If he waited for them to do it, he thought angrily. How would Julur react if Braniya delivered a self-killed corpse? Although, he realized as he thought about it further, there was nothing in the stateroom with which killing himself would be easy or certain. He recoiled from the grotesque self-mutilations that were his only choices if he wished to commit suicide. And from the idea of giving in when there was still time left to fight.
What did Julur want him for? Gods, it made no sense, that the Old Emperor had broken his Oath to the Guild for Rafe’s sake. If the truth were ever discovered, the Guild could withdraw its Oath to Julur and their services from his Empire. The chaos that would follow could topple Julur, which was the real reason that the Emperors kept their Oaths. Even if the danger of division within the Guild made it likely now that Julur would escape the full consequences of his action, ten years ago when he had Rafe kidnapped he would have had no such reassurance.
Somewhere in the missing memories between the F’sair warship and waking as Rafell the Oath-breaker, a memory of Julur must be lurking. Of Julur, of Braniya’s predecessor, of interrogation, of the process of identity-wipe … No wonder he shrank from remembering that part, Rafe thought ruefully.
Braniya had aroused no memories, or nothing specific, only the odd certainty that she reminded him of somebody. He was probably thinking of her dead predecessor, he decided sourly. Would meeting Julur trigger anything fresh? A memory that gave the reason behind this inexplicable tangle? Joshim had said that meeting somebody who figured in the missing memories could cause them to return.
There was something that could be deduced from Julur’s interest in him, he thought darkly, and that was that the New Emperor must have a corresponding interest. Yuellin had been an aristo in the New Empire and the head of a family; surely he must have met the New Emperor at some point in his life. As a child, he had been presented for the Emperor’s acknowledgement as the Buhklir heir. He strained to remember, but it was too long ago or too unmemorable to the infant he had been; all he could recall was being dressed with great precision by his nurse, and the stern back of his uncle preceding him up an endless aisle. When he tried to remember another occasion he had been at court, he failed.
Was that the pattern of the residual identity-wipe, he thought excitedly. Did it cover the periods when he had visited the New Imperial Palace? If Yuellin’s lover had been at court, Julur would have taken extra trouble to erase those memories, to expunge everything to do with the Emperor Ayvar.
His excitement faded as he realized that knowing the pattern of the missing memories was no help in recovering them. There were a thousand explanations he could invent for the pattern, and Joshim had warned him that true memories were easily concealed by an overactive imagination. Rafe wished miserably that Joshim was with him, to comfort him, to drive away the fear that Braniya had sown so effectively. Still, if he could not have that comfort, he could have the satisfaction of applying Joshim’s Aruranist techniques to consolidate the memories he had and to chip away at the barriers that remained. Havedir could not reach the Old Imperial Palace in less than ten days, not when Julur’s paranoiac security stopped ships from jumping into his defensive sphere. By the time Julur tried to steal his identity again, Rafe swore he would have reclaimed it fully. And when he knew what had happened to him in the Old Emperor’s hands last time, he would be better prepared to change things this time. As long as he knew who he was, he still had a chance.
Security alert dated 346/5043,
for the attention of Yulenda, Head of Security, New Imperial Palace
Facial pattern HA-72541 matched on entry at Main shuttleport. Subject identifies self as Guild Webmaster Joshim, accompanied by Guild Commander Rallya. Webber status verified by bio-probe. Routine surveillance continues.
347/5043
IMPERIAL ZONE, NEW EMPIRE
“We’re being followed,” Joshim said without warning. “Tall, dark haired woman, yellow-brown skin, deep brown tunic. At the top of the steps now.”
Rallya squinted in the bright sunshine, looking along the trackcar platform for the woman that he described and cursing the milling crowd of tourists blocking her view. Everything on New Imperial was hidden behind a crowd of tourists, or else—like the New Emperor—swaddled in layers of equally impenetrable bureaucracy. But at least the bureaucracy could be bypassed, or would be when Rallya had her way. The only good thing that could be said for the tourists was that they allowed her and Joshim to move anonymously around the city. And if Joshim was right, they were not even doing that effectively.
“She’s out of sight now,” Joshim said. “She’ll pick us up again down on the street.”
“Are you sure she’s following us?” Rallya asked sceptically.
“Certain,” Joshim insisted. “She was outside the hotel when we left. She didn’t get onto that trackcar until she was sure we were taking it. She waited until we got off before she did. And she watches everyone around her all the time. With the notable exception of us. Every time she looks at us, her eyes skid past as if we were greased.”
Rallya grunted less doubtfully. Even distracted with worry about Rafe, Joshim could be trusted to notice a detail like that, and to interpret it correctly. But, if they were being followed, who had arranged it? Nobody should have been able to guess where Bhattya had gone after Central. Nobody should have been able to locate them so quickly on New Imperial, unless they had been spotted at the shuttleport when they arrived. And if that was the case, the place was more thoroughly riddled with Julur’s agents than Rallya had expected. They were right to be avoiding the official channels for contacting Ayvar, the channels that would have carried their request to every interested ear in the Palace. Safer—and quicker—to find somebody to help cut through the bureaucracy and get them a secret audience with the New Emperor. Yuellin’s lover or his cousin, once either had been identified. If one of them could be trusted—and if the presence of the woman following them had not changed everything.
