by Emerson, Ru
“Now, then, Mr. Cray”—Barton smoothed white hair back from his forehead, smiled at Ariadne, and set his cup aside—“your message said ‘a minor favor.’”
“Yes, sir.” Chris nodded. He put his own cup down and leaned forward. “I hope it’s a minor favor, at least. You’re aware of the situation in Rhadaz, of course—” He hesitated.
Barton nodded, took another sip of tea. “To a degree. Rumor everywhere, of course.”
“The Emperor’s closed the borders,” Chris said.
“We knew that.”
“Because of the outside traffic in drugs.”
“Yes.” Barton’s face gave nothing away. He took an oblong cake from the tray, then proffered the tray to Ariadne; the corners of her mouth turned up, she took a cake in turn, and sipped at her tea.
Chris met her eyes, gravely winked when the ambassador’s gaze was elsewhere. “Of course, sir, you’re aware that the Emperor has no specific suspicions where the drug is coming from, or who’s responsible.”
“Yes.” His voice was mildly inquiring, vaguely and to
Chris’s mind unsettlingly English; it still gave nothing away.
“Whatever the Emperor suspects, sir, the Heir’s feeling is the Mer—the Alliance itself isn’t involved. Perhaps a few men acting on their own—but nothing else.”
“Yes, well. Thank you,” Barton replied dryly.
Chris managed a small smile, sipped tea, set his cup down. “I myself don’t think the Alliance is involved. Not as an entity.”
The Alliance ambassador frowned, finished his tea in silence. Chris waited him out. “You think someone inside the Alliance is involved, by the sound of it.” Chris nodded. “I don’t know how you think I can help. We—I can pass word to the government. Still—”
“Yes, sir. I understand there are factions, plenty of them, within the Alliance—really, within the Parliament—because of Zero. Sir, I—that isn’t my business. I’m concerned with a particular facet of business within the Alliance borders, certain men who are trying to work things their way, whatever their own government or our own say. I thought—-depending, of course, upon how politically touchy the matter is—I thought you might help with this.”
“I—see.” Nothing on Barton’s face to give him away.
Chris swallowed behind his linen napkin, went on. “Thing is, because Shesseran closed all the ports, everyone’s ready to say no, about nearly everything. You know, we’re angry; we’re going to make you even angrier.” Barton chuckled appreciatively, gestured for his companion to go on. “Things aren’t quite so simple, way I see it. Zero isn’t just a threat against Rhadaz, even though we have such a high percentage of people with magic abilities, and therefore more people who might die of the stuff.”
Barton considered this for some moments. He spread his hands, shrugged. “I understand. Consider, Mr. Cray, those who pay my salary won’t necessarily do me any favors on your behalf.” He got to his feet, walked over to the wall, and tugged at the heavy rope pull. “I’ll have my secretary convey the message.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it—and I know the Emperor’s Heir will as well.”
“You’ve done us a favor or so in the past, Mr. Cray.” The door opened, and a small, slender man in dark gray hurried into the room, a portable writing desk clutched to his chest. The ambassador spoke to him in a low, non-carrying voice for some moments. He waited until the secretary left, still clutching his desk, then came back to take his seat next to the tea table. “I told Andrews to bring word back here, I trust you won’t mind?” He turned to smile at Ariadne. “More tea, Mrs. Cray?” Ariadne smiled politely, held out her cup. “I did think,” Barton went on mildly, as he poured, “that we might use the time to discuss matters of, ah, current regional interest? Say, for example, why the captain of the Kamrun vessel Maborre should lodge a vigorous protest with the French branch office in New Lisbon?” He raised one eyebrow, drank tea. “And why the captain of the English ship Hawk found it to his interests to take two last-moment passengers from a French Jamaican beach?”
“Mmmm.” Chris cleared his throat cautiously, drank a little tea himself. He’d fully expected the questions; had planned on an explanation whether the ambassador asked for one or not. In this formal setting, unfamiliar clothes making him at least outwardly a gentleman, it was suddenly difficult to get the words out. Dupret’s violence seemed a world and a lifetime away.
He took a deep breath; sharp pain flared across his lower right side. World away, until that reminds you, dude, he told himself. He nodded. “Of course, sir, you’re familiar with Henri Dupret?”
The skin around the ambassador’s eyes tightened. “To my infinite sorrow, sir.” He glanced at Ariadne. “Your pardon, ma’am.”
