by Allan Cole
The jolt she had given me roused awareness, and I began to worry again. I could no longer ignore that weeks had gone by, and I had yet to meet again with the king. I could have paved a small road with all the messages I sent: asking what progress had been made in the trade agreement. Some went unanswered; most drew the mild reply of: You must understand, these matters are complex. And we praise your patience in advance for bearing up under these unfortunate, but necessary, delays.
As I worried over these oracles from dry authority, I suddenly noted a great absence of Janos. A second worry now gnawed as I realized it had been some time since I had seen him. And before that, his presence had become rarer with each passing day. I also remembered recent messages I had sent to his palace: they met the same fate as those I had sent the king. His servant, Gatra, always answered with regret his master was busy with the prince, and could not be disturbed. Perhaps another date? But each date we set became inconvenient when the time drew close.
Finally I went to the tavern our men favored. It made an unruly sprawl along the freight docks. After so much time amid the perfection of Irayas's wealthy neighborhoods, the ramshackle buildings along the docks and the noisy chatter of common folk was refreshing. I suppose I was homesick for the docks of Orissa, with their tantalizing sights and smells; and the feeling that here, every person, be he fisherman, or monger, or My Lady fingering the quality, was equal.
Sergeant Maeen and the others were delighted to see me. `Lione begged me to put my money away and bought a round for the whole tavern in honor of my visit. As we drank and exchanged gossip, I looked around and saw the men were doing well for themselves. There were plenty of eager young women in their company; and they were good women, daughters and young widows of workers and stall keepers. I expected many marriages to come out of this; and idly wondered who would stay and who would go when the time came for us to depart. The other men in the tavern, many of whom had become friends of Maeen and the others, were also a sturdy, hard-working lot; and among the clientele I saw only a few who wore the twisted smile of small larcenies. The sergeant asked how Sir Greycloak was getting on.
"I was hoping you could tell me," I said. "I have not seen him about for some time."
Maeen frowned, then forced cheer: "You know how Sir Greycloak is at times, my lord, " he said with a laugh. "He gets that mind of his after a badger in his den, then dives right in after it. Don't worry. He'll show up for some fun with his old mates, by and by."
"Have you heard any news of him?" I asked.
`Lione leered. "Oh, he's not all learnin' and business, my lord. Sir Greycloak's as randy as most." He gave me a nudge. "Some say, even more so."
Maeen cut him silent with a glare. To me, he said: "Pay him no mind, lord. Sir Greycloak might have been to a few parties, or so. Just to get the kinks out. But it's all in good fun."
"Did these... uh... parties... have anything to do with Prince Raveline?" I asked, knowing the answer, but hoping I erred.
Maeen's long hesitation told me I had not. Then he said: "Well... I suppose, they did, my lord." The frown returned to channel his brow. He sighed. "They were pretty wicked too, I hear." He gave a nervous laugh. "But there's no call to worry, my lord. It's only a man's passing fancy. And when all is said and done, Sir Greycloak is easily the match of Prince Raveline."
A drunken shout broke in: "What's that dog's name I hear? Prince Raveline, is it?" A big, red-faced fellow followed the shout by lumbering into our group. "This is my tavern, sirs. I'll not have that name blacken its premises."
I eyed the landlord, curious at such hate. Maeen and the others had pulled away; some were muttering nervously. Duty drew Maeen back to give the landlord a warning: "We're only here for a friendly drink, man. If it's politics you want, we'll take our commerce elsewhere."
The tavern keeper bleared: angry drunk, and near violence. "If I want to call that prince a dog, I'll call him a dog, damn you! And it's shaming a dog to do it for all the harm that man has caused!" Before he could continue, friendly patrons grabbed him. He struck out and wrestled a bit, but was finally hauled away; Two women, daughter and wife, I guessed, dragged him through a door and slammed it. The whole time the landlord blistered the air with curses on Raveline and his doings.
