A Parliament of Owls

by Beth Hilgartner

  "You're sure?"

  Kerigden's smile was tolerant and a little wry. "Yes. I'm certain," he said dryly. "But let me make introductions. This is Lyssemarhe Ghytteve, and these are Ferret and Mouse."

  Lysse's eyes widened. "Amynne Ykhave."

  "When I'm dressed like this, you'd better just call me Mouse. You're one of Her Majesty's ladies, aren't you? How did you end up here?"

  She glanced uncertainly at Kerigden, who nodded, so she told them what had transpired. When she had finished her account, she asked one of the questions burning in her mind. "Razhynde said she had placed wards on Klarhynne's mind, to help her resist Hassyth, but is she really safe? And—well, she was persuaded, once. How would we know if she were persuaded again?"

  Kerigden considered. When he spoke, his voice was somber. "I wish I could tell you your friend is safe, and that none of us need have any more worries about her. But I can't. She is safe here, because in her own Temple Talyene's protections are very strong, and that makes this a dangerous place for Hassyth; but if Klarhynne were elsewhere, her safety would depend entirely upon her own resolve. And you're right: she was persuaded once; it could make her vulnerable to a second betrayal. As for how we can tell…" He sighed. "There is no simple way. A Bodywalking Adept casts a double shadow—but that isn't always easy to discern. I am afraid that the only way to assure your friend's safety may be to see that she is removed from any place or position that might be of any conceivable use to Hassyth."

  "You mean that she'll be banished from Court," Lysse said quietly.

  "I'm afraid so."

  Lysse bit her lip, then she said, "When Klarhynne was waking up, she said that he made her do terrible things. She didn't say this, but it occurred to me that the Adept may have used her to poison the marzipan for the Queen's table. If that's so, will she be tried for the crime—and would a judge actually believe her if she said she had been possessed?"

  Mouse shuddered. "What a thought."

  "It is certainly my impression," Ferret said acidly, "that a judge will believe whatever he's been paid to believe. I'd think it more likely that the matter could be hushed up. After all, except for the Queen's dog, no harm was done; and neither the Queen's Guard nor the Imperials have been able to find a credible suspect to arrest."

  Kerigden sighed. "If the matter can't be hushed up and Klarhynne is accused, it will cause a great deal of trouble. We may believe that Hassyth has been Bodywalking in Klarhynne, but I haven't any objective evidence to support my assertions. And think what a legal nightmare it will create if she is exonerated on those grounds; anyone accused of anything could claim they had been possessed, and it would be terribly difficult to tease the truth out of such a tangle."

  "Besides," Ferret said, "one could argue that Klarhynne is culpable because she agreed in the first place to allow the Adept to use her body."

  "But she was tricked," Lyssemarhe protested. "That's not fair."

  "We're talking about the courts," Ferret said bitterly. "'Fair' isn't a word that applies."

  "If it were treason, the Council would hear the case," Mouse offered.

  "But it isn't treason," Kerigden retorted. "It's not even clear the attack was directed at the Queen and not at Arre—and no matter how the Emperor would feel if Arre were murdered, the Council would never consider that act treasonous."

  "But even if it isn't treason, it's still a capital offence," Lysse said. "Isn't there some way we can protect Klarhynne? Could we smuggle her to Kalledann, or make her disappear some other way?"

  "It's too soon to do anything that definite, Lyssemarhe," Kerigden said. "The first thing is to talk to Thantor—and we won't be able to do that until things have settled a bit in the Temple District. I'd like you to stay here until the streets are safe. There's ample room in the guest quarters."

  "They'll be worried about me at the Palace," Lysse said.

  "It can't be helped, I'm afraid," Kerigden replied. "I dare not send a messenger out if the Dark Lady's Order is poised on the verge of riot."

  "Thank you," Ferret said. "It may be inconvenient, but it is doubtless the wisest course. There may be more company, too, Kerigden, if Marhysse and Lynx make it."

  "Marhysse!" Lyssemarhe exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

  "That's right: you're a Ghytteve," Mouse said. "You'd know Marhysse. She and Lynx were with us as we fled the burning house. They created a diversion while Ferret and I escaped into the Slums. We sent Dedemar and some of his men out after them."

  "Marhysse is my sister." Lysse's face had gone white. "Ferret said if they make it. How much trouble did you leave them in?"

