Dangerous Gifts Page 21

  Selinecree scattered bright, pleasant chatter like sequins, Fain made himself pleasant without being remotely flirtatious. Enthemmerlee was gracious. Lobik and Bergast talked about magic and ritual. Rikkinnet had declined dinner, saying she needed to sleep. The room hummed with all that wasn’t being said.

  I forgot my own troubles long enough to tense when the seneschal came in with the wine, as did everyone else. He walked around the table, serving people one by one, until he came to Lobik. He stopped. He looked at Enboryay.

  Enboryay glared. Then he flicked his hand.

  The seneschal poured.

  So many held breaths were released it was a wonder the lamps didn’t get blown out.

  The dinner seemed to take several million years. I kept my eyes open and half an ear to the conversations; Lobik mentioned that he had recently seen a disti race, which engaged Enboryay’s enthusiastic attention. Discussing pace, stride, and ground, he seemed to forget he was talking to an Ikinchli. But then all his stablehands were Ikinchli, so this sort of conversation probably felt quite natural. Selinecree quizzed Bergast about magic. “So fascinating. You probably know, we don’t have much here; you have a great deal more on Scalentine.”

  “Only so much. Lethal magics are damped.”

  “Really? How intriguing! How does that happen?”

  “Well,” Bergast said, knowingly, “it’s terribly complicated.”

  I caught Fain’s look; it was no more than the most fractionally lifted of brows, but still, I had a hard time not grinning. Bergast, in magical terms, was just out of the egg. The damping effect of Scalentine still baffled the greatest of warlocks.

  The lengths a man will go to to impress a woman, even one he hasn’t the slightest hope of bedding, often amuse me.

  Then I remembered about the silk, and my mood dropped right through my boots.

  I glanced at Fain again, but he had turned to talk to Malleay.

  I couldn’t tell him.

  But... The thought snuck into my mind, like a finger tapping on a window. Maybe he could be of use. Or at least, his device could.

  My stomach clenched, but it was probably hunger; I hadn’t eaten since the morning, and I was ravenous.

  How could I keep him away from his room long enough to use it?

  Probably by making no obvious effort to do so. He was a suspicious beggar, and if I tried too hard to engage his attention elsewhere, he’d know something was up.

  My stomach clanged harder. Damn, I was hungry.

  The family withdrew to the main hall, another ill-proportioned, gloomy room with dark, clumsy furniture. It was, like the dining room, like the whole house, far too big for the people it contained.

  I shuffled and twitched until Rikkinnet appeared, and handed over to her with barely a word. She gave me a narrow look as I hurried off, but I ignored it. Now the thought of using the device was in my mind I couldn’t get it out.

  Fain hadn’t locked his room, but then, he hadn’t brought much with him to be stolen. I hesitated with my hand still on the door. What if he’d kept the device on him? It wasn’t that big... Well, there was no harm in looking.

  What are you doing, Babylon? What is Fain going to think if he comes back and finds you here, or catches you using the device? Never mind think, what’s he going to do? He’s not a man to cross, you know this, and you’ve already caused him trouble... But these thoughts fled when a glimmer of blue-purple light showed me that the device was indeed there, sitting on the ornately carved dresser.

  I opened the door the rest of the way and slipped inside, shutting the door behind me. If Fain turned up, I’d just pretend I’d arrived with seduction on my mind. Surely he’d believe that?

  My stomach ground out a protest. Shut up, I’ll feed you later.

  I took hold of the device, trying to remember what Fain had done. A movement of this little copper wheel... that tiny lever down, the smallest fraction... and... there.

  I remembered, just, to look away when the wavering shape of liquid-shuddering light formed between the wires, and turned hard and bright.

  Shadows scuttled up the walls. Something somewhere was shrieking; some night-hunting bird, perhaps.

  I leaned in close. “A swift rabbit isn’t a hare but still leaps the moon,” I said.

  Silence, with things in it that hissed and crawled.

