The Palace Job

by Patrick Weekes

  "Your actions were indicative of just the form of disharmonizing influence I described earlier," said Icy, starting back the way they had come at a fast walk.

  "And your actions were indicative of you not being able to lie worth a damn," Kail said, keeping pace while listening behind him. Someone called out in his direction, but they were calling it out like a question. "Okay, new plan. Do you think we can both do that pole-vault thing you did?"

  Icy looked at Kail speculatively. "Do you have any formal acrobatic training?"

  "Not formal, no, not really, I guess you could say." They got to the corner, which had been Kail's big goal for that twenty-second period. Behind them, someone started shouting, and Icy and Kail started jogging by mutual agreement. "Hey!" Kail shouted at some lapitects coming their way. "There's some problem, someone unconscious back there! Get help!" A few of them ran past Kail and Icy. A few ran in the other direction, presumably to get help. Nobody tried to apprehend him. This fulfilled another one of Kail's big goals.

  "My plan to reach the streets was to leap from the window, strike the pole upon the ground vertically, and slide down as the pole began to tilt, trusting that my balance and tumbling ability would cushion the resulting fall."

  Kail pursed his lips and jogged faster. "Yeah, I don't see that working for me."

  They had just gotten back to the office when the alarms started chiming. As Kail slammed the door shut, Icy picked up the pole and gave Kail a questioning look. "Go, dammit, I'll be fine." Purple light flared over his head. "Oh, and take this." He passed Icy the crystal.

  Icy pocketed the crystal, hefted his pole, and leaped out the window. Kail followed and saw the man do a kind of controlled falling slide down the pole to the ground, roll smoothly to his feet, and jog down the street and around a corner, disappearing into safety.

  The fall looked to be about twenty-five or thirty feet. Not a killer—the ship had been worse, but then, the ship had had a lawn underneath it.

  The chiming took on a new intensity, and red lights began dancing on the ceiling. Kail decided to risk it, got a running start, and dove out the window. He got about a foot and a half before crashing into an invisible wall and bouncing back into the office, now bruised in a new damn place.

  Tern had mentioned something about barrier wards if things went wrong. Kail had sort of been counting on things not going wrong.

  Running wouldn't help, not if they had wards up. Kail took a seat in the office and stared at the flashing red lights on the ceiling.

  About fifteen minutes later, the guards showed up. He heard the booted feet on the stairs, heard them banging doors open and shouting to each other. Kail wondered if Warden Orris would be happy to see him.

  He ducked down behind the desk. The door banged open. Two guards stepped in.

  "All clear," said one of them—Kail couldn't see him, as he was still hiding behind the desk, but he sounded young. "Wait, it looks like this desk has been moved. And the window is open..." He came around the corner, saw Kail, and stared speechlessly for a moment.

  "Please don't." The other guard cracked the first guard neatly on the temple with the butt of her truncheon. "It's too early for one of your lines about people's mothers. You're just lucky Ululenia could hex one of the guards to sleep for us."

  "You look tense, Loch," Kail said, catching the unconscious young guard. "Weren't you going to get a massage or sauna package or something last night? How come you still look tense?"

  Loch glared from beneath her helmet. "Get dressed, Kail. We've got two minutes until Ululenia and Hessler make a big distraction outside and all the guards run out to chase them. "

  "Good, good." Kail slapped on the young guard's helmet and got to work on the jacket. "But really. You got a scented-water immersion or an herbal treatment at one of the baths or something, right?"

  "Yes, Kail. Not that it's any of your business, but I had a very relaxing herbal treatment last night."

  A purple light flared over her head. Kail figured it out and started laughing.

  "Get dressed," Loch muttered, and went to guard the door. "When that outside alarm shuts down, we're leaving, even if you're bare-ass naked."

  "You bringing up bare-assed nakedness for any reason in particular?" Kail asked innocently.

  "Shut up, Kail."

  "Happy to oblige, Captain."

  Thirteen

  Tern was waiting outside the temple of Tasheveth, by the fountain where she and Hessler had watched Archvoyant Silestin. The frolicking water nymph spouting the water was pissing Tern off. She began hunting through her pockets.

