by J F Rivkin
Nyctasia, who spent her every spare moment engrossed in her books, said only,
“You’re a woman of deeds, to be sure. But learning never goes to waste, they say.”
“Maybe not. After all, Steifann was impressed that I could read.”
“As was I.”
Corson suddenly laughed. “Some learning is wasted, though. You’d agree if you’d ever seen ’Malkin with sword in hand. He wanted me to make a swordsman of him, but he could sooner have made a scholar of me. I learned my letters readily enough, but he didn’t last long at his lessons.”
Nyctasia had suffered through several such lessons herself. “If you dealt with him as you do with me, it’s small wonder he chose to forego your society.”
“Oh, ’Malkin was much worse at it than you are, so he had a harder time of it.
You’re not such a bad pupil. You’re learning.”
“That’s high praise from you. Still, anyone who so much as survives an hour’s instruction at your hands is to be congratulated.”
“Huh-I’m gentle with you, I’ll have you know. If I handled you the way we trained recruits in the army-”
“If you did, I’d have your head. So your friend never became powerful and important, I take it?”
“Not he. He’s still nothing but grand talk. He came here on foot to look for work, like all the others of his ilk you’ve got swarming over the palace. I told him I could introduce him to you, but he didn’t believe a word of it. He thought I was still the common ruffian who wasn’t good enough for him before, but he knows better now!” Corson grinned triumphantly. “I’ve had a full measure of vengeance on that one at last!”
“Vengeance? What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. Why don’t you send for him, since you take such an interest in the fellow? I said I’d arrange an audience with you, after all.”
’Malkin had eaten very little of his dinner. He had slipped out of the dining hall as soon as he could possibly do so without calling attention to himself, in hopes of reaching his lodgings and gathering his few possessions before his absence was noticed. There was nothing to be gained by staying in the city now, curse the luck! He had not relished the prospect of spending the night in the open, but a night in the pillory was even less inviting. Better to risk the dangers of the road than the wrath of the Rhaicime. If only he’d known who she was, he could have turned that chance meeting to advantage, and instead he’d ruined his prospects for preferment at court and offended the ruler of the city!
But it was no use thinking of that now-the only thing to do was to get away from the palace before it was too late, and try to sneak out of Rhostshyl under cover of darkness.
But it was already too late.
As he hurriedly left his quarters, carrying his cloak and satchel, he was stopped just outside the door by one of the palace guard, who demanded,
“Desmalkin brenn Cerrogh?” ’Malkin retreated a few paces, but there was another guard at his back, blocking the corridor behind him.
“Er… no,” said ’Malkin. “He was here, but he’s gone to dinner. Excuse me, if you will.” He tried to edge past, but suddenly a sword was in his way, the point only inches from his stomach.
“And where are you off to in such a rush, eh?”
“Let me pass! I want to get a meal too, and I’m late already,” ’Malkin protested. “You’ve no call to interfere with me.”
“No need for games,” said the other sentry, sounding amused. “This is the one, Her Ladyship pointed him out to me herself.”
“I assure you this is quite unnecessary,” ’Malkin said, swearing. “It’s all a mistake. I’m a friend of the Lady Corisonde-”
At this, both guards broke into laughter. “A friend of hers, are you?” one of them said. “Who isn’t a friend of hers? Come along, we’ve orders for your arrest, and that’s all we need to know. We don’t care who your friends are, or who your family are either.”
She held ’Malkin at swordpoint while the other pulled his arms behind his back and fastened his wrists with manacles. He was then led to a small cell in the dungeons beneath the palace, where he had been waiting ever since, expecting the worst. All the while that Corson had been relating her reminiscences to Nyctasia, ’Malkin had been pacing his cell in a grim silence broken only by the conversation of the warders outside the barred door.
“What did that one do to land himself in so much trouble?”
“Insulted the Rhaicime, nothing less, the rutting fool. I’ve never seen her in such a rage.” He recounted ’Malkin’s crime, and his cohort gave a whistle of amazement.
