The Aubade set the two humans he had saved down in front of her, then allowed himself to be led away by the Prime. One of the humans was breathing shallowly, but the other was quite terribly burned, flesh blackened and blistered, and Calla knew that he was dead, or would be dead very soon. The smell was appalling, made Calla want to weep even if she hadn’t wanted to weep anyway. A swarm of servants were quick to reach them, offering what aid could still be offered, and Calla happily vacated her spot near the carnage.
The Prime was inspecting the wounds that the Aubade had received, steam burns along his arm and a cut that wept crimson just above his forehead. It was a task made more difficult by the fact that the Aubade seemed as jubilant and energetic as a child. ‘What a splendid show!’ he insisted, struggling to rise. ‘Did you see that leap?’
‘I saw, I saw,’ the Prime said, putting her hand on his shoulder and settling him back onto the ground. ‘You were magnificent – now please stop moving.’
The Wright had been quite ill-treated by the fire, though not to such a degree as some of his humans. His robes were tattered and torn, his skin was bruised where it was not covered with soot and the flesh of his shoulder was a charred and unappetising red. He seemed to notice all of this very little, however, overlooking the sight of the crash and speaking animatedly to himself. ‘The third gear, it must have been the third gear. It caught loose shifting and tore out enough of the air sack for the gas to leak out, and then—’ He rose quickly from where he was sitting and switched to human speech. ‘Sandalwood? Sandalwood?’ He turned his neck back and forth sharply, surveying for his lost man. ‘Where is Sandalwood?’
‘I’m afraid he’s dead, my Lord,’ one of the workers chimed in, a thickset young woman who had been standing near the edge when the craft had gone down. Her face was streaked with ash and a section of her long hair had been burned away.
The Wright leaned his head back over the precipice and stared at the wreckage below. Then he turned back to the woman who had spoken. ‘Evergreen, you are now Chief Seneschal. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ the woman said after a stuttering moment, though she seemed less than thrilled at the promotion.
The craft lay far below, a peculiar and ungainly cenotaph for a man who had been her friend and lover, as well as for many people who had no doubt served the same function for others. It had fallen, Calla could see now, in the midst of a crowded thoroughfare on the Second Rung. Humans swarmed around it, and it was not hard to imagine their shock and horror at this catastrophe that had, quite literally, tumbled down upon them from the skies.
‘The first thing to do, of course, is inspect the wreckage,’ the Wright explained to his new seneschal. ‘Some of the bladders are likely still good, and perhaps one of the rudders. Remember – there is no such thing as a failure. This is but a setback, and one which will make our eventual triumph all the more thrilling.’
26
Eudokia followed Andronikos out of the main chapel, down a long, narrow set of stairs and into the small room that had been set aside for the refreshment of the Archpriest and Priestess of the Cult of Enkedri. In contrast to the gilded grandeur of the cathedral, the antechamber was small and dark and unprepossessing. It was quiet though, at least, and after half a day of ringing gongs and endless chants that wasn’t something to dismiss casually. Laid on a table were an amphora of table wine and a few vittles, and Eudokia poured two glasses and brought one over to the senator, who had collapsed into a chair almost as soon as he’d entered the room.
‘It was really quite an improvement on last month, Senator, you should feel proud.’ Andronikos snatched the glass out of Eudokia’s hand and downed it in one swoop. Eudokia ignored this coarseness and continued. ‘You’ll have mastered it completely with a few more years’ practice.’
For some reason this thought seemed not to bring the senator any great sense of comfort. He took off his headdress and laid it on the table next to them. Technically speaking, this was a violation of the sacraments, but Eudokia found it within herself to be magnanimous.
‘Bugger the ritual,’ Andronikos said unhappily. ‘And bugger Enkedri.’
‘A portion of the liturgy with which I’m unfamiliar,’ Eudokia said, taking the seat beside him.
