Mouse looked up at him, suddenly, a question in her dark eyes. "Did you know it was dangerous, what you did?"
"Oh yes," he replied, a little bleakly. "I knew."
***
The Prime Minister Zherekhaf tapped his steepled forefingers against his front teeth as he studied his nephew. Rhydev poured the coffee, doing his best to ignore his uncle's obvious scrutiny. The Prime Minister took the proffered cup, sipped appreciatively, and sighed. "You know, Rhydev, I begin to doubt the wisdom of colluding to topple Khethyran."
Rhydev stifled irritation with a bland reply. "It is Ghytteve, uncle, against whom our—mmm—energies are directed."
"Indeed," the Prime Minister snapped. "But Ghytteve's fall will affect the Emperor's position, however indirectly. I begin to see more profit in open alliance than in devious opposition."
"What?" Rhydev laughed. "What could have brought on such a mad fancy?"
"Were you in the garden when he faced down Rhan Ghytteve?"
Rhydev waved a dismissive hand. "No. But I heard he let the man off with banishment. Such—mmm—leniency fairly shrieks of weakness."
"No," Zherekhaf countered. "It was demonstration of pure, unalloyed strength. He stole Rhan Ghytteve's loyalty—in front of the whole Court. I've never seen anything like it. Rhydev, if he lives, that young man may grow into an Emperor worth serving."
"Worth serving! Uncle Zherekhaf! If I did not know you better, I would suspect you had slipped—mmm—inexplicably into your dotage. Surely it is—mmm—preferable to control the Emperor than to serve him."
"One controls the Emperor, Rhydev, when one is convinced that one can rule more efficiently and better through him than he can rule by himself."
"One controls the Emperor, Zherekhaf, in order to safeguard one's own interests. Never lose sight of that. I will grant you that Khethyran is—mmm—charismatic, even inspiring; but he is also at heart—mmm—egalitarian, and a threat to the old order and to our very livelihood. During his stay at the Kellande School, he absorbed far more of Kalledann than mere arts and literature."
"No doubt. But is that altogether a bad thing? The Empire of Bharaghlaf is decadent to the core; perhaps the old order has outlived its usefulness." Zherekhaf turned a twisted smile on his nephew's shocked face. "I'm not seriously suggesting that we do anything differently, Rhydev. Ghytteve will certainly pursue their ambitious ploy to its conclusion; and we can so easily be on hand to pick up the pieces. Perhaps I am on the threshold of my dotage for wishing, even briefly, that the outcome might be different. Tell me, Rhydev: have you found the link to chain the Emperor's foreign witch to Elkhar's murderous madness?"
"Yes, Uncle. However," he raised one finger warningly, "the timing is—mmm—delicate. Elkhar must reach the conclusion she is—mmm—dangerous without obvious prompting from us. There are several Ghytteve—mmm—objectives with which we might arrange to have Arre interfere."
"For instance?" the Prime Minister prodded.
"You remember that I told you of the thief Ferret? Ycevi wants her, and some of her—mmm—associates. These are people for whom Arre might be—mmm—induced to risk herself."
The Prime Minister nodded. "So. Timing is everything. Well, do your best, Rhydev; and we shall see."
***
Squirrel had felt a little surge of triumph when he had drawn the night shift—sundown to sunrise—for watching in the walls. He had imagined that the plotting would occur in the stealthy hours of the night. In truth, he had found himself watching Ghytteve bodyguards tossing the ysmath bones and bragging about conquests, or guarding Owl's restless slumber, or observing the Lady's late night games of khacce with Myncerre. But the night after Rhan had been banished by the Scholar King, things were different. The Lady raged. It was difficult to tell whether she was angrier with Rhan or the Emperor. Rhan, who was packing his things preparatory to slipping away from the King's City by cover of night, merely grit his teeth in a humorless grin at the Lady's diatribe.
"I don't understand why you didn't follow through after you'd been stupid enough to bare steel in his presence in the first place," she accused for the fortieth time.
Rhan shrugged. "Lady, I can neither explain nor excuse myself. But if I'd killed him, you'd berate me for imperiling the House."
"You warned the girl, Mouse—and let her escape! Such clumsiness! Such—"
"He's clumsy, useless, stupid, inept, incompetent, slip-shod, bungling, and inefficient," a new voice put in: Elkhar. "We've heard the litany, Lady. Why not concentrate on salvaging the situation?"
