Cities and Thrones

by Carrie Patel

  Now that he was close, Jane was able to get a better look at him. She drank in the vision, soaking in details that she hadn’t expected to see ever again, searching for something that might betray some clue as to his state in the months since she’d seen him. His dark suit looked clean and well kept, and it actually seemed to fit him. His hair was pulled back into a low, neat ponytail. But his eyes looked sunken and shadowed, and his face was leaner than she remembered.

  He was also looking at her with perplexing urgency.

  “Jane. Jane,” Bailey said, looking and leaning in her direction. Ice shot through her veins.

  She snapped her gaze toward Bailey.

  “I was just introducing you.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Jane nodded at Roman. “How do you do.” She focused on focusing, on keeping her attention on the pad in front of her and filling it with words.

  Roman nodded back before returning his attention to Bailey. “I assume you’ve brought me here to discuss rapprochement?”

  Bailey pushed his lower lip into a frown. “I’d like to think there’s been no disharmony between us. We only wish to understand your situation. Much has happened in Recoletta these past few months, and all of it behind closed doors.”

  Jane’s head snapped up of its own accord. Coming from a Madinan, a citizen of a city whose official buildings and high houses were riddled with hidden passages and secret entrances, it was an odd statement to make.

  Roman’s brow likewise creased. Madina had likely had little regular contact with Recoletta, outside of routine trade, in the months before Sato’s revolution, just as Recoletta had not had much contact with other cities – outside of South Haven, she recalled – in the same timeframe. But, of course, politics was about selective memory. City-states tended to keep to themselves as a matter of both convenience and preference.

  Which made the presence of the chancellor and Father Isse all the more interesting. She wondered if Roman knew about this.

  Roman spoke. “We understand that there’s been some concern about recent changes in Recoletta. Sato wants it understood that these changes have no bearing on Madina or any other city-state, that they were completely internal. Nothing in our cities’ long-standing peaceful relationship needs to change.”

  Jane scribbled in her clean shorthand, racing to get the words down.

  Bailey raised his eyebrows and nodded once.

  “On that front,” Roman said, “we would like to restore trade. Our warehouses have stored the quantities of finished steel that would normally have been shipped here.” He paused. “And your glass is the finest in production.”

  Bailey’s eyebrows arched even higher. “Glass, Sayidh Arnault? An interesting choice under your present circumstances.”

  Roman’s flat expression did not change. “As I said, conditions in Recoletta are stable. And as you said, there is no disharmony between our cities.”

  Bailey’s lips puckered into a smile. “Disharmony, no. But caution... that is another matter. And while I trust you completely, sayidh...” He leaned forward, the flexed fingers of one hand splayed against his chest. “It is the Qadi and the rest of her advisors who I must convince. And this Sato is unknown to us.”

  Roman stretched one arm along the back of his settee. “What kind of reassurances do you want?”

  Bailey winced. “Think of them as goodwill.”

  “If you say so.”

  The diplomat placed his hand on his chest again. “Sayidh Arnault, it is our sincerest desire that peaceful and productive relations prevail between our two cities. However, surely Sato can appreciate the position we’re in.” He paused. “And even if he can’t, I’d imagine you can. Ideas are contagious. We must be careful about our contact, lest they spread.”

  “You’re afraid of an idea.”

  “Oh, yes. As your Sato should be. What ever made him think he could hold fire?”

  “I imagine he simply saw this as the natural progression of things.” It was impossible to tell what Roman thought of this notion.

  “Most idealistic, to be sure. But make no mistake: stir up the depths, and it’s filth that rises to the surface.”

  “How colorful.”

  Bailey clasped his hands. “I’ve no wish to antagonize. Only to be prudent. If you’re clever, you’ll try to see where I’m coming from.”

  Roman said nothing, but the dull burn of irritation wafted off of him. Jane found that it was catching with her, too.

