One of the things that Mauritane had taught him during the long weeks of their trek across the kingdom was how to guard himself from Empathy. What a typically Mauritane skill, Silverdun realized.
Still, Sela was beautiful. He was pulled to her. He wanted her.
He began to drift off to sleep, dreaming of kissing her, but as his mind wandered toward dreaming, her face became Faella's in his mind, and it was Faella's name he whispered just before he lost consciousness.
The difficulty of the fool's errand is that it is typically the fool who undertakes it.
-Master jedron
he first day of the month of Hawk dawned sunny and bright, but despite the weather, Blackstone House was still as oppressive and imposing as it had been on their first visit. The inside of the house was, perhaps, bleaker than it had been then; the early-morning light that eked its way past the heavy shutters cast a pall on the empty rooms. Silverdun climbed the stairs and stepped into the closet in the back bedroom. He paused with his key in the lock, hesitating the way one would before jumping into a cold pond. The disorientation was of the kind that one never got used to.
The instant Silverdun stepped into the turn, the house came alive with sound. Copyists and amanuenses hurried through the office carrying scrolls and bound documents, and a pair of message sprites were brawling in one of the corners, fighting over a scrap of pink silk fabric. In the main office, every desk was occupied, the intelligence officers preparing briefings or translating intercepted documents or whatever it was that they did. A few heads turned when Silverdun entered, then went back to whatever they'd been doing. Silverdun went downstairs feeling oddly light and at ease.
Ironfoot and Paet were waiting in Paet's office, sipping tea in awkward silence. Paet glanced with practiced accusatory subtlety at the clock on his desk, showing ten minutes past the hour. Silverdun ignored him.
"No Sela this morning?" Silverdun asked, as innocently as possible.
"She's on another assignment," said Paet, expressionless.
"Of no concern to me, I take it?" asked Silverdun.
"Not at this time."
Silverdun sighed and sat. This was going to be the way of things. Well. Information had a way of getting around. At court, as in politics, as in most everything else, information was always the most precious commodity.
"I'm sending the two of you to Annwn," said Paet, handing each of them a leather binder holding unpleasantly thick sheaves of documents. Ironfoot reached out eagerly for his, but Silverdun wavered, experiencing again the strange, embarrassing shame at taking orders from his social inferior. This had, of course, become a pattern with him since his days as a prisoner at Crete Sulace, but he'd never quite gotten used to it. If there were a medal for least respected nobleman in all of Faerie, he'd have won it hands down. Maybe it was a good thing. "Humility is the soul's sustenance," Estiane had told him once. Smug bastard.
Silverdun took the binder and opened it. It contained dossiers on a number of government officials, a briefing on the political situation, the names and addresses of friendly contacts among the populace, and a brief mission document, written in Paet's tidy scrawl, a bit blurred by a copyist who was either harried or incompetent.
"Obviously you can't travel directly, so we'll be sending you via Mag Mell. The ambassador in Isle Cureid will provide you with the documentation you'll need to cross into Annwn." The Port-Auvris Lock, the gateway connecting the Seelie Kingdom directly to Annwn, had been closed five years earlier, during the Unseelie invasion.
"Your primary mission," said Paet, "is to make contact with several of the local authorities in Blood of Arawn who we believe may be particularly resistant to the current political situation. Since Mab conquered Annwn five years ago, the populace has become more and more restless. There have been four separate rebellions quashed by the Unseelie contingent there. All of them minor, but there does seem to be a trend."
"What are we after?" asked Silverdun. "Annwn is a bit of a backwater, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Paet, "but it's a backwater that provides a massive amount of tribute in the form of gold and a fair-sized army that can be mobilized against the Seelie Kingdom should Mab see fit to do so."
"Do we have intelligence that leads us to believe she might?"
Paet nodded. "We have evidence that proves she already has. One of our spotters along the border near Wamarnest spied two companies of Annwni cavalry training alongside their Unseelie counterparts."
Ironfoot frowned. "Why train so near the border? Wouldn't it make sense to hide that kind of force?"
Paet made a noncommittal gesture. "It may be that they wanted us to see it, to frighten us."
"It's also the only place they've got to drill cavalry," said Silverdun. "Any farther north and the ground is too unstable to risk horses. They build those cities in the sky for a reason."
"Regardless," said Paet, "if we can find some way to undermine the Unseelie in Annwn then we're that much closer to surviving a war."
"You'd like the two of us to whip up an armed insurrection? That shouldn't be too difficult. We'll hand out a few sharpened sticks and some pamphlets and that'll be the thing done."
Paet sighed. It was childish to needle him, but it was also gratifying.
"There are other methods that may prove more effective," said Paet, ignoring him. "As you may know, the political system in Annwn is rather unlike ours. Overall, they're ruled by the Unseelie, but Mab typically doesn't dismantle the existing structure unless it suits her to do so, and in the case of Annwn, it did not."