Eudokia had got Andronikos elected high priest to fracture his coalition with Manuel, but it was a pleasant upside to see how incompetent he was at his duties, and that he clearly loathed discharging them. He couldn’t get through a prayer without stumbling over the words, and his voice, so forceful and persuasive in the Senate Hall, turned weak and quivering when reciting scripture. Midway through the service he had spilled the sacrificial wine, necessitating the repetition of a lengthy portion of the prayer, and Eudokia had managed to rein in her good humour only by reminding herself that levity was beneath the dignity of her office.
Of course she found the whole thing as pointless and absurd as did Andronikos. Eudokia thought it spectacularly unlikely that Enkedri and his siblings existed, but if she was wrong, then what horrible, grasping little pedants they were! Had Eudokia been granted divinity she’d have found something better to do with it than watching two old farts in ugly robes mutter gibberish over summer wine.
All of that notwithstanding, however, it was widely agreed that Eudokia performed her service masterfully, in a voice near sonorous, with a sense of piety at once reserved and distinct. Eudokia was a performer, among her many other roles.
It was the day of the Ascension, when Enkedri revealed himself to his siblings as being supreme among them, a day for putting on masks and throwing them off. Across the city the different guilds and neighbourhoods would immerse themselves in elaborate pageantry, trying to outdo each other in displays of garishness and frivolity. Here in the cathedral, things were less exciting – though they were about to get more so.
The ceremony had been meant to last three hours, though with Andronikos’s various missteps it had taken more than four. They would need to repeat the service in only a few short minutes and Eudokia hoped that, with his first failure behind him, Andronikos might prove more competent the next time round. But she would not hold her breath.
He certainly wouldn’t do a better job if he kept drinking so heavily. Having downed the proffered glass he was quick to pour himself another, and quicker still to drink it. ‘How you must hate me, Domina, to have imagined so torturous a punishment.’
‘What a strange thing to say! Of course I have nothing for you but the utmost respect and affection – feelings no doubt shared by your colleagues, which is why they decided that you were the only man capable of fulfilling the office of Archpriest!’
Eudokia’s kindnesses seemed to do very little to assuage Andronikos’s temper. He must really loathe ritual, Eudokia thought – or perhaps it was the recent news of Manuel’s defection, the speech he had given two weeks earlier claiming that the honour of the Republic was impossible to rectify with the continued occupation of Oscan by Salucian forces. That the blood of all true Aelerian patriots cried out to be unified with their brothers, and that if war was required to satisfy that end, then it had best come sooner rather than later.
The sudden destruction of that coalition, which had seemingly run the Commonwealth for the better part of ten years, had been a dramatic and unexpected reversal – unless you were Eudokia, of course. With Manuel and his supporters having crossed lines, Andronikos found himself desperate to cobble together what support he could from the rest of the Senate, marshalling all his rhetorical abilities and calling in every favour he had earned in twenty-odd years of corrupt dealings. Even so he had only managed to avoid outright war by by enacting a measure demanding that the Salucians attend a conference to discuss the issue. It had been a clever ploy, an attempt to co-opt the people’s fury without actually doing anything.
‘For my part,’ Eudokia continued amiably, ‘I can’t begin to express the joy I take in performing the rituals at the right hand of so upright and pious a compatriot. I
daresay if I were here with any of the other contenders, our interaction would be a good deal less enjoyable.’
‘Manuel? If I never again am forced to smell his unique melange of sweat and self-righteousness, it will be too damn soon. You know that rumour everyone tells about him is true.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t know,’ Andronikos said. ‘Probably.’
Eudokia made a clucking sound in the back of her throat that could have indicated anything, and took the opportunity to scan the room for any stray servants or minor officiants who hadn’t slipped out. Comfortable with their isolation, she smiled and turned back towards the senator. ‘A trying time for you, these last few weeks, I’m sure. Still, no one could say that your attempts to avert conflict with Salucia were anything but considerable. Phrattes must be very pleased.’