“He must be crazed, poor wretch. He’ll lose a hand for that, I shouldn’t wonder.”
By the time Nyctasia sent for him, ’Malkin was in such a state that it was almost a relief to be summoned to his doom.
If Nyctasia thought it strange that Corson’s friend arrived escorted by armed guards, instead of by a page, she found it stranger still when he threw himself at her feet, abjectly imploring her pardon and declaring his innocence of any intention of offending her. No wonder Corson had taken him for a madman at their first meeting-there seemed to be no telling what the man would do next.
Fortunately for her composure, if not for ’Malkin’s, his entreaties were cut short by Greymantle, who naturally assumed that anyone who was on the floor was there to make friends with him. He came over to ’Malkin, wagging his tail, and began to lick his face good-naturedly, interrupting the flow of his eloquence, and leaving him even more disconcerted than before.
Corson was delighted beyond measure at the success of her prank, and she dismissed her comrades from the palace garrison with hearty thanks for their help in carrying out the deception. “Just don’t forget the ale you owe us,” one reminded her in parting.
“A lady always pays her debts,” said Corson, and fell back onto the couch, overcome with laughter. She prodded ’Malkin with one foot, and ordered, “Get up, you sniveling weasel. That’ll teach you not to doubt the word of a Desthene.”
She was laughing too hard to go on, and it was left to Nyctasia to assure
’Malkin that he had been arrested without her knowledge, and entirely at Corson’s instigation. But even Nyctasia, despite her good breeding, found it difficult to conceal her amusement at her guest’s discomfiture. ’Malkin rose to his feet unsteadily and looked around in dismay, unable to think of a thing to say. Never had he felt so thoroughly humiliated.
Contrite, Nyctasia tried to put him at his case. “Do sit down, sir-don’t mind the hound, he means no harm. Pray take some wine, if Corson has left any.”
“I haven’t,” Corson said cheerfully.
“Then send for more, woman. I’m sure our guest could do with some, after the spiteful trick you’ve played him! Really, Corson, such buffoonery is beneath the dignity of a lady.”
Corson was completely unrepentant. “I don’t care,” she said, between gasps of hilarity. “He deserved it. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before he drops someone’s acquaintance.”
Nyctasia shook her head. “It’s quite useless to remonstrate with her, as you no doubt know. She’s perfectly incorrigible.”
“I am not. What does that mean?”
“It means,” ’Malkin said furiously, “that you can’t be taught to behave decently by any means whatsoever!” He would dearly have liked to tell Corson exactly what he thought of her, but he hesitated to use such uncouth language before the Rhaicime.
“Now you mustn’t think yourself too ill-used,” said Nyctasia. “That one is capable of much worse. She tried to sell me once, at the Harvest Fair in Osela.”
“Yet you made her a Desthene?” demanded ’Malkin, looking from one woman to the other in bewilderment. Both were laughing now.
“It was rash of me, true. Perhaps I should have her executed now and have done with it, if only for her intolerable impertinence. Do you favor hanging or beheading?”
“Flaying and disemboweling,” ’Malkin said promptly,
following Nyctasia’s lead like a true courtier. “Boiling in oil. Drawing and quartering. I’d be honored to carry out the sentence myself.”
“Alas, such penalties are forbidden by law in Rhostshyl, however deserving the culprit.”
“But as sole ruler of the Rhaicimate, Your Ladyship could declare an exception in this case,” ’Malkin urged. “Perhaps a pit of vipers
…?” he suggested.
“You’re a viper,” said Corson. “You should be thanking me, ’Malkin, for bringing you to the attention of the Rhaicime! If not for me, you’d have bided your turn with the rest of that rout of bookworms. You might never have come to Nyc’s notice. But I’ve told her what a fine scholar you are.”
“Indeed yes, Corson’s spoken very highly of your abilities,” Nyctasia said smoothly. “I understand that you taught her to read-a heroic task, I should imagine. Surely one who could accomplish that could teach anything to anyone.”
