“Why don’t you give me back my cloak, stockings, and handkerchief?” Jianna suggested. “Then I’ll be happy to respect all three of you.”
“Burlap, you are slow.”
Without warning, Odilline drove her clenched fist into Jianna’s midsection. Jianna doubled, gasping for air. At the same moment, Fraxi and Verth grabbed her arms. As Jianna struggled uselessly, Odilline drew back her fist for another blow.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” An irate masculine voice broke in on the scene. A man’s form bulked in the entry. Having noticed their absence, the guard had come in search of his missing charges.
Fraxi and Verth instantly released their hold. Jianna slumped against the wall, still struggling for breath.
“Just a spot of trouble, sir,” Odilline explained earnestly. “The new girl, here, she’s not used to things, and she got taken over a bit queer. Thought she was going to faint, or puke, or something, so she peeled off column, because she don’t know better. And, we came after, to see that she come to no harm.”
“Is that true?” the guard demanded of Jianna.
Jianna barely hesitated before nodding.
“You don’t ever step out of line without permission. I don’t care if you’re giving birth, you stay in line. Understand?” Without awaiting confirmation, he stepped forward and cuffed her face. “No rations for you tonight.”
Jianna raised a hand to her cheek. She gulped air and said nothing.
“Oh, don’t be too hard on poor Burlap, sir,” urged Odilline, with a good-natured smile. “She just don’t know the ropes yet. But don’t worry, I’ll pin an eye on her and keep her out of trouble. Yes, I mean to look out for this one night and day.”
The battle of Klew’s Court had fired Vitrisian hearts. For the first time in nearly twenty-five years, ordinary Faerlonnish citizens had armed, prepared, and organized themselves to resist Taerleezi troops, and—to the amazement of all—the citizens had triumphed. Elation was intense, and excitement uncontainable, for a little while. Then the natural ebbing of the initial euphoria had ushered in the inevitable doubts and fears. The Taerleezis would hardly countenance rebellion, and the ruthlessness of their reprisals was proverbial. Vitrisi’s native inhabitants might expect to pay dearly for their one little victory.
Vitrisi held its breath. But the days passed, and the anticipated stroke did not fall. Then at last, a Taerleezi force of surprisingly modest size and strength moved into the Eastcross to launch a predawn strike—only to be beaten off by resolute residents, much as they had been beaten in Klew’s Court. This time, however, the invaders withdrew in time to evade massacre.
Two days later, the soldiers surrounded a boardinghouse in Coppercoin Street—a suspected site of resistance conspiracy—and set torch to the place, incinerating a number of tenants, before being driven from the neighborhood by furious residents. Two Taerleezi soldiers died there, and their bodies were offered to the Deadpickers.
It had become apparent that the Taerleezi attacks were falling short of their accustomed power. In the old days of the invasion and its aftermath, an untrained mob of Faerlonnish civilians could scarcely have inconvenienced, much less vanquished, a Taerleezi military unit. Now it was happening repeatedly. The explanation, however, was quite apparent.
The Taerleezi force occupying Vitrisi was substantial, and more than equal to most occasions, but its resources were not limitless. The siege of the Briar Patch, or “Roohaathk,” necessitating placement of armed men about the perimeter of the Sishmindri enclave, imposed enormous demands. Maintenance of general public order throughout the city continued, but the suppression of spontaneous neighborhood insurrections became problematic.
Taking note, the Vitrisians proceeded to exploit the opportunity of a lifetime. In the grand neighborhood of the Clouds, upon sublime Summit Street itself, a mansion occupied by the current tax assessor of the municipality was invaded by an armed Faerlonnish mob. None of the occupants were killed, but the tax assessor was suspended from the rafters by his ankles, reviled and beaten, while the house was thoroughly pillaged. All items of value—jewelry, clothing, artwork, curios and keepsakes, weapons, furniture, even bedhangings and window curtains—were carried away into the night, leaving the mansion denuded of treasures. The invaders escaped unscathed.
In busy Anvil Square, just off the Clean Zone, a clutch of commercial enterprises known to enjoy heavy Taerleezi custom were attacked by riotous citizens. A cookshop and two taverns were stripped of their inventories. A Taerleezi inebriate in one of the taverns was killed. Several more incidents of similar ilk occurred in various sections of the city.
