“Eh, what’s that?” Nine-Fingers said, and I would have kissed her right then, if only I’d been able to reach. She was extremely tall even when I wasn’t sitting down, you see. Quite broad in the shoulders, too, and heavyset. “Enemy in the west? Have you already heard about it, then?”
“Heard what?” Taishineya Tarmos asked.
“Oh—Umakha riders pillaged a border town. Burned the Order garrison to the ground, killed every soldier there, kidnapped some folk and some livestock, looted everything that wasn’t nailed down. The usual shit, they do that every year in these parts. That’s what the boys at the whorehouse said, anyway. I dunno if it’s true.”
“That’s strange. I’ve never heard of them coming so early in the winter. It’s always been closer to spring, after the worst of the snows.” She sat down slowly at the vast desk that dominated the room. “Huh. I suppose you were right, Chant.”
I sniffled and tried to look pathetic. “The Umakh. They are well known?”
“Yes, but they’re mostly an annoyance in the capital—we hear about them, but they never come this far. Wretched thieves, they are. They’re a scourge in the west—no matter how many Order soldiers we send with the Coin caravans . . .” She shook her head bitterly. “They cost us a lot of money.”
“People are afraid of them,” I said. “Use the fear. Ask Order to break from Vihra Kylliat and come to your side. Send them out on campaign to fight off the raiders.”
“You want me to declare war in the middle of winter?”
“You hold the coin,” I said. “Loosen your fist a little. Let it trickle out and they’ll come running, like dogs in a drought.”
“It will take some time,” Consanza said. “Getting the troops in order, fitting them out, supplies, horses. With the city like it is now, it might be months.”
“It will recover,” I snapped. “Order is powerless, the city is crippled. Declare yourself Queen now, and announce that you’ll defend the realm from the western devils. Nothing like a war to stimulate the economy.”
“Or to drain it dry,” Consanza muttered.
“No,” Taishineya Tarmos said. “If Chant says we go now, we go now. He was right about picking up the chisel.” Consanza didn’t know what Taishineya Tarmos was talking about—she gave the Queen a rather odd look and walked out of the room without another word. Taishineya Tarmos turned to me and said, “So how do we do it?”
“Renew the offer of a duchy for the person who brings you the Pretender’s head. Add a thousand-mark bounty and a hot meal on top of it.” I sipped the broth a little and eased back my playacting. “No one really believes in duchies at a time like this, but money and a steak dinner? They’ll deliver her by tomorrow morning, tied up with a bow. Just in time for Long Night.”
Taishineya Tarmos did all I advised her to do. I wrote another essay, lambasting the “former” government as a hotbed of greed and corruption, and I called for a return to the old days, when there was one person in charge and that person could be relied on to know what was best for the realm. We used huge amounts of the paper in our stores printing pamphlets and sent out crates of the things. We could have let them snow down on the city like drifts; we could have flung them into the sky from the rooftops and let the wind carry them.
Vihra Kylliat tried to rally Order with appeals to their patriotism, but it was all for nothing. When the dam finally burst, when Order tore off their colors and turned against her, Vihra Kylliat holed herself up in the former Tower of Pattern—the best defensible structure in the city besides the bank. It was almost purpose-built for protecting a Prime who was under threat of assassination at any moment, regardless of whether that threat was real or a paranoid fantasy. And then she was under siege, with none of the advantages and amenities that we had enjoyed. She and her few bodyguards, like us, had access to clean water from the drifts of snow that collected on Pattern’s flat roof. But they had no way of smuggling in food—or at least, they had no knowledge of the ways they might do such a thing. We’d cornered her, then. It was only a matter of time.