"Is there anything to salvage?" Lady Ycevi demanded passionately. "They've deprived me of another of my bodyguard—though admittedly, this one is merely rendered useless, not dead. Can you seriously suggest there is anything to salvage of such a—a rout?"
"We've identified another of the children: Mouse. We ought to be able to make use of that," Elkhar offered.
"How?" the Lady asked.
"Listen," her henchman said. "I've a mind to set a trap for our Owl. I think he should be permitted to overhear an unsettling little plan for Mouse. Only talk of course, but he needn't know that; we don't dare move against the artist after Rhan's foolishness and the Emperor's intervention. But as I said, Owl needn't know that. All we need is for him to think Mouse is in danger; then we watch, and let him show us how he reports to his allies."
In the wall, Squirrel caught his breath. He had to warn Owl—let him know that it was a trap, and assure him that he, Squirrel, would carry word to the others. Owl was sleeping; he'd checked on him not long ago. He made a rapid mental survey of the turnings to reach the secret panel in Owl's bedroom, and satisfied he could find his way without even the faintest betraying glimmer of light, he set out.
Blue moonlight filled Owl's bedchamber. Stealthily, Squirrel entered by the secret way and crept to Owl's bedside. The boy moaned in his sleep, rolling his head against the pillows.
"Owl," Squirrel breathed, shaking him gently. "Wake up."
Owl's eyes snapped open. He caught his breath in a little gasp. "Oh, no, Squirrel. You shouldn't be here!"
"I've an urgent message: they want you to think Mouse is in danger, so you'll betray yourself trying to warn us. It's a ruse—and I'll carry word to the others. Just act unconcerned—or worried but helpless. Got it?"
Owl shook his head, his eyes shadowed with pain. "No. It was a ruse for you. I dreamed it: Cezhar figured out you've been spying. Squirrel, they watch me constantly; by now, someone will have seen you."
"Oh, no," Squirrel breathed, thinking of Kitten. "Oh, Lady Windbringer, no!"
"Windbringer!" Owl whispered, something like hope animating him. "Here—take this. Kerigden said it was protection." He shoved a gleaming gem into Squirrel's hand. "Now, hurry."
Clutching the gem, Squirrel turned toward the secret panel; but the sound of the door latch froze him. With a faint, despairing moan, he dove under the bed. Elkhar stormed in, flanked by two of the other bodyguards. All bore lanterns.
"Where is the boy you were talking with?" Elkhar demanded.
"What are you talking about?" Owl asked. "What boy?"
"Search the room." Elkhar crossed to Owl, his face contorted with rage. "How stupid do you think I am?"
"I don't think you're stupid at all, Elkhar; I think you're obsessed. There's no boy here—but me."
Cowering under the bed, Squirrel prepared for capture. Steps neared his hiding place; lantern light flashed across him and he saw—with disbelieving clarity—the Ghytteve guard's eyes skip over and through him as though he didn't exist.
"There's no one here," the searchers reported; and relief, terror, and hysteria wrestled with Owl's sense.
Elkhar gripped the boy's nightshirt one-handed, thrust the lantern into his face. "What did you do with him, Owl?"
"Do with whom?" Owl replied wildly, laughter bubbling in his tone.
"Owl!" Elkhar growled, shaking the boy.
"You've been dreaming!" Owl persisted. "Your obsession is dri
ving you to imagine things."
Elkhar let go of the nightshirt and slapped Owl's face. "What did you do with him? Tell me, or I'll break your neck."
Owl laughed hysterically. "I gave him a stone sacred to the Windbringer and he vanished, Elkhar; what do you think I did with him? There's no boy here, Elkhar: just me."
Elkhar was silent, but his eyes glittered dangerously. Beneath the bed, Squirrel did some rapid figuring. Owl's door was open, but the secret panel was closed and latched. Even if he were invisible, no one could fail to notice the panel opening. He edged out from under the bed, crept along the wall toward the open door. When Squirrel reached the door, he slipped out, and—gem clutched in his fist like his sole hope of redemption—he fled.
Chapter Twenty-eight—Raising the Stakes
Rage, barely contained, lit Elkhar Ghytteve's eyes. He frog-marched Owl to the library and left him with the Lady and Myncerre while he fetched Cithanekh. When the young lord, looking sleep-rumpled and alarmed, made to join Owl, Elkhar yanked him back. Cezhar and two other guards came in behind them and closed the door.
