by Neil McGarry
Duchess reflected that since her own elevation to the Grey Minette had certainly been more forward. She threw up her hands in surrender. “I don’t come empty-handed. You have one of my marks in your desk, and I have another in my pocket for you if you’ll answer two questions.”
“Only two? Well, don’t hold back. Waiting makes my mouth dry and there’s no wine to be had in the Common Gardens.”
“No wine? Did the empire lose a war?”
Minette smiled. “Only with the gods. The radiants felt that spirits served here might induce the wives to do something presumptuous. Of course, some would say this city could use more presumption from its wives. Now, your questions?”
Duchess shifted the basket to her other arm. “I’ve been hearing about someone named Julius, who hangs about the Grieving Bier.” She fiddled with the yarrow, hoping Minette would fill in the rest, but as usual the woman was too wise to fall for such maneuvers, damn her. “He runs a dice game there. Does he own the Bier?”
Minette laughed. “Good gods, no. He’s made arrangements with the owner to host his game — one of several he owns — but that’s all. Honestly, I can’t imagine how a man as unpleasant as Julius managed to make even that small a deal.” She produced a small pair of garden shears and cut daintily at the daylilies. Duchess imagined that Minette knew quite well how the deal was struck, but she doubted the older woman would tell her for only one mark. “Apparently, there’s been some recent nastiness between him and the Red.”
So Minette already knew about Rosamile’s ring. Duchess resolved that one day she would surprise the wily woman. “I’ve heard lots of nasty things about Julius.” She’d done some fruning since her talk with Antony.
“Julius wouldn’t have it any other way,” Minette said, handing her some of the daylilies. “Even with fruning the trick is determining what’s true and what isn’t.” She smiled enigmatically, and Duchess was amazed that Minette had made even circuitous reference to the Highway. Most of the Shallows believed the madam was Grey, but to Duchess’ knowledge she’d never confirmed that belief...or denied it.
“I heard he and Pete the Pearl had some sort of falling out over one of those games.” Pete owned the largest circle of floating games in Rodaas, which moved like some traveling circus amongst the winesinks and alehouses of the lower city. In addition, he was rumored to own a great deal of property in nearly every district, and was reportedly in the highest echelons of the Grey, if that fellowship had echelons. Duchess still wasn’t clear on the hierarchy of the order she’d joined, although if the Uncle were to be believed, there was somewhere a secret leader of the Grey. Not that Minette would confirm or deny that, either.
Minette chuckled. “My dear, to have had a falling out with Pete, Julius would need to have first fallen in. However, there was some difficulty there that’s really not important” – Duchess was sure it was – “but after some byplay Pete had unloaded a lesser game on a man desperate enough to take it.”
“Then Julius is all bark?”
“Oh, he can bite, certainly. He’d not have his position if he were utterly toothless. But a man who brags about an entanglement with Antony is barking entirely too loudly.”
“Is he reasonable?”
Minette laughed. “My dear, in Rodaas everyone is reasonable...for the right price. You’ll simply have to find his.” She finished with the daylilies and placed the shears back in the basket. By that last comment, Duchess guessed Minette had heard about Antony’s visit to her apartment, but how much she really knew was an open question.
Duchess decided to change the subject. “Enough about Julius. I need a priest.”
Minette glanced at her inquisitively. “Have you gone devout on me, dear?”
Duchess shrugged. “They tell me a woman should always be concerned with the state of her soul. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve looked for answers on the Godswalk.” She could be enigmatic too.
“Any priest in particular?”
“A keeper.” Minette blinked, and Duchess felt a small satisfaction. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually seen Minette surprised. She’d try to remember it.
“I see,” Minette said, considering. “You seem quite hale, my dear. You aren’t planning to die any time soon, I trust?”
“I guess that’s up to Mayu. I’m just looking for a little professional assistance.” She decided to be a bit more forthcoming, lest Minette come to the conclusion she was planning to have someone assassinated. That kind of reputation she did not need. “I just want a quiet conversation with a keeper who is, ah...flexible. Do you know of such a man?”
