The Fall of Ventaris (The Grey City)

by Neil McGarry

  Antony snorted and shook his head, but Duchess felt like stabbing Amabilis. She felt like weeping. Instead, she asked, “What did he see?”

  “Many things that I put to good use, but the vision that will most interest you, I think, was of a flower in the Deeps. An ebony bloom, half-withered and dying, but one that might be saved. He saw gardeners, cloaked in blood and armed in steel, which might protect it.”

  “The gangs, and the weapons their payment for leaving the cult alone. And so you sent Whitehall to the Narrows to complete the deal, and he made arrangements for the delivery.” Just as Finn had said. “But there was one thing more.”

  Amabilis nodded. “The Key of Mayu, Adam said, would nourish the flower, such that one day it would bring forth a poison that even the First Keeper would not know.”

  “And all this just to bring down the Jadis?”

  Amabilis raised an eyebrow. “Does that surprise you? Jadis is a pestilence upon the city, a murderer who rose to primacy because of bloody hands and a fell appetite for death. I have waited a long time to move against him, but Adam told me I would know the time was right when I saw an errant mote, flitting about the wheel.” Duchess tried to hide her surprise. She had long wondered why the preceptor had taken such an interest in her that long-ago day, but in her wildest imaginings had never considered prophecy.

  “And so you got hold of the dagger and had Adam make arrangements to get it to Morel in the Narrows. Since Adam was already funneling weapons to the same area, it would certainly be easy enough to add one dagger to the shipment. And during all of this, you remained comfortably in the shadows.” She shook her head. “But something went wrong — something made you stop. You were already finished when you had Whitehall killed.”

  Amabilis frowned. “Adam received due punishment for his crimes, and those he harmed had justice. I should think that would please you.”

  “I don’t believe for an instant that’s why you disposed of him. We all have our uses, you once told me. Why did you decide he was no longer of use to you?”

  Amabilis gazed into the Delaying Glass. “A number of reasons. There was no evidence the cult was moving against Jadis, and it was therefore unprofitable, not to mention highly risky, to continue wasting good steel protecting them from the Deeps gangs. And in any case, Adam himself was proving...unreliable.”

  “How?”

  “The visions he was having sounded less like prophecy and more like the ravings of a madman.” The light from the Glass flickered across Amabilis’ face. “His final ritual produced nothing but babbling of a tattered figure dancing in the ruins, of the end of light and life, of self and sin, all of it eaten up by the mists.” He glanced at her and she knew he could not miss the fear that had crept into her eyes. “You seem discommoded,” the radiant said, eyes alight with detached interest.

  “Did he say anything else?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Amabilis stared at her with his colorless eyes. “I sent him to his end, still proclaiming that we must, all of us, hide away. For the fog, he said, is rising.”

  * * *

  Outside the temple, out in the light, she felt she could breathe again. With Antony, she looked over the Godswalk. Ventaris’ worshippers would soon enough return, but for now the Walk was as quiet as it ever got.

  “It was a good bluff,” Antony said after a moment. “The Uncle himself couldn’t have done better.”

  She nodded and put on a smile. “Thank you for your help...and for not getting the Uncle involved.” Antony was a forbidding man, to be sure, but Uncle Cornelius was far worse. She hadn’t forgotten that story about the puppeteer and his monkey, and any man capable of engineering that horror was not one she wanted involved in her business.

  The redcap shrugged. “The thing had already gotten out of hand; no sense taking it any further.” His craggy face was turned towards the wan Rodaasi sun. “Besides, it looks better for me if I’m the one who shuts down the flow of weapons to the Deeps.”

  “And Finn?”

  Antony turned to face her. “Once he’s in a red cap, that toad” — he jerked a thumb towards the Halls of Dawn — “won’t even think about coming after him. And I can always use a man who knows what’s what in the Deeps. He’ll do well enough.” He regarded her curiously. “I just don’t know why you’re bothering with someone like Finn.”

  She was too tired to come up with a witty rejoinder. “Because he gave me what I needed without making me force it out of him,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “In this city, that’s enough.” Antony gave her a curious look but asked no more, and she let the matter rest.