  Bailey shifted in his seat and rolled his shoulders, warming up to his main point. “We are looking forward, Sayidh Arnault. Sato had his revolution,” Bailey waved his hand, stumbling over the word. “And now we would like to see that we maintain a strong friendship.”

  “Then it seems we are in agreement,” Roman said in the same flat monotone. Nevertheless, he was still comfortably stretched out in his seat.

  “Indeed.” Bailey seemed to genuinely brighten at this. “I knew a reasonable man like you would understand our requirements.”

  A heavy pause hovered in the air between the three, slowly stretching into something uncomfortable. Bailey, watching Roman with a fixed and expectant stare, finally blinked. “The requirements, sayidh. As I told you, I need to bring certain reassurances to the people who make these decisions.”

  A thin sigh hissed out of Roman’s nose. “I don’t suppose my journey here counts as reassurance enough.”

  Bailey laughed, then seemed to realize that Roman was not making a joke. “Why, no. I was looking for data. Numbers that can be taken back and digested at will by my superiors.”

  Roman pulled out a pen and a small sheet of paper.

  “Taking notes, Mr Arnault?”

  “Writing my grocery list.”

  Bailey chuckled uncertainly. “You Recolettans are funny people.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Anyhow,” Bailey said, his eyes lingering on the pen and paper in Roman’s moving hands, “as I said, the purpose is merely to understand Recoletta’s health. That we may know how to be good neighbors ourselves.” He cleared his throat.

  Roman said nothing, watching back with his disinterested gaze.

  “First. We would like to send one of our own advisors to Recoletta’s Counci… I mean, Cabinet.” He smiled slowly at his own correction. Jane couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in tone.

  “Also. We would like to see Recoletta’s own trade data, crime reports, and population figures. The better to help us organize our own assistance, of course.”

  Despite concentrating on the notes in front of her, Jane couldn’t help glancing at Roman, looking for some sign of his reaction.

  As usual, there was none.

  Bailey must have been looking for it, too. “I am sure none of this sounds too burdensome. But perhaps there is some particular matter you would like to discuss?”

  Roman was still writing, his nose pointed at his notes. If Jane knew anything about him, he was trying to get a rise out of Bailey.

  “Well, Mr Arnault?” Bailey said after a pause. “How do those terms sound to you?”

  Roman finally looked up, giving Bailey a thin smile. “The decision does not rest with me.”

  “Then I will trust you to take them back to Sato for his consideration.” A touch of irritation edged his voice. Right on schedule.

  “Yes. After my grocery shopping.”

  Bailey laughed again, but this time, he just sounded like he didn’t want to be left out of the joke, whatever it might be. “Well, it sounds like we’ve each said our part.”

  “Such as it is.”

  “And you sound like you have other places to be.”

  Roman rose and shook Bailey’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Our door is always open.”

  Roman turned to Jane, his hand extended, and her heart skipped a beat in thrilled nervousness. She couldn’t imagine he would do anything so reckless, but if anyone would, it would be him.

  Bailey looked on in quiet patie
nce.

  Roman took her hand and kissed it. His eyes met hers for the first time since the meeting had begun, but what caught her attention was the feeling of something smooth and dry sliding into her palm.

  He gave her the slightest of nods.

  Roman swept out, followed by the two guards, and Jane clutched at her satchel, careful to keep whatever Roman had given her carefully tucked into her palm. As Bailey consulted his watch, frowning, she took the opportunity to tuck it further into her sleeve.

  “Let’s go,” Bailey finally said. Roman’s carriage was already clattering away, and Bailey was no longer making any effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.

  Climbing into the carriage, situating herself across from Bailey, Jane became uncomfortably aware of her right arm. How it was angled, where it rested in her lap, if Bailey was looking at it or if he was simply letting his eyes go into soft focus in the direction of her bench. The mysterious paper prickled her skin, and she resisted the urge to pat it down.

  Bailey’s hands were clasped in front of him, and she realized that he was staring not so much at Jane as at some transparent focal point in her vicinity. His jaw worked from side to side, and he finally looked up at her with the quiet concentration of a man who was working something loose from between his teeth.

