The Hidden City

by Michelle West

  Rath shrugged; it was true. They sat in a companionable silence, but it was heavy with things unsaid. To Rath’s great surprise, some of those did not remain that way. “My sister,” he said quietly.

  The word hung in the air between them; it appeared that not only had Rath surprised himself, but also Andrei. It was almost worth it.

  The servant raised a brow, and then slowly bent his elbows above the armrests, shadowing them as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “She is well,” he said at last. “The House Terafin is, for the moment, at peace.” He paused and fastidiously brushed wood ash from his pant leg. “She has, of course, asked after you.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Patris Hectore has been favored with an invitation to the House,” he replied, as if this were commonplace.

  “And you attended him.”

  “That is my privilege,” Andrei answered quietly.

  “Has she made many friends?”

  “In House Terafin?”

  Rath nodded.

  “As many as one would expect of a woman of power and position.”

  “Which would be none.”

  “Ararath, that is beneath you.”

  “You might have noticed, Andrei, that very little is beneath me in my current life.”

  “But not nothing,” was the grave reply.

  Rath was silent. “I didn’t think,” he said at last, “that she would survive.”

  Andrei raised a brow. “You judge your sister harshly,” he said at last, “And without your usual perception.” He looked at his hands as he spoke, and in this, he was a consummate servant; he knew where to look, and when. “But as this is unusual, and you are in an unexpected mood, I will be more forthcoming than would ideally suit my position. She almost died in the struggle to take the House and make it her own; were it not for the intervention of a healer—from the House of Healing upon the Isle—she would have perished.”

  The words filled Rath with emptiness, or the appearance of it; something was opening beneath his feet, which, given they rested upon a cushioned stool in the heart of the Placid Sea, said much. “Healers seldom intervene,” he said, groping for words and finding them somehow.

  “Indeed. Almost never.” He paused, and then added, “You might know the man; I believe you met him on one occasion.”

  “Alowan.”

  “Alowan Rowanson, yes. He is not young now. But I believe—”

  “I know him,” Rath continued. “He is old, even by my standards. He came when she called.” Flat words, no surprise in them.

  “He is resident within the Terafin House upon the Isle.”

  At that, Rath did sit up in surprise.

  “He has not, however, seen fit to accept the offer of the Terafin name; he is still Rowanson, as he was born, and I do not believe that will change in the foreseeable future.

  “The Chosen serve her,” Andrei continued. “And she has built, within the House Council, an uneasy alliance of mutual interest. They look outward, now, rather than in, among themselves; if they sharpen their blades, they are now aimed at external enemies.” He paused again. “The man who almost succeeded the man previously known as The Terafin—”

  “Was called the Butcher, if gossip is to be believed.”

  “He was not called the Butcher in common parlance among his peers,” Andrei said, with a hint of disapproval. But it was a hint that held no substance, no weight. “There is none, now, who will challenge her rule; it has been this way for many years, and I do not believe it will change while she lives.”

  Rath nodded bitterly. “And so she is now the most powerful woman upon the Isle, save for the god-born and the Twin Kings.”

  “And no one calls her the Butcher,” Andrei replied calmly. “Nor will they. She is not the child she was. Nor are you.”

  Rath nodded. Thinking now, for one dangerous moment, about a statue with eyes of sapphire and a voice that contained the echoes of the voices of gods. Thinking of the darkness and the emptiness in which that statue had remained for centuries, waiting for Jewel’s touch to invoke it.

  And yet when it had spoken, its words had not been for Jewel, who lay insensate, but for Rath. He almost spoke of it, but Andrei’s position shifted. It was subtle, but Rath understood instantly that their moment of isolation was about to be broken, and he almost welcomed the interruption.

  Andrei stood as two men joined them. Rath lifted a brow, and Andrei ignored it. Luck, it seemed, was with them. But there was enough of the streets in Rath to make him wonder which face Kalliaris now showed him: the frown or the smile. Perhaps both; she was a cagey god at best, and if she was the one whose name was most frequently spoken in the holdings, it was spoken with dread and hope in equal measure.

  Andrei took the smooth carved stone from his pocket, but before he could place it upon the fireside table, one of the two men lifted a pale hand. He wore the robes of the Order of Knowledge beneath an oiled cloak that he had somehow managed to walk past the doormen.

  Andrei nodded and pocketed the stone, and chairs were drawn closer to the fireside.

  “Andrei,” the man who had motioned said. His voice was smooth and colorless, the single word uninflected.

  Andrei nodded again, but this time with more purpose, and Rath rose in greeting. “May I introduce you to Ararath Handernesse?”

  The man lifted both of his hands and drew the hood of the cloak from the frame of his face; it was a slender face, and seemed at once aged and ageless. His hair, bound back in a braid that fell well beyond the hood itself, was all of white.

  “Member APhaniel,” Andrei said. “You honor us with your presence.”

  The words failed to register; the man turned steel-gray eyes upon Rath, and held him in a fixed stare for a moment. A long moment. “Handernesse?” he asked at last. “Are you, then—”

  “I am a friend of Andrei’s,” Ararath replied. If words could be either window or gate, his were the latter, and at that the type of gate which stands beneath curtain walls, manned.

