Above His Proper Station

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Yes,” Nivain said. She stepped forward, hesitated, flung the skillet aside, then stepped across her husband.

  His hand rose, groping for her ankle, and with a soft gasp she tumbled into Anrel’s arms. He quickly pulled her out the door and set her on her feet, where Perynis could take her hand and steady her.

  After allowing mother and daughter a moment for a quick embrace and a few words of comfort, Anrel urged them away from the door. “I hear him moving,” he said. That was the simple truth; the door had not closed fully, and Anrel could clearly hear Garras muttering to himself and trying to push himself up.

  Nivain immediately started away, choosing her direction at random until Perynis caught her elbow and said, “This way.”

  A few seconds later the three of them were hurrying up the alley in the direction that would eventually bring them to Wizard’s Hill Court. Garras staggered out the door and bellowed, “Come back here!”

  Nivain hastened her pace, and the others hurried to catch up.

  “He’s drunk,” Nivain said.

  “So it would appear,” Anrel agreed, as they emerged from the alley.

  Nivain started to turn left, and the others caught her, one on either side, and guided her to the right. She looked up at Anrel, startled. “Where are we going?” she asked. “I thought … either the tenement or …”

  “We are bound for my uncle’s house in Wizard’s Hill Court,” Anrel replied. “I will explain why as we walk.” He glanced back over his shoulder; Garras was following them, stumbling along the alley with one hand to his head, but losing ground.

  “Are you all right, Mother?” Perynis asked. “Did he hurt you?” She studied her mother’s face, apparently trying to judge the extent and severity of the bruising. “He said he hadn’t touched you,” she added accusingly.

  Nivain shook her head. “I will be fine,” she said.

  “How did he find you?”

  “I don’t know,” Nivain said. She smiled bitterly. “He complained about how long it took, but he never said how he accomplished it.”

  “He probably simply asked everyone he met if they had seen you,” Anrel said. “You don’t seem to have made a point of secrecy, after all; you have been using your own names.”

  “I never thought he would come here looking for us!” Nivain cried.

  Anrel held his tongue.

  Nivain looked at him, then at Perynis. “Where is Tazia?” she asked.

  “She is to meet us in Wizard’s Hill Court,” Anrel said, speaking firmly. Nivain did not yet seem fully in command of herself, which was entirely understandable under the circumstances, and he wanted to keep her focused on essentials—most importantly, their destination.

  Nivain looked at Perynis, who nodded. “That’s right, Mother. She’s meeting us there, along with a Quandish sorcerer.”

  “A what?”

  “A friend of mine,” Anrel said. “Lord Blackfield.”

  Nivain turned to Anrel. “You said you would explain?”

  “As long as we keep walking, yes,” Anrel said. He glanced around. There were relatively few people on the street, and none of them seemed to be paying any particular attention to Anrel and his companions. Anrel thought he could hear shouting somewhere in the distance, but it was far enough away that he felt they could safely ignore it.

  “It seems that some members of the Grand Council have finally tired of their pointless hairsplitting arguments, and have chosen to act,” he said. “At their orders the city gates have reportedly been closed, Lume is to be sealed off, and wardens and watchmen are gathering up everyone the council considers enemies of the empire. That includes a few dozen sorcerers, perhaps certain troublesome foreigners, and assorted rabble-rousers—including myself. We are to be dragged before tribunals and questioned, and although no one has yet said so openly, I suspect most of us will be hanged as traitors.”

  Nivain stared at him. “Hanged?”

  He snorted. “That’s hardly new, is it? I was under sentence of death when you first met me.”

  “But aren’t you a delegate to the Grand Council?”

  “I was until this morning, yes. I believe I have now effectively resigned my seat.”

  “But they … how can they do that? Did the sorcerers take over the council?”

  “Oh, they most assuredly did not,” Anrel told her. “No, the radicals on either side have joined forces, each side sacrificing some of its own to accomplish this alliance. Lord Allutar is on their list of enemies, and his name surely comes before my own. They think to appease the mob and make peace.” He peered along the largely deserted street. “It may even work, but I am not inclined to donate my life to the experiment.”

