Chapter Three
“It’ll cost you a thal a day,” said Karra. Her lean, brown face showed no fear at dealing with one of Atenas’s servants, though admittedly she was dealing with sentare and not thelis. Zerafine was used to letting Gerrard handle the money aspect of their partnership, though he had a tendency to over-tip; he was in every other way very careful about their expenses.
“A thal?” Gerrard exclaimed. “Six parses and not a soldi more. You don’t make more than that on the girl’s labor in a day.” He’d left his armor and helmet behind, since their business here was unlikely to involve consoling ghosts, but his bulk was still intimidating. Or should have been; the sharp-faced woman seemed not to think him a threat.
“I still have to pay for her upkeep,” Karra said. “Nine parses, then.”
“Seven and a half. We’ll pay for her upkeep.”
“That hardly covers my costs! She’s one of my best runners. You’ll pay eight and be grateful for the bargain.”
Nacalia watched the byplay with eager curiosity. She was probably nine or ten years old, sharp-faced, with curly black hair and a spattering of what were either freckles or dirt. She’d need a bath and some new clothes if she were going to be a representative of Atenas, even indirectly.
Gerrard appeared to be thinking hard, though Zerafine knew him well enough to tell that he’d already come up with a plan and was about to sell it hard. “You know, the girl won’t earn any tips while she’s with us,” he said. “How about we call it ten parses on the condition you split it equally with her.”
Karra’s eyes gleamed. “Deal,” she said, and stuck out her hand to seal it with a shake. Gerrard gripped her hand briefly, then dipped into his pouch and pulled out six large silver coins. “For the week,” he said, “and we’ll settle up at the end of our stay for however longer we keep her.”
Karra handed half the coins to Nacalia and stowed the rest away somewhere on her person. “Don’t think about cheating me,” she warned Gerrard.
“I’m sorry, did you just suggest that we might?” Zerafine said mildly.
Karra’s face went pale under her tan. “No, thelis,” she said after a moment’s pause to collect herself. “No offense meant.”
“None taken, I’m sure. Come along, Nacalia.” Zerafine turned on her heel and walked away, leaving her companions to catch up to her.
Nacalia giggled and skipped like the child she was instead of the tiny adult she’d been the night before. “Oh, madama, I never saw Karra looking like that before! One parsis less than she wanted! She’s hard mean most times and nobody bests her at nothing, I swear. Thank you for taking me on, madama!”
“You’re welcome, Nacalia, and please stop bouncing,” Zerafine said. “Thank you. Now, you should call me thelis in public, not madama, and you may call me Zerafine in private so long as you don’t mix up the two. People will think you’re being rude. This is my sentare, Gerrard; you call him sentare or Gerrard.”
“Sentare,” Nacalia said, pronouncing all three syllables distinctly. “Is that like a bodyguard?”
“Something like,” Zerafine said. “Bodyguard and traveling companion and ghost-wrangler. Now, it’s the baths and the clothier’s for you. You can’t work for me and look like a ragamuffin.”
“New clothes,” said Nacalia, stricken. “Mada—I mean, thelis, I can’t wear new clothes in my mam’s quarters, I’ll get stuff thrown at me. I don’t favor letting you down right off, but I just can’t.”
“It will be more convenient if you just stay with me for the duration. If your mother doesn’t mind.”
Gerrard looked mildly shocked at the idea that they might invite a street urchin to share their quarters, but kept his mouth shut. Nacalia looked surprised, then eager. “Oh yes, thelis, mam will be fine pleased to have me out of her hair for a bit. Only—” She cast her eyes down. “I need to take this lot home to her, as she depends on me to help.”
“Take us to the Capitol building first,” Zerafine said.
Though the main street leading away from the city gate seemed to cut straight to the heart of the city, Nacalia had a fondness for side streets that intersected crazily and dodged through parts of the city ranging from very poor to upscale and wealthy. As they crossed an intersection where shifty-eyed young men loitered in every doorway, Gerrard moved closer to Zerafine, his attention pulled in all directions. “Should I be worried?” Zerafine asked in a low voice. Her eyes lingered on a man in a dirty smock who leered at her, then blinked and let his mouth fall open in a slack-jawed gape.