We were left uneasy by his outburst, but Maeen seemed most troubled of all. He looking nervously about, checking the villains I had picked out before. But where I had seen twisted smiles, there were only bad masks of bland disinterest. "We'd better find another tavern soon," the sergeant muttered to `Lione. "That landlord is set on bringing trouble." `Lione vigorously nodded agreement.
"I admit he's an uncouth fellow," I said. "But what trouble can he bring? His words may be unpleasant, but the king does not discourage his subjects from speaking their minds. In fact, he demands the opposite. You heard him say so, himself."
Maeen stirred, uncomfortable. He leaned close, and spoke low. "The king may say one thing, my lord; but that is not how it works down here." He patted the table for emphasis. "And from what I've heard, my lord, it does not always work that way above."
"Tell me more," I murmured.
Maeen shook his head. "It's not wise to linger on it too long, my lord. There are ears about." He indicated one of the blackguards who was slipping closer to us. "But I will say this. Mayhap the king's good intentions are being spoiled by another. And that other fellow, if you know who I mean, seems to take offense real easy, like. Dark things have been known to happen when his name is abused."
I wanted to ask more, but the slippery one was nearly at our table, his back turned in studied unconcern; but you could see his ears swivel to listen. So I said, loudly: "Here, now. Let me buy the next round. And we'll all toast our royal hosts." There was much overloud compliance to my proposal, and after a time of broadly innocent fun, Maeen tipped me the wink I should depart now, so they could casually follow after a suitable period.
I returned home in great alarm. I wondered at those "parties," as Maeen called them, that were hosted by Raveline. Orgies, I supposed; sexual tricks and frenzy stoked by magic. I remembered well the great appeal such things had to Janos. And I had just seen for myself all was not wondrous light in Irayas. But then I thought of the important negotiations with the king. I knew Domas was not lying about his interest; nor was he hiding some dark purpose. Hope sprang again with the reminder I actually had seen nothing; I had only heard. I did not distrust Maeen's word, but he himself had it by third or fourth hand. Not only that, I self-chided, but wasn't I letting my dislike of Raveline flaw my view? After all, what did I have to base that dislike on? The prince had certainly not done anything to deserve it. While I still had that clumsy ball of yarn tied up with such dubious knots, Janos reappeared. He burst into my palace, full of energy, wit, and high spirits. "I've missed you, my friend," he roared, slapping my back. "I've been buried in dusty old scrolls for too long, and my ears are so stuffed with spells I fear I am growing deaf from not hearing normal talk."
"Then your studies go well?" I asked.
"Damned well," Janos said. His manner had always been blustery, but I suspicioned a touch of aping of our bluff-mannered hosts. Suspicion faded as he clapped me on the back again and said we ought to see how the men were doing, and swap a drink or three. We found them at another tavern, just as large and soundly working-class as the first. With Janos we were twenty again; the reunion was noisy and glorious. Much drinking followed, and perhaps a tipsy tear for fond memories of shared adventures. But just before we were all taken by drink, Maeen came to me. "Remember that talky landlord?" He asked, low.
"At the other tavern?" He nodded. I looked about their new favorite place admiringly. "You were well to be shed of him, I suppose. And you chose the replacement well."
"We weren't shed of him," Maeen said. "We hadn't time. He disappeared that night, and no one has seen or heard from him since. And the tavern was ordered closed."
"By whom?" I asked.
"He wouldn't put his name to it," Maeen s
aid. "But everyone says it could be none other than Prince Raveline."
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
OMERYE
Any renewed brooding over Janos and Raveline was cut short the next day when Beemus showed up at my palace. He said, in his whispered shadow-speak, the king was engaged in important business; but assured me it was only slightly more important, in Domas's view, than the business he had with me. Barring unforeseen emergency, our trade agreement was next in line.
"Can you give me some hint which way the king is leaning?" I asked. He replied with a shrug, but accompanied the shrug with an upward tilt of one corner of his mouth; making, for Beemus, a grin of encouragement. "When will he decide? Can you guess?" Another shrug: the mouth line remained straight, meaning, he wasn't sure. "Can you at least tell me this: will it be very long?" Beemus thought a moment, then shook his head: no, it would not be long.
