Ventus

by Karl Schroeder

  Jordan reentered the room, and closed the door. "What's up?" August asked him. The man was stretched out, seemingly at leisure, on his bedroll next to the fire.

  Jordan shook his head. "I have no idea," he said.

  §

  Axel raised his fist, then carefully loosened his knotted muscles and knocked politely on the tower door. It was a hard climb up here, past Turcaret's guards then up a narrow windowless spiral stairway. He could barely make out gleams of light coming through cracks in the door. After a moment he heard shuffling footsteps, and the door opened inward.

  "Come in, come in." Controller Turcaret waved him inside.

  Axel was surprised to find the controller was alone. The tower room he had been given was lovely. Tall leaded windows in all four walls admitted long shafts of afternoon light to gleam on the leaves of hundreds of plants festooning every surface. The chamber was tall, maybe six meters, and stone-floored. Whoever normally lived here had trusted to the sturdiness of the place, and had potted several young trees of respectable size. One, a willow, curled its long branches down over an iron-framed bed. Another overshadowed a writing desk. A wardrobe, several cabinets and a table sat half-hidden behind the foliage. There was a fireplace by the bed; the place might be quite cozy in the wintertime.

  Axel crossed his arms, trying to manage a diplomatic smile. "Well. How are you?" he asked. It really should be Calandria at this meeting; but Turcaret had asked for Axel in particular, so Cal was off getting the horses ready, and he had to pretend to like this man for a few minutes. He manufactured a smile.

  Turcaret brushed some leaves and a beetle off the table and motioned for Axel to sit. "Come in, Chan," he said as he rummaged in a cabinet. "Make yourself comfortable." He produced a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  Axel eyed the bottle. "Are we celebrating something?"

  Turcaret laughed darkly and uncorked the bottle. "We might be. That depends on how cooperative you are."

  "Does it have to do with your reasons for visiting the Boros?" asked Axel. What he really wanted to ask was, Did you follow us here?

  "All in good time, man." Turcaret made a shooing motion toward the wine glass. "Try it. I think you'll appreciate it."

  Axel scowled, but picked up the glass. He took a sip. Instantly his diagnostic nano went to work. They detected no common poisons, although the liquid was full of substances foreign to them. That in itself was normal for Ventusian wine, Axel had discovered.

  "Hmm." He dismissed the paranoid thought that Turcaret might try to poison him, and took another sip. It was delightful stuff, so strong it seemed to dissolve into his soft palate before reaching the back of his throat.

  He smiled at Turcaret and raised his glass. "All right," he said. "Now what did you want to talk about?"

  "Ah, that." Turcaret steepled his hands and smiled. "It has to do with the little matter of your being an imposter."

  §

  Daylight was seeping away outside. Jordan was fairly sure Calandria would wait for darkness before making any moves, but knowing that didn't make the time pass any easier.

  The time dragged. Jordan had packed everything in the ten minutes after Calandria left, and after that all he could do was wait. August had eyed him while he worked, but said nothing. He seemed content to let Jordan speak if he wished, but Jordan was distracted, and too upset to give the man much notice.

  What confused Jordan even more was that Armiger and Megan were making love next to her fireplace. If he closed his eyes for even a second, he was there, seemingly touching her himself, and the vision was so mesmerizing he didn't want to look away. It was powerfully arousing, and he couldn't afford that—not tonight, and not with August in the room.

  August kept twisting his body, flexing his arms, and touching his wounded side. He looked puzzled. Obviously he was trying to find some motion that would hurt enough to locate his wound. Jordan seized on the distraction.

  "I told you, we've put something on it to kill the pain. You'll just open it up if you move about."

  "No," said August. "I can feel everywhere around there. It seems..." He threw the blankets off.

  "Stop!"

  August stood up. "I'll be damned," he said. He pressed his hand to his side. "It feels..." he looked up suddenly.

  Jordan heard something. "Quiet!" he hissed. August looked up in surprise.

  "What—?" Jordan waved him silent. He sidled over to the door and put his ear against it.

