by Neil McGarry
Chapter Seven: A matter of faith
“About Jana,” Duchess prompted, from the stool she’d slid over next to the small, gray-haired woman. It was the third time she’d turned Ferroc back to the topic she suspected the older woman wanted to avoid. She’d thought to go to Ferroc the first thing that morning. Dealing with Jana’s problems was a welcome diversion from her own.
Ferroc and Nieces was in the Shallows, but its proprietor did as much business as any seamstress in the city. Certainly her workroom seemed busy enough, filled with long tables at which girls and women from nine to ninety bent to their tasks under the light of lanterns hung from the ceiling. Duchess had always imagined such work to be drudgery, but the seamstresses in Ferroc’s shop chatted gaily as stitched and sewed. Although Ferroc herself did not join the talk she seemed unruffled by the constant conversation. Her own table stood upon a dais, facing the rest of the room, a perch from which she could oversee the activity without rising from her chair.
Ferroc shot Duchess a quick glance from brown eyes deep under a wrinkled brow. The woman was sixty if she was a day, but with blade or chalk or needle and thread her crabbed hands moved with a dexterity Duchess could only envy. “Jana,” Ferroc said, working on a seam, “is the only Domae with nerve enough to apply for guild membership, at least as far as I know.”
“But she didn’t understand the way things work in Rodaas, did she?”
“Mina, be more careful with that lace,” Ferroc said, barely looking at the girl in question. Her voice was just this side of a murmur, and yet the instant she spoke the others quieted to listen. Mina, red of cheek and hair, ducked her head in recognition, and then the talk resumed as if there had been no interruption. Ferroc shrugged and plunged her needle through the cloth. “I don’t understand why she’d need a license, anyway. She can do all the work she wants down in the Deeps. Nobody cares how those people get cloth.”
“There’s something special about this Domae,” Duchess said, unwilling to reveal more.
Duchess had reason to step carefully. Ferroc was not on the Grey herself, but Duchess had learned that the Grey had friends up and down the hill, people who did not wear the cloak but knew the Highway nonetheless. They used no marks but would accept them, and were willing to conduct commerce with the Highway when necessary. In return, they received assistance with their businesses or in legal or personal matters, assistance that made life in the imperial city safer and more comfortable. Duchess had long suspected that Noam was such a friend, which would certainly explain how his stall occupied such a prestigious place in the market square when wealthier and more prominent merchants had clamored for the spot. Ferroc was also a friend, which meant it was best to keep a prudent tongue around her.
Duchess steered the conversation back to her objective. “But I’m curious how someone gets into the guild. I guess it’s the guildmaster’s decision? Gloria...Tremaine, was it?”
Ferroc nodded. “Yes, but it’s not that simple. The guildmaster has sway, of course, but she must submit that decision to a vote of the members. The Magnificent Order of Tailors, Seamstresses, Weavers, Dyers and Haberdashers has its forms, you know.” She folded cloth, made a mark with the chalk, re-threaded her needle. Seeing that Duchess was still waiting, she sighed. “First, the petitioner must be recommended by a member in good standing, of journeyman status or higher. That’s where this Jana got caught. No one in her right mind would make such a recommendation.”
“But if someone had? What then?”
“Well, the petition would have been brought before the membership for a preliminary vote.”
Duchess frowned. “Preliminary to what?”
“The traditional three-day period of debate,” Ferroc replied, unperturbed. “During that time the members evaluate the applicant’s skills and experience, investigate her past for history of malfeasance or disgrace, and then make their feelings known, one way or the other.”
“The entire guild sits in a room and talks for three days?”
“By no means. Business continues as usual, with members coming and going, checking in at their shops, breaking for meals and rest. There are rarely more than, say, one-fifth of the members present at any moment.”
Duchess shook her head. “Then how can they debate anything?”
Ferroc chuckled, dry as paper. “They don’t, not really. The guildmaster’s assistants do the research and present their findings to whomever bothered to attend the meeting. Most of the three days is spent finding out which way you’re expected to vote.”
