“Oh, dear,” said Shuthmili. “I didn’t think—I don’t have any money. I don’t usually—I mean, I’m not usually the one buying things.”
“They don’t pay you?” said Csorwe. She wasn’t sure how Shuthmili’s relationship with the Church of Qarsazh worked, but Qarsazh was famously wealthy, and it seemed unjust for Shuthmili not to benefit.
“Well, I’m paid an allowance,” said Shuthmili. “I mean, my clothes and books and things are issued by the Church, so there isn’t much I’d ever spend it on.”
“All right,” said Csorwe, not very comforted. “Don’t worry. I can cover it.”
Csorwe had plenty saved—Sethennai paid well and Csorwe’s vices weren’t expensive—but another problem occurred.
“Have you travelled alone before?” she said. “Will you be all right?”
“It can’t be all that hard. People manage it every day,” said Shuthmili, then added, as if surfacing after many hours underwater: “I don’t think I’ve ever actually thanked you properly. For what you’ve done for me.”
Csorwe felt a brief unsought glow of pleasure and gratitude. It was strange to be grateful for being thanked, but she was, perhaps because it happened so rarely. Either way, she snuffed it out as quickly as she could. “Forget about it,” she said. “It was an accident, really.”
“Oh, yes,” said Shuthmili dreamily. “One of those accidents I have all the time, where I accidentally pull someone out of a burning building. It was kind of you.”
What could she say? It hadn’t been kindness that had driven her, back in the belly of the Hollow Monument. It hadn’t really been conscious. A momentary lapse in judgment, which all her training hadn’t prevented.
“It was nothing,” said Csorwe. It seemed very cruel to say It was a mistake, but Shuthmili seemed to catch the implication anyway.
“Well. I am still grateful that you didn’t leave me,” she said. She withdrew into herself, leaving her face as a mask, the features set.
“I’ll get you home,” said Csorwe, feeling she had gone about this conversation all wrong. “You’ll be back to Qarsazh and you can forget about all this.”
Once she had got Shuthmili safely onto a ship, she could turn round and take stock of the smoking ruins of her own life. Something to look forward to.
She left Shuthmili to sleep and returned to her own room. She was too tired to do more than splash her face with water, but once she was in bed, her thoughts wheeled like seagulls above a midden, circling and circling around the fact of her failure. After everything. After all that she had done. It was a bitter draught to sip.
Somebody else in her position might offer their services elsewhere. Belthandros Sethennai had no equal, in Tlaanthothe or anywhere else, but every city had its intrigues. They were mad for security in Qarsazh. Every clan-liege in Oshaar needed a bodyguard, or she could go back to Grey Hook and work on the caravans. There were kings and chieftains in every part of the Maze who needed someone to kill, steal, and observe with discretion.
But then, anyone who took her on would value her more for Sethennai’s secrets than for anything else she had to offer, and she couldn’t stomach that. Anyway, it wasn’t so simple. She couldn’t just leave. She was his to put aside, and that was a fact she couldn’t unmake.
She lay awake, miserable, absently listening for footsteps and voices. The night staff went about their regular watches. Sometime between midnight and the small hours, she heard the latch of Tal Charossa’s door, and the creak of floorboards outside her room.
It was hard to say whether it was vindictiveness or concern or pure curiosity that drove her after him.
There was a note on the floor just outside her room, dropped in passing:
No hard feelings.
Jokes! Hope you drown in a sewer.
Tal Charossa
She rolled her eyes and followed him, silently, up to the hangar where the small ships hung like bats.
She watched from the shadows as he made ready one of the floatpine barges, stowing provisions and following them with a bundle of clothes.
“Leaving?” said Csorwe, as he turned with a hatchet to cut the final rope holding the barge in its berth.
Tal swore. All the sharp lines of his face twisted with anger and relaxed to sullenness in a moment. “I have work to do.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve been relieved of our duties.”
Tal’s grin and the blade of the hatchet reflected his lantern in twin flashes of malice. “Well, don’t let me tell you otherwise.”
“You’re going after the Reliquary,” she said, understanding at last.