"So what's the existing structure?" asked Ironfoot.
"The city of Blood of Arawn, and thus the world at large, is run by a number of elected magistrates, who themselves elect seven of their number to act as a high council."
"Who elects them?" asked Silverdun. "The people?"
"Yes," said Paet. "Property holders, anyway."
"Very progressive," said Silverdun.
"Anyhow, this system of elections is rife with corruption, and any given election can be bought fairly easily. A few bags of gold distributed to the right people-"
"And we can help place in power those favorable to our cause," finished Silverdun.
"Precisely," said Paet. "As Everess has told you both, our battles aren't fought on the field. Our offensives are a bit more judicious."
"I imagine it would be fairly expensive to buy out the entire body politic," said Silverdun. "Or do your pockets run deeper than I suspect?"
"Any trouble we can cause," he said, "even enough to disrupt troop movements between worlds for a while, could give us a useful advantage. And if we can help arrange a rebellion with the vague promise of Seelie assistance ..." Paet let the words linger in the air.
"But there wouldn't be any real Seelie assistance, would there?" said Ironfoot.
"Not unless we wanted to start the war on our own, no. But allowing a few rebels to believe it is a different matter altogether."
Silverdun smiled. "I see that Everess's way of thinking has rubbed off on you," he said. "Anything for victory."
"Yes," said Paet. "For this victory, yes." He leaned forward. "For this victory I will lie and cheat and steal and kill if I must. If the choice is between a single life and a way of life, then there is no contest."
He glared at Silverdun. "Spend some time in Annwn under Unseelie rule and then tell me what you think about it."
Paet had a fine way of making even the most ruthless actions seem reasonable. No wonder Everess had him in charge.
Paet waited for what seemed a calculated moment and then added as if in afterthought, "There's something else I'd like you to check into while you're in Annwn."
"What's that?" asked Ironfoot.
"When I was there five years ago, I was working with your most recent predecessor, a woman named Jenien. She was killed at the home of a man named Prae Benesile on the night of Mab's invasion."
"The trail of her killer may be a bit cold after five years," said Silverd
un.
"I know who killed her," said Paet, a bit more severely than seemed necessary, even for him. "I want you to find out about Prae Benesile. I want to know why she was investigating him and why it got her killed by the Bel Zheret."
Silverdun and Ironfoot glanced briefly at each other. Ironfoot's face was stony, but Silverdun could almost see the words "Bel Zheret" hanging on his lips.
"And what do we do if we encounter Bel Zheret ourselves?" asked Silverdun.
Paet laughed, a short bark that echoed in the room. He stood slowly, leaning on his cane. He turned around, facing the wall, and lifted up his shirt. A long, purple scar made an artful swirl across his back.
He let the shirttail fall and looked at the two of them. "You?" he asked, sighing. "You die."
He paused. "That reminds me of something," he said.
Silverdun wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear whatever it was the thought of his death reminded Paet of.
"When you go on this mission, it's likely that you'll find yourself in a stressful situation before too long," Paet said.
"That's kind of the point, isn't it?"
Paet smiled his thin smile. "I suppose so. Regardless, when that happens, you may find yourself experiencing ... certain reactions that you have not felt before."
"What does that mean?" asked Silverdun.
"I can't say," said Paet. "You must be ready for anything. Just be aware that if you find yourself suddenly more capable than before, that this is to be both expected and encouraged. There's no way of telling exactly when or how this will occur."
"How can you be so sure that whatever this is, is going to happen?"
"It always happens to newly minted Shadows. It's the way of things."
"Jedron never mentioned anything about it," said Ironfoot.
"I imagine that half of what Jedron told you was outright lies, and the other half was misleading."
Silverdun couldn't argue with that.
"Be warned," said Paet. "That's all."
"Paet," said Ironfoot. "When we were on that island, something very strange happened. There was a pit, and it was black-"
"I know what you're going to say," said Paet. "And I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it. What happened on that island is not for you to know. For the time being."
"And when will that time cease to be?" asked Ironfoot.
"When it becomes necessary for it to be otherwise."
Paet stood and shooed them out of his office.
"Now go into the den and wait. I'll be down in a few minutes with the mission specialists, and we'll go over in detail exactly what I expect you to do."
Mag Mell is a place of circles and mirrors. The world is a spiral archipelago of round volcanic atolls, with calm waters within and raging seas without. The waters within the island grottoes are preternaturally, magically still, and because the sand beneath them is black, they provide a perfect reflection of the sky above. In Mag Me II, mirrors are holy; to break one is to break the symmetry of life itself.
It is a segregated world. The men live aboveground on the islands in houses of wood, and the women live beneath the water in villages of rock and woven seaweed. They come together in the shallows to court and to mate, but the majority of their lives are spent separately.
