“I’m wondering how to cook the beast.”
That really wasn’t Merle’s department, but he was willing to advise. “Low heat in an oven, for a long time, maybe an eighth of an arc,” meaning an eighth of the sun’s path from horizon to horizon.
Lion nodded. “Low heat, covered. I’ll filet it first. I can fiddle up a sauce, but I’ll have to see how fatty the meat is…All right. Merle. Six meals in trade. Anyone else could have a dozen, but you…”
Merle nodded placidly. He never argued price. “I’ll start now.” He went through into the restaurant section, scraping the door on both sides, and Lion turned to greet his son.
“We have guests,” said Thone, “and we have red meat, and we have a bigger boat. I thought it proper to bargain for you.”
“Guests, good. Red meat, good. What have you committed me to?”
“Let me tell you the way of it.” Thone was not used to making business judgments in his father’s name. He looked down at his hands and said, “Most of the gold you gave me, I had spent. I had spices and dried meat and vegetables and pickle and the rest. Then a boat pulled in with sides of ox for sale. I was wondering what I could sell, to buy some of that beef, when these two found me at the dock.”
“Was it you they were looking for?”
“I think so. The lady Durily is of the old Minterl nobility, judging by her accent. Karskon speaks Minterl but he may be of the new nobility, the invaders from Torov. Odd to find them together…”
“You didn’t trust them. Why did you deal with them?”
Thone smiled. “Their offer. The fame of Lion’s Attic has spread throughout Minterl, so they say. They want a place to honeymoon; they had married that same day. For two weeks’ stay they offered…well, enough to buy four sides of ox and enough left over to trade Strandhugger in on a larger boat, large enough for the beef and two extra passengers.”
“Where are they now? And where’s the beef?”
“I told…Eep. It’s still aboard.”
The Lion roared. “Arilta!”
“I meant to tell Estrayle to do something about that, but it—”
“Never mind, you’ve done well.”
Arilta came hurrying from the restaurant area. Lion’s wife resembled her husband to some extent: big-boned, heavy, placid of disposition, carrying her weight well. “What is it?”
“Set the boys to unloading the new boat. Four sides of beef. Get those into the meat box fast; they can take their time with the other goods.”
She left, calling loudly for the boys. Lion said, “The guests?”
“I gave them the two leeward rooms as a suite.”
“Good. Why don’t you tell them dinner is being served? And then you can have your own meal.”
The dining hall was a roar of voices, but when Lion’s guests appeared the noise dropped markedly. Both were wearing court dress of a style that had not yet reached the provinces. The man was imposing in black and silver, with a figured silver patch over his right eye. The lady was eerily beautiful, dressed in flowing sea green and a centimeter taller than her escort. They were conversation-stoppers, and they knew it.
And then a man came hurrying to greet them, clapping his hands in delight. “Lady Durily, Lord Karskon? I am Lion. Are your quarters comfortable? Most of the middle floor is empty; we can offer a variety of choices—”
“Quite comfortable, thank you,” Karskon said. Lion had taken him by surprise. Rumor said that he was what his name implied, a were-lion. He was large, and his short reddish-blond hair might be the color of a lion’s mane; but Lion was balding on top, and smooth-shaven, and well-fed, with a round and happy face. He looked far from ferocious…
“Lion! Bring ’em here!”
Lion looked around, disconcerted. “I have an empty table in the corner, but if you would prefer Merle’s company…”
The man who had called was tremendous. The huge platter before him bore an entire swordfish fillet. Durily stared in what might have been awe or admiration. “Merle, by all means! And can you be persuaded to join us. Lion?”
“I would be delighted.” Lion escorted them to the huge man’s table and seated them. “The swordfish is good—”
“The swordfish is wonderful!” Merle boomed. He’d made amazing progress with the half-swordfish while they were approaching. “It’s baked with apricots and slivered nuts and…something else, I can’t tell. Lion?”
“The nuts are soaked in a liqueur called brosa, from Rynildissen, and dried in the oven.”
“I’ll try it,” Karskon said, and Durily nodded. Lion disappeared into the kitchen.
