“I cannot accept that, Darame. I am a healer. It is my place to protect life; even more, perhaps, than the average Nualan does. And now it is part of my oath. War cannot be a choice, because it endangers fertile lives.” His hands, suddenly restless, toyed with the mug before him.
“If the choice is between someone like Brant and war?” Sheel glanced up at her words. A fire was burning brightly once again, the woman outlined against it. Darame had retrieved the pot of saffra from the stove and was pouring herself a refill. “I am cold,” she said with dignity, answering the amused look he gave her. Walking back to the table, she emptied the pot into Sheel’s mug. “Be serious, Sheel. Even if you stop Brant, there are dozens like him at Caesarea Station and beyond. Some of them are even better at what they do.” Sitting down, she gave him a hard look as she reached for the honeypot. “This will happen again.”
“Probably,” Sheel said, his voice bleak. “I admit to little talent for intrigue. No one ever dreamed I might rule, or even Iver — neither of us were really trained for it. And now it appears that I will spend the rest of my life watching for just such characters, in an infinite variety of schemes, all directed at the wealth of our planet.” He met her gaze. “Or at its hidden wealth — I suppose they could try building an underground first, and then infiltrating legitimate business.”
Darame smiled. “No talent for intrigue? You have imagination, Sheel — that is all it takes. Otherwise this news would have you as shell-shocked as Crow. You can imagine all we have discussed as possible… even theorize about other ways it might be done. You are learning quickly.” Stirring her saffra, the woman chuckled. “Your straight face will be handy, too. It is hard sometimes to tell what you are thinking.”
“What I am wondering is what we can do to prevent this from happening again,” Sheel admitted. “I am also wondering where to hide next. We have paused here too long. It is time to move.”
“Huh,” was her response. Her gaze remained on her saffra for a long moment. “Do you really want to stop it from happening again?”
This brought Sheel out of his thoughts. “What kind of question is that?”
“An honest one. Because there are really only two ways to do it, and you are not going to like either one.” At his nod for her to continue, Darame said: “You can safeguard your people in two ways — you can curtail their freedom, or you can increase their responsibility. Or something in-between, if you can work it out.” As Sheel started to speak, Darame said quickly: “You have to be able to watch people and situations much more closely, Sheel, if you want to anticipate something like this. A dictator with an army could do it; an elected council and a strong policing agency could do it; a ruler with a council could do it. But someone has to watch. And the more people watching, the better. And someone has to keep all the information coming in to a central authority, because several different spy networks will only create more hostility. I personally think you need to consider someone doing exactly what Brant is doing — someone Nualan.”
“‘And all the peoples shall bow like winter wheat before the rising wind of Atare…’” Sheel whispered aloud, her words triggering an old memory. But he did not finish the quote. “No.”
“Brant and Dirk certainly would not expect it,” she offered, clearly amused.
“You do not know what you ask.” History, religion, and politics reared up like a hydra, many-headed and venomous. Sheel felt a shiver rush through him, and wondered what Archpriest Ward would say to her.
“So explain to me what I ask.” Darame settled in her chair, pulling up her feet to sit on them.
“Do you know the term… jihad?” Darame shook her head. “It means a holy war. What I think you are suggesting — that I should duplicate Brant’s trick and unite the city-states — might touch off just such a conflict.” This was uneasy ground. Sheel was not particularly religious, although he had read widely concerning theology and spirituality. But to talk about such things, even if he personally had no use for them, was awkward. “There are dozens of books of prophecy that have come down to us over the last thousandyear. Several of them contain hints that the day will come when the other clans will bow to Atare. It is one reason the other clans distrust us so much: no matter how often they attack us or scheme against us, we just get stronger.”
“Another reason not to let them know what has happened,” Darame said wryly. “Well, you have enough trouble, Sheel — do not borrow any. But if you played your hand cleverly enough, no one would have time to think about religion. This is economics and security, not gods and angels. A planet has more bargaining power than a city.”
