Emissary Page 2

  “But your boss won’t know how much we paid you,” Zerafine said. “Don’t you think about keeping it all?”

  “She knows anyhow. Got a luck-eye blessed by a Sintha thelis can see into our souls, or some such. Can’t keep nothing like from her.”

  “Do you do other things than guide? Run errands and so forth?”

  Nacalia beamed. “Sure I’d like to,” she said, “if old Karra says yes. She owns my contract next few years. Can’t cross her.”

  “Then tell Karra I’ll be back in the morning to negotiate with her. Now, hurry back!”

  Nacalia turned and bolted back the way they’d come. Gerrard said, “How whimsical of you.”

  “Oh, shut up. It was hardly whimsical. She’ll be a perfect runner.”

  “You barely know the girl. What makes you so sure?”

  Zerafine stared in the direction in which the girl had vanished. “She wasn’t afraid of me. That counts for a lot.”

  “Really? How were you going to find her again?”

  Zerafine’s mouth opened, then shut. “Oh,” she said.

  “Oh, exactly,” Gerrard said. “Fortunately for you, I did memorize the route. A few more trips and you won’t need to hire a guide.”

  “But I will need someone who knows this city and how to find anywhere or anything, and I believe Nacalia is that someone. And that’s not something you can do for me.”

  Gerrard shook his head. “I wonder if they’re expecting us so early. We’re at least a day’s journey ahead of schedule.”

  “Expecting us or not, we’re here, and there’s no point putting this off any longer.” Zerafine adjusted her hood so that her face was in full view, then pushed open the door to the shrine of Atenas.

  Chapter Two

  The black marble of the building turned out to be a façade; the interior of the shrine was white marble that gleamed gold in the light of a dozen torches affixed to the four walls. They flickered in a slight breeze that appeared to come from near the high ceiling. Other than the torches, the room was empty. An open door in the far wall led to a second room, also torch-lit, but with rough limestone walls that caught the light and reflected it back in glittering fragments. It felt smaller than it was, but the effect was comforting rather than claustrophobic, and even without seeing the altar made of the same rough-hewn limestone as the walls, Zerafine could feel the presence of the god in His sanctuary. It felt like coming home.

  Two men and one woman kneeling around the altar looked up as they entered. “My name is Zerafine of Dardagne, and I’m here as special emissary from Atenar to investigate the disturbances in Portena,” Zerafine said. It was a formality; they knew who she was. She saluted the woman, who had to be Berenica, tokthelis of Atenas and guardian of the Portena shrine. Her white hair was at odds with her faintly lined face, though Zerafine knew her to be over sixty years old. She was short and heavyset and her large hands were steady as they saluted—superior to subordinate, incorrectly, because despite Berenica’s higher rank and seniority, Zerafine was currently the Marathelos of Atenas’s plenipotentiary, invested with full power to act on his behalf. A telling reaction, but not one worth calling her on.

  Berenica gave her a long, cold stare. “Be welcome to this sanctuary,” she said. Her voice was high, unexpectedly high for such a large woman, Zerafine thought. It was a beautiful voice, and Zerafine could imagine how it might sound performing the chants of High Holy Week. Right now it also sounded unwelcoming, which irritated Zerafine. She had been afraid the proud old woman would not be happy about being outranked, even temporarily, by the Marathelos’s representative, especially since Berenica hadn’t been the one to ask Atenar for help, and it seemed her fears weren’t unfounded. Berenica was more likely to be a stumbling block than an ally.

  “We were about to begin the rites of evening, if you’d care to join us,” Berenica said, her tone of voice a challenge, her look a chastisement that Zerafine had simply blundered into the sanctuary without giving notice. Zerafine shucked her load and gave it to Gerrard, who ducked back into the antechamber to wait. As Berenica led the chant, Zerafine responded automatically. With her hands tucked into the wide sleeves of her robe and her hood pulled well over her face, she was free to think without giving anything away. The city council had asked Atenar for help; that meant the situation was serious. They had sent for someone with the Marathelos’s authority; that suggested the problem was a matter of judgment and political intrigue. Zerafine had never seen this assignment as a reward, but if she didn’t know better, she would now have seen it as a punishment.

