The two boys had stopped talking entirely and were now only gazing, rapt, into each other’s faces. Then Rafe began laughing and did not stop.
“What’s so funny?” asked Micah.
“I must be drunk,” he said finally.
“Why?” said Kaab.
“Because the first thing that occurred to me was that my father would be particularly interested in finding this out. And when I find myself caring about what my father would be particularly interested in, something has gone dreadfully wrong. Tell me how it works, navigating from there to here.”
Kaab froze. How could she have been so stupid? This boy’s father was a merchant. He made his living through people sailing places where he could buy and sell goods. And if these Xanamwiinik ever learned how to sail west, what would happen when they reached the shores of her homeland? When they found the cacao trees? What would that do to the Balam monopoly? Dear Chaacmul, what would it do to the Kinwiinik’s ability to withstand the aggression of the Tullan Empire? She was a fool not to have considered this. She would be expelled from the service for sure, the Tullan would invade, and she would join Ixmoe in the houses under the earth far sooner than she’d expected.
“Oh,” Kaab said hurriedly, “I do not know anything about the navigation. It is a matter only for the men of our people, the sailors. I have simply heard my father speak of such matters.” Damn it!
The boy was too perceptive by half; his eyes had narrowed at her sudden discomfort. “And what, when he speaks of them, does he say?”
Xamanek’s light! “I pay no attention. It doesn’t interest me. I am sorry.”
Rafe turned to Micah. “How difficult could it be, to understand how angles are affected when transferred from flat surfaces to spheres? What if we—”
Ah, here was something! If not a way out, then at least a stalling tactic. “Wait,” she said, “your people think the earth is a sphere?”
Rafe and Micah stared at her. “You said the earth was round,” said Rafe.
“Of course I did. To make sure you didn’t think I believed it was flat. If you will forgive me, your people sometimes have very odd notions about mine. But of course, we Kinwiinik know it is a . . . Oh dear! I do not know the word. It’s so complicated.” She thought for a moment, took the orange from the table, and threw it hard at the ground, where it landed with a satisfyingly dull thud. She reached down, picked it up, and squeezed it in the middle to make something that looked like an egg. An orange egg, cracked and dripping juice. “It is like this.” Would he believe her? Protect me, Ixchel, she thought, from the spear by day and the jaguar by night. And from the consequences of my own folly.
“Ellipsoid?” Oh, thank the immortal gods for the look of bemusement on his face! “The earth is ellipsoid?”
She shrugged apologetically. “That is what my father and the other men of the family say.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
He believed her! Oh, thank Ahkin! She felt her heart began to slow.
Micah was looking at Rafe with fierce attention. “Ellipsoid? That’s an ellipse in three dimensions?”
“It is.” He drained his beer. The two boys at the other table had finally disappeared. She smiled to think what they must be doing. And what she would like to do if she ever found Tess.
“Well, Micah,” Rafe said, “perhaps if the spirit takes you to discover how all this works, my father will finally have a son he’s proud of.” He stood up. “Thank you again, a thousand times. I’m off to take my nightly measurements.” He grinned. “Now I’ll actually be able to use them!” And with that, he was gone.
“I don’t like Rafe’s father,” Micah said. “He sounds mean. Is your father nice?”
“Yes,” Kaab said. She absently wrung out the beer in her skirt. But she’d have to make sure that neither Saabim nor Chuleb ever found out about this conversation.
Rafe stood at the dusty intersection, perplexed. He’d been standing there for some minutes, and he couldn’t understand in the least why he wasn’t turning left. In that direction, after all, lay his lodgings, his orrery, his measurements, his calculations, and ultimately the path to his school—now closer than ever, thanks to Micah’s brilliance.
So why wasn’t he moving?
