Citadel

by Martin Ash

‘But I wasn’t there, I tell you!’

  I stared at him. His transformation was remarkable. It was not easy to equate him with the odious varlet in the tavern. He employed that guise quite regularly, finding it a useful means of gaining information. People spoke freely in the hearing of one they deemed slack-witted and hardly warranting acknowledgement as a living being. Buel the Vile possibly knew more of Hon-Hiaita’s secret life than all the king’s domestic spies put together. Indeed, he had more than once traded me sensitive information about Khimmur’s internal affairs which I had later corroborated at official meetings at the palace.

  ‘What guise did you adopt in Anxau?’ I asked after a pause.

  ‘I was there as myself.’ He gestured with both hands towards his breast. ‘Viscount Inbuel, a noble and High Merchant of Twalinieh in Kemahamek.’

  ‘You were there on business?’

  ‘Business of a kind.’ He flashed a curt smile which told me it would be impolitic to enquire further. I assumed his business had been, at least in some part, official. Like myself, Inbuel travelled with his nation’s interests in mind.

  ‘And what were the circumstances of our ‘meeting’?’

  ‘We came upon one another by chance in Culmet’s Bazaar. It was late morning, if I recall correctly.’

  ‘And we spoke?’

  ‘Briefly. You were weary after a long journey, preoccupied with some business which you were anxious to resolve quickly so you could get away and catch up on lost sleep.’

  ‘So we spoke for just moments?’

  ‘Indeed, and then you were off.’

  ‘Mystifying. It is, to my knowledge, the first time I have ever taken part in a meeting at which I can confidently say I was not present.’ I returned to my seat. ‘So I repeat, you found yourself in the company of an impostor, albeit one of unsurpassed skill.’

  Inbuel slowly shook his head. His look was sombre now. ‘I am lost for an explanation, Dinbig. You were not your usual bright self, it’s true. You were tired, a little drawn, monosyllabic and perhaps a touch under the weather. Yet I know you well. I would never have believed, and I do not believe now, that after all we have been through together I could be fooled by some impudent ruffian attempting to impersonate you.’

  I sat back in my seat, surveying him long and hard. It was true that we were confederates. We had worked profitably together on many occasions over several years, had aided one another’s rise in our respective countries, had had numerous adventures together and, indeed, had on a couple of occasions been instrumental in saving one another’s lives. We had become firm friends and I trusted him implicitly.

  ‘Then I’ve no explanation, either,’ I said.

  Inbuel sat pensively, one forefinger crooked beneath his nose. At length he said, ‘Two possibilities occur to me. Both are somewhat delicate, but I must put them to you. Sir Dinbig, is there something you are not letting on? Have you been engaged in some secret business on your king’s behalf, something you are not free to discuss? Was our meeting an embarrassment to you, bringing you to my attention when you would have preferred that no one be aware of your presence in Anxau?’

  ‘If that were the case I would have confessed already, Inbuel, in preference to this tedious rigmarole. No, I was engaged in no secret business, for King Gastlan or anyone else. That I can assure you of.'

  ‘Well, my other question, then. I know little of sorcery, as you are aware. But you are skilled in the arcane art. Have you, or perhaps your Zan-Chassin associates, by some means, and for some purpose undeclared, contrived to have a semblance of yourself manifest in Dhaout? Again I appreciate that this may be a matter you are not at liberty to discuss, but you’ve called me here for an explanation and I’ve complied as best I can. Indicate to me that I’ve touched upon something approaching the truth and I will enquire no further. The matter will be closed, you have my absolute promise.’

  I shook my head. It is commonly believed that the Zan-Chassin possess powers far exceeding our actual capabilities. I could not cause my person to manifest in the flesh in any location other than the one I currently occupied, and to my knowledge such a feat was beyond the capabilities of even our most advanced adepts. (I made a mental note to question the Hierarchy on this matter at the earliest opportunity.) I did not say as much to Inbuel. Zan-Chassin activities are kept secret from the uninitiated, and it does no harm if people in Khimmur or elsewhere allow their imaginations to exaggerate the powers we command.

  ‘If it were so, I wouldn’t hide it from you,’ I said. ‘But it’s not. I was not in Dhaout, Inbuel; it’s is as simple as that. Yet by your account I was. Thus I’m guilty of having been in two places at once - what’s more, without knowing it! It’s preposterous, and more than a little troubling.’

  Inbuel shifted in his chair, hanging one leg over the other. ‘This is a fine mystery, then. I’m most intrigued to learn the secret of your duality.’

  ‘I too.’

  ‘Would that I could emulate it.’

  ‘There seems little point if you’re not conscious of doing it.’

  I offered him another drink, which he accepted.

  ‘You say I was uncommunicative,’ I continued, ‘so we spoke only briefly, then parted. Did we exchange any more words, other than those you’ve recounted?’

  ‘None. I told you I was leaving the following day and making for Khimmur before returning to Kemahamek. I suggested we meet here in Hon-Hiaita. You said that wouldn’t be possible: you were occupied with other business and would be unlikely to return home for some weeks. That’s the sum total of our conversation.’

