by Steven Brust
“Who is there?” called His Majesty.
“Khaavren.”
“Ah, ah! My Captain of the Guard! Please come in, my dear Khaavren, for I desire nothing more than speech with you.”
“I am hardly surprised,” said Khaavren under his breath. He entered the room and bent his knee to the Emperor, saying, “Sire, I am here to report on the commission you have given me.”
“Yes, exactly. Did the matter go off well?”
“Entirely, Sire. Countess Bellor is now confined in the lorich Wing. Here, Sire, is the receipt I had of Guinn.”
The Emperor took the receipt, read it, and nodded. “So much the better,” he said. “Did she have aught to say?”
“Oh, Sire, she said one thing and another, as prisoners will on their way to prison.”
“Ah, she protested her innocence?”
“Precisely.”
“And claimed a conspiracy against her?”
“Exactly.”
“And even against me?”
“Just so.”
The Emperor smiled. “Well, you and I know of such things, do we not, Captain? Bellor was not the first to be arrested, nor shall she be the last.”
“Now we come to it,” thought Khaavren, but he only bowed to acknowledge His Majesty’s words.
“Well,” said His Majesty. “Is that all?”
“That is all, Sire.”
“Very well.”
“Sire?”
“I said, very well. If that is all, you may go, and I will see you in the morning.”
“I—”
“Yes?”
“There is nothing else, Sire?”
His Majesty frowned. “Something else? What do you mean?”
“Your Majesty has no other orders for me?”
“Why no, Captain. There are no other orders.”
Khaavren bit his lip, trying to keep the surprise from his features. “Nothing at all, Sire?”
“Why no. Is there something you expected?”
“That is to say … not in the least, Sire. I was simply making certain nothing had been overlooked.”
“Nothing of which I am aware.”
“Very well, Sire. I shall see Your Majesty in the morning.”
“Yes. Sleep well, Captain.”
“And may Your Majesty do the same.”
Khaavren made a courtesy, and left the Emperor’s chambers, puzzled. Not only had there been no order to arrest Aliera, but there was no trace of ill-humor on His Majesty’s countenance. Had he, Khaavren, been misinformed? He considered the sources of his information and decided this was unlikely. So what could it be? Had something else happened? Was some part of someone’s plan working, even now?
If so, there was one man who knew how to unravel such schemes, and there was no time to lose before finding him. Khaavren, without further delay, went back down to the main level of the Palace, out through the Silver Door, and so into the Painted Tunnel, which led to the Athyra Wing. Once there, he had three times to ask directions through the dark and twisted corridors of the Wing, until at last he emerged into a section of the third floor of the Palace, where a woman, seated on a plain, three-legged stool, guarded an entryway (or, at any rate, seemed to guard it, though she had no weapon) into what seemed an unlit corridor. Here Khaavren stopped and said, “Is this the Academy of Discretion?”
“It is, My Lord. May I be of service to you?”
“I hope so. I am looking for the Duke of Galstan.”
The woman, whose features could barely be seen beneath the hood, raised her eyebrows and said, “My Lord? You wish to see him at this hour?”
“I am Khaavren, Captain of the Imperial Guard, and I assure you that my business will not wait.”
The woman frowned and said, “Please have the kindness to wait here. I will inquire.”
“I will not move from this spot,” said Khaavren.
She disappeared back into the darkness of the hall. As her footsteps faded, it seemed to Khaavren that silence had descended on the entire Palace, as if there were no other living person within it. He shivered, though he was not cold.
Although the wait seemed long to Khaavren, it was, in fact, only five or ten minutes before she returned, appearing from the darkness as suddenly as she had vanished into it. She said, “He will be down directly, My Lord. If you wish, you may come with me to a place where you can sit while you await him.”
Khaavren looked into the gloomy corridor and said, “I will wait here.”
“As you wish.”
Khaavren passed several more minutes alone—we say alone because the woman, after seating herself on the stool where we and Khaavren first found her, fell silent and motionless, so that it seemed to Khaavren his only company was a statue, and a statue less lifelike than many of the sculptures that adorned the Hall of Ballads which had, earlier that evening, been the scene of the very events which so mystified him now. Eventually, however, he heard soft footsteps and Pel appeared in the same robes he had worn when he had paid his visit to Khaavren, only in this place the apparel seemed entirely congruous with the surroundings. Khaavren was able to see that the Yendi was smiling within his hood. Pel took Khaavren by the arm and escorted him some forty or fifty feet away from the dark corridor and out of earshot of the lady who stood guard.
“My old friend,” said Pel in a quiet voice.
“I’m sorry to have awakened you,” said Khaavren, also attempting to speak softly, though he was not certain why it mattered.
“Awakened me?” said Pel. “I was not sleeping—I was merely meditating, and that only lightly, so that your interruption, if it can be called such, brings me nothing but pleasure, especially if it affords me the opportunity to be of some service to you.”
In fact, Khaavren saw no trace of sleep in the Yendi’s veiled but alert eyes. “So much the better,” said Khaavren. “For I am, indeed, asking for your help.”
Pel nodded. “Then let us find a place where we can not only speak, but allow our voices free play, which, out of respect for those who are sleeping or meditating, we cannot do here.”