  But he was not quite done with her, and before she could take her leave he spoke once more. “Do you believe what Amabilis said in there?” Antony asked. “About the visions?”

  Duchess looked back at the Halls of Dawn, thinking that every time she came to the Godswalk she became certain of less and less. “Amabilis is a believer. He wants to think that prophecies are true.” She shook her head, thinking of the Uncle. “I don’t believe a word of it, myself.”

  Chapter Twenty: The seed of a plan

  In the wake of all the confusion that had gone before, Gloria Tremaine’s contempt was almost comforting.

  Standing in the guildmaster’s private workroom, which was as elegantly appointed as the rest of the shop, Duchess resisted the urge to squirm as Tremaine’s eyes took in every hitch and shortcoming in her appearance. Rebecca, the ever-beleaguered apprentice who’d ushered her in, stood near the door while the guildmaster conducted her scrutiny.

  She hadn’t worn dresses regularly since she was twelve and old enough to face down Noam’s wife, and she felt awkward and self-conscious in this one. The thing was clearly made for a woman who was shorter and larger-breasted, a great red mountain of frills, folds and lace, but Hector had offered such a low price she couldn’t resist. If she were to pay a visit to Gloria Tremaine without the Atropi hearing about it, she needed to look as if she belonged in Scholars District, and the dress had made that possible. She wished Lysander had been around to offer advice on the purchase, though. He knew far better than she what was currently in style and what wasn’t. Tremaine’s expression told her which category she’d been placed in.

  “Thank you for seeing me, guildmaster,” Duchess said. Tremaine did not reply. Instead she laid down the swatch of fabric she had been handling and walked a slow circle around Duchess, looking her up and down, her green-gray eyes taking in every ruffle, fold and seam. She flicked a hand at Rebecca, dismissing her, and when the door was closed, said, “Where on earth did you get that dress?”

  Duchess shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a bit out of season, I suppose, but...” She trailed off as Tremaine continued her inspection. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Tremaine tapped her cheek with one perfectly manicured hand. “It’s not an original, obviously. I saw the original when it debuted two years ago, which makes what you are wearing both a cheap copy and out of season. Not that having the original would have helped you much, as it was first worn by Violana’s daughter Esmerelda. The idiot.” Duchess flushed. Hector had surely known the provenance of the dress, which explained why he’d sold it so cheaply. No doubt he was still laughing, back at his shop. And she’d paraded all the way up from the Shallows in the thing.

  She swallowed her embarrassment, with difficulty. “I came to thank you for your assistance with my Domae friend. I am sure that affair caused some difficulty within your guild.” Tremaine said nothing. “As it happens, I myself have had some difficulty from the same source.”

  The guildmaster arched an elegant eyebrow. “You have had difficulty with someone? I can scarcely imagine why.” She went to her table and picked up a pincushion shaped like a red apple. “Since you’ll be seen leaving my shop — soon, I devoutly hope — in that ridiculous outfit, it might as well fit correctly.” She fussed with the skirt, gathering folds of cloth, tucking here and pinning there.

  Aware that the woman was
waiting for her to speak her mind, Duchess went on. “It’s a problem – or three problems – I had hoped you could help me with,” Duchess said as Tremaine worked. “They’re named the Atropi.” Tremaine glanced at her, a pin held between her perfect teeth. “It seems they were so unhappy about Jana’s admission to the guild that they decided to send some men to disrupt the business she and I are trying to build. By smashing Jana’s looms.”

  Tremaine removed the last pin from her mouth and pressed it through cloth. “How shocking,” she said, not sounding shocked. “One would have thought that women of their age would be much less obvious. Their tactics are as unimaginative as their designs.”

  Duchess repressed a shrug, lest she be jabbed with a pin. “Circumstances can sometimes make people act out of character,” she said, thinking of Preceptor Amabilis. “How would you like to help me teach them the consequences of their lack of discretion?”