“Maybe the cosmos has a plan for Talasseres Charossa beyond serving Belthandros as all-purpose errand boy.” He shrugged, kicking the barge’s alchemical engine to life. “Or maybe not.”
Csorwe stepped forward reflexively, as though there was anything she could do to stop him.
Tal laughed, a sharp, discordant sound like a string breaking, and he cut the line. “This is a test,” he said. “And I’m going to pass. Whatever you do now, you know I’ll beat you there.”
The barge slipped from its berth and away into the night: a narrow retreating shape, and then just the point of the lantern, winking and vanishing against the glittering sky.
At first Csorwe thought of jumping into another barge and chasing him. There were several in the hangar. He didn’t have much of a lead—she could overtake him easily—and for all his talk, he probably didn’t have much of a plan either.
Then she imagined Shuthmili, waking up the next morning, bewildered and alone in a foreign city. Shuthmili could awaken a sleeping god, she could turn back the dead, and she had apparently taught herself how to fly a cutter just by watching other people do it, but Malkhaya and Aritsa would have spoon-fed her every meal if they’d been given the chance, and apparently she wasn’t used to handling money. It wasn’t fair to pull someone out of a horde of revenants and immediately leave her to fend for herself on public transport. Csorwe had to stay and help her get home.
14
Reflection in Tranquillity
“YOU SURE YOU WANT to go back to Qarsazh?” asked Csorwe, the next morning over breakfast.
She had taken Shuthmili to Kethaalo’s restaurant, one of the few places in Tlaanthothe that Csorwe truly appreciated. The place was small, comfortable, and quiet, and not overrun with students, especially at this time of day, when most of them would be attending classes or sleeping off their hangovers. Csorwe both wanted to stay out of Sethennai’s way while he cooled down and had hopes that a proper meal might shake loose a better idea than putting Shuthmili on a mailship back to Qarsazh alone.
Shuthmili looked at her as though she had pulled a bug out of her hair and eaten it.
Csorwe shrugged. “I was just thinking. You could go anywhere from here, if you wanted.”
“No,” said Shuthmili, after a pause. “There isn’t anywhere else for me. The Church is my home, and if they don’t want me in the Quincuriate anymore, then, well, that’s not what the gods intended for me.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” said Csorwe. “None of this was your fault. And you don’t look like the dragon goddess is about to burst out of your chest or anything.”
“I hope not,” said Shuthmili. “But it’s not enough just to be good. The Quincuriate is incorruptible. If they think I’m compromised, because of what happened, then, well. If that’s what they decide then it isn’t meant to be.” It was painful to see how hard she was trying to put a brave face on it, but Csorwe was grateful for the effort. At this point they needed the bravest faces they could get. “The main thing is to get back to Qarsazh as soon as I can, so they know I did the best I could.”
The waiter came to the table with ironwort tea and plates of sweetmeats. Shuthmili went through a plateful of pistachio fingers like a brand-new agricultural machine.
“You must have been starving,” said Csorwe, guilty all over again for her shortcomings as a host. She hadn’t even managed to
find Shuthmili clean clothes that fit: she was still wearing the nightshirt, though now with leggings and a jacket for modesty.
“Sort of,” said Shuthmili. She chewed and swallowed hastily. “It’s not always this bad.”
Csorwe raised an eyebrow and ordered more food.
“It’s just magic. This is the usual problem, for a mortal body channelling divine power. Magic eats away at you. It breaks down your body, saps your tissues. If you’re not very good and you push too hard, it does it all at once and you end up, you know, semi-liquid.”
“Oh,” said Csorwe, looking down at a smear of apricot preserve on her half-eaten pastry. Sethennai had talked about this before, but it had always seemed so academic for him.
Shuthmili paused to inhale an almond bun. “Luckily I am very good. But I have to repair myself. It takes up a lot of energy so I’m more or less starving all the time. Do you know whether they have coffee here?”
“Er,” said Csorwe. “I’ll ask. Doesn’t repairing yourself use the power as well?”