People came to Taishineya Tarmos’s side, and then other people went to Vihra Kylliat’s side. And then things happened as they always do in these sorts of situations: debates got heated and turned into arguments, and then into brawls. And once the bloodshed starts, it’s difficult to stop it. People died for one or the other of them. There were streets, I heard, where you couldn’t see a speck of white snow; it was all crimson until the next snowfall, and then it was pink. The ground was frozen too hard to dig graves, and no one was willing to spare the wood to burn them, but they had rocks aplenty and a nice harbor right outside their doorsteps. Burial at sea, it was. I suppose that must have helped the city recover too—the rotting bodies in the bay brought in schools of fish to eat them, and the fishermen brought in several impressive catches. Taishineya Tarmos bought up every fish that was brought in and made it known on Long Night’s Day that anyone willing to follow her banner could come collect the fish for free. A midwinter gift, a gesture of goodwill to the people.
There were a few moments, in the endless monotony of printing those blizzards of propaganda, when Ivo and I were alone in the room together. I spared a pitying thought for poor Ylfing, who had to miss the admittedly wondrous sight of Ivo, in the overwarm, stuffy mint, working the presses with his coat and kirtle off. He cranked the heavy press down, cranked it back up, peeled the page off. . . . All shining with sweat like that, he reminded me of a young man I had once known, but I don’t much like to talk about my personal business.
“It was kind of you,” I said, “to look after Ylfing for all that time.”
He looked at me, his expression flickering, and then deliberately looked away, as if the press crank required his whole attention, as if he hadn’t done it two hundred times already. “It was nothing,” he said, in a pleasant, neutral tone that I found highly suspicious. He was angry. He resented me for working for Taishineya, for talking him into doing it too. He probably wondered whether I could really keep the promises I’d made him; news of raiders didn’t mean anything. He knew well, because I had explained to him, what my plans were—to let Vihra and Taishineya fight each other until one was victorious, with a weak and ragged force behind her, so that things would be as easy as possible for you.
Ivo didn’t know me like Ylfing did, like Consanza did. He wasn’t looking at me, so he couldn’t see how I stared holes into the side of his head. I was in the process of deciding that I actually didn’t like Ivo at all, beautiful handwriting be damned, revolutionary tendencies be damned. “He’s a nice boy, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Ivo.
“I miss him a lot, don’t you?”
A split-second pause. “Of course,” said Ivo.
It was at that point that I decided that Ivo didn’t deserve to have me play fair, so I stopped. “You know, young man,” I said, letting my tone be colored with a suggestion of sternness, “that Ylfing is my apprentice, but what you may not know is that he is like a nephew to me.”
“Okay,” said Ivo. He lifted the press and picked at the corner of the page.
“And I don’t know how you do things in these parts, but if you’re planning on asking him to marry you, you’d better ask my permission first, in the absence of his actual parents.”
Ivo choked, and the ink on the page that he was peeling off smeared horrifically. “I . . . ,” he said.
Now, that’s not how they do it in Nuryevet, but it’s also not how they do it in Hrefnesholt or, for that matter, Kaskinen. It’s got nothing to do with Chanting, either. “I’m not going to push you into anything, lad,” I said, holding my hands up. “Don’t get me wrong. I just thought it’d be all to the good if you and I had an understanding.”
Ivo cleared his throat loudly and crumpled up the ruined page. He turned to look at me, all prim and businesslike. “You needn’t worry. Ylfing and I aren’t like that.”
“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “Aren’t you?”
&nbs
p; “No,” he said firmly.
“I don’t understand. What are you saying, lad?”
“Just that.”
“Is there something wrong with him, that the two of you aren’t ‘like that’?” This was all purely to fuck with him. I may complain about Ylfing’s taste, but his decisions are his own.
“No,” Ivo lied. “We just aren’t like that.”
“Hmm,” I said. “I see.”
And I did see. I saw that this was not going to end well.
I took a gamble one evening. I collapsed in a fit in front of a few of the Thieves and babbled another so-called prophecy for them. The furious west wind would crash down on the village of Semynsk and leave it in ruins.
They couldn’t fetch Taishineya quick enough for her to witness my performance herself, which was my own slight error. Fortunately, the Thieves had heard my babble clearly enough and relayed it to her while I lay there wheezing on the ground, completely unattended.
