Fate

by Mary Corran

  ‘Let me tell you a story I picked up in Saffra,’ Mylura began cheerfully as she returned and sat down again, chuckling as though the memory still amused her. ‘There was a Saff and a man from Chance ... ’

  Asher listened with only half her attention, the remainder considering the news Mylura had brought and its implications. Essa would insist they find a way to discover whether the girl in the camp was Vallis. Asher knew the place, for it was only a half-day’s walk from the farm where she had grown up. Was this just a coincidence or was it more than that? With her knowledge of the area, she was the obvious choice to pay a visit to the camp to spy out the land.

  The thought was an unhappy one, taking her back once more to the past, to Mallory, and Callith, and the rest. She could not go back.

  I won’t worry about it. There’s no point. She closed the door to memory with a mental slam as Mylura produced the punchline of her story. Asher smiled dutifully, without the least idea of what she was talking about.

  ‘You look tired, Ash. I am, too. Why don’t you go home?’

  ‘Sorry, Mylla.’ She yawned. ‘That’s a good idea. I will, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She waited while Asher placed a few coppers on the table, then picked up her cloak, ready to leave.

  Fifteen coppers, that was all that girl needed. The thought came from nowhere. As she followed Mylla’s awkward progress towards the door, Asher found herself again a prey to doubt, questioning how much their organization really accomplished, despite their efforts.

  ‘Tell Essa I’ll be over in a day or so. Carob agrees we should at least think about this girl in the camp.’ Asher gave her friend a helping hand down the steps beyond the inn, then Mylla waved a farewell and turned and limped off down a dark narrow lane. Asher looked up at the stars; Aspire was still invisible, but Abate showed against the sky in a thin and sickly crescent.

  A bad omen. Asher yawned again. It was not really late, but she was very sleepy. Let’s hope the Fates are kind, for once. It did not occur to her to find it strange to request a wish from something in which she did not believe.

  Chapter Three

  The following night, Mallory sat waiting for Honora to conclude her meal. Oramen had chosen to dine in her rooms, and the ill-matched pair were alone in the small parlour Kelham had always used on purely family occasions. It had an uncomfortably intimate air, and Mallory was surprised his sister-in-law had not found some excuse to avoid his company; certainly she had thus far displayed no great liking for him. For his part, he would have much preferred to dine with Pars, the clerk, or even Ish, who had been his cabin boy and was now his personal groom, but convention decreed otherwise.

  She was, he thought, looking rather better; she wore a flattering but expensive gown in a dark blue colour which was proper for mourning as to modesty and length and neckline, and her hair had been arranged high on her head in a manner that became her. It was a pleasure to see so handsome a woman at table, and she was on her best behaviour, making every effort to sound and seem agreeable, but Mallory now heartily wished she would go; he had a great deal of work to do, and for some reason — which could only, he feared, be ominous to his peace — she seemed determined to delay him.

  ‘And have you completed the unloading of the fleet?’ Honora asked brightly, with what he thought was a polite, social smile.

  This afternoon.’ Mallory watched her toy with the fruit on her plate; she did not appear to be eating it, only cutting it into smaller and smaller segments.

  ‘It was unfortunate the Chief Councillor’s ships arrived so close to your own; it will depress prices. Have you considered how much of the cloth you mean to send downriver for sale? Or are prices higher in the coastal towns? I have not seen the latest figures.’

  Mallory smiled. ‘It is good of you to concern yourself, Honora, but rest assured that I shall do my best to maximize our profit.’ He was amused by her ploy, wondering if she really thought him incapable of marketing their goods effectively. The reversal in their positions made him smile more warmly, but she seemed to find nothing entertaining in the exchange.

  ‘I apologize if you think it not my place to ask such questions, Mallory,’ she said stiffly. ‘But Kelham and I were accustomed to discuss such matters. Perhaps you forget that I, too, am the daughter of a merchant house, and was brought up to this trade.’