  ‘I gave no indication of the business I was engaged upon?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Hmph. Well, we could talk all night but I don’t think we will discover anything more.’

  We spoke of other matters for a short while, then Inbuel rose, indicating his intention to leave. I enquired as to his lodging, offering my own guests’ chambers, but he declined. ‘I have made the acquaintance, as it happens, of a charming young widow here in Hon-Hiaita. It is to her welcoming bosom that I should go now, before the night’s over.’

  ‘And how long do you remain in Hon-Hiaita?’

  ‘Just tonight. Tomorrow I take ship for Twalinieh.’ His eyes alighted in passing upon an object on my desk. ‘May I?’

  I nodded. He lifted it carefully, an irregularly formed chunk of rare green amber, and held it up in the candle-light. ‘This is a most attractive piece.’

  I was a little distracted and made no comment. Inbuel inspected the amber for some moments, then replaced it on the desktop, commenting again upon its unusual attraction. ‘Go well, my friend,’ he said, embracing me.

  ‘And you.’

  After he had gone I brooded awhile beside my desk. It was an unsettling notion, that someone unknown was impersonating me, and so expertly. To what end? And how was such an apparently perfect imposture achieved? I mused upon this for some time but made no more progress than I had when talking to Inbuel. Eventually I returned to an awareness of myself and found I was gazing down at the piece of amber which he had admired, and upon which the tips of my fingers unconsciously rested. It was a fascinating object, gleaming with a warm citrine lambence, shot with a greenish tinge, which reflected the candle-flames in the room. I had seen a number of similar pieces over time, brought as curios from distant lands. Trapped within them were little insects, perfectly preserved. These objects were relatively rare - and green amber was the most sought-after of all - and I had sold them profitably to wealthy folk with an eye for the unusual.

  Certain scholars reckon them to be ancient, even thousands of years old. They profess the belief that the amber stone was once liquid; that it by some means hardened instantaneously to trap its hapless guests forever. It is true that the preserved insects are sometimes alien to any species known; this gives weight to the argument that they are of a type which no longer dwells upon this world, or even that they are magical creatures or things of another world entir
ely.

  I lifted the stone and peered into its translucent glassy depths. It was cool and solid in my fingers. Tiny bubbles hung motionless in deep yellow, suffused in places with that unusual greenish tinge. A cluster of minute winged creatures were held inside, scores in all, a veritable swarm. They were difficult to make out in any detail; I could see slender dark bodies and fragile wings which gave an impression of deepest black and crimson. I had not seen their like before, and for that reason had kept the stone for myself. I was fascinated both by the insects and by the thoughts their mummified existence engendered in me. Many times I had gazed into the amber and mulled over what I saw: life preserved in stasis, in death; the irretrievable retrieved yet untouchable; the past held forever prisoner in the present.

  It was only as I was replacing the green amber that I recalled how I had acquired it. I had bought it, along with numerous other articles, from a trader I had met the previous autumn at a caravanserai beside Wetlan’s Way. I had enquired as to the provenance of the piece; he claimed to have bought it in a small mountain village he had passed through. He had jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating west and the Urvysh Plains.

  I had paid little attention at the time. Now the thought came to me that there were no mountains in the Urvysh. Travelling westwards, there were no mountains until one entered Anxau.

  I chided myself. I was making associations where there were none. It was the merest coincidence - in fact, not even that. I gave it no more thought. Snuffing the candles I locked my study and made my way to bed.

  Two

  The following morning, as I was preparing to leave for my warehouse, I received another letter. The messenger this time was one of my own men, Bris, a stalwart fellow who had been among the first to enter my employ more than four years earlier. I opened the letter quickly and read:

  ‘I would have preferred to have delivered this in person, but time and tide wait for no man. I therefore entrust it into another's hands, knowing you hold him reliable and wholly above reproach.

  Nonetheless, assure yourself upon receipt that the seal is unbroken.

  After leaving you last night I was struck by a chilling thought: when we next meet, whenever or wherever, how will I be sure that I am talking to the real you? Perhaps I gave the impression of making light of the incident in Dhaout. The truth, as you must surely be aware, is that it has potentially deeply sinister implications. Prudence is advisable, then, until the facts are known.

  I suggest a code. When I see you next, no matter my face, I shall greet you with the words, ‘Fortune is in the air, so I hear’. Your reply must be, ‘With every breath comes change.’ Thus will I know who I face.

  Memorise this. Go well and safely, and be certain of yourself.

  Your friend,

  Inbuel

  ‘Be certain of yourself’! It was a pointed warning. The implications of those hastily written words came at me now in a sudden shocking rush. A cold shiver rived my gut and I felt a queer and unnerving sensation that the ground was about to give way beneath my feet. Somebody else was pretending to be me! By that very fact, certainty - certainty of self - was something I was denied.

  By all the spirits, this could indeed be a sinister business.

  Or was I making too much of it?