Ariadne shook her head. “No. Not apology to me, for the man who was my father.” She looked at Chris. “Tell him,” she added flatly.
Two hours later, the tea and cakes were long gone and a small blue envelope from the French ambassador lay under Chris’s fingers. He shrugged. “The Hawk’s captain put out fast, sent us below decks. I frankly don’t remember much until we got into New Lisbon, and even that’s patchy.”
“But Dupret deals in this drug, this Zero. You’re certain of it.” Barton was pacing behind his chair, hands clasped behind his back.
“I am certain of it, M. Barton,” Ariadne put in quietly. “I suspected as much, years ago; I heard him speaking about it in the hall, before we escaped the house. He and my grand-père, between them, they set it up to put the powder in brandies and ship them to France for use in the eastern war—and for other purposes.”
“And elsewhere?” Barton asked sharply. “Because we’ve had an influx of the substance the past year or so in New Amsterdam; it’s brought into the country somehow, winds up in cheap gin, down in the slums. There’s been more death by Zero the past year than from fever, bad water, and the red pox all together.”
Chris nodded. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, I doubt Dupret’s behind that; unfortunately, because I’d love to see you nab him for such a thing, but there are others dealing in the stuff. The Mer Khani—the Alliance men I suspect are involved in metals, like I already told you, in steel and iron. The new lightweight metal—aluminum? I can’t say for certain they’re also dealing in Zero, or that they’re trying to use it to undermine Rhadaz. And I can’t check on that myself.”
“So, the French ambassador?” Chris nodded. The Alliance ambassador leaned against the back of his chair, made a steeple of his fingers, and stared over the top of it. “And in case my government should have reasons of its own for not investigating the men, and the matter?”
Chris shrugged. “It occurred to me, sir, that the Alliance itself might be aware of the traffic. Some high in power in the French government appear to be, also. Basically, it was important to me that someone should know where we’d gone. The two of us. Though obviously that wasn’t my main reason for coming to you.”
“It would have done.” Barton’s mouth quirked suddenly. “Have you ever considered a career in diplomacy, Mr. Cray?” Chris laughed, shook his head. “After all, your Rhadazi will one day need representation, and you certainly think the right way—”
“Yes, sir, I know they will, and honestly, I appreciate the compliment.” Chris tugged at Edrith’s jacket sleeve. “In all honesty, I would die if I had to dress like this all the time.” The ambassador chuckled. Chris picked up the little blue envelope and got to his feet. Barton deftly handed Ariadne up and kissed her fingers. “Sir, I definitely owe you a favor for this one.”
“Repay it by staying alive, and cutting more deals like the one you made recently for milling machinery,” Barton said as Chris hesitated. “I think our two countries can be good for each other. Mrs. Cray,” he added gravely as he kissed her fingers, “it was a very great pleasure to finally meet you.”
Ariadne smiled and gave him a graceful, low curtsey. “Merci, M. Barton—for an excellent tea, and for your aid to us both.” She took Chr
is’s arm, tucked the furled parasol under her other arm, and let him lead her back to the street.
Once they were past the fountain, Chris slowed. “Hey, lady,” he said quietly. “Thanks. I think you turned things our way.”
“You think? For what I said, or because the Alliance man likes to look at young women?”
“Ari! I swear!” Chris could feel his face turning red. “This is me, all right? Would I use you like—I mean, like a—”
“Oh, hush.” Ariadne laid one gloved hand across his mouth. She sounded irritated but didn’t really look it, and her eyes were definitely amused. “This is like any battle, any duel—remember what I told the husband of your tante: you use what you have. If the stakes are high, like ours, and the matter turns upon whether I smile at a man who fancies himself a little as the terror of women—Chris, I have done this all my days since I became fourteen years, for that man who was my father.”
“Oh, jeez, Ari—”
She tugged at his arm, hard. “No. Do not look at me so, I know the difference between what my father wanted of me, to smooth his business matters, and what I did there for us. The ambassador is an innocent compared to most and I think a kind man. Do you think I thought you would allow him to—to, what? Make a try upon my virtue if that was the price of his message to his masters and to the French?” Her own color was as high as his suddenly.
Chris gaped at her. “Ariadne! Hey, I swear!”
She shook her head. “No. Do not. I do not need the words. Not from you, beloved.” She glanced skyward, opened her parasol, and added, “It grows late, the French ambassador will wonder what keeps us.”