Children in Mag Mell are born androgynous and amphibious, capable of living either above or below the water, but when they reach puberty they must decide on a gender.When that time is reached, a special ceremony is held during which the child declares itself either male or female. If the child chooses to be male, then it remains on land and after several months it loses its gills and takes on masculine attributes. If it chooses to become female, it goes to live beneath the waves and loses its lungs instead. It is said that when a native man peers into the coastal waters of Mag Mell, he sees the woman he might have been. He can ask her questions and she will answer with the wisdom of the woman he is not.
Stil-Eret,"Mag Mell:World of Mirrors;' from Travels at Home and Abroad
ilverdun had visited the world of Mag Mell once as a very young man. He'd traveled here with his father on holiday. Now that it occurred to him, he was fairly certain he owned the house on Isle Dureicth where they'd stayed. Or at least he should.
Silverdun remembered Mag Mell as being warm and bright, but when they stepped through the Port-Herion Chancery Lock, they were greeted with dim light and a stiff chill. The arch on the Mag Mell side of the gate was located underground, Silverdun remembered. When the warping mists of the lock left his eyes, he saw a long stone ramp leading upward toward a stout metal gate, and more dim light beyond. Powerful witchlight chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but they weren't quite capable of dispelling the sepulchral feel of the place.
Or perhaps that was only Silverdun's imagination. The delegation of jewelry guildsmen that stepped through the gate just behind them were jolly enough. They had laughed and spoken loudly all the way through the customs check on the Faerie side of the gate, which seemed to have lasted for hours, and their temper hadn't changed now. One of them, in fact, was still speaking to Silverdun about his guild's mission to negotiate mineral rights with a mining consortium on one of the southern islands. Silverdun and Ironfoot were both dressed as minor government officials, and Silverdun supposed that this was the sort of thing that such people were forced to endure on a daily basis.
As they proceeded up the ramp toward the gate, Ironfoot looked around brightly, taking it all in. They could have done much worse in their selection. He barely knew Ironfoot and already he felt as though they'd been working together all their lives. The binding ring? Perhaps, but if so, it was a wonderful spell, because Silverdun found that he genuinely liked the man.
Had Silverdun ever had a friend of his own social rank? Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a lord after all.
At the top of the ramp, they were subjected to Mag Mell customs agents who were, sadly, quite a lot more efficient and friendly than their Seelie counterparts. They looked more or less like Fae, although they were darker of skin, and had rounded ears like the Nymaens, like Silverdun's old traveling companion Brian Satterly. The agents inspected Silverdun's and Ironfoot's Foreign Ministry identification closely, but waved them through without question.
Past the metal gate at the top of the ramp, they rounded a corner and stepped outside into a light rain that dotted the sea like ground pepper all around the tiny island that housed the gate. A ferry waited to take them to Isle Cureid, the capital.
"Lord Silverdun!" came a voice behind them.
Baron Glennet, Silverdun's dinner partner from a few months before, had just emerged from the gate and was hurrying toward them, followed by a small retinue of aides and attendants.
"Baron," said Silverdun. He was aware of Everess's approval of the man, but he couldn't decide whether that made him trust Glennet more, or less.
"I saw you on my way through the lock, but I just missed being in your group. I'm glad I was able to catch up with you."
He turned to Ironfoot. "You must be Master Falores from Queensbridge. I've heard a lot about you."
"A pleasure," said Ironfoot.
Glennet leaned in and whispered, "I wanted to wish you luck on your errand in Annwn."
Silverdun smiled. "We'll do our best," he said. "What brings you to Mag Mell?"
"Work, as always," he said. "Trying to negotiate a better price for silver ore on behalf of the Smiths' Guild."
"Your works sounds like all sorts of fun," said Silverdun.
"Less dangerous than yours, anyway," said Glennet with a knowing smile.
They were all met at the ferry by a matronly woman named Glienn, who was the Seelie ambassador's second-in-command. The jewelry guildsmen had met their contact on the island, and they were already happily getting drunk on the other side of the ferryboat.
Glienn was welcoming, but a bit circumspect, and exchanged only pleasantries while they were at sea. When they reached the docks on Isle Cureid, there was a hansom cab waiting for Glienn, Sil
verdun, and Ironfoot. Glennet had arranged his own transportation, and they parted with the requisite pleasantries.
Silverdun, Ironfoot, and Glienn piled into the cab, thankful for the shelter and warmth, and the cab moved quickly away. Isle Cureid was a pleasant enough place despite the rain: The homes and buildings were all of brightly painted wood, the streets of volcanic rock, silver in the rain. Everything looked new and clean. It was certainly odd to look out onto a busy street and see not a single woman; Silverdun was glad they weren't staying long.
Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow Page 19