At last, she moved aside, letting the door rest on its hinges, and leaving Bell to stand dumbfounded. She didn’t speak as she moved to sit in the armchair near the fire. Bell watched her curiously. At their first meeting, he had taken her for reserved, or perhaps shy, but her current behavior spoke of apathy, and yet, something told him that this assumption was not quite right.
Bell stepped into the room, deciding it was up to him to break the silence. “The queen asked for me?” he said, shutting the door behind him.
“Yes,” the woman said. “She is in the other room. She should be out shortly.” The girl – well, not a girl really; he figured she must be only a few years younger than himself – gave a sudden start. As if suddenly remembering her manners she said, “Can I get you anything? Refreshments perhaps?”
Bell smiled, not because of the odd way she looked at him, but because it was a request that, as her jailor, Bell would inevitably fulfill himself.
“Ah yes,” Bell joked. “There is no hospitality like inviting your gaoler in for tea, under the requirement that he himself will end up delivering it to your door. I suppose the upside is that I wouldn’t have to fear a poisoning.”
The woman blushed. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I had not thought of it that way. I was just… I thought that…”
Bell smiled. “Do not apologize. It was simply a jest, and well… in this palace…” Bell paused so he could phrase his meaning accurately; she seemed the flustered type, and he did not want to make her uncomfortable. “You see, I’m not certain which is the more unusual. That you would offer me the comforts of a guest, or that I had expected them when you answered the door. It is… a very different environment than what I’m used to. It was all bare walls and dank cells the last time I was a jailor.”
The woman didn’t answer. Her gaze broke, dropping to her hands which fidgeted in her lap. Otherwise, she gave no sign of discomfort, but still he worried that he might have intimidated her. However, he couldn’t think of anything he had said that could be taken for threatening. He decided instead, to change the subject.
“Your name is Null, correct?”
She nodded, seeming to study the floor tiles at his feet. Not his boots. The tiles. Somehow, he got the impression she was staring around his feet, at everything but.
“That’s an interesting name,” Bell continued. “Like Entaras Null, right?”
The woman perked up, sudden interest sparkling in her eyes. “You’ve heard of it? What do you know about it?”
“Well…” Bell thought back to his years in the classrooms beneath the chapel. “It means Priest of Nothing, and I suppose that must mean that Nothing is a god, but not really the usual sort.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s not a god mentioned in Dydal’s Pantheon, and it does not have a cult, which means it has no priests.” Thinking of his own circumstance, Bell laughed. “However, it’s an apt metaphor I suppose. In a way, I’d say the title fits my life pretty well at the moment.”
“In what way?”
Bell shrugged. He supposed there was no harm in telling her the truth, aside from the embarrassment. “Because, I am a legionnaire without a patron, a priest without a god, and if things go well, I’m like to stay that way for a while.”
“And… those things are important to you?”
He’d forgotten that she was not well versed in priesthood customs.
“I…” Bell frowned, trying to answer her question the best he could. Those things were important, or at least, they had been important, but now he wasn’t so certain. He would have thought the revelation that his gods were real would have emboldened his faith, but that wasn’t turning out to be the case. If anything, he now had more doubts than ever, doubts that might end up being fatal.
An old woman, her hair in a bun held by hair sticks and wearing glasses with an iron-rimmed frame and round lenses, stormed into the room before Bell could finish his thought.
“Ah. Bell. Good. You’re here.” She spoke with Queen Tepa’s voice – Queen Rin’s voice? – but the face which greeted him was not hers. It had aged by more than thirty years, the wrinkle lines around her eyes lengthened, the laugh lines deepened, making deep ravines from her nose down to her chin and between her mouth and cheeks. Her brow was smoother than the rest of the face, most of it covered by a sweep of hair which draped half her forehead in a moon shaped tuft, combed from left to right, before pulling back into a bun.
Bell’s only response was to ease himself forward on his heels, hoping for a better look.
The old woman blinked, her face scrunching into a confused scowl that deepened her laugh lines even farther. “What?” she asked. “Oh gods,” the curse was a hiss. “It’s a blooding mask. There’s no need to stare.”
Bell found that his hand hung in midair, as though eager to touch what he could not believe. He pulled it down, afraid he had made himself look a fool, and awkwardly smoothed his tabard, smearing grime and ash onto his sweaty hand. While elaborate, the gesture did nothing to soothe his disbelief. It was like no mask he had ever seen. It was too life-like, too… malleable. It scowled when she did. It blinked when she did.
“Is this what a god can do?” Bell asked.
“This is what a skilled artisan can do,” the queen said, but he noticed that she had not corrected him as to being a god.
“But the eyelids…”
The queen’s pupils flared, dilating and then relaxing in a flash of anger. “I did not ask you here to gape at me.” Despite her words, and the anger in her eyes, her tone was soft, more amused than impatient. His amazement seemed to have made her proud, her tight smile softening to a bemused grin, and why wouldn’t it? What she had wrought was miraculous.
Even so, Bell reined himself in, hoping – with an uneasy glance around the room – that he had not made too big a fool of himself. “I’m sorry,” Bell said. “I hope I did not make you uncomfortable. Although, can I ask… what is it for?”