  It did make her wonder, as she knelt at the altar, what the Marathelos had been thinking when he gave her the assignment. She was certainly capable of handling rogue ghosts, had made a name for herself doing so, but political machinations were not her forte. And the Marathelos had been—could she call it coy?—at any rate, not very forthcoming about the details. Ghosts, he had said, then added, but not like any other, and described the translucent figures plaguing Portena. That was all. With luck, Berenica’s pride wouldn’t keep her from being more forthcoming than her spiritual superior.

  “May we be the light that guides His spirits home,” Berenica concluded, and with final gestures, palm to palm, the service was over. Berenica led the way into the antechamber, Zerafine trailing behind the two men.

  “Please join us for an evening meal,” Berenica said, pushing her hood back and making a formal salute. “We’re all anxious for news from Atenar. Or, if you’d prefer, someone will show you to your quarters and arrange for food to be brought. If you’re too tired.” Her voice held the tiniest hint of a challenge, as if tiredness after a long journey was a sign of spiritual weakness. Despite her irritation, Zerafine had to admire the woman’s nuanced communication, her mastery of that wonderful voice.

  “Not at all,” she replied. “Gerrard and I would be happy to share your meal.” She put just enough emphasis on Gerrard’s name to show she’d noticed no one had bothered to ask for it.

  Berenica again led the way, out of the shrine and to the house on its left. Full dark had fallen in the time it had taken to complete the evening ritual, and the half-moon cast a pale blue light over the street. More light came from lamps burning behind the household walls farther on, but at this end of the street only two houses were lit, and one of those was behind the gate Berenica now approached. A man dressed in dark shirt and trousers opened the gate before she reached it, and she swept through without a word.

  The courtyard was given over to a large and well-kept garden, with many shade trees and benches set artfully beneath them. Zerafine could imagine how comfortable it would be during the heat of the day. The house, by contrast, bore no ornamentation beyond a lintel carved with an abstract design, but the interior blazed with color: jewel-toned hangings from across the sea, chairs comfortably upholstered with brightly-dyed wools, a rug that came from Zerafine’s home country of Dardagne, vases etched in intricate patterns that were Portena-made. Beyond the large sitting area stood a low table of some exotic wood, surrounded by cushioned stools, upon which was laid an elegant meal. The man who had opened the gate, who’d come in behind them, removed cutlery and glassware from a curiously carved and painted cabinet and proceeded to rearrange the place settings for five instead of three.

  “Is this your home? It’s lovely,” Zerafine said to Berenica, and felt the woman’s tension relax just a little. She must have expected a criticism of how luxuriously she lives, she thought, and if I were as rigid as she appears to be, I would have given it to her. True, it was a little...ostentatious...but it wasn’t Zerafine’s job to judge Berenica—or did she think that was part of Zerafine’s purpose here? This contradiction in the tokthelis, this external austerity wedded to hidden luxury, baffled her, and she wondered again if they would be able to work together, because Zerafine had neither time nor inclination to cosset the woman’s injured pride.

  Berenica quickly introduced the two theloi, Ricenz and Darlen, pretending that
she hadn’t forgotten to do it earlier just as she’d “forgotten” to ask for Gerrard’s name, and they seated themselves around the table. Zerafine guessed Berenica chafed at having to eat with Gerrard; sentaren didn’t rank any lower than theloi, but among the older theloi it was tradition to eat separately, and Berenica appeared to be as traditional as they came. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t say anything about it without being rude, since Zerafine outranked her, even if temporarily. It gave Zerafine a wicked little ember of pleasure deep inside; she could show good manners, but she didn’t think she liked the old tokthelis any more than Berenica liked her.

