The Shadow of Tyr

by Glenda Larke

  They passed on into the city, Arrant staring at all he saw: the gleaming temples on the hilltops, the statues, the painted public buildings. He thought of the stories about the gods, and wondered if everyone who lived here was, perhaps, an immortal at the very least.

  ‘No,’ Ligea said with a sad half-smile when he asked. ‘Just people like you and me, or slaves. It takes many, many slaves to keep a place like this.’

  ‘Why do you sound so sad?’ he asked. ‘Are they unhappy, those slaves?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Many of them are, anyway. But that’s not the only reason I feel sad. I am sorry because I am not sure the city will survive the end of slavery, at least not unchanged. We are fighting for things to be different, Arrant, but change often brings pain in its entourage.’

  Another thing he didn’t understand. He sighed to himself. Would he ever understand all the things she talked about? Then he remembered: she was giving him away to his father. He would not see her again…At least, not till he was all grown up. He started to cry.

  Ligea looked startled. ‘Goddess, Arrant, don’t cry over something that hasn’t happened yet!’

  Narjemah hugged him and placated him with a sweetmeat. ‘Are we almost there?’ he asked.

  Ligea was confused. ‘Where?’

  ‘Kardiastan.’

  ‘No, of course not!’ She exchanged a smile with Narjemah over his head. He pouted, knowing they were laughing at him. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘See those ships—big, big boats—up ahead?’ She pointed in the direction they were taking. At first he couldn’t see anything that looked like a boat, then he realised that the large wooden things ahead of them were actually floating on the water at the edge of the river.

  He nodded.

  ‘We will be going on one of those. It will take us as many days on one of those ships as you have fingers and toes—and only then will we be in Kardiastan. But first, first we will stay here a day or two, with Moneymaster Arcadim.’

  Arcadim Asenius added another gold coin to the weighing dish and checked its weight. A tedious job, but one he did not trust his slaves to do, not even the ledger clerks. Who was to say they would not shave a sliver of gold from each coin and tell him they all weighed exactly what they should? He looked up as the slave knocked and entered. ‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked testily.

  ‘The barge has arrived from Bryssa, Master Arcadim. They are unloading the cargo now. And your son sent some, er, guests.’

  Arcadim blinked. ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, master. Two women and a child.’

  ‘Assorian women?’

  ‘Yes, master. At least, I think so. They are dressed that way.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Well, you should not be bothering me with women’s business. Tell Mistress Reveba!’

  But the man didn’t go. He shuffled uncomfortably and said, ‘Um, one of the women told me to tell you she once owned a poor copy of the Pelotonius discus thrower at the stadium.’

  A gold coin slipped from his fingers and rolled across the floor. He stared at his slave in consternation. God of his fathers, she had come here? To his house? Great God above, if Rathrox heard of this, his whole family was forfeit, not to mention his wealth. Was that eldest son of his foaming mad?

  And he could not speak to a woman alone, not in his house, not without a scandal. And he didn’t dare deal with her in the counting house. There were slaves there who might possibly recognise her, and although he thought he could trust his slaves—who knew for sure? Great God, did she want to stay in his house?

  Calm yourself, Arcadim.

  He turned to the slave. ‘Tell Mistress Reveba to be good enough to wait on me here. When she has arrived, show the women in.’

  The man went to do as he was bade, and Arcadim took several slow deep breaths. Ever since Ligea had fled the city, he had not had a truly peaceful moment. More than five years, and still he worried. He worried the Brotherhood would uncover the truth of his continued connections with Ligea. He worried about the fate of his family. He worried about being tortured. He worried the Assorians would be banished from Tyrans forever. He worried that Ligea would lose the battle against the Exaltarchy. He worried she would win…

  He even worried that God must favour the Kardis over the Assorians to have given them such magic talents.

  ‘You asked for me, dear?’

  He tried to sound calm. ‘Yes, Reveba. It seems we have guests in the house. Sent by Sestius, via barge. Two women and a child. I suspect it’s the, um, nameless patron.’