What instructions had Julur’s agents been given about Bhattya, and when? Braniya must have sent a warning to watch for Bhattya before she left Central; the woman deserved credit for covering all the options, Rallya admitted grudgingly. The important question was whether she had issued instructions only to watch and report, or orders to prevent them from making contact with Ayvar.
“Is she alone?” she asked Joshim as they took the steps down to street level themselves.
“I’ve not seen anyone else.”
“Hmm.” If Joshim said she was alone, she was alone. Which suggested that she only held a watching brief; that Braniya had not guessed their intention when she issued her orders. So, they were in no immediate danger. And if they could dislodge the spy or distract her, maybe they could still accomplish what they came to do.
When they reached the street, the woman was examining the fruit in a street vendor’s booth a few paces away. As they passed, she glanced up to watch them in the mirror behind the display of fruit. A few moments to let them get a safe distance ahead and she would be in place behind them again, Rallya judged. Did she know she had been spotted? If she was wearing an audiohancer, she must know, but in the crowd of tourists an audiohancer would be a liability. Even if she did know and had called for help, it would not arrive in time to forestall what Rallya planned.
“Let’s get something to drink,” she said, leading Joshim into the nearby eating-house which occupied the ground floor of one of the massive creamstone buildings that formed the heart of the city. Inside, she chose a booth screened by the greenery that New Imperial’s citizens miserably failed to keep in its proper place, out of doors: let the woman read their lips through that!
Joshim gave their order to the table attendant and sat back, glancing significantly at the choice of exits. The woman entered and took a booth that would allow her to see when they left but not close enough to draw their attention. She did not know she had been spotted, Rallya decided with satisfaction, or was not sure of it.
The drinks arrived, refreshing in the morning heat. Rallya waited for the attendant to withdraw, then said, “We leave here one at a time in different directions. She’ll have to choose one of us to follow. Whoever it is takes her on a fool’s errand.” She scowled, reckoning that as Commander, she would be the one condemned to a wasted day. But Joshim knew more of Yuellin’s history, would be more competent than she was to do the research that needed to be done. And with Rafe’s life at stake, she could rely on him to be wary about whom he approached for help. “The other goes on with our original plan. We meet up again this evening at the hotel.” And be careful; no need to add that.
“If one of us goes missing?” Joshim asked bluntly.
“Scrap the plan and go for the direct approach,” Rallya told him. “Make as much noise about it as possible. We’ll have lost the advantage of secrecy anyway.” If one of them went missing, it would be because the watcher’s role had changed; neither of them was a match for a professional assassin. She was glad that she had left Vidar behind with Bhattya rather than bring him along to be yet another target. She snorted angrily. If she was starting to congratulate herself on obvious decisions like that, it was past time that they were moving.
* * *
“And here is the Great Throne Room,” the guide announced, gesturing dramatically through a enormous pair of double-height doors. “Here, the Emperor meets his subjects in ceremonies going back to the dawn of the Empire. Masked, upon his Great Throne…”
Joshim tuned out the commentary as he followed the rest of the tour party through the doors, a few paces behind his faithful shadow. He wondered sourly if she was enjoying herself on the fool’s errand that Rallya had called for, and also, angrily, why she had chosen to follow him. It was hard enough to know that there was little he could do to help Rafe; it was unbearable to be prevented from doing even that little.
Rallya would have reached the Imperial Archives by now, might even have discovered the names they needed to know, be on her way to ask for help from one of them. Rafe’s cousin probably. She would be the easiest to find; New Imperial was the Buhklir homeworld and the Buhklir estate was on the edge of the city. If Rallya had listened when she was told that Rafe had been confident that his cousin could be trusted, they could have gone straight there without wasting any time. Or one of them could, he reminded himself bitterly.
He glared round the cavernous room, remembering the role that he was playing. Walls clad in fine mosaics and studded with precious stones, a floor tiled with clouded crystal, and at the far end of the room, a simple wooden throne raised on a dais and another pair of double-height doors. Beside the dais, a pair of impassive guards stood, dressed in a ceremonial black and silver livery and armed with far from ceremonial flash-swords. Two more guards stood in front of the doors behind the dais, the four of them the only sign of security Joshim had seen during the tour. Were they there to reinforce the dignity of the throne, or were they guarding something else? The doors, of course. The New Emperor would not enter his Throne Room through the public halls; the doors behind the throne must lead to the inner palace.
Joshim crossed the floor to the foot of the dais. A pair of children were standing there, daring each other to climb the steps to the throne, apparently ignored by the guards. That would change as soon as one of them plucked up courage, Joshim thought. He grinned as he watched the girl push the boy—her brother, by the look of them—onto the first step. The nearest guard moved, as if to warn them away, then looked at Joshim and, to his intense interest, hesitated as if doubting his approval. Why should his presence and apparent indulgence influence her?