“And as we have told you before: to attack this conspiracy without proof could lose me all my support.” At her puzzled expression, he said: “Leah. To attack the one who would be regent is indirectly a threat to Tobias. I need proof of the conspiracy, a witness — something. Or I could lose the guaard.”
His admission startled her, as he thought it might, but she immediately grew thoughtful, as if slotting his words into her store of information about the planet. “Do you ever talk to people without an ulterior motive in mind?” Sheel asked impulsively. Immediately realizing he had phrased the words badly, he added: “I mean simply talk for the pleasure of conversation, or being with the people.”
Darame did not take offense, as he feared she might. That thoughtful look remained on her face. “Do you know,” she started slowly, “that the only friends I have are that fat old man who raised me and his navigator? People I can depend on, I mean — people who would violate free-trader convention for me. There are those I casually refer to as friends, from jobs or vacations… mostly planetbound, and probably dead by now, what with the passing of time.… But you are correct. I do not converse with people… usually. Until recently.” She smiled faintly. “Your sister has a way of making those around her forget their worries, even as she is crushed by problems. She is deep, under her bubbling facade. Avis might have made a good free-trader,” Darame added impassively.
Sheel had to chuckle. “Please do not try to recruit her! I need her right here, plying her protocol skills for Atare.”
“There is much to understand here, before playing that game. I am lucky I did not broadcast my intentions with every word.”
“We knew you were not what you pretended to be,” Sheel said. “But then who is?”
That made Darame laugh out loud. “You are entirely too… easy to listen to,” she told him, a wicked smile curving her lips. “I tried not to like you so much, you know. One night of play, and then to work, if all this madness had not occurred. You would have taken my mind off my job, if you had desired. I would have had to bargain with Halsey to include you in the scam, so I would have an excuse to see you.”
Was there a question in that statement? He studied her without comment, his inclination to smile struggling against caution. I like you, woman. I had not planned on it, either, but I like you. I like your tricky brain, and the natural kindness you try to harness, and that wicked smile. I could want that smile for me alone. A woman like you is champagne in the blood… is almost obsession. Sheel realized he was becoming tense, and abruptly changed the subject. Now was as good a time as any to act on his concerns.… “Speaking of bargaining… I have something for you.”
The woman’s delicate silver brows lifted, and she tilted her head appealingly to one side. “I suspected you were up to something. Old Harald and that package from town? I forgot about it when the boy was injured.”
“So did I.” Sheel smiled faintly as he rose from his seat, reaching for the shelving above his head. Were her mannerisms simply a part of her, or was there nothing she did without calculation? Did it matter at this point? “You will need this. It is a thank-you… and perhaps all the security I can give you. Personally, I would keep it secret, unless you must speak of it.” Unfolding the piece of cloth, Sheel carefully lifted the glittering chain. The gasp behind him was his reward, although he kept his expression serene. Turning back t
o her, he sat once again, the decorative necklace dangling from several fingers.
“Sheel… why?…” Darame began, and then stopped, clearly confused.
“I have succeeded in striking you speechless. I shall enjoy my momentary victory.” Then the humor slid from his face. “I told you. It is a thank you gift. The business with Leah and Dirk we would have eventually discovered, I think, once we forced ourselves to examine the worst case possibilities. But Brant? There are a dozen ambassadors and aides I could choose from, if I wanted to find an outside confederate. Brant might have eluded me completely.” It was hard to control his smile; he had never seen Darame so startled. She was looking everywhere except at him.… Shifting in her chair, she finally glued her gaze to the firepit.
