The Office of Shadow

by Matthew Sturges

  He leaned forward to speak to the young husband.

  "Do you have any water?" he asked the husband. "I'm parched."

  The young man's eyes widened. "What sort of water?" he asked, his voice quivering a bit.

  Silverdun looked the man directly in the eye. "Water from the freshest stream."

  What was Silverdun talking about? Whatever it was, the young man seemed to understand, because he nodded and leaned forward himself, putting his hand on Silverdun's shoulder.

  "There is water in abundance," he whispered.

  Silverdun nodded.

  "Where are you coming from?" asked the husband quietly.

  "Mag Mell."

  The husband smiled.

  The soldiers came closer. When they reached Sela, Silverdun, and Ironfoot's row, they stopped, eyeing them with suspicion.

  "Would you three be traveling together?" asked one, looking at Silverdun. "Just the three of you?"

  "No," said the young husband. "We're all together. Just returning from a holiday in Mag Mell."

  "Ah," said the soldier, his eyes brightening. "May we see your passports, then?"

  The soldier took each passport in turn. The family, as it happened, had indeed just returned from Mag Mell themselves, according to their passports.

  "Is there a problem?" asked Ironfoot, casually.

  "We've received word that there might be some persons of interest aboard ship. Two men and a woman traveling together."

  The young man's wife blanched. "Goodness, are they dangerous?"

  "I don't think so," said the soldier. "Heretics. Aba-lovers."

  "Ah," said the husband. "I've found that you can always tell an Arcadian by the glassy-eyed stare of blind obedience." He raised his eyebrows.

  The soldier chuckled. "You may be right, sir."

  He nodded to the group. "Sorry to have bothered you."

  His eyes rested on Sela for a moment, and the thinnest of threads leapt into place. He thought her pretty, nothing more. But it was enough. Believe me, she nudged.

  "I saw two women and a man on the platform before we came on board," she said. "They looked very suspicious. I remember them because they were about to hand over their tickets, but then all of a sudden changed their minds and headed back to the terminal. Isn't that odd?"

  The soldier nodded. "Indeed! You've got a keen eye, ma'am."

  He turned to his fellows. "Looks like they slipped away before getting on board," he said quietly. "I'll send the sprite back and tell them to stop wasting our time." The soldiers shared a quiet laugh and retreated toward the front of the cabin.

  Once they were gone, Silverdun took the hand of the young husband. "Thank you," he said.

  "I'm your brother," said the young man. "There is nothing to thank me for."

  Sela gave Silverdun a questioning look. "I'll explain later," he whispered.

  Alpaurle: Let us speak, then, of the good man. How do we determine which is the good man?

  The High Priest: That is easy. He is the one who thinks and acts virtuously, and avoids sin.

  Alpaurle: And how do we know which thoughts and actions are virtuous, and which are sinful?

  The High Priest: Is the distinction not obvious?

  Alpaurle: It is not obvious to me, but then, very little is. Perhaps you can explain it to me?

  -Alpaurle, from Conversations with the High Priest of Ulet, Conversation VI, edited by Feven IV of the City Emerald

  he rest of the trip passed without incident. They all slept through most Df the day.

  Sela's dreams were fleeting and strange, incorporating the dream imagery of those sleeping around her. She saw Silverdun lying in a field of wheat, kissing a woman in white. The woman had long golden hair, and wore a band around her arm, an Accursed Object. Sela felt warm, drew in closer, felt the wheat tickling her ankles. Silverdun bent down to kiss the woman's neck and Sela saw her face; it wasn't Sela. She was younger, her features sharp and her eyes bright with pleasure. She looked at Sela and laughed with joy, bent her head back, arched her back, pressed against her lover. The dream faded and was replaced in turn by others, but its sensations lingered.

  She came awake with a start. "Just in time," said Silverdun. "I think you'll want to see this." He pointed out the window.

  At first Sela couldn't understand was she was seeing. A thousand stars spread out beneath Mab s Contempt, a night sky inverted. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw that they were not stars, but the lights of a city. A city unlike any she had ever seen before.

