by Paula Volsky
“Please.”
“It will be done, madame. My Gretti will see to it herself. I myself will be soundly asleep at that inhospitable hour. Three forty-five—A.M.! You’re for the four forty-eight southbound express, I expect.”
She nodded. “You’ve memorized the train schedule, Master Stiesoldt?”
“Not I, madame. This poor head could scarcely contain so many numbers. Gretti’s head, now—that head holds endless numbers, you ought to see her with the account books, it’s like magic—but mine does not. But I note the four forty-eight southbound, because you are the evening’s second guest to request an appalling predawn awakening for the sake of that particular train. Your fellow traveler—a Grewzian military gentleman, you know—is easier on himself, practically a hedonist. He doesn’t ask to be awakened until four.”
“Grewzian military, did you say? Is he tall and blond?”
“Aren’t they all?”
“Well—”
“Believe me, I know. Those Grewzian peacekeepers are everywhere, and I tell you I’ve never seen so many tall blond beings in my life. I think they must drown the small dark ones at birth.”
“Peacekeepers?”
“That’s what those ruffians choose to call themselves. But we Hetzians have a different name for them.” The innkeeper’s voice dropped. “We call them—”
“Master Stiesoldt, the topic is unsuitable.”
“Listen, the Grewzian presence in Upper Hetzia is unsuitable, the Grewzian attitude toward the townsmen is unsuitable, the entire so-called peacekeeping force is unsuitable. The—”
“Perhaps you could show me to the dining room?” she cut him off, alarmed at the danger resident in this Hetzian’s unguarded tongue.
“Oh, certainly. Forgive me, madame. Sometimes my Hetzian heart gets the better of my head, at least that’s what Gretti says. Here, let me take your bag.” He relieved her of her burden. “This way, if you please.”
She followed him to a pleasantly old-fashioned common room with a vast stone fireplace, dark-beamed ceiling, and unevenly worn stone floor, where he bowed and left her. She spotted Karsler Stornzof the moment she crossed the threshold. He was sitting alone at a small table in the corner, the light from the old iron chandeliers overhead glancing off his bright hair. He looked up as she entered, their eyes met, and she was struck as always by his appearance, but tonight there was a difference. Karsler was splendid as ever, but this time the image of Girays haunting her throughout the day did not vanish at sight of him.
She went straight to his table. His eyes never left her face as she approached, and something in his expression troubled her, a certain dark intensity of emotion much at odds with his usual serenity. Disappointment, chagrin that she still kept pace? Somehow she did not think so.
He rose politely as she drew near, and smiled at her. Her heartbeat quickened as always, but somehow Girays stayed put in her mind.
“Luzelle. I am glad to see you here, very glad.” Voice and eyes conveyed the same unaccountable depth of feeling. “You are well?”
“I am. Girays isn’t,” she announced flatly. They seated themselves and she continued, “He was poisoned or drugged, around noon today at the Wolktretz Station. His limbs went dead, he couldn’t stir, his face was twisted, and he could barely speak. It was horrible. It was—” Her voice broke.
“He is alive?” Karsler asked.
She nodded, and saw him draw a sharp breath.
“A physician was summoned?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“His diagnosis?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stay. My train was pulling into the station, and I ran for it. I left him there. Girays told me to go, but I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have.” Tears spilled from her eyes.
He watched her in silence for a moment, then observed quietly, “That choice was difficult. I am sorry.”
“So am I. I chose wrongly.”
“I do not think so, nor do I believe that v’Alisante would think so.”
“He wouldn’t, but I know better. I wish I’d decided differently, I wish now that I’d stayed with him. That’s easy to say after the fact, but it’s the truth.”
“And if you had stayed, then you would have sacrificed all hope of victory.”
“There are more important things.”
“Never have I heard you speak so.”
“About time, then. It’s Girays who ought to have heard me speak so. But he didn’t, because I wanted to go and he knew it. Now I only wish I had another chance.”
“Ah.” He regarded her with perfect comprehension. “Matters have altered with you. In more ways than one, I think.”
“I’m seeing some things more clearly.”
“As you come to know yourself better. I have thought from the start that you might. It was a feeling that I had.”
“A little late for self-knowledge, if Girays dies. He might be dead already.” The tears were streaming again, and she fumbled for a handkerchief.
“He is not. He will recover fully. You must believe this.”
“I wish I could.” She clenched her teeth, forcibly containing a sob.
“You are fatigued and distraught. Probably famished as well. When did you last eat?”
“I don’t know. Breakfast, I think. I’m not hungry.”
“But you must maintain your strength, or you will make yourself ill.” He caught the eye of a waiter who flew the length of the room as if magnetized.
Once again almost resentfully marveling at the power of a Grewzian uniform, she watched while Karsler ordered a meal. The waiter withdrew and he turned back to her to request gently but quite firmly, “And now, if it does not too greatly distress you to speak of it, please tell me all that happened at Wolktretz Station.”