The queen pursed her lips and motioned to the armchair across from Null. She herself stepped to a tilted desk on four tall legs. She did not sit, but stood beside it, running a hand along the padded seat of the desk’s high-backed stool.
Despite her invitation, Bell remained standing. It wasn’t courtesy that compelled him to stand, but caution. He did not want to sit halfway across the room from her, staring up at her in her tall stool as he begged her for advice.
She did not meet his eyes, nor did she answer his question, when she finally spoke. “Is your sympathy genuine?” she asked. Turning on her heels, she opened her palm to him and swept it up and down to encompass his clothing. “All of this?” she continued. “Is it sympathy or superiority?”
“Superiority?” Bell asked.
“Yes. I’m aware of the Trellish opinion of my people. You think us heathens and savages. There are many who offer aid in order to prove their view of their world. To prove they are better. Is that your intention?”
“I…” Bell frowned.
Her gaze was piercing, almost daring him to lie. He wasn’t certain what she wanted to hear, but he wanted her to be honest with him, so he would offer the same courtesy.
“I had to make it right,” Bell said. “I don’t quite understand what we did, but I cannot help feeling that Dekahn’s fate was the Legion’s fault. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience, and… and I needed to think. And to avoid thinking.”
The queen studied him. “So. Misplaced guilt then.” Her look was not approving.
Bell shrugged, made uncomfortable by her change in demeanor. Perhaps it was the mask, but she had seemed kinder the other day, less harsh, in a resigned humor kind of way. He wasn’t sure what to make of this new queen, or of the old one for that matter. She wore a mask to hide her identity, so perhaps she had done the same with her personality, but then, was this the real Queen Tepa, or had she been genuine before?
Then again, maybe it was Bell who had changed. Before, he had been speaking to a woman, now h
e spoke to a god. Perhaps he expected something different from her, something more severe, so that was what he saw.
“Can I ask why my reasons are so important to you?” he asked.
Atep Rin released a bedraggled sigh. Her body visually relaxed, became looser, almost as if his question had poked a hole in her and released the stress which had been making her tense. “I have a favor to ask of you, but before I ask it, I wanted to know more about you.”
Her back straightened as she climbed into her stool. She was a queen, and though a stool, the ease with which she seated herself in the awkward device – awkward because its shape was reminiscent of a child’s highchair without the leg holsters and table – made it seem a throne. With her elbow propped on the slanted desk, she leaned into her hand, staring pensively into his eyes.
“You are a legionnaire,” she continued. “But so far the impression you’ve given me is favorable. I like you, and for some reason, I feel that I can trust you, despite my better judgment.” Her head – and the hand upon which it leaned – nodded to the window opposite the door. “Null and I have seen you out there. You must imagine how maddening it is to watch another doing what you cannot while locked in a chamber. I’d like to thank you, for in a way, I felt you were out there, standing in my place. However, I want a closer tie to them. I want to be out there, with my people, but as I do not foresee your Grand or her keeper allowing that, I have devised another way to help. Fortunately, my talents do not require me to be with them.”
The queen retrieved a rolled parchment from an odd, quiver-like satchel. She held it up, offering it to him though he stood half a room away.
“What is it?” Bell asked.
“Orders,” she stated.
“Orders for what? To who?” Bell didn’t step forward. It seemed unreasonable, but he had the odd feeling that accepting that scroll might actually make him a traitor. If she wanted him to betray the Legion, he doubted she would just up and hand him the proof. He didn’t know how being asked to betray one’s country usually occurred, but surely there would be a discussion of terms first, or at least some threats and intimidation, maybe some blackmail.
The queen blinked. “It is a list. Several lists.”
“Of what?”
“Grain stores, their locations in the city, in basements and tunnels that might’ve survived the fires. Of merchants outside the city who owe the crown, how much they owe, and where they live. Orders for collecting on said debts, and where to buy additional foodstuffs should our reserves prove lacking, as well as instructions for distribution – your Legion’s meal tickets are well and good, but my people need their own foundation if we hope to rebuild something sustainable. Then there are the lists of materials we must buy with the remaining coin, and discussions on what areas of town to rebuild first… I imagine that much heat has devastated our sewage system.
“If the Clerahl brothers can be found, I will need them brought here immediately to discuss repairs, and which wells and waterways we should drink from until then. I imagine the water in the southernmost half of the Winter District must be as good as poisoned by now if there’s been any damage at all to the spillways. With all the deaths, and the sewage, there will be widespread illness if we do not act quickly.”
Bell stared at the roll of paper. The furthest his mind had gotten was to clear out rubble to make room for makeshift lodging. That this parchment could hold so much information, that she had not only thought of all those things that needed to be done, but also found solutions for them, astounded him.
“You really are Planner, aren’t you?”
Bell winced. Dumbfounded surprise was not how he had intended to broach the subject, but now that it was done, he supposed it was as good a way as any.
The queen shook the parchment at him, her composure seemingly unbroken. She kept her lips firm as her eyes watched him. They were patient. Knowing. And why not? It was enough to convince him that he was right, she was a god, and she had the power which came with godhood; she had an eternity, the comfort of both ages past and ages to come.