  Her quick frown indicated her instant anxiety, but there was no time for her reproaches. Ligea was ushered in and he turned to greet her. ‘This is a surprise,’ he said, taking a deep breath in an effort not to show his annoyance. No, his terror. ‘May I present my wife, Reveba?’

  ‘I am just passing through,’ she said coolly, after a polite bow to Reveba. ‘There is no need to mention a name. It is good to see you again in person, Arcadim. There are some business matters that need to be attended to, and I have news for the Assorians that may be of, shall we say, value?’

  He knew the temptation of information and hated himself for the way he responded to it. Like a dog pricking up its ears, he thought bitterly, or a cat twitching its nose.

  She waited while he hesitated, without—he noted—introducing the other woman, supposedly a slave, or the child. Fortunately Reveba took control, and ushered the second woman and the boy into the neighbouring room, while judiciously leaving the door open between. Her command of the Tyranian language was poor, but a child was an instant connection, and as he turned to Ligea, he saw the two women smiling and talking as if they were old friends. Women.

  He gestured to the chairs. ‘Won’t you be seated?’

  She smiled slightly as she sat. ‘You don’t look happy, Arcadim.’

  ‘You are endangering my family by coming here,’ he said. He kept his voice low but didn’t bother to hide his anger. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to know the present status of my financial affair, for a start. And your family has been endangered ever since you embarked on this course. This is what we both chose, remember?’

  He rolled his eyes as a wave of despair swept him. ‘I must have been moondaft.’

  She grinned at him, annoyingly amused at a remark so uncharacteristic of him.

  ‘Your affairs? Not as bad as I thought they were going to be,’ he admitted, and rose to fetch the correct account book from the shelves at the far end of the room. ‘Everything in this is coded, to disguise any connection to Ligea Gayed,’ he explained as he brought it back for her to see. ‘You spent so much of your assets early on, I was worried. See here? But then you started your raids to steal Tyranian money and goods. Those figures are here.’ He could hardly believe he was saying this, reciting her crimes as if they were legitimate business ventures. He groaned as he thought about it. ‘That helped, and so did the trade in Quyriot beads and bearskins and obsidian—that’s this column here. But all of that was really only just covering your day-to-day expenses: paying your men, clothing them.’

  Her stare didn’t waver. ‘But—?’

  ‘It was your decision to invest so heavily in the Pythian papyrus trade that really saved you. That was astute of you, to realise that the constant trouble in Altan was going to affect the supplies from there and that the Exaltarchy would have to seek new sources.’

  She shrugged. ‘The heart of the insurgency in Altan is in the Delta marshes, where the papyrus grows. But that was one of the things I wanted to tell you—it’s now time to sell my interests in Pythian papyrus. I have a feeling that Altani papyrus will come into its own again, quite soon, and it will be cheaper than the Pythian. Send an agent to Altan and buy out any Tyranian interests in the papyrus trade there. You should be able to do that at rock-bottom prices now.’

  He said thoughtfully, ‘The Pythian product is better quality. There will always be a market for it among the rich. I wouldn’t dispose of your int
erest entirely—’

  They discussed her finances for the better part of an hour. At the end of it, when she sat back in her chair, rubbing a stiff neck, he asked, ‘You said you had some news for us, the moneymasters?’

  She passed on news she’d had from her informants in the provinces and vassal states. He listened intently, then said as she finished, ‘So, basically, there will be simultaneous revolts in Kardiastan, Quyr, Altan, Corsene, Cormel, probably the Western Reaches—in fact, just about everywhere—after the snow-melt next year.’

  ‘Yes. The ones I named are the ones that will be fully coordinated. Other vassal states or provinces may take advantage of Tyr’s preoccupation with these rebellions to fight their own wars.’

  ‘And at the end of it?’

  ‘We expect Kardiastan and Quyr to be free within a year. For Altan to have full control of the Delta. What will happen in the others is less certain.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘All of northern Tyrans will be under our control soon. Getria will be ours—a year or two at the most. We will cut off supplies of grain to Tyr. And imports of wood from Valur. Not to mention the copper and tin ore that comes overland from Cormel.’

