“You can just knock,” Danjin said. “We won’t think less of you.”
“Ah, but that wouldn’t be as amusing,” the ambassador replied. He looked over Danjin’s shoulder. “Good evening, Ellareen of the White.”
“Good evening, Fa-Shieldarm,” she replied. “We have been waiting for you.”
He gestured to the corridor behind him. “I would be most honored to guide you to the abode of our guest.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped past Danjin. Closing the door, Danjin followed as she and Gillen started down the corridor.
Soon they had left the wing and emerged into the chill evening air. Each section of the city was separated by a well-guarded gate. Each time they reached one of these Gillen produced an amulet which the guards examined before they ordered muscular servants to haul open the gates. After passing through three gates, they arrived at a stone house distinguished from its neighbors by a large shield carved into the door, painted in bright colors.
“The house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” Gillen told them. He knocked, then bellowed their names and purpose.
The door creaked open. A servant bowed then silently gestured into the room. Ella stepped inside, followed by Danjin and Gillen.
They entered a large hall furnished with a huge wooden table already crowded with men, women and children. If it were not for their smiles and laughter, the tattooed faces might have made it a ghoulish scene. The patterns accentuated their expressions, so that a frown looked like a scowl, and a smile a grin.
Danjin recognized a few of the people and guessed that most present were of Gim’s clan. The servant hurried away to speak to a large Dunwayan man at the head of the table. This was Gim, a proud and arrogant man even by Dunwayan standards.
The man stood and beckoned to them with expansive gestures.
“Ellareen of the White. Welcome to my home. Come join me.”
Gim waved at the people sitting around him. At once they shuffled along the bench seats to make room. Ella sat down with dignity and accepted a goblet of fwa, the local liquor. Danjin squeezed in beside her.
Danjin sipped his own drink only enough to, hopefully, satisfy his host. He listened as Ella and Gim talked, recalling details about the clan that he had learned before and after they had arrived in Chon. He also kept his eyes on the other people at the table, aware that he was an extra pair of eyes to Ella.
At some signal from Gim, servants began to bring plates of food out to the table. Gim sliced a haunch off a roasted yern with a knife shaped like a miniature sword, and then the other guests began to help themselves and chatter. An argument broke out between two boys, one of whom had taken an entire girri for himself. When the boys began to shove each other one of the men got up, hauled them both out of a door and told a servant not to let them in until they’d fought it out. Returning to the table, he took the girri for himself.
Danjin then felt Ella’s elbow press against his arm. He realized he’d lost track of her conversation with Gim.
“... know the Pentadrian way of life appeals to many of your people,” she said.
Gim’s eyebrows rose. “What is so appealing about the way they live?”
“Only criminals are enslaved there.”
The clan leader frowned at her. She shrugged.
“That is how they see it.”
“Are you saying we may have spies among our servants?”
“Probably.”
He glared at the servants in the room. “I shall question them all.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “That would disrupt your household unnecessarily. A clever spy deflects attention from himself to others when he knows there’s a hunt on, and you could end up executing innocent and useful people. Better to set a trap.”
Gim grunted his reluctant agreement. “What do you suggest?”
“Obviously we can’t discuss the details here,” she said, smiling. “Someone who knows your household well would be better able to suggest an effective trap than I. You must have a few servants that you trust?”
The clan leader scowled, then changed the subject. As the night grew older, Danjin was sure he detected a change in Ella. She seemed more genuinely cheerful than she usually was during these dinners.
:I am, her familiar voice said in his mind. I’d never give Gim the satisfaction of knowing this, but his habit of treating his servants badly has worked in our favor. There are plenty of Pentadrian sympathizers here, and more than one of them has decided it’s time to make his escape. Tomorrow we shall see who aids them.
Progress at last, he thought. No wonder she looks happier.
Gim belched loudly, then called for more fwa.
:Yes. And I have to admit, I’m finding Gim more entertaining than I thought. He’s every bit the clichéd warrior brute Dunwayans are made out to be. Eating with his hands, talking with his mouth full, making crude jokes and drinking too much. What next?
He’ll probably call in the dancing girls, or some wench to fondle.
:I don’t think even he would... oh.
Danjin smiled as two men walked into the room playing pipes and drums, followed by four Dunwayan women wearing a lot of jewellery, but not much more.
At least that answers one question that’s been on my mind, Danjin thought wryly. Their tattoos really do go all the way down.
This time Ella’s elbow somehow managed to reach his ribs, and with considerably more force than before.
17
The rosy light of dawn tinted the sky beyond Reivan’s window when she woke. She felt a mingled relief and disappointment. Relief that she hadn’t slept late again, but disappointment that she didn’t have cause to.
Rising, she went to the basin of water and washed herself down. The moisture on her skin was pleasantly cool, but dried quickly. Soon she would be sweating in the heat of another midsummer day, but at least she would stink of fresh sweat rather than stale. She wished she could say the same of the merchants and courtiers that she had to deal with.
