Burying the Shadow

by Storm Constantine

  ‘They never hurt anybody!’ Liviana insisted. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Do you still have anything to do with that artisan family - what was their name - Harim?’

  ‘Sarim,’ she corrected me, in a subdued voice. ‘Yes, we are patrons of theirs.’

  ‘Sarim. Livvy, I want to talk to an artisan. Surely, if they are innocent, they will be anxious to clear their reputation. Perhaps they can help me. Could you arrange an interview with one of the Sarim for me?’

  She shrugged, looking far from happy. ‘I don’t know. Rayo, I really don’t think it would be a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She wriggled awkwardly. ‘Well, the artisan families can be very... touchy. They are proud people, and very sedate. If you told them what you’ve told me, they’d feel terribly insulted, I’m sure. The artisans have the protection of the Kaliph. You could get into serious trouble if you upset any of them.’

  ‘I’m willing to risk that.’

  She stood up, wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Rayo, you must drop this, you really must! I cannot get involved!’

  ‘Livvy, what is it?’ I asked gently ‘What power do these families have in Bochanegra? Why are you afraid of them?’

  ‘It’s not fear!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s just...’

  A new voice interrupted her words. ‘Just what?’ Both Livvy and I turned to the door.

  ‘Salyon...’ Livvy said lamely. Her brother came into the room.

  ‘Just what is it, sister dear, if it’s not terror?’ He stood in front of me, shadow-eyed, sallow of skin, and painfully slender. ‘You see,’ he said to me, ‘she dare not answer. It would be most unladylike. And just what is your interest in the artisans, hmm?’

  ‘Don’t tell him!’ Livvy almost yelled.

  ‘What can you tell me about them?’ I asked, ignoring her. I sensed that Salyon would be far from unwilling to enlighten me.

  ‘Well, let me say that my beloved sister is afraid of them,’ he said, ‘but not in the way you think. Her fear is that of being abandoned, of doing something disgraceful, which would get her excommunicated from the elite society of artisan-worshippers. That is why she will not answer your questions. Her sweet reticence is purely a self-preservation instinct.’

  ‘Salyon!’ Liviana’s face and neck had gone very red. I suspected Salyon was exposing some painful truths.

  ‘Look at her!’ he said coldly. ‘What you see before you is an addict. It’s disgusting. And I would be just like her, if it wasn’t for the fact that the drug makes me ill.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying,’ I said.

  ‘If you say any more,’ Liviana said in a chilly tone, ‘you will put Rayojini in a very dangerous position, Salyon. You know that. Have a little sense.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘but let me ask her again why she’s so interested in them.’

  ‘Strange things have been happening to me,’ I said. ‘I think the artisans might be connected with them.’

  Salyon smiled. ‘Strange things have been happening to the artisans too, Rayojini. What a coincidence.’

  ‘Oh, such as?’

  ‘Maladies, suicides... People like yourself asking unusual questions.’

  ‘Really! Well, believe me, that sounds positively infinitesimal in comparison with the peculiarities I’ve encountered!’

  ‘Oh, but it isn’t. Artisans don’t commit suicide, and neither do people ask questions about them, ordinarily.’

  ‘I would like to talk to an artisan. Could you arrange that?’

  ‘Me?’ He laughed. ‘No, I don’t think I could.’ He glanced at his sister who stood rigid with anxiety beside him; she was clearly terrified of what he might say next. ‘If you have any sense, Mistress, you will leave the city as soon as you can, and stop asking questions. It will get you nowhere, I promise you.’

  At these words, Liviana visibly slumped her shoulders in relief. She rubbed her face with her hands. ‘We must not speak of this any longer,’ she said. ‘Rayo, I’m sorry. Enjoy your time with us. Let’s go for walks, visit the theatre, go dancing; anything. We are friends. Go back to Taparak with happy memories of Sacramante, and forget the artisans. Enjoy their work for what it is, Rayo. You have your own craft. You are safe. Forget them.’

  ‘I...’ I looked at Salyon, who raised his brows. The expression could have meant anything.