“I think I need protection more than you,” he replied in the same tone. He shifted his grip on his longstaff. “We need to make Nacalia aware that we can’t pass unmolested through these neighborhoods. I’m trying to look as inoffensive as possible without looking afraid. You, on the other hand, seem to have them worried.”
“Just so they don’t get worried enough to strike out at us.”
Nacalia darted back. “Hurry up, thelis,” she said, dancing impatiently. They quickened their step and soon left the young men behind. Minutes later they were in a better part of town and could subside to a slower gait.
“Nacalia,” Zerafine said, “why did you choose that route?”
Nacalia looked at her as if she were stupid. “It’s the fastest, see?”
“It’s more important that we not go places we’ll attract attention than that we get to our destination quickly.”
Nacalia’s face fell. “I didn’t think about it. I ha’nt guided people so much as I run errands. I can go anywhere,” she said proudly.
“Well, we can’t, so can you remember that? We’re really very impressed with your ability to find the fastest route,” Zerafine said, because Nacalia looked so discouraged. “Obviously when I send you on errands you can take whatever route you like.”
“But everyone’s scared of you. You ha’nt got to worry about no one hurting you,” she said.
“Sometimes it’s when people are really scared that they try to hurt others,” said Zerafine, her face grim. “People believe a lot of false things about Atenas, like that He kills people, or that His theloi are a sign of death.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No. He welcomes the spirits of those who die and brings them into His courts. But that doesn’t stop people from believing otherwise, because death is frightening.”
“I a’nt afraid of you,” Nacalia reassured her. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
“Thank you, Nacalia.”
“We really should be going,” Gerrard reminded them. “And no bad neighborhoods this time. I don’t have a red robe to protect me.”
“Are you scared?” Nacalia said disdainfully. “’Cause I wouldn’t be scared if I had hands like yours. You must be a big sissy.” She darted away.
“Sometimes you have really bad ideas,” Gerrard said, glaring after the girl.
“Some sentare you are, letting a little kid get the better of you. I think she’s got you pegged.”
“Sissy,” he muttered, but followed Nacalia.
***
Another ten minutes’ stroll brought them to the heart of Portena. It had been destroyed by fire during the plague and had been rebuilt less than fifty years ago, and was therefore more orderly than the market district, or even the more residential areas they’d passed on the way. Zerafine had traveled the known world for six years and did not consider herself a provincial, but the straight lines and perfect right angles of the streets that led to the great plaza made her feel a little out of place, a country girl gawking at the city’s immensity. Buildings of dark limestone interspersed with others of bold white marble lined both sides of the road, all of them elegant and enormous enough for a god to feel comfortable in. They passed the temple of Arieta, with its ever-burning hearth in a pavilion open on all sides, and a building that was not a temple but had Marenda’s symbol carved into its lintel—some sort of theater, possibly. Down one of the cross-streets Zerafine saw what was probably a bank, and
in the other direction were some lawyer’s stalls; the trappings of civilization, laid out neatly for anyone’s use—anyone, that is, who could pay.
The Capitol building was not at the center of the great plaza; that honor was reserved for the temple of Kalindi, chief goddess of the Pantheon, standing on a hill high above the city that was the center of Her worship. The Capitol lay on the extreme northern edge of the plaza, a domed gilt-and-marble edifice with a porch that encircled the building. Zerafine led the way up a short flight of stairs and through the main doors into the cool darkness. She stood just inside the door for a moment, letting her eyes adjust, and Gerrard took a few steps past her and said, “Sweet goddess of light. It’s incredible.”