It wasn’t as if the time he had spent on the Hill earlier had been anything out of the ordinary—his partner’s rank excepted; and he cared nothing for rank—until the hideous betrayal at the end. Nevertheless, there were other things to consider. If he played his hand carefully, he might so inflame the duke with desire for him—unfulfilled desire, after the afternoon’s stab in the back—that neither de Bertel nor his father’s unwillingness to help him set up his school would pose any further threat to his plans. In which case William should be unable to find him for at least a few days. There was, in other words, no reason whatsoever not to follow Joshua’s instructions not to ruin this for himself. Besides, there was his oath to consider.
And yet here he stood.
Finally he sighed, set his shoulders, and turned right, toward the Bridge to the Hill.
“I wonder,” he said when the door opened at his destination, “whether the duke is in.”
Not far away—not far at all; in the same house, in fact—the Duchess Tremontaine sat in her boudoir.
A letter from the Trader Master Chuleb lay on her escritoire. My lady, it read. My evening star shines bright upon our friendship. We long to share with you the finest cacao that friends can offer, as long as friends can share as equals. But you have stars of your own to consider. How brightly might they be convinced to shine down upon not only yourself, but upon those you honor with your friendship? And how should we know their light? Perhaps you can advise us, as strangers in your city, how we might draw nearer to its source, to know the pleasure of its light and favor?
Nothing was easier; she had already begun making preparations to provide a spectacular answer to his question. The difficulty to which he provided the key, however, was now as nothing in comparison with the far greater one that had superseded it.
And so, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, sending indigo fingers creeping into the indulgent sky through which it passed, Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, decided upon a course of action. She summoned Reynald—among her house swordsmen, the one least likely to ask questions about an order he was given—and waited. When he came, she spoke a few words to him; he nodded, bowed deeply, and left the room.
Diane rose, stretched, and rang for Lucinda to dress her for dinner.
Much later that night, as Rafe was breaking an oath he had, up to that point, quite sincerely believed himself incapable of breaking, as Kaab pretended not to be annoyed at the bawling of her newest cousin, as Micah sat in her room and gazed, unseeing, at the wall, lost in the beauty of the ellipsoid that occupied her attention, as the Duchess Tremontaine sent the spray of her laughter over the other guests at the dinner table where she sat—on the other side of the City, in Riverside, something being carried slowly down the river caught a branch on the west bank and stuck, the calm flow of the current rippling softly around it as nearby crickets sang their children to sleep. Now fabric bobbed above the water, now leather.
Now flesh.
For the thing that had come out of the river was quite easily recognizable as the body of a man no longer among the living.
Or it would have been, had there been anyone there to see it.
Episode Four:
A Wake in Riverside
Malinda Lo
In the cool spring drizzle, Riverside was as gray as the surface of the river itself. Kaab made her way through the damp tangle of cobblestoned streets, where the buildings seemed to lean toward one another in an alarmingly casual manner, in search of the home of the red-haired forger named Tess.
Kaab remembered exactly where she had last seen her, almost two weeks ago, on the day of her arrival in the City. It felt like much more time had passed, but Kaab would not soon forget the site of her first Riverside duel. As th
e building came into view, Kaab noticed that the windows were all shuttered and the street was particularly quiet. Even the washerwoman’s shop on the ground floor was dark. Perhaps the rain was keeping people inside, or perhaps it was still too early in the day for Riverside to be awake, but Kaab suspected that Tess was not at home. She approached the door that led up to Tess’s apartment, where a boy covered in a ragged, patchwork cloak of faded green and russet brown huddled beneath the eaves. He emitted a faint snore, and Kaab reached out with a booted foot to gently nudge his ankle.
He started awake and mumbled, “Tess is out.”
Kaab asked, “When will she return?”
The boy sat up and shot her a suspicious glance. “Who’re you?”
