Emissary

by Melissa McShane

  “And yet he has some way of making them disappear and stay disappeared.”

  “So it might still have something to do with Sukman.”

  Gerrard scratched his beard. “Possibly. My impression is that Genedirou really believes Sukman is behind it all, but he’s sort of flailing around and has happened upon something that works.”

  Zerafine sighed. “If it’s true that Sukman is responsible, then that makes it none of our business, except that the Marathelos gave me the responsibility, which makes it my business again. And the Council wants me to be part of the solution, whatever Genedirou says. So it’s my business twice over.”

  “I’ll be happy when this is all over. Almost nobody involved really wants us here. Even the Council wishes we weren’t necessary.” Gerrard stopped. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know. Where is Nacalia?”

  They had been following her without thinking, and now found themselves in a warren of tiny streets and tall apartment houses of lath and stone. Nacalia had vanished. Gerrard cursed. “I knew I should have been paying closer attention to her.”

  “She wouldn’t have run off and left us.”

  “No, but she might have gotten too far ahead. She’s sort of flighty sometimes.”

  They moved to the side of the road and watched the traffic for sign of their little guide. After about five minutes, Nacalia ran up to them from a completely unexpected direction. She was wide-eyed and harried.

  “Where did you run off to?” Gerrard thundered.

  “Don’t growl,” Zerafine said. She crouched down to Nacalia’s eye level. “The girl is terrified.”

  “Can’t imagine her being afraid of anything on these streets,” Gerrard muttered.

  “Madama thelis, sentare, I...I got lost!” Nacalia exclaimed, and burst into tears.

  “Oh, little one, that’s not so bad—”

  “It is, thelis, it is!” Nacalia was beside herself. “I ha’nt never been lost on these streets, not once my whole life long, and I turned a corner along the way to your place and I swear it wa’nt there, and when I turn around the road I come down was the wrong road. Took me an age and some to find my way back to you.” She wiped her eyes and her nose. “I swear it, thelis. Don’t send me back!”

  “I believe you,” said Zerafine, glancing at Gerrard, who merely shrugged, “and I’m not going to send you back. Let’s stick closer together this time, and if anything happens, at least we’ll all be together. But I’m sure you won’t get lost again.”

  Chapter Six

  They didn’t get lost. In just a few minutes’ time they were back at the Atenas compound, as Zerafine had begun to think of it, with no trouble. A traveling coach of great size and gaudiness stood outside their door, its perfectly matched bearers lounging around the gate. Gerrard tensed and looked ready for action, but the men only straightened to attention as the little party approached, with one man stepping out of the way as Gerrard reached for the gate.

  As they approached the house, they could hear the murmur of voices within. Zerafine motioned for Gerrard and Nacalia to remain silent, and she went quietly forward until she could make out words.

  “—old sour-patch like Berenica, so just sweet-talk her and keep her out of the way.” That was a woman, young but not too young, with a sharp edge to her voice.

  “Kalindi save me from old sour-patches I have to flirt with,” said a second person, male, of indeterminate age. “She’ll probably keep herself out of the way, eager for her comforts and not interested in our problems, emissary or not.”

  Zerafine raised her eyebrows. She threw the door open and swept in, Gerrard a step behind. “This old sour-patch is most definitely interested in your problems,” she announced. “But I’ll be happy to stay out of your way if that’s what the situation calls for. I am nothing if not at your disposal.”

  She’d caught both her visitors by surprise, their mouths agape and their faces flushed. Both were dressed in semi-formal tunics and knee-trousers. The young woman wore her dark hair cut short and her face carefully made up despite the heat. The man, possibly in his early thirties, was taller than his companion by a few inches and was remarkably good-looking, with high cheekbones, a well-chiseled nose, and startling blue eyes in a darkly tanned face. He ran one hand through his curly black hair and said, “Madama thelis, I beg your pardon. This is very embarrassing—”

  “Not for me,” Zerafine said cheerfully.

  “—really just unforgivable, please accept our apologies,” he continued. “I’m afraid we were expecting someone much older, given your responsibilities, and we—”

  “We’re used to dealing with Berenica,” the woman said, as if that explained everything.