  August hitched his pants up and came over as well. "What is it?" he whispered.

  "I heard footsteps. They stopped just outside the door," Jordan whispered back.

  August planted his ear against the door. "I hear voices. Snuff out the candle, will you?"

  Jordan ran to obey. August flattened himself against the wall next to the door, and Jordan barely had time to duck down behind the bed before someone pushed the door open, and three men stepped into the room.

  12

  Turcaret glanced out the window to check the angle of the light. It was almost dark. Almost time.

  "I sent a semaphore message to the king of Ravenon," he said to Chan. "Shortly after you left Castor's manor. The king had never heard of you, nor the damsel who calls herself Calandria May. You are not couriers for Ravenon. We don't know what you are—but I did receive permission to have you arrested and sent back to the capital in irons if I chanced upon you again."

  Chan took another sip of his wine, his expression bland. "We're alone in this room," he pointed out. "If you wanted to arrest me, you would have already done it."

  "True." At least Chan wasn't the idiot he looked. "I had a better idea," Turcaret admitted.

  "I'm all ears," said Chan. Turcaret had never heard that expression before; the image was so bizarre he laughed.

  "I originally intended to turn you in," he said. "After all, you rendered me a tremendous insult."

  Chan sat up straight. "In what way? I'm sure we intended none."

  "You intended none?" Turcaret couldn't believe his ears. "Well, to start with, you stole my property away on a pretext."

  "What property?" The fool looked puzzled now.

  "The Mason girl."

  A look of disgust slowly spread across Chan's face. He tilted the glass, pouring the wine out on the floor. That was all right, Turcaret decided; he'd probably drunk enough by now.

  "People are not property," said Chan quietly. "They have rights, even in this godforsaken country."

  "Rights? Yes, let's talk about rights, now," said Turcaret. "That girl was just a thing, of no consequence, and no one would protest her fate, because no one can do anything about it. She was my right, she was the payment of a debt, and that was the beginning and end of it. "But you! You have the gall to be indignant about that little trollop when you yourself are nothing but a thief yourself—the thief of a title of Ravenon! You are the one befouling propriety here, and I'd be within my rights to have you summarily executed right here and now."

  "You and what army?" asked Chan. He shook his head stupidly; the plant extract the priests had prepared for Turcaret must be starting to work.

  "You're referring to the fact that we're alone. Perhaps you think you could take me in a fair fight. Maybe. But you wouldn't get far, even if you avoided my men and escaped the grounds."

  "'Zat so?" Chan seemed to suddenly realize what had happened to him. He tried to stand, unsuccessfully.

  "Oh, yes, you've been drugged," said Turcaret. "But that's not why you'll never get out of here. The Winds have chosen you to play a part in the events that are about to unfold. The Winds are on our side. We know they favor us. By the time this evening is out, everyone will know it."

  "Go to hell," muttered Chan. He didn't seem afraid at all. Angry, maybe. Turcaret supposed he was stupider than he looked, after all.

  The controller smiled, not trying to hide his smugness. "You have been sent to us, sir. You might think you were the author of your own actions, but you are not. A higher power has sent you to us."r />
  Chan shook his head sloppily. "Yer delusional." He tried again to stand, unsuccessfully.

  "Feeling a bit weak?" Turcaret asked. "Good. Stay there, I want to show you something."

  He reached behind the orange tree and brought out the wrapped packages his man had delivered just prior to Chan's arrival. He leaned the long cloth bundle on his own chair, and put the smaller package on the table. He unwound the cloth that wrapped it. Chan blinked at him owlishly as he did so.

  Turcaret spared a glance outside. The sun was down. It was time.

  "Recognize any of these?" Turcaret unrolled the smaller bundle to reveal a dagger, a cloak pin, and a wide, ornate belt.

  "Hey!" Chan fell forward over the table top. "Those're mine! You stole 'em?"

  Well, that was finally a satisfying reaction. Turcaret casually unwound the cloth from the longer bundle. He held up the sword and let the last drapes of cloth fall from its tip. "And how about this?"