  Preyia spread out below them, huge, an island rising up from a black sea. It was difficult to gauge distances, but it seemed almost as big as the walled portion of the City Emerald. It rose in seven massive tiers, each smaller than the one below it, in pleasantly irregular curves.

  Massive sails rose from each tier, glowing in red and blue and gold witchlight. Ships large and small came and went from it, like moths circling slowly around a lamp. The entire scene was softly bathed in moonlight.

  It was impossibly large, but as Mab's Contempt continued to approach it grew even larger, until it blocked out the sky and it almost seemed as though they were approaching solid ground.

  A few minutes passed and then there was a soft shudder as the transport ship docked with Preyia.

  Around her, weary travelers rose, collecting their belongings.

  The young husband across from them stood and stretched. "Come out with us, brother. Let us be seen leaving the ship together."

  Silverdun smiled. "That's kind of you. Thanks."

  They came out on deck, and the lights and sounds of Preyia exploded in Sela's senses. Music, shouting, the buzz of conversation. Great lights on rotating bases searched the sky. Avenues radiated out from the docks, bathed in multicolored witchlight.

  "Welcome to Preyia," said the young wife, taking Sela's arm.

  Cooking smells assaulted Sela as they stepped onto the dock, roasting meats and cooking onions and exotic spices. Her stomach growled.

  Once they were away from the crowd, the group stopped. The children were cranky; two of them were crying and whining to go home. Silverdun and the young husband took each other's arms.

  "I cannot thank you enough," said Silverdun. "That was a lucky thing, us ending up opposite one another."

  "For shame!" said the young man. "Luck had nothing to do with it."

  "Of course, you're right."

  "We must do what we can. And live to serve Aba another day."

  "Aba be praised," said the wife.

  "I think we're safe now," said Silverdun. "Go in peace."

  "You as well," said the husband. He scooped up one of the children, and the family disappeared into the night.

  "All right," said Ironfoot. "What was that all about?"

  "Arcadians," said Silverdun.

  "So I gathered," said Ironfoot. "Why did they go out of their way to help us?

  "Because I asked them to."

  "All that business with the water," said Sela.

  "Yes. It's a code. It's the Arcadians' way of asking for help in unfriendly circumstances."

  "Are you an Arcadian?" asked Sela, confused.

  "I used to be," said Silverdun.

  "He was a monk," said Ironfoot.

  "A very bad one," scowled Silverdun. "Anyhow, all of that I learned from my mother. She was an Arcadian at a time when it was dangerous even in the Seelie Lands."

  "Why haven't you ever told me this?" asked Sela.

  "Some things, I've found, are best left in the past."

  "We'd best get going," said Ironfoot, pointing to a clock tower that rose above the docks. "Our rendezvous is in an hour."

  "Just a moment," said Sela. "I'd like to look over the edge. May I?"

  "Be my guest," said Silverdun.

  They walked past the docks, to a railing that stretched out of sight to the north. The docks were on the lowest tier of the city, so there was nothing beneath to obstruct the view.

  Sela leaned over the edge of the
city and looked down. The ground seemed so very far below. There was a slender sparkling line of silver that she realized was a river. Boulders like pebbles. And the tiny circles were the tops of trees, colored green-gray by the moonlight. There was also a large oval spot, pitch black.

  "What's that?" she asked. "A lake?"

  Silverdun looked. "It's called the umbra. It's the shadow of the city," he said. "Supposed to be extremely unlucky to walk through it."

  For some reason, the thought of a shadow that large made Sela deeply uncomfortable.

  "Perhaps we could save the sightseeing for another time?" said Ironfoot. Sela could feel his anxiety.

  "Of course," she said. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see."

  "It's fine," he said. And he meant it. "But we must be going.

  They made their way through the city, up grand stairways, along wide avenues, always upward, from tier to tier. It was a festival night, and the streets were filled with revelers celebrating the beginning of summer. Both spring and autumn were bitterly cold in the Unseelie Lands, and Sela had heard that in some northern cities, there was even snow from time to time at the height of autumn.