  “So you are going into hiding? But what does that have to do with your uncle, or this Quandish lord?” She glanced at Perynis. “Or us?”

  “Lord Blackfield has offered me transport to Quand,” Anrel said. “He has been promised safe passage out of Lume until sunset; after that, he is given to understand that he will be unwelcome here, and perhaps anywhere in the empire. At some risk to himself, he has agreed to bring me out of the city in the guise of one of his servants, and I am, I assure you, very grateful for this generosity, but I will not go without Tazia. Leaving her behind in Beynos was the worst mistake of my life, and I have no intention of repeating it. I am offering her the chance to accompany me, and for her sake and yours, I am offering you the same opportunity. While I realize Quand is a foreign land that can never be your home in the way Walasia is, witchcraft is legal in Quand, and to the best of my knowledge there are no mobs shouting in the streets of Ondine, nor club-wielding wardens dragging people to unknown fates. I think an extended stay there might be a good idea for us all.”

  Nivain nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Then she asked, “And your uncle?”

  Anrel sighed. “I fear that he and my cousin Saria may be on the list of alleged traitors,” he explained. “She is Lord Allutar’s betrothed, and my uncle attempted to defend Allutar’s home from the mob. I am hoping that they, too, might accompany us to Quand.”

  “How many people can this Quandishman take?” Nivain asked. “How will he transport us all? Does he have a ship?”

  “A coach,” Anrel said. “And whether there will be room for us all is an open question.”

  “Are there any others, then?”

  “No,” Anrel replied. “That’s all.”

  “It seems more than enough. All of us in a single coach, all the way to Quand? It may be a very crowded ride,” Perynis remarked.

  Neither Anrel nor Nivain bothered to answer that.

  Perhaps a quarter of an hour later the trio arrived in Wizard’s Hill Court. Anrel was relieved that no warden had attempted to stop them; he guessed that the one he had met before was busy elsewhere, arresting some enemy of the people at the council’s behest.

  The court was empty. There was no Quandish carriage, nor any sign of Tazia, and for a moment Anrel feared that something dreadful might have befallen her, and cursed himself for sending her alone.

  But then, if he had come, there was no chance that Lord Dorias would have admitted them. If all had gone as planned Tazia was inside the house even now, talking to his uncle. Anrel marched up the granite steps and swung the knocker for three deliberate blows.

  The wait seemed interminable. Anrel looked back at the entry to the court, at the watchmen’s arch; there was no watchman in sight on the walkways, no warden on the streets, but Anrel knew that one might happen along at any moment.

  Then at last the door opened, and Ollith stood there.

  “Master Murau,” he said.

  “Good day, Ollith,” Anrel said. “Is my uncle in?”

  “I have been given specific instructions, sir. You are not permitted in the house, nor is anyone accompanying you, but if you wish to speak to Lord Dorias, and would be so kind as to wait for a moment, he will come out.”

  That was not a complete acceptance, but it was certainly better than Anrel had
feared. “Thank you, Ollith, I will be happy to wait.” He glanced at the others. “I believe Mistress Lir is here?”

  “She is.”

  “You might mention that her mother and sister are with me.”

  “I will do so, sir.” He bowed, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

  “I don’t understand,” Nivain said. “Why must we wait out here?” She glanced up at the sun, which was uncomfortably bright and already well past its zenith. None of them had eaten since breakfast, nor had anything to drink in hours.

  Anrel admitted, “I am afraid that my uncle and I are not on the best of terms.”

  “But aren’t you coming to save him from the mob?”

  “I believe that is why he is willing to speak with us at all. I asked Tazia to plead my case, and it would appear she has done so.” He glanced at the arch over the court entry, uncomfortably aware that a watchman might appear without warning—though it occurred to him that he had not, in fact, seen a member of the Emperor’s Watch all day. The arches and walkways were still there, of course, but he had not seen anyone on any of them, nor had he seen any watchmen at the baths that morning.