  “I hope you’re more respectful of her to her face,” Zerafine said, frowning. This was fun.

  “We are, thelis, we really are,” the woman said. “But even you must admit—”

  “Nothing,” said the man. “Berenica is a fine woman and it was inexcusable of us to make such comments in your house.”

  “But not elsewhere,” Zerafine needled him. He ran his hand through his hair again and smiled. “You’re having us on,” he said.

  “Just a little,” she admitted. “I am Zerafine of Dardagne and this is my sentare, Gerrard of Kionnar.”

  The man gave her a nod, acknowledging that she’d won again—he should have introduced himself first. “My name is Dakariou. I’m the council liaison assigned to work with you. This is my assistant, Giara.”

  “Welcome to Portena,” Giara said, still flushed with embarrassment.

  “Welcome to my home, however temporary it is,” Zerafine said. She gestured toward the sitting room. “Please be seated.”

  A man wearing a long ribbed tunic in black and red came out of the kitchen bearing a tray of tall blue glasses. Zerafine and Gerrard had left early that morning, apparently too early for the servants to be awake, and this one seemed to be trying to make up for his failure to rise on time. At least his manner was perfectly correct; he offered the tray to each of them in turn, properly starting with their guests. The glasses were filled with cool tea, with chunks of ice floating in each. Tiny rounds of sliced bread smeared with a dark substance sat on a plate in the middle of the tray. Dakariou and Giara each took one, Zerafine thought out of politeness rather than hunger. Zerafine took one as well and nodded to the man. “That will be all,” she said, exactly as if she’d told him to bring refreshments. Gerrard took a position by the wall and did his best to pretend to be furniture. Nacalia was nowhere in sight. Zerafine hoped she’d have the sense to stay still. The man bowed and withdrew.

  “Council liaison,” Zerafine said. “I met with some of the Council members this morning. What does your role entail?”

  “You’ve seen them?” Dakariou shook his head. “I truly am behind in my business, then. My only excuse is that you came upon us so suddenly. I throw myself upon your mercy.” His expression was so self-deprecatingly comical that Zerafine smiled.

  “I’m only interested in finding the truth as quickly as possible,” she said. “Your help will be invaluable.”

  “I hope so. The Council has instructed me to work with you, to report to them on your findings and provide any assistance they can offer. The idea is to streamline the process so you can spend your time on your investigations, not on endless meetings.”

  “Councilor Castinidou told me the two theories were that the apparitions are spirits escaped from Atenas’s courts, or figments of Sukman’s madness made manifest. We’ve also heard it said that these are a new kind of ghost, which I can assure you is not true.”

  “Tokthelis Berenica said the same,” Dakariou said.

  “And you didn’t believe her.”

  Dakariou flushed, but smiled at her. “I don’t wish to speak ill of such a respected member of our community,” he began, “so please forgive me for my bluntness. The tokthelis’s honesty—in fact that of all of the theloi of Atenas—is well known, but her response to this c
risis has been to sit back and watch events unfold. You must know that’s why you were brought here to investigate; Berenica should be our investigator, but she will not, or cannot, look into the problem herself.”

  “And you believed her assertions were based on...what? Wishful thinking?”

  “Rather, assumptions based on hearsay and secondhand reports.” Dakariou took a sip from his glass. “As I said, I would rather not call her character into question.”

  And yet that’s precisely what you’ve done, Zerafine thought. But his assessment of Berenica’s character matched her own. She was beginning to like this man.

  “What do you make of tokthelos Genedirou?” she asked.

  “Again, I’d prefer not to speak ill—”

  “Dakariou, please don’t stand on ceremony with me,” she asked. “Let me make this easier for you. Whether or not Sukman is involved, Genedirou intends to turn the situation to his advantage. He’s been encouraging people to believe that worshipping Sukman—better yet, donating to His temple—will keep the apparitions away. He has some method of banishing them that he uses to bolster his position and improve Sukman’s standing within the Pantheon, at least here in Portena. He probably doesn’t wish anyone harm, but he certainly has no stake in ending this, as you called it, rash of appearances.”