  They moved slowly through the packed streets, where drummers sat in circles beating the rhythms of the season. The Fae of Preyia danced in time, smiling and laughing, shouting verse after verse of summer song.

  "Look at them all," Sela said.

  "What about them?" asked Silverdun.

  "They're all so happy. So joyous."

  "What of it?" asked Ironfoot, who had been whistling along.

  "These are the enemy, aren't they? How can that be? They seem so kind."

  "Tell them you're a Seelie spy and see how kind they are to you then," said Silverdun, winking at her.

  It was at moments like these that Empathy was not a gift at all. A chaotic rapture of threads pulsed around Sela, at the edge of her vision, wanting to draw her in. She wanted to be drawn in. How many of them could she kill, right now, if she chose to, before they could strike her down? How much of the joy could she drown out?

  When surrounded by happiness, she thought automatically of pain. Lord Tanen had taught her that. The precipice loomed, always waiting to claim her. If she gave in to the joy, if she let the rapture wash over her, she would be annihilated. At Copperine House, they'd told her that this simply wasn't true, that she'd been taught to believe that in order to fulfill Tanen's cruel desires for her. But she knew that he'd been right all along. If she let herself get lost in the festival, she would never return from it. The thought terrified her to her bones.

  As they ascended, the crowds grew smaller, the lights fewer. The higher tiers were reserved for the homes of the wealthy and the palaces of government. When they ascended the final broad swath of steps to the Opal Tier, the second highest, Sela was out of breath, but Ironfoot and Silverdun weren't even breathing hard.

  Silverdun consulted a map, as inconspicuously as possible. "It's this way," he said, pointing down a narrow street. This was one of the more dangerous parts of the expedition. If they were stopped by the City Guard, it would be difficult to explain their presence on the Opal Tier, which was populated exclusively by the homes of the wealthy.

  A few carriages passed them, but none stopped. Here and there, revelers in bright costume piled out of cabs and carriages, happy and tired after the night's festivities.

  They reached their destination without incident. It was a two-story brick home built on a semicircular bluff that extended over the lower tiers of the city to give an unobstructed view of Preyia. These, Silverdun told them, were called Bow Villas, because they occupied the foremost position in the city as it moved forward through the air. Thus it was always above and, more importantly, upwind of, the rest of the city-which, Silverdun said, was reputed to smell vile during the summer months.

  The door was opened by a slender woman in an expensive silk dress. Sela would have loved to own such a dress. Starlight, the actress back at Copperine House, had owned one very like it.

  "May I help you?" asked the woman.

  "We've come to retrieve a package from Hy Diret," said Silverdun. It was the agreed-upon sign.

  "Of course," said the woman. "I believe I've got it here somewhere. Do come in." Her response meant that all was well. If she'd said to come back another time, it would have meant that the mission had been compromised somehow.

  Sela was beginning to think that this would be easy.

  "Welcome," said the woman. "My name is Elspet. I'm so glad to see you." She ushered them inside. The home's interior was elegant, but sparsely decorated.

  "We do what we can to maintain appearances," said Elspet, noticing Sela's look. "My husband manages the central bank, and we're expected to live in a certain manner."

  "How so?" asked Ironfoot.

  "Aba counsels us to live beneath our means," said Elspet. "All of this finery on display could be used to feed the poor. But as I said, we can do more with the wealth we save than if we were to earn nothing at all."

  Silverdun looked wistful as the woman spoke, but it was hard for Sela to understand why.

  "But you're not here for me," said Elspet. "Come, I'll take you to Timha. He's desperate to meet you, as you can imagine."

  She led them through the house and out back, where a large balcony, itself nearly the size of Copperine House, overlooked the city's leading edge. There was a small garden with a patch of grass, and flower boxes affixed to the incongruous-looking spar that rose out from beneath the balcony.

  At the far end of the balcony was a small flier dock, with a sleek yacht tied there. Close to the house was a carriage house, from which a wooden driveway extended toward a gate at the main home's side.