  When Desidora finally came out, hair red, skin tan, and robes a nice flirty green, she gave the water nymph a concerned look. "What happened to its head?"

  "Minor alchemical accident," Tern said flatly. "So, did they buy the act?"

  Desidora blinked. "If by the act, you mean my faithful assumption of my former duties as a priestess of Tasheveth—" "Right, before you sold your soul to Byn-kodar."

  "Kutesosh gajair'is!"

  The green robes darkened slightly. "Tern, this may be an eldritch glimmering beyond the comprehension of man causing my sight to betray me, but I'm sensing some veiled hostility."

  Tern narrowed her eyes. "Look, you can get the guys all lovestruck with the smoldering eyes and the 'former love priestess' angle, but I've seen warlocks with great daemon-augmented smiles, so I'm not buying it. You worship a death god. That's evil."

  "You crack safes," Desidora pointed out.

  "You say that like it's a comeback!" Tern stamped her steel-toed boot, cracking the pavement slightly and causing the remains of the frolicking water nymph's head to fall off. "Safes! Not people! If you can't see past that, we have nothing to talk about."

  Tern watched Desidora's hair and face change color and had a brief realization that perhaps she could have told the death priestess off with witnesses other than a mentally deficient warhammer present. "Not all stories of the priesthood of Bynkodar are true," Desidora said carefully.

  "Really?" Tern asked acidly. "So you were bluffing when you told Loch you could rig up something with zombies?"

  Desidora winced. "Not precisely. But the priesthood is not necessarily one of killing—"

  "Which is why you have a talking magical warhammer." "Besyn larveth'is!"

  "Hey, Ghyl."

  "Ghylspwr is not merely a weapon," Desidora said softly, "and not merely a tool. He is ancient, and he is wise, and he has seen things neither you nor I could understand or accept. He came to me on the night I became what I am today. He is not an object of violence, Tern, but of Prophecy."

  She said it with capital letters and everything.

  "I don't believe in prophecies," Tern said.

  "If you can't see past that," Desidora shot back wryly, "we have nothing to talk about." But her short-cropped hair was back to glossy auburn, and her robes were green again.

  "Well," Tern said, coughing and shifting her weight, "how did it go in there?"

  "Archvoyant Silestin visited a priestess who specializes in creating items of love-magic and trickery," Desidora said crisply. "And in return for some promised latitude in the taxation of buildings operating in the pleasure district, the Archvoyant received a very expensive magical vestment known as the robes of Nefkemet."

  "Which are?" Tern raised an eyebrow.

  "Commonly known as chameleon robes."

  "Wait. He promised tax incentives and all kinds of corrupt bureaucratic crap just to get robes that change color?"

  Desidora smiled. "And I know how he's going to use them. And I believe I know how we're going to get that crystal off of him."

  The temple temple of Ael-meseth on the Spire was the most glorious of all the temples. Its inner sanctum was bedecked with marble columns flecked with gold, vast murals of kings and warriors of antiquity, fonts of holy wine, and bronze gongs to summon the faithful. The temple's outer courtyard could comfortably hold several hundred standing people, and today it was packed ful
l.

  Many of those standing and watching the upper balcony wore the robes of other gods—Pesyr the Smith, Esa-jolar the General, and even Jairytnef the Sorceress. The priests sat on plush couches in an area roped off from the businessmen and politicians who came to listen, and the news writers who came to take notes to pass down to the puppeteers.

  Tern paid for their tickets. She and Desidora stepped into the crowd, and the crowd made way for them mindlessly, moving aside without ever looking their way. Desidora smiled, slightly pale, and Tern kept her eyes to the front and her feet moving.

  When they reached the doors to the inner sanctum, guards stopped them. Tern opened her mouth to launch into the spiel, but Desidora checked her with a small motion and instead said, "Tell the Prime that a visitor says, 'Ynku hesyur dar'ur Aelmeseth."'

  The guards looked at her in confusion, but one of them left. Tern put on her best expression of bored contempt. A minute later the guard returned, pale and shaken, and showed them into the inner sanctum.