  Ferret assessed her before answering. "They were in a reasonably defensible place. There were at least four opponents. I don't know anything specific about your sister's ability, but according to rumor, Lynx is formidable. I don't think you need to worry yet."

  "But you said 'if.'"

  The thief hunched one shoulder. "If they come here instead of going back to the Palace; if they end up at the Windbringer's Temple, and don't stay at the Temple Watch's barracks; if they make themselves known to whomever manages guests—they weren't in their livery. There are lots of ifs, Lyssemarhe, besides the one you dread."

  Lyssemarhe was silent, studying their faces; then she sighed and nodded. It was Mouse who spoke.

  "Kerigden, you look tired. Tell us where the guest quarters are, and we'll leave you to your recuperation."

  His smile was wry. "It seems incredible that I could have spent so much time in forced inactivity, and still be exhausted after sitting up in bed and talking. But as Razhynde would say, magic takes its toll. I don't imagine it will be possible to sleep the night through, not with riot brewing, but perhaps we can all get a little rest before the next crisis. If we're granted a quiet night, I'll see you in the morning—and in any case, I'll leave word with my people to let you know if Lynx and Marhysse turn up." Then, he gave them directions and sent them on their way.

  ***

  Supper was over, and the coffee in the Ghytteve library was reduced to tepid dregs. Owl and Cithanekh were alone, for a wonder. Arre was with the Emperor, Vixen was with the bodyguards, and Lynx was—still—on the urgent errand of Sharkbait's request. Owl leaned against Cithanekh's shoulder, felt the comforting weight of his lover's arm around him.

  "I hope Mouse is all right," the Seer murmured.

  "You haven't Seen anything, have you?"

  Owl shook his head. "And Lynx isn't listening for me. She must be busy." His lips quirked into a rueful smile. "For all that I've protested against it, I do seem to spend much of my time waiting in safety while others take the risks."

  Cithanekh's arm tightened protectively. "Not enough time, I'd say. As I see it, you've been altogether too willing to take your own risks."

  Owl sighed. "I hate waiting—and I have such deep sense of impending disaster. It may just be nerves, but I don't like it. I'd feel better if Lynx would answer me; I can sense her mind, but it is totally closed to me." Owl pushed his fingers distractedly through his hair and sighed again.

  Cithanekh was silent. He could sense Owl's stillness and concentration as the Seer again sought to open his mind to his fickle Gift and he wanted to do nothing to distract him.

  Images floated through Owl's inner vision—not the hectic millrace of disjointed scenes, but slow as bubbles rising in honey: a burning building—he could see the voracious flames through ogive openings in dark stone; the waxen face and staring, blank eyes of the High Priestess of the Dark Lady's order; Lysse Ghytteve bending anxiously over the sprawled figure of one of the Queen's ladies—he couldn't see her face, only Lysse's worry and concern; Captain Ysmenarr and Commander Bhenekh arguing, conviction with triumph apparent in Ysmenarr's expression; Ferret on a rooftop, silhouetted against the deepening turquoise sky; Lynx, a dagger in one hand as she faced a hooded swordsman.

  "No!" he protested and the visions ceased. He shuddered violently and Cithanekh's arms tightened protectively around him.


  "Something's happening," Owl said finally. "I saw—" He shook his head. "The house Mouse and the others broke into—it's burning. I saw Thyzhecci, and she looked—she looked dead. Ysmenarr and Bhenekh were arguing. Lysse—Lysse's in it, somehow; I don't understand how she fits. And Lynx—Lynx, armed with a dagger, is pitted against a swordsman."

  Cithanekh stroked his friend's hair tenderly. "It will come clear; just let it come clear, Owl."

  Owl gave a sigh that was nearly a sob and turned his face into Cithanekh's shoulder.

  ***

  Donkey tapped on the door of the Emperor's bedchamber, the sheaf of papers Ysmenarr had given him clutched hard in the other hand.

  "Go away," the Emperor's voice came somewhat muffled through the door. "It can wait."

  Donkey tapped again, this time in the rhythm that meant the matter was urgent. There were muffled curses and some scrambling noises before the Emperor, clad only in a silk dressing gown, opened the door two hands' breadths. "What?"

