Irona 700

by Dave Duncan

  Then Knipry himself was striding across the hall to her, beaming and extending both hands in welcome. He brought no one else with him, which was a signal honor. He was still the jovial old gentleman with a loving smile and the virulence of a spitting cobra, and he could have passed for twenty years less than his tally of eighty-seven. He forbade her to kneel, ushered her to a table and two chairs set up in the great window. He poured wine for both of them.

  “Magnificent! Simply magnificent! Do you know that the price of a death fix was down to three dolphins? That’s less than the cost of having someone stabbed in the streets. Now the assassins are back in business, and all the Night Watch has to do is follow the bloodstains.” He raised his beaker. “To your past success and future glory!”

  She took a sip before protesting that she had done nothing much.

  “Yes, you did! The Office of Decency was obsessed with tracing the money back to the source. It was you who saw that whatever lurks in the Dread Lands was giving fixes away for free. The evidence you sent south broke the ring in Genodesa, and after some gentle persuasion, they led us to half a dozen other cities. Now tell me what really happened to your consort.”

  “I don’t know.” She told him what she did know, even mentioning the bones they had found on Svinhofdarhrauk. If all the blabbermouths and gossips in the Empire were listed in order, Knipry would be the last. She did not tell him of Vlyplatin’s madness or the mysterious messages that seemed to be written by his ghost, but she described his disappearance.

  Knipry stared at her for a long moment when she was done, and then took a swallow of his wine. “That frightens me more than anything I have heard yet: that evil could reach right in and steal a man away without trace, almost out of his lover’s arms.”

  “In some ways, I think he … I’m tempted to say he cooperated, but I don’t really mean that. He didn’t resist hard enough! Vlyplatin was a very sensitive and gentle man. The thought of two years in that awful place wounded him deeply and he felt guilty that he had tricked me into it.”

  The snowy eyebrows rose. “How so?”

  She shrugged. “Water under the bridge now.”

  “Or bloodstains under the rug?” The old man’s wits were as sharp as ever, and his eyes as bright. How much did he know, or guess?

  “Possibly.”

  He smiled contentedly. “You were studying the rogues’ gallery when I came in. What did you decide?”

  “Too few women and all too old.”

  He nodded, and she could guess then why she had been left alone in this hall, out of a dozen rooms he could have chosen.

  “What are you going to do now?” he asked. “Obnosa 658’s term ends in a few days. She is strongly of the opinion that there should always be a woman among the Seven.”

  “And what do the rest of the Seventy think of that idea?”

  Knipry chuckled. “Tell me what you want them to think.”

  “I think I should bide my time. I’m too young; I have too much still to learn.” And female, which was an even worse handicap. Obnosa hadn’t made Seven until she was forty years older. “They keep refusing Ledacos.”

  Knipry had a curious trick of folding wrinkles down to hide his eyes, so that they disappeared without actually closing. He used it now.

  “Ledacos 692 tries too hard. He serves himself before he serves the goddess. Why don’t we elect you to the Seven instead of him? Have some more wine while we plan your campaign.”

  “He has already asked me to nominate him, Your Reverence.”

  “That sleazy rascal! He wasted no time, did he?” The First chuckled knowingly. “Well, have some more wine anyway. And tell me why you never wear jewelry.”

  “Because I am the one who never wears jewelry.”

  “That’s a very good reason,” he said seriously. “I suspected that.”

  The day seemed endless. The Seventy met at sundown, and Irona had to attend. In the Scandal Market, everyone—literally everyone—wanted to fawn over her and congratulate her on conquering Maleficence at Vult. She insisted that it was not conquered and never would be. The only advantage to being mobbed was that Ledacos could not manage to corner her and pin her down on anything else. He hovered on the outskirts, looking vaguely worried at her enormous popularity. He ought to be pleased that his sponsor in the coming election was so well thought of.

  Very little of substance happened at the actual meeting. The main excitement was a verbal report by Irona 700 on her tour of duty at Vult, which was followed by a standing ovation. If they kept up this flattery, she was going to start believing it.

  She breakfasted alone, thinking of Vly.

  Sharpening her knife.

  As soon as she was finished, she sent for Sazen and Daun Bukit to plan the day. Sazen was his usual toothy, puckish self. He seemed to grow smaller, not larger, although he was definitely starting to show a grotesque potbelly on his otherwise tiny frame. Daun looked as if he were about to be hung, drawn, and divided into eighths. Irona exchanged glances with Sazen and then told Daun, “Report!”

  “I can’t stay in your service, ma’am. Now they know I’m back, they’ll come after me. They never forget.”

  “Did you get to see her?”

  He nodded, glummer than ever. “I found out where she lived. She answered the door herself. When she saw me, she burst into tears. … It was terrible!”

  Daun was a very clever, competent aide. In Vult, he had done everything she asked while backed up by no more authority than his own word that this was what the Chosen wanted. He had handled the smugglers’ interrogation with a fearfully cold-blooded efficiency. As a former marine, he was no milksop, and he had rowed his share of watches on the way home. Once or twice in Vult, men had made jokes about the governor’s gigolo, and Daun had won most of the resulting punch-ups. Yet when it came to his own affairs, and especially his blighted love life, he seemed to fall apart. Irona had never pressed him for details before, but now she snapped at him to get on with the story. Who were these “they” he kept talking about?