  Tremaine stood back to evaluate the fit of the dress. “Better, although it was clearly cut for someone wider than you, and rather better endowed.” She treated Duchess to a skeptical look. “Why would you need my help? You can send your own men after the Atropi, I am sure. I expect someone like you knows many people who like to smash things.”

  Although the woman’s arrogance grated, Duchess forced a smile. “I had hoped to teach them a more subtle lesson than that.” When Tremaine made no reply, Duchess decided to plunge ahead. “I was thinking about embarrassing them publicly. Perhaps by ruining the dress they intend to present to the empress at the Fall of Ventaris?”

  Tremaine stared at her wordlessly, too elegant to gape. “What a cheeky little Shallows rat you are,” she said at last, taking a seat at her work table. “Why should I believe that you have the least ability to achieve such an end?”

  Duchess risked a shrug. “I got you to grant a license to Jana, yes? Are the Atropi more formidable than their guildmaster?”

  Tremaine narrowed her eyes. “A taunt calculated to drive me to involve myself in your little plan. How clever.” She picked a ribbon off the table, gently flicking it with her fingers. “After our last meeting I did a bit of asking around about you, Duchess of the Shallows. I heard the most interesting tale about the Baron Eusbius and his dagger.”

  “A true tale,” Duchess said, pleased that it had spread even to Scholars.

  “To be sure. So you have some experience in humiliating nobles.” Her painted nails flicked at the ribbon again. “You didn’t need my help discomfiting an upjumped smuggler. Why come to me now?”

  “The Atropi are not Baron Eusbius, and the Fall of Ventaris is not an out-of-season costume party. If I’m to pull off a job like this, I’ll need to know everything there is to know, and more, about the Atropi. Things only you can tell me.”

  Tremaine inclined her head. “I am sure I could, if I were so disposed.” Flick, flick. “Why should I? What do I stand to gain from this little adventure of yours?”

  Duchess took a seat at the table, sweeping her full skirt under her as she did so. Tremaine arched a brow but did not object. “I’m not up on guild politics, but I know the Atropi are your chief rivals. And why not? They’re nobly born, and their guildmaster is an upjumped commoner.” She paused, but Tremaine refused to rise to the bait. “What would happen if, at the moment the Atropi are humiliated in court, you were ready with a replacement? Your greatest rivals would suffer a stinging defeat, and perhaps your standing at court would improve so that henceforth you design the traditional autumn dress for the empress. What did that prophecy say? A change is come?”

  Tremaine’s finger worked at the ribbon while her eyes went distant with calculation. “It might work,” she allowed, finally setting aside the ribbon. “Of course, everyone at court will know I had something to do with the ruined dress, but as there will be no proof who would dare accuse me?” She crossed her legs elegantly. “This would be a tremendous risk for you. I assume you would want more from me than just information on my rivals, yes? Gold, position, some favor?”

  Duchess was ready. “One thing, yes. The dress you’ll design will be made from fabric provided by Jana.”

  “Impossible,” Tremaine replied flatly. “I select my own fabrics and always have.”

  “Not in this case, you won’t,” Duchess replied, equally brusque. “Once you see samples of Jana’s work you’ll have no cause to doubt the quality, believe me.”

  Tremaine threw up her hands. “Believe you? I would not let you advise me on the color of the sky, much less on the choice of fabric for one of my creations. A creation to be presented to the empress, no less.”

  Duchess examined her fingernails, hoping to appear casual. “Without my help, you’ll be presenting nothing to the empress. Either you use my fabric or you can play second to the Atropi for another year.” Tremaine’s gaze went cold, and Duchess felt a trickle of unease. “But...since I never want it said that I am an unreasonable woman, I’ll offer a compromise. If you’re unimpressed by the samples I bring, you can select your own fabric and I will not object.” It was much to concede, particularly since she was certain Tremaine had forgotten more about fabric than Duchess had ever learned, but she didn’t see any other way.

  Tremaine warmed slightly. “Before I commit myself to this mad scheme of yours, I’ll need more than just words.” Duchess gestured for her to continue. “If I’m to design an alternate dress, I’ll need to know exactly what the Atropi plan to produce for Her Majesty, to ensure my creation is distinct.”