“Flexibility is a virtue, is it not?” Minette surveyed her plot for more flowers. “As a matter of fact, I do. There is a keeper of no minor rank who frequents my own humble establishment and who, as it happens, has a fondness for Daphne.” Duchess was surprised. Although keepers were not by tradition celibate, few would care to be seen in an establishment like the Vermillion.
“Can he keep a secret?”
“That would depend on the secret, I suppose.” Minette moved on to a light blue cluster of phlox. “I happen to know that Jadis is of late rather occupied, having just risen to primacy in his order.” Minette crouched elegantly, clipping here and there. “His superior died recently, as did his chief rival for the title. In fact, with so many keepers interested in advancement it took some time to work out the succession. Jadis prevailed in the end, but the effort no doubt exhausted him financially...and otherwise. I imagine he’d be grateful for any chance to replenish his coffers.” She smiled and handed Duchess some phlox. “Is that flexible enough for you?”
“This is First Keeper Jadis?” Duchess hesitated. She’d hoped for someone less prominent, but then the more important the man the more help he’d be able to give. Of course, if Minette’s hints were to be believed the man had murdered his way to the top. Did she truly want to take up with someone like that? On the other hand, Antony and Uncle Cornelius had probably sent more men to Mayu than an imperial headsman, and that hadn’t stopped her from cutting a deal with them. “I’d like to meet him,” she said at last, putting away the flowers and handing Minette a triangular piece of silk embroidered with a D. “You’re going to die a rich woman, Minette.”
“I’d prefer to live as a rich woman,” Minette replied, tucking away the mark. She hunted amongst her flowers for other prospects. “You know, Jadis’ recent promotion came about quite suddenly. The death of his primary rival was unexpected for one so healthy.” Duchess’ ears perked up. Minette was in a mood for gossip, never a thing to miss.
Minette settled on a stone bench and gestured for Duchess to join her. “Jadis had been involved in a long-standing feud with Keeper Malachar for longer than anyone could remember. Once the First Keeper died and the opportunity to head the order came around, things just got worse. Keepers being keepers, the preferred method of contention was poison, and they went back and forth through porridge and wine and anything else that could possibly be consumed. Before long it got so that neither would eat nor drink anything he hadn’t either prepared himself or seen prepared. Then it was envenomed clothing and other personal items. After a few temple servants unaccountably died after handling laundry or changing bed sheets, the other keepers decided that things had gone far enough, and they sent a message, subtle but unmistakable, that the issue had to be either settled or dropped.”
“And that ended it?” Duchess asked.
“Of course not.” Minette gestured to a water boy, who rushed over with a dripping bladder and filled a wooden cup. “It did force both of them to be more circumspect, and in the bargain ruined a good deal of gossip from Temple District. Still, the best was yet to come.” She sipped thoughtfully and offered Duchess the cup. “You’ve heard of the Feast of the Many?”
Duchess took a drink. The Feast was not celebrated by the common folk, but amongst the well born it was a yearly ritual. Held just before the harvest, the Feast of the Many was a great banquet at
which the food was provided not by the host, but by the guests themselves. Each attendee was required to bring a dish already prepared, to share with the other diners. The original intent was to show humility to the gods, and to curry favor in hopes of a good harvest, but as with all things noble, it became another chance to outshine one’s peers. Duchess remembered the Feasts her father had hosted, and the wide array of mouth-watering food the guests had brought. She had only been allowed to attend the opening of the meal, and the next morning Justin and Marguerite, who were allowed to stay up later, teased her with tales of what she’d missed. Well, Justin teased. Marguerite had always been too proper for such antics. “I know of it,” she replied, fighting back the sudden wave of nostalgia.