  “Kanaga’s brothers, six of them! The Nisyro family … they had a rich marriage planned for her and when we … when she … then they had to settle for a lot less and he’s old and she really hates him and he came to the door to see who was there and I never even got to see my son but he swore he would tell them I was back and they would see to me he said so I can’t stay—”

  “Stop, stop! You have only two speeds, don’t you? Like Podakan. Tell me about these Nisyro goons.”

  “They’re timber importers. They work for the Dvure family. They’re bad enough themselves and they have dozens of longshoremen working for them. … You must know how rough Overock is, ma’am! They filter corpses out of the harbor every morning.”

  “So I’ve heard, but I assure you that I can be a lot rougher. Are you absolutely certain that, er, Kanaga, would rather be married to you than to her present husband?”

  “She was begging me to take her away, ma’am!”

  Irona disapproved of the goddess’s Chosen using their god-given powers to further their own ends, but this sounded like a serious injustice needing to be righted, and conventional law could not prevent crimes before the fact, only punish them after, which might be much too late for Daun. “Sazen, how long will my meeting with the Office of Decency take?”

  “No more than an hour, ma’am.”

  “Then will you invite Nis Puol Dvure to meet with me right after?”

  It was rare for Sazen Hostin to look surprised. He asked her to repeat the name.

  “An old friend,” Irona explained.

  Her new office was larger than she had expected and two floors lower, which was a sign of approval from on high. That it was flanked on either side by Sevens’ offices was even less subtle. It was furnished with four stools around a table and a separate group of two chairs, plus some impressive ar
twork that she had not yet had time to study. She was late getting back to it, because the meeting with the Maleficence hunters had taken much longer than predicted. Daun was sitting in the anteroom. He jumped up and confirmed that her visitor was waiting.

  Nis Puol Dvure was standing with his back to the door, staring out the window. He spun around as she entered. Irona walked over to the group of chairs, then nodded to acknowledge him.

  For a moment he just stared at her collar, the very collar he had expected to wear around his neck. He had hardly changed at all, but if a Dvure could not afford Source Water, nobody could. His tunic was still youthfully brief, to display his shapely legs. He wore rings on his fingers, his wrists, and even around his upper arms, which was the latest affectation of rich youth.

  Daun followed Irona in and closed the door. Only then did Nis Poul walk over and kneel to her, eyes lowered.

  “Good of you to come, citizen,” she said. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “My honor,” he informed her feet.

  “Please rise. And sit there. You look well. And your family?”

  He still did not meet her eye, which was correct protocol at this stage. He had been trained in such things since he was born. “They are all well, ma’am, and will be honored to hear that you asked after them.”

  Were they talking about the entire Dvure clan, or were they discussing his wife and children, if he had either or both? Irona should have done more research on him. Nil Puol might be a totally unimportant tadpole in the great Dvure pond, unable to provide what she wanted. Somehow she did not think that. If the family had been willing to pay a huge bribe to rig a choosing for him, then he must have ability, and rich merchant families did not waste ability. His adolescent arrogance had not diminished by a single freckle.

  “I invited you here to listen to a fairy tale, citizen. This is my aide, Daun Bukit.”

  Dvure turned his shapely, arrogant head to inspect the insignificant Daun. “A fairy tale, ma’am?”

  “Tell him, Daun.” She had coached him in what she wanted, and she could rely on his knack of completely suppressing his own personality to become the perfect servant. He spoke up with no emotion at all.

  “Yes, ma’am. Once upon a time a boy and a girl fell in love. She was a great beauty and her brothers planned to marry her to a certain very rich man. She conceived a child by her lover and the brothers vowed to kill him, so he had to flee for his life. The proposed bridegroom backed out, and the brothers were forced to marry her to a much older man, not as rich as they had wanted. She bore her lover’s son, but had no other children, and she was very unhappy. Her name was Kanaga Nisyro.”

  Dvure waited a moment to see if that was all, and then looked inquiringly at Irona.

  “Your family employs the Nisyro brothers, I believe?” she said.

  “We employ a family by that name in Overock, yes.” He had detected Daun’s accent. But he was still being no more than politely attentive. It must, of course, be infinitely galling to be summoned like this by the backwater slut who had cheated him out of his due. Had the priests refunded his family’s bribe money?

  “I disapprove of threats of physical violence.”

  “So do I, ma’am. The Overock docks are a rough area. You wish me to have the Nisyros warned?”

  “I do.”

  “What was the name of the proposed victim?”

  “Daun Bukit.”

  Dvure nodded. “I will see it is done. There will be no further menaces or violence. Anything more you require of me, Your Honor?”

  Irona drew a deep breath. “Yes. I want the Kanaga woman delivered to my residence before sunset today, with her infant son. I want her free to remarry.”

  He raised shapely eyebrows. “Divorced or widowed?”

  His insolence took her breath away. “Divorced, certainly.”

  Immediate divorce was legally possible but expensive, and the husband would have to be bought off—or just invited to choose between the alternatives?