  Chan stared at the blade. He said nothing. He had obviously expected to see his own sword revealed under the wrap, correctly assuming that it had also been stolen from his room. This was not his sword, but rather a much more ornate, finely made epee. "Yuri's favorite sword," Turcaret said. "He keeps it in his bed chamber. I've only borrowed it, don't worry. It's going to be back there in an hour or two."

  Shaking his head, Chan tried to rise. "Hey, wait. Just wait a—" He fell back, head lolling.

  "You should see yourself," Turcaret said. "You look pathetic. That's no way to die, Chan. I would have expected more of an 'agent of Ravenon'."

  He raised the sword, aiming it straight at Chan's heart. "I've been told to kill you neatly and quickly," he said. "And I will. But not before you tell me something."

  "Huh?" Chan levered himself up with his arms; his legs seemed unresponsive. Turcaret stepped forward and kicked him behind the knees. The man went sprawling off his chair.

  Turcaret raised the sword, turning it so that it gleamed in the lamplight. Chan's eyes were fixed on it.

  "Tell me this, or I'll make it a slow death rather than a quick one," Turcaret said.

  "Why are the Heaven hooks coming to take Jordan Mason?"

  §

  August's epee flashed in the dimness. One of the men who had entered the room screamed and fell, clutching his leg. The other dove forward, reaching for his own blade. This brought him up against the bed.

  Jordan looked up into the startled eyes of a man wearing Turcaret's livery.

  "Run, Jordan!" August's thrust clove the air where the man had been an instant ago. Jordan rolled sideways and ended up in the middle of the room. He could see the other two struggling, hands locked to wrists. The man August had stabbed was crawling toward the door; his left calf streamed blood. August had ham-strung him.

  "Run!"

  Jordan staggered to his feet, and ran. He was in shock from the unexpected violence, and didn't even bother to check whether there were more men in the hall. He stumbled down the steps, mindless, until stopped by a heavy thump above him. A dark silhouette with a sword appeared at the top of the stairway.

  "Jordan!" He stopped, and let August catch up to him. The man was clutching his side, where he had been wounded last night.

  August grabbed Jordan by the shoulder and shook him. "What's going on?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't you try that with me," said August in a deadly tone. "My sword-wound!"

  "What about it?"

  "There's a shallow cut there that looks fresh, but I can't feel anything deeper. It's healed!"

  "Uh..."

  "And why were two of Controller General Turcaret's men invading your chamber?"

  "I don't know!"

  "You! Stop!" Several men with swords had appeared at the top of the stairs.

  "Later, then. Go!" August shoved Jordan down the last few steps. This time Jordan didn't hesitate, but ran. The ring of steel echoed after him as he shouldered open the door to the courtyard, and then he was dodging between statues, as the sounds of the fight faded behind him.

  §

  Axel tried for the fifth time to stand. "Go to hell!" he muttered. Concentrate, he told himself. Think of a way out of this.

  The damned controller kicked him in the ribs. It didn't hurt much, but there went his equilibrium again. Whatever it was they'd spiked his drink with, it had gotten past his usual immunities, and so far the diagnostic nano hadn't caught it. Cheap hardware. Never should have bought it from Choronzon.

  He had left his sword and dagger in his room, where all his gear was packed for their flight from this place later tonight. Etiquette had prevented him from wearing them to what he'd been told was a simple meeting with Turcaret; they'd known that he'd leave them behind, so it must have been simple for someone to slip in and take them.

  He tried to use his radio link to call Calandria. It needed some pretty specific mental commands to operate, and he couldn't focus well enough to give them. "Damn!"

  "Tell me!" insisted the controller. "Why are the Heaven hooks coming for Mason?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," said Axel.

  "The Heaven hooks will take the Mason boy tonight," said the controller. "I know all about him, though you tried to hide him from me. The Winds have not told me why they want him, though. All they will say is that he threatens 'thalience'. What does that mean? What is thalience?"

  Axel had never heard the word before. He said so. "Who's really pulling your strings, eh? Tell me that, I'll tell you what the Winds want with Jordan."