After he had gone I faced the day with brighter hopes. I sent a message to Janos, thinking we could discuss our prospects. But when I saw Gatra's familiar scrawl on the reply, I knew without reading that, once again, Janos was not available and had returned to Raveline's side. This was not enough to spoil my cheer, so I called for my boat and set out for a lazy day viewing Irayas.
The water has always brought me peace; and I spent several enjoyable hours alone with my boatman that day, cruising the river. It was late afternoon when I came to a district I had never seen before: it was an older area, near the center of the city. The canals were narrower and heavily shaded in the arch of thick-branched trees; the water reflected trunks twisted into forms and faces long past maturity. The homes, although certainly not poor or common, were smaller and steered sharply away from sameness. I smelled fresh paint; the dust of newly cut stone; and woolen yarn, dampened to greet the loom. As we moved through the maze that tied the district together, I saw bright color in the windows of the homes. They were paintings, I realized, and lovely tapestries as well; all were art in the making, for I also saw limners and weavers at work. The boatman took me past one large open yard that held a delightful litter of sculptures in all of stages of development. We turned into a pleasant bywater and I eased back to enjoy the song of a bird piping from a tree not far away.
Then I realized, with a cold pang, it wasn't a bird making that music. The single note was followed by a gentle stream on the air. The delicate signature was unmistakable: it was Omerye's. I hoarsed for the boatman to turn back, but he was so intent on the music himself he did not hear, and only drew harder on the oars. Then it seemed the pipes had caught my presence, for I recognized the same notes of sudden interest I'd heard in Domas's chamber. More music followed: gentle sniffing all about me, then a joyous cry of familiarity. Low-dipping branches parted, revealing a small dock; and on that dock, feet dainty, bare and trailing in the water, sat Omerye. As the boat drew up she played a final note: it was one of glad greeting. Then she lowered the pipes and looked at me. Her red hair made a lustrous frame about her pale features; but in the light I saw it was not as close to mine as I thought: it was a deeper red, and softer. She was dressed in a white tunic cut short to midthigh, and it clung close to her lush figure. The smile she wore was shy, but it made me glow; and then that glow made me sad, for I knew I must leave.
"I knew you would come." Her voice was as light and musical as her pipes. There was no artifice in it: she had known; and, somehow, so had I. She pointed the pipes at a white cottage with a slanted roof of weathered-blue: her home. "Please?"
There was only one answer I could give, but when I forced it out, it turned on its head and I heard myself say: "Yes. I would like that very much." I clambered onto the dock, trembling when her hand touched my shoulder to help steady me. We stood together, close; almost touching. She was tall and I found her eyes with no trouble: they were blue; then her chin tilted up and they were green; the chin tilted higher still, and now they were gray. Her lips were slightly bruised in color, and swollen from her piping. They would be so easy to kiss, I thought. She stepped away and took my hand, and led me to the cottage. Behind me, I heard the boatman chuckle and the scrape of wood as he pushed off, and I almost turned to urge him to wait, for I would not be more than a moment. I heard the splash of oars as he pulled away, and I entered the cottage. It was dim and hung with old, thin tapestries of artful design. The main room was spread with pillows of muted color. They made a circular pattern about a small stool. Omerye sat on the stool and patted one of the nearest pillows. I sank down, so full of questions and confusion I only had strength for silence.
It was broken by her musical voice: "Do you understand what this is about?" I shook my head, no. She raised the pipes. "You are the one I play for," she said. I still did not understand. She raised the pipes higher, until they nearly touched her lips. "Since the first moment I played," she said, "I saw a person in my mind. And it is that person I make my music for." She stopped, the pipes drooping lower, and shook her head. "No. That isn't right." She pressed the pipes tight against her breasts. "I make music for me." The pipes came up again. "But I play the music for... you. You are that person in my mind." The pipes were closing on her lips again. She said: "And you have been there, since... since... Well, always."