Flame dangled from his fingers. The pale trinium links were studded every five centimeters with tiny faceted rubies, reflecting and magnifying the light beyond belief, throwing pale pink highlights into Darame’s silver hair. “The other reason,” Sheel went on conversationally, looking away from her, “is that I have no idea how this will end. It may be that I will be dead… and there is no guarantee that Leah is your friend. Either you are with them, or they decide they cannot trust you.… Then you are an unwanted witness. Your credit and exit visa may be frozen. Take this to Marc reb^Dor, in Amura By the Sea. For a few links of this chain, you will be able to buy Cold Sleep to Caesarea. Tell him that the mermaids are still singing. It is a childhood joke; he will know I send you, and will help as he can. I am afraid it is all I can offer. I have been back less than a year.… Finding people to trust takes time.”
“In every line of business. Thank you, Sheel. Oh… and thank you for this, too.” She reached, her fingers brushing his as she took the chain from him.
Was she blushing, or was it the firelight? Thank you for what, a bolt-hole? Then he realized what she meant. Perhaps I am not subtle enough, but everything you have tried to talk me into runs counter to their plans. If this is a way of controlling me, it is rather interesting. Physical sensation distracted him; he realized she had not flinched when their hands touched. Amazing.… Progress.
“So where are we going?” The question startled him, coming out of sequence. “From here.”
“The Ciedär, most likely. We have tents and equipment enough. There is little snow on the northern desert — the winds sweep it to the mountains, or sublimate it. But the north winds are wicked.” Sheel shivered in spite of the fire. Although he could not remember ever having been cold, the tales of Ciedär winters were chilling in themselves. A frown traced his lips. “I told Tobias to sleep in back with Quenby Ragäree and her children, starting tonight. I still feel ‘wrong’ about something, and I do not want him in my shadow. It might be a dangerous place to be. If you wish to join them, feel free.”
Darame smiled faintly. “It is cold back there.”
Sheel considered the area, which was reached only through a narrow, half-height corridor. “A bit, perhaps. The fire is smaller, at least. There is a draft from our bolt-hole that cannot be closed off.”
Another reason for Darame’s comment suddenly occurred to him, and Sheel wondered just how quickly he could finish his reading.
ONEHUNDRED TWENTYFOURDAY, MATINS
Dinner and a quiet evening with Quenby Ragäree were worlds away from her dream; it was vague, disturbing, and filled with people wearing masks. Rather, they were wearing dominoes — ornate beyond belief, and stark in their colors. She kept seeing the same masked figure flitting just out of view, but the person within was changing: first Brant, then Leah, then Halsey, of all people. How much had Halsey surmised by now? Had Brant decided to let him in on things? Were her fears correct: was Halsey being set up?
The noise entered the dream as thunder, as voices crying tidings of ruin and war. That in itself was odd enough to half-rouse her; Sheel was quiet about slipping in, he never woke her. Although tonight she had hoped… Ah, he was a reticent man by nature, and her treatment of him the past moon had been fearful. It would be surprising if he could forgive it quickly —
Screaming and gunfire in the hall caused her to sit upright, her hands fumbling for the blanket. She had started searching for a pocket torch when bright light appeared further on down the corridor. It approached warily.… Darame stilled her movements.
The individual’s pace was measured and soundless, the walk of one uncertain of what lay beyond each turn. There was something like fog outside the sleeping berth, casting a diffused glow over the rocky path. It was so unreal Darame pinched herself hard to make sure she was awake.
He stopped at the twin openings, turning his head slightly from one side to the other, as if trying to peer beyond the beam. Darame felt her eyes widen as she recognized from her sojourn in the palace the guaard’s pale hair and bulky shoulders. Was there any chance of him continuing down the hall?
Then White raised his other arm, apparently to wipe his eyes, and she saw the mag gun. Who?…
Darame realized she no longer cared whether White continued down the hall.
Mirror Game:
to work the old Gypsy Con, by cheating
a mark with his own greed, keeping him
so off-guard he has no time to discover the con.
