by Patty Jansen
“You will?” Ellisandra was speechless. Was this Aleyo speaking, who she had always considered traditional and unsupportive?
“Of course I will,” Aleyo repeated. “Sometimes I wonder what you think I am.”
Someone very different from what Ellisandra had judged her to be. She hugged Aleyo—ouch, her cheek. “You’re a good friend.”
“You silly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her head still reeling, both from the recent developments and the blow to her cheek, Ellisandra collected her cloak upstairs. It was dark and empty in the office. Sariandra must have left while she was on the stage. She hoped Healer Lasko had been to see her.
She walked down the stairs through the empty hall where her footsteps echoed against the high ceiling. One of the theatre staff had already started cleaning. “See you tomorrow, mistress.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She went down the corridor with the clothes stands with the ancient costumes.
Brrr, it was cold in here. Her breath steamed in the light of the lone lamp that hung on the wall halfway down the corridor.
The moment she realised that the echoing footsteps weren’t all hers, somebody grabbed her from behind.
Ellisandra gasped and turned around and looked into the face of . . .
Nemedor Satarin.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were here.” Her voice came out as a squeak.
“You’re in a great hurry.”
“I’m cold.” Her heart thudded against her ribs. How much had he seen of that final scene? Did he know about the fight with Tolaki?
“I think it might be time that we had a little chat.”
“A chat?” What about? Ellisandra did her best to look undisturbed, but she was sure she failed miserably. Her heart was thudding so loudly that she could barely hear anything except the roaring of blood in her ears. Why was he here? Did he have nothing better to do than snoop on her? Did he already know of her fledgling plans to get into the council?
He led her into one of the dark rooms off the corridor, leaving the door open. The light from the oil lamp on the opposite wall cast long shadows on the fold-up tables and chairs that leaned against the wall.
He forced her to face him. The light side-lit his face, showing the canyons around his eyes and the pockmarked surface of his cheeks. Like this, he looked old and ugly. There was a time she had respected him, but that time had gone.
His eyes fixed hers.
“I was under the impression that you would provide us with information about our mysterious stranger. You were seen talking to him, but I got no information.”
He let a silence lapse to let that sink in. Ellisandra did her best to keep meeting his eyes, and tried not to swallow or show any signs of fear.
“Next thing I heard that he was in the orchestra, and I still got no information. You sure must have talked to him at some point? I don’t remember that this is what we’d arranged.”
“It was just chatter. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about anything important.” It was a cowardly reply and she knew it the moment the words were out of her mouth. What she needed, what the women of Miran needed, was courage.
“While he’s been in the orchestra for some time?” His voice was cold and emotionless.
She said nothing. Her heart thudded so loudly that she was afraid she was going to faint.
“You were spotted going to the Andrahar yard twice, once going into the tent with him. All that time he’s told you nothing?”
“Nothing worth reporting.” If you know all that, why don’t you spy on him yourself?
“You are wrong there.” He came so close that his breath made a warm spot on her skin. He smelled of soap with a hint of perfume. “Everything is worth reporting. Who he is, what he wants, how he entered Miran. No, he’s not going to tell you outright. I thought you would be smart enough to understand that.”
She was smart enough to understand that this wasn’t about getting information about Vayra, this was about testing her, and it possibly had been so ever since his first visit to the theatre.
“Do you understand that?” His voice was soft. He had to know that she was planning to make a political point with the play.
She returned his stare and said nothing, but her heart was racing. Any moment now and he was going to hit her in that same spot where Asitho Bisumar had hit, or he was going to tell her that she was relieved of the theatre job, or that the performance was cancelled.
He did not.
“I think I’m a kind man,” he continued in a too-soft and too-patient voice. “Support Miran and Mirani people, and you will receive all the support you need from the council.”
“Explain to me what am I doing wrong?”
He laughed. “You jest, certainly. Do you think I would have missed your political comments, your stabs at the council, and me? How you went across the markets recruiting voters? If you think you can undermine me, I’m warning you now: you’re wrong. I am far stronger than you think. I do not hesitate to act. I’d hate to do anything to a reputable lady of our society, but if I’m forced to act, I will. I understand that this . . .” He pointed at Ellisandra’s cheek. “. . . was an accident. When I act, there will be no accidents. Do you understand this?”
Still, she said nothing but held her face in what she hoped was a defiant expression.
He laughed, not in a nice way. “We can keep playing this game for a bit longer, if you want. I have no problem with that, because I always win in the end.”
“Suits me,” she said. “I quite like games and theatre.”
She yanked her arm out of his grip and strode out of the room.
Behind her, he said, in a mock-cheerful voice, “Run home, little princess, run home.”
22
ELLISANDRA WALKED out of the theatre as quickly as she could without running, down the steps, into the alley. Around the corner, in the main street, she leant against a shop wall to catch her breath. Her heart was still thudding like crazy and her cheekbone gave sharp stabs of pain. She brought her hand to her face. It was bleeding again.
She could still hear Nemedor Satarin’s voice behind her.
