The door to number four was closed, locked and barred, and his knock went unanswered. When at last he was convinced there would be no response, he turned away, shivering, to look at the other doors.
Little Orusir tel-Panien had had the ground-floor front at number three; Anrel decided to try there next. The door was closed, but opened when he tried the latch; he ducked into the hallway, glad to be inside.
No one had ever accused the landlords here of overheating the tenements in winter, but the corridor was still warmer than the outside air, with the familiar smell of cheap wine and boiled cabbage that seemed to permeate most of the student tenements in the city. Anrel stretched a little, unhunching his shoulders for the first time in hours, then turned his attention to Master tel-Panien’s door. He knocked.
“Just a moment,” came the reply.
Anrel waited, and a few seconds later the latch rattled, and the door swung open a few inches. Orusir tel-Panien’s timid, beardless face peered through the crack. “Yes?”
“Ori? It’s me. Listen, I need a place to stay.”
“Do I know … oh, by the Father, is that you? Anrel Murau?” Tel-Panien stared.
“Yes, it’s me,” Anrel said.
“What did you do to your hair?”
Anrel sighed. “Bleached it, for the sake of a woman.”
“And where’s your cloak? You must be freezing!”
“Yes, I am,” Anrel agreed.
“What are you doing here? I thought you went home to your uncle in Aulix!”
“I did,” Anrel said. “It didn’t go well. Could I come in?”
Tel-Panien glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Anrel. “I … I’m sorry, Anrel, but I don’t think that would be wise.”
Startled, Anrel said, “Why not?”
“Things have changed since you left, especially since the solstice. The court was not pleased with how the Grand Council turned out.”
Anrel blinked, trying to guess what the Grand Council had to do with anything. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Ori peered out into the passage warily; seeing no one else, he continued, “There are rumors everywhere, and I don’t know what to believe, whether it’s the empress or the Lords Magistrate or the burgrave of Lume or someone else who ordered it, if anyone actually ordered it, but the watch has been keeping a very close eye on us all. We don’t dare do anything to draw their attention.”
“Why not?” Anrel demanded. “What are they going to do?”
“You tried the door at number four?”
“Yes, I did,” Anrel acknowledged. “It’s locked.”
“By order of the watch. They hauled everyone out of there. Some of them were released, but ordered to find other lodging. Some never came back, and we don’t know what became of them. Deola Arimar never came back; neither did Sabirin li-Karopiel. Old Vardissier—the landlord, you remember?”
“I paid him rent three times a season,” Anrel said dryly. “Of course I remember him.”
“When he came home he was limping and something was wrong with his left hand. He wouldn’t talk about it. He packed everything up, locked up the place, and went to stay with his sister in Kerdery.”
“But why?”
Ori glanced up and down the hallway again. “You know about the Grand Council?” he asked.
Anrel knew more about the Grand Council than he had ever wanted to, but he did not immediately see what the connection was. “I know something about it,” he replied warily.
“You know they meet in the ruins of the Aldian Baths because the emperor doesn’t trust them in the palace?”
“I heard something about that,” Anrel admitted.
Ori sighed. “All the wrong people were elected—at least, the emperor thought so. The empress was furious. And she and the emperor and the others all say it was clerks and students who were responsible. This Alvos, who started a riot in Naith and got Derhin li-Parsil elected—they say he was a student at the local College of Sorcerers, and of course Master li-Parsil was a clerk. Students passed the word to other cities, they say, and many of the troublemakers on the council were clerks and students—after all, we’re the ones who have studied rhetoric and oratory, and argued about every mad theory of government ever devised, so when the call went out for candidates for the Grand Council, students and clerks spoke up. The emperor apparently expected a bunch of merchants and farmers, but that wasn’t what he got, so now they blame all of us, they’re watching us …” He shuddered.