"Cezhar saw the spy," Elkhar told the Lady.
"He came through the panel and went to Owl's bed," Cezhar said. "I did not stay to listen to their conversation, but Owl called him 'Squirrel.' I barred the secret way and reported to Elkhar. The spy was not in the room when we returned."
Elkhar spoke then. "At first, Owl denied any knowledge of the spy; when I pressed him to tell me how the spy had escaped, he said: 'I gave him a stone sacred to the Windbringer and he vanished, Elkhar; what do you think I did with him?'"
"A stone sacred to the Windbringer?" the Lady repeated.
"I just said it for something to say, Lady," Owl protested. "Elkhar hit me; he said he'd break my neck. He wouldn't believe me that there was no boy but me."
"But why Windbringer?" the Lady pressed.
"It was something to say: something fantastic and impossible. There was no reason."
"Just something to say, Owl? Is that what you want me to believe?" She pinched his chin and made him look at her. When he nodded, she turned to Cithanekh. "Cithanekh, remember the little thief—Owl's friend, Ferret? When you let her go, did you just turn her loose, or did you give her into someone's hands?"
"I don't recall," Cithanekh said.
The Lady raised an imperative eyebrow at Elkhar, who crossed swiftly to Owl and twisted the boy's wrist. Owl hissed.
"Lady, I don't recall," Cithanekh repeated, pleading.
The Lady shook her head. "Break his wrist, Elkhar."
For an interminable moment, there was a breathless hush. Anguish wrenched Cithanekh's face, but he said nothing. There was an ugly, splintering snap, and Owl cried out.
"Has your memory improved?" the Lady asked.
He shook his head, beyond speech.
"Break his other wrist, Elkhar."
"No!" The word was torn out of Cithanekh. "No more. I've remembered." He met Owl's streaming eyes. "I'm not strong enough for this, Owl. I gave Ferret to the Emperor's foreign witch; I thought she might be sympathetic."
"The Emperor's foreign witch," the Lady repeated. "And was she alone, Cithanekh?"
"I don't—" he began, but Elkhar jarred Owl's broken wrist and he cried out, again. Cithanekh's eyes were wide in his colorless face. "No more," he gasped. "She was making music with Venykhar Ghobhezh-Ykhave, and the Windbringer High Priest."
The Lady studied the young lord. "It would have been better, Cithanekh, if you had begun with the whole truth," she said in a voice like a serpent's warning hiss. "You see, I already knew. But even in the midst of your touching capitulation, you still sought to conceal the truth from me." She went, then, to Owl's side, lifted his chin and gazed down at his tear-stained face. "Look at him. He's so vulnerable. But can we trust him? Cithanekh, Owl makes Elkhar nervous; he wants me to kill you both and start over with your brother. I think that would be a waste, and so for the moment, I have forbidden it. Are you trying to force me to reconsider?"
"No," Cithanekh whispered.
"Then you must tell me what I ask." She looked down at her slave. "Owl, do you want me to kill Cithanekh?"
"No, Lady."
A mocking smile touched her mouth. "You hate to be used; and you doubly hate to be used against your friend. But understand me: if I can't control Cithanekh through you, you are useless to me. If I cannot trust you, you are useless to me. I do not keep useless things. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lady."
"Good. Now. Tell me what your friend Squirrel wanted and how he managed to escape."
Owl had known this was coming, and he had forced himself to come up with a plausible lie. "I don't know what he wanted. Whatever message he had, there wasn't time for it. I knew I was guarded and he would have been seen. I told him to hide on the window ledge, while I distracted whoever came. I didn't think anyone would look for him, there; it's such a long fall, and there's not even any ivy to climb. And then, when everyone came, I thought if I made Elkhar angry enough, he would haul me off to you, and Squirrel could escape."
"Why, you wretched—" Elkhar began, tightening his grip on Owl's injured arm.
The Lady stopped him with a gesture. "Why Windbringer?"
"She likes children."
"Perhaps. But you would indeed be a fool to expect her to protect you from me, child. Elkhar, did you tell me that Dedemar had reappeared?" The bodyguard nodded, and she smiled. "Good. I've a use for him." She turned to Myncerre. "Make up a lethal dose of ghyar and mix it with some of our finest coffee. I think it's time to send the Windbringer a message—in case she (or her priest) is of a mind to interfere." As the steward moved toward the door, the Lady added, "When you've done, come back and set the brat's wrist." Then, Ycevi swept her minions into her wake and sailed out of the library, leaving Cithanekh and Owl alone.
