by Greg Keyes
The tentacles tickled across her face and down her dress, lingering on her left hand, but then the creature darted over to Slyr and began to make an annoying high-pitched sound. Phmer frowned, but Toel’s lips turned up.
Slyr just looked puzzled, then aghast.
Toel lifted his hand toward Phmer, then turned it gently toward Slyr. Two of his guards took Slyr by the shoulders, and the woman looked wildly at Annaïg.
Phmer reached into one of Slyr’s pockets, and then the other. From the second she withdrew a small vial. She uncorked it, sniffed it, and then tasted a bit on her finger.
“This is it,” she said. “The scent of my kitchen is on her dress, the ninth savor in her pocket. Do you need more?”
“I do not,” Toel said. “The evidence is clear enough.”
“How did you do it?” Phmer asked Slyr. “There was sign that you had been in the kitchen, but my best safeguards are those around the taste itself, and you left no trace there. I must know how you did this.”
“I didn’t!” Slyr exploded. “It was Annaïg! Somehow she made it look as if—why would I warn you she was going to steal from you if it was really me coming? Why would I—This is her doing!” She plucked wildly at her clothing, as if discovering it was made of fire. “This is her dress! She’s tricked us all somehow.”
“Let me understand this,” Toel said softly. “You warned Phmer against someone on my staff? Behind my back?”
Slyr shrank back, like a cornered animal, a little whimper escaping her.
“She remains mine,” Phmer said.
“Oh, you may have her,” Toel replied. “I have no doubt you will extract revenge enough for both of us.”
“First there will be questions,” she said. “Many, many questions.” She nodded at Annaïg. “I would question her as well.”
“There is no evidence against her other than the testimony of a thief,” Toel replied. “You may not have her.”
Phmer lifted her chin haughtily, but she didn’t argue. Instead she signed for her creature to take Slyr.
“Annaïg, please,” Slyr whimpered.
She felt her heart soften, remembering her first few weeks in the bowels of Umbriel, nights with Slyr, gazing at the stars.
“It’s not in my hands, Slyr,” she said quietly. “Your own actions brought you to this.”
And so they dragged Slyr off. She didn’t beg or plead again, at least not in Annaïg’s earshot.
When they were gone, Toel indicated one of the chairs.
“Sit,” he said.
She did as he commanded.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
“Chef—” she began.
“You are safe,” he replied. “Unless you left some sort of evidence that might turn up later, you are safe. I can easily see how you manipulated Slyr into going to Phmer, and how you used the chemical stains of that kitchen to implicate her, how you might scrub them from your own person. But I ask you again, how did you do it—how did you pass the inner safeguards and steal the savor itself?”
Annaïg felt her fear melting, then transforming, igniting into triumph.
“I didn’t, Chef,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I only entered the outer corridors of her kitchen, to taint the dress. The ninth taste I invented—or reinvented, I suppose—on my own.”
For perhaps the first time since she had met him, Toel’s mouth moved as if in speech but without producing any sound.
“How?” he asked.
“All I had to do was think about it a bit. Once I understood the principle, making the taste was simple enough. And just now, Phmer confirmed that I was right. Until then I couldn’t be sure.”
“What is it, then? Do you have more?”
“I can make more,” she assured him. “For obvious reasons, I don’t have any with me.”
“But what is it?”
“The ninth savor is the opposite of all other tastes. It is the utter absence of flavor.”
Toel’s pupils constricted, then widened again, reminding her of Glim.
“Like the space between words,” he murmured.
“I thought of music,” she said. “There are many pitches, chords, harmonies, and dissonances—but silence—that, too, is a part of music.”
His smiled broadened a little and he tapped the table with his forefinger.
“I had given up on you, you know,” he said. “I thought all of that talk about showing me what I didn’t know I wanted to see was desperate nonsense, and yet you’ve done it. And Slyr—she never saw it coming. But why did it take you so long?”
“I do things in my own time, for my own reasons,” she said.
His gaze intensified and he placed his hand on hers.
“You’ve pleased me more than you can imagine,” he said. “Come with me now, and let me please you.”
She squeezed his hand, leaned forward—and with a slight hesitation, brought her lips to his. They were amazingly smooth, like slippery glass, and an unexpected tingle fizzed down to her belly, leaving her feeling both excited and somewhat sick. He responded, lightly at first, but as he grew hungrier she pulled away.
“In my own time,” she said softly. “For my own reasons.”
For a breath or two she didn’t think he would relent, but then he laughed. “I will have to kill you one day,” he said. “But for now, I love you. Go now; invent delightful things for Lord Rhel. I will see you tomorrow.”
In the corridor, her knees wobbled.
“Xhuth!” she swore.
She hated Toel, hated him, now more than ever. And yet her body didn’t care about that at all. It was disgusting.
Later, in her rooms, she drew out her locket. Maybe tonight Attrebus would answer, finally.
But did she want him to? What would she tell him? How could she explain what she had done to Slyr? Or talk about what had happened with Toel?