“Semynsk?” Taishineya said. “The furious wind—the Umakha raiders again?” She frowned. “They’re still on the move? That’s . . . unlike them.” There was a general murmur of agreement, more sincere than the garden-variety ass kissing one might expect. Of course, we all knew your habits—come over the mountains sometime in the late winter or early spring, steal a few sheep, knock over some tax caravans and tragically slaughter the soldiers, and ride home soon after. Clean and simple. No reason to linger.
The Nuryevens were always so focused on the Order soldiers that died defending the caravans that they never thought to wonder why the Coin ministers generally survived to make it home with the horrible story—and it’s because they never tried to fight you, wasn’t it? They were all soft, boring men and women with good heads for numbers and a comfortable plumpness from spending most of their careers behind desks. It would be beneath you to kill someone cowering in a cart, trying to hide.
Neither did these city folk know what you did with the money. Even I didn’t know until Ivo told me about all the times a raiding party would amble into his town with their saddlebags full of freshly stolen gold from the caravans that had just stolen it themselves from the peasants. He said they’d buy the good horses, if there were any, for bafflingly exorbitant prices, and no one quite knew why, when you had no qualms about taking sheep and goats.
Oh, yes, I should apologize—I did end up explaining that to Ivo. Don’t be upset with me, though, I only told him the bare minimum—just that horses are sacred and can’t be stolen. Just that they must be bought honorably, and that you wouldn’t want to insult the horse by haggling. That’s all I told him, I swear it.
“Should we send word to Semynsk?” Taishineya mused absently. “A warning, of sorts, so they’re ready to fight? Or do you imagine it’s too late for all that?” She finally took notice of me. “Chant, is it too late?”
I only moaned a little in reply.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, someone take him up and put him to bed,” she snapped. “And—I don’t know, find me Consanza and Miriana and send them to my chamber to discuss this.” Taishineya was fed up with the Thieves. They were a rough, crass sort, and none of them made any kind of competent adviser.
I was hauled off to that squashy couch in what served as my room. Under the warm cover of a thick cloak, I took the opportunity to have a brief nap.
I woke to a soft touch across my forehead and pried my eyelids open.
Helena leaned over me, concerned. “Sorry to wake you, Chant,” she whispered. “I heard something happened—you took ill?”
I pondered my options. “A little,” I said weakly. “I have some gift of prophecy that comes on me in odd moments. It takes a lot out of me.”
“How frustrating that must be. Can I get you anything? There’s fish-bone broth in the kitchen.”
I had no use for fish broth, but the offer softened me right up. I extricated one arm from the piles of wool and patted her hand. “I’m all right, girl. You’re too kind.”
She smiled, and her smile was a comfortable afternoon by a cool, shaded forest brook in the heat of summer. “Anything else you need? Some company for a little while? Or would you prefer to be left alone?”
More and more charming by the minute. I said before that Consanza and I are quite similar people, and in that moment I could completely understand why Helena had turned her head so. “I wouldn’t mind company, if you’re free.”
She laughed and perched on the edge of the sofa by my knees. “If I’m free! Grandfather, I’ve hardly exchanged three words with you these last weeks. You’re always running about up and down the stairs and into the basement, or hunched over a desk to scribble. You’re the busy one, grandfather.”
I pushed myself up a little, and she immediately helped tuck a few cushions under my back and shoulders. Her face was intense with concern. “Important work to do, girl,” I said demurely.
“Of course. But you should take care of yourself. If the fits of prophecy take such a toll on you, you must be sure to rest and recover your strength.”
I decided she was a very nice young lady. “Consanza said you were a schoolteacher.”
“Oh, yes.” A light came into her eyes at the mention of Consanza. “I love children. But you’re something of a teacher yourself, aren’t you?”