  They ate in silence, as was also tradition among the older theloi of Atenas: roast duck, new potatoes, artichokes roasted in olive oil, with a light red wine Zerafine, not normally a wine drinker, enjoyed very much. She was conscious of being covered in road-dust and probably smelling of sweat; they had been offered water to wash their faces and hands and feet, but nothing else. Of course no one would want to wait dinner on their guests’ ablutions, but Zerafine felt scruffy surrounded by such opulence. Even the utensils were of fine steel with carved olivewood handles. How on earth could Berenica afford such extravagances? Could Portena really have so many ghosts? She felt certain Berenica was actually snubbing her under the cover of silence, and her irritation flowered into mild dislike.

  Dinner was followed by a light sherbet garnished with mint leaves—an ice house was another extravagance, but a welcome one—and chilled water for a palate-cleanser. Berenica rose from the table, a sign to the rest that they should follow, and moved to take a seat on one of the upholstered chairs. Zerafine chose to sit directly opposite her, Gerrard standing at attention behind her. Her chair was just the slightest bit shorter than Berenica’s; more accurately, Berenica’s seat was just that much taller than all the rest. Zerafine caught Darlen and Ricenz trading a glance of shared amusement as they sat on a nearby couch, and once again had to suppress her irritation. So, they liked seeing the young upstart humbled, did they? She owed Berenica at least the respect due her office, but her subordinates had no such protection.

  “We’ve already seen one of the so-called ghosts as we made our way here,” she began, pretending Berenica hadn’t just opened her mouth to speak. It’s time you learned I’m not someone you can manipulate to your benefit. “Perhaps you can explain in more detail what’s been happening in Portena. I’m afraid the report we had at Atenar was...rather terse.”

  “There’s little to tell,” Berenica said. “People are seeing images that interact with their surroundings, but have no substance. They fade after only a minute or so, often much less. And to the best of our observations, none of them are recently dead. You can imagine the outcry when someone sees his dear old mother, dead five years past, walking toward him on the garden path.”

  “But they can’t possibly be ghosts,” Zerafine said.

  “Not at all. Real ghosts are only visible because of the seicorum they accrete, and they certainly don’t take the shape of people. It’s not as if the citizens of Portena know nothing about real ghosts. This is a large city; we console some seventy or eighty ghosts every year, most of them by request of the family. But there’s no convincing them that these...these apparitions cannot possibly be ghosts. Fortunately, we’ve learned what they actually are.”

  This was unexpected. Zerafine raised both eyebrows at Berenica to invite her to continue.

  “They’re hallucinations, of course,” she said. “Figments of madness. The theloi of Sukman have declared their god’s involvement, and people are beginning to be convinced of the truth.”

  “How interesting. If the truth is already known, then why bother to summon an emissary?”

  Berenica appeared taken aback by the directness of the question. “I don’t know why the Council does anything. They know I am too busy with the duties of the shrine to involve myself in mundane matters.”

  “You certainly seem well-informed for someone who hasn’t taken an active role.”

  “I’ve had to make statements about Atenas’s non-involvement in the situation, of course. It was my responsibility.”

  Yes, and thank you so much for muddying the waters with your groundless assertions, Zerafine thought. The apparitions might not be ghosts, but that didn’t mean Atenas wasn’t involved. But saying so would just make an already tense conversation openly antagonistic, so she merely said, “I’m sure you did your duty,” which was satisfyingly patronizing without giving Berenica grounds to openly accuse her of disrespect.

  “It’s getting late. We shouldn’t keep you from your rest,” Gerrard said, breaking the silence in which he’d followed their exchange with fascination. Berenica looked at him as if she’d forgotten he existed, then rose from her chair so the rest could follow. Technically, as the Marathelos’s vicarious presence in Portena, Zerafine should have been the one to dismiss the gathering, but she was willing to throw the tokthelis a bone, at least this time.