  "Ysmenarr has found someone who admits to poisoning the Queen's marzipan—and claims that Owl bribed him to do it. Let me in. We have to talk."

  The Emperor looked over his shoulder into the room before, with an exasperated expansiveness, he flung the door wide. Arre, wrapped in a robe rather too large for her, was seated in one of the armchairs by the window.

  "Should I go?" she asked.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Khethyran retorted. He flung himself irritably into the other armchair and glared at his spymaster.

  Donkey handed the Emperor the sheaf of papers. "These are the notes Ysmenarr's clerk took."

  The Emperor read quickly, passing each page in turn to Arre. When he finished, he looked up at Donkey. Worry had replaced exasperation. "This is bad," he said. "I don't see how it can be true, but—but it's pretty damning. Where did those bastards find someone they could bribe to die for them?"

  Donkey shook his head. "What will you do? In the dungeon, Owl will be very vulnerable."

  Arre laid the last sheet aside and looked over at Khethyran. "Quash the charges by Royal fiat, banish the pastry cook, and post Ysmenarr to the Amartan border."

  The Emperor raised his eyebrows. "And what happens to the rule of law?"

  "Kheth," Arre snapped, "the courts are a joke. Judgeships—and judgments—are bought and sold by the Council Houses; 'evidence' is woven out of lies and bribery; and the only person who feels constrained to follow rules in this vicious game is you! If you want anyone in Bharaghlaf to believe in the rule of law, Kheth, you have to reform the courts."

  "So you've said," the Emperor replied. "But how can I? Every time I touch even one of the smallest of the Council Houses' prerogatives, they squeal like pigs being butchered. The Council Houses have controlled judicial appointments for nearly a century. Do you think they'll hold still for it if I try to pry an enormous privilege like that out of their clutching paws?"

  "Well, if you want Owl to survive, Kheth, you'll have to do something," Arre retorted tartly.

  "Any suggestions, Thantor?"

  "You could place Owl under house arrest—confine him to the Ghytteve apartments instead of having him held in the dungeons. It would make him less vulnerable—though it does nothing to answer the charges."

  Arre shook her head. "That's only a stopgap—and not a very effective one. You know Ysmenarr's...patrons are bound to be aware of this wrinkle; by morning they'll be making public demands that the case be heard without delay—and then what will you do? Besides, they'll pillory you if you insist on house arrest for Owl while the pastry cook languishes in the dungeons. Kheth, no matter what you do, your enemies are going to make it look like you're giving your favorite special privileges—so for the love of God, give him privileges that will actually save his life!"

  "No half measures, Arre?" the Emperor asked. "But what if the pastry cook is telling the truth?"

  "But you know he can't be," Arre protested.

  "I know I don't want to believe his tale. I know I don't want to believe Owl could be false. But that isn't the same as knowing—absolutely—what is true."

  There was a moment's silence before Thantor said, diffidently, "The Ghytteve bodyguards keep an extensive duty log. Perhaps if we could get this pastry cook to commit himself to precise dates or times, we could prove—at least to your satisfaction—that Owl couldn't have done what the man claims."

  The Emperor nodded decisively. "See too it, Thantor. And in the meantime, notify Owl that he is confined to the Ghytteve apartments and assign a pair of Imperials to sentry duty there."

  As Thantor bowed, Arre got to her feet. "If you wait a minute while I get dressed, Donkey, I'll come with you."

  The Emperor's startled eyes sought her face. "You're going, Arre?"

  She nodded. "I seem to remember that the original accusation was that Owl and I cooked up the marzipan scheme together. If you can't be absolutely sure of him, then it follows that you can't be certain I'm loyal, either." She picked up her clothing and disappeared into the dressing room.

  "I don't doubt you, Arre," he called after her. "I don't seriously doubt Owl. But I have to have something—some bone of certainty—to throw to the tigers of the Council Houses."

  "Khethyran," she responded with asperity, "the tigers of the Council Houses aren't going to be content with a bone. You're either going to have to give them something they want—like Owl, trussed for slaughter—or stop feeding them entirely."

  "I'm not going to give them Owl!"

  Arre reemerged, twitching her tunic straight. "Then why are you bothering with a bone at all?"