Run home, little princess, run home.
What was that supposed to mean? Run home and be spied on by others? Enzo even? Or did he have spies in the other houses surrounding the building site? Was he using the Citizen’s Groups to intimidate people into obeying him?
You know what? She wasn’t going to run home, as he so obviously expected. She wasn’t some kind of delicate flower who’d run to her family crying if something bad happened. And she wasn’t going to let one other person bully her into anything, not even if that person was Nemedor Satarin.
She remembered the way to Jintho’s den, but walked around the block to make sure that no one was following her. She only went into the alley when she decided that all was clear.
The door of the cellar under the baker’s shop was closed this time. She listened against the door, but could hear nothing. She held her breath and listened closer, but either everyone there had heard her come and was quiet or . . .
She knocked softly.
Nothing.
She knocked again. “Jintho? Please let me in.”
She dare not call any louder. There was no one else in the alley, but she couldn’t be sure if no one saw her. The shops had living quarters above them, and some windows looked out into the alley. Miran was full of eyes and full of people who reported things to their masters.
“Jintho!” A bit louder.
There was no answer. She tried the door handle. It didn’t open. Damn it. Did that mean that they had all moved or that it wasn’t a meeting day?
There was nothing for it, she had to go back home. There was Father to be looked after as well.
Her hands in the pockets of her cloak, she walked back. Darkness fell quickly in Miran, and the light had already gone blue. The shopkeepers were taking in their wares, packing up their displays and helping the
last of their customers. At the bakery, a group of scruffy men waited for the baker to come outside with today’s unsold rolls.
She had rounded the corner when someone came to walk next to her: a man hidden deep within the hood of a very scruffy and matted cloak. Ellisandra glanced aside. Shoo!
She had no time for being accosted by beggars. He turned his head briefly, and kept walking.
Ellisandra stopped. He kept walking. She turned aside to a shop window which displayed tableware and waited until he disappeared.
Except the beggar slowed down and then stopped, too. He put his hands in his pockets. His head was turned so that he could still see her in the reflection of a shop window.
Ellisandra took a few steps back down the street. The large group of vagrants with the breadbasket was coming up behind her. They were talking and laughing, and completely ignored both her and the beggar.
That’s because he’s an undercover guard.
Someone employed by Nemedor Satarin or Asitho Bisumar to check where she went.
What now?
She breathed in deep gasps, staring at the tableware in the shop window without really looking. Her cheek hurt. In the window’s reflection, she could see people walking down the street. More were walking in the direction of the Nikala quarter than uphill to the Endri quarter. The man stood uphill from her.
She went to the next shop downhill. It sold—of all things—baby clothing. She feigned interest in the wares and went to the next shop. It was a tattoo parlour. The owner must be doing administration, because only one light burned at the back of the shop, casting a faint glow over a couple of benches along the walls and hundreds of prints of tattoo designs. Many of them depicted flowers or local animals. A corner was dedicated to family crest tattoos that men from Endri families put on their shoulder blades. Enzo and Jintho both had one. She’d wanted to get one as well, but Father said she couldn’t, so she got a tattoo of flowers on her left shoulder.
One of the family crests lay on the table next to the workbench. A scrunched towel indicated that they’d just had a customer. That crest was . . . Andrahar? Were there any young men of the minor Andrahar branches old enough to be getting their tattoos?
She glanced into the street.
Damn, the beggar still stood there.
She was already shivering with the cold and nerves and she really needed to start moving, so she went further down the hill. There were a lot of alleys in that area of the commercial quarter, and maybe she could lose him in one of those. The first alley she glanced into was a dead end. Maybe a practiced thief could climb up on the bins at the end and scale the wall, but, clumsy as she was, she would probably hurt herself.
The next alley looked more promising. She walked down at a fast pace, rounded the corner and waited in a shop entrance.
The beggar appeared in the entrance to the alley.
Damn it.
She had come quite a way downhill. This was the Nikala section of the commercial quarter and because many Nikala worked during the day, the shops here were still open. Many people strolled up and down the street, talking and carrying purchases.
Ellisandra’s sleek Endri hair stood out here. She pulled her cloak’s hood over her head and started uphill. She walked as fast as she could, with brief sprints when a group of people came between her and her follower, who—she checked several times—still followed at a distance, a fuzzy outline in a disgusting matted cloak.
The street led back to the Endri section and from that into main square, a huge empty space in the darkness. She definitely wasn’t going to cross that with the guy following, so she stuck to the perimeter and walked past merchant Ranuddin’s shop, the guesthouse next door, the office of the Mirani Chapter of the Trader Guild and then the markets. From the corner of her eye, she kept watch on the dark shadow following her at a distance.
Damn it, he was really determined.
The only thing she could do was go home as quickly as possible and hope he wouldn’t catch up with her on a deserted stretch of street. But the only street that linked the markets to the Endri quarter was a dark passage, with the market building on one side and a tall wall surrounding the council compound on the other. The other pedestrians became mere shapes in the darkness, as the world around her contracted to just the pools of light cast by the few streetlights. Of course the scruffy man chose this alley to come closer.