  He saw she meant it, and thought more highly of her, approving her efforts to share in her husband’s interests. ‘Then perhaps we can do the same, in time,’ he offered, quite willing to make the offer if it led to more cordial relations between them.

  She regarded him more coolly than he thought his response warranted. ‘Only if you think I can be of some use to you. But I would not waste your time with my unwanted opinions.’ At last, she put down her knife and stood up. He rose politely. ‘Good night, then, brother.’

  He stared after her, puzzled by the sudden change of mood. How had he offended her? It had not been his intention. He sighed, not for the first time. It was years since he had lived in close confines with a woman, and, while he enjoyed female company, he preferred it to be on less formal terms, finding the code of manners required to accommodate respectable members of the fairer sex a waste of time. He glanced down at his formal suit of silver-grey cloth with no small amount of dislike; it was expensive, and rather tighter than when he had last worn it, but it was the only suitable garment he possessed until the rest of his things were brought up from Kepesake. It represented yet another of the hazards of his new position.

  Did Honora enjoy his company as little as he hers? It was a thought which had not previously occurred to him and he frowned, not liking the answer he gave himself. If she were like Callith ... But his sister was different; even the birth of two active sons had done nothing to dampen her spirits.

  Unexpectedly, he found himself remembering another girl who had been a friend, even when he was a tiresome lunk of eighteen and in love with a pretty face for the first time in his life. He thought he had discovered all the meaning in life for at least a month, until the woman who had entranced his adolescent heart sent him away with his tail between his legs. Asher had not laughed at him, even then, although he had deserved it, treating her and Callith during that month as though they were too insignificant for his notice. It had been the summer of the invasion, he thought, the last time they had run free together, before the girls were increasingly confined by long skirts and hemmed about by rules of behaviour. What had happened to Asher? Would he ever know? He shook his head, still experiencing a small pang at the thought he would never see her again.

  He deserted the parlour and went downstairs to the office where he had left the records of the cargo from the last run. What Honora had said was true: it was unfortunate Avorian’s ships had arrived on the heels of his own; while spices could be stored in the warehouse until prices rose, cloth was a different matter. Mallory searched the pile of papers on the desk and found the latest letter from the clan’s agent in Fate, comparing the price per bale of undyed cloth to what he could hope to achieve in Venture, then nodded. It would be better to sell at the inland markets, even after adding in the cost of transport. He smiled to himself, thinking how pleased his sister-in-law would have been to find herself in the right.

  He worked until late, trying to get the ledgers into some sort of order, for a certain laxity had entered the system since Kelham’s death, now three months past. He did not enjoy the work, which was tedious and time-consuming, and it was with little satisfaction that he finally laid down his pen and sat back, looking around the room at the many shelves of ledgers, at the piles of letters littering his desk, at the records of the last council meeting; and tried to stifle the wish simply to walk out of the house and never come back.

  How long, Kelham? he asked the empty air in some bitterness. How long must I take your place? It would be fifteen years, at least, before his nephew Kirin could be expected to take his turn and Mallory could hand over his own tasks to Perr
on, his younger brother; by that time he himself would be over forty, and would have long lost the old personal contacts with agents overseas. He toyed briefly with the idea of deserting Kelham’s family, not seriously, but to satisfy himself there was no hope; he knew he would not do it. He had a responsibility to the clan, for Honora and her children, for Kelham’s children, to the city. The clan’s fortune was founded in and on Venture.

  Perhaps things will change. Perhaps when Lykon dies, Vallis will come back, and the country will rise up against Amrist. No more tribute; and no more need of me here, in the city. If we were free, any half-capable clerk could do most of this work.

  He blew out the candle and stood up; he could ask Oramen where his probable future lay, but he did not really want to know, preferring hope to any unwelcome certainty.