  He was silent for a long time, trying not to think about how ill he felt. They had come to another watershed, another moment of decision, when all he had ever worked for could once more be in the balance. He felt that sick lurch of terror again. Lord my God, why do you send this woman to plague me? Have I not been a good and faithful servant that I should be tormented thus?

  ‘You Assorians should be able to make money out of this,’ she said.

  ‘We could lose money, too,’ he said. ‘Not to mention our lives. You want me to pass all this on to the Reviarch?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Wait till I’m gone before you tell him I was here, though.’

  ‘You came to Tyr, just to tell me this? You could have said as much to Sestius and saved yourself the trouble.’ Not to mention saved me the danger of harbouring a traitor. He shot a look of despair at Reveba in the next room. She was playing with the boy, showing him how to use the scales.

  ‘No. I came because I want to take a ship out, as soon as I can. We need to stay here, in your house, until there is a suitable sailing.’

  He winced. ‘If the Brotherhood finds out—’

  ‘No one will know unless you or one of your household tell them. And Assorian slaves are always unbelievably loyal to their Assorian masters, or so I discovered when I was working for the Brotherhood. If it makes you any happier, when I depart, I will leave by the tunnel to your warehouse across the street.’

  He lost all the blood in his face. He felt it vanish, leaving him light-headed, unsure he had heard rightly. ‘Tunnel?’ The whisper was the waver of an old man. ‘How could you know?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve known for years. Not just you, but all the Assorians on this street.’ She patted his knee kindly. ‘Don’t worry. I never told the Brotherhood.’

  He shuddered. ‘How could you know?’ he asked again.

  She held up her hand, showing him the cabochon. She had never let the skin grow back over it; the smooth gold surface was an entrance to magic he didn’t want to know about. ‘I felt people moving under the street, that’s all.’

  Just then Reveba had come back into the room, speaking to him in Assorian. ‘The boy says they are going to stay here. Won’t that be dangerous?’

  He waved an agitated hand. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘The slaves will know she is Kardi. The temptation, Arcad! Anyone turning in a Kardi with a gemstone in her hand gains their freedom and wealth.’

  He tried to find a way to reassure her. ‘Our slaves are Assorian. Not one of them would deal with the Brotherhood or with legionnaires.’

  She thought about that. ‘Yes, of course you are right, husband. Forgive me, I am a silly woman, lacking faith. Besides, God will protect us against heathens.’

  God of my fathers, he thought. Preserve me from the absurdity of women.

  Reveba smiled at Ligea. ‘Domina,’ she said. ‘I show…you room, no?’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Arrant thought he was going to be sick with excitement. He and Ligea and Narjemah were to visit the port. And if that wasn’t thrilling enough, they began by walking through a tunnel beneath the street. It was only short, but it was deliciously scary to think they were under the ground.

  He was irritated, though, that they had to stay dressed as Assorians. It was such a stupid costume. How ever was he going to run if they had to flee in a hurry? He kept tripping over the hem of the robe. Still, he wasn’t going to complain, otherwise Ligea would probably make him and Narjemah stay in the moneymaster’s villa. Narjemah wanted to anyway. She was already grizzling at Ligea for taking them both along, even though they had one of Arcadim’s slaves with them for added safety.

  ‘I just feel safer if you are both where I can protect you if anything goes wrong,’ Ligea said.

  Narjemah looked alarmed. ‘You expect something to go wrong?’

  ‘I—oh, I don’t know. I just had the odd feeling for the last hour at Arcadim’s house that someone was watching the place. I didn’t get any feeling that they wanted to do us harm, though. Still, I would rather you were with me. Besides, Arrant needs to see the city. He needs to learn as much as he can about Tyr; he may never return here, you know, Narjemah.’

  Narjemah then pointed out, in vain, that he was only five and wouldn’t remember much of it anyway.

  Arrant was indignant. He didn’t think he could forget it, even if he tried. Tyr was one big adventure. ‘I’m going to ’member everything,’ he told them both.