Ellisandra increased her pace, but the man was fast closing the distance between them.
Never mind the fact that it was unladylike to run, she broke into a sprint. Pain spiked in her cheekbone. She slipped and almost fell, but kept running. The man came closer and closer. He was right behind her now . . .
He grabbed the back of her cloak and yanked her to a stop. She slid into the hard wall that was the side of the market building.
“Stop running away from me.” It was too dark in the street to see his face, but his voice sounded familiar. It was . . .
“Jintho?”
“Why did you keep running away from me?”
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in hiding.” Her heart was still thudding.
“Shhh. Don’t talk to me like that. I’m a dirty beggar and I’m harassing you.”
“You were harassing me and you are dirty. Where did you get that disgusting thing? You just about frightened me to death. Nemedor Satarin—”
“Shh. Tell me later. Come to the alley at the back of merchant Ranuddin’s shop.”
Then he was gone again, sprinting down the side of the market building and into the open area of the square.
Ellisandra waited for a while in the darkness, regaining her breath and her nerves. Damn Jintho. Why hadn’t he called earlier before giving her the fright of her life?
She walked back downhill past the market. Some market building attendants were pulling shutters closed. She met the bunch of vagrant men carrying a basket of bread rolls between them going uphill. They were far too busy eating to take any notice of her.
Merchant Ranuddin’s closed shop was on the corner of the square and the main street through the commercial quarter.
It was very dark in the alley behind the shop and hard to see where to put her feet. Twice, she stepped on an ice mound and sank up to her knees into the underlying soft snow. Because merchant Ranuddin’s shop had closed, no one had kept the ground free of ice. Eventually she reached the shop’s back door.
It opened a crack as she approached.
“Come in, quickly.” That sounded like Jintho.
Ellisandra climbed up the steps, stamping snow off her boots.
Inside the shop, it was very dark but surprisingly warm. Jintho pulled her into a hug that made her face bump into his shoulder.
“Ouch.”
“Oh, I forgot about your face.”
“How have you been? I was worried about you.”
“No reason to worry about me. We’re fine. Vayra’s guards are patrolling the entire block and warn us if there’s trouble coming. We’re safe and warm.”
Ellisandra hadn’t noticed any guards when coming in.
Vayra’s guards? How many did he employ? Was he staking out his own safe patches in the city? In fairness, this building belonged to him.
Jintho led her through a dark passageway with doors on both sides to another room where a lusty fire burned in the hearth. It was warm here, and a couple of people sat on old couches around the fire.
Sariandra was one of them.
“Elli!” She rose and came to Ellisandra at the door. “I can call you that, right?”
“Of course.” All manner of people called her Elli without asking.
It was so warm here that Sariandra had taken off her overdress. Underneath she wore a proper maternity dress, made of silky grey fabric with a couple of pressed pleats at the front, and belted under the distinct swelling of her belly. Apart from the red blotches on her skin, she looked radiant and gorgeous. Her eyes were bright, her hair done up in a neat bun with a jewelle
d pin.
How far along was she? A lot further than Ellisandra had first thought.
“That dress is really beautiful. Did you design it?”
Sariandra nodded. “This is an example of the things we’re going to offer. We’re trying to get this shop for when we open for business. Most of our stock is here.”
“The shop belongs to the Andrahar family. Does Vayra have anything to do with this?”
“He sleeps upstairs. He’s happy for us have the shop.”
“Are you going to hire it from him?”
“At some point, probably, but he wants no payment for now.”
Ellisandra looked at the racks of clothing along the walls. There were many different types of dresses, cloaks, trousers, skirts, men’s and women’s shirts, and a whole rack of pretty party dresses.
“You’ve made all this?”
“Us and the three tailors we’ve hired.”
Ellisandra met Jintho’s eyes. “It seems I misjudged you. I thought this was just a whim. I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “It’s all right, sis. I’ve given you enough false alarms to make you think that. But now I’ll have a family, and I need to support them, because I’m sure as hell not going to ask Enzo for money.”
“You’re entitled to some, and he’ll give it to you.”
“He can give it to me after I’ve proven that this will work.”
Except the shop would never work if the boycotts remained in place. “How much of this is legal?”
“The Mirani stuff, totally legal. The imported stuff . . . let’s not talk about that too much. Not illegal, but not totally legal either.”
“You’re bringing in stuff overland to Bendara and flying it in from there.”
The sharp look he exchanged with a man across the room told her that she was right. “Vayra told me about the land route. Honestly, I can’t see why you should have to do this. All of this only because the council is too stubborn to allow a gamra investigation into things that happened when we were toddlers. That tells me that the council has something to hide, and they want to hide it even further by taking away the Foundation families’ rights to question and demand investigation. We must stop this law, and we must again allow foreign imports and exports. When the council goes into session after the play, it will be our last ever chance to send the council home. We must use it.”