  ‘Let’s go back into the garden,’ Liviana said, bravely cheerful. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Salyon?’

  He bowed to us formally. ‘Forgive me, ladies, I cannot escort you outside. I will see you at dinner. Until later, Mistress Rayojini.’

  I smiled and inclined my head. He pulled a mordant face at me and left the room.

  ‘You must not pay too much attention to my brother,’ Liviana said, linking her arm through mine and leading me to the door. ‘He never fully recovered from his illness, you know.’

  ‘Really? He looks pretty healthy to me,’ I said, which was not exactly true.

  ‘It’s his mind,’ Liviana said, darkly. ‘He is prone to strange fancies. We have to humour him.’

  ‘Yes, I expect you do,’ I answered. I wondered what it was she was hiding. What had she meant by the remark, “You have your own craft, you are safe”? Her insistence, and Salyon’s, that I abandon my investigation of the artisans only fired my curiosity. What was going on in this city? The gods walked the road east from Bochanegra and the old families created in their high ateliers, reliving the dusty memories carved on ruined walls deep in the heart of Khalt. The old families created; the nomads’ gods walked. The dead walked.

  Out in the garden, Livvy had recovered her composure enough not to display the slightest sign of unrest to the rest of her family.

  ‘You spoke to Salyon?’ her mother asked me. ‘He remembers you, of course. We could never repay what your mother did for him.’

  ‘Yes, we met,’ I said. ‘He seems to be in good health now.’

  The Tricante matriarch frowned. ‘Yes, but he is an outsider now. Very strange. Sometimes, I feel he lives in a different world from ours.’ She smiled vaguely. ‘Still, we are thankful he survived his illness.’

  Liviana pressed my hand briefly, and pushed me into a seat. She attempted to restore the atmosphere of our earlier sojourn in the garden, but no amount of frivolous chattering and cavorting could deceive me now. I had an inkling there was a razor-sharp intellect, a shrewd individual cocooned within the fluff of Livvy’s persona. There was another side to Sacramante, something of which I’d caught an echo as a girl, something that intrigued and seduced the unwary. Liviana was an initiate of these mysteries, but I knew I’d never learn its secrets from her.

  I was anxious to get back to The Temple Gate and talk to Keea. I wanted to make arrangements for him to take me to the libraries as soon as possible. However, despite my sense of urgency, the company of the Tricantes was intoxicating. They fed me with exquisite viands and then dragged me back into the twilit garden, where perfumed torches illumined the autumn evening, and begged me for soulscaping tales. I love telling stories, so I was hopelessly seduced. Salyon hovered like a spectre at the back of the family group; I could feel his attention and knew he wished to speak to me alone. It was a sentiment I reciprocated, but I doubted whether Liviana would allow me to speak to her brother in private.

  By the time the Tricante parents got to their feet and sent one of their servants to prepare the family carriage to take me back to my lodgings, it was well past midnight. I had had no opportunity to speak to Salyon and several times made a point of mentioning where I was staying, in the hope he’d pick up the hint. Liviana wanted to make plans for us to meet up one evening, and assured me she could find me some work should I need it. Now, I wasn’t sure I’d be staying in Sacramante long enough for that, but thanked her warmly and promised to call at her home over the next couple of days.

  ‘I will give you precisely two days,’ she said, ‘and if you haven�
�t turned up by then, I shall send my carriage to The Temple Gate to kidnap you.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ I said, kissing her cheek briefly.

  ‘Remember what we talked about,’ she whispered in my ear, returning the kiss.

  ‘You too,’ I said.

  The Temple Gate was quiet when I returned, which was unusual for an inn in Sacramante at that hour. I did not expect Keea to be in the building, because I was convinced he was more familiar with Sacramante and its residents than he led me to believe. On the way back to the inn, I had considered the possibility that Keea himself might have some connection with the artisans. It would certainly explain how whoever was following me was aware of my every move. He was a difficult creature to assess in many ways. Physically, he did not appear as fey as the artisans I had seen at close quarters (and that had been a long time ago), but there was definitely something about him that hinted of difference. Maybe that was contrived. Still, if he was in league with the artisans, he might be a threat to me. How could I determine his position? I’d learned that honesty was the last thing to expect from him. Perhaps I should face him out with what I knew and observe his reaction.