  Dakariou leaned back and gave her a smile, a real one, not the flirtatious half-glances he’d been using on her since she came in. “You’ve spoken to him,” he said.

  “I have. I’m guessing you haven’t had much cooperation from him.”

  “Not in the least. His interest is in using me as a way to get at the Council, to improve his secular as well as ecclesiastical standing.”

  “To his credit, I think he’s doing this as much for the sake of his god as for his own status. He doesn’t seem to have diverted any of the funds toward making his life more comfortable.”

  “I don’t like him much, but I agree with you there. Even so, it doesn’t begin to solve our problem.”

  Zerafine noted that “our.” “So, in your opinion, what needs to be done?”

  Dakariou smiled again. “I think your role as, as you put it, impartial third party will go a long way toward easing pressure on the Council. Until now, people have been leaning on them to validate one theory or the other; with you around, the people will be less inclined to throw the blame at the government.”

  “That’s certainly how my presence benefits the Council. Shouldn’t we be more concerned about how it benefits the people?”

  Dakariou gave her another genuine smile. “I’m talking like a politician again, aren’t I? The truth is, at this point most people don’t know whom to listen to. Genedirou is charismatic, but with the apparitions being mostly passive, it’s hard to believe they’re a form of madness. People want some kind of official declaration, and they want it from someone who doesn’t have an axe to grind. Genedirou will make a stink about you poking your nose into his affairs, but even he can’t challenge your right to investigate. And, to be honest, you’re far more attractive than either Genedirou or Berenica, and people will respond to that.” He wasn’t smiling now, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made Zerafine blush. She considered telling him what she’d learned about the non-physical nature of the apparitions, but decided against it. It would be better, she thought, to learn more about them before sharing information that made no sense.

  Instead, she said, “I think I will have to find an excuse to be at one of these banishments of his. Does he ever give advance notice? I’d think he would want an audience.”

  “A performance is exactly what it is,” said Dakariou sourly. “He makes sure the Council knows about his banishments so they can witness them. All in the name of open honesty, but he really wants to be seen as someone with power.”

  “I’d take it as a kindness if you’d send me word,” Zerafine said. “I may not always be here, but I’ll find a way to check in occasionally.”

  “Certainly, if you’ll do me a favor in return. Will you keep me apprised of your progress? I’d like to be able to give something to the Council.”

  “Agreed,” Zerafine said, and reached out to seal the bargain, clasping Dakariou’s hand. It was warm and smooth and sent an unexpected tingle down her spine. Dakariou had a firm grip that lingered, perhaps, a little longer than necessary. It seemed the council liaison still felt the need to flirt with her. She found she didn’t mind all that much. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her that way.

  The three rose and exchanged pleasantries for about a minute, and then Dakariou and Giara excused themselves. Zerafine showed them to the door, which she closed behind them, and then leaned against it, her forehead pressed against the black wood. “Can we be done talking to people for the day?” she asked, hearing a plaintive note in her voice that surprised her.

  “I don’t trust him,” Gerrard said. Zerafine turned to look at him. He sounded almost angry.

  “I trust him as far as our interests coincide,” she said. “He seemed very forthcoming about his role in all of this.”

  “He’s trying to get on your good side by flirting with you.”

  “So? He’s handsome and I don’t mind being flirted with, given that I know what he’s up to. Besides, with a face like that, I think he does it by reflex.”

  “I liked him,” Nacalia said. She’d found a seat in the corner and had silently been observing the proceedings. “He’s handsome and she was pretty. I liked how she did her face.”

  “Let’s find you a place to sleep, whelp.” Gerrard scooped the girl up and carried her, squealing in mock fear, down the hallway opposite the bathing chamber. Zerafine sat in her abandoned chair, dropped the folder of reports on the floor, and put her face in her hands. Berenica, Genedirou, Dakariou. Spirits with no tangible form; apparitions of dead people—damn, she hadn’t thought to ask if any of them had become actual ghosts when they died. That would have been a pertinent question. Well, it could wait until tomorrow. She was sweaty and needed another bath.