“The keepers always attend, and figures like Jadis and Malachar, both candidates for First Keeper, were of course invited to the most popular events. So it was last autumn, when Lady Vorloi hosted the Feast at her city estate. Very few can turn down one of her invitations, and so there was no question that either Jadis or Malachar would decline.” Minette smiled obscurely. “She’s a saucy one, our Lady Vorloi, and not one to be trifled with.” Duchess waited to see if Minette would elaborate, but of course she didn’t. “In any case, everyone who attended that dinner was wild to see how Malachar and Jadis would behave. After all, the two had spent much of the last year avoiding eating or drinking anything the other had prepared, and at the Feast it’s bad form to refuse to sample anything. You don’t have to eat much, mind you, but it’s expected that each guest try at least a nibble of every dish. To do otherwise is to insult both the host and the person whose dish was refused.”
“So Malachar ate the food Jadis brought?”
“Hardly.” Minette sipped more water and rested the half-empty cup on her knee. “All through dinner Malachar kept a wary eye on his rival, making certain to eat only what Jadis did, which of course was everything. Jadis seemed quite unfazed by the scrutiny, and dined as if nothing were amiss. He even ate the food Malachar had brought. He himself had brought a dish that not only looked delicious but was exotic as well, a Domae delicacy known as yaggat. Some kind of fermented goat’s milk, I’m told, thickened with cheese and sweetened with honey and almond paste. The guests were wild to try it. Malachar, of course, held off as long as he could, attempting to turn aside attention with clever conversation, but all eyes were on him. He fretted and fidgeted and sweated, but when the yaggat was finally set before him he put down his spoon, red-faced. He held his life in higher regard than his reputation, you see.” She shrugged. “In the end he lost both. Two days later, he died of a bad belly.”
Duchess was lost. “But how could that be?”
Minette produced a fan and fluttered it before her powdered face. “How, indeed? Half the nobility in Rodaas had eaten that yaggat, even Jadis himself, and none of them wound up dead, and of course Malachar never even tasted the stuff. It was quite the mystery, and finally even the most suspicious had to allow that perhaps Malachar had simply succumbed to some mysterious illness.” She smiled enigmatically and examined her nails. “You know, I had a conversation with Midwife Marna about that, later, and she knew of any number of poisons that could have caused Malachar’s illness. She really is a wonder when it comes to that sort of thing, and it’s a pity the keepers hadn’t called her to attend Malachar, because she might have saved him. Not only had she heard of such poisons but of their remedies as well. Some, she claimed, were often mixed with milk before they are administered to the patient. It helps the body absorb the remedy more quickly.” She left off her fanning and looked at Duchess, her face a mask.
Duchess felt a dawning realization. “So Jadis put the remedy in the yaggat, and the poison was in...great gods. He poisoned everyone at that table, including himself, and then put the remedy in the one dish he knew Malachar wouldn’t eat.”
“Did he?” Minette said, all innocence. “That would be quite a risk. Still,” she mused, draining her cup and setting it on the bench between them, “very few would ever suspect a man would risk killing forty-odd nobles and other noteworthies, himself among them, just to get at one enemy. After all, remedies don’t always work as promised, and someone might have turned up a nose at a Domae dish, tradition be damned.”
This gossip, juicier than most, was disturbing, and Duchess wondered why Minette had chosen this moment to share it. Since the day Minette had revealed what she knew about that mysterious P coin, Duchess had been well aware the wily madam was playing a long game against an unknown opponent. Minette had hinted that Duchess was a piece in that game, and was investing early. “So you’re saying Jadis is dangerous?” she asked at last.
Minette sighed. “Jadis plays two games of tiles at once, and knows how to use an enemy’s expectations against him...or her.” She rose, clearly done with her story. “But I will arrange your meeting. Jadis will turn up at the Vermillion within a day or two, no doubt, and when he does I’ll send for you. I assume you’ll make yourself easy to find. Not too easy, though. You should probably wait until the good keeper is finished with his recreations. I should think you wouldn’t want to interrupt. I find men are at their most pliable immediately after their appetites have been sated.” She tucked her fan away and plucked a flower from the basket Duchess held. “Besides,” she said turning the blossom in her hands, “Daphne does so love her work.”