The noise level was rising toward its previous pitch. Durily raised her voice just high enough. “Most of you seem to be fishers. It must have been hard for you after the merpeople went away.”
“It was. Lady. They had to learn to catch their own fish instead of trading. All the techniques had to be invented from scratch. They tell me they tried magic at first. To breathe water, you know. Some of them drowned. Then came fishing spears, and special boats, and nets…”
“You said they?”
“I’m a whale,” said Merle. “I came later.”
“Oh. There aren’t many were-folk around these days. Anywhere.”
“We aren’t all gone,” Merle said, while Karskon smiled at how easily they had broached the subject. “The merpeople went away, all right, but it wasn’t just because they’re magical creatures. Their life-styles include a lot of magic. Whales don’t practice much magic.”
“Even so,” Karskon wondered, “what are you doing on land? Aren’t you afraid you might, ah, change? Magic isn’t dependable anymore…”
“But Lion is. Lion would get me out in time. Anyway, I spend most of my time aboard Shrimp. See, if the change comes over me there, it’s no problem. A whale’s weight would swamp my little boat and leave me floating.”
“I still don’t see—”
“Sharks.”
“Ah.”
“Damn brainless toothy wandering weapons! The more you kill, the more the blood draws more till…” Merle shifted restlessly. “Anyway, there are no sharks ashore. And there are books, and people to talk to. Out on the sea there’s only the singing. Now, I like the singing; who wouldn’t? But it’s only family gossip, and weather patterns, and shoreline changes, and where are the fish.”
“That sounds useful.”
“Sure it is. Fisherfolk learn the whale songs to find out where the fish are. But for any kind of intelligent conversation you have to come ashore. Ah, here’s Lion.”
Lion set three plates in place, bearing generous slabs of swordfish and vegetables cooked in elaborate fashions. “What’s under discussion?”
“Were-creatures,” Karskon said. “They’re having a terrible time of it almost everywhere.”
Lion sat down. “Even in Rynildissen? The wolf people sector?”
“Well,” Durily said uncomfortably, “they’re changing. You know, there are people who can change into animals, but that’s because there are were-folk among their ancestors. Most were-folk are animals who learned how to take human form. The human shape has magic in it, you know.” Lion nodded, and she continued. “In places where the magic’s gone, it’s terrible. The animals lose their minds. Even human folk with some animal ancestry, they can’t make the change, but their minds aren’t quite human either. Wolf ancestry makes for good soldiers, but it’s hard for them to stop. A touch of hyena or raccoon makes for thieves. A man with a touch of lion makes a good general, but—”
Merle shifted restlessly, as if the subject were painful to him. His platter was quite clean now. “Oh, to hell with the problems of were-folk. Tell me how you lost your eye.”
Karskon jumped, but he answered. “Happened in the baths when I was thirteen. We were having a fight with wet towels and one of my half-brothers flicked my eye out with the corner of a towel. Dull story.”
“You should make up a better one. Want some help?” Karskon shook his head, smilin
g despite himself. “Where are you from?”
“Inland. It’s been years since I tasted fresh fish. You were right, it’s wonderful.” He paused, but the silence forced him to continue. “I’m half Torovan, half Minterl. Duke Chamil of Konth made me his librarian, and I teach his legitimate children. Lady Durily descends from the old Minterl nobility. She’s one of Duchess Chamil’s ladies-in-waiting. That’s how we met.”
“I never understood shoreside politics,” Merle said. “There was a war, wasn’t there, long ago?”
Karskon answered for fear that Durily would. “Torov invaded after the quake. It was an obvious power vacuum. I gather the armies never got this far south. What was left of the dukes surrendered first. You’ll find a good many of the old Minterls hereabouts. The Torovans have to go in packs.”
Merle was looking disgusted. “Whales don’t play at war.”
“It’s not a game,” Karskon said.
Lion added, “Or at least the stakes are too high for ordinary people.”
There was murky darkness, black with a hint of green. Blocky shapes. Motion flicked past, drifted back more slowly. Too dark to see, but Karskon sensed something looking back at him. A fish? A ghost?