  “The Council offered to house you, but we thought, as you are a thelis of Atenas, to provide you with lodging in one of our properties,” Berenica said. She led the way out of the yard and to the house across the street, the other one that had lights burning in the courtyard. “I’ve arranged for servants to care for your needs, though I’m afraid they may have turned in for the night. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Oh, that was a masterful stroke. Zerafine mentally applauded. Turn the insult of not offering guest quarters in Berenica’s own home into a gesture over which she could not take offense; make Zerafine’s late-evening appearance justify the failure to give her full hospitality on her arrival. She’d have to take care not to underestimate Berenica again.

  “Not at all, you’re too kind,” was all she said. “Thank you very much. You’ll excuse me if I don’t join you for morning ritual. I’ll be far too busy on the Marathelos’s business.” With that parting shot, she and Gerrard entered their temporary home.

  The servants might have gone to bed, but they had left lights burning in hand-sized lanterns made of wrought iron and translucent white glass. The interior layout was almost identical to Berenica’s, minus the colorful décor; it looked as if it were rarely used. On the other hand, it had been well swept and dusted, and the unornamented furniture looked comfortable. Zerafine’s explorations led her first to a bedroom and then to a cavernous bathing chamber which appeared to have both hot and cold running water. Ah, civilization.

  “I want the room with the chickens,” Gerrard said, looking over her shoulder into the bathing room. He had removed his armor and helmet and his blond hair stuck up in tufts here and there. He looked as sweaty as she felt. “Sweet goddess of light, if I weren’t so tired I’d fall into that thing this minute.”

  “And smack your brains out on the empty bottom of the bath.”

  “And I wouldn’t even care.”

  “Wait—what were you saying about the room with the...chickens?”

  Gerrard showed her another door farther along the hallway. The bedrooms had been decorated more lavishly than the sitting room—though that still wasn’t saying much—and someone very fond of poultry had had their way with this one. The bedspread covering the narrow bed had been embroidered with rooster heads. A mural of a pastoral scene adorned the wall opposite the bed, with chickens heavily featured therein and a proud rooster stretching out its neck to crow from atop a fence post. The wooden clothes cabinet was carved with a pair of chickens that, when the doors were shut, appeared to kiss. Even the oaken bedposts were tipped with small, perfectly carved chicks.

  “You’re not serious,” Zerafine said. “It’s like a farmer’s nightmare in here.”

  “There is the chance that I’ll have dreams about ghostly chickens trying to lay eggs in my hair,” Gerrard admitted, “but it’s got a sort of whimsy to it, don’t you think?”

  “My room has flowers. Lots of flowers. Berenica is a very nasty person indeed. She practically had to host us, to show the Council that there are still matters in
which she has control, but she won’t provide more than the bare minimum of hospitality to avoid insult.”

  “I didn’t like that story she told. They aren’t ghosts, but we’re needed here anyway to tell people they aren’t ghosts? Either she’s stupid or she thinks we are.”

  “I’m guessing the latter. She certainly believes she can lead me around by the nose—not to mention believing her efforts toward controlling me would matter. I don’t think she understands what I’m doing here. She’s so wrapped up in herself that as far as she’s concerned, the traditional role of the theloi of Atenas as consolers of the dead is all that matters. It infuriates her that she can’t just say ‘they aren’t ghosts’ and have the problem just disappear.”

  Gerrard blew out a hard breath. “Are you sure we can’t just poke around a little, give the Council an answer they’ll like, and move on? This really isn’t what we’re trained for.”

  “I know, but I accepted the Marathelos’s commission, and I mean to do him proud. I at least need to speak to the Council. I’m not sure whether they simply want me to find out what’s going on, or if they expect me to do something about it. Either way, we’ll stay as long as it takes for me to fulfill my word. But more importantly, we’ve been traveling rough for four months and I think we’re due a rest.”

  “We stopped at Atenar two weeks ago.”

  “Yes, but we only stayed overnight, and the holy city doesn’t have nearly the amenities of Portena.”

  “The city’s going to be hottest during Ailausor,” Gerrard said.

  “It will still have theater and good restaurants and sport and a lovely bath with a cold water tap.”

  “I forgot about the bath.”

  “Well, keep forgetting, because I plan to bathe first tomorrow morning.”