  The innkeeper’s daughter, Terissa, was sitting behind the registration counter looking bored. I went over to chat to her for a few minutes before going upstairs. She looked up and smiled when she saw me, and then, with a furtive glance to either side, beckoned me closer. ‘Rayojini, listen,’ she hissed in a theatrical whisper. ‘There is a visitor for you - in the salon. They’ve been waiting for hours.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘No name... but...’ She glanced into the salon, which was lit only by the fire burning in the huge hearth. ‘I felt I recognised them. I have tried to keep them here, like you asked me. I have primed them with brandy!’

  I gripped her hand in excitement. ‘Well done, Terissa!’ I said. ‘Is it the same woman?’

  ‘No, a man this time.’

  A man? That was different.

  Terissa pulled my hand to bring my ear close to her mouth. I could smell the clove freshness of her breath. ‘It is an artisan, Rayojini, I am sure of it.’ Her eyes were bright with excitement. She was clearly impressed by my recent train of august visitors.

  ‘Then let’s hope his patience is enduring,’ I whispered back and patted her cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  I advanced cautiously towards the salon, nervous that my discovery would be the same as before: nothing but an empty seat, a mocking coin. However, my anxiety was unfounded, because there was definitely a shadowy figure seated in a wide, high-backed chair next to the fire. It was turning a glass in its hands; long, pale hands. I could see little else, other than the shape, but for a few seconds, my heart leapt in hope. Beth. Beth.

  ‘Good evening!’ I said loudly, marching over to the fire. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  My visitor raised his face and, for a moment, I was quite literally stunned, although it was not Beth Metatronim. He was radiant; eyes so dark in the dim light they looked like the purple-black of death lilies. His face was smooth, the skin taut over sculpted bones, his lips as fine as if painted by the most delicate of brush-strokes. An abundance of curling reddish-black hair fell over his loose white shirt, catching the ruby tints of the dull flames in the hearth. A cloak was draped carelessly over the back of the chair. I suddenly remembered where and who I was and closed my lolling mouth. My visitor smiled and put down his glass in the hearth.

  ‘Mistress Rayojini?’ He spoke to me in Tappish. Just a short phrase, and most of that my name, yet the accent was perfect, the inflection precise.

  ‘That is me,’ I replied. ‘And who do I have the honour of addressing?’

  He stood up and bowed formally, switching to the Bochanegran tongue. ‘I am Avirzah’e Tartaruchi.’

  The name was instantly reinforced by information from my memory. I remembered the milling crowd, a youthful Liviana pushing her way to the front of it, an arrogant male beauty courting praise. So long ago; a moment past.

  ‘Ah, the playwright!’ I said. But surely, that was impossible. This man was so young. If he had written the play I had seen with the Tricantes all those years ago, he must have been an infant prodigy, and the haughty Tartaruchi who’d wooed his adoring audience after the performance had been no child. This would have to be a relative, perhaps the son.

  He smiled more widely. ‘You are familiar with my work?’

  I shrugged, aware of how I was slipping into a kind of reverent awe for this man; seduced by his beauty, his candid smile. Years ago, I had despised that tendency in the Sacramantans. I tried to inject a reserved stiffness into my voice. ‘Well, I did think so, but now I can see that isn’t possible. A long time ago, a friend of mine took me to see a play at the Coliseum here. Of course, it could not have been one of yours. You are...’ I did not want to sound too rude. ‘Well, it was, as I said, a long time ago.’

  He did not pursue the topic.

  ‘So, might I ask why you wanted to see me?’

  He pulled a rueful face. ‘Forgive me. It must seem so... clandestine, me turning up here in the middle of the night.’

  By Sacramantan standards, this was hardly the middle of the night but more like early evening. He obviously expected me to be unfamiliar with city customs.

  ‘Is there somewhere more private we could talk perhaps?’ he asked.