“I see,” Anrel said, dismayed. He made no mention of the fact that he, himself, was the infamous Alvos; he had invented the name in a vain hope his true identity would remain unknown when he gave his speech in Aulix Square, and while the magistrates had quickly learned who he was, apparently that news had not reached the general population. Nor were other aspects of the tale accurate; he had not been a student at the Provincial College of Sorcerers. In an attempt to shift the subject away from his own folly, he asked, “I had heard there was a curfew; is that part of the same effort?”
Ori nodded.
“But surely you can let a friend stay for a night?” Anrel pleaded. “Just until I find a place of my own? I don’t want to defy the curfew.”
“I don’t think so,” Ori said, shaking his head. “They’ll want to know who you are, why you’re here—you said you had a falling-out with your uncle?”
“Well, with others in Alzur, really.”
“You have no cloak, you have no post, you are no longer a student—I’m sorry, Anrel, but it’s too dangerous. You don’t belong here anymore.”
“Oh, but Ori—”
“No, Anrel. I’m sorry. Others may be more generous, but I cannot risk it. Go away, please. Now.” He pushed the door.
Anrel resisted for a moment, then stepped back and let it close.
He had no choice, really; what was he going to do, force Ori to take him in? No, he would need to find somewhere else. Perhaps Dariel vo-Basig, over in the Court of the Blue Dragon? Dariel had always been fond of defying authority.
In small ways, at any rate.
Anrel tugged his ragged coat more tightly about him, then stepped out into the courtyard. He turned toward the passage out of Red Serpent Court.
A watchman was standing atop the arch, watching him. The afternoon sun gleamed from his brass helmet, and he had his gray woolen cloak flung back to reveal the green and gold tunic of the Emperor’s Watch.
Anrel grimaced, then waved cheerfully and trudged onward, trying not to remember Tazia’s face or the sound of Reva’s neck snapping.
2
In Which Anrel Finds Shelter
Dariel vo-Basig had vanished; none of his neighbors admitted to knowing anything about him. Giel Darai refused to speak to Anrel. Beyir Astemin had fled back to his grandmother’s farm in Vaun.
When Anrel tried to speak to his old history professor he found a notice on the study door saying that Master Telsis was available by appointment only, and only to enrolled students. A quick look around found similar notices on several other doors. The proctor at the school entry was watching him warily, so he did not stay to investigate further.
By the time Anrel had learned this much the sun was sinking low in the west, and he saw that the watchmen on the arches, like the proctor, were taking far too much interest in him—his increasingly desperate search had been observed. He realized he was not going to find a haven anywhere in the courts district.
He waved jauntily to the nearest watchman, then ducked under one of the arches, out of sight of the patrolling guards, to count his remaining money and make new plans.
He had been hoarding his funds as best he could since leaving his uncle’s house, but he had paid his share of expenses during his season with the Lirs, and a goodly sum was now lying on the bottom of the Galdin River where his coat had torn when he dove off the Beynos bridge. His pockets held four guilders and a few pence, and the lining of his coat concealed another thirty-five guilders.
Almost forty guilders—at the prices typical of Lume he would be able to live comfortably at a decent inn on that for at least half a season, but that time would pass, and what would he do then? He had left most of his possessions behind—first at Uncle Dorias’s home in Alzur, and then again at the Boar’s Head in Beynos. He owned the clothes he wore, these stacks of coins, the dagger in his boot, and nothing more. Even his hat was gone, last seen floating down the Galdin. Spending his limited funds on lodging indefinitely at an inn did not seem wise.
Besides, if Lord Allutar or Lord Diosin were sufficiently aggravated to send men after him, the city’s inns would be the first place they would look.
He had already restored most of the money to its hiding places in the coat’s lining when he heard boots on stone, and quickly stuffed the remaining coins into his pockets. He looked up as a watchman marched around the corner of the arch.
“Is everything all right, sir?” the watchman asked, in that tone Anrel had so often heard as a student, the tone that meant everything had better be all right if Anrel didn’t want to be hauled off to see a magistrate.