His cup stalled midway to his mouth, and a few drops of red graced the carpet. Apart from that, Eudokia thought he dealt with the shock admirably. ‘Excuse me?’ he asked.
‘Phrattes, the Salucian merchant you’ve been taking money from.’
Andronikos was not a fool, for all that Eudokia had played him for one. He didn’t rant or rave, at least not at that moment. He even set aside his cup and smoothed out the wrinkles in his ceremonial robes before continuing. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.’
‘Perhaps I’ve been confused. When I return home I’ll make sure to take a second look at those payment slips from the Slate Bank of Chazar. They seemed awfully definitive, but then, it would not be the first mistake I’ve ever made.’
Andronikos’s eyes were very wide. He drank until he discovered his glass was empty, then he stood up and carried the amphora of wine back to his seat.
‘Now, now, Honoured Father – if you continue like this, I’m afraid you’ll be no good at all for tonight’s ceremonies. And I can’t very well be expected to run everything by myself, can I?’
‘He’s your creature, then?’
‘He’s well rented,’ Eudokia said, ‘though I think we both know the man sufficiently not to overrate the strength of his loyalty.’
‘Everything I have done has been in service to Aeleria,’ Andronikos said angrily. ‘War against Salucia would be a disaster, would lead us to another war against the Others, another Scarlet Field. I have always, and will always, put the good of the Commonwealth above all else. If Phrattes wanted to pay me for something I was going to do anyway, the least I could do is let him.’
‘I’m not certain your fellow senators will feel quite so liberal about the matter – it’s been some time since I’ve examined the relevant portions of the code, but I imagine they might see your recent financial arrangements as high treason.’
‘How long have you been planning this? Certainly it was before you convinced my idiot daughter to marry her idiot husband. The Spider Queen, indeed. By the gods, is there nothing you wouldn’t do to ensure my destruction?’
‘Let’s not regard ourselves too highly. You’re a means, not an end.’
‘And what is that end?’
Eudokia smiled, apple-cheeked and fetching. ‘I want the same thing that you want, of course. The health and strength of Aeleria. Its enemies scattered, its people prosperous and happy.’
‘I don’t see how it’s in the interest of the Commonwealth to have twenty thousand of its sons run down by the demons. What could possibly make you think the outcome will be any different than it was last time?’
‘Because,’ Eudokia began, as if the point were obvious, ‘last time Aeleria did not have me to lead them. I have been planning for the Eighth War since we lost the Seventh. Every step the nation has taken for twenty years has been in service of that end. We took Dycia to have a springboard for our campaigns against the Marches, and the Marches to ensure the stability of our flanks. When we march on the Roost we will do so with the strongest army in the history of the world, and we will lay it to waste. You and the rest of the Senate may be content to bend knee to the demons, to rest with their boots upon your neck so long as you are allowed your privileges, but I am afraid I am not so naturally submissive. It is Aeleria’s destiny to overthrow the Others, to rule the continent. It is the destiny of Eudokia to rule Aeleria.’ Eudokia’s voice had grown cold, and her eyes savage, till Andronikos began to feel fear worm its way through his cocoon of wine. ‘And by the gods whom we both serve, that destiny will be fulfilled.’
‘You would drown the world in blood, in service of your ambition?’
‘How rigid a code of ethics you profess, what an uncompromising morality. Tell me, when exactly did you discover this steely resolve? This morning? Before lunch? Thirty seconds past? Certainly it wasn’t when you were selling yourself to the Salucians, trading the Commonwealth’s security to swell your purse.’ Andronikos’s cheeks were reddened by shame and wine. He opened his mouth to speak, but Eudokia waved him silent. ‘In fact, Father, none of this is a concern of yours any longer. You’ve been freed of the burdens of leadership, and how happy you must feel, how relieved.’
‘And what role do you intend me to play?’
‘The one you’ve been angling for, of course. I mean to make you the head of the embassy we’re to send to the Salucians. Who better than the great peacemaker himself to ensure that any recent difficulties are made good?’
