"You also learned what a filthy, cruel, game-playing slut I—"
"Stop that!"
"But—"
"Stop and listen. I sleep with a princess who has been carried into my bedchamber on a gold litter by four eunuchs. You raise your skirts for a student on the academy roof, and laugh up at the stars as you make love. Why is one act noble, yet the other base?"
She thought about that for some time. An armed river galley glided past us, heading upstream, probably to fight the Lupanians.
"Let me, please, let me tell you this, Danolarian, listen. The night I slapped your hand, you—you looked so bewildered and hurt. I was so ashamed of myself that I didn't have the courage to kiss you goodnight. After you walked me home, I ran up to my room and threw up in my underwear drawer. Then I cried all night. The next day I got your note, and I thought that you had left on account of what I had done. No letters came—"
"Riellen burned them," I reminded her defensively.
"Now I know that. I researched your history, and that made me love you all the more. Yes, now I've said it. I loved you then, and I love you now ... but you have seen me be such a monster. You could never love me in return, there is too much filth, too much hurt between us."
I considered this, wondering how to reach her, how to make her believe how I felt.
"I am not one for pantries," I said softly. "Neither do I like half-wit virgins. The girl I loved walked the streets of Alberin with me on the night of her rescue from the Inquisition Constables. She held my hand, she danced with me in the Lamplighter, we drank ale from the same tankard, she exchanged jokes with me in nine languages as I walked her home, then she kissed me goodnight. She pined for me while I was away, she was faithful to me whenever she went to a tavern dance, and she even wrote 'The Banks of the Alber" for me. Do you happen to know where that girl went? I still love her."
"Danol..." began Lavenci, but sobs were already beginning to contort her face. Lavenci burst into a flood of tears that lasted for quite some time. I extended a hand, and ran a finger down her hair, lightly, so she could not feel it. Even more carefully, I lifted some of her milky white tresses and pressed them to my lips.
"Clever, clever Danolarian," she said approvingly between sobs. "You can even cheat the constancy glamour."
"Poor girl, this must have been such a strain," I said. "Are you feeling all right?"
She shook her head and gave a rueful little smile.
"So strange, those were almost your very first words to me, when I crashed into you in that dark street, pursued by the Inquisition. 'Are you all right, miss?' That voice, those words. Danolarian, as soon as I heard you speak, I knew I was safe. Danolarian, I, I... might I dare to feel safe again?" Her voice, full of fearful hope and desperate trust, melted me within. Suddenly I let out a theatrical sigh, slapped my knees, spun about on the wall, and dropped to the ground. I took an imaginary chalk and slate from my jacket and drew an imaginary tick.
"Things to do: Item one, straighten out difficulties with truelove. Done. Item two, lift glamour from truelove in seven years by hanging Pelmore today. As good as done. Item three, help defeat the Lupanians. Well... I think that will keep until tomorrow." I handed the imaginary chalk to Lavenci. "Have I missed anything?"
"You missed the hardest task of all," she said critically, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"What is that?"
"Item four, come home and meet my mother." "I survived the Battle of Racewater Bridge, how much worse can she be? When should I present myself for inspection?" 'Tonight, at the tenth hour. Dinner will be included." "I shall be there, one way or another." "So will Wensomer."
"Wensomer? As in Empress? She is back in Alberin?" "Yes. She thinks you are very cute, you know. Wensomer's half brother! I am really, really looking forward to tonight."
XXX
After a rather lengthy farewell to Lavenci, I went to the Metrologan temple. I was informed that Norellie was still in bed after a long and exhausting night. I then asked after Commander Halland. I was told that he was also asleep. I insisted that he be roused. I was told to wait. I noticed that the deacon did not hurry off in the direction of the men's dormitories. Wayfarer inspectors notice things like that.
Halland presently appeared, wearing a white bedchamber gown embroidered with pink hearts transfixed with red arrows.
"You are late for breakfast," I pointed out.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Er, refectory's this way."