“Fine, thank you,” Anrel replied cheerily.
“Might I ask where you are bound?” Again, the tone made it plain that only certain answers were acceptable.
Anrel smiled crookedly. “Well, I didn’t want to do this, but I do believe I must resort to visiting my aunt in Old Altar Street.”
That was not the answer the watchman had expected. “Old Altar Street?”
“Yes, behind the temple of the Cult of the Ancients.” Anrel waved in the right general direction. “Over that way.”
“Ah.” The watchman nodded. The answer, though unexpected, would do. “Very good. Undoubtedly a better idea than staying here.” He gestured at the nearest tenement, at the entrance to the Court of Ancient Snow.
“Yes, well, if my friend had bothered to write and let me know he was leaving the city …” Anrel shrugged. “Aunt Alisette it is, then.”
“Have a good evening, sir,” the watchman said with a slight bow.
“And may your own be as pleasant,” Anrel replied with a gesture that would have been tipping his hat if he still had a hat. Then he ambled off in the direction of Old Altar Street, hoping the watchman would not follow.
He did not.
Anrel had no Aunt Alisette; so far as he knew the Murau family was extinct save for himself and a few distant cousins he had never met, and neither of his aunts on the Adirane side was still alive. His actual intention was to take a bed at an inn tonight—as unlikely an inn as he could find, just in case someone was pursuing him—and then to see about renting an inexpensive furnished room in the morning.
Anrel did not want an officer of the Emperor’s Watch making suggestions for lodging, though, and perhaps accompanying him to make sure the advice was followed. He had created a fictitious aunt as the best way to avoid further discussion.
Where he would rent a room on the morrow he had not yet decided—Catseye, perhaps? Or overlooking the Galdin Steps, where the smell from the fish markets kept rents low? Or in one of the ancient alleys of Old Heart? Almost anywhere in the city that he could find inexpensive lodging would serve—anywhere but the courts, where he might be recognized.
Then, once he had a home, he would need to find employment. He could not risk the sort of clerical career he had once assumed he would pursue, but he was young and healthy, he could read and write in more than one language, he had some modest facility with numbers—surely there was some way to earn an honest living in Lume. Perhaps one of the banks, or the mercantile firms, could find a use for him. He was not particularly big or strong, but if all else failed he could probably manage to work at the docks, loading and unloading the barges that plied the Galdin.
First, though, he needed to find an inn before the curfew.
There were any number of establishments scattered through the capital, of course, though they tended to cluster around the gates, the coach stations, the docks, and the magistrates’ offices. Those clusters were the first places that anyone looking for him would inquire, and were therefore eliminated from consideration.
He glanced back, and saw the watchman climbing the stairs that led back up to the top of the nearest arch. Anrel picked up his pace; he wanted to be around a corner and out of sight by the time the guardian of the imperial peace regained his elevated vantage point. Anrel hurried toward the Ancients Temple and under the Green Arcade, which took him safely out of the watchman’s sight.
He promptly turned sharp right and cut through the Scholars’ Market, ignoring the crowd there, then doubled back along Dazarin Avenue. At the ancient and mysterious statue the students called the White Pig he veered onto the sparsely populated Guev Way, and a hundred yards farther brought him to Executioner’s Court, which was blessedly deserted. He hurried through the arcade there, on the far side from watch headquarters, and out of the courts.
From there he made his way quickly past a few streets of expensive homes, across Jeweler Street, up and over Zudil Hill, and into the Catseye district, where he began looking for a signboard indicating an inn.
Catseye was a district of shopkeepers and workmen, and not one students or travelers were likely to visit. That meant any pursuers seeking him were unlikely to look there—but it also meant there were few inns. The sun was well down and the twilight fading by the time the glow of a torch finally guided him to an establishment with the unlikely name of the Emperor’s Elbow. Anrel was sure there must be a story behind such a name, but he was in no mood to hear it; he was exhausted and ravenously hungry, and once he was certain that the Elbow was indeed an inn he wanted nothing more than a chair and a meal. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He stopped just inside the door as the sight, sound, and smell of the inn’s interior registered.