  Duchess blinked. “But to find that out I’d have to...”

  “...gain access to the Atropi’s shop. Without their knowing. The dress for the empress is a closely guarded secret, so I expect it’s well secured against interlopers. However, after your escapades on the Eusbius estate” — she flashed a smile like a knife — “I expect you’re up to the task. And such would be an earnest of your good intentions towards me.”

  Duchess eyed her sourly. If she said no, Tremaine would likely throw her out on the street, and her plan would be ended before it even began. “If that’s what you need to convince you, I’ll get a look at this dress. But I’ll want to know everything you can tell me about the shop, and about the sisters themselves. I have a strange feeling ruining such a valuable dress won’t be as simple as creeping into a room with a pair of scissors.”

  “That much is certain.” Tremaine regarded, all ice again. “Then let us begin.”

  * * *

  The Gardens of Mayu were always quiet, and today, Duchess needed it.

  Even though practical matters had brought her to the goddess’ temple that day, she had to admit that Mayu had been much on her mind as of late. She’d never given much thought to religion, but in the last few months she’d had memorable encounters with every major cult, not to mention that terrible scene in the tunnels. The order that the radiants spoke of seemed a product of men, and the facets’ wisdom tasted like manipulation, but the keepers’ claims that death was not the end? Duchess had herself seen the dead walk. If evil could be interred with their bones, perhaps something of the good survived as well. It was a thought both disquieting and strangely comforting.

  On impulse, she moved to a great circle of trees that stood nearby. Not for the first time she was struck by how strange it was that a death cult should venerate growing things. Yet if life and death were truly only two halves of an endless circle, perhaps it made more sense.

  A few people were already at worship, each with a small knife and a bloody hand. She knew, of course, that the followers of Mayu cut and bled themselves in lieu of prayer, but this was the first time she’d ever thought to join them. She knelt before the tallest of the trees, as she had seen others do, and slipped her dagger from her belt. It was sharp, for these days she kept it well honed. Before she could think better of it, she drew the blade lightly across the tip of the fourth finger of her left hand, the same place she’d cut when Jadis had asked her for a drop of blood. An instant of pain, and then blood welled from the cut. She turned h
er hand palm-down and while the blood dripped to the soil she tried to clear her mind and open herself to the will of Mayu. But how would she know what the goddess wished of her? Perhaps there would be some sign? Duchess waited, feeling both apprehensive and slightly foolish, while her blood soaked into the soil and no sign came.

  She was just putting away her knife when she heard the rustle of cloth from behind and turned to see First Keeper Jadis standing at a respectful distance, hands folded before him. His usually jovial face was stone-still. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked, as she climbed to her feet, pinching her cut finger to stanch the flow of blood.

  “Did I startle you? My apologies. I did not wish to interrupt your prayer.” He drew out a small piece of cloth from his sleeve and pressed it upon her. “Mayu asks for our blood, but not all of it.”

  She accepted the bandage and wrapped her finger. “My thanks. Though I came not only to pray. I need a favor.”

  “From me? Or from Mayu?”

  Duchess shrugged. “Perhaps both.” There was no easy way to approach this, so she jumped right in. “I need something from your alchemery.”

  He gestured and they moved off, strolling along one of many stone paths that looped around the garden. They saw keepers planting a sapling, and at the First Keeper’s approach they clutched the front of their robes and closed their eyes. Jadis returned the gesture. “Why did you cut yourself, just now?” he asked, when they were out of earshot.

  “Isn’t that what is done?”

  “Yes. It is what is done. But I want to know why you did it.”

  She measured him with her eyes, wondering. They shared a secret that could get them both hanged, so it seemed silly to lie to him now. She thought again of the bone, the one he’d so oddly said came from a certain man. “Recent events have made me wonder about death, and what it means, and what comes after.”

  “And what have you concluded?” he asked as they passed an elaborately carved stone bench, its arms and legs shaped like curving vines.