Karskon opened his good eye.
Durily was at the window, looking out to sea. Leftward, waves washed the spike of island that had been Crown Hill. “There was grass almost to the top,” Durily said, “but the peak was always a bare knob. We picnicked there once, the whole family…”
“What else do you remember? Anything we can use?”
“Two flights of stairs,” Durily said. “You’ve seen the one that winds up the outside of the tower, like a snake. Snake-headed, it used to be, but the quake must have knocked off the head.”
“Animated?”
“No, just a big carving…um. It could have been animated once. The magic was going out of everything. The merpeople were all gone; the mainlanders were trying to learn to catch their own fish, and we had trouble getting food. Nihilil was thinking of moving the whole court to Beesh. Am I rambling too much, darling?”
“No telling what we can use. Keep it up.”
“The inside stairs lead down from the kitchen, through the laundry room on this floor and through Thone’s room on the lower floor.”
“Thone.” Karskon’s hand strayed to his belt buckle, which was silver and massive—which was in fact the hilt of a concealed dagger. “He’s not as big as Lion, but I’d hate to have him angry with me. They’re all too big. We’d best not be caught…unless we, or you, can find a legitimate reason for being in Thone’s room?”
Durily scowled. “He’s just not interested. He sees me, he knows I’m a woman, but he doesn’t seem to care…or else he’s very stupid about suggestions. That’s possible.”
“If he’s part of a were-lion family—”
“He wouldn’t mate with human beings?” Durily laughed, and it sounded like silver coins falling. No, he thought, she wouldn’t have had trouble seducing a young man…or anything male. I gave her no trouble. Even now, knowing the truth…
“Our host isn’t a were-lion,” she said. “Lions eat red meat. We’ve brought red meat to his table, but he was eating fish. Lions don’t lust for a varied diet, and they aren’t particular about what they eat. Our host has exquisite taste. If I’d known how fine a cook he is, I’d have come for that alone.”
“He shows some other signs. The whole family’s big, but he’s a lot bigger. Why does he shave his face and clip his hair short? Is it to hide a mane?”
“Does it matter if they’re lions? We don’t want to be caught,” Durily said. “Any one of them is big enough to be a threat. Stop fondling that canapé sticker, dear. On this trip we use stealth and magic.”
Oddly reluctant, Karskon said, “Speaking of magic…”
“Yes. It’s time.”
“You’re quite right. They’re hiding something,” Lion said absently. He was carving the meat from a quarter of ox and cutting it into chunks, briskly, apparently risking his fingers at every stroke. “What of it? Don’t we all have something to hide? They are my guests. They appreciate my food.”
“Well,” said his wife, “don’t we all have something worth gossiping about? And for a honeymooning couple—”
At which point Estrayle burst into a peal of laughter.
Arilta asked, “Now what brought that on?” But Estrayle only shook her head and bent over the pale yellow roots she was cutting. Arilta turned back to her husband. “They don’t seem loving enough somehow. And she so beautiful, too.”
“It makes a pattern,” Lion said. “The woman is beautiful, as you noticed. She is the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting. The man serves the Duke. Could Lady Durily be the Duke’s mistress? Might the Duke have married her to one of his men? It would provide for her if she’s pregnant. It might keep the Duchess happy. It happens.”
Arilta said, “Ah.” She began dumping double handfuls of meat into a pot. Estrayle added the chopped root.
“On the other hand,” Lion said, “she is of the old Minterl aristocracy. Karskon may be too—half anyway. Perhaps they’re not welcome near Beesh because of some failed plot. The people around here are of the old Minterl blood. They’d protect them, if it came to that.”
“Well,” his wife said with some irritation, “which is it?”
Lion teased her with a third choice. “They spend money freely. Where does it come from? They could be involved in a theft we will presently hear about.”
Estrayle looked up from cutting onions, tears dripping past a mischievous smile. “Listen for word of a large cat’s-eye emerald.”
“Estrayle, you will explain that!” said her mother.
