“At the moment, I’m trying to solve a puzzle. It distracts the mind.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“You have helped. Twice now.”
She gave me a look that invited me to expand on that.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Yes, that’s why it’s called a puzzle.”
“Let’s speak of other matters.”
“Certainly.”
“Do you write poetry? I mean, about Gormin?”
She looked away, then looked back. “I dance,” she said. “And Ouffach has too much air in her lungs.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and cleared my throat. “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter, but this might tie into my problem.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because as far as I can tell, everything ties into everything else, and half the time does so in perfectly straightforward ways, and half the time in ways that make no sense. But I’m going to just assume that everything connects. And, after all, you brought it up.”
“I?”
“Yeah.”
“What did I bring up?”
“Love, romance, the breaking of hearts, all that crap. You’re an Issola, and an Issola would never just start in on a stranger’s personal life without a good reason.”
“You think you understand Issolas?”
“Better than I understand Vallistas.”
She laughed then; she had a nice laugh. I smiled, waited, then said, “So, what is it? You had a reason for bringing that up.”
“Insistent, aren’t you?”
“Somewhere a little girl is trapped in time, and I’m trying to set her free.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the reference.”
“It wasn’t a reference, it’s what I’m trying to fix.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Trapped in time? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, that’s why it’s so tricky.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. It’s necromancy, and I know nothing about necromancy, and it has to do with another structure built by—crap, by someone, sometime, that connects to the castle here, and if I could explain it any clearer I would. But there is something going on, and I’m set on figuring out anything I don’t understand, and right now the top of the list of things I don’t understand is why you gave me that lecture about love and heartbreak, all right? Of all the things that have happened to me over the last two days, that’s the strangest.”
She said, “It isn’t that complicated, Szurke. I brought it up because you asked me to.”
“Because I … all right, go on.”
“Do you think I’m not aware of the audience when I dance, that I don’t pay attention to them?”
“Hadn’t given any thought one way or the other.”
“Dancing has meaning, it has substance. It reaches into people. Something in me reaches something in those who watch, and sometimes the connection is so strong it can’t be mistaken.”
“Sounds like magic.”
“Not really.”
“So, the way I reacted when you danced is how I said I wanted to talk about all sorts of private and personal crap that I don’t even like to think about?”
“Exactly.”
Most of the responses that came to mind I couldn’t make to an Issola. After sitting for a bit, with her refusing to say anything, I settled for “I suppose you’re right. But it still doesn’t explain about you.”
“As you said, we all have those heartbreaks.”
“Most of them don’t have to do with an Issola being expelled from his House.”
“There are always reasons.”
“In your case, it’s a little more than that, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me review, and you tell me if I’m missing anything. Gormin was in charge of the household. He met you, and developed an attachment. As you were, at this time, associated with the household, this was deemed improper, and it was decided he’d failed in his duty and was expelled from his House.”
She nodded, her eyes locked on mine.
“But not from the household.”
“Lord Zhayin was pleased with his work.”
“Yeah. Nonsense.”
“My lord?”
“There was more to it than that, and, what’s more, you know there was. He comes on to you? Maybe winks, maybe lets you know he is if you are? And things go as things will with people who are attracted to each other. So, then the House finds out about it, and it’s improper. Fine. What do they do? Normally, he gets a letter or something that says cut it out. That’s it. They don’t kick him out of the House for that.”
“You are an expert on the workings of House Issola?”
“I’m an expert on the workings of Dragaerans. It’s a natural result of not being one.”
“That almost makes sense.”
“Thanks. The point is, either he did a lot more than that, or there’s something else entirely going on.”
“Both,” she said.
I nodded. “All right. Don’t stop there.”
“We were lovers.”
I nodded.
“It began when I was visiting, before I was attached to the household.”
“How long? I mean, how long were the two of you involved before Zhayin hired you?”
“Forty-one years.”
“And how long after that until he was—”
“A year and a half.”
“Um. I see. So, how did the House find out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Zhayin?”
“I asked him directly, to his face. He denied it, and I think I would have known if he’d been lying. And why would he care?”
I shook my head. “I’m nowhere near looking at whys yet. I’m still on whos and hows.”
“I don’t know.”
“And you haven’t had anyone, uh, make advances since then?”
She shook her head. “I’ve made a few, but only on my travels. There are no Issola here.”
“Wait, you mean, you’re the only Issola in the castle, or the town?”
She nodded.
“Well. Isn’t that interesting.”
“My lord?”
I shook my head as things danced through my brain and I tried to make sense of them.
“What is it?”
“Harro.”
“Who?”
“An Issola named Harro.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Yes. Exactly. That’s what’s so odd. How could you not know him? The timing doesn’t make sense for you to not know him.”
“Who—”
“He helped take care of Zhayin’s son.”