Zerafine went to join him, looking upward, and drew in an astonished breath. She had heard that this new Capitol building, built to replace the one destroyed in the fire, was a marvel of modern engineering, but she was not prepared for the sight of the world-famous Rotunda, two hundred feet across and topped by a high dome that seemed to float above the pillars supporting it. A balcony ran the circumference of the room, just below where the dome began, that looked high enough for a person to reach up and touch the murals painted inside the dome. She couldn’t help but gaze in awe at those depictions of the twelve days of creation, the whole divided into twelve parts to show the acts of each of the gods of the Pantheon. Atenas, naturally, was absent from the proceedings; the records at Atenas’s holy city of Atenar said that He sat apart and watched creation unfold so that Death would have no hold over the new world until its formation was complete. The Unholy Wars had been fought, centuries ago, over whether or not His withdrawal had been a good idea.
Gerrard said, “Look at those panels. That marble is so thin it lets light through.” Beside him, Nacalia gawked with her mouth hanging open.
“Kalindi be praised, you’re here,” said a woman high on the balcony. “Wait, I’ll join you.” She disappeared from view and soon emerged from one of the smaller doorways spaced evenly around the Rotunda. “I’m Paola, Councilwoman Vessa’s assistant. I’m sorry we weren’t on hand to greet you, but we had no word of your arrival.”
“I’m a few days early,” Zerafine said. “I should have sent word, but we arrived late last night and I would like to begin my work as soon as possible. Should I arrange to return when the Council is assembled?”
“No, many of them are here this morning, including our Chief Councilman, Castinidou Rodennos. Please, come with me, they’ll be happy to meet you.”
“One moment,” said Zerafine. She took Nacalia aside. “Go home and take care of any business you have there. Meet us back here in one hour.” Nacalia took off, skidding a little on the marble floor.
“She’s going to just disappear with our money, you know,” Gerrard said.
“Have a little faith,” Zerafine told him.
“I’d rather have my six thals back.”
“If she weren’t reliable, that woman wouldn’t keep her on,” Zerafine said. “When I told the child she’d need new clothing, she was more worried about how I’d feel than excited at getting new clothes. And, as I believe I’ve mentioned before, she’s not afraid of me. Not only will she come back, Gerrard, she’s going to be here early.”
They followed Paola through a door at the back of the Rotunda, which led to a hallway off which other, narrower doors led. Double doors at the end of the hall opened on a low-ceilinged room hung with draperies of blue and gold, furnished as a large sitting room with several long, low couches in matching upholstery. Several people turned at their entrance; all of them looked surprised, then stunned, then either relieved or afraid. Zerafine had learned not to interpret this reaction as guilt; despite what she’d told Nacalia, sensible people feared the theloi of Atenas, but not because of their relationship to death. Atenas’s theloi were sometimes also called on to act as judges—arbiters of justice whose judgments were both fair and incontrovertible. Even the most honest people had things in their past they weren’t proud of. And it was both as emissary and as investigator of truth that Zerafine had come to Portena.
“Madama thelis, welcome to Portena.” A tall, portly man in his fifties stepped out of the crowd and made his salute, equal to equal. “I am Castinidou Rodennos, chief councilman. We are all very grateful to Atenar for sending you.” The others saluted in turn.
Zerafine returned his salute exactly. “Zerafine of Dardagne,” she said. “My sentare, Gerrard of Kionnar.”
“I didn’t realize Atenar sent its traveling theloi as emissaries,” said a younger woman. Her long fingers played with a charm on a silver chain around her neck. Her round eyes and plucked eyebrows gave her a permanently surprised expression, but the look she directed at Zerafine was calculating. So, the Council isn’t entirely united in its decision to send for me. Thank you, unknown woman, for showing me the kind of antagonism I should look for. Also, you’re a snob.
“The spiritual component of Portena’s problem requires a specialist not only in arbitration, but in consolation,” she improvised. It might even be true. It didn’t taste like a lie, anyway. “Gerrard and I have had more years in the field than any other currently active pair.” Six years, but they didn’t need to know that; to the uninformed, it seemed like such a short time, but saying “two hundred and twenty-seven consolations” sounded so much like bragging.
“Then we are doubly grateful,” said a middle-aged man, soft around the belly but still very handsome. He exchanged a quick glance with the round-eyed woman. Something else going on there, Zerafine thought.