“It definitely does,” said Shuthmili, brightly. “But you can balance it, if you’re careful. I’ve been using magic since I was a baby and if I stop now my skeleton will crumble like wet chalk. You can see it’s a bit of a bind—are you going to eat that?”
Shuthmili sounded perfectly cheerful about it. Csorwe wondered again whether Sethennai had the same problem. Was this what he meant about desire outstripping reality?
“Looking forward to getting home?” said Csorwe, not at all eager to think about Shuthmili’s bones dissolving.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Shuthmili. “You don’t have to worry about me, Csorwe.” She smiled, covering her mouth with her hand. She was almost expressive this morning. Her smiles came far more readily than before. Csorwe put it down to the effect of a good night’s sleep.
“I guess if you’ve survived this long without exploding yourself, maybe your gods are watching out for you,” said Csorwe. All the same, she was glad she had decided to escort Shuthmili in person.
They left Kethaalo’s and went back up to the palace to collect Shuthmili’s things, such as they were.
It was almost over, Csorwe thought. Soon it would be time to get back to work. The idea made her very tired. It would be nice to rest, for once, just to walk in one of the parks or sit outside one of the teashops in the Corn Market.
She didn’t know Tlaanthothe as well as she could. For the past five years she had been busy enough that she had probably spent more time in refuelling stations than inside the city. She didn’t have friends here, never mind anything more than that. Taymiri had married her lieutenant and left town after a few years dangling Csorwe by a thread. After that Csorwe had decided it was safer and more comfortable not to bother.
Sethennai’s city was a paradise, but Csorwe had never quite loved it the way he did. She never felt at home here, not in the same way that she had in the warrens of Grey Hook. But then, in Grey Hook she had been an anonymous child, free to wander. Here in Tlaanthothe she was the Chancellor’s sword-hand, and there was no escape from being recognised.
When they arrived back at the palace, Sethennai was occupying the throne room. Csorwe could hear him from the hall, talking to someone. She couldn’t make out the words, but from the pitch and tone of the rumble she gathered that he was half amused, half annoyed, and tilting more toward annoyance the longer this person continued to bother him.
“Come on,” she muttered to Shuthmili. “We’ll go ’round the back way.” Sneaking around like this made her feel both guilty and foolish, but she had no desire to trouble Sethennai in this mood. If they were lucky, he would have forgotten that she and Tal had even brought a guest back with them. After sleeping on it last night, she reckoned that going to Sethennai for help getting Shuthmili back was out of the question. He was likely to work out what had happened, that Shuthmili was the reason Csorwe had failed to claim the Reliquary, and it would reawaken all his anger and disappointment from the night before. And it would be no good for Shuthmili to learn what Csorwe had given up for her. Neither of them needed that kind of obligation. Better if she could quietly get Shuthmili away without anyone knowing more than they needed to.
As they crept toward the back stairs, they heard a clear voice from the throne room.
“Belthandros, I have been as patient as I can. I do understand this is an unexpected request. But I have reason to believe that my niece returned to the city with your agents, and in light of our long acquaintance—”
It was a woman’s voice, speaking Qarsazhi, with the calm evenness of one who expects to be obeyed.
Shuthmili flinched back. “That’s my aunt, Zhiyouri,” she said, barely moving her lips. “She’s a High Inquisitor. She must have come to get me back.” Her expression tightened, returning to correct rigidity.
This was good news. Csorwe told herself the only reason she felt as if they’d been caught stealing from the kitchens was because she’d insisted on this bit of childish subterfuge in the first place.
“I have heard no such thing from my ‘agents,’ as you put it,” Sethennai was saying. Either he had really forgotten, or he was being obstructive. Csorwe could believe either.
“What should we do?” said Csorwe. The answer was obvious, but she found herself sorry to be letting Shuthmili go so soon.
“We’d better not keep them in suspense, I suppose,” said Shuthmili, turning toward the door.
“The Chancellor is in a private meeting,” said the footman outside the throne room.
Csorwe ignored him, pushing through the double doors.
“Csorwe, what on earth—” said Sethennai, too surprised to be angry at first. He was sitting on his throne, for once, so he must have wanted to intimidate his visitor, old acquaintance or not.