CHRISTOPHER CRAY TO HIS HIGHNESS AFRONSAN: HOPE DUKE ADREBAN CAN SOMEHOW FORWARD THIS TO YOU. MER KHANI AMBASSADOR IN NEW LISBON PASSED WORD TO HIS MAINLAND PEOPLE, INVESTIGATE NEW HOLLAND MINING COMPANY, ALSO BELLINGHAM AND PERRY, FOR LINK TO ZERO. WAS PROMISED FULL COOPERATION, MAY EVEN GET IT. FRENCH LESS OPENLY COOPERATIVE BUT SENDING WORD TO VISCOUNT PHILIPPE REGARDING BROTHER HENRI’S TRAFFIC IN ZERO AND THIS LATEST ESCAPADE REGARDING SELF WIFE. STAYING IN MONDEGO FULL 7 DAYS, HOPE TO RECUPERATE FROM DEPRET’S HOSPITALITY. ALSO HERE IF YOU OR THUKARA NEED TO REACH US.
AFRONSAN TO CRAY: THANKS FOR NEWS, THUKARA SAYS MERCHANT HENRY COOPERATING, KNOWS VERY LITTLE, THOUGH. MESSAGE FROM THUKARA TO FOLLOW. CASIMAFFI SON CHORAN DEAD AFTER ATTEMPT ON ENARDI FEDTHYRSON, MESSAGE FROM ENARDI APPENDED, CASIMAFFI THOROUGHLY IMPLICATED IN ZERO TRADE AND ARRESTED IN BEZ. EXPECT SEVERAL DAYS IN EMPEROR’S PRISON WILL PERSUADE THE MAN TO MAKE FULL CONFESSION. AFRONSAN.
JENNIFER TO CHRIS: YOU WATCH YOURSELF, KIDDO, DEAD’S PERMANENT, REMEMBER?
ENARDI TO CHRIS: DICTATING TO MERIYAS, BROKE BOTH ARMS THANKS TO STUPID CHORAN, THOSE AND HEAD HEALING SLOWER THAN LEG DID. TWO GOOD THINGS OUT OF MESS: CHUFFLES INCARCERTATED AND SELF WED FIVE DAYS NOW, SINCE TWO AFTER FALL AND OVER EVANY’S FURIOUS OBJECTION. MERIYAS SENDS LOVE.
The caravaners’ building was filled to capacity; Red Hawk still spread its blankets around the east hearth—crowded into half of the great hall since all of Silver Star had come in just after what would have been sundown, without the thick blanket of cloud. The west hearth and most of the area around it reeked of wet wool and soaked leather, both overcoming even the highly spiced meat two of the women had trussed to a thick spit.
At the moment, Lialla could see a scattering of empty blankets and mats, almost as many as were occupied by women and toddlers, or the very old. No men sprawled over the complex board games, laughing or squabbling as pieces were knocked down and money changed hands. Only a few older boys in sight, most bringing wood or fetching the last of family goods to the various blankets. A chill, dreary winter rain had been falling most of the day, turning the courtyard into a sea of icy mud and spilling water into the stables. Most of the men and older boys and a few of the stronger girls were down shifting crates and boxes to higher shelves and doing what they could to divert the rush of water that was rapidly making a stream of the aisle between stalls. Small relays of people came up to thaw by the fire; now and again men staggered into the main chamber with dripping boxes to stack against the back wall.
Small children played chasing games in the main chamber, darting up and down the room, using the individual family mats as touch or not-touch spots according to some elaborate set of rules Lialla couldn’t begin to fathom. The shrieking and giggling echoed from the high ceiling; she had given up even trying to be heard, let alone to instruct. Ryselle had gone off somewhere with Sil not long after Silver Star arrived, but Kepron still sat by himself, close to the hearth, red string draped over his knee: he had been working on the seventh pattern until the new arrivals broke his concentration. At the moment, he was rubbing a thick wax into a small hide for Red Hawk’s grandmother. Two boys threaded their way between blankets to drop tied bundles of wood on the hearth; the old woman stirring an enormous pot of soup murmured something that made one of them laugh.
Very homey, Lialla thought gloomily. At least, for caravaners. The noise—the sheer numbers—was beginning to get on her nerves. “Maybe I should go back to Zelharri,” she mumbled. “I’m doing nothing worthwhile here, Aletto’s probably driven Robyn half-mad, fussing over my absence, and Mother—” She swallowed. Closed her eyes briefly.