"So, problems sleeping?"
"No, not at all."
"In spite of the air being thick with perfume?" I asked, batting at the air between us. "Very funny."
"And the flea that left a bite one inch across on your neck?" Halland gave a strangled gasp, raised the collar of the gown,
and wrapped it closely about his neck. We reached the refectory, which was a little hall with tables and benches. We sat down, and were brought bread, cheese, and rainwater mixed with juice.
"You did sleep with her, based on evidence presented no denials will be accepted."
"Actually, no. Technically I didn't sleep with her."
"I think I understand."
"I was two years out of practice."
"I sympathize. Did you manage to discuss the Lupanians any further, or was the conversation more along the lines of 'Not yet,' 'My turn on top,' and 'Yes!
Yes! Yes!'"
"Is this just gratuitous sarcasm for its own sake, or do you have a point to make?"
"Sir, friend, I have been promoted to the Inquisition, remember? After Pelmore hangs at noon, I shall be sworn in, and after that I shall vanish—voluntarily or otherwise, whichever comes first. If there is anything else we can say of the Lupanians, it must be now."
"The Lupanians," he said absently, rubbing at the love bite. 'They are too powerful to confront, we both know that. They may be mortal, but their power is unimaginable and they never make the same mistake twice. Alberin is the largest city in northeast Scalticar, and they have learned from the conquered peoples that it is the capital of an empire that covers most of the continent. They will want Alberin conquered. Lavenci has calculated that their weapon can set reedpaper afire at five miles, and you of all people know that it melts stone at one mile. They will come here and raze Alberin to terrify the rest of Scalticar into submission. It is only a matter of time."
"But Justiva mentioned the glass dragons," I pointed out.
"Justiva has heard nothing back from them. They are aloof, arrogant beings. They will respond in their own time, but the Lupanians could be here as early as today."
"What will you do?"
"Work with the militia while the militia exists, then hide with the Metrologans. And you?"
"Serve the crown, while a head attached to a body is still wearing the aforesaid crown—oh, and hang Pelmore."
x >; >;
XXX
A half hour later I was standing in Astigian Square, watching the shadow of the public sundial advance on the mark of noon. Pelmore arrived to face his sentence. He was in a cart, in chains, and stripped to his drawers. There was a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth. Someone had given him a very hard time in the dungeons, as he was covered in grime, dried blood, bruises, and cuts. Strange to say, his curly blond hair was clean.
The sundial was a dragon, carved in blackstone. Its head was bent, and the shadow of its single horn traced out the sun's position on grooves in the flagstones. Of more concern to Pelmore was the iron ring held in its teeth, however. From it hung a noose. There was little ceremony when a common felon was hung. The cart was drawn up beneath the dragon's
The next matter to attend was visiting the modest house where Captain Gilvray had lived with his wife Dolvienne. Lady Dolvienne was wearing the black of mourning, but admitted me graciously and had a servant prepare and serve tea. For a time we recalled old times in the Sargolan Empire, and of how my squad of reccons had been sent by Princess Senterri to hunt down and kill Dolvienne and Gilvray. We had instead dese
rted and fled with them to Alberin. Since then they had married and lived happily for three years. Gilvray had been about to be awarded letters as a medicar from the imperial guild when he had been murdered.
'Three years of happiness, it seems so little now that it is all we shall ever have," Dolvienne said sadly as we sat in the little vine-smothered courtyard at the back of the house.
"Some get a lot less than that, ladyship," I pointed out. "Some get nothing at all."
"Then if suchlike ever comes your way, do not hesitate, Danolarian. What you have now may be as good as you get, and all that you ever get." head, and the noose was lowered, then tightened about Pelmore's neck. He struggled in the grip of two hooded guards, and tried to shout something in spite of the gag. A hooded driver sat patiently with one hand on the reins and the other on the brake lever. The crowd was chanting:
"Hurry, hurry,
"To Astig.
"Pelmore's soon
"To dance a jig."