The visitor—Shuthmili’s aunt—was a middle-aged Qarsazhi woman in a dark uniform. She looked as though she had been cut out carefully with scissors. Her hair was the colour of polished metal, worn in a single braid pinned tightly to the back of her head.
“Shuthmili?” said this woman.
“High Inquisitor. Good morning,” said Shuthmili, stepping out from behind Csorwe, and approaching with far more confidence than Csorwe was able to muster herself.
Sethennai sat back on his throne and gave Csorwe a piercing look. His ears were almost horizontal with annoyance, and the look said, I certainly hope there’s a rational explanation for this.
A hurried debriefing followed. Shuthmili’s story was that Csorwe had rescued her from the Precursor world and had been trying to help her get home. It took Csorwe a second to recall that this was, in fact, the truth.
“I see,” said the Inquisitor. “I am glad to see you well.”
“Listen,” said Shuthmili. “I realise I may have been compromised. When we get home I can do anything that is required for purification. But Inquisitor, I promise—if that awful woman hadn’t got hold of Malkhaya, I never would have—”
“I think this is a conversation that can await our return to Tranquillity,” said Zhiyouri. Csorwe felt a prickle of annoyance on Shuthmili’s behalf, but Shuthmili didn’t seem to notice the dismissal.
“Do you mean you brought your ship all this way?” said Shuthmili. She sounded both shocked and rather touched.
“Everyone wants you to be safe,” said Zhiyouri. “Especially now.”
Shuthmili watched her, expectant.
“Perhaps this too ought to wait until we are on the ship,” said Zhiyouri. She glanced pointedly at Csorwe and Sethennai, then seemed to decide they didn’t matter. “There is a new vacancy within the Quincuriate.”
“And they’re thinking of me?” said Shuthmili. Her eyes brightened, and then her whole body seemed to light up with pride and readiness. “They’re still thinking of me?”
“Of course,” said Zhiyouri. “Once you have been cleared of corruption, but I don’t imagine that will take so very long. We will assess you on the frigate on our way back to Qaradoun. You should be rea
dy to begin the tether as soon as we reach the Traitor’s Grave.”
“But what if I don’t pass?” said Shuthmili.
“I would not worry so very much about that,” said Zhiyouri, with a pleasant smile. “It is a long journey and Tranquillity is ready to depart as soon as you are. Let us get you home, shall we?”
Shuthmili nodded, speechless with what Csorwe took to be relief.
“I’ll go and collect my things, Inquisitor,” said Shuthmili.
“Certainly,” said Zhiyouri. “I will be waiting in the shuttle-barge.”
Csorwe had meant to follow Shuthmili out, if only to make sure she found her way back to the guest room, but Sethennai raised a hand.
Once the other two were gone, he rose from his throne and stretched. “You’ve been busy.”
“I meant to explain it all last night,” said Csorwe.
“I know Qanwa Zhiyouri. She is less actively stupid than most Inquisitors,” said Sethennai. “But I don’t like unexpected visitors any more than I like any other kind of surprise. Don’t make a habit of this, Csorwe.”
“No, sir,” she said.
He had nothing more to say. Csorwe wondered whether she should ask for work to do, or tell him that Tal had run away, or anything to prolong the conversation and make her feel more normal, but in the end she just left.
She was probably meant to spend the rest of the day in her quarters feeling ashamed of herself, but as she climbed the stairs she found her thoughts returning to Shuthmili. It ought to have been a relief to get the Adept off her hands. As nice as it had been to have a distraction from her immediate problems, she needed to face them eventually. And she couldn’t possibly expect her to stay any longer. Shuthmili wanted to go home to Qarsazh, and Qarsazh wanted her back.
Nevertheless, something bothered her.
At first she’d thought the Qarsazhi treated Shuthmili like a child. She realised now that wasn’t quite right. Outside the House of Silence, most people raised their children in the hope and expectation that they would grow up into adults. Even the knowledge that Shuthmili could be dangerous didn’t explain all Malkhaya’s sad looks, all Aritsa’s solicitous care in bringing her drinks and blankets. They had treated Shuthmili as if she were dying.
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