The young lord cradled the boy gently in his arms. "Gods, Owl. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Owl covered Cithanekh's mouth with his good hand. "Never mind. Cithanekh, I—"
"I should never have tried to resist her! I—"
"Cithanekh, please!" The undisguised pain cut off the young lord's self-recriminations. Owl continued, whispering through his tears. "I did give Squirrel the Windbringer's stone; and he did disappear. And I don't understand it; and I'm frightened."
"Oh, Owl," Cithanekh murmured, holding him. "It will be all right; it will be. She likes children; maybe she will protect us. But it's good you didn't tell my cousin."
"Cithanekh, what are we going to do?"
The young lord's expressive eyes were bleak. "Whatever Ycevi requires."
"No, I mean about the ghyar; about Kerigden. We must warn him. I can—" He shook his head, then. "No, I can't; I couldn't begin to concentrate. What are we going to do?"
"Owl, we can't risk it. Didn't you hear? She'll kill us."
"She'll kill him."
"He's Talyene's; she'll protect him. Owl—" he added as he felt the boy tense; but further discussion was cut off by the steward's return.
Myncerre probed Owl's wrist while Cithanekh held him still; then she wrapped it securely to a wooden splint. By the time she was done, Owl was white and sweating. Myncerre searched the boy's pain-shadowed eyes, read the mirroring anguish in Cithanekh's expression. Her face was stiff as plaster when she spoke, the words the merest whisper, the tone wondering. "I did as my Lady bid, as I must," she murmured. "But I mixed the ghyar with quinine." Then she went out.
Cithanekh leaned his cheek against the boy's hair; after a moment he breathed into his ear, "My dear, amazing Owl. Ghyar is nearly tasteless—but quinine is extremely bitter."
***
In the gray hour before dawn, Venykhar Ghobhezh-Ykhave finally gave up on sleep. Without disturbing his valet, he rose and dressed, intending to take a turn around the dark, empty gardens. He always found a measure of peace in the plash of water, so it was perhaps no wonder that he ended up sitting on the cool marble curb of his favorite garden fountain
.
The fountain was a fine piece of statuary, carved several generations ago by an Ykhave artisan; it depicted two twining sea-serpents, one of creamy, pale marble and the other of black stone veined with pink. Water issued from a spout in the center of their writhing coils, curtaining their struggle—or was it play?—in silvery mist. The fountain sat at the center of a paved court bordered by sprawling yew bushes and dogwood trees. Venykhar folded his hands over the head of his walking stick, leaned his forehead against his hands, and let the gardens' peace and the soothing water-noise ease the tensions that had kept him wakeful.
Perhaps the old lord nodded off; quite suddenly, he realized the gardens were no longer silent nor empty. He heard low voices beyond the dark yews and footsteps crunched on the raked gravel paths.
"...don't mean to reproach you any further, Rhan. To tell you the honest truth, I wish I were going with you. You should have seen the look on Elkhar's face when he broke Owl's wrist. Gods. He's hardly sane—"
"Cezh! Be careful. It was hard on him, losing Cyffe. At least it sounds like you'll get the fellow who killed her."
"Aye. That trap should hold." The speaker gave a short, bitter laugh. "Poor Antryn—if it is Antryn. He's been swimming against the riptide for longer than I care to think. I almost hate to admit it, but you know, I've a sneaking admiration for that little thief, Ferret. I'd have given a great deal to see how she persuaded the Masters of the Slum-Guilds to work together." He sighed. "Lady wants her dead."
"She has plucky friends if Owl and that little artist are any indication."
"'Plucky,'" he laughed. "Admit it; the small Ykhave made you angry enough utterly to forget discretion."
"I never had much to begin with. But I'd best be off. It will be light in an hour. Cezhar, guard yourself."
"Oh, aye. And you: take care, little brother."
Footsteps crunched away. Venykhar remained immobile, though his thoughts roiled. After a moment he heard a sigh; and then, more footsteps, returning the way they had come. The sound changed to the faint scuff of shoes on paving stones instead of the crunch of gravel underfoot. With effort, Venykhar did not look up, but continued to rest his forehead against his hands.
A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) Page 23