  Elspet took them up a flight of stairs on the side of the carriage house to its second floor. "He's been staying in here," said Elspet. Sela looked out from the top of the stairs and was awash in wonder all over again. From here she could look out and see the moon and the stars and ground beneath her, with nothing whatever to obstruct her view. It felt as though she were flying. Of course, she realized, she was flying.

  They went inside. Dim witchlamps illuminated a small guest apartment with a bed, a table, and a small cookstove. Sitting on the bed was the most nervous-looking man Sela had ever seen. Timha was pale and gaunt; his maroon robes looked several sizes too large for his frame. His hair was dirty and unkempt, and his eyes were furtive.

  He licked his lips when they entered. "Are you them?" he answered. "Are you the ones who've come to take me to Seelie?"

  "We are," said Silverdun.

  "Oh, thank you," said Timha. He collapsed on the bed, relief spreading over his face.

  Silverdun, Elspet, and Sela sat at the table, but Ironfoot remained standing. Timha sat up and looked at him.

  "Well?" he said, excitedly. "When do we leave? Let's go!"

  "Not so fast," said Ironfoot. "Before we can leave, I need to have a look at these plans of yours."

  Timha blanched. "Plans? Why? We don't have time for that. You wouldn't understand them anyway." He licked his lips again. "They're highly advanced thaumatics; not like the plans for a tree house or something."

  "I should introduce myself," said Ironfoot. "I'm Master Styg Falores, the Alpaurle Fellow at Queensbridge, in the City Emerald. I have a feeling I might be able to make heads or tails of them."

  Timha goggled at him. "But ... what are you doing here?"

  "Examining your plans," he said. "Hand them over."

  Timha nodded and reached under the bed. He drew out something that Sela couldn't see and placed it on the bed. But there was nothing there.

  Timha made a motion with his hand and suddenly there was something there: a leather satchel stuffed with documents and slender volumes.

  "It's all here, I swear," said Timha, looking nervously at Ironfoot. "Why would I lie about something like this?"

  "I can't imagine," said Ironfoot. "But I still need to examine them."

  Sela examined the thin, wavering th
read that connected her to Timha. "He's telling the truth," said Sela. "Quite desperately, in fact."

  Timha gave her a sidelong glance. He seemed to sense that she was connected to him, and didn't like it.

  "I still need to look," said Ironfoot.

  "All right," said Silverdun. "But can you hurry it up? I tend to agree with Timha here that the quicker we get this over with, the better."

  "Go ahead, go ahead," said Timha. He looked at Elspet for support, but she merely shrugged.

  "This is between you and them now, journeyer Timha," she said kindly. "The Church wishes you well, but we have brought you as far as we will."

  She stood. "I'll go prepare the yacht," she said. She nodded to them and stepped outside.

  "Stand up," said Ironfoot. Timha stood, and Ironfoot began spreading out the documents on the bed, peering at them one at a time, deep in concentration.

  After several minutes, Silverdun sighed. "I have to say, Ironfoot," he said, "that I'm beginning to side with Timha on this one. Can't we speed this up a bit?"

  Ironfoot gave him a withering glance. "As Journeyer Timha here so elegantly put it, this isn't a tree house we're talking about here. Give me a moment."

  As the minutes passed, Timha seemed to become more and more anxious. He hadn't paid much attention to Sela, which was fine because she didn't really care to experience firsthand what he was feeling.

  Finally Ironfoot put the documents down. "If this is a ploy, it's an incredibly intricate and convincing one. Without studying this at length, I'd say there's a very good chance it's the real thing."

  "Then can we finally be on our way?" asked Silverdun.

  There was a scream from outside. Silverdun was at the door, knife in hand, in a heartbeat. Looking out, he said, "Damn! We've been discovered!"

  Ironfoot folded up the documents and shoved them haphazardly into the satchel. "Come on," he said to Timha. "Stay behind me."

  "Oh, no," said Timha. "This isn't happening."

  "Oh, but it is," said Ironfoot. "Move."

  Sela took the small dagger from her bodice and weighed it in her hand. It wasn't a throwing knife, and she couldn't have thrown it even if it were. The training Lord Tanen had given her was geared toward up-close work. Still, the knife was something. She followed Silverdun out the door.