Estrayle hesitated, but her father’s hands had stopped moving and he was looking up. “It was after supper,” she said. “I was turning down the beds. Karskon found me. We talked a bit, and then he, well, made advances. Poor little man, he weighs less than I do. I slapped him hard enough to knock that lovely patch right off his face. Then I informed him that if he’s interested in marriage he should be talking to my father, and in any case there are problems he should be aware of…” Her eyes were dancing. “I must say he took it well. He asked about my dowry! I hinted at undersea treasures. When I said we’d have to live here, he said at least he’d never have to worry about the cooking, but his religion permitted him only one wife, and I said what a pity—”
“The jewel,” Lion reminded her.
“Oh, it’s beautiful! Deep green, with a blazing vertical line, just like a cat’s eye. He wears it in the socket of his right eye.”
Arilta considered. “If he thinks that’s a safe place to hide it, he should get another patch. Someone might steal that silver thing.”
“Whatever their secret, it’s unlikely to disturb us,” Lion said. “And this is their old seat of royalty. Even the ghost…Which reminds me. Jarper?”
He spoke to empty air, and it remained empty. “I haven’t seen Jarper since lunch. Has anyone?”
Nobody answered. Lion continued, “He was behind Karskon at lunch. Karskon must have something magical on him. Maybe the jewel? Oh, never mind, Jarper can take care of himself. I was saying he probably won’t bother our guests; he’s of old Minterl blood himself. If he had blood.”
They stuffed wool around the door and windows. They propped a chair under the doorknob. Karskon and Durily had no intention of being disturbed at this point. An innkeeper who found his guests marking patterns on the floor with powdered bone, and heating almost-fresh blood over a small flame, could rightly be expected to show annoyance.
Durily spoke in a language once common to the Sorcerer’s Guild, now common to nobody. The words seemed to hurt her throat, and no wonder, Karskon thought. He had doffed his silver eye patch. He tended the flame and the pot of blood, and stayed near Durily, as instructed.
He closed his good eye and saw green-tinged darkness. Something darker drifted past, slowly, something huge and rounded that suddenly vanished with a
flick of finny tail. Now a drifting current of luminescence…congealing, somehow, to a vaguely human shape…
The night he robbed the jewel merchant’s shop, this sight had almost killed him.
The Movement had wealth to buy the emerald, but Durily swore that the Torovan lords must not learn that the jewel existed. She hadn’t told him why. It wasn’t for the Movement that he had obeyed her. The Movement would destroy the Torovan invaders, would punish his father and his half-brothers for their arrogance, for the way they had treated him…for his eye. But he had obeyed her. He was her slave in those days, the slave of his lust for the lady Durily, his father’s mistress.
He had guessed that it was glamour that held him: magic. It hadn’t seemed to matter. He had invaded the jeweler’s shop expecting to die, and it hadn’t mattered.
The merchant had heard some sound and come to investigate. Karskon had already scooped up everything of value he could find, to distract attention from the single missing stone. Waiting for discovery in the dark cellar, he had pushed the jewel into his empty eye socket.
Greenish darkness, drifting motion, a sudden flicker that might be a fish’s tail. Karskon was seeing with his missing eye.
The jeweler had found him while he was distracted, but Karskon had killed him after all. Afterward, knowing that much, he had forced Durily to tell the rest. She had lost a good deal of her power over him. He had outgrown his terror of that greenish dark place. He had seen it every night while he waited for sleep, these past two years.
Karskon opened his good eye to find that they had company. The color of fading fog, it took the wavering form of a wiry old man garbed for war, with his helmet tucked under his arm.
“I want to speak to King Nihilil,” Durily said. “Fetch him.”
“Your pardon. Lady.” The voice was less than a whisper, clearer than a memory. “I c-can’t leave here.”
“Who were you?”
The fog-wisp straightened to attention. “Sergeant Jarper Sleen, serving Minterl and the King. I was on duty in the watchtower when the land th-th-thrashed like an island-fish submerging. The wall broke my arm and some ribs. After things got quiet again there were only these three floors left, and no food anywhere. I s-starved to death.”