  Tern had been in temples before, although usually the presence of a guard meant that something had gone horribly wrong (or that Icy was going to be breaking in through the wall). They came to a lavish room where a tall and imposing man in expensive robes sat at what was only nominally a chair instead of a throne. The guards left.

  "You choose a difficult time to speak the words that can bind even the Prime of Ael-meseth," the man said. His voice was calm, tranquil even. "Might I interest you in refreshments while I attend the trifling matters outside?"

  Tern opened her mouth to launch into the spiel, but Desidora checked her again and said, "I bear the hammer Ghylspwr, who was king of the Ancients and whose return to this world bespeaks the coming of prophecy." Her voice was cold. She drew out Ghylspwr from her robes, and he shined and shouted, "Besyn-larveth'is!" impressively.

  On his throne, the Prime of Ael-meseth paled and shrank back. "I thought that was just... Of course, I am yours to command. Few indeed know the—"

  "Yes," said Desidora, cutting off the high priest of the god of rulers with a short motion. "I need an impression crystal. Any simple one will suffice."

  "As you say," the Prime said quickly, coming down from his throne and rummaging through the pockets of his robes. He held up a wand that glowed a shining violent. "This crystal controls the wards for this humble temple, but if it suits your needs—"

  "Two birds with one stone," said Desidora, and brought Ghylspwr down on his head.

  "Kun-kabynalti osu fuir'is," Ghylspwr offered as the Prime crumpled gently to the ground.

  "Well, that was nice of you, yes. Killing him isn't necessary."

  Tern got the crystal that the Prime had held and tossed it to Desidora, then dragged the Prime into a private chamber to the side of the throne. "You think maybe he's going to report this when he wakes up?"

  "The Prime of Ael-meseth?" Desidora asked wryly. "Admitting that two women and a talking warhammer defeated him in his inner sanctum? I doubt it. Not unless we make it public." She held up the crystal and focused her gaze intently, and a low hum that Tern hadn't even realized she'd been hearing suddenly snapped off. "Which is not, I believe, the plan."

  "Wards?" Tern asked, looking around.

  "Not anymore." Desidora smiled as the violet glow flickered and died. Her skin was growing steadily more pale. She drew a medallion out from under her robes, and Tern saw that it was engraved with a twisting shape she couldn't place. Then Desidora touched the medallion and shut her eyes, and the shape slid into the crown and scepter of Ael-meseth.

  A pair of acolytes stepped into the room. "Who are you?" they demanded, their violet robes shining and their gold-braided tassels snapping as they strode forward. "Where is the Prime? The Archvoyant is here for the address!"

  Tern opened her mouth to launch into the spiel, then paused. Desidora nudged her slightly, and Tern realized that she was indeed here for a reason.

  "What in Byn-kodar's name took you so long?" she snapped, stomping forward. "The Prime wanted him brought here immediately. Do you have any idea how important this is? I don't have to tell you how far Mother Haeldatha traveled to give the damn blessing—"

  "My secretary speaks, of course, of the Rite of Conferral," Desidora added serenely, adjusting her medallion.

  "Whatever, Mother. What you and the gods call it is up to you. Making it happen on time is up to me." Tern fixed the acolytes with the chilly smile that every functionary knew. "Now if you two will hurry the hell up, we can actually try to get this thing done."

  The acolytes blinked. They had no idea what was going on, but the small, apple-cheeked woman in the brown dress didn't seem to know or care about that. And if there were any trouble, the wards would have triggered an alarm.

  Public events are hell for any organization. The weary and frazzled acolytes nodded in mute relief at having somebody around who seemed to know what she was doing.

  Archvoyant Silestin strode into the temple about a quarter of an hour before his speech. The temple guards ushered him in and led him to the Chamber of Conferral, which was where the Prime would do the ceremony and give him the robes.

  "We good to go, Elkinsair?" he murmured without looking at his little secretary.

  "Of course, sir."

  "Capital." Ordinarily, he wouldn't have asked. Elkinsair was nothing if not dependable. But today was important.

  The Chamber of Conferral was small and dark and shaped like an octagon, lit only by crystals that reflected off triangular mirrors set on each wall. Each of the eight triangular mirrors had a deity's symbol set at each point of the triangle, so that all twenty-four of the recognized gods shone their collective light upon the room. As the ruler of the gods, Ael-meseth had a slightly larger logo.