It was an outrage. The refractory Faerlonnish populace required discipline, but such was not easily imposed in the absence of adequate manpower. There was no point, however, in sending a plea for additional troops to Taerleez. By all accounts, conditions in the Taerleezi capital city, and the lesser cities as well, equaled or exceeded the miseries of Vitrisi. Plague, panic, and disaster ravaged Faerlonne and Taerleez alike. The troops were needed to maintain public order at home. Taerleezi representatives in Vitrisi would have to make do with what they had.
The problem admitted of one obvious solution. The soldiers presently tethered to the Roohaathk boundary must be freed and made available to other uses. The siege of the Briar Patch could not be abandoned; it must be taken to a successful conclusion, and as speedily as possible. There could be no further trifling.
To this end, the Deputy Governor Hecti Gorza, successor to the martyred Viper, concentrated his attention and his best efforts upon the Roohaathk wall. Thus, in the cool grey birth of a spring dawn, Taerleezi forces armed with cannon assaulted the barrier at four evenly spaced points. The artillery roared, four sections of wall ceased to exist, and four Taerleezi battalions came pounding into Roohaathk.
Initial resistance was fierce, but short-lived. Despite their courage and passion, the Sishmindris were no match for a large force of well-armed Taerleezi soldiers. Following a brief, violent exchange that witnessed casualties on both sides, the defenders retreated on all fronts. A croaking, grunting, greenish crowd fled in seeming disarray before the advancing humans.
The Taerleezi battalions pushed on into Roohaathk, driving the amphibians before them. Their nearly unopposed convergence would trap the Sishmindris at the center of the stolen domain. This goal accomplished, the most aggressive and defiant of the rebels could be slaughtered out of hand, while the females, the timorous, and the submissive could be preserved alive. Following a period of reeducation, these valuable creatures might safely be returned to normal servitude.
But when the four battalions met in the middle of Roohaathk, it was only to encounter—each other. The advance halted, and the soldiers surveyed their surroundings. They saw empty streets and silent buildings, doors firmly closed, windows shuttered or boarded. There was not a single Sishmindri in sight. Somewhere between Roohaathk wall and the center of the enclave, the entire riotous green-skinned crowd had vanished.
One or two of the soldiers shook their heads and muttered of arcanism, but they were fools. The amphibians had scarcely disappeared into thin air—they had gone to ground, and done so with a speed born of planning and practice. Probably many had sought refuge in the buildings, and now watched from behind those closed shutters. Perhaps they had even dug secret bolt-holes, allowing quick access to cellars, tunnels, underground nests, and the like. Certainly they could not have gone far.
A flight of rocks, evidently slung with accuracy from the flat rooftop of a nearby tenement, confirmed the presence of hostile observers. Reaching them upon that rooftop would be no easy matter, however, for the approach was guarded by unseen archers.
The Taerleezis had not foreseen it. They had knocked holes in the wall of Roohaathk and won their way to the heart of the enclave, to find that victory remained elusive. The enemy was invisible, and every building a fort.
Master Nalio Belandor, acting head of the household in the absence of his two
older brothers, pored over the architectural designs, and knew contentment. The times were deeply troubled. Plague raged throughout Vitrisi, while Pockets of disrupted reality proliferated and expanded by the day. The dead Wanderers spread disease and strangeness everywhere. Rebellious Sishmindris had seized a portion of the city and successfully defended it. Rebellious Faerlonnish humans were rioting. The Taerleezi conquerors countered rebellion from humans and amphibians alike with brutality. Nalio’s wife was recently dead; his family members away from home, their whereabouts unknown. Belandor House itself had suffered grievous damage. Despite all of this, Nalio enjoyed a sense of deep well-being.
It had something to do, he suspected, with the proper channeling of his energies and abilities. His brothers had never appreciated him, never recognized his talents or allowed him to assume the authority that should have been his birthright. Perhaps they had been jealous, resentful, and afraid that he would outshine them. Whatever the reason, they had kept him down, never giving him the opportunity to show what he could do.