  He blinked, trying to decide just how unusual that actually was. The watchmen were such a common part of the city’s background he no longer consciously noticed them, but an entire day on the streets without seeing one seemed a little peculiar.

  He had certainly seen wardens and their deputies, though. He peered under the arch, dreading the prospect of a man in a black coat, or a crowd in red armbands.

  He thought he glimpsed a figure in the shadows, but could not be sure. He debated going for a closer look, but decided against it; his uncle might appear at any second, and if Anrel were not immediately ready to talk to him he would most probably take it as a deliberate affront.

  Then the black door of the town house opened, and Lord Dorias stepped out.

  He was wearing his best wine-colored coat over a cloth-of-gold vest. His graying hair was pulled back in a braid, and crowned with a black hat with a feathered cockade. His badge of office as burgrave of Alzur hung on his chest, supported by a heavy gold chain around his neck. This was not the attire he would wear to speak to his errant nephew; this was the formal garb of an official of the Walasian Empire.

  He stopped on the uppermost of the three granite steps and looked down at his visitors.

  “My lord,” Anrel said with a bow. He made a hasty gesture at his waist to the Lirs, who both reacted by bowing as well, a little belatedly.

  “Master Murau,” Lord Dorias said.

  “I trust Mistress Tazia Lir has explained the situation to you?”

  “She has told me that you have some mad scheme to spirit us all off to Quand, abandoning the empire to the mob.”

  Anrel’s heart sank. “My lord,” he said, “dear uncle, we do indeed have an opportunity to escape the capital in the company of Lord Blackfield.”

  “And why should we want to escape?” Dorias demanded. “What is there to escape from? I am a nobleman of the empire, a sorcerer, and the burgrave of Alzur. Why would I want to flee the very capital of the empire?”

  “Because, my lord, the capital has fallen into the hands of a group of conspirators within the Grand Council who have used the discontented populace to seize power. They have the support of the burgrave of Lume, and have obtained access to the Great List. They have your true name, my lord.”

  Lord Dorias frowned at him.

  “Why would they have my true name?” he demanded. “I have done nothing to displease the mob, or to cause the emperor to reveal my name.”

  “Let us hope you are right, my lord, that you have done nothing to displease the people of Lume, but I fear you misjudge their temper. They are in no mood to extend the benefit of any doubt, and you are known to be a friend of Lord Allutar, who many deem responsible in large part for the worst ravages of the famine that has left the children of the city crying for bread. Indeed, your daughter, my cousin, is betrothed to the landgrave of Aulix. I am also told you tried to prevent the people of Alzur from burning Lord Allutar’s house. I believe it likely that these will be seen as sufficient crimes to see you dragged before a tribunal.”

  “We have done nothing that would cause us to fear a tribunal,” Lord Dorias insisted. “And in any case, the emperor would scarcely consider such charges sufficient cause to open the Great List to my name!”

  “Alas, the emperor has allowed the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery free access to the entirety of the Great List. Indeed, I myself was brought to the palace to assist in copying names from it. I distorted those I could, but your name, Uncle, was given to another to record, and I could not prevent its accurate transcription.”

  “What?”

  “It is as I have said. The Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery has recorded the true names of almost every sorcerer in the empire.”

  Shaken for the first time, Lord Dorias asked plaintively, “Why would the emperor allow that?”

  “Because he has been promised the confiscated estates of anyone the tribunals might convict of treason, and assured that these estates can be used to pay his debts.” Anrel was tempted to add that the emperor had made a stupendously foolish bargain, but resisted. This was not the time and place to argue the wisdom of His Imperial Majesty’s actions.

  For a moment, Lord Dorias stared silently at Anrel. Then he said, “What evidence do you have for this fantastic tale? How am I to know this is not all some elaborate lie you have concocted to lure me from my home? If this conspiracy you describe does in fact exist, how am I to know that you are not a part of it, hoping to lead me into a trap? Or it could be something far less than that—it might be you are in league with ordinary thieves, who will loot my house once I leave it unguarded. You have certainly demonstrated repeatedly in the course of this past year that you are a criminal and not to be trusted. For that matter, if it is true, why would you be here, attempting to aid me? You have scarcely shown any concern for my welfare of late!”