  The Prime wasn't there. Instead, an imposing young redheaded priestess was there, along with what Silestin guessed was her assistant, a peasant girl in brown.

  "You come seeking the blessing of the four-and-twenty, Archvoyant," the priestess said formally.

  "I do," said Silestin. He'd rehearsed. "Now, the Prime was supposed to—"

  "None may gain the blessing of the four-and-twenty unless they speak their words from the heart, for all to see their true intent," the priestess went on. "Will you bare your soul to all you wish your words to reach?"

  "I will. Listen, where is the Prime?"

  She raised an eyebrow, and Silestin found himself in the rare position of discomfiture. "The supreme representative of the gods does not explain himself to a ruler of men," she said. "If you do not wish to undergo the Conferral—"

  "Fine, fine." Silestin cut her off, took charge of the conversation again with a brief note of satisfaction at her affronted look. "Let's get moving."

  "Yes," the assistant chimed in. "We're behind schedule, and it's very important that we get this going as quickly as possible." The priestess glared down at her, and she flushed bright red and went silent.

  "All are naked in the eyes of the four-and-twenty," said the priestess. "Remove your vestments and kneel to receive the Conferral."

  Silestin unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it off. When he made to hand it to Elkinsair, however, the priestess stopped him with an imperious gesture. "None may interfere in your death and rebirth, Archvoyant. Your guest remains at our sufferance, and because the temple wishes to offer no disrespect, but your mortal vestments must remain untouched until you return. To do otherwise violates the Conferral and revokes the offer of the four-and-twenty to affirm the intentions of your soul." She smiled archly at the last bit.

  Silestin stripped down. The priestess didn't even look at him, but the assistant blushed and looked at her shoes. He folded his uniform neatly and knelt, naked, before the priestess.

  "The man who entered this room lies in his shed trappings on the floor," the priestess intoned, holding out the shimmering robe Silestin would be wearing. "It is his immortal soul that now moves to address the people, so that all may know the truth of his words."

  She han
ded Silestin the robes. He put them on quickly, grimacing as they immediately shifted from shimmering gray to an angry swirling mix of red and black.

  "Control yourself, Archvoyant." The priestess sniffed. "You wished this, according to the Prime. Do not envy the authority of the gods."

  Silestin rose to his feet, shifted the robes around him. "The Prime told me I could have a few words with my secretary before I head out."

  The priestess raised an eyebrow. "Then you misunderstood him, Archvoyant."

  "Priestess!" the assistant gasped. "This is the Arch—"

  The priestess rode right over her. "None may interact with you or your mortal garments until your speech is concluded. To do otherwise violates—"

  "Right, right. It's just that the Prime said..." Silestin glanced at Elkinsair, who gave him a barely perceptible nod without directly looking his way. "Fine. Whatever. Let's get going."

  "My assistant will show you to the podium. I shall remain here as a conduit for the blessing of the four-and-twenty." She glanced at Elkinsair disdainfully. "Your secretary may remain if he wishes... and if he is silent."

  "Whatever." With a confidence marred only slightly by the frustrated lines of red and yellow that shot across the robes, Silestin followed the assistant out toward the podium where he would give the most important speech of his career.

  Desidora gave the secretary a minute and a half, tops.

  The Nefkemet robes were in a tiny folded bundle under his own robes, visible only for the aura that few people, even among the priesthood, would be able to see. The switch was obviously supposed to have taken place during that brief private moment, which the Prime had apparently been ready to allow despite centuries of established protocol. Desidora was lying about some of the rules of the Ceremony of Conferral, but not all of it.

  She wondered briefly if the Prime had been bribed or was just playing politics, keeping her face serene and her aura authoritative but calm as she knelt in the middle of the room.

  The secretary shifted his weight, took a few steps, then stopped and put his hands behind his back. Desidora could feel the stress pouring off him in waves. It had to be a big speech—the Archvoyant wouldn't bow to the temples unless he needed a large audience, as well as the hook of having his heart quite literally worn on his sleeve for all to see his sincerity.