Kaab pushed back the hood of her cloak and wondered what the boy would make of her. She found the Locals’ reactions to be quite telling. They often stared, as this boy was doing, but she didn’t mind, exactly. She understood his curiosity. Not only did she look different, with her coloring and hair twisted into unfamiliar braids, but this morning she had chosen to wear breeches she had tailored to fit herself and high boots she had acquired from a cobbler in the Middle City. She couldn’t fathom how anyone could wear a sword while also wearing a dress—not to mention those stays, which were about as comfortable as donning a cactus—and she wasn’t about to venture into Riverside unarmed. Luckily, she had managed to sneak out of the house without encountering Aunt Saabim. Kaab was supposed to be lying low here and deferring to her elders, not taking matters into her own hands the way she had done in Tultenco. But surely, Kaab had told herself that morning as she pulled on the unfamiliar and slightly stiff boots, she was perfectly capable of handling this small bit of intrigue on her own. There was no need to involve her aunt and uncle in such a simple little thing, even if it did require arming herself beforehand.
Kaab said to the boy, “My name is Ixkaab Balam. Can you tell me where she is?”
“She’s not here,” he said, still studying her face. “Do you want to leave a message? She pays me to take messages for her. I’ll give it to her when she comes back.”
Kaab ignored the light rain spattering on her head and asked, “Do you know when she will return? I must deliver my message in person.”
The boy shook his head. “She didn’t say, but if you ask me,” he said slyly, “I think she’ll be gone awhile.”
Kaab recognized the boy’s desire to spill a secret, and she obliged him by asking, “Really? Why?”
He leaned back casually against the door. “Well, she left after Tiny Pete came by with the news of that body that washed up on the riverbank.” He looked off into the distance and said nonchalantly, “I bet she’s gone to check it out.”
Of all the reasons for Tess to be absent, this was certainly not one Kaab had anticipated. “A body?” she said, only slightly exaggerating her shock. “Who died?”
The boy shrugged. “Dunno. This kind of thing happens all the time, and someone has to go identify the body. Maybe Tess thought she knew him.” He got a crafty look on his face. “Riverside’s not a place for strangers, you know. You better be careful around here.”
If the boy had been a couple of years older, his words might have come off as a threat, but he couldn’t have been more than eleven, so Kaab found his warning rather sweet. She slipped a hand into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. “You seem to be a smart boy—know your way around these parts.”
The boy preened at the flattery. “I do. I was born not two blocks from here, raised on these streets. I know my way about. That’s why Tess hires me to take messages for her. She knows I’ll do it right.”
“Then you must know where Tess went, in case you have to give her an urgent message.” Kaab unwrapped the package to show him a good-size chunk of chocolate. It was of middling quality, but much better than anything he would be likely to taste. “I’ll give you some of this if you tell me where she went,” she said.
He gave the chocolate a glance that went rapidly from puzzlement to disgust. “What is that? Looks like a chunk of dried shit.”
She was taken aback. “It’s chocolate,” she began indignantly. “Surely you—” She stopped at the expression on his face. He had never seen anything like it before and clearly did not know what he was missing. Interesting, she thought. “Never mind,” she said, and folded the paper back over the chocolate before repocketing it. She made a mental note to inform her uncle that chocolate didn’t seem to be known in Riverside. That was a market waiting to be broken open. “Will you tell me where Tess went?” she asked the boy again.
He gave her a measuring look that made him seem much older than eleven. “You want to know, it’ll cost ya.”
“Ah,” she said. He might not understand chocolate, but he obviously understood money. She pulled out a few minnows and dropped them into his instantly outstretched hand.
“I have to feed my little brother, too! This won’t even buy a leftover bowl of Lolly’s week-old goat stew.”
She could tell he was exaggerating, but the fact that a boy his age had to haggle over money for food made her drop two more minnows in his hand. Soft-hearted idiot, she could hear her mother saying fondly. The service requires a sterner disposition than this. Next you’ll be giving your own supper away. . . .
Kaab pushed aside the sudden memory, forcing herself to focus once again on the dirty-faced boy in rags sitting on this cold gray doorstep in Riverside. “Where is Tess?”
He tucked the coins into one of the many invisible pockets of his patchwork cloak. “Down at the Three Dogs. That’s where the body washed up.”
“And how do I get to this Three Dogs? Is it a tavern?”
“Directions cost extra.”