She shook her head. “No, no. The nanny’s name—”
“Not the nanny. She was ill the day it happened.”
She frowned. “That’s right. How did you know that?”
“I’ve been looking into this for a while.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“About your problem? Nothing. I don’t know. I’m busy being puzzled about things. But I can tell you one thing: If you meet someone named Harro, don’t trust him.”
“Harro,” she repeated, as if committing it to memory. “That’s all you can tell me?”
“I may be able to tell you more next time we meet. No, the time after. If there is a time after.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Welcome to my life. But let me ask you one more thing.”
“Of course.”
“Do you really think writing bad poetry would help?”
She smiled again, and reminded me of Sara. “Yes. But burn it after you’ve written it.”
“That sounds like good advice.”
“I have all sorts of good advice.”
“Any on finding out what happened to Her Ladyship in the Halls of Judgment?”
“It’s that important to you?”
r /> “Yes, it is.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m no one’s confidante. I knew Her Ladyship, briefly, a little—she and His Lordship were patrons of my troupe before the Disaster. After that, I only know what I heard.”
“From Gormin,” I said.
She gave a quick nod.
“You were here when the Disaster happened?”
“Not far from here. Lord Zhayin had sponsored us on a tour. We were lucky to be out of the city.” She sighed. “I miss the stage at the Rock Garden, in Dragaera. It was built on layers of sanga wood, dozens of layers, so when you landed on it, it gave. And the house! The seating went more up than out, so the worst seats were so close, they were almost onstage.”
“You said ‘us.’ Your troupe?”
“Yes.”
“What became of them?”
“They let me go and continued without me.”
“That’s when Zhayin hired you?”
She nodded.
“I apologize for continuing to bring up those aspects of the past,” I said, “the ones that revolve around Gormin. I know it must be painful. But I’m trying to understand.”
“Why?”
I took a breath. Fine, then. If she was going to be that insistent. “I’ve explained some of it. Because something has set off a necromantic event and a friend of mine is caught in it.”
“A necromantic event?”
“That’s the only way I can describe it, yes. And I don’t understand it, but I think it has something to do with the Halls of Judgment, and with Her Ladyship, and her daughter, Tethia. Okay, let me be more precise. Something happened during the Inter—no, let me try again. Something happened at some point that had to do with Her Ladyship, and the Halls of Judgment, and the new manor they’re working on. I have a friend who’s trapped in that manor, and I need to figure out how it works. I know it has something to do with Her Ladyship, and her daughter, Tethia.”
“Tethia,” she repeated, then shook her head. “I know of no daughter, and no one named Tethia.”
“And you don’t know how she came to be in the Halls of Judgment?”
She shook her head. “I know little of necromancy, I’m afraid. I don’t know any way to the Halls of Judgment, except to walk the Paths of the Dead, or be taken by a demon—what? What did I say?”
“Son of a bitch,” I observed.
“Pardon?”
“Do you know someone named Discaru?”
“Athyra? His Lordship’s sorcerer? We’ve met.”
“Of course you have.”
“What is it?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing. I—”
“Boss! Trouble!”
“What?”
“An even dozen heading toward you at a trot, swords out.”
“Oh, good.”
“What is it?” said Hevlika.
I stood. “Thank you for the delightful conversation. You’ve been extraordinarily helpful. But I’m afraid it’s time for me to scamper.”
She smiled. “Just as well. I believe our hostess would like to close up. Best of luck to you.”
“Thanks.”
I stood, took a last look around, and gave Hevlika a last smile, a little sad that, as it turned out, she wouldn’t remember me very well a few hundred years from now.
14
A SHORT FATAL HATE CHASE
I stepped out of the door. Fortunately, the house had been dark enough that I wasn’t too night-blind.
“Where are they?”
“Two minutes, Boss. Coming from the castle.”
Hide, or run? The area was dotted with small structures, shacks, up and down the hill, but this was their home ground; they’d be better at finding hiding places than me.
“Let’s go the other way,” I said.
I set off running. I wondered if the strange magic that had brought me here would snap me back at a certain point; but if it did, that was just as likely to help me escape as to hurt me. I reached the riverbank and cut right.
Rocza landed on my shoulder. “They’re pretty close,” said Loiosh.
I kept moving—not running, but walking pretty fast. I kept wanting to break into a run, but they could run faster than me, and I didn’t want to be exhausted if they found me. There were a lot of them; even with Loiosh, Rocza, and Lady Teldra, I didn’t much care for the odds.
There were no more lights off to the side, so I figured I was past the village, such as it was. The river curved gently to the right. I moved away from the bank to avoid growing things, but kept following the curve, and I came upon a structure, a large shed or a small cottage. It seemed there were no windows. If I hid there, might those chasing me go past? If they decided to search, I’d be nicely trapped for them. I hesitated, then tried the door. It was unlocked. All right, then. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, then bumped into something. I felt around, and it proved to be a stool. At shin height, of course. I don’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t see a bloody thing, a problem I solved by not moving. I just crouched down near the door and waited.