“Expected? By whom?” Duchess tried to make sense of this carefully orchestrated mummer’s show. “And wait...didn’t they already have a vote?”
Ferroc rolled her eyes. “The preliminary vote is nothing more than a chance for members to have their say before they do as the head of their faction tells them. Amy, that blue silk will never do with brown wool.” Ferroc never glanced up at the room, and yet she missed nothing. “Go back into the store room and get the green.”
“Their faction?” Duchess said, when Amy had scampered off. “How many factions are there?”
“It varies. There are innumerable smaller coalitions, but currently there are only three of note. Tremaine herself heads one, and the Atropi another.” Tremaine of course led the guild, but Duchess knew little of the Atropi, three elderly sisters whose garments were worn only by the most wealthy and powerful. Every year at the Fall of Ventaris, the autumn festival that honored the sun god, they presented the empress with a specially designed dress. It wasn’t much to go on.
“Opposed factions, I’d presume?”
Ferroc smiled faintly, without looking up from her work. “In every imaginable way. Tremaine follows Anassa, but if the Atropi took up the worship the next day Tremaine would no doubt find occasion to speak favorably of Ventaris.”
This was unusual. Most of the notables aligned with Ventaris, as that faith was currently in ascendance at court. The seed of an idea began to take root in her mind. She wasn’t sure if Tremaine was devout, but perhaps devotion was not necessary. “I would have thought a noble would be a devotee of the All-Father.”
“Tremaine’s not noble,” Ferroc replied, giving Duchess a quick glance and saying no more. Which explained the opposition from the Atropi, she thought. Having a commoner in the guildmaster’s chair could not be easy for the highborn trio. Something of an epidemic in Rodaas as of late, as Minette might say.
“Oil on the fire,” Duchess murmured and Ferroc nodded and said no more. “Still, as a devotee of Wisdom, the guildmaster must be amenable to reason...” Ferroc suddenly smiled. “What?”
Ferroc continued with her sewing for a moment, for all the world a simple seamstress and nothing more. “A devotee of Wisdom, certainly,” she said, her needle never stopping, “but in all honesty, Gloria Tremaine worships only one goddess. And she is not to be found anywhere along the Godswalk.” Ferroc smiled wider at Duchess’ confusion then leaned in conspiratorially. “Herself.”
Duchess let that sink in. The nobly and the lesser born, both equally haughty. “So if Tremaine were to take one side of a debate, the Atropi would surely take the other, for pride if for no other reason,” she mused, wondering if she could turn that enmity to her favor. “But you mentioned three factions. How would yours vote?”
It was a purely a guess, but from the flicker in Ferroc’s eyes Duchess judged it a good one. Noam had used his connection with the Grey for a position in Market Square, while Ferroc had parleyed hers into status in the guild. Another useful bit of information....but for another time. She had what she had come for, but there was one more matter to attend.
“Ferroc, I saw that your shop has a basement, with a door to the alley.” Ferroc gave her a wary look and nodded. “How much to rent it for a night?”
* * *
Sundown found her in Bell Plaza, watching the beggars return from Temple District on their way back to the Deeps. She reflected that if she had a sou for every time she’d watched the d
ay end from this place she could buy the entire Shallows with a start on the Deeps. She could certainly use the coin. Antony had not yet asked after his ring, but he was sure to come by soon enough. And when he did, her health would most certainly benefit from her having it, or twenty florin. Or both.
She might make a bit of coin in Jana’s licensure, but that was far in the future. And Antony or no, she’d press forward with the work even if it did not turn a profit. She felt strangely obligated by her promise to the Domae weaver, particularly after the girl’s admission of how personal a matter joining the guild really was. Jana seemed a genuinely kind person, and Duchess hadn’t had a female friend since...well, ever. Minette did not count. The wily madam never chatted idly, and seemed to treat every conversation as a duel of wits.