The crowd fell silent as a crier strode up to the cart. I walked up to stand beside him, and we were then joined by the ratifying magistrate.
"Be it known to all and sundry that by decree of a magistrate of the Wayfarers, ratified by a sentencing magistrate of Alberin City, on evidence supplied in a properly constituted field trial, Pelmore Haftbrace, late of Gatrov, is guilty of the murder of Captain Danzar Borodan of the Gatrov Town Militia, the attempted murder of a noblewoman, and the attempted murder of a Wayfarer inspector. The penalties are death, death, and death, to be served concurrendy. Inspector Scryverin, Magistrate Talliser, are you in agreement?"
"Aye," I responded.
"Yes," agreed Talliser.
"Executioner, you may carry out the sentence at your pleasure," concluded the crier.
"Gid-yup!" called the driver, releasing the brake and flicking the reins. The horse ambled forward. Pelmore tumbled from the cart, accompanied by his captors, who had forgotten to release him. The guards tumbled to the flagstones, one of them clutching at Pelmore and partly dragging off his drawers as he fell. Pelmore kicked and jerked in midair. The crowd laughed, cheered, and applauded. The guard got up, gripped the body around the middle and swung. Pelmore's neck dislocated and stretched. The figure on the end of the rope ceased to struggle. The two guards and the driver bowed and the crowd applauded, even though it had been a rather sloppy execution. XXX
Something was nagging at my mind as I walked away. There was an incorrect detail, something out of place. I was an inspector, after all, and it was my vocation to inspect. Presently I noticed that another youth had fallen in beside me.
"Just the man I wanted to see," he said, and I turned to discover that I was walking beside Laron Aliasar, presiding advisor to the regent of Alberin, and master of the disbanded Secret Inquisition Constables—which had never really existed anyway.
I immediately stopped, dropped to one knee, and bowed. I did so with such speed that one of the guards escorting Laron nearly fell over me. Several people nearby correctly assumed that Laron was someone important and dropped to one knee as well. Laron hastily waved me up, then took me by the arm and hurried me on, after a word to his guards to stay out of earshot.
"Lordship, I must apologize—" I began automatically.
"Danolarian, give the lordship bit a rest. We have served in the same reccon squad, drunk in the same taprooms, danced with the same girls, and nearly drowned aboard the same ship. Fortune has made me a courtier and you an inspector, but there's an end of it. What did you think of Pelmore's dancing?"
"I dislike that type of dancing at the best of times, sir, but he murdered a brave and honorable man, so he deserved it. And you?"
"I just wanted to see him dead. Academician Lavenci is very dear to me."
"I know you were once her lover."
"Not for some months past," he said with a little laugh. "But we are still friends. She... relieved me of my innocence when we were at an academy in Diomeda. After a fashion."
"After a fashion, sir? Are not such matters somewhat unambiguous?"
"Don't ask. Well?"
"Well what?"
"You and Lavenci?"
"At this very minute in seven years' time we shall be in a particularly intense physical-contact situation. The rest of our plans are none of your business."
"So, you two are reconciled?"
"Yes, as of this morning."
"Good, excellent," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, as if he had just brokered a mercantile deal of great profit. "Well, I'd better have myself arrested now."
"Arrested? Why?"
"The regent wants someone to blame for something, you know how it is."
"Why don't you flee?"
"Because it is expected of me. And you?"
"I have an order to attend Wayfarer Headquarters."
"Ah, yes. You are to be rewarded by a promotion into the Inquisition. I hear things, I know. Because you refused to change your report to exonerate Pelmore, the directant of Wayfarers is handing you to the inquisitor general on a silver platter. You could flee, if you are unexpectedly brisk about it."
'That would mean leaving Lavenci again. I'll not do that."