  Dvure paused a moment to let her know that her first request had been legitimate law enforcement, but this was over the skyline. Or was he calculating how big a favor he could demand in return?

  Then he nodded. “I am sure that can be arranged.”

  “You are very kind, citizen!” Irona rose, so of course he jumped up too. There was a glint in his eye, though. She was going to owe him big after this one, but what could anyone offer a Dvure?

  “By the way,” she said. “I have just returned from a tour of duty at Vult, the Empire’s remotest and most vital outpost. The First is organizing a parade and banquet in my honor—diplomatic corps, march past, state barge, and so on and so on. Would you and your wife care to join us as my personal guests?”

  He actually colored. Some Dvures would be invited, of course; certainly the supreme patriarch, whoever he was, and probably a few others, but no one of Nis Poul’s age. And Irona was hinting at reception line and head table. If his wife was any sort of socialite, this would be the triumph of the decade for her.

  “We should be honored beyond words, ma’am!”

  “I will see that you receive an invitation.” She offered her fingers to be kissed again. Daun showed the visitor out, then came back in and tried to kiss her toes.

  Kanaga and her child arrived at Sebrat House before sunset, and Irona officiated at her marriage to Daun Bukit. Their son, Kao, was a year older than Podakan, so that was all right by everyone except Podakan, who threw a temper tantrum.

  A couple of days after her return, Irona was elected female tutor for the next choosing. It was intended as a token honor, because Caprice never chose girls twice in a row. On Midsummer morning, Irona spent an entertaining hour in the temple with Komev 701, who was still as gangly, red-haired, and brash as he had been ten years earlier, when she swore him in. He had not lacked confidence then, and now he brazenly flirted with her. He was a lot better at it than Ledacos, and she made a mental note to keep him in mind if she ever felt the need for a refresher course in bedroom athletics. He was the first person since she returned who did not pester her with questions about Vult. Mostly he passed on all the amusing gossip she had missed, and she noted that his stories were never malicious, unlike Ledacos’s.

  Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the roar that always greeted Caprice’s decision. Together they peered through the slatted window. Last year’s Chosen, Haruna 710, was walking out to greet the newcomer—another girl.

  “Two in a row?” Komev said. “Either the goddess has gone crazy, or she’s showing she approves of your performance.”

  “I hope this new one likes children,” Irona retorted, thinking that she really did not need more household complications.

  A few minutes later, she went down to greet her protégée, Puchuldiza 711, who was plump, plain, and quite short. She was also starry eyed, showing none of the terror and resentment that Irona had endured at her own choosing.

  “Congratulations. I’m Irona 700, and I’ve been appointed your—”

  “Yes, yes, I know! Haruna just told me.” Puchuldiza bubbled like a Source Water spring. “And you’re going to have a parade! That’s how I get to ride in the imperial barge with you! I dreamed it, you see. I’ve been dreaming for weeks of the goddess choosing me, and lately I’ve been dreaming of riding in the state coach with you and the First and I told my sisters but they wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Then you’re not surprised?” Irona tried not to look at Haruna, who was pulling outrageous faces in the background.

  “Oh, not surprised at all,” Puchuldiza said. “I often dream things before they happen. But do I have to wear that terrible green? It absolutely is not my color.”

  The tension in the Scandal Market the next day seemed greater than Irona ever remembered. Possibly she had forgotten how it could be, or perhaps she was just imagining it. For days Chosen
had been wishing her luck in the coming elections. Most had been too polite to mention any specific election they had in mind, and to those who did she had merely said she would be nominating Ledacos 692 for the Seven. She suspected that some of them had been sent to check on her and would report her answer back to him.

  The First was above politics and never meddled in them, and yet she had a strong suspicion that Knipry had been warning her that he was going to arrange for her to be drafted. And that would be embarrassing for both of them. She really, really could not expect to be elected to the Seven at her age. Ledacos’s ambitions were well known, and it would be a brutal blow to him to be passed yet again, and in favor of a woman eight years younger. The smart money—and half the citizenry of Benign gambled on elections to the Seven—would be on Gamchen 642, who had served a dozen times before and was well respected. He was elderly, true, but Chosen did not decay. The seat was almost certainly his if he wanted it, not least because he was known to be a close friend of the First, so voting against him might have unfortunate results later.

  Obnosa 658 was there, back in sea green because her term had ended at dawn. She made no effort to speak with Irona. Unlike other magistrates, retiring Sevens never nominated candidates to be their replacements.

  Irona had her protégée with her, and Puchuldiza’s endless chatter was a good pest repellant. A gap opened around them.

  “When do I get to wear jewels?” Puchuldiza demanded, scanning the glittering throng.

  “Any time you like,” Irona said. “I’ll show you where the Property Commission’s office is. They’ll lay out trays of gold and silver and gems for you. Pick out whatever you want.”

  “Why don’t you wear jewelry?”

  “I think my collar is ornament enough. Money can’t buy one like it.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet!”

  Sweet or not, it was a safe bet that by tomorrow Puchuldiza would outglitter the midnight sky.

  The gong sounded, and the Chosen headed for the Assembly Hall.