She couldn’t. And so she closed the locket and sought sleep, turning so she could not see Slyr’s empty bed.
EIGHT
Colin woke sometime after midnight. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed Arese standing at the window. She reminded him of one of the white poplars that grew along streams in the hills outside of Anvil.
She heard him approaching and glanced over her shoulder, but her features were shadowed by the moonlight behind her.
“I shouldn’t still be here,” she said.
“Right,” he replied. “Why are you?”
She shrugged. “I guess I thought we weren’t through.”
She must have seen the expression on his face, because she laughed. “No, I think we’re done with that for the night,” she said. “I mean—you came here for something, right? To tell me something?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised at how unimportant it seemed at the moment. But he explained it anyway—about what Hierem did in Black Marsh.
“That only seems to confirm what we already thought,” she said.
“It’s something,” Colin replied. “The journal is proof, isn’t it?”
“It is proof,” she said. “Just not very good proof.”
“How good does it have to be? The Emperor was suspicious enough to plant you in Hierem’s ministry. Shouldn’t this be enough to convince him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “What do you know about Hierem?”
“Not much,” Colin admitted.
“He’s been around forever. He had a position in the old Empire—he was an ambassador to Morrowind. He was a minister to Thules the Gibbering, the witch-warrior who ruled what little remained of the Empire before Titus Mede took it from him.”
“I remember. Not a well-liked ruler.”
“Maybe not beloved, but he was Nibenese, and despite his various perversions, many on the council favored him over a Colovian usurper. Hierem is from an old Nibenese family, with a lot of connections. He smoothed over the conquest, helped convince the council to accept Mede as a liberator rather than a
conqueror. He’s also extremely influential with the Synod. He’s the second most powerful man in the Empire, despite his servile public appearance, and if Mede were to move against him without an unimpeachable reason, it could lead to civil war.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Only because you don’t know Hierem. I feel certain that Mede would win any such conflict, but it would be costly.”
“What then?”
She turned back to the window. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll work something out.”
“Your life is in danger,” he said. “Go to the Emperor, tell him what you know. Get out.”
“It’s not enough,” she said. “And any cover I might have left—”
“Surely you have some means of communicating with him. Secret means.”
“There is a secret word,” she said. “If it reaches the Emperor’s ear, he will know to go to a certain place. But if I do that, he may do exactly as you say.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes, because we fail to stop Hierem. After ten years—I have to have something.”
“Then let me go,” Colin said. “I’ll speak for you. I’ll explain it all.”
He didn’t hold his breath, but he felt like it.
She saw right through it.
“You don’t believe me,” she said. “You think I’m lying about working for him.”
“I want to believe you,” he said.
She looked back out the window and chewed her lower lip.
“Jasper,” she said. “The word is Jasper.”
The second time Colin met the Emperor it was in a narrow, unfurnished room. He’d been brought there bound and blindfolded, and he didn’t see a door. The stone was the same color as the interior of the White-Gold Tower, but beyond that he had no clues at all as to where he was.
This wasn’t court, and the Emperor wasn’t dressed for it. He wore a plain Colovian soldier’s tunic of dark gray wool and leather breeks. His crown was a plain gold circlet. A broadsword in a battered scabbard hung at his side. Two soldiers stood yards away, but Colin suspected that if he tried anything, he would be dead at Mede’s hand before either of them could move.
“I know you,” the Emperor said. “You’re the young man who told me my Attrebus wasn’t killed when his men were massacred.”
“Yes, sire,” Colin replied.
“You’re an inspector in the Penitus Oculatus.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And yet you’ve come to me over all of your superiors, using a password and sign that only I and one other know.”
“Knew, sire. I know it now, as does the man who brought it to you. It’s as few as I could manage to involve, but more than I would have liked.”
Titus Mede conceded that with a nod. Then he signed for the guards to leave, and Colin was alone with the most powerful man in the world.
“Who sent you?” the Emperor asked.
“Letine Arese, majesty,” Colin said.
“Why didn’t she come herself?”
“Two members of the Dark Brotherhood tried to kill her a few nights ago. She’s afraid that if she came to you herself, she would be followed. She’s in hiding.”
“Who sent the assassins?”
“I wasn’t able to discover that, sire. Both men are dead, and I cannot find any trace of their shades—it’s rumored the brotherhood has ways of ensuring their members don’t leave behind talkative ghosts. Not surprisingly, they had no material evidence to connect them to anyone either.”
“But surely Arese has suspicions about who might try to murder her.”
“She suspects your minister, Hierem, majesty.”
The Emperor nodded. “Of course. How are you mixed up in this, inspector?”
“Arese asked for my help,” he replied. “In finding proof to implicate Hierem in the massacre—in the attempted murder of your son.”
“That’s funny,” the Emperor said. “Hierem has supplied me with some evidence that Arese was behind that herself.”
“She arranged the attack,” Colin said, “but the order came from higher.”