  I had a moment’s fear that they might have changed the passwords, but the voice came back: “The moon under water snares the unwary fox. Mr Fain?” The same female voice I’d heard before.

  “No. It’s Babylon Steel. I need to get a message to the Lantern.”

  “I can’t do that, without the express order of a member of the Section. Where is Mr Fain?”

  “Elsewhere. Charming his hostess, probably. Dammit! All right, can you get one to the Militia?”

  “Not without...”

  “Look, it’s a legal matter! A robbery, or about to be. There’s a cargo of silk coming in, and I overheard plans to get to it at the warehouse.” I thought furiously. “If it’s taken, the Section will lose the tax revenue on it.”

  Silence. The silence went on too long; it was too full of whispers that seemed on the verge of becoming articulate.

  “I need more detail.”

  “A cargo of Tesserane silk, coming in via Scalentine, due in about two days.”

  “And the nature of the crime?”

  “Robbery! I told you!”

  “Look,” the voice said, suddenly friendlier, perhaps because my desperation had been audible. “I can’t do this officially, but I can get one of the clerks to drop a word in someone’s ear. I’ll send Suli over to the barracks, all right? It’s as much as I can do. And if anyone asks, I didn’t.”

  “Thank you! Tell them it’s me, they’ll know I wouldn’t waste their time.”

  “I will.”

  The quality of the silence changed, and I realised she had turned off her end of the device. Suli, I thought. I’d heard that name before, somewhere. A client? A...

  “Babylon. Oh, Babylon, that is very unwise.”

  I jerked backwards away from the machine, and Mokraine reached past me, and flicked at the base of the device.

  The light died, and the shadows on the wall collapsed in the warm, sane glow of the lantern in Mokraine’s hand.

  “These are not toys for the unlearned to play with,” he said.

  What had I been doing? My arms were pebbled with goosebumps. My stomach roiled and rolled. It wasn’t hunger, it was my gut. It had been shrieking at me, and I had ignored it. Why in the name of the All had I used that thing?

  Mokraine leaned forward, holding up the lantern and peering at me.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “I do not know. Perhaps nothing. Come away.”

  “Gladly.”

  I stumbled after him, feeling doped and utterly confused. “Mokraine? What were you doing there?”

  “I felt something. Something in the structure...” He stared into the flame of the lantern for a moment. “I know I am mad,” he said. “But also I know that I feel the portals, now. I feel the tug and pull, the net of thought that laces the All. The gates and passages through which things pass. I think that is why I am here. And that device is part of it. But... I do not know. In any event, you should not use it again.”

  “I don’t plan to! I don’t know why I did. Except I was desperate.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I hated the thing. When Fain first showed it to me I didn’t trust it. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Perhaps something wanted you to,” Mokraine said.

  That was a thought I could have lived without.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  I TRIED TO shake it off. I had done something foolish, but I felt perfectly fine, now. Nothing had happened. And I’d sent a message. Hargur would send some guards, at least.

  Fain had to chant. You didn’t. And he had to fidget with the thing for minutes, you found the right position for
all those little wheels and levers without even thinking...

  Perhaps something wanted you to...

  “Oh shut up,” I muttered. “Nothing happened.” Nonetheless, I wouldn’t be using the Section’s little toy again.

  My gut, possibly still annoyed at being ignored earlier, pointed out that it hadn’t had supper and would like some, now, please.

  It’s a bit much when your own bloody insides take against you. I made my way towards the barracks to get some food.

  And while I was there, or rather, after I’d eaten, I’d see what I could make of the captain. At least that would take my mind off my own idiocy.

  Yelling at him, I knew, would only make him even more resentful, and this wasn’t a case for seduction, except of a very specialised sort. I was going to try telling him a story, based on something I remembered, from long ago. Storytelling is part of my job, one way and another. Usually specifically for erotic effect, but I’ve used it to rally soldiery, too.