“Come away from there!” the children’s escort called and they went back to him guiltily. Joshim gave the guards another experimental grin and was rewarded by a visible stiffening of their backs. They thought that they recognized him, he realized excitedly. Who did they think he was? And more importantly, where did they think he was allowed to go?
The guide was shepherding his charges out of the Throne Room, promising them the delights of the Crown Jewels. Joshim’s shadow would leave without a glance behind her, too cautious to betray herself by overt interest and quite reasonably convinced that there was no way he could escape her inside the palace. But if he could get through those double doors … Although, what would he do if he could? Well, there was a way of finding out. And the gods knew he had been praying for a chance to do something; they would not offer it again if he refused it now.
He lingered until he was the last in the room, then walked casually around the dais, jerked his head at the doors and raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was an obvious gesture, not wanting to speak because his voice might betray him. The guards at the door saluted smartly. One of them spoke a word into the voice-lock, pressed his palm onto the contact pad; his companion pulled the door open. Joshim nodded his thanks and walked through. The door closed silently behind him.
To his relief, the wide corridor immediately in front of him was empty. On either side of him, stairways led up; above him, the lowered ceiling suggested a viewing gallery looking out over the Throne Room. He paused to think. How far would his luck take him? Just entering the palace should bring him quickly to the attention of a higher level of authority than he and Rallya could have reached through the normal channels. Should he settle for that, or should he try to reach the New Emperor? He laughed at his own presumption. He could hardly wander unchallenged around the palace until he found the man; his impersonation might have fooled the guards, but it would not survive a sterner test.
The corridor led to an octagonal courtyard, a sunny water-garden surrounded on all sides by shaded walkways. There were three more corridors beyond the walkways, and nothing to tempt him up any of them. There was also a seat where he could sit and watch the fountain; it was as good a place as any to be found. He did not want his intentions to be mistaken, and he certainly did not want to give the New Emperor’s security staff any reason to think he was dangerous; it was too important that he get a hearing. If he waited here until they came for him—and they would, once his absence from the tour party had been discovered and the guards in the Throne Room had been questioned—he might intrigue them enough for them to listen.
It was thirty minutes before anybody came, just one woman with curly grey hair, short, plump, Rafe’s age or a little younger. Dressed in black and silver that echoed the livery of the guards in the Throne Room, she wore a flash-sword at her belt, but she was not a guard. Joshim studied her with interest, wondering who had taken his bait.
“You like the garden,” she said with a hint of amusement. Her voice had the soft accent that he associated with Rafe and he flinched momentarily. She did not miss it.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Your voice reminds me of somebody,” he told her.
“And you bear a close resemblance to somebody else.” She sat down beside him.
“So I’ve discovered, although I don’t know who.”
“Don’t you?” She patently did not believe him. “That didn’t stop you taking advantage of it.”
“I have a need to be here,” Joshim said mildly. “A need to talk to the Emperor.”
“Have you?” the woman said dangerously. “Have you indeed, Webmaster Joshim?”
They had worked quickly to discover his identity. “May I know your name?” he asked.
“Yulenda.” She watched him closely for a reaction, as if he might recognize it. “If you have a need to talk to the Emperor,” she continued, “why are you sitting here?”
“Would I have found him if I’d looked?”
Yulenda laughed, genuinely amused. “No. And you won’t find him by asking to see him either. Not until I’ve heard what you’ve got to say.”
Joshim searched her face. Not an honest face, because it hid a great deal, but a face he trusted instinctively.
“It’s about the Old Emperor and the Guild and somebody called Yuellin Buhklir,” he said, making his decision.
<
br /> “Is it?” She stood up abruptly. “Then it’s nothing we should discuss out here. Come to my office to talk.”
“The name means something to you,” Joshim realized, alarmed by the strength of her reaction.
“Among other things, he was my cousin. And a very good friend.”
“It’s an interesting story,” Yulenda said thoughtfully. “Do you have any proof that your Rafe is the same person as Lin?”
“I’ve Rafe’s record and Yuellin’s in my infocorder.” Joshim set it on the desk in front of him. “If the bio-locks are compared with each other, and with his medical records if they still exist…”
“I’ll have it done now.” Yulenda clipped the infocorder to her belt. “You have a personal interest in this, don’t you?” she added shrewdly.
Joshim nodded. He had not tried to keep his feelings out of his story, was not surprised that she had detected them. “If the bio-locks match, what will you do?”
“I’m going to take your story to my superior. He’ll make that decision.” She paused to study Joshim’s face and smiled, the first time she had done so. “If you’re telling the truth—and I’d like to believe you are—your face is one hell of a coincidence. And if you’re not telling the truth, it was done by one hell of a good surgeon. It isn’t a perfect match, but it’s damn close.”
“Who do I look like? Somebody Yuellin knew?”
He had the answer before she spoke. Yuellin’s lover. Rafe had not seen Joshim’s face in the arthane trance; he had seen the face he had been struggling to see. If they had only realized that then, Joshim thought bitterly, it would have unlocked the rest of his memory and they would not have needed to make that catastrophic visit to Central…
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