She had to give him credit for driving a hard bargain. She gave him one more minnow.
“It’s a tavern on Sheaves Lane,” he said, hiding the coin away. “Take a left on Bridgewater Street and a right at the sign of the Green Shears. Then you’ll see the sign for the Three Dogs.”
She groaned internally as he rattled off the directions. “Bridgewater Street’s back there?” she confirmed, pointing in the direction she had come.
The boy nodded.
“Which direction do I turn? North or south?”
He shrugged and pointed north. “That way. You can’t miss it. I bet there’ll be a crowd there even in the rain. It’s been a few weeks since a body washed up.”
Kaab pulled the hood up over her damp hair and said, “Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Jamie.”
“I’ll remember you next time I need information,” she promised.
Jamie grinned. “You won’t be sorry, miss.”
Rafe’s stomach rumbled as he draped one arm over the bare torso of William, the Duke Tremontaine, who was certainly the most noble man ever to be welcomed into Rafe’s serviceable but slightly creaky bed.
“You’re hungry,” William observed, running his fingers over the pale skin of Rafe’s back.
“If only we could call for servants to bring us some lunch,” Rafe said, pressing his face into the hollow between William’s shoulder and neck. He inhaled the scent of him: cloves, slightly spicy, over an undercurrent of fresh sweat.
“If you were in my home, we could,” the duke said.
“You came here of your own accord,” Rafe reminded him silkily. “There must have been something special to lure you here, given my lack of servants.” And it wasn’t my cramped quarters and curious roommates, Rafe thought. Indeed, Joshua’s and Thaddeus’s eyes had seemed to leap out of their skulls when the Duke Tremontaine had appeared on the landing outside the door to their rented rooms. Only Micah, his head bent as usual over a pile of calculations, had barely noticed. But Micah was like that.
William ran his hand lower, toward the small of Rafe’s back, and Rafe shivered with delight. “Something special indeed,” William said.
Rafe’s stomach rumbled again—this time more urgently—and he
groaned with frustration. “A moment,” Rafe said, and rolled out of his bed. He had left a crust of bread and a wedge of cheese wrapped in some paper on his desk. The bread might be a bit stale, but he felt as if he could eat a horse about now. His room was chilly—the spring rain that pattered on the roof had brought a damp nip to the air—and he pulled a loose tunic over his head as he crossed the few feet from his bed to the battered scholar’s desk, which had been an occupant of these rooms long before Rafe. “Aha,” he said, digging the leftover bread and cheese out from behind a stack of books. He unwrapped it and examined the bread for signs of mold. Satisfied, he took the food back to bed, where William had propped himself up on one elbow to watch.
“Is that all you have?” William asked as Rafe slid back under the blanket.
“It’ll tide me over till I can go out for a meat pie,” Rafe said, biting into the bread. It was definitely stale and took some chewing. At least the cheese was still good. He offered a piece to the duke, who shook his head with a slight grimace. He was likely accustomed to much finer fare. “More for me then,” Rafe said, and popped the bit of cheese into his mouth.
Rafe wasn’t used to having his lovers in his room—it had happened a couple of times in the past, but those had been straightforward transactions that didn’t involve any pillow talk—and he had the vague suspicion that he was being a terrible host. The duke seemed inclined to linger, and it made Rafe nervous. “Why did you drop by this morning, anyway?” Rafe asked abruptly. “When you arrived, I had the impression that you had some sort of business in mind—business other than getting in bed with me, that is.”
The duke looked a bit pained by the sharpness in Rafe’s tone. “This isn’t business, Rafe.”
Rafe glanced down at the small amount of bread and cheese he had left, clutched in his hands as if they were charms against—against what? A harmless conversation with his most recent lover? He forced himself to relax his grip. “Then what is this?” Rafe asked, feeling somewhat horrified by the fact that he was having this conversation at all—with the Duke Tremontaine, no less. And he still wasn’t sure what he should call him. My Lord? Tremontaine? William? Will.
Tremontaine Season 1 Saga Omnibus Page 15