  In the night I had woken from a dream in which this person, this malevolent impersonator, had brought himself to Hon-Hiaita, had successfully passed himself off as me, had worked his way into the confidence of friends and associates who had no reason to suspect that anything was afoot. He had begun to take control of everything that was mine.

  I had come from my sleep with the awareness that my life was in ruins, that everything I had ever striven for had been taken from me and put into the hands of this other, whose identity and ultimate aims were undeclared. As I thought these things in the dead of night, his hired assassins silently entered my chambers, coming like phantoms, like the shadows of vampires. They fell upon me, and though I struggled I was helpless in their hands. I was spirited away to some lonely, hellish locale, and there my life was taken.

  I had lain for some time breathing fast, in a cold sweat, not knowing what was real and what was not. The horror ebbed slowly, and the recognition came through, little by little: it had been only a nightmare, something conjured out of my deepest fears, brought to the surface by Inbuel’s news. What I had dreamed could not actually happen. This impostor, whoever he might be, was far away. He had done no harm. He was, more than likely, nothing worse than a prankster.

  The Zan-Chassin discipline teaches mental techniques for overcoming fear and dispelling unwanted thoughts. I was not yet a master of the art but I knew enough to clear my mind and allow myself to sleep again undisturbed till morning.

  Now I applied my mind once more to calming myself. Bris stood waiting at my side. I re-read Inbuel’s letter.

  No, I was not making too much of it. Quite the contrary, in fact. Inbuel’s words impressed that upon me. His precautions were commendable and wise. If anything, I was guilty of not having taken the matter quite seriously enough. I should report the incident without further delay. Any man who could successfully pass himself off as me, fooling someone who knew me as well as Inbuel did, had to be taken seriously. His accomplishment declared him a master of his art, and his art, put to wrongful use, was pernicious. My nightmare had told me what might ultimately be achieved. I could afford to take no risks. Measures similar to those proposed by Inbuel in his letter would have to be taken with my other close and important associates.

  I questioned Bris. ‘Who gave you this letter to deliver?’

  ‘Viscount m’ Anakastii, sir. He came hurriedly to the warehouse at dawn. He was sailing within the hour on a Kemahamek cog, the Star of Twalinieh. He bade me bring you this message with all urgency.’

  ‘Then he has sailed now?’

  ‘He’ll have been at sea this past half-hour.’

  I felt a twinge of annoyance at myself. Inbuel’s letter had had the secondary effect of reminding me of the note I had received the previous day, from Sermilio. I did not imagine a connection between the two incidents, but Inbuel, his experience of the world being as encompassing as my own, might have known who Sermilio was, or failing that might have identified the mysterious symbol on the page. There was nothing to be done now; I had not thought to show him the note, and it might be months before we next met. Today, of course, was the day Sermilio was so anxious to gain whatever it was his letter referred to. Would I become better-informed as the day progressed?

  Committing Inbuel’s code to memory, I crossed the room and dropped his letter into the flames of the hearth. I watched until it was consumed, then turned back to Bris. ‘Go immediately to the home of the Chariness, Hisdra. If she is not there you will find her in the Zan-Chassin catacombs within the Royal Palace. Tell her I seek an urgent audience, with her or with others of the Council of Elders. Bring me her reply without delay.’

  Bris was gone. I made my way down through the near-empty streets to the wharf. The early-morning air was chill and sharp, with just the lightest of breezes beginning to play down from the hills beyond Morshover Vale to the south. At the quayside I gazed across the mist-wreathed waters of the inland sea, Lake Hiaita. The breeze gently stirred the mist, ruffling the mirror of the water. The cog, the Star of Twalinieh, which carried my friend Inbuel, was visible no more than half a mile away. Clearing the breakwater and the hidden shoals beyond, she had shipped her oars and unfurled her single sail, which began to swell now as it took the breeze. With a favourable passage she would be home within three days.

  The Sirroman merchant, Sorias Bon, arrived. His eyes sagged in dark circles and he complained of a throbbing head, but he had enjoyed the night’s entertainments and was in overall good humour. In my office we drank steaming dark cocoa laced with plum spirit and he came to life, extolling the skills and virtues of Hon-Hiaita’s whores. We conducted our business swiftly and amicably, and Bon made ready to leave. On an impulse, as his wa
gons were being unloaded and restocked, I asked him whether he was familiar with the name Sermilio. He said he was not. Folding the stiff paper so that he might not read the message thereon, I revealed to him the strange symbol.

  ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

  Bon shook his head. He had never seen its like before.

  ‘Ah, well,’ I said, replacing the letter in my robe, ‘it’s of no great account.’

  One of Bon’s assistants entered to tell him that the loading was done. I had seen the fellow before, though I did not know his name. He was a thickset swarthy man, aged about thirty, a veteran of the trade roads. He had ridden guard for other merchants with whom I had done business in the past. He acknowledged me with a nod of the head and a curt grin, and said something which struck me as curious. ‘They let you out then. Master Dinbig?’

  The full significance of this remark would not strike me until later. Even so, I felt it warranted some explanation. Bon’s man was already half out of the door, anticipating no more than the briefest of replies, if any.