  Turcaret raised the sword, face white. Then he thought better. "If you paid attention to something more than the scullery maids and the location of the better wines, you'd know what's going on," said Turcaret. "We're putting Yuri's mask in the parade room. He backed the wrong man."

  "You're in bed with Brendan Sheia?" Axel had to laugh. "You're an idiot! He's going down in flames! The queen is going to lose her war and then he'll be stateless. He hasn't a prayer of convincing the family he's the rightful heir. You know that."

  The controller had calmed down. In fact, he looked much too calm now. "Well, Mister Chan, maybe I know something you don't. Unlike Yuri, we have the backing of the Winds. We know the Truth about them, you see." Axel was sure Turcaret had put a capital T on Truth. "That the Winds are ultimately destined to be our servants."

  He swung the sword in a bright arc over his head, and brought it down on Axel's neck.

  §

  Jordan was half way to Axel's room when the new vision began.

  He could sense Armiger, somewhere in the back of his mind. He knew the man was still in bed with Megan, but had stoically managed to stay away from them. Armiger's senses were seductive, dangerously so.

  This new thing was something else, another voice or voices. Despite himself, he stopped, bewildered.

  He stood in one of the main halls of the manor. He could distinctly hear voices coming from one of the salons. Layered overtop that was a confused jumble of whispers, whose origin he could not place. They seemed to be coming from all around him.

  Many of the whispers were in languages he didn't know; some were in his own. He also caught fragmentary, strange glimpses of things: black sky; the side of a building at night; something that looked like a tiny model of the Boros estate, viewed from above.

  He shook his head, trying to remain calm. As he had the last time, he would have to pause now, and damp the visions down, or else he would be unable to get to the safety of Axel's room. If he was to do that, he would have to find a secluded spot, or Turcaret's men would find him.

  He moved as quietly as he could to the door to the mask room. No one would be here at this hour. As he pushed the door open, he leaned against the stone lintel, and the touch sent an electric sense of awareness into him.

  "What—?" He snatched his hand back. The murmuring voices hushed again. They might have been coming from the ranked masks on the wall, but somehow he sensed it was more than that. Still, the vacant eyes of th
e masks sent a shiver down his spine. He turned his back on them.

  Tentatively, Jordan reached out, and touched the stone wall with his fingertips. Again he felt a sense of connection, as though he had stepped from a silent corridor into a bright hall full of people.

  "What is this?" he whispered.

  The voice was strong this time. I am stone, said the stone wall.

  §

  Calandria had visited the kitchens and filled a pair of saddlebags with food. Then she'd gone to the stables and overseen the provisioning of Axel and August's horses. Leaving at night was bound to cause talk, but hopefully not until morning, when they would be many kilometers away.

  When everything was to her liking she went back to her chamber to tell August Ostler he should make ready to travel.

  She could tell something was wrong from the bottom of the stairs. The door to their room hung open. Calandria moved silently up the steps, watching for any movement. The room seemed empty, but she saw fresh blood on the floor.

  She cursed under her breath and stepped inside. There was no one here. Had Ostler attacked Jordan? The blood was smeared inside the room, but she could see drops of it receding down the hall. Whoever it was that had been hurt, they had left under their own steam, or had been carried.

  None of this made any sense, and not knowing the situation alarmed her more than any certainty would have.

  She opened her radio link to Axel. "Axel? Where are you?"

  There was no answer. Now fully alarmed, She stalked past the discarded blankets by the fireplace, and began stuffing her few possessions into a bag. She scowled down at the beautiful gown she wore; it would be very difficult to ride wearing this confection. Although her instincts told her to run from the room, she paused long enough to shuck the gown and pull on her tough traveling clothes. Then she hefted her bags and turned to go. These few things would have to do.

  Where next? "Axel?" Still nothing. He had not activated his transponder, so she couldn't locate him that way either.

  Jordan's few things lay on his bed, and she eyed them. He had not taken anything with him, a sign that he had not gone willingly.