Dressing in her robe, she left her rooms and started for her office, pausing only to tell a domestic to have food brought to her. Several Servants were about. They nodded respectfully at Reivan as she passed.
Suddenly her sandal loosened and nearly tripped her. She stopped and steadied herself with one hand on a wall while she inspected it. A strap had come apart from the sole.
“... why he chose her. She’s not beautiful, or even pretty,” a voice said.
Realizing that the voice belonged to one of two female Servants she had just passed, she paused to listen.
“She’s supposed to be smart. Former Thinker, they say. Maybe they play mind games while they’re... you know.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
Reivan found herself smiling. So the other Servants had heard about Nekaun’s nocturnal visits to her rooms. Were these two jealous?
“From what I hear, his attention is hard to keep. He gets bored easily.”
“She’s wise to keep it quiet, then. It’ll be humiliating enough when he moves on. Wouldn’t want the whole Sanctuary to know, if I were her.”
“The whole Sanctuary does know.”
Reivan felt her stomach sink. She drew off the sandal and took a few steps, no longer wanting to eavesdrop. But with only one sandal, walking was awkward and ungainly. She stopped to take off the other.
“... rather have him for a little while than never,” one of the Servants said.
“Me, too.”
That ought to have cheered her, but it didn’t. Her stomach sank further. He’s been visiting me for months now, she thought. If he was only doing it for entertainment, surely he would have grown bored after a few nights? I’m not exactly a goddess of the bedroom.
Days. Weeks. Months. Years. What did it matter? He was immortal, powerful and beautiful. She knew she could not expect to hold his attention forever, yet she could not imagine life being any different than how it was now. Sometimes sh
e struggled to comprehend how she had existed before.
I’ve never been this happy. Or this anxious. I must be in love.
With sandals in one hand, she continued on. When the next domestic appeared she stopped him, gave him the sandals and told him to arrange for someone to bring her a new pair. He made the sign of the star and hurried away.
Though she tried to turn her thoughts to the work ahead, the words of the Servants kept creeping into her mind.
“He gets bored easily.”
Maybe Nekaun was growing bored with her. He hadn’t visited last night and the previous evening his visit had been brief.
Too brief, she thought. He seemed distracted, as if his mind was elsewhere and only his body was present.
“Companion Reivan.”
She stopped and turned, surprised to see Imenja striding toward her.
“Second Voice,” she replied, making the sign of the star.
Imenja smiled. “Come with me. I want to ask you something.”
They were only a short distance from Reivan’s office, yet Imenja walked to a stairwell and began to climb. Reivan followed, conscious that her feet were still bare.
They climbed up into one of the towers in the lower levels of the Sanctuary. The stairs led through a hole in the floor of the topmost room. Open arches gave a view all around.
Imenja moved to the side facing the city.
“We shouldn’t be overheard here,” she murmured. She turned to face Reivan. “Nekaun left early this morning.”
“Left?” Reivan repeated. “To go where?”
“I don’t know,” Imenja replied. “Nobody does. I was hoping you would.”
Reivan shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the night before last.”
The Second Voice smiled and turned to regard the view.
“Well then. He’s gone and left us all wondering.”
“The other Voices?”
Imenja shook her head. “They’re just as perplexed as I am.”
Reivan looked away. “He was a bit distracted the night before last.” As she said it, she felt her face warming. “He didn’t tell me he was planning to leave.” She felt a stab of hurt. Surely he could have confided in her. Didn’t he know he could trust her?
But he couldn’t tell her anything he didn’t want the other Voices to read from her mind.
Imenja sighed. “I guess we’ll find out what this is about when he’s ready to tell us.” She shrugged and moved away from the arches. “I have to go, but I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Yes.” Reivan managed a smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too many matters to bother you with.”
Imenja’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s what annoys me most. He’s off having some adventure while we’re stuck here doing the boring work.” She started to descend the stairs.
When she had gone, Reivan looked out over the city.
So he’s left, she thought. He could have left me a message. Even a cryptic one. Just... something.
And nobody knows how long he’ll be gone. She felt a pang of longing and fear. That’s just what having a Voice as a lover entails, she told herself. There’ll always be secrets and mysteries. Unexplained disappearances.
Distracted lovemaking.
She sighed and turned away from the view. Nothing but the return of Nekaun was going to make her feel better, so she may as well lose herself in work.
Spice Merchant Chem, also known as Servant Chemalya, counted up the tally on his clay tablet and marked in the total. Sitting back in his chair, he smiled. Business was good. Dunwayans had taken to the hotter spices of his homeland like all competitive, pain-loving warriors should. His spiced version of the local brew, fwa, had brought him profits far higher than his expectations. Every day the door of his shop squeaked continually with clan servants come to buy more wares.
It had taken a while for the Dunwayans to take to the spices. Chemalya had made no secret of the fact they were from Southern Ithania. That made them “Pentadrian” goods, which gave them the taint of the enemy. It was said Dunwayan warriors loved their god, Lore, more than their own fathers. This was not surprising, since the god had apparently arranged for every aspect of Dunwayan life to favor them. They would not touch anything associated with the enemy.