Now, with both of them out of the way, he had at last come into his own. He commanded the entire great project of Belandor House’s restoration, and his performance was superlative. There was no detail too small to escape his attention, no decision that did not bear his imprint, and not a single diostre spent that he did not set down in his account ledger. He had, not long ago, spent an entire day with an artist in glasswork, selecting the thirty-three different shades of golden glass that would be used to re-create the image of the sun once gracing the great skylight above the central stairway. He had viewed and discarded half a dozen designs for the curiously wrought handles destined to ornament the water pumps in the kitchen yard.
There were thousands of such decisions to be made, and he weighed each with extraordinary care. At the same time, his mind encompassed the huge whole; the vision of a Belandor House not merely restored to its former grandeur, but improved, enlarged, made more glorious than ever before. The scope of the undertaking was enormous, and the man overseeing it all was by necessity a visionary, a great general, a great artist—even, perhaps, a genius …
Aureste could never have done it half so well. Aureste was good for making money and snapping orders, little else. He lacked the necessary patience, the absolute devotion, the soul. Nalio, possessing these qualities in abundance, was the right man, the only man for the job. Thus it seemed to him that his present elevation must surely reflect the workings of an intelligent and benevolent Fate. It was clearly something that was meant to be.
Sometimes he wondered if it was meant to be—permanent. Perhaps Fate, or Destiny, was testing him. Perhaps the truly outstanding completion of the present project would demonstrate his worthiness, and kindly Fate would reward him with the high postion that he had always deserved. Time alone would tell.
A knock at the door intruded upon his reverie.
“Come,” he said.
The door opened. A Sishmindri hesitated upon the threshold.
“What is it?” Nalio’s tone was easy and mild, his expression as gently encouraging as any that his brother Innesq might have worn. Everybody was always so struck by Innesq’s kindness and generosity in dealing with the Sishmindris. People admired his greatness of heart and spirit. They did not yet know, but must soon perceive, that Nalio Belandor possessed similar virtues, in equal or larger measure. And, unlike Innesq, Nalio could display his inner beauty without compromise of dignity.
“Visitor,” announced the Sishmindri. “Maidenlady. For Master Nalio Belandor.”
“Maidenlady?” Nalio frowned, puzzled. The term suggested a person of some status. Otherwise, and the Sishmindri would have announced her as “girl,” “woman,” or “old woman,” as appropriate. “Did she state her name?”
“Maidenlady Memenni Nezzinola.”
“Nezzinola?” Nalio’s brows rose. House Nezzinola was ancient, wealthy, eminent. The current magnificiari was generally regarded as the very model of a Faerlonnish noble, combining the grace of a courtier with the eye of an artist and the mind of a scientist. Ivvrus Nezzinola’s reputation remained intact despite the indiscretions of his sister, whose Taerleezi liasons were notorious. A kinsman of the infamous Aureste Belandor, however, was in no position to cast stones. “If she is who she claims to be, she could hardly have come here alone.”
“With maidservant.”
“I see. Well. Did she state her business?”
“No.”
“Peculiar. Quite irregular.” Nalio’s suspicions sprouted. He considered the possibilities of imposture, chicanery, misrepresentation, extortion, and his eyes narrowed. Master Nalio Belandor, acting head of the household, was no easy mark. “Tell me, how did this visitor appear to you? I mean, does she seem a person of quality? Well bred, well spoken, well mannered? Is she even respectable? What were your impressions?”
“Maidenlady.” The Sishmindri blinked.
“It is clear that I must see for myself. Typical. Take me to her. Stay close by my side, and be prepared to act, should the need arise.”
Closely attended by his Sishmindri bodyguard, Nalio descended to the ground-floor gallery that still served as Belandor House’s makeshift reception chamber. There he discovered a visitor certainly entitled to courtesy and consideration. She was very young, scarcely more than a child, fair-faced and pretty, with innocent wide eyes and golden-brown curls. Her slight form was wrapped in a violet cloak of excellent quality. More to the point, she was clearly a lady. Before she had uttered a word, gentility had proclaimed itself in her posture, the carriage of her head, the fineness of her hands. Her maidservant, a girl of suitably modest appearance, waited beside the door at a respectful remove.