  “You are my uncle, my lord. You are the man who took me in when my parents died, and who raised me to manhood. You paid for my education, and saw to it that I wanted for nothing. Whatever strife there may be between us, we are bound by blood, and I owe you a great debt that I cannot ignore. Were I to not do my best to see you to safety, I could not live with myself.”

  Lord Dorias drew himself up to his full height. “Do not claim to be bound by any sense of honor, Anrel Murau,” he declaimed, “for I know you have none!”

  Anrel winced. “I am profoundly sorry that you believe that, my lord.”

  Dorias glared at him, then finally turned his attention to the two women. “Who are these people?” he asked. “What happened to her face?”

  Anrel glanced at Nivain. “This is Mistress Nivain Lir, my lord; she is the mother of my beloved Tazia. And this is Nivain’s youngest daughter, Perynis.”

  “Step forward, woman,” Lord Dorias said to Nivain, beckoning.

  With a glance at Anrel, Nivain took a step forward.

  “Do you know whether there is a word of truth in my nephew’s story?” Lord Dorias demanded.

  “I …” She threw a quick look at Perynis, then at Anrel, then turned back to the sorcerer. “I do not know, my lord,” she said. “I have known Master Murau for some time, and I have thought him to be a good man, but I know nothing of councils or lists.”

  “Then why are you here with him?”

  Nivain touched the bruise on her cheek. “My husband did this to me, my lord,” she said. “Master Murau has offered me a way to escape from him, to go to a place where he cannot go. I am not concerned with politics or tribunals, but I would like to start a new life in Quand.”

  “A fair enough answer,” Dorias said. He turned to Perynis. “And you? Are you simply doing as your mother bids you?”

  “No, my lord,” Perynis said. “I have my own reasons for wanting to go to Quand—and they are mine, and not your concern.”

&nb
sp; Lord Dorias frowned. “And you know nothing of plots and politics, I suppose?”

  “I know that we saw a warden and his deputies dragging a sorcerer through the streets today, on their way to only the Father knows where. That was before my mother joined us.”

  Dorias blinked. “Did you, indeed?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  For a moment the sorcerer stared at her; then he turned his attention back to Anrel. “It would seem that there may be some kernel of truth in your tale,” he admitted. “Or perhaps this young woman is an accomplice?” He shook his head. “Even if there is some truth in it, though, why is it so very urgent that you have come here, have sent that young woman to coerce me into seeing you? What need is there to hurry? Perhaps Saria and I would be well advised to leave Lume, but I see no reason to rush off with that confounded Quandishman.”

  “My lord,” Anrel said, “the gates have been closed, and no Walasian is to be permitted to leave the city. Foreigners are being sent away, and have been ordered to be outside the walls by sunset. Concealing ourselves in Lord Blackfield’s coach may be our only chance to get out.”

  Lord Dorias grimaced, then looked from Anrel to Nivain to Perynis. Then he said, “I don’t believe you.”

  “My lord…!”

  “I don’t believe you,” Dorias repeated. “The gates closed? On whose orders? No, this is some trick of yours, Anrel. You seek to kidnap me, perhaps—have you gambling debts that you need my ransom to pay?”

  “Uncle Dorias, I swear on my soul—”

  “Do not profane yourself any further, Anrel. I will not listen.” He turned his back on his nephew. “I will send your wench out, and the lot of you can go to Quand, or to the Mystery Lands, or to perdition, for all I care.”

  And with that, he vanished into the house and slammed the door.

  33

  In Which the Players Gather

  Anrel stared at the closed door, struggling to control himself as rage and despair seethed in his breast.

  “You tried,” Perynis said.

  Anrel bit his lip, holding back an angry outburst. His mouth twisted. “At least the coach will not be as crowded,” he said sourly. Then he shook his head. “But no, I cannot give up. I must make him listen to reason—if not for his own sake, then for Saria’s.”