Chapter Eleven
ATARE CITY
ONEHUNDRED TWENTYSIXDAY, VESPERS
Pale green candles scented with brightbay filled the parlor with a heady fragrance, while garlands of spirit’s breath, holly, and everlife hung above the firepit mantle. Fire crystal stick flames danced blue and green as well as gold, but Darame ignored the anomaly. It was exactly nine strides from the triple bay window facing the street to the only door, and she had lost count of how many times she’d completed the circuit.
A gust of wind struck the thermal panes on her next pass, causing a thrum of vibration. Darame paused, then, staring past her gaunt reflection into the swirling snow. Her left arm remained folded tightly across her waist, the fingers cemented to an ornamental dagger, even as her free hand alternated between the necklace hidden under her shirt and the softness of the collar itself. A pallid ghost of a woman faced her, shimmering in the heat waves rising from the fire, the eyes dark pits without expression.
Three days without sleep… afraid to sleep. Sleep could mean dreaming, or it could mean slumber too heavy to hear footsteps approaching.… At first she was infuriated when the fresh-faced guaard escorted her back to the hostel. White’s orders, they said, clearly embarrassed when she pointed out that her possessions were still at the palace… when the man at the desk indicated there were no vacancies. No rooms to be found in town, for it was the evening of the Yule, and Atare city was packed to the rafters.
Frantic was a better word than infuriated. It was good that this had happened; she finally had time to think.
Wrong, all wrong, and no way to know what to do. It’s time to run. Memory swept through her, of stumbling into the fire room and nearly falling over Fion’s lifeless body, riddled with bullet holes. And Sheel as still as death, though she could see no injury. The scene provoked her one comment to White, the safest and most nebulous thing she could utter: “I only needed a few more days.”
What else could I have said? Who knew what had happened in her absence? Were Dirk and Brant still working together? Who sent White, and how did he find them? He volunteered nothing, and Darame decided not to ask. What she was not supposed to know, she could not question. I want your life, White. Your life depends on his.…
They had not found the bolt-hole.… She was almost positive about that. The two young men from the village were dead, but she had not seen old Harald or his grandson laying anywhere. Standing silent in a corridor, her things hastily tied into a bundle, Darame had felt something from the darkness beyond nudged into her hand. It was a form of ring, the tiny transmittals used by the Nualans. Later, after an exhausting struggle through snow to the rail line, she had had a moment to use her pendant, a disguised enlarger, to examine the message. Who would have thought that Hara
ld could write? In Nualan, unfortunately. It was too dangerous to carry; memorizing every stroke on the flexible film, she had cut the ring into slivers. If she ever found Mailan or Ayers, she would reconstruct the note.
How long would it take Avis to respond to her message? Would she respond? The sweet saints alone knew if she was still safe and well. And Ayers with her… I must find Ayers. Originally Darame had planned on going straight to Avis with her tale. A cooler head now prevailed. She was not sure she could tell her tale without including Leah in it; even if she succeeded, Avis would then surely go straight to Leah. Men dressed as guaard, taking her brother. No, not merely dressed as guaard, but surely guaard.
Three lousy days to get back to Atare, two of them spent on the train. Several avalanches had buried portions of track, which meant eating and sleeping on board. And a message… slipped into the food basket brought to her the second day. Do not worry — you are covered. She knew the odd symbol at the end of the Caesarean letters: Brant’s private signature.
Sweet Mary, what is going on? This was crazy and totally unexpected. Killing Sheel and grabbing Tobias she could understand; wooing Sheel into returning with Tobias she could understand… but taking Sheel? He was alive, dammit! Why, why, it made no… sense.
Her steps slowed. Unless… unless there had been a major falling-out among the conspirators. Every pawn has a value. Sheel is one, Tobias is one, Avis.… Have even I been promoted to pawn? And does our value vary, and depend on who does the valuation?
White took Sheel, came looking for Tobias… yet Brant knew about it. No one ever really sounded out whether they could use Sheel. A quiet, apolitical physician.… Had someone decided to ask him? Or… tell him. She felt very uneasy. Why knock him out? Why kill Fion and the others?
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