This was not the sort of welcoming traveler’s rest he was familiar with from previous journeys to and from Lume, nor was it the sort of cheerfully shabby tavern frequented by the students in the courts. The Emperor’s Elbow did not bother with beeswax candles or oil lamps; what dim illumination there was came from a few scattered rushlights, and the place reeked of burning fat. The casual chatter and friendly laughter Anrel associated with inns was not to be heard here; instead what little conversation there was seemed to be conducted entirely in angry whispers. The few tables were crude and heavy, slabs of rough wood atop crossed-beam trestles, and the seating was an assortment of mismatched stools, with no proper chairs to be found. Dirty straw covered much of the floor, but those portions where the straw had been kicked aside revealed hard-packed black earth, rather than flags or planking. The low-beamed ceiling was so black with soot that Anrel was not sure whether it was wood or something else entirely.
He had some difficulty in believing what he was seeing; how could so crude a place as this exist in Lume? In the outlying provinces people made do with what they had, and Anrel would not have been terribly surprised, but the capital had always had higher standards than the farther reaches of the empire. An inn like this could only have been established during the chaotic years that immediately followed the Old Empire’s fall, and for it to have survived the subsequent centuries unimproved was astonishing.
But then, it was in Catseye, where no one had had a reason to build or improve an inn for hundreds of years.
Under other circumstances Anrel would want nothing to do with such a place, but he was here, it was warm, and at least it was unlikely to be expensive. He shuddered one last time, then trudged to the nearest empty stool and sat down, glad to be off his feet—all the more so because he had thought he could feel something moving in the earthen floor.
That might, he told himself, just be the natural flow of magic through the ground. Most magic drew power from either earth or sky, and here there was nothing separating him from the earth but the soles of his boots. Still, he was glad to be able to tuck his feet under the stool, off that strangely lively floor.
He had been sitti
ng for a minute or two when a man in a wine-stained leather apron appeared out of the shadows to stand beside him. “What do you want?” he asked, glaring down at Anrel.
“A meal and a bed,” Anrel replied.
“Sixpence.”
Anrel grimaced. “Fine,” he said. He could easily have paid twice that in a decent inn, but he suspected it was more than the Elbow’s offerings were worth. If the accommodations were too unpleasant, perhaps he could dicker it down in the morning.
“In advance.”
So much for dickering. He had agreed to the price; he could hardly balk at the timing. He fished a coin from his pocket and handed it over.
The innkeeper, if that’s what he was, held the coin up to the nearest light and studied it before nodding and tucking it out of sight. “Wine’s another penny,” he said, still standing over Anrel.
Anrel stared up at him, openmouthed with astonishment. “And if I don’t pay it?” he said.
“You get water.”
Whatever passed for water here would probably give him the flux, and a decent glass of wine would cost a penny or two anywhere. “What sort of wine do you have?”
“Red.”
Anrel suppressed a shudder that had nothing to do with the winter’s chill. The possibility that this wine was decent looked very slim. “Fine,” he said. He produced a penny, which was inspected as the sixpence had been, and accepted. The man in the apron then turned and marched away.
Anrel watched as he vanished through a door at the back that presumably led to the kitchens, then looked around at the other customers.
There weren’t very many. Three men were arguing quietly in the back corner; two other men were facing each other across a table, discussing something intently. A man sat by the hearth with a girl on his lap, and even in the half-lit gloom Anrel could see enough of her painted face and low-cut bodice to guess her occupation.
Then he realized that her skirts were tucked up behind her, and she was moving rhythmically on the man’s lap, practicing her trade right there. Anrel blushed and looked away. None of the whores around the courts had been quite so blatant.
Above His Proper Station Page 2