Then her manner suddenly grew serious. “I think of establishing a school here, for the youth of the city, and perhaps for those of neighboring municipalities as well. I shall need able teachers for such an undertaking, but in truth that is only a small part of my plans. I require scholars learned in every discipline to carry out the task at hand.” She gestured toward the books she’d been unpacking. “No doubt you’ve heard something of the lore-hoard of the Cymvelans, else you’d not be here.”
“I’ve heard a great deal of students’ talk, Rhaicime,” ’Malkin said eagerly.
“But I didn’t credit the half of it till I saw some of the books Corson was bringing here-and even then I was hard put to believe my own senses. The Lost Commentaries of Lhesandru, Hraestlind’s Elaborations.”
“Ah, the fabled Elaborations-do you know, I found them something of a disappointment. The expositions are of exceptional clarity, to be sure, but the material itself, in essence, can almost all be found in other sources.”
’Malkin looked shocked. “Why… I suppose that was to be expected. We are told that the text was a ’prentice effort, after all. But surely the book itself is of enormous historical significance, if it’s genuine. Its very existence lends conviction to much that the learned have dismissed as legendary-not only concerning Hraestlind herself, but the history of YuVoes and the Damiellid Dynasty, don’t you agree?”
Nyctasia smiled. ’Malkin had certainly passed the first test. “Oh, assuredly.
Scholars of the pre-imperial era will find it most illuminating. And a few of the paradigms are interesting in themselves. But as extraordinary as this discovery may be, I myself was even more gratified to find that all the known treatises of Rosander the Sangreot are in this collection, in full.”
“In full…?” said ’Malkin doubtfully. “You can’t mean The Manifestations of the Fourth Veil!”
Nyctasia reached for one of the books and passed it to him, without a word. A ribbon had been laid between the leaves to mark the place. “But this… this is in Tsathonic!” he exclaimed, gazing at the pages in disbelief. “Sweet vahn, generations of debate over the glosses-!” He fell silent, intent on studying the dense script.
Corson, exceedingly bored by the conversation, glanced at the book over his shoulder and gave a snort of contempt. “Dead languages!” she said. “We should have left these books in the crypt where we found them.” She finished ’Malkin’s wine and poured herself some more.
“Mind you, the accuracy of the transcription is far from reliable,” Nyctasia warned ’Malkin. “I question whether the scribe understood the nature of the work.” She joined ’Malkin and pointed out a particular phrase.
“Mar icoji,” he mused. “Yes, I see. Marico ji must have been intended. It’s likely that this copy was made in the north, to judge from the slant of the serifs. I daresay the scribe knew no Tsathonic at all. But however corrupt the text, it’s bound to resolve the major difficulties over the interpretation of the Fragments.”
Nyctasia agreed. She was quite satisfied with ’Malkin. Evidently he had not spent all his time swindling innkeepers and lying in prison with ignorant mercenaries. “I’ve sent copies of the first few pages to the Imperial University,” she said, “and some of the most renowned scholars of Liruvath are on their way here now, to consult the manuscript.”
“Asye’s eyes! I’d go from here to Liruvath just to hear no more of the thing!”
Corson declared.
“Indeed?” said ’Malkin. “If you start now, you could be there before winter.”
“I should have known better than to introduce the two of you. Everyone knows when two scholars get to talking you can’t put in a word to tell them the house is afire. When those others get here from Liruvath, all of Rhostshyl will be talked to a stupor.”
“Pay her no heed,” advised Nyctasia, who knew that Corson disliked being ignored much more than being reproached or reviled. “Have you noticed that the word given as ‘blind’ in the Fragments is vuhrtev, and not tsegre, as has always been assumed?”
“No! Is it?” said ’Malkin, deeply interested. “That will altogether alter the acceptation of several passages. Why, the First Fragment alone…”
Corson left them to it and went off to find more congenial company, slamming the door behind her.
’Malkin looked after her with dark disapproval. “That one will go too far one day,” he predicted grimly.
“She already has, any number of times, but there seems to be a charmed impunity about her. Was she any the less brazen when you first made her acquaintance?”