“If you wish,” said Khaavren, “you may come back to my house, which is at the same place you remember. Even better, Aerich and Tazendra are there, for I believe it was you who sent to them.”
“And they arrived?”
“In good time,” said Khaavren, laughing. “Such good time that—but I will tell you the entire affair when we are sitting down.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Pel. “But first, have you any errands about the Palace?”
“Why, yes, there are one or two matters I could attend to. Why do you ask?”
“Because I do not choose to go out in the world dressed as I am, so I would ask that you take care of your errands, and I will meet you in your offices, and you can escort me back to the house of which I retain such charming memories—though hang me if, at this moment, I can remember how to get there. Come, do you think my plan a good one?”
“I can think of none better,” said Khaavren. “I will await you in my offices in the Dragon Wing.”
“You will not need wait long,” said Pel.
“So much the better,” said Khaavren.
“Until then.”
“Until then.”
With these words they parted, Pel disappearing back into the gloom of the Academy of Discretion, Khaavren making his way as best he could into the Dragon Wing, and so to his offices, where he took care of certain paperwork that had accumulated during the day he was absent. When he was finished, he reviewed the log of the day’s events, where two items seemed to him especially interesting. The first, in Thack’s careless hand, was an account of orders received that afternoon to allow certain guardsmen belonging to the White Sash Battalion into the private chambers of Aliera e’Kieron in the Dragon Wing. It was, of course, the White Sash Battalion who would have conducted any searches; Khaavren would not allow his own guardsmen to soil themselves with such matters, nor had his battalion any busi
ness in the private areas of the Dragon Wing. In fact, there was some question whether Stonemover’s guards ought to have been there, but, as this was outside of Khaavren’s province, he gave it only passing thought.
The other entry that Khaavren noticed with interest, amusement, and a certain amount of annoyance, was that His Majesty’s altercation with Aliera was recorded in this way: “Adron’s daughter gained entrance to the person of His Majesty in the Hall of Ballads and had a conversation with him, after which the evening rounds continued.”
Khaavren determined to speak with Thack on the matter of the log, as well as speaking to those who had let Aliera past—although Khaavren had a certain amount of sympathy for anyone who was required to stop Adron’s daughter from going anywhere she wished to go.
It was while he was considering this matter that the night door-ward said, “The Duke of Galstan to see the Captain.”
“Ah!” said Khaavren. “Come, that wasn’t too long a wait. Bid His Venerance enter, by all means.”
The Duke entered, and Khaavren sprang to his feet. “Pel!” he cried.
“Himself,” said Pel, smiling and bowing.
Gone were his plain dark robes; instead he wore a bright white blouse with fine gold embroidery in wavy lines down the breast. The collar of this blouse was long, and pointed like arrows at the shoulders, which were covered by a sort of bright red vest with black embroidery. The vest, we should add, had also black borders, which formed twin lines down the front of his blouse, which worked to set off the gold embroidery we have already mentioned. At his waist was a wide leather sword-belt, with leather designs cunningly embedded, and in which reposed a pair of elegant grey gloves. Also from the belt there hung that sword with its slender blade and dueler’s grip that Khaavren remembered so well, and that had been put to such good use in days gone by. Below the waist, Pel wore loose-fitting breeches, and shiny black boots which came almost to his knees. There were small silver spurs on the boots.
“Pel!” cried Khaavren again. “Shards, but it is good to see you back again!”
“Ah, then you approve of my costume?” said Pel, smiling.
“Approve? I nearly think so!”
“Well then, there is no more to be said. Let us go to your home, where we will greet our old friends, and you will discuss with me this difficulty you have encountered and about which you do me the honor to consider my opinion to have some value.”
There being nothing to say to this, Khaavren rose and escorted Pel out of the Dragon Wing and so out onto the Street of the Dragon, where they walked arm in arm toward the Street of the Glass Cutters.
“It is a long time since I have made this walk,” said Pel. “Yet it is all coming back, and bringing with it the sweetness of youth.”
“Our friends will be pleased to see you, I think.”
“Oh, yes. And the good Srahi? Will she remember me?”
Khaavren laughed. “It is unlikely that she will remember her own name; she is thinking only of our old friend Mica.”
“Oh ho!” said Pel. “That is something I had not expected, though perhaps I should have.”
They arrived in due time at the house, where Srahi let them in, only to inform them that Aerich, Tazendra, and Mica and Fawnd—the latter now somewhat recovered from the exertions of his journey—had left with Sethra some two hours before, appearing to be in a great hurry, though she, Srahi, did not know why. The Teckla appeared to be put out by this—so much so that she scarcely greeted Pel at all, although she did consent to bring him, and Khaavren, a glass of wine as they seated themselves.
“So,” said Pel, “our reunion appears to be delayed. Nevertheless, you can tell me of this matter that has you puzzled, and I will, I assure you, put my entire mind to solving whatever the problem is.”
“I will do so,” said Khaavren. “Only I must first tell you that this is an Imperial matter, and if word of it reaches the wrong ears it may have the gravest consequences, both for me and for the Empire itself.”