That turned her to the question of why Minette had agreed to set up yesterday’s meeting with Jadis. She’d accepted a mark easily enough, yes, but that seemed paltry repayment for such a significant service. She was playing this game for reasons of her own, which had something to do with the coin marked with a P and a snake devouring its own tail.
Jadis entered the plaza with the evening fog, stepping into view from a side street, his black robe even darker than the growing shadows left by the departure of the day. His head turned this way and that, searching, and for a moment Duchess wondered if it would be better for them both if she simply turned and walked away. Still, she stood her ground, and soon enough the keeper spotted her. He cut across the plaza – the beggars gave him a wide berth – until he stood before her, wearing an enigmatic smile.
“Keeper Jadis,” she said formally but quietly. Best to maintain certain proprieties. She didn’t know who might be watching or listening.
“My dear,” he replied loudly and grandly, evidently not caring who might be doing either.
So much for subtlety. “I believe we have some business to attend.”
“We do,” he said, offering her his arm. With no graceful way to refuse she took it and he steered her towards Beggar’s Gate, where Burrell and one of his comrades stood guard.
“We’re going to Temple?” she asked. She’d hoped to complete this transaction on the familiar ground of the Shallows.
“Where else?”
“If the gate guards see me with you, half the Shallows will know about it by morning,” she warned.
He shrugged. “Life is full of risk. If we knew just how everything would pass...well, that may serve the facets, but those of us who know better have learned to relish doubt. Only the dead are certain.” They passed through the Gate, and although ordinarily Burrell would never have let someone like Duchess into Temple after dark, the look on his face told her he knew exactly whose company she kept. Obviously impressed, the senior blackarm refrained from his usual banter, which was a mercy. She was in no mood for his lame humor that night. For her part, Duchess did her best to act as if entering Temple District at night on the arm of a keeper were the most natural thing in the world.
As they climbed the hill, Duchess tried to ease her arm out of Jadis’ grasp, but the keeper was having none of it, tucking her arm more firmly inside his. “Speaking of death,” she said, glancing around to make certain no one was listening, “as I’m sure you often do....”
Jadis patted her arm, managing in the motion to brush her breast. “Now and again, though there’s no need to dwell upon it,” he replied, enjoying her discomfort.
“...you agreed to help me bring one about,” she finished.
“Death will come for this man you mentioned as it does for us all...in the fullness of time,” Jadis murmured richly, and for a while he was quiet, guiding her through neatly paved and tended streets to the Godswalk, which was nearly empty at this hour. Here a few blue-robed scholars hurried by, no doubt on their way to suppers waiting for them at home, and there four radiants conferred quietly near the steps to their temple. To her surprise, Jadis did not move towards the Gardens of Mayu but instead took her directly into the grassy center of the Walk, cutting across the circle to stand before the statue of the death-goddess herself.
Duchess had seen this statue countless times but had never paid much attention. The nearest lantern was thirty feet off, but the statue was visible enough: a woman wearing a long robe, cinched at the waist in the manner of a keeper’s. From the belt hung various tools, although it was too dark for her to make them out clearly. One of Mayu’s hands was pressed to her mouth, and in the other she held a lantern of her own. Someone had kindled a light inside the stone lamp, and the way the light flickered over Mayu’s face made the statue seem almost alive.
“She keeps her secrets well,” Jadis said, all of his lascivious banter vanished. “What the dead know is not for the living to hear. At her belt are the keys to the underworld, and her light leads all men to her justice. May none be lost along the way.” As he said the last he touched his head, his lips and his heart with two fingers.
It was strange to hear him speak like this, and she groped for something witty to say. “No offense, keeper, but I hope I have no cause to see her lantern for a good long time.”
Jadis turned to regard her, and in the dim light his round formerly jovial face seemed now almost sinister. He produced from his robes a stoppered glass vial, scarcely larger than her smallest finger. “One drop of moonshadow.”
She accepted the bottle warily. “Is it enough?”
“A drop will suffice. Any more will bring the sleep that does not end.”
“How detectable is it? Does it have a taste, an odor?” If it did, her plan was doomed.