  He climbed the two flights of stairs to his room and stood looking out through the window at the few points of light still visible down by the harbour and in the old quarter; the second curfew bell had tolled, and the streets would be empty. It occurred to him that part of the cause of his depression was that he was lonely. He had now no wife, no children of his own. For companionship, there had been his officers and crew, but they were lost to him now he was a shoreman and tied, willy-nilly, to the service of his clan. But there was nothing to stop him pursuing interests of his own, as long as they did not interfere with his duty. He thought again of the only chance that would free him to go to sea once more, to live as he chose on his own terms, and his spirits lifted a little.

  Why not? Why not me?

  He had discussed the political situation of the country at some length with Avorian, who possessed excellent contacts in the capital. Lykon was apparently steadfastly refusing to nominate another heir in place of Vallis, swearing his daughter would be found in time. Here was a task well-suited to his talents. The girl’s disappearance had been a mystery, one which appealed both to his intellect and to his curiosity. Mallory made up his mind, and felt instantly better. When a suitable moment came, he would request permission from Hortist, the present Kamiri governor of Venture, and consult the Oracle on behalf of Vallis, not the least deterred by the certainty that many had trodden that same path over the years. He trusted in his own inborn good fortune to be more successful than all those who had tried, and failed.

  *

  Asher was dreaming.

  She was walking along a narrow track of beaten earth; to either side of her path lay open fields, their extent marked out by tall trees that still bore their burden of leaves, so she supposed it must be spring or summer. In the darkness of the night, the moons shadowed by weaving branches overhead, she could not see exactly where she was, but the path was familiar. Abate was full, Aspire in her final waning segment, and the evil auspices that portended seemed in accord with her own mood. Unhappiness was a heavy weight on her chest, bearing her down; she was aware of a loss as yet only dimly understood, of a pain which could be neither shared nor assuaged.

  Dead, she thought suddenly. They are both dead. That was the source of the pain. Her mother and father had died of the fever.

  In her sleep, she cried out in protest and misery, but did not wake.

  Shapes, large and irregular, loomed up ahead in the darkness, at the end of the path between the trees. She stumbled towards them, knowing them, even in her dream, for her journey’s end; no sanctuary, perhaps, but at least inside the house there would be warmth, and light, and life.

  Why, then, did she hesitate? Why did her steps falter and slow?

  Lights were visible from a downstairs room. She stopped, wondering why the sight frightened her. Summoning the reserves of her strength, she forced herself into motion again, then found she could not bring herself to approach the house. Some instinct held her still. Where the gleam of light should have held out the hope of welcome, instead she saw it as a beacon summoning her to her own destruction.

  He’s there, he’s waiting for me, she thought. She could not remember who he was, but she knew she feared him.

  She twisted and turned on her bed, entangling herself in the blankets until, in her dream, it seemed as though she were being squeezed, constrained by supernatural forces in which, at other times, she placed no credence.

  I have been here before; I have stood here, in this place and time, before.

  The certainty disturbed her, for she could not remember why it was so important. Why had she come back? Was it to change the past? She knew a sudden, chill understanding that if she went on, into the house, she would be conforming to a pattern she had followed before, that from that moment her life would pursue the same unalterable course. For that reason alone she drew back, wary and resisting, fighting a shadowy, insubstantial inevitability. Something — some fate — awaited her in the lighted room. She was sure of it.

  A small voice spoke in her mind. You cannot change the past, it hissed. This is done; this is what you did then. You cannot alter what has been, only what will be.

  I can, I can change it!

  Asher thought she spoke the protest aloud, but in her dream there was no sound, and already her treacherous feet were taking her closer to the house, closer to whoever or whatever waited for her there. She found she had no power to resist the forces that drew her on.

  Rounding the side of the main building, she made for the back door, moving silently across the dry mud of the yard into the shadow of the outbuildings. The rear of the house was in darkness, and around her she could hear only the familiar noises of the night, the rustling of leaves, the creaking of laden branches, and the hooting of night owls in the barn.

  I must go in. I must find him and tell him what has happened. But she knew, in her dream, that it was from a sense of obligation, not from affection, that she had come; that what was a bitter sorrow to her would bring him what he most desired.