Her tears had ceased and her voice was back under control. She told him everything, noting as she spoke that he listened with obvious concern, together with something stronger and deeper, perhaps anger or disgust; but no surprise—not a jot of surprise. Nothing she said seemed to strike him as unexpected, and for the first time, suspicion winged across her thoughts. She looked across the table at Karsler Stornzof, willing herself to disregard deceptive externals; she probed his eyes, scrupulously ignoring their color, and despite all mental reinforcements her suspicions died at once. She knew beyond question that this man had never raised a hand against Girays v’Alisante.
Yet there was something there. Karsler himself bore no guilt, but perhaps he knew who did. Into her mind popped the words he had spoken weeks ago in the midst of the Aveshquian monsoon, concerning his Uncle Ice Statue: Preferring to shorten the tedium of the journey, he has proceeded directly to Lis Folaze, where I shall meet him next.
Lis Folaze. The Grandlandsman Torvid? Whatever his personal opinions, Karsler would never betray or incriminate his kinsman; the head of House Stornzof, no less.
The food arrived. Luzelle hardly noticed what was on her plate. She ate mechanically, without tasting, but the nourishment must have done her some good, for the sense of lachrymose weakness was passing.
She looked up from her plate to meet Karsler’s eyes. “It’s not too late,” she said. “I could still go back to Wolktretz.”
“You could.” He nodded. “But is that what v’Alisante would want? Do you think he would be altogether glad to see you? He would be honored no doubt, but would he not also mourn this destruction of your hopes on his account?” There was no answer, and he observed, “The end of the race is very near. Barring unforeseen obstacles, we shall reach Toltz the day after tomorrow. To the best of my knowledge, you and I presently share the lead, and your chance of victory is real. Will you throw it away now?”
The day after tomorrow. As close as that, and it would all be over. Karsler’s point was well taken, it would make no sense and do no good to give up now.
“You and I share the lead.” She did not answer his question directly. “Do the rules of the Grand Ellipse include provision for a tie?”
“I do no
t know. You point out an interesting possibility, however. We two shall board the southbound train together in a few hours’ time. We shall change trains in Tophzenk, and the following day step forth onto the platform in Toltz. After that, whoever is first to cover the short distance between the railroad station and the city hall will win the race. It will be a very close thing indeed—but not quite a dead heat, I think.”
“Astonishing, isn’t it? After all this time, all this distance, all this desperate effort—that it should all boil down in the end to a brief dash through a few city streets, to get back to where we began? I suspect there must be something philosophical in that, somewhere.”
“You are beginning to feel better, are you not?”
“Yes. You were right, the food is helping. You were right about finishing the race, too. I wish I could undo what happened in Wolktretz, and other places, but chucking the Grand Ellipse two days from the finish isn’t the way to atone.”
“You have nothing to atone for. It is the hand and mind behind the poisoned meal that bear the guilt. The hand fouled with crime; the mind barren of moral sense, devoid of honor—”
Luzelle glanced at him in surprise. Karsler might almost have been talking to himself, blue gaze turned inward upon manifestly unpleasant visions. She reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. “Karsler, won’t you tell me what is it that you—”
The entrance of a Grewzian military squad cut her query short. Falling silent at sight of the half-dozen soldiers, Luzelle tensed despite Karsler Stornzof’s reassuring proximity. She had nothing to fear from the Grewzians so long as she was with him. And the greycoats had probably just come in for a harmless late drink, anyway. Nevertheless her mouth was a little dry, her heartbeat a little quick. Her eyes roamed the common room and she saw that every other patron had fallen similarly silent.
The voice of the Grewzian captain was effortlessly audible as he commanded, “Master Klec Stiesoldt, stand forth.”
All eyes shifted to the kitchen door, where the innkeeper stood conferring with the cook. Stiesoldt stood stock-still for a moment, eyes wide and guileless as a frightened child’s. He swallowed visibly, stepped forward, and said, “Here.”
The captain crooked a finger. “Come.”
A brace of customers occupying a table at the front of the room rose and made for the exit. Two soldiers moved to block the doorway, and the customers quietly returned to their seats.
Klec Stiesoldt advanced as if to execution. Halting before the captain, he inquired palely, “May I serve you, sir?”
“Easily enough,” the officer returned in practiced Hetzian. “We are told you are a loyal citizen. I trust these reports are accurate?”
“I am a good Hetzian, sir.”
“Willing to serve your country?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. And you understand, do you not, that the interests of Upper Hetzia and her allies of the Grewzian Imperium coincide?”
“That’s as may be, sir.”
“The Imperium has need of your talents.”
“I have no talents, sir. Unless the Imperium has need of a good innkeeper.”
“You jest, Master Stiesoldt?”
“Not I, sir.”
“Then your modesty is excessive, for it has come to our notice that you are quite the local celebrity.”
“Many people know me, sir. The Three Beggars offers generous measures and a good table.”
“And entertainment?”
“Entertainment?”
“Floor shows for the fortunate select customers. Illusions, projections, conjurations.”
“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary way, sir.”
“You do yourself an injustice. By all reports your feats are remarkable. Almost magical, it’s said.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. Just a little nonsense to pass the time.”
“You have captured my interest. Let us pass the time, then. You will demonstrate your accomplishments.”
“Well, I could show you a few card tricks, sir. I’ve got a couple of good coin tricks too.”