Chapter Sixteen
DEATH OF A GLASS DRAGON
At Wayfarer Headquarters I was given a folded scroll with the directant's seal impressed in the wax. It told me that I was being rewarded by the regent with a promotion into the Inquisition, congratulated me for my excellent service record, and wished me well. This was followed by an instruction to report immediately to the Office of Inquisition in the regent's palace. I set off for the palace by the most direct route, stopping only to buy a curried egg roll at a street stall. A man in a dark grey cloak who had been walking quite briskly about a hundred paces behind me suddenly slumped against a wall and became a loafer. I set off again. By now my shadow had reversed his cloak to be brown, and stuck a feather in his hat. He hurried
after me, and I somehow felt that I knew him well. Exceedingly well. I presented my papers at the palace gates. Why is it that on the occasions when you want some irregularity to be found, you are always waved straight through with a smile? The Alberin palace was actually an old castle. The inner wall and citadel had long been demolished for the present complex of halls, hostelries, stables, and such, but the outer wall had been left intact. True, it was now whitewashed and decorated with tasteful sculptures, but the wall was in excellent repair and the watchtowers were still manned. Over the two hundred years past there had been several occasions when all that had stood between the ruler and an angry mob had been the palace guard and the wall. That had been the one lesson from history that Alberin's monarchs were all happy to learn. Seven tall, thin towers rose above everything else, and were visible from all points of the city. They reminded everyone, every day, where their ruler was, and that he just might be looking down upon them. There were other buildings in the palace grounds, such as the barracks of the palace guards, storehouses for times of siege, and chambers of various organizations. The last named were organizations that the regent liked to keep close to himself. The Royal Incarceration Services were among them, but so too was the Inquisition. For such a well-known and powerful organization, the Inquisition had an oddly unremarkable building: just three floors high, unadorned, with small windows—all barred—and at the main entrance only four guards, all in white surcoats and gleaming chain mail.
Once more I was admitted with no fuss whatsoever, and the hospitality clerk assigned me a lackey. The lackey took me straight up to the third floor, where he rapped smartly on a door marked inquisitor general. The door was opened by a man who was perhaps in his forties, of average height, but fairly rotund. He was introduced as the inquisitor general; then the lackey introduced me and I presented my papers. I noted that the doorframe was lined with green felt, and that there was more felt on the back of the door.
"You may have noticed that I have no administration clerk," said the inquisitor general as he sat down behind his table and
gestured to a chair. "That is because I trust nobody, do everything of importance myself, and run a very tight ship. What does that tell you?" He sat so still that he might well have been a skillfully carved and painted statue, had not his lips been moving. Here was a keen observer who was used to complete control, and who knew that he had the power of life and death over more people than anyone else except for the regent. The room was dingy, for the internal shutters of the windows were closed; however, the reflector behind the single burning oil lamp was turned to focus on me.
"You have more pieces of the mosaic than everyone else, sir," I replied.
"Very perceptive," he responded. "Why were you not so perceptive yesterday, in your interview with the directant?"
"He asked me to make a judgment with only the pieces to hand, sir."
"One of those pieces was my request regarding Pelmore Haftbrace. Why did you ignore it?"
"Had he ordered me to falsify my report, I would have noted that order in the report, then done so."
"Ah, a stickler for the rules," he said, his voice dropping in tone, yet becoming all the more menacing for that. "Well here is your first lesson in the Inquisition's rules. The rules are conceived, born, raised, twisted, slaughtered, and buried within these four walls, and between the ceiling above you and the floor that supports you. The Inquisition is all about hunting out, controlling, and eliminating sorcery in all of its shapes, forms, and disguises. To do that, we are above all laws except for that law commissioning the Inquisition in the first place. That law is above the regent, and even the former empress. It was passed by the first and only conference of all Scalticar's rulers, three years ago, the one that set up the empire. The Inquisition is above kingdoms, Inspector Danolarian Scryverin, and once I write your name into my central register as an Inquisition marshal, a breach of discipline will be a refusal to obey my word. Pelmore's death caused me to lose face with someone of considerable importance. Gaining control of you will buy back a little of what was lost."
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