The Red Hawk grandmother had given her the message; had offered sympathy over the woman’s suicide and an ear, if the sin-Duchess needed it. Lialla simply couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t been able to weep yet; it was all stuck deep in her chest. Lizelle deliberately giving Aletto drink—Zero-laced drink, knowing he couldn’t handle drink or drug, either one. Then swallowing the rest of it herself, leaving that note to make Aletto feel dreadfull…. “I should go.” Yes, go. Then, again, to know she’d failed these women twice; to go home and face Aletto, knowing that. Knowing he’d know. He’d never come out and say, “I could have told you.” She’d see it in his eyes every time he looked at her.
He thinks I should marry; because marriage solved so much for him, he thinks I should do what he’s done. She couldn’t really blame him for feeling as he did; Robyn was good for Aletto. And he’d never had much imagination, never been able to see others as people different from himself. Having other wants, other goals. He’d been against her marrying fat old Carolan, of course, partly because Carolan was Jadek’s cousin, more because he found the man as repulsive as Lialla did. She sighed, tired all over, all at once. Forget that. As if thinking about it here would change Aletto one whit.
She turned as someone shouted her name. Sil and Ryselle had come up the near stairs. Both women were dripping wet; Sil’s teeth chattered. The woman stirring soup shook her spoon at them both, said something to Sil that Lialla couldn’t catch, and stepped aside to let the women have the hearth. Sil caught Lialla’s eye and gestured urgently; Lialla stopped long enough to scoop up two blankets from the nearest stack and shook them out.
“Here, put this around you, Ryselle, your lips are blue. What were you two doing out there?”
Sil drew her soaked cloak off and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “Ahhh, thank you, my friend. Doing—I left a message for you, didn’t you get it?” Lialla sighed, shook her head. “I should know better than to trust any of Red Hawk’s boys, sorry.”
“They’re all down shifting boxes, stable’s flooded,” Lialla said.
“Bah. Everything is flooded—or going to be. Filthy storm, and it’s getting worse by the moment. Fog right down to the paving stones, too, but the wind’s starting to pick up. Well, I left you a message, honestly: Ibys sent word to me, Chiros—you know, denim breeks and—?”
“I remember Chiros,” Lialla said. Hard to forget a man that large—or any Holmaddi male that improbably nice to caravaner women. Of course, he’d wanted denim to make breeks to sell in that large, old shop of his—but most of his brethren wouldn’t have thought that out, they’d have been nasty to foreign women just because. “Here, sit, both of you, right now! Let me get you something hot to drink.”
“I’ll do that, sin-Duches
s.” The older woman set her spoon aside, picked up a long, hooked implement and used it to pull a slightly smaller, steaming pot from well back in the coals.
Sil eased herself down cautiously. “Chiros was ill all last night; Ibys wanted to send for the healer, but his eldest brother was there and wouldn’t let her, said Chiros had merely drunk too much and needed rest. She knows he has no taste for alcohol and so she thought poison or drug, of course. And I told you Chiros’s brothers have a lust for that shop, and she thinks they’d do most anything to get control of it. She managed to smuggle her daughter out about an hour ago, when her wedded brother was in the kitchen eating. When the girl discovered the healer wasn’t home, she kept her head and came here instead.”
“What a mess,” Lialla said, as Sil paused to take a steaming mug. “How’s Chiros?”
“Better, we think. The healer thinks he was poisoned, and of course, the wedded brother’s a pig, one of the worst. I can’t stand him. Fortunately, he can’t take caravaner women, either, so when Ryselle and I suddenly popped into the shop with an offer on denim cloth from Silver Star’s grandmother, he stomped off; the healer was with Chiros when I left.” Sil drank cautiously. “Mmmm, that’s wonderful, spiced apple and just a little kick to warm the belly. I’m chilled all the way down.” She eyed her wet companion critically, pulled the blanket high around Ryselle’s throat, and held the cup to her mouth. “Here, Ryselle, my sweet, drink the rest of this, your lips really are blue. Not your best color.” Ryselle closed her eyes, shook her head a little, but as Sil pressed the cup against her lip, she obediently sucked in a little liquid and swallowed. “We’re going about this all wrong,” Sil added crisply. “The city women aren’t going to get anywhere until Vuhlem’s gone. Let’s murder him in his bed.”