  Standing in front of the overgrown mess that had once been a garden in front of the captain’s cottage, rubbing at the scar on my jaw, I wondered if I should have chosen something else. Or if I should just give up, and try and persuade Enthemmerlee to, if not sack her damn guard, just stop using them; or hire in a decent officer, and see what they could do. But I didn’t think she would. I pushed a hand through my damp hair, feeling my fingers catch and pull in the tangle. How had I got myself in such a mess? I was never going to get anywhere with this. Even if Stikinisk was being straight with me, she was just one, half-trained, with whatever supporters among the guard she could scrape together. The rest were probably, in the way of people, waiting to see which way the wind blew; which wouldn’t do Enthemmerlee any good if they were still making up their minds when someone attacked.

  Once, I could have bound them to me with a word, forced their obedience with lust in their hearts and joy in their steps. I remembered what it was like, and for a moment I longed for the powers I’d once had. I felt a tickling buzz, like something pressing on the back of my skull, and whipped around. But there was nothing there, except the rainy night.

  Nerves, perhaps a windblown leaf tangling in my hair. And reluctance for the task ahead of me. How easy it would have been, once, to convince the captain of the virtue of his task, to turn him into someone not only effective but furiously loyal, with nothing more than words.

  That tickling buzz strengthened, became words inside my head. You could do it again, Avatar that was.

  That voice. I knew that voice. I’d heard it last on Tiresana.

  Babaska. Not a mere Avatar like me, but the Goddess Herself.

  The voice was distant but clear; a far lantern in a night wood. I shuddered with a mix of fear and fury.

  “Get out of my head,” I whispered into the night. “I did what you wanted, leave me be!” How had she found me? How had she made the connection with me, here, uncountable miles from Tiresana, on another plane?

  I can help you, Babylon. I can give you back the voice that raises the sword to your command – a little, unexpected flicker of humour at the double meaning – you know I can.

  Yes, I believed she could, even so far removed from her home plane and mine.

  “No. I’m done with it. That power was stolen.”

  But it was mine, and I offer it. You cannot steal what is given.

  “And what would you ask in return?”

  ...

  “There’s something, isn’t there?”

  Perhaps. For now, only that the door should be left open.

  “No.”

  Ebi that was, Avatar that was; I can help you.

  “No!” I shouted, and slammed... something, shut.

  The light was gone. The buzzing at the back of my skull was gone.

  I stood alone in the whispering night.

  There was a muffled thump from the cottage, and a voice said, “Who’s there? Who’s out there?”

  “It’s Babylon Steel. The bodyguard. Could I speak with you?” My voice sounded calm, but my hands were shaking. I clenched the fingers and released them, glared at them until they held steady. I have a fight to fight. Everything else can wait.

  There was a grumbled response I decided to take as a ‘yes.’ I pushed the door open. Didn’t anyone lock anything around here?

  Something clinked against my foot.

  A wine-bottle; full. I hefted it. Well, I’d brought some anyway. He must have left it outside, forgotten it, perhaps.

  Inside the cottage it seemed colder than outside, and almost as damp. I followed the glimmer of lamplight.

  The lamp stood on a table with a single plate holding the remains of a meal. There was a slumped shape in a low chair. Tantris, or so I assumed. He turned his head towards me. He had a mug in his hand and a blurred look, and there was an alcohol tang in the air. Apart from that, the place smelled like dust and emptiness.

  “I’m here about the thing at the Palace. Tomorrow, right?”

  He didn’t answer, just glared at me.

  I held up the bottle I’d brought, and put the other one on the table. “Found this outside. This one, I brought with me. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.” I looked at him, trying to keep my face calmly expectant, like that of an old friend who’d dropped in, and was just waiting for him to fetch my usual tankard.

  Eventually, when I didn’t move or change expression, he grunted and got to his feet. From his movements, he wasn’t that far gone; he didn’t have the exaggerated carefulness of someone fighting a swaying floor.