  The door was unlocked. She lifted the latch and went inside the house, closing the door behind her. Still moving soundlessly, she carried on through the kitchen and into the passage beyond. There were voices coming from the parlour, and she stopped to listen, puzzled; one of them was unfamiliar, with an accent she could not identify. She wondered what a stranger could be doing in the house at such an hour, and at such a time.

  Then she knew.

  Memory returned in full, and all at once she was backing away, but she must have made some sound, for as she reached the haven of the kitchen she could hear footsteps coming towards her, moving rapidly, and she began to run. Fear drove her on, out of the house and across the yard, into the night. Fingers brushed her shoulder ...

  She woke suddenly, making the transition from sleep to waking without interval, clutching confusedly at the blankets — to find herself staring up into the eyes of a human face.

  ‘Keep quiet. I’ve not come to harm you.’

  Before she could scream, a hand came down over her mouth. It was the same hand she had sensed in her dream, except it belonged not to him but to Stern, and even the shock of finding him in her room, sitting on her bed, was preferable to her imaginings. She blinked, realizing a candle was burning somewhere, for she could see Stern’s face quite clearly.

  ‘If I take my hand away, do you swear you won’t call out?’ he whispered.

  The hand was heavy, making it hard to breathe. She nodded awkwardly, and it was withdrawn.

  ‘You should be glad I woke you. It didn’t look like a pleasant dream.’ Stern sat back, still speaking softly.

  ‘It wasn’t.’ Asher sat up, as much puzzled as frightened. ‘What’re you doing here? What do you want?’

  ‘A favour. For me and a few friends.’

  ‘What favour? How did you get in here?’ She was fully awake now, and beginning to be angry as her initial fright dissipated. She feared the man in the dream, but she was not afraid of Stern.

  He flashed her an unpleasant smile, which held a disturbing familiarity hitherto absent from their relationship. ‘I followed you the other night, to see where you lived. I was in the alley at the back w
hen you opened your shutters, so I knew which your room was. It was simple enough.’

  ‘Why?’ There was something strange about his appearance; he seemed to have covered his face with some dark substance. He looked quite different from the man she saw in the Treasury each day.

  ‘I told you, I need you to do me a favour.’ He looked round the room, his gaze settling on her clothes, lying folded on a chair. He picked them up and threw them on the bed. ‘Get dressed. We’re going out.’

  ‘Out?’ She was mystified. ‘Where? What time is it?’

  ‘Late enough. After midnight. Now, get dressed.’ The smile became a leer. ‘I won’t look.’

  Sure now his intentions were neither robbery nor rape, Asher wondered whether she was still dreaming. ‘Why should I? Why shouldn’t I simply scream and call my friends?’

  The hand flashed down to her throat, bony fingers circling her neck. ‘I wouldn’t do that. You’ll do as I say, or I tell the Treasurer to go through your books.’ The hand tightened. ‘Is that what you want? You and your friends?’ Asher shook her head, unable to speak. Stern released his hold. ‘Good. Then get dressed.’

  ‘All right.’ Asher rubbed her throat, thinking rapidly. Evidently he had guessed about her fraud. She could, of course, call to Essa, but he had mentioned his friends. It seemed wisest to go along with his directions, at least for the moment. She pulled the clothes under the blankets and began to dress.

  As soon as she was ready, Stern blew out the candle. ‘Now, I’ll explain what you’re going to do.’ He had moved across to the window, where the shutters stood open.

  ‘If I agree.’

  He cut off her objection. ‘You’ll agree. I’ve been watching you. I know all about the money.’ Asher felt herself grow cold. This was about her carelessness today, breaking the glass. No other explanation made sense. Stern evidently read her thoughts in her face, for he went on: ‘I thought there was something different about you, but you’re careful most of the time. It was that girl dying that put you off-balance. I was almost sure before as it’s bad luck to take tribute money. But when you broke that glass, I knew. I watched, and you weren’t worried at all, were you?’