I heard footsteps outside, getting closer, then—“Look!” “Duck!” “They’re his, he must be nearby.” “Follow them!”
“Good call, Loiosh. I should have thought of that. Where are you leading them?”
“Back toward the village.”
“Perfect.”
I remained still for a long time, though I’m sure less time than it felt like—if you want to screw up your sense of the passage of time, sit in a dark room with no sound except the very faint lapping of water some distance away. When I felt like it was safe, I opened the door again.
My eyes had adjusted more than I thought they could: I was able to make out objects now. There was a large bench, some casks, some boxes, ceramic bowls, glass jars, some empty, some stoppered and full of liquid that, from what I could tell, was clear. Against one wall was a stack of what I at first thought were planks of wood, but after checking proved to be sheets of glass—beautifully made, too: flat and smooth and even. They couldn’t have been made here; I didn’t know of more than two or three glaziers who could do that kind of work even in Adrilankha in my own day. I at once thought about the windows in the manor, and wondered if this is where they were processed, made unbreakable. That meant that construction on the manor had already started.
There was a lantern hanging by the door. I pulled the cover off, managed to get it lit, covered it again, and looked around some more. A ceramic jar held fine, white powder. I don’t recommend tasting every random white powder you come across in a building where magic or construction or something is taking place, but it looked so much like well-sifted flour, I just had to know. No, it wasn’t flour—it was sugar, ground down to an incredibly fine consistency—that kind of work is why bakers’ apprentices have such powerful shoulders. But—sugar? I couldn’t make sense of it. At the back of the room was a large brick oven, a smokestack leading up from it; next to the oven was a cauldron no bigger than a cooking pot. The incongruity of size between the cast-iron cauldron and the massiveness of the oven was at least as strange as the sugar. I studied it a little more, and realized that, no, it wasn’t an oven, at least not the way I thought of an oven; it was more of a kiln. Next to it was charcoal; someone needed to get something very hot for some reason. I felt the brick and it was cool to the touch, so whatever it was hadn’t been used for a while.
A little more exploring revealed a crate with two shiny bricks. I picked one up, tapped it, tasted it, weighed it in my hand: silver. I set it down after only briefly considering stealing it and looked around some more. I had even less idea what the other things were: one jar was full of some kind of crystals, and yet another, a glass jar, had the unmistakable and not at all pleasant odor of ammonia. Maybe you can put all this together and make sense of it, but I couldn’t.
“Boss!”
“What is it?”
“They haven’t given up; they’re starting to head back toward you. I think they m
ight have figured out what we’re doing.”
“All right. I’m going keep heading along the river the way I was. Catch up when you can.”
I put out the lantern and hung it up again, stepped back into the night, and pulled the door closed behind me. That place had to have something to do with construction, but I sure couldn’t think of what it might be.
I made my way back to the riverbank and turned to continue following the long curve. I was just in the process of asking myself how far I was going to go when, just like that, it happened: it didn’t feel any different, but as I crossed some invisible boundary, my next step took me back to the other side of the river, just before the bridge, with the river on my right and the castle somewhere out of sight over the hill to my left.
“Loiosh, where are you?”
“Heading back to you now.”
“No, continue the way you were going.”
“Oh. All right.”
He sounded dubious about it, but a moment later he appeared and landed on my shoulder.
“That’s a little strange.”
“Tell me about it.”
Rocza appeared then and landed on my other shoulder. Her wings continued flapping.
“She’s upset.”
“Yeah.”
“She thinks that’s kind of weird.”
“Me too.”
She settled down and I studied the area and considered my options. I was assuming that since all the nice people chasing me belonged here, they wouldn’t be subject to whatever boundaries I was. I hoped I wasn’t wrong; it would be embarrassing. But assuming I was right, I could head to where I’d first entered this, uh, this area, and maybe somehow find my way back.
“Loiosh?”
“I’m not sure, Boss. We noted it, but we’ve moved around a lot. I guess sort of back toward the castle, kind of?”
I’d been very clever, you see, in memorizing the exact spot where I’d appeared, because I’d realized I might have to find it again. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to find it coming from some whole other direction, and in the dark at that. I didn’t like my odds.
“See what you can do.”
“Right.”
“And let me know if you see those guards coming back.”
“Oh, good thing you mentioned that. Otherwise, I’d have kept it as a surprise.”
They took off from my shoulder again. I took my best guess as to the direction of the castle. A couple of jhereg passed overhead, wild ones, none of my business. Loiosh had a sort of superior attitude to them. There were also a few nocturnal birds flying low above the river, but I couldn’t see them well enough to identify them.