‘You’d … you’d make me ambassador to Salucia?’
‘It’s near as done. Tomorrow, Gratian will announce the reconciliation between your two parties – an emergency measure, day-to-day politics put aside in the greater interest of the Commonwealth. You’ll leave shortly. A grand parade is already in the works; I can assure you the pageantry will be stunning, will be all that the moment requires.’ Eudokia took a moment to stare off into space, as if imagining what was in store for Andronikos. ‘Of course, no one expects you to work miracles. And if, despite all of your best efforts, the warmongering Salucians, thinking themselves impervious in their alliance with the Wellborn, force our nation into war … well, you can be assured of my continued support there as well.’
‘You … you …’ Andronikos’s face had gone from red to purple, as if his rage were a solid thing and had stuck midway down his throat. He finally managed to eject it, along with a spray of profanity: ‘Scandalous fucking cunt!’ He stood up like a shot and shattered his glass against the wall.
The insult passed over Eudokia like a gust of wind, failed to tilt the axis of her smile. ‘I’d thought you too decorous a man to resort to such vulgarity,’ she said sweetly.
Andronikos’s burst of rage, or perhaps the shift in his circumstances, had left him breathing heavily and thick with sweat. It took him a long time to sit down. ‘You’ve made a stronger enemy today than you suppose.’
‘I’m made of sterner stuff than the wine glass,’ Eudokia said. Then she gathered up her robes and stood. ‘Enough of this back and forth,’ she said. ‘It ill-befits two such colleagues, allies and friends, to be feuding.’
Before answering, Andronikos brought the amphora to his lips, guzzling from it like a babe at suck. An undignified activity given the man’s rank, but then these were trying circumstances. ‘Yes,’ he said finally, his eyes empty as the jug.
‘Excellent,’ Eudokia said, smiling. ‘And I’m afraid there is one other thing – with your duties taking you out of the capital, it seems a shame to let the services of your head cook go to waste …’
Andronikos groaned and rubbed little circles into his temples. Eudokia took the headdress from the table and set it on his skull. He sat motionless as she adjusted it carefully, making sure what hair remained to him was covered beneath the silken cap. ‘We’ll talk about the specifics later,’ Eudokia said. ‘Best put it aside for now. Remember – today is a celebration! You’ll call down the gods disfavour, looking so miserable.’
Andronikos stitched a smile across his face and let Eudokia lead him back into the chapel.
27
Bas was not happy, you could see that from an arrow-shot
away, a storm cloud trailing behind him.
‘Shoulder!’Isaac yelled and five hundred men put their pikes against their right shoulders with one rapid movement, ready now to walk forward in lockstep. In theory at least. In actual fact, if Bas had had to put a guess to it, he would have said that perhaps a hundred men shouldered the pike with one rapid movement, these competent few unevenly distributed amidst a far larger mass who had taken Isaac’s command as exhorting them to move their pikes to their left shoulder, or to try and bring it forward, or simply to do nothing at all.
‘First ranks, front!’ Isaac yelled, at which point the first three lines of men, preparing to receive a hypothetical charge, turned their weapons to horizontal. This went little better – if any of the men had been given real weapons, as opposed to comparably sized wooden sticks, a good many of them would be wounded or dead. If they had attempted such incompetence in the face of an actual enemy, Bas suspected, then all of them would be.
For all his long experience with war, this task was a new one to Bas. The Thirteenth had been in existence for nearly a century before he had joined their ranks, and even after the most terrible defeats – at Pawn’s Ford against the Marchers, at Scarlet Fields when the demons had ridden them down like sheaves of wheat – still there had been enough remnants to reconstitute the group. Replacements trickled in at all times, of course, but their training was the responsibility of their pentarche. They’d pick up the duties required of them soon enough, what with the alternative being the contempt and perhaps the cruelty of their fellows.
Those Above: The Empty Throne Book 1 Page 29