  “As you will,” the mage replied, withdrawing his attention, or at least the appearance of such. It was not, in Rath’s opinion, a good start. The man turned to Andrei. “Understand,” he said quietly, “that the nature of your inquiries is frowned upon within the Order of Knowledge.”

  Andrei inclined his head. His fingers still formed a perfect steeple; if he was uncomfortable in the presence of a man who wielded power as if it were thought, he gave no sign. “Surely,” he said quietly, “the Order of Knowledge does not turn away from knowledge itself.”

  “No, indeed,” the man replied, seating himself. His companion sat beside him, hood still high. “Although there is good reason that it is not named the Order of Wisdom.

  “Recall if you will the old adage, ‘knowledge is power.’ Pretend, for a moment, that you believe it. There are some powers denied, by law and the Kings, to any who would otherwise make claim to be a power. What they gainsay, we, of course, do not seek.”

  Andrei once again inclined his head.

  “But,” the second mage said, speaking for the first time, “the fact that you make these inquiries is of interest to those who dwell within the Order.” To Rath’s surprise, the speaker was a woman. Although talent did not reside solely in one gender or another, it was seldom that Rath had cause to speak with members of the Order, and he could count the number of times one of those members had been female on exactly none of his fingers. As if she could hear his thought, she turned to look at him, and as she did, she lifted her hood.

  She was old, to Rath’s eye, and bent with age; how much of this was fact, and how much act, he did not venture to guess. It was, among other things, impolite—and in the Placid Sea, he was reminded of the manners of youth. And also of the necessity for such manners.

  Her smile, however, was benign.

  “May I present my colleague, Sigurne Mellifas.”

  As names went, it sounded vaguely familiar to Rath. Clearly, however, it was more th
an vague to Andrei, whose eyes visibly rounded. And narrowed, just as quickly.

  “Yes,” the first mage said quietly. “The nature of your inquiries requires a caution that I am unwilling to vouchsafe on my own behalf. My colleague has some interest in the antiquities, and no sense, whatever, that knowledge has more value than life.”

  Andrei’s nod was slight. “My apologies, Member APhaniel. I did not intend to cause difficulty when I first requested your presence.” He added, before Rath could speak, “And I believe that House Araven has paid in full for your time?”

  “In advance, yes.”

  “Good. But we have not undertaken the hire of Member Mellifas; nor was I aware that her time could be bought.”

  “You are not in our debt,” the first mage said coldly. “But if the time is granted freely, it is not less valuable. Do not waste it.”

  “As you say.” Andrei removed the satchel that was tucked to one side. “This, I believe, is yours.”

  “You believe incorrectly; it is not property of the Order of Knowledge. It was, however, bartered for with some difficulty.” He held out his hand.

  Andrei set the bag on his palm.

  To Rath’s surprise, Member APhaniel chose to open the satchel. He did not take the knives out; instead, he gave them a single cursory glance. He showed no surprise at what he saw. Instead, he passed the satchel to his companion, and waited in silence.

  She did not so much as look at them; she took the satchel and said, in a voice several degrees cooler, “When were these used?”

  “This morning,” Andrei replied.

  She turned to her companion. “Four,” she said.

  He nodded. “Four, and in so short a time. Andrei. Your explanation.”

  “I have little to offer; the four knives were used, in pairs, on two occasions.”

  “This morning?”

  “This morning would be the second. Activities in the lower holdings have become somewhat suspect, and in the course of investigations, the use of the blades became necessary.”

  “Necessary?”

  “No other weapons had any effect.”

  Member APhaniel nodded. “Magic?”

  “If you mean, was magic used by the men whom these blades killed, the answer is yes.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “My apologies, Member APhaniel. I am not a member of the Order of Knowledge. Please be more explicit.”

  Explicit, in the case of the white-haired mage, involved the slow filling of a long-stemmed pipe. Andrei despised pipe smoke on general principles, but held his peace as he waited. While the pipe’s bowl was carefully fitted with dry leaf, the mage said, “I wish to know if magery of any sort was used against these men.”

  “Once.”

  “To any effect?”

  “To some. I have the writ,” he added.

  Meralonne APhaniel lifted a hand; the pipe hand. Had Rath not known better, he would have said that the mage was quite familiar with Andrei’s fastidious disdain. “I am sure you have the required paperwork, Andrei. I would not, however, be surprised if the dates were somewhat stale.”

  Andrei shrugged.

  “You play a dangerous game, as I have said.”

  “I do not seek to play games at all,” Andrei replied quietly. “They are neither my desire nor my responsibility. But where my responsibility crosses their path, I will of necessity be forced to fulfill it.”

  “Understood.”

  “It is understood,” Member Mellifas said quietly, “by Member APhaniel, but he is not known for his attention to fine detail.”

  “Which means, Member Mellifas, that the explanation is not enough for you?”

  “Very perceptive.”

  Andrei shrugged again, and this time, he turned to Rath. “Ararath,” he said quietly, “Sigurne Mellifas presides over the Order of Knowledge as its titular head. It is not a comfortable position, but a necessary one.”