  However, as they left the moneymasters’ district and headed towards the river, he began to wonder how. Everything was so huge. So noisy. So smelly. So crowded. There was just so much.

  ‘This is the docklands,’ Ligea said when they reached the first of the waterways. The narrow arms and fingers of the River Tyr, here coerced into canals as straight as a rank of legionnaires, thrust their way into the commercial heart of the city. Buildings and ships and water and quays were inextricably interlaced. Masts poked up among roofs; rigging and chimneys jostled along the skyline; bowsprits were in danger of being knocked by laden wagons trundling noisily along the rattling boards of the wharves; oars and sails dried on racks alongside filleted fish.

  The sounds and smells of the port harassed the senses even from afar. Within the actual docklands area the assault was murderous. The smell of water permeated everything, and this wasn’t just the saltwater tang of the sea, either. The channels were tidal, but the river washed down the muck from the middens of the less salubrious quarters of the city. The potent stench mingled with the more exotic odours of the warehouses and chandleries: spices, fleece, hides, tannin, salted goods, tarred rope, oil, fresh fish, malt, wine—all the pungency of a great empire in one place.

  And the people. Arrant couldn’t stop staring. Silk-clad merchants from lands he’d never heard of, web-toed sailors from far-off islands, scale-spangled fishermen, women with painted faces, trademasters and seamasters and trailmasters—people with every shade of skin, men and women and children, free men and slaves. They came with their strange ships and their bizarre garments and their weird languages; they filled the wooden walkways with their produce and their haggling and their gossip.

  Arrant tried to make sense of it all. He wanted to linger, but Ligea had a firm grip on his hand and thwarted every attempt he made to dawdle. Only when she found what she was looking for did they stop.

  It was a small fishing smack with a single mast and a crew of eight: all weather-beaten men with red flashes in their brown hair. Two of them were sluicing down the deck; three others were mending nets and lines on the dockside, another was sealing a water cask that had yet to be placed on board.

  Arrant sniffed. Fish. And something else. An animal smell, like a dirty tomcat. He looked around. There was a wooden crate on the dock, newly unloaded from another ship. T
wo glaring yellow eyes stared out through the gaps between the slats.

  He freed his hand from his mother’s so he could take a closer look. The animal within snarled at him.

  Narjemah shivered. ‘Arrant! Not too close!’

  He tried to decide what sort of creature huddled so unhappily in the crate, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything like it before. It might have smelled like a cat, but it looked more like a dog and it was the size of a small lion.

  ‘Is your master here?’ Ligea asked one of the fishermen.

  ‘I’m the shipmaster,’ the man at the cask replied. ‘Cord’s the name. If you’re looking for fresh fish, we’re all sold up.’

  ‘Come away from that dirty beast,’ Narjemah said. ‘Who knows what sickness it may carry? And if you get too close, it could rip your arm off.’

  Reluctantly, Arrant stepped back half a pace. The animal hissed at him. When it rolled back its jowls, its teeth were yellow and pointed.

  Ligea turned around to speak to Kabarrab, the slave-guard Arcadim had sent with them. ‘Go and wait for us out of earshot, if you don’t mind.’ She waited until he had moved back down the wharf, and then addressed the captain again. ‘No, I don’t want fish. I want a passage out of here for myself, the woman and that child over there, to Ordensa in Kardiastan.’

  ‘This here’s the Fisherdream. We catch fish, woman; we don’t take passengers. Go pay for a seat on a coastal galley.’

  Ligea dropped her voice. ‘Fifty sestus apiece. For the trip and for—shall we say—discretion?’

  The captain also lowered his tone. ‘Firstly, what makes you think I’d be interested in helping a body in need of discretion?’

  Arrant listened, but he didn’t take his eyes off the crate. The animal twisted its snout sideways, trying to reach him through the gap. It didn’t sound happy.

  ‘I have friends in Altan,’ Ligea was saying. ‘One such said any Altani ship that has red and white ribbing on its stern will always bear a captain to be trusted.’