He smiled without humor. “Smell it yourself.” She uncapped the vial and lifted it to her nose, sniffing carefully. A faint smell almost of cinnamon, but nothing more. Jadis added, “The substance may be placed in any food or drink, and is not affected by heat or cold. You should use it soon, however, as it loses its potency after a few days.”
She stoppered the vial. “How long will it take to work?”
“That depends upon the recipient, but even the strongest of men will succumb within a few hours.”
She tucked the vial away. “And now you’ll want to send word to my principle,” she said, trying not to smile at her own cleverness. The hand that moved her would know what he said, most certainly.
“I think not,” Jadis replied. She gave him a wary look, and he waved a hand negligently. “Yes, yes...we had a deal, but I think you’ll find this proposition more appealing. I would ask you three questions, which you must answer truthfully, and after that, you must give me a gift.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he laughed gently. “Nothing you cannot spare, I assure you. Do this, and you may keep the name of your principle to yourself.” She wondered why a keeper would be interested in anything she might know. Had he realized there was no principle, that she was not the cat’s-paw but the cat herself? She searched the smooth lines of his fat face for an answer and found nothing. Surely a few answers were worth a favor of this magnitude, but this talk of a gift...
“All right,” she said, surrendering. She was too tired to try to out-think the First Keeper tonight. “Ask your questions.”
“One month ago, a dagger vanished from the estate of Baron Ivan Eusbius,” he said, not bothering to ask if she had heard of it. “Did you touch it?”
She hid a grimace. First Tyford, now Jadis. Was everyone in Rodaas still curious about that damned affair? “You seem to know I took it, so of course I — ”
He held up a hand. “Did you touch it, flesh to metal?”
She blinked at him, remembering the strange moment when she first took hold of that strange blade, of how time and time had seemed to stretch like taffy. She remembered the moment in the tunnels, of how cold it had felt in her hands as she felt the fog rising from below. “Yes,” she whispered in the dark, and he smiled, his teeth a crescent of white to shame the moon.
“The woman at the party, beneath the feathered mask. Was she truly of Anassa?”
She herself did not know the identif
y of that woman who had been at once helpful and enigmatic. She felt so unsettled by this line of inquiry she lacked the courage to point out that she herself had only guesses. “Yes, I believe she was.”
Jadis’ eyes were black pits in the darkness, unreadable, unknowable. “And have you seen — ” He broke off, and his gaze sharpened.
“Keeper?”
All at once his sharpness melted away, leaving in its wake a puzzled frown. He bit his lip. “No — something else,” he muttered.
“Something...?”
His expression hardened, suddenly. “When have you felt the most alone?”
She stifled a chuckle. “The most — why on earth would you...”
His hand drifted out and, with a single finger, tilted her head upwards so he could look directly into her eyes. “When?” he whispered.
There were so many answers she could give. Lies, evasions, half-truths. She could say it was only a few days earlier, when Lysander had left her to the Deeps. But part of her knew the truth. “The night my father died,” she said flatly.
He removed his hand and studied her, clearly unsettled. Then the moment passed. “And now the gift you promised me.” From somewhere in his robes he produced a small knife, perhaps eight inches long with a wavy blade not unlike that of the baron’s dagger. She drew back, reaching for her own blade, but Jadis only smiled. “Be at ease. The gift I require is not your life, but only a single drop of your blood. A common enough gift for my lady.” He drew back the long sleeves of his robe and she saw a fine tracery of old scars along both fingers and forearms.
She gave him a look. “I’m finding myself regretting this new deal.” He said nothing, still holding the blade, and after a moment she relented. “Fine, but if it’s all the same to you I’ll make the cut.” She’d heard too much about keepers and their poisons to use Jadis’ knife. She slid out one of her daggers. “Is there some place specific I should bleed? Or is the ground sufficient?”
“Upon this.” He drew from a pocket a small piece of bone perhaps an inch long. It looked distressingly like it came from a human finger.