He should have envied her, but he didn’t. He had the burden of, as she had called it, ‘misplaced guilt.’ But her? She had the burden of a hundred thousand souls, her citizens, worshippers though they knew it not, who were starved and tired and broken. And all she had to give them was one measly piece of parchment, one single page.
He hoped it was enough. At the least, it was better than he had done. Bell took a step forward and placed a hand on the paper. He did not take it, but looked into her eyes. It was them that gave her away, they looked scared though the rest of her was calm; terrified that he might say no.
“I will show it to the Grand,” Bell said.
Her face brightened. Her eyes did not. “That is all I ask.” She let go of the page and Bell pulled it close. “If,” she said, then paused. “If the Grand approves, do you know someone you can trust to see it all through? A Dekahnian preferably.”
“There is a cooper I know. Natti Inundahn.”
“Inundahn?” Planner smiled briefly. “It is good to hear a familiar name.” Again, she released a heavy sigh. “A city of uncertainty,” she said. “That is what I have now. Thank you, Bell. Truly, I mean it. I wish you could have grown up in a united Trel, so this sort of thing did not have to be.”
For several moments, Bell let the silence stretch. He didn’t know how to respond to such a statement – at least his mind could not focus on any relevant thought. It was distracted, because he knew that now was the time to ask his question, but was having trouble getting it out. He was afraid of the answer, either that she could not help him, or that her help would be worse than the problem itself. He had dodged treason once in this meeting, but there was still the fear that it might be his only option in surviving the Grand’s threats. That, or something worse.
At last, he forced it loose. Sort of. “How?” he asked. It was all he could manage. Just the one word.
Tepa frowned, then after a brief moment of confusion, smiled. “Oh, yes. The mask.”
“No.” Bell did want to know its purpose, but this was more important. “No,” he repeated. “Just. It is about Just.”
Her look was not pleasant.
“I…” Bell tried. “You cannot fool me, and please do not try. I know that you are a god, you have as much as admitted it.”
She shrugged in admission, half nodding to one side as if she did not care if he knew.
“Good. And the man the other day. The one you met with. He is also a god. You said he was Just.”
“What is your question, Bell? There is no need to dance around it.”
Bell’s words came out in a sigh. “I need your help.”
The queen studied him over her glasses, her stare cool and patient, then burst into laughter. “Every damned time,” Tepa said. “I swear, you ask a mortal a favor, and ten seconds later all the pleas for help and rewards come, and I don’t blame Dydal, but ever since he gave you Trellish that rot-blasted doctrine it’s gotten invariably worse. Before you were just good bargainers, now the lot of you blooding expect it.”
Again, Bell didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I do not expect anything… I don’t want to impose, it’s just that-”
“Calm down,” Tepa said, her smile wide. “I was only joking. So? What is it you need? You must know that if I can’t give my people a city overnight, that I cannot give you immortality, or change you into a bird, or some other such nonsense. I am not omnipotent.”
Bell glanced at her, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. After all this build up, he had to just spit it out and have it done with. She could help or she couldn’t, would or wouldn’t, but nerves would not get him anywhere.
He spoke slowly. “The Grand… thinks me a traitor. Me and the rest of your guards. It is the reason we were assigned to you, in the hopes that you would kill us in an attempt to escape.”
Tepa’s brow arched, but she did not speak.
“I…” Bell continued. “She has condemned us without proof, but it will be no less deadly for the lack of it. She means to have us dead, and now that I know Just exists, I know that he is behind it, and that he speaks to her, but I don’t know what to do. How do you fight a god? Gods, I don’t even want to fight him, but what else do I do? If I do nothing, my friends die. My innocent friends die, and sure, Kenneth isn’t the most savory of folk, and maybe he actually has done something treasonous, but the others… Tel and Halls and Bern. And Rich. They haven’t done anything, and yet-”
“Stop,” Tepa said. “Please stop.”
Bell blinked at her, his cheeks and neck warming with embarrassment. He’d been rambling.
“What do you expect from me?” she asked.
“You…” he had nothing to say. He didn’t know what he wanted from her, because he didn’t have any idea of what he could do. That was why he’d come to her. “You are a god,” he managed. It seemed like a good explanation. Her frown said otherwise.
“I am a losing god,” she corrected. “I expected an attack from Dydal, which meant chaos perhaps, but well-reasoned and merciful. What I got instead, was Just and a dead city. Whatever you think I can do for you… I don’t know if I can. I cannot, and will not, fight him. He is different than before, but he is still sane. And he is ruthless. If he thought I were opposing him openly, he would not hesitate to kill me, and probably Null, and anyone else even remotely associated with me.”
“I do not want to fight him,” Bell repeated.
“Then what do you want?”
“To… to prove our innocence. That is all.” To get back to Trin.
The queen took a long breath, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Had you come to me five hundred years ago, I’d have known exactly what to tell you… Just was… reasonable then. He was fair, but ever since the pantheon fell, ever since Silt’s death…” Again, she sighed. Again, she shook her head. “He has not been the same. He is not the same man. Not the same god.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 97