  He was silent, considering. "I suppose," he said slowly, "it's one way I can keep my self respect. If I have the evidence which would exonerate Owl—in an honest court—then I'm not really exercising Royal fiat, but am rather intervening on the side of justice." He gauged Arre's expression and winced. "You think that's sophistry, don't you?"

  Her answering expression was wry. "Actually, I'd call it casuistry—but you're the philosopher."

  "And you won't stay?"

  She shook her head. "Owl's wound pretty tightly, right now. He'll take this hard." She sketched a bow and left the Emperor's presence in the wake of the spymaster.

  Chapter Thirty-two—Mounting Tensions

  When they reached the barracks of the Temple Guard, Dedemar took the two women inside while he sent the patrol to reinforce the squad at the Temple Gates. The officer at the command post looked up as they entered.

  "Dedemar, the Dark Lady's people have taken to the streets," he reported shortly. "Armed. Did you see them?"

  Dedemar shook his head. "No, sir. I sent the patrol to reinforce the squad at the Gate. Are we responding to the Dark Lady's people?"

  "Do you want a riot?"

  "No, but neither do I want them to take some action against the Windbringer's Temple."

  The other officer's eyes widened. "Is that likely?"

  Dedemar hunched a shoulder. "Rumors on the street claim that the Windbringer is implicated in High Priestess Thyzhecci's murder."

  "That doesn't sound likely." He broke off suddenly and fixed Lynx and Marhysse with an assessing look. "Who are these women?"

  "Lynx and Marhysse Ghytteve," Dedemar replied. "There are four bodies out there, too, Captain Sakhass. The Ghytteve were set upon not far from the Gate."

  He looked from the women to Dedemar and back. "I don't suppose you know anything about Thyzhecci's murder," he said sourly.

  "I saw her body," Lynx offered. "She was killed by a small thrown dagger—poisoned, I assume; the wound didn't look fatal—while she was escaping from a burning building. For what it is worth, I don't believe Talyene is responsible. It's more likely to be an internal power grab. Thyzhecci has been keeping company with a very ambitious and unscrupulous associate—a woman claiming to be something of an historian, and seeking to revive some so-called ancient practices and blood rites."

  Captain Sakhass was silent for a moment, his lips pursed. "And how would a Palace-r
at Ghytteve know so much about the underbelly of the Temple District?"

  Lynx bared her teeth at him: almost more snarl than smile. "Bodyguarding isn't all we do. The information's a gift or—" she shot a glance at Dedemar— "a payment. You'd be wise not to squander it."

  Captain Sakhass shook his head. "Just how far from the Gate were you? No, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

  "Captain Sakhass," Marhysse began, "would it be possible for you to provide us an escort back to the Palace?"

  "With riot threatening in the Temple District? No. I can offer you the rough hospitality of the barracks until things settle, but unless the Imperials come down to fetch you themselves, there won't be an escort through the streets." He shot a sharp look at Dedemar. "Is that understood?"

  "Yes, sir," Dedemar responded blandly, then he turned to the women. "Come with me; I'll show you to quarters."

  The room Dedemar took them to was sparsely furnished, the cots sagging and the mattresses thin. "I'll have someone bring you some food," he said. "Supper's over, I'm afraid, so it won't be much. The door isn't locked, but don't take foolish risks. A Temple District riot is an ugly thing—and if it starts at all, it will spread into the residential areas. Now, I must get back to the Gate."

  "Thank you, Dedemar," Lynx said, but he waved her words away.

  "It isn't a matter for thanks; it's a debt." And he went out.

  When the door closed behind him, Marhysse sighed explosively. "I don't like this. The wise gods know I'm no Seer, but I don't like being stuck here while anything could be happening at Court."

  "Why would anything be happening at Court? Are you merely anxious, Marhysse, or is there reason for you to be afraid?"

  She sighed again. "It's probably just nerves, but the threat of riot always sets me on edge. And I don't entirely trust Captain Sakhass; he's rumored to be in the pay of Bishop Anakher of the Horselord's Temple—and I certainly wouldn't put it past the Bishop to use riot and violence as a diversion for a power grab."

  "You think I shouldn't have told him what I did?"

  She shrugged. "I don't see how it can hurt. If he's really Anakher's man, and his master wants trouble for the Windbringer, it won't matter whether or not he knows the truth. But we're as good as prisoners here, without an escort, and that I don't like."