  “Well. The Qadi sent you along for your expert opinion,” he said. “What is it?”

  Jane frowned and folded her arms more tightly about her stomach. “He seemed frustrated. I’m not sure the meeting went as well as he’d hoped, either.”

  Bailey gave her a look as quick and sharp as a needle jab. “Focus on what’s important,” he said, as if she should know what that meant. “Did he seem convinced? Enough to furnish the information we requested, that is.”

  Jane blinked, studying Bailey. She’d had enough employers to know that some wanted the sudden, cold dousing of an honest answer whereas others wanted to ease into it slowly with convenient and placating suggestions.

  “It sounded as though he’d have to speak with Sato first,” Jane said. “And I’m not sure he knew what to expect, either.”

  “That is the question,” Bailey said, running his fingers through the unoiled ringlets at the back of his neck. “How much he trusts Sato. Whether he could be swayed into nudging Sato himself.”

  Jane felt the same question uncoil within her mind. It slow-dripped into her system, a numb, spreading unease. She’d been a fool not to consider it earlier.

  She looked up to see Bailey staring back at her in some private exasperation. He shook his head.

  “These Recolettans are impossible to understand.”

  * * *

  Jane returned to the Majlis and felt eyes on her. She busied herself with her work and resisted the temptation to check the note in her sleeve until she knew she was alone, keeping it secret and close like so much else. When she finally retired to the washroom for a break and the chance to check her hidden prize, it was warm with the heat of her skin and smelled faintly of clove cigarettes. She unfolded it, her heart racing and palpitating.

  It was a grocery list.

  Cabbage, peppers, rice, turnips, onions. Jane scrutinized the list, turned it upside down, held it to the light. She was still trying to puzzle out a hidden meaning when the door began to creak open. She shoved the list into her robes and hurried to the sink as a pair of clerks scurried in.

  As she kneaded her hands under the water, she realized that the hidden meaning might be even simpler than she’d expected. After all, hadn’t Roman said he planned to go grocery shopping before he left town?

  She idled through the rest of the afternoon, reserving just enough attention for her duties to avoid suspicion. Her neighbors at the other desks said nothing about her errand that morning, but whenever she chanced to look up, she could swear she saw one or two heads quickly turn away.

  When her shift ended, it took a concentrated effort to keep from rushing out the door. The deliberation gave her another chance to consider her own uncertainty about what her upcoming meeting held.

  As she made her way out of the Majlis, she let tides of the crowd wash her toward the marketplace, already packed with the early evening shoppers.

  Looking around, Jane realized that it would be almost impossible to pick Roman out of this crowd, which was possibly the point. She would have to trust that he would find her. She fished the grocery list out of her pocket and dutifully headed to the produce stalls and the vegetables that Roman had specified. As she sorted through the turnips, she felt someone draw near and heard Roman’s familiar obsidian voice.

  “We’re not alone.”

  She started to turn. “It’s seven o’clock at the market, what did you–”

  “Don’t look back. I’m not talking about the crowds, I’m talking about the scouts. I was followed. Keep sorting through the turnips and meet me at the cabbages in two.”

  Jane spent another thirty seconds looking for the perfect pair of turnips, and then she meandered over to the cabbages, where Roman was rolling one of his clove cigarettes.

  She sidled up next to him. “I thought you were giving up your nasty habits.”

  “It’s a distraction,” he said. “And don’t pretend that you don’t find it just a little charming.”

  Jane dug a shriveled and browned cabbage from the bottom of the stack. “Oh, look, it’s one of your lungs.”