* * *
“Shedding,” Duchess muttered, “is something a dog does.”
Jana nodded. “The word is different in my tongue, but here it is the same as when an animal loses fur. That is confusing, but...” She shrugged.
“When in Rodaas, do as the edunae do?” Duchess smiled. In truth, she was feeling a bit out of her element. When she’d asked Jana to show her the basics of weaving, she had done so assuming that it was something she herself could quickly pick up. She had gone from being a scholar’s daughter to a baker’s assistant easily enough, hadn’t she? Surely moving to a weaver’s apprentice would be no more difficult.
She could not have been more wrong. There were several different types of loom, she learned, although Jana possessed only two. The back-strap loom was a four-foot-long network of strings, called heddles, which ran between two horizontal bars, one of which had to be strapped to the body. The weaver used her body weight to pull the straps taught, leaning back as she drew the raw wool through the heddles. “But since the cloth I make with this is not large, I can make only enough for small things like belts and bags,” Jana had explained, demonstrating.
The other type of loom was called a Domae word that Duchess could not even begin to pronounce, but in Rodaas was known by the outrageous name of a warp-weighted loom, a more elaborate device of thick upright beams, narrower horizontal sticks and a device that resembled a rolling pin. “The warp-beam,” Jana explained when Duchess pointed that out. This device, too heavy to easily carry, was set at a slant against a wall, with the threads hanging down from the top, near the not-rolling pin. The fabric was woven from the top down, and the weaver could move around the device as necessary. “With this, I can make enough cloth for shirts or trousers, cloaks and dresses.”
And things only got more complicated from there. Weaving, Jana explained, consisted of three basic steps: shedding, picking and battening. This was true regardless of the type of loom one used, and of course each process looked different depending on the loom. Then there were motions to let off and to take up, as well as various stops, like warp stop and weft stop. The tools had strange names like pirn and shuttle and picking stick and seemed far less comfortable to her hand than the rolling pins and wooden spoons she’d used in Noam’s bakery. Jana, naturally, handled these devices as if she were born with them.
Finally, Duchess threw up her hands. “It would be easier just to learn magic and conjure up the stuff!” She gestured to the piles of cloth Jana had produced.
The Domae flashed a rare grin. “This is easy. Soon I will show you how to felt.” Duchess groaned.
They’d been at it most
of the afternoon, so when Jana proposed to make tea Duchess eagerly took her up on it. She was amazed by the way Jana explained the complexities of weaving so easily in a language not her own, and said as much. “It is not something most of my camp learned,” she explained, pouring steaming brown liquid into cups. “My aunt insisted that I be fluent, and she is not a woman who understands no.”
Duchess grinned and took up her cup; the contents smelled divine. “I’ve known a few women like that myself,” she said, thinking of Minette. She sipped and tasted mint and perhaps also orange. “Did your aunt raise you?”
Jana nodded, taking a seat on the other side of the low table. “My mother died when I was very young, from a fever.” She gave Duchess an appraising look. “Something I have said has made you sad.”
Duchess tried to pass it off — she’d never even discussed this with Lysander — but something about Jana’s manner made such conversation almost natural. “My mother died, too, in childbirth. I never knew her.” Her father rarely spoke of it, and she had followed suit.
Jana nodded again, sympathy clear in her liquid brown eyes. “I was only three years old then, so I do not remember her well. My aunt Adelpha took over and saw to me.” She sipped neatly from her cup. “Did you have an aunt to raise you?”
Duchess hesitated. Although she’d already revealed her real name and history to Lysander, Noam’s training was hard to gainsay. Still, she found herself strangely unwilling to lie to her new business partner. Finally, she said, “My father didn’t have any sisters, so he raised me himself. Me and my brother and sister.” She felt suddenly shaky, and took another sip of tea. “I haven’t seen them in a long time...oh, eight years or more.”