At least, they didn’t at first. Then the allure of exotic goods with dangerous associations brought the first customers. The heat of the spices took those first young Dunwayans by surprise. Soon they were daring their friends to try it. When one spiked a mug of fwa with the spice, they discovered that the two substances complemented each other perfectly.
So Chemalya began selling pre-spiced fwa. It gained popularity so quickly he began to run out of spice. He ordered more and raised his prices. When two servants had bid on the last jar of his first shipment, the loser had looked so dismayed at his defeat Chemalya had offered the man a consolatory drink. Soon he was regaled with tales of the brutal treatment of servants.
Listening patiently, he realized his secret task was going to be easier than he had first thought. His future converts were all around him, and their masters had prepared them for their new faith better than any Pentadrian could have.
He had sent the servant away with a small jar of spice he’d been keeping for himself in the hope this would fend off the beating the man was expecting. From then on, he was generous to all the servants who came to buy wares. He told them the tale of half-truths that had allowed him to set up shop in Dunway - that his mother had been a Dunwayan servant woman who had run away to Sennon (true) and married a Murian trader (false - she’d become a whore), who had employed their son as an assistant (delivery boy). Taking over the business when the Murian died (true - but it had been arranged by the Pentadrians), Chemalya had come to Dunway out of a curiosity to see his mother’s homeland (false - his mother’s hatred for her people had killed all curiosity years ago).
To his surprise, he had enjoyed his time in Dunway so far. Not all warriors were cruel and stupid. Some treated their servants as if they were family. There was a tradition of poetry of surprising beauty and their honest and open attitude toward physical lust was refreshing compared to the coyness and embarrassment of Southern Ithanians.
He wasn’t going to be as glad to leave as he’d thought he’d be, and now that one of the White was here he was expecting that moment to arrive any day now. The thought filled him with sadness and a little resentment.
He looked down at the tablet.
Maybe that’s more to do with the profit I’m making. At times like these I have to remind myself that I’m here to serve the gods. Riches will not get me a place with them, when my soul is released from my body.
The door creaked. Chemalya looked up and smiled as he saw it was one of his latest recruits: Ton, a servant of the Nimler clan. It would not be long before he helped this one “escape” to the south.
Chemalya put his tablet under the bench, out of sight. Ton stepped forward hesitantly, wringing his hands.
“That arrangement you talked about,” the man said, his voice quivering. “Can it happen today?”
Surprised, Chemalya looked at the man closely. Ton always looked a little strained and anxious. Had he finally been pushed too far by his master, or was it something more serious?
“It can,” Chemalya told the man. “What has happened?”
“The White. She was at dinner last night. Said there were spies in the household and that Gim should set a trap.” He reached across the bench and gripped Chemalya’s arm. “If I go back he’ll find me. He’ll kill me. I have to go.”
Chemalya patted the man’s shoulder. “And you will. What did you come here for, and what else are you buying today?”
“Spiced fwa. Grain. Oil.” The man let go of Chemalya’s arm and drew a pouch of coins out of his shirt.
“Good. Tell me the names of the shops and I’ll send someone to meet you. He will take you out of the city.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. M
y friends and I took the precaution of knowing only as much as we needed, in case our minds were read. You have to trust me.”
Ton nodded and shrugged. “It’s a risk. I have to take it.”
“You will be the last for a while,” Chemalya told him.
The man looked stricken. “But... my wife and children? You said they—”
“Will escape later. They will, once the White has left and we can set things up again.” He paused. “I may need your help with that.”
Ton straightened. “You’ll have it.”
“Thank you. Now you had better tell me which shops you plan to visit.”
After Ton had left, Chemalya called one of the street boys into the shop and paid him a coin to deliver an order for five and a half barrels of fwa. He scratched Ton’s name and the shops he planned to visit onto a scrap of parchment and gave it to the boy.
Then he locked the shop door and sat down behind the bench. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hand to the star pendant under his tunic and sent out a call.
:Deekan.
After a moment the Dedicated Servant that had trained Chemalya replied.
:Chemalya? What is it?
He told her what Ton had said.
:Should I close the shop and leave?
:I will seek permission.
There was a long silence in which Chemalya heard knocking on the shop door. He ignored it.
:No, Deekan’s reply came. Continue sending converts south.
:And if the White finds me?
:She will not learn any more than you know. Deekan paused. I’m sorry, Chemalya. Those are Nekaun’s orders. He must have good reason to want you there.
Chemalya sighed and tried to suppress a feeling of rising panic.
:And I will obey them, he replied.
:Good luck.
Opening his eyes, Chemalya looked around the shop. When the White found him - and he was not foolish enough to think she wouldn’t - he would go from rich trader to imprisoned enemy. He doubted prisoners survived long in Dunwayan jails.
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