  ‘Forgive me, Avirzah’e Tartaruchi, but in the light of recent events in my life, I am loath to put myself in a private situation with anyone I don’t know - however respectable they are. Can we not talk here?’

  He looked mournful. ‘Do you think I mean to harm you?’

  ‘May I ask you a rather forthright question in return before I answer that? Have you, or any of your colleagues, been following me recently?’

  He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, very slowly; a hopelessly sensual gesture. ‘What reason would I have to do that?’

  I pressed my fingers against my eyes and then gestured with them emphatically. ‘Look, one of us is going to have to answer sometime. Please, indulge me and give me a straight reply.’

  He sat down again, his hands languidly trailing over the arms of the chair, putting his head on one side quizzically and fixing me with a powerfully lovely stare. ‘I have not met you before, Rayojini. Have not seen you before. I admit to having heard of you, however.’

  I exhaled noisily and sat down in a chair beside him, pulling it closer to the fire. ‘Good, good. Thank you. The answer to your first question is that I do not exactly expect you to harm me, but it could be a possibility. Therefore, I would like to avoid circumstances where such a possibility could be realised. The answer to your second question, as to why you should want to harm me anyway, I rather hope you can tell me yourself. Why are the artisans, or perhaps one artisan, interested in me? I’m finding it increasingly annoying that the reason for this has not been revealed to me. The games are entertaining, I suppose, but what is the point of them?’

  He opened his arms, the hands uncurling like buds into pale flowers. ‘The artisans tend to work in metaphor. We create continually and sometimes our meaning escapes the... no, I can’t call you unenlightened.’ He curled up again and leaned towards me confidentially. ‘I really would rather speak to you alone.’

  ‘We are alone.’

  ‘This is a public place. You have nothing to fear from me; you are perfectly safe. I have important information for you. It does concern your welfare, yes, but the threat is not from my direction.’

  I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘You cannot expect me to believe you are that concerned for my safety - a stranger. What is all this to you?’

  He steepled his fingers and tapped his lips. ‘Sorry, I will not speak aloud here.’

  I sighed, hoping I wasn’t going to regret this. ‘Very well; is my room private enough?’

  ‘It should be adequate.’

  Accompanied by the frank and open-mouthed stare of Terissa, I led Avirzah’e Tartaruchi upstairs.

&
nbsp; In my room, he closed the windows and twitched the drapes across them. I watched his security precautions with something akin to amusement, but it also discomforted me a little. Had it been foolish to let him convince me to bring him up here? He sat down in a chair against the curtains and I sat on the bed, keeping a safe distance between us.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘I can call for some wine, if you like.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I am adequately refreshed.’

  ‘So, what is your information, then?’

  ‘Rayojini, I will speak plainly,’ he said. ‘The most sensible information I can impart is to urge you, in the strongest terms, to return immediately to Taparak.’

  ‘Mmm. Why?’

  ‘For your well-being.’

  ‘I see. That is most considerate of you. What if I ignore your advice?’

  He stared at me for a moment. ‘You seek to throw red meat to the lion, don’t you? You are trying to provoke me. How brave you are and yet so ignorant. You do not understand. I cannot, dare not, harm you.’

  ‘I am relieved. Who are the artisans, Avirzah’e Tartaruchi? Am I right in thinking their bloodlines are rooted in the Strangeling?’

  He smiled, a little taken aback by my remark. ‘You have been busy!’

  ‘Not really. Information just seems to fall in my path. It’s very strange. Well?’

  ‘I really think you should strain your inquiries of unpalatable lumps, Mistress! I am not prepared to discuss the history of my people with you.’

  I forced a laugh. ‘This all sounds very intriguing! First you tell me you have information for me, now you’re telling me to leave the city and keep my mouth shut...’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Let’s just get back to basics for a moment,’ I said. ‘How did you know I was staying here? Did the Tricantes contact you?’ Perhaps Livvy had arranged an interview with an artisan for me after all, but not in quite the manner I had envisaged.

  Avirzah’e laughed quietly. He was not at all amused. ‘Rayojini, for someone who knows this city as well as I do, it is a simple procedure to discover where a nosy soulscaper is staying.’