“I am more interested in ring tricks.”
“Ring, sir?” Stiesoldt moistened his lips. “I’m not sure I catch your meaning.”
“Do not try my patience. That ring of yours is famous in these parts, you’ve made no secret of it.”
“I’m not a secretive person, sir. It’s true I have a ring, a little keepsake that came to me from my grandfather. It’s not worth anything, except for sentiment, and I use it in some of the tricks. That must be what you’ve heard about.”
“You confess the existence of a magical ring?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it magical, sir. It’s only an ordinary little—”
“You will produce this ring.”
“Oh, it’s around here, sir, but offhand I’m not really sure where. It might not be so easy to lay hands on it. If you’d give me a little time to hunt, maybe come back tomorrow—”
“If you fail to produce this ring, we shall commence our own search, and our methods are thorough.”
Looking ruinously reluctant, Master Stiesoldt fished in his pocket to bring forth a small metallic item. The Grewzian officer extended an open palm and Stiesoldt’s reluctance deepened visibly, but he obeyed the unspoken command and the object changed hands.
From her chair Luzelle caught a quick glimpse of a small, very plain silvery ring, simple and seemingly unremarkable as its owner claimed.
The captain inspected the ring with care, finally demanding, “What is this thing made of?”
“Silver, I expect, sir.”
“I do not think so. There is a curious iridescence there, an array of fleeting changeable colors.”
“Got a little tarnish on it, sir.”
“The light glints oddly off the surface. I have never seen the like.”
“Just wants a little cleaning, sir.”
“You will demonstrate this object’s capabilities.”
“Whatever you say, sir. I know a good one—I can pull a silk handkerchief through that ring, and the handkerchief changes color in a flash. Would you like to see that, sir?”
“I have warned you about trying my patience. Let us speak plainly. This land of Upper Hetzia is rife with legends of magical rings, talismans, aetheric conflations, and the like, imbued with power and capable of marvels. More than one such legend has been authenticated. The power is real, it exists, offering potentially vast benefit to the war effort of the Imperium. We will have that power, Master Stiesoldt. If it resides in your hands, you will assist us.”
“Sir, I’ll do what I can. But this little ring here, it’s really nothing. I just use it for the parlor tricks my grandfather taught me. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”
“We have heard from more than one source that you’ve used the ring to conjure extraordinary apparitions. Such reports have been confirmed by witnesses. As you yourself have observed, you are not a secretive person.”
“You know what foolishness some people will tattle, sir. And you know what loony things they think they see after they’ve had a few.”
“It is our conclusion that the reports warrant investigation,” the captain observed. He handed the ring back to its owner. “I trust you will cooperate, Master Stiesoldt. The Imperium is as swift to reward loyalty as it is to punish subversion.”
“I’m a simple man, sir, I don’t know what subversion is.”
“Enough of this. You will now conjure an apparition. You will do it before my men and these assembled witnesses here.” His gesture encompassed the captive customers.
“Sir, I don’t understand what you want of me.”
“Then we shall try to make it clear.” Turning to his underlings, the captain commanded, “Take him. In there.” His finger flicked kitchenward.
A couple of grey soldiers grabbed the quailing innkeeper’s arms, and Karsler Stornzof stood up. “Halt,” he commanded in Grewzian.
Noting the overcomman
der’s insignia, his countrymen obeyed at once. All six stiffened to attention.
Addressing the captain, Karsler inquired, “Your intention?”
“Persuasive interrogation, sir,” the other replied.
“This Hetzian has disclaimed arcane knowledge and ability. There is little sound cause to disbelieve him.”
“Sir, the evidence of several independent reports is compelling,” the captain suggested deferentially.
“But hardly justifies recourse to, as you put it, persuasive interrogation. You will release the proprietor and withdraw yourself and your men from this inn.”
“With all due respect, Overcommander, I cannot obey.” The captain’s breast pocket yielded a document, which he presented with assurance. “My orders, sir, signed by the Undergeneral Bervsau, commander of the South District peacekeeping force. Please note, sir, I am instructed to investigate this matter in depth and pursue the conclusion by any and all available means.”
Karsler unfolded the paper. As he read, Luzelle watched his face closely and detected no visible change. But it seemed as if a current flowed to her from his mind or heart, and she sensed both anger and sadness.
“Follow your orders, then.” Karsler relinquished the document and resumed his seat.
The captain saluted smartly, then nodded to his men, who hustled the innkeeper from the common room. The kitchen door closed behind them. A discreet buzz of conversation arose. The exit remained greyly blocked.
Luzelle had lost all vestige of appetite. She found Karsler’s eyes and told him, “There was nothing you could do.”
“That is true, once again. How often will it be true, that a Grewzian evil arises and there is nothing I can do?”
“At least you tried.” Even to her own ears, it sounded feeble.
He said nothing. They sat in silence for a time, until the first cry of pain rang from the kitchen. Luzelle flinched. Another scream, and her hands clenched. The common room was silent. All present listened, and their attention was rewarded with a thud and a cry.
“Come, I will take you away from here,” Karsler offered.
She wavered, strongly tempted, then shook her head. “Not unless everyone else in this room is also allowed to go.”