“Brazen! She was barely human, my lady. I thought myself fortunate to escape with my life on that occasion.”
“That would be when you met her in prison, would it not?”
“Er-yes-purely the result of a misunderstanding… and a magistrate with an unreasonable dislike of students.” At Nyctasia’s look of polite disbelief, he added, “Well, be that as it may, they’d no right to lock me up with a murderous madwoman. It was like being caged with a wild beast, I tell you. She raged around that cell cursing and howling and pounding the walls with her fists-I tried to stay out of her way, but there wasn’t room enough.”
“She did remark that it was rather crowded,” said Nyctasia, without mentioning that in Corson’s account it was ’Malkin who was the mad one. “I’ve never seen her quite like that. She must have been very drunk indeed.”
“She’d certainly been drinking, but that wasn’t all that ailed her. She was in a panic terror at being confined, out of her mind with fear-and fury. And she’d no one to take it out on until I came along. So there I was, half her size, defenseless, just a peaceable young scholar, you understand. I thought my last hour had come.” If the tale amused the Rhaicime, ’Malkin thought, he might as well make the most of it. “I cowered in a corner and hoped she’d let me be, but she came storming over and kicked me and shouted, ‘Talk to me, curse you, or I’ll beat you into butter!’”
“And that’s when you told her the Parable of the Drunkard?” said Nyctasia, laughing. So Corson had forced him to talk, had she?
“So I did-I’d forgotten. It did keep her calm for a bit, working out the meaning. But I was hard put to think up talk enough to satisfy her.” He wondered what else Corson had told Lady Nyctasia. Knowing Corson, it was unlikely that she’d been at all discreet. And Her Ladyship didn’t seem easily shocked, after all… “I was so desperate that I even made love to her at last, just to distract her from murdering me,” he continued. “And that was no pleasure, I assure you!”
“No?” said Nyctasia, who was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. “Of course, I shouldn’t dream of doubting your word, sir, but…”
“Well, she smelled, for one thing,” ’Malkin explained. “And she was utterly inexperienced, and exceedingly suspicious and hostile. The poor girl had never-”
“What, Corson! After her years in the army.”
“Oh, she’d been used by others, of course, but she’d never had a proper lover who took the trouble to please her, if Your Lady
ship takes my meaning. I had to teach her everything.”
“I see…! Still, you must have found some charm in her, if you took up with her after prison and taught her to read.”
“She did follow me about for a time, but I had to put a stop to that after I found respectable scribe’s work with Lord Dainor of Eilas. Corson was always in trouble with the authorities, and I was liable to lose my livelihood if I was taken for her confederate. I was sorry to part with her, in truth. She was an apt pupil-and not only at learning her letters.” His glance met Nyctasia’s, and both laughed.
“They do say that students make the best lovers,” Nyctasia murmured, as if to herself.
“I don’t wish to boast,” ’Malkin said demurely, “but Corson was quite devoted to me in those days. But my lord would have dismissed me at once if I’d brought a shadow of disgrace upon his household. Not all the nobility are as tolerant and liberal as Your Ladyship…”
His meaning was not lost on Nyctasia. “Oh, I daresay I can find work of some sort for such an exceptionally able teacher,” she said.
4
“those two will take to each other like flame to flax,” Corson thought, chuckling to herself. “They might have been meant for one another. He’ll have me to thank if he finds favor at court, that’s all!”
She was greatly looking forward to telling her friends at the Hare the story of her triumph over ’Malkin. As she rode along the coast road on her way back to Chiastelm, she was already polishing and improving the tale for their benefit.
Half the fun of the thing would be in the telling.
Corson had stayed in Rhostshyl for barely a fortnight, yet it seemed to her that she’d been away from Chiastelm for months-She wondered if it seemed that way to Steifann too. At the thought of him, she grinned broadly and broke into a verse of “The Host of the Hare.” Nyctasia had taught her a few new stanzas to plague Steifann with.
“Serving spirits to others
Does give one a thirst,
So he makes it his practice