“Let me introduce you to everyone. Vessa, representative of district four.” A large, attractive woman who wore a white ankle-length tunic and several pieces of tasteful and expensive jewelry nodded at her. “Alita Talarannos, representative of Talarannos hill. Her husband Gordou Kerynnos, representative of Kerynnos hill.” This was the round-eyed woman and the middle-aged man. Married, huh? How had the Council let that happen? Surely it was too much concentration of power in one place. “Vidinou Akennos, representative of Akennos hill.” This was a man about Castinidou’s age, almost too lean, with the beaky nose of a bird of prey and the soft eyes of a rabbit, and Zerafine was starting to get an idea of just how power in Portena was distributed. Akennos of Akennos hill? Really? “And this is Cerilia, representative of district one.” Cerilia had pale, almost Northern skin, an overbite and a nervous expression. She was one of the ones who’d shown fear at Zerafine’s entrance.
“Let’s sit down,” said Castinidou, “and we’ll lay out our problem for you.” Zerafine took a seat, Gerrard standing behind her with his longstaff in resting position, and amused herself watching how everyone surreptitiously tried to avoid sitting next to her. Everyone, that is, except Vessa, who seated herself beside Zerafine without a trace of fear.
Zerafine took out her letters of introduction and handed them to Castinidou. Castinidou took his time perusing the letters, one from the Marathelos and one from tokthelos and First Lecturer Arland, the first giving Zerafine plenipotentiary powers on the Marathelos’s behalf and the other attesting to her ability to perform those responsibilities. Zerafine wished she’d been able to read (and edit) Arland’s letter before he sealed it away; he could be overly enthusiastic about his favorite pupils, and it was not beyond possibility that he’d promised she could lay fifteen ghosts to rest in a single hour.
“The Marathelos speaks very highly of you,” Castinidou said, tucking the letters inside his linen tunic—very finely made, Zerafine noted. “We’re glad he’s taking our problem seriously.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you already know about the situation?” Zerafine requested.
Castinidou leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Five weeks ago we had the first reports of what we came to refer to as apparitions,” he said. “People claimed to see dead relatives or friends, or sometimes just strangers, who appeared and then vanished at random. These apparitions don’t try to interact with living people; in fact, they be
have as if they are responding to another reality entirely. They move their lips as if they’re addressing someone who isn’t there—you understand they make no sound. They walk up stairs that don’t exist. They walk through walls. Even though they haven’t tried to hurt anyone, it’s been unsettling.
“Over the last five weeks, the sightings have grown in number. The apparitions—they last longer between appearance and disappearance, and some are even recurring. The citizens are increasingly frightened that they represent some kind of divine chastisement of our city. Some people believe they are ghosts, no matter how often they’re reminded of what ghosts really are. Some believe these are the actual spirits of the dead escaped from Atenas’s realm who have returned to places they are most familiar with. Others believe, as tokthelos Genedirou claims, that they are figments of Sukman’s madness made manifest in the world. Since we’ve seen Genedirou successfully get rid of apparitions, we—” he gestured to the others—“are inclined to believe him.”
“Some of us think that the logic of these appearances, their consistency, implies that the third theory cannot be true,” said Vessa, giving Castinidou a sharp look.
“But if Atenas has lost His grip on the spirits in His realm, His theloi would know about it,” said Gordou.
“Genedirou has also claimed, at times, that the apparitions are a form of communal madness,” Vessa said, addressing Zerafine. “He’s enjoying his increased importance and will say anything to maintain that power.”
“Genedirou gets results,” said Gordou, “and whatever his personal motives may be, at least he’s able to act, which is more than anyone else in the city has done. Alestiou refuses even to make a statement—”
“Both theories have merit, and neither can be definitively proven,” Alita said, her voice raised. “Or, I should say, have not yet been definitively proven.” She inclined her head in Zerafine’s direction. “And just suppose the truth is neither one? You see, thelis, how confused our situation is.”
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