  And in that many words, he offered Rath to the mages. Rath was both surprised and unsurprised; he was godson, not blood, to Hectore, and while his godfather was willing to sacrifice much for the sake of old ties and affection, the willingness extended only so far.

  “I am afraid,” Rath said quietly, “that I have even less familiarity with the Order than Andrei; what you wish to know, you must ask.”

  Sigurne Mellifas nodded, as if she expected no less.

  “I live in the lower holdings,” Rath added quietly.

  She raised a brow, but held her peace. “And you have cause to suspect that things are amiss?”

  “Where there is magic, there is usually both money and a great deal of influence and power,” he replied quietly. “And demonstrably, there has been magic.”

  “Ah. And the nature of that magic?”

  “Invisibility,” he replied quietly.

  She frowned.

  “And fire.”

  The frown deepened. “It is unlikely that writs would be granted for the use of either.”

  “I consider it very likely,” he replied. “Paper itself is frequently found, and writs granted in cases of emergencies to the members of the Magisterium who are responsible for the patrol of the holdings are not difficult to access.”

  “These were not magisterial guards.”

  “No.”

  “But you believe that the Magisterium has been compromised?”

  Rath shrugged. “The Magisterium is a fine institution,” he said, grudgingly, “but men are men everywhere.”

  “The Magisterium, in this, is beholden to the Order,” she replied quietly, “and no such request has recently crossed my desk.” Before he could speak, she added, “Recently, in this case, covering the period of time that is roughly equal to the last decade.”

  “There are the writs of exception.”

  “If a writ of exception is to be used in case of emergency, its use nonetheless requires a full report. A full and timely report.” Her tone made clear that timely was about five seconds after its use.

  “Believe, Ararath Handernesse, that such reports are read with care and a great eye to detail. Believe that those who tender those very necessary reports write them with care and precision.

  “And believe, as well, that no such report has been offered me in the last several years.”

  He raised a brow, and she offered a grudging smile.

  He nodded slowly. “Magic was nonetheless used. Money and power of the nature required to purchase the services of a less scrupulous mage is seldom found in the lower holdings; the lower holdings may claim few charms or virtues, but this absence would be among them.”

  “Granted. You were a witness to both of these uses of magic?”

  “I was a combatant,” he replied.

  “Ah. And you used the daggers?”

  “The second set, yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In a large brothel of no legal standing.”

  “I see.” She looked at him as if she did, and further, as if she might approve. “And what led you there?”

  “A girl,” he replied. “Before you make further inquiries, without her permission, I cannot in conscience speak more of her.”

  “A girl.”

  He nodded.

  “Very well. She seemed normal to you?”

  “As normal as any foundling who has been sold into slavery, yes.” The words were harsher than he had intended, but he kept his tone neutral. That much, he could manage.

  But the anger surprised him.

  “Ararath,” Andrei said dryly, “has never been known for a great love of sentiment, and he has seldom been called a hypocrite.”

  “Then this began as a matter of more practical concern?” The woman asked Andrei.

  Rath wanted to kick him. As it was unlikely to be viewed in the correct social light, he refrained.

  “Let us labor under the assumption that it was.”

  “And that the dealings of these men somehow naturally crossed his path?”

  “Even so
.”

  “And both uses of the daggers occurred in illegal brothels?”

  “Ah. I have not made myself clear. The latter, I was not witness to. The former took place within the Common. Rath is something of an amateur historian,” Andrei added quietly, passing the mess he had made of the conversation back to Rath.

  “Ah. And your area of speciality?”

  “I believe,” Member APhaniel said, blowing smoke as he casually rejoined the conversation, “that it has something to do with Old Weston.”

  And Rath remembered Member Haberas, and was silent for a moment. But the pale-haired mage was waiting, and if he waited with perfect patience, there was something in his posture that implied veneer, not substance.

  To his surprise, the mage added quietly, “The death of Member Haberas remains under investigation.” It was both invitation and acknowledgment. Member Mellifas looked at Member APhaniel and frowned; the frown was slight, and seemed to contain no anger, no real criticism.

  Hard to remember that he was dealing with a woman who in theory ruled the Order of Knowledge. But remembering Haberas more clearly than he had in some time, Rath thought that this particular difficulty suited the Order, where a firmer, clearer hand might not.

  “There were some irregularities,” she said at last. “The Magisterium has not been entirely sympathetic to our requests.”

  Rath frowned. “To your request, Member Mellifas?”

  “Even to mine,” she replied, with a tired smile. Yes, hard to imagine that this tired, old woman could rule the mysterious and terrifying Order. “For this reason, we have not chosen to involve the Magisterium more closely than the rule of law demands.”

  He absorbed her words slowly.

  “Yes,” she said, before he could formulate a suitably tactful question. “This means we suspect that there are members of the Magisterium who have been placed in just such a position of authority to oversee our investigations, and not to our benefit.”

  “By who?”

  “That is the question that we hope to answer. You will not, of course, be called upon in the course of these investigations. Any information you give us will therefore be considered collegial, but not legal.” She paused, and then added, “Your friend, Andrei, has been most helpful.”