“From Hierem?”
“She believes so.”
“Believes so?” Mede paced, hands clasped behind his back. “Ten years she’s been there,” he muttered. “In all of that time, no proof. Nothing I can use against him.”
“Sire, I don’t understand. If you’re suspicious of the minister …”
“It’s not so simple,” the Emperor said. “I can’t risk an internal conflict—especially when we face this—bonewalker army, if it can be called that.”
“Sire, Arese and I believe that’s no accident,” Colin said. “We believe Hierem is somehow involved in this Umbriel business.”
He outlined what they had learned about Hierem’s trip to Black Marsh. When Colin was done, Mede stood still and silent for a long time, his forehead wrinkled.
“You have the journal?”
“Yes, sire.”
He handed the Emperor the book and waited while he read it.
“Why didn’t you go to your superiors with this?” he asked when he was finished.
“I wasn’t sure I could trust them, majesty,” Colin said. “I really don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“I can see your point. But now I wonder who I should trust. This might all be true, and it might all be some fabrication of Arese’s.” He stroked his chin. “Find me proof,” the Emperor said. “Real proof. Something the council can’t argue with.”
He leaned against the wall.
“You know, we had a letter from Umbriel, delivered by a … rotting thing … to one of my generals.”
“Really, sire? A letter?”
“Yes—very politely written, supposedly from the very hand of the master of that place, who also calls himself Umbriel. They have besieged every path to the Imperial City in the East, and soon enough they will probably hold the West as well. Yet we are told we are free to leave the city unharmed—with all of our arms and possessions. Umbriel wants this city, not its inhabitants. The offer remains good until Umbriel arrives. Doesn’t that seem peculiar?”
“Didn’t your majesty offer the chance of surrender to any city he besieged?”
“Yes. But according to our reports, Umbriel requires the souls of the living to remain aloft—and no defense has been found by either the College or the Synod to prevent its method of slaughter. Why would they allow the fuel that keeps their engines burning to simply walk away?”
“Obviously, majesty, they want something more than fuel. Something here in the city.”
“Or perhaps Umbriel has no interest in the city, but rather is aiding the ally who summoned it here. If I take my army and leave, what will Hierem do? Take possession of the throne and then send Umbriel to destroy my army and me?”
“From what we know, it seems a possibility,” Colin said.
“But not yet enough of one to risk a civil war if I’m wrong. So find out. And involve no one else, other than Arese.”
Mede reached into his pocket and produced a small metallic key.
“Use this carefully,” he said. “It is a key to Hierem’s ministry and rooms. If he finds it on you, he will know it came from me, and things will go bad very quickly. If he is connected to Umbriel, he may know something of its secrets, who commands it, how to stop it. Find these things out for me, and do it quickly. I am not squeamish about methods—you understand? Our time grows short. If you find nothing, he will have to be questioned, no matter the consequences—before the enemy arrives.”
“I understand, majesty.”
NINE
In her third hour of sleeplessness, Annaïg gave up the fight and sat up in bed. Despite her earlier misgivings, she tried the locket, but Attrebus still didn’t answer, and she didn’t really expect him to. She was beginning to think he was dead.
“I’m not sorry for what I did to Slyr,” she muttered, under her breath. “I had to do it.”
; But for what? And what now? She could play Toel along for a bit, but soon he would get impatient, and she would have to refuse him outright or comply with his desires.
Would it be that bad?
“Yes,” she told herself. But if it worked, if it moved her nearer to discovering how to rip Umbriel from the sky, then fine. But it wouldn’t work. If she became his mistress she might rise a bit in position, but then he would become bored with her, as he had with Slyr, and she would be worse off than before—or at least no better.
What she had to do was escape him, and that meant moving up on her own merit—without him.
And her best chance at that was coming up all too soon, and it might not come again. If she could cook the perfect meal, draw the attention of those Toel called “lords”—then she would really be in a position to do something.
She had started something and she couldn’t stop now. If she cooked the best meal Lord Rhel had ever eaten—if she could impress him beyond measure—then maybe he would make her a chef, give her her own kitchen.
And so she began to plan, and that calmed her down, and finally she slept, and dreamed of cooking.
She met Glim again, this time by the light of the two moons, high up on one of the massive boughs of the trees. She strained to see something of the land below, but mist and clouds obscured almost everything. Glim was curiously silent.
“Are you listening to the trees?” she asked.
“I’m thinking,” he replied softly. He sounded strange—upset.
“I didn’t want to do it,” she said. “I had to.”
“It’s not about Slyr,” Mere-Glim said. “It’s about this new request of yours.”
“It should be easy,” she replied. “Even if the skraws never get past the pantries, they talk to the workers there—I know they do. A little information is all I ask.”
“No, you’re asking for a lot of information. And the skraws have already given you a lot of information—for which they haven’t been repaid.”
“Is that what it’s come to be between us?” she asked. “Glim, I have to know I can count on you. I have to know you’re my friend.”