  The tankard he brought in was tarnished, but without any of the wear or dents of use. He’d gone to the trouble of wiping most of the dust out of it.

  I poured him a slug of wine and a swallow for me and perched myself on the only other seat, an upright wooden chair that creaked in protest, or possibly shock at actually being used.

  “I need your advice,” I said. “Obviously you and the guard will be there, but you know the place far better than I do, and I’d like to know if there’s anything in particular you think is a danger.”

  “Anything in particular? The place will be full of people who want her dead,” he said. He drank, knocking it back. Lucky I hadn’t brought the good wine.

  “And what do you plan to do about that?”

  “I plan to do my job, best I can with what I’ve got.” He gave me a brief, red-tinged glare.

  “Rag-ends and scrapings.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’ve been with the family long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “What do you call that vine out front?” I said.

  “What?”

  “That vine, growing all over the front. Hairy thing.”

  “Creeping garrotte.”

  “Creeping garrotte?”

  “Strangles everything.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I just wondered,” I said. “Looked like there was a garden out there.”

  “I don’t have time to keep it up,” he said.

  No. You’re too busy sitting here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself.

  “Back where I come from,” I said, pouring more wine, “it’s desert country.” I felt my hand start to shake and put the bottle down, harder than I meant, but Tantris didn’t notice. Oh, I wished I’d chosen another story, this was no time to be talking about my past. But I couldn’t think of another. This one I knew well enough to tell almost without thinking. I took a breath to steady myself, and carried on. “Hard land; hard to grow anything much. But they love their gardens. If you’ve access to water and enough people to work it, you can make glorious gardens. Some people made places that were so green and scented and quiet you’d think you were in a dream. Rich people, of course. And the temples. No shortage of workers, and they could get water most of the time.

  “But there was a lady who lived nearby where I grew up. She didn’t have much. She made her living weavin
g; not even fancy stuff, just plain cloth. She had this tiny patch of sun-blasted ground in front of her place, with soil like dust.

  “And over the years, she worked that patch of ground. She collected dung, she dug in all sorts of things, begged or scavenged around the city. It was barely bigger than that table, her garden, but she loved it. And she fed the ground, and watered it with her washing-water. And one spring I walked past and this tiny patch was like a piece of embroidery; little bright flowers, everywhere.

  “By summer, she had flowers that were the envy of the city. Not many. There wasn’t room. But what she had was better and brighter and more highly scented than the best of what grew in the temples.

  “She was a quiet, nervy scrap of a thing, like a little brown bird. I was there the day some high-nosed priest, sweeping down the street in robes worth more than the house she lived in, stopped and looked. He knocked on her door. I remember her face. She was terrified. But as they talked, and he asked her how she’d made her garden, she started to stand up straighter, she smiled. She told him everything she could.

  “Word got about. The priests and priestesses started to summon her to the temples for advice, and she went.

  “They still couldn’t grow flowers like hers. Some offered her gold, some offered her a high position in the temple to come make their gardens, but she wouldn’t go. She’d have had to leave her own garden, and she loved it too much. I suppose because she’d done it all herself, from nothing. And they kept coming to her for advice, and they paid her for it. She’d take gold, but she’d rather have seeds, or cuttings. She never moved from that house. And everyone stopped and looked at her garden. Avayana, her name was. She bred a new kind of lily, and they named it after her; a little gold-flecked flower with a scent like an angel’s dream. It grows in the harshest places, where nothing else will.”

  His head had nodded down to his chest, and I wondered whether all I’d managed was to send him to sleep, but his hand went out to his cup again, and lifted it.

  After a few minutes, I put down my own barely used mug, and stood up. “Well, I’d best be off. And if your lot are as hopeless as you say, maybe I should just advise the Lady Enthemmerlee to hire guards in. She wasn’t going to – she seems to think they were worth keeping – but you’re the one who knows them, and you don’t agree. I saw you’ve a training-ground behind the barracks; I’ll be checking it over tomorrow, just after sunrise.”