  The servant reappeared from what she imagined must be the kitchen and bowed, very low. “Madama thelis, I must apologize for my inexcusably lax behavior—”

  “Please don’t,” she said, and then, hearing how abrupt she sounded, added, “People have been apologizing to me all day. Can we just skip to the part where you’ve apologized and I’ve excused you and told you to be more alert in the future? My name is Zerafine. What’s yours?”

  “Aesoron, madama thelis,” he said, again bowing low. “The tokthelis has assigned me to your household.” A small, thin woman appeared in the kitchen doorway. “This is Fidonia, your cook. We are ready for your instructions...perhaps you would like to order dinner?”

  “What time is it? It can’t be much past two. Shall we say—Gerrard, when do you want to eat?”

  “Now,” he replied from far down the hall.

  “Ignore him, he’s always hungry. Can you give him something now, and have the evening meal ready at seven?”

  “Whatever madama thelis wishes,” Aesoron said, bowing yet again.

  “Thank you. What madama thelis wishes is that you call her simply thelis, and please stop bowing. I think we shall get along just fine, don’t you?”

  Aesoron began to bow, caught himself, and nodded instead. Zerafine shucked her robe and peeled off her slightly sweaty hood and cowl. “Hang these somewhere until I find a place that can clean them properly, would you?”

  Aesoron took them without flinching. “I can take care of that, thelis.”

  “Can you? Excellent. I’ll need them again in the morning. Now I’m going to bathe and probably take a nap. If I’m not up by six, please wake me then.” In Atenas’s name, having servants again was lovely. Zerafine went down the hall to find Gerrard, who was watching Nacalia bounce on a large bed covered with a blanket done in an eye-watering pink and turquoise pattern.

  “Nacalia, don’t bother the servants,” he said, and took Zerafine’s arm to lead her back
down the hall out of earshot. “I’m starting to worry that we’ve done the wrong thing by her,” he said in a low voice, scratching his beard. “The first thing she told me, when I showed her that room, was that her whole family lived in a space only twice that size. She’s never had a bed she didn’t have to share. What’s going to happen to her when we leave?”

  “It never occurred to me that we weren’t doing her any favors,” Zerafine admitted. “But what are we supposed to do? We’ve already contracted for her time, and it would break her heart if we sent her away early—and not, I think, because she’d miss the luxury. I’m getting fond of her myself.”

  “Do not suggest that we adopt her.”

  “Not on your life! But we need to consider making other arrangements. We put her in this position; we’re responsible for her now.” Zerafine scrubbed at the hair at the base of her neck, which felt stiff with sweat. “Maybe I should cut my hair short like Giara’s.”

  Gerrard eyed her skeptically. “You’d regret it come the winter,” he said. “Besides, you have nice hair.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to wash it now and then take a very lazy, very long nap. Then I’m going to go over these notes. Pity me.”

  “So I can consider myself off duty for the afternoon?”

  “What, I’m a duty now? Thanks so much.”

  “You have no idea how much work it is keeping you out of trouble.” Gerrard ran his fingers through his hair, which made it stand up in wiry tufts, unlike Dakariou’s smooth curls. “I may go get a haircut or something.

  “Take Nacalia with you, then.”

  “Do I have to?” Gerrard asked plaintively.

  “You do if you ever want to find your way back here again.”

  “There is that,” Gerrard said. “Did someone say something about food?”

  Chapter Seven

  They spent the entire next day following up on the material in Vessa’s notes. She had been thorough, if not systematic; it took Zerafine an hour to organize and collate everything. As promised, the notes included a map that plotted out most of the complaints the Council had received, and they did indeed cluster around four spots in the city. Since those spots were also mostly equidistant from each other, Zerafine agreed that it couldn’t be coincidence. They visited each of these loci of activity: one was sited in the center of a shopping district, one in a middle-class neighborhood, a third just off the plaza, and the last lay in a part of town where the houses were so overbuilt that only a thread of daylight filtered between the buildings to reach the street. Zerafine couldn’t see anything they had in common.