the story.’ Merlan could tell Shan was wrestling with the dilemma of whether to flee before he betrayed himself entirely or stay in order to gather information. Merlan decided to be generous. ‘No matter. I have no right to pry.’
‘You’re not. It’sc’
But whatever Shan might have said was silenced. At that moment, one of Neferishu’s hand-maidens came to summon both Merlan and Shan to the queen’s side.
‘Ah, Merlan, I see you have found Tuya’s new protégé,’ Neferishu said. ‘Isn’t he pretty?’
Merlan cleared his throat. ‘We have been getting acquainted, your majesty,’ he said.
‘Good. Come and sit with us for a while. Soon, I will have to join the peasants in the garden, but first I wish to bask in the light of male beauty.’ She patted the couch for Shan to sit beside her. Over her head, Merlan grimaced at Lord Maycarpe, for they were both used to the queen’s somewhat forthright manner, but instead of returning the grimace as usual, Maycarpe’s gaze was fixed on Shan. Merlan had never seen such an expression on his employer’s face; amazement and what appeared to be greed.
‘Excuse me,’ Maycarpe said, ‘but that is a most unusual talisman you have there, young man. May I see it?’
Shan looked up, appearing to be immediately wary. His right hand went to his throat, gripped the cord that circled it. ‘It was a gift,’ he said, rather unnecessarily. Merlan had not noticed the talisman, but Maycarpe’s sharp eyes had spotted it at once.
‘I would like to examine it,’ said Maycarpe. ‘I have an interest in antiquities, and that artefact appears to be quite old.’
‘I’m not sure it is,’ Shan said. ‘I think it’s a copy of an old design.’
‘Nevertheless, would youc?’ Maycarpe held out his hand, waggled the fingers.
With clear reluctance, Shan took the talisman from about his head and handed it to Maycarpe.
Almorante, who had been chatting to a couple of his entourage, now straightened slowly in his seat. ‘What is that, Darris?’
‘Oh, a bauble,’ said Maycarpe, staring at the talisman in his outstretched palm, ‘a trinket from the past, but, as I said, I’m fascinated by such things.’ He handed the talisman back to Shan. ‘It is not a copy. You must make sure to keep it safe.’
‘I will.’ Shan put the cord over his head, and tucked the talisman discreetly inside his shirt.
Merlan, observing the proceedings, noticed that Almorante was interested because Maycarpe was interested, but having noted the prince’s attention to the matter, Maycarpe was feigning indifference. The talisman had looked like nothing more than an old stone carved into the shape of a claw and covered with ornamental markings. A thousand like it could be bought from curio stalls in markets throughout the empire. But it cou
ld not be ordinary, or perhaps the one who wore it gave it a certain uncanny shine. Of one thing Merlan was now convinced: Shan was more than he seemed, much more.
‘Wine,’ said Neferishu, breaking the silence. She clapped her hands to summon a posse of servants.
Maycarpe gave Shan one last speculative glance, then turned his attention to Almorante. ‘The one thing I love about this land is the abundance of antiquities that seem to emerge from the sand wherever you tread. Have you an interest in history, your highness?’
Almorante ducked his head. ‘I appreciate lovely things, but then you find that the most significant of artefacts are usually plain and, at first sight, unremarkable.’
Maycarpe nodded. ‘Hmm.’
‘Talking of lovely things,’ Almorante said, ‘I find that yet again, Tayven is not here when I visit. Are you keeping him from me, Darris?’
Maycarpe pulled a rueful face. ‘You are unkind, and know very well that your visit was impromptu. How could I have foreseen it?’
Almorante raised an eyebrow.
Maycarpe ignored the implication. ‘Tayven is not here. He is in Cos.’
‘I would like to speak to him and, out of deference for his experiences, have refrained from summoning him formally to Magrast, but it would gratify me if you could arrange a meeting.’
Maycarpe lifted his hands. ‘I will do what I can, but Hirantel is a law unto himself.’
‘He is a Magravandian subject,’ Almorante said quietly. ‘I don’t want to exert my prerogative, but he must accept he cannot run from the past forever. I invested a great deal in him. No expense was spared in rescuing him from Cos.’
‘I have told him that,’ Maycarpe said, ‘but perhaps because it was actually my people who eventually unearthed him, he feels he was abandoned by the royal house. A wrong assumption, of course, but Tayven’s experiences have changed him. He is a bitter man, even dangerous in his melancholy.’
Inwardly, Merlan was as tense as a wire. He was surprised Almorante could discuss this so openly, when it was obvious why Tayven Hirantel avoided him. Almorante’s own brother had been responsible for nearly killing him, yet Bayard had never been reprimanded, let alone punished, for his actions. Tayven knew this, and wanted nothing to do with any of the Malagashes. Neither had he needed rescuing from Cos. He sometimes co-operated with Maycarpe, because in that he saw a way to avenge himself on those who wronged him. Tayven no longer regarded himself as Magravandian. He did not recognise Leonid as emperor, nor his sons as princes. Any meeting between Almorante and Tayven would be unwise at best. Merlan felt uncomfortable around Tayven for several reasons: his past associations with Khaster, the manner in which he’d been abused and the fact that he seemed dangerous and mad now. Tonight, even though he was not physically here, Tayven’s spiritual presence was very much in evidence. Merlan could feel it, like a creature crouched in the dark, ready to leap out and hiss. He glanced at Shan. Yes, there was a connection there. Shan was lapping this up, trying to piece together the story behind the meagre words.
The Crown of Silence Page 25