  “Listen. I’m going to draw off my pursuers, and you’re going to make your way to the Jeweled Pheasant on Al-Maktoum. Find a quiet corner and wait for me there. Trust me, it won’t be hard to find you,” he added when Jane opened her mouth to speak. “Move along to the carrots and get going when you see the signal.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it.” Before Jane could protest, Roman had faded back into the crowd, his cigarette burning between his fingertips. She scanned the crowds as she picked through the carrots, but she’d already lost Roman. She was hoping she’d be able to spot his signal when gasps and shouts of panic caught her attention. She followed the sound to a thin plume of smoke rising from a stall canopy one level below her. Two or three bright tongues of flame licked around the plume, and a tight ring of onlookers formed around the rising fire as those closest to the burning stall pushed back while those on the fringe pressed forward to get a better view.

  A chorus of voices rose in alarm, instruction, and speculation, but beneath the mingled notes of panic and excitement, Jane heard another of urgency.

  “Move, you! Out of my way!”

  At the far side of the crowd, a man wearing nondescript dark clothing was attempting to shoulder his way through the circle of people plugging the market walkway. His eyes met Jane’s and he looked away, but not fast enough. As Jane backed away from the carrot stall, her gaze fell on another pair of eyes on the other side of the commotion. Roman stared back at her, mouthing silent commands, and Jane turned on her heels and walked as quickly as she could towards the exit.

  There were steady streams of people leaving the market with curious and anxious glances over their shoulders, and Jane was easily able to slip among them. She was almost clear of the market and the thwarted scouts when a gloved hand fell on her arm.

  “Not so fast,” said the hand’s owner, a fiercely lean man with five-day stubble and ash-blond hair peeking out from under his skullcap. Something about his voice was strange.

  “Let me go.”

  “In a moment.” Whatever his accent was, it wasn’t Madinan, and it certainly wasn’t Recolettan.

  Jane couldn’t wrest her arm from his grip, and even if she could, she’d never lose him on her own. The crowds parted around them like a river around a stone, but no one had stopped to see why the gaunt man and the small woman had stopped in the middle of foot traffic. Not yet, at least.

  Jane filled her lungs and yelled. “Thief! Thief!”

  A few of the people around them walked faster, but more stopped and turned. “Now wait a minute...”

&nb
sp; Jane glanced at the watching faces. If not quite irate, they were eager for a bit of theater, and she intended to give them some. “I felt you grab it. Just now,” she said, patting her waist and affecting the local lilt. “What did you do with it?” She let an expression of dismay and outrage creep into her face. “That watch was a gift from my grandfather!”

  An angry murmur rippled through the crowd behind them. Disbelief dawned in the scout’s eyes, then horror. “Don’t be ridiculous–” Even his coarse growl didn’t disguise the unusual way he rolled his r’s and lengthened his vowels.

  Jane couldn’t let him say too much. Doubt showed its fraying edges in the onlookers’ expressions. She needed to get them invested before one of the guards intervened. Something that would raise their temperatures. “We showed you hospitality,” Jane said. “Welcomed you into our city. And this is how you repay us?”

  Murmurs of indignation and disgust rippled through the crowd.

  “This is enough,” the scout said. “We’re going.”

  “Not just yet,” said a burly youth in a saffron robe that looked two sizes too large. The dirt-darkened hem of his outfit scraped the ground as he strode over. “Seems you’ve got something to return to sayideh before you go anywhere.” The scout tried to push past him, but two of the youth’s friends stepped forward to block his path.

  “This is ridiculous!” the scout said. “On my honor, I’ve taken nothing.” He pointed at her, his hand trembling with fury. “She’s not even–”

  “Then you won’t mind if we search, will you?” asked one of the youths. Jane backed away to let her protectors close on the scout. The crowd’s attention was momentarily focused on the scout and the vigilantes, and as the circle of onlookers tightened around them, Jane slipped away and left the scene at a fast walk.

  Jane felt her nervous breaths finally slow when she came within sight of the Jeweled Pheasant. The flowing calligraphy on the sign was mottled and dull where the original gilding had worn off, but the painted bird next to the letters was unmistakable. When she pushed the door beneath the sign open, a sour odor assailed her nostrils, and she reconsidered the relief she was just starting to feel.