Nalio’s nervous qualms abated, but curiosity remained. Advancing to greet the visitor, he halted before her, bowed, and spoke with his most gracious air. “Maidenlady Nezzinola, I bid you welcome. I am Nalio Belandor, acting head of the household. We are much in disarray here, as you can see, but not so reduced in state that I cannot offer hospitality. Will it please you to take some refreshment?”
“Oh, I should love to, but I cannot,” the young girl returned, in a sweet, high voice. “You see, I’m not supposed to be here. In fact, I’m not supposed to be abroad at all. Papa is vexed with me beyond words, and so is Auntie. They say that this time was the worst yet. I suppose I did put them to a good deal of trouble, but it was all in such a good cause!”
“Indeed?” Nalio could think of nothing else to say.
“They’ll be quite rabid if they discover that I’ve gone out again. They’ll lock me in my chamber and wall me up alive, see if they don’t. With any luck, though, they’ll never know. Anyway, I had to do it. I promised her I would, I gave my word.”
“Indeed?”
“So here I am, carrying a message from Strenviva.”
“From the public gardens?”
“No, she calls herself Strenviva, but that isn’t her real name, of course. Everybody has an alias. Some of them are wonderfully quaint.”
“Indeed?”
“She asked me to tell Master Nalio Belandor that the girl who went missing is in prison, in trouble, and in need of his help. There, now, that was all of it. I do hope you’ll be able to assist her—the Witch is such an odious place! Papa insists that he cannot, that it was all he and Auntie could do to fish me out, and he can’t adopt my disreputable friends. So I told him of course that she isn’t disreputable in the least, she is quite one of us. But he won’t listen—I can do nothing with him.”
“This Strenviva you speak of, maidenlady—can you describe her appearance?”
“Very pretty, quite as pretty as I. Slim, middling height, hair almost black, fair complexion, with great dark eyes, and such dark brows! You will rescue poor Strenviva, will you not, Master Nalio? She is relying on you.”
“Indeed.”
“Oh, this is just as I hoped! I have delivered the message, and Strenviva is surely saved. I thank you, sir. And now I must hurry back befor
e I am missed. Pray relay my compliments to Strenviva, when you see her. Farewell, Master Nalio.”
With that, the Maidenlady Memenni Nezzinola took her happy leave, attended by her servant.
Alone once more, Nalio digested the news. The physical description had been conclusive. His runaway niece Jianna, that impertinent, spoiled girl of Aureste’s, had turned to crime, landed herself in prison, and it did not surprise him in the least. With her headstrong ways, her disobedience, and her recklessness, she had been marked for ignominy from the beginning. Of course, her father’s appalling overindulgence had worsened matters, but the real fault lay in the girl’s essential character; she had simply been born bad. Only a thoroughly wicked creature could have subverted a marriage arranged with such care by her family. When Nalio recalled his correspondence with the Magnifico Tribari, in which he had found himself obliged to announce the disappearance of the prospective bride, the shame and rage were like acid inside him. He should have told Tribari that the wayward little vixen was dead.
And now, after all the harm she had caused, she was in trouble and whining for help. She didn’t deserve help. She was nothing but a source of trouble and misery to her House. Of course, the trouble and misery would worsen a hundredfold should it become generally known that a member of House Belandor had been jailed for theft, vagrancy, disorderly conduct, or whatever she had been charged with.
It occurred to Nalio then that the messenger, the little Maidenlady Memenni, clearly had not known Jianna’s true name. The thought came like a ray of light. His niece, it seemed, still retained a lingering shred of decency. She had not divulged her identity; she had chosen to spare House Belandor that particular humiliation. It was her one considerate choice, in a life given over to vice, and as such, it should be respected.
Were Aureste Belandor present, Jianna would be plucked from the prison within the day, restored to comfort and luxury. But Aureste was absent, and there was no telling when he would be home again, if ever. In the meantime, Nalio Belandor was acting head of the household, and Nalio Belandor believed that young people should learn to accept responsibility for their deeds and misdeeds. If Jianna had run afoul of the law, it was only right that she pay her debt to society. The experience was certain to furnish much-needed instruction, to sharpen her neglected moral sense, and therefore was, in the largest sense, for her own good.
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