She commenced to play. In my mind the music formed the image of a small, pale child; she was silent and serious and given to dreams. When I write that I saw her, imagine my ears were my eyes, and the notes created form and color better than any light. The child loved all sound, whether shrill bird cries, or the knock of dry wood against a dock. I saw her make sounds of her own, using common things to produce uncommon notes. I saw her form those notes into a first whole song. She always played to a mirror, and in the mirror I saw an image I couldn't quite make out.
The vision blurred, then I found the child grown into a girl with swelling buds for breasts and hips flaring into womanhood. She sat before the mirror, red hair spilling downward as her head bent over new pipes. She made a lovely song, but you could tell by her hesitation she was testing new ground. I saw her glance into the mirror, as if seeking approval. At first I thought I saw her own reflection there: but the red hair that shone back was of a slightly different color; and the features smiling approval were not hers, but mine. The music carried me onward: I saw the girl become a woman; saw her music lift above all heights; saw that woman play before important and approving people. But always there was one person whose approval Omerye was really seeking; and that person was me.
The song ended and I opened my eyes to see tears in her own; but there was gladness in the tears. "Now, here is the first song I ever heard in my head," she said. "But, I could never play it... until now." She lifted the pipes once again and melody swirled about me. Each note was one I had never heard before, but the refrain haunted close, oddly familiar. The song found secret places, and each place was happy to be revealed. Omerye's pipes swept me away and she and I were discovering new things together: fresh vistas of mountains and rivers and rolling seas. The pipes stopped, and as the last notes drained from the air, I realized the song had been made only for me.
"Now, do you understand?" she asked, trembling, anxious.
As I began to answer a black pit opened and she became a small, distant figure across the wide gulf. Bitter memories of Deoce and little Emilie flooded out, washing over me. Grief struck and became hard, dry sobs rattling in my chest. I was locked in mourning, and as I mourned I knew I would soon suffer another great loss. For how could I ask Omerye to live with such specters?
Halab heard me and took pity. I felt his presence; and his whisper rustled in my ear: "You will find them there," he said, "if you will only look." I did; and when I raised my head the pit had vanished. Omerye's face was close, and I looked into her eyes and saw Deoce and Emilie reborn. Omerye's love joined theirs and became the whole. "Do you understand?" she asked again.
"Yes," I said. "I understand." I swept her from the stool and she came into my arms with a cry of delight. We fell into the pillows, aching
for want of the other; all hot hands and twining limbs. My fingers opened her tunic with ease, as if from much practice. They caressed softness that was at once mysterious and familiar. I heard myself say: "I love you, Omerye." I heard her whisper back: "I have always loved you, Amalric." And then, except to repeat those words, we did not speak for many hours. We made love until dawn, and in the chill morning Omerye played that song once more. She played and I listened, and we were complete.
They say time passes swiftly for new lovers; and as if in a dream. Only the last was true for us: we spent the following weeks in a trance, drunk with one another; but each week seemed more like years and heaped together they made a lifetime. There was much to know, but there was also much known; and before very long there it was understood that any future the gods allowed, would be lived in the other's company. The only question, was where, and that was settled the first time I broached it. "Shall I speak to the king?" I asked. "And ask to become one of his subjects so I can remain here with you?"
"Only if it pleases you," Omerye said. "But don't make the mistake of doing it to please me."
"Wouldn't you rather remain with your own people?" I asked, thinking of Deoce, and wondering if fate would have cast different dice if we had returned to her tribe. "You are much admired here. I fear your art would suffer in Orissa."
"Admiration has never been my goal," Omerye said. "Only freedom to make any music I choose."
"You would have that in Orissa," I said. "And admiration as well. But I do not think art is as great a treasure as it is in Vacaan."
Omerye's face darkened. "It is not so wonderful as you have been led to believe," she said. "The king may say all is encouraged for art's sake, but in practice it is another thing. In Vacaan there are unspoken boundaries that limit all the arts. If you go beyond it, certain... things... happen. The least of which is you are suddenly without patrons, or audience of any kind."