“Bah, Ylfing’s just an apprentice, that’s not really—”
“No, I meant in what you do. Consanza was having one of her little mutters about it—oh, months ago. Right when they gave her your case. It must have been after the first time she met with you in the prison.”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“Well, she told us about her cases, and she told us a little about you—not very much, because of course there are things she has to keep secret. But she said you were like a storyteller, and like an advocate, and like a teacher, and like a merchant. Velizar pouted all through dinner that he’d gotten left out—but you’re not much like an accountant, are you?”
I decided not to lecture her about the uselessness of money and how it wasn’t real at all. “No, I’m not much like an accountant.” I paused. “Those other things, though, they’re . . . part correct, all of them.”
“So tell me about the parts that are like a teacher.” She gave me a brilliant smile, and I decided that I liked her.
We heard, not too long afterwards, that Semynsk was in ruins—and yes, I know now that that was an accident. I take responsibility. I did tell you to lay waste to every Order garrison you could get your hands on. Temay Batai explained the whole thing, about setting the fire and how the wind shifted unexpectedly and carried burning embers to the thatch roofs a few streets away.
Even when I first heard the news, I was a little bewildered, and I assumed something odd must have happened. Besides that, I felt a great rush of relief just to hear of your movements again, but tempered it immediately—it could have been a coincidence, and I still had no way of knowing for sure if Ylfing and my message had reached you. Semynsk was a town near the border, as Flat-Nose had told me.
I decided to be reasonable, and so I had to totter back up those infernal flights of stairs once again, up to my quiet little storage room, where I found a map to mull over.
It took ages to find Semynsk on it. The light in that room wasn’t very good, you see. North-facing windows. Nothing to do with my eyes. They’re as good as ever they were.
Here, I’ll draw it out so you can see it as I did.
According to the map, Nuryevet is shaped like this, sort of a squashed monk’s-puff. All the way east, right on the coast where the Osered River meets the Grey Sea: Vsila. Over here in the far west, the Tegey Mountains. On the far northern end of those, the Tegey Pass.
Now, Ylfing’s message instructed you to come across the pass and attack three key towns on three specific days: First, Semynsk; three days later, Derisovet; five days after that, Czersdo. As I mentioned, you were free to do as you liked and plunder any other towns that struck your fancy, but I needed those three towns
left smoldering on those three precise days.
But when I looked at the map, I saw something that alarmed me. Look as I draw it: Semynsk? Here. South of an Osered tributary, alarmingly far south of the Tegey Pass. I looked at that and I said to myself, Oh gods, what in the world? I should have double-checked with Flat-Nose. I should have made sure that I was giving you a workable, practical schedule. Not to offend you, but I had concern for your horses. I had horrible visions of them ridden lame for the sake of my stupid scheme.
Derisovet was . . . distressingly far from Semynsk, all the way up near the north coast, and Czersdo was off in the corner of nowhere, with no landmarks other than Lake Yuskaren—Nuryevet is so small, particularly compared to your lands, but the map showed these towns days and days’ rides apart, and that would be in amicable weather, not the middle of winter. I cursed my foolishness thrice and thrice again. I’d gotten lucky with the prophecy about Semynsk—luckier than I should have been. Luckier than I deserved. But there was no way you could keep to the schedule I’d given you, and so there was no way for me to guess when you might reach the towns, if you were even able to find them at all.
My plan was in ruins, and it was my own damn fault.
Flat-Nose found me there some time later. I was standing next to the window with my forehead against the glass, trying to convince myself that the cold would wake me up and shake some new idea loose, some new plot to get myself out of this awful mess.
He didn’t bother with preamble: “She wants to see you,” he grunted. None of them ever specified who she was, but they didn’t need to.
I sighed heavily and didn’t move away from the window. Snow was falling lightly. I pressed my forehead more firmly against the windowpane and concentrated on the burning cold.
“You hear me? I said she wants to see you. Now.”
So I went to see her.
Let’s just go now!” she said, petulant as a child. “Vihra’s in her stupid Tower, and we have her surrounded—”
A Conspiracy of Truths Page 34