“Ah, Khaavren, you wound me,” said Pel. “When have I ever been indiscreet?”
“Never, my friend,” said Khaavren. “And I do not accuse you; I merely wish to inform you of the gravity of the matter we are about to address.”
“Very well, I am informed.”
“Then I will begin.”
“I await you.”
With this, Khaavren launched into the details of the various assassinations, the arrest of Bellor, and the peculiar situation with regard to Aliera and His Majesty. Pel listened to the story with careful attention, but with no change of expression at any point during the recital. He made no comment, nor did he ask any questions until, at length, Khaavren had finished, at which point he said slowly, “On some of this, my dear friend, I will be able to enlighten you.”
“In that case, you have my complete attention.”
“In the first place,” said Pel, “you are correct—the Academy did, indeed, petition His Majesty for funds, and I think it was this that precipitated the arrest of Bellor. We did not wish to have Bellor arrested, or even removed from her office—rather, we hoped to secure the funds we need to continue our curriculum. You, who have dealings with His Majesty every day, must understand the importance of our role, and you must have perceived the changes in His Majesty’s character since Wellborn retired.”
Khaavren, not wishing to say too much to this point, contented himself with nodding.
“The matter of Aliera’s confrontation with His Majesty, and His Majesty’s peculiar lack of outrage, is, indeed, mystifying, and in two different ways.”
“Two ways?”
“Indeed. The one you have noticed—how could His Majesty permit himself to be so insulted without responding?”
“Well, and what is the second mystery?”
“The second mystery is: how did His Majesty know that there was an item of pre-Empire sorcery in Aliera’s chambers? Surely he would not have dared to order a search within the Dragon Wing if he hadn’t been entirely convinced—certain, in fact.”
“Well, that is true. And so?”
“And so, how did he come by this certainty?”
“Indeed,” said Khaavren. “I had not thought of that.”
“I do not know the solution to either of these mysteries, but I know where to begin looking.”
“And that is?”
“The Prime Minister.”
“Jurabin?”
“Exactly.”
“But, Pel, why Jurabin?”
Pel smiled. “Because it is a matter that involves the Lady Aliera, and word has reached my ears that Jurabin has conceived a fondness for her that is so strong it clouds his eyes—eyes none too clear, perhaps, to begin with.”
“Hmmm. I must consider what you say.”
“As to the conspiracy itself, well, I am forced to say that I agree with you, Khaavren. This has all the odor of a well-laid plan. Too well-laid, in fact, for I have no idea where to begin looking.”
“It is as I feared,” sighed Khaavren.
“Although,” Pel added suddenly, “now that I think of it, there are two places to try first.”
“Well, and tell me those two places, and I will begin looking there.”
“One is Jurabin, for the reasons I have already mentioned.”
“Yes, Jurabin is one.”
“The other is the Consort, because all intrigues involve the Consort, sooner or later.”
“That is true,” remarked Khaavren.
The Captain considered for a moment, then said, “Well, you have pointed out some directions in which I should look. I will begin investigating these matters in the morning.” He spoke, we should add, with more confidence than he felt—Khaavren knew how to interrogate prisoners, but he knew little about how to conduct an investigation of the type he was about to commence.
Pel said, “With which of them will you begin?”
“Which one? I have not considered this.”
“Well, let me know, because then I
will begin with the other.”
“How, you?” cried Khaavren.
“Indeed, and why not?”
“You are then, willing to assist me in the investigation?”
“More than willing, my friend, I am even eager; for it appears to be a serious matter, and I am anxious to do my part. Moreover,” he added with a smile, “our friendship is not one lightly forgotten. So, will you have me?”
“I can think of nothing that would make me happier,” said Khaavren, with perfect frankness.
“Well, then, with which of them do you wish to begin?”
“For my part,” said Khaavren, “I will begin with Jurabin, whom I know a little better than I know the Consort. This will leave you with Her Majesty, and I know that you have certain skills in dealing with ladies—skills that I have never acquired.”
Pel blushed slightly at this remark, but said, “Very well, then, it is agreed.” He frowned then and said, “I wonder where our friends are?”
“I don’t know,” said Khaavren. “I, too, am curious.” Then he sighed. “There is, I’m afraid, yet one more thing you ought to know.”
“Well? I am listening, my friend. I perceive by the expression on your countenance that it is a serious matter.”
“I’m afraid it is, dear Pel. Here, what do you make of this? It was in the bundle of correspondence that I was looking at while I was waiting for you in my office.” He took from his pocket several pieces of paper which had been folded together, all of which he handed to his friend.
“It is,” said Pel after studying it for a moment, “a poorly printed pamphlet, consisting of bad drawings of figures at court, gossip, and ill-executed rhyme.”
“Have you seen such things before?”
“Indeed yes, Khaavren. And I tell you you are wrong to be upset. When they mock—”
“You have not looked it over carefully, my friend.”
“Indeed? What is it that catches your eye?”
“Do you see the drawing on the inside page, on the far left?”
“Yes. It appears to be an attempt to draw His Majesty engaged in a function which, while he no doubt performs it every day, belittles the dignity of the Imperium to contemplate. Yet I fail to see—”