“Thank you,” she said. She unfolded the paper. “Meet the Traitor at the Pachi Tree in One Hour”. Cery certainly had a fondness for capitalising words, she mused. “And could you arrange a carriage for me, as quickly as possible.”
The messenger bowed and hurried away.
“What is it?” Dorrien asked.
She looked up at him, his family and Rothen. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join you for dinner.”
Dorrien took a few steps toward her, forcing Alina to let go of his arm. The woman scowled.
“Is this to do with the search? Can I help?”
Sonea smiled crookedly. “There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to help, Dorrien. Tonight I’m just helping out a friend. You go have something to eat and settle in.”
“Is it Cery?” Dorrien’s eyes were afire with interest. Alina’s were smouldering with anger and worry. The girls’ eyes were wide with curiosity.
Sonea shook her head in exasperation. “As if I’d tell you right here, in front of the University. You had better learn to be a bit more subtle than that, if you’re going to be of any use to me.”
He smiled at her teasing tone. “Very well, I’ll let you have all the fun tonight. But you’d better not leave me out next time.”
The crunch of hooves and carriage wheels sounded in the direction of the stables. Sonea started toward the sound. “I’ll see you all tomorrow,” she tossed over her shoulder.
The driver of the carriage, seeing her haste, urged the horses to a greater speed, then drew them to a halt as he reached her. She told him the destination and hauled herself inside the cabin.
During the journey, she considered Alina’s badly concealed hostility toward her. Was I imagining it? She shook her head. I don’t think so. Was I doing something to cause it? Not unless smiling and welcoming someone is considered rude in Dorrien’s village, which I doubt. And Dorrien would tell us if it was.
Alina had visited the Guild a few times before. The first time she had been a shy young woman whose attention was so fixed on Dorrien that she possibly hadn’t even noticed Sonea. The next time she had been so occupied with a tiny baby and a young child that Sonea had not seen her once. Another time, Sonea had been too caught up in treating a seasonal bout of fevers at the hospices to see Dorrien or his wife.
Well, Dorrien is determined to stay until Tylia is in the University, so I have six months and more to find out what Alina is so bothered by – be it past romances or black magic – and to assure her she has no reason to worry.
The carriage slowed, then turned into the hospice entrance. Sonea hurried out of the carriage and into the building, greeting Healers and hospice helpers. Healer Nikea, the leader of the Healers who had helped Sonea catch Lorandra, led Sonea into the storeroom.
“Staying here or going out?” Nikea asked.
“Out,” Sonea replied. “But no disguise,” she added as the young woman headed toward the box containing Sonea’s hospice worker garb. “Just something plain to put on top.”
Nikea nodded and disappeared down the dim back of the room. She came back carrying a garment with sleeves.
“Here,” she said. “Cloaks are regarded as being a bit old-fashioned on the streets. These are more popular.”
It was a coat of surprisingly light material. Sonea shrugged into it. Though tailored like an ordinary coat to just below the bust, it flared out from there. The hem brushed the floor. “It’s a bit long for me.”
“That’s how they wear them. It only buttons to the thigh, so the fronts open up when you step. People will see your robes, but they’ll assume it’s a skirt.”
Sonea shrugged. “I don’t want them to recognise me until I’m right in front of them.”
“Then this will do just fine.” Nikea smiled, then checked that the corridor was clear of anyone but Healers before waving Sonea through the door.
Soon Sonea was walking through Northside. She slowed her pace. The Pachi Tree was not far away and she did not want to arrive too early. A block away from the bolhouse, one of Cery’s trusted workers stepped out of a doorway and shoved a basket in front of her.
“Signal is for the screen in the top right window to slide open,” the man said, drawing out a brilliant-yellow glass bottle and holding it up to her nose. A sickly sweet smell assaulted her senses.
“And then?” she asked, waving the perfume away.
“Go in. Straight up the left-hand stairs to the third floor. Last door on the right.” He stoppered the bottle and quickly lifted another one, this time a pale purple. The scent was overpoweringly musky. She winced.
“Left stairs. Third floor. Last on right,” she repeated.
“Good. My wife sells these. Some she makes herself; some she buys at the markets.”
The third bottle was black. The contents smelled of bark and earth, which was surprisingly pleasant.
“You like that one,” he said, his eyebrows rising.
“Yes, but I can’t imagine wearing it.”
“You wear perfume often?”
“Actually … not at all.”
“Well, try this one – it’s new.”
The next bottle was squat and a deep blue. The scent was a crisp, light one that reminded her of a sea breeze – but not in a fishy or rotten weed way – or the fresh smell of the air after a storm.
“That’s … interesting.”
“You don’t have to wear it,” he told her. “You can just put a few drops on a cloth and let it scent a room.”
She found herself reaching for her money bag. “How much?”
He named a price. She didn’t bother to haggle, as a movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the window he’d pointed out, and the screen was sliding open.
He handed her the bottle, smiling and bobbing in a display of gratitude as he backed away. She nodded to him once, then strode on to the bolhouse, slipping the stoppered bottle into one of the inside pockets of the voluminous coat.
Several patrons looked around as she entered, and it was obvious that they’d noted she wasn’t the usual sort of visitor. She headed for a narrow wooden stair built against the left wall of the room. It was steep, and soon she had reached the third floor. Two men stood in the corridor. They eyed her suspiciously. The door to the last room on the right was open, and she could hear voices. One was Cery’s. Raised in anger.
Whatever confrontation Cery and Anyi had arranged, it was taking place now.
The two men stepped forward to block her path. She pushed them away with magic. As soon as they comprehended that the force they’d encountered was magical, they backed away from her hastily. One shouted out a warning.
A man peered out of the doorway of the last room and saw her. A heartbeat later, three people ran out of the room and bolted down the stairs at the end of the corridor. One was Anyi, she saw. Realising she had arrived too late to prevent the attack on Cery, she hurried to the doorway and looked inside the room.
Cery and Gol stood at the far side of the small room, knives in hands, but smiling and unharmed. She sighed with relief.
“Looks like I arrived just in time,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door.
Cery smiled. “It was perfect timing,” he said. “Thanks.”
“The least I could do,” she replied. “So, do you want to stay here or make yourself scarce?”
He glanced at Gol, who was looking a little pale and very relieved. “I think we had better move on. Would you like to come with us?”
“Would I?” she asked in reply.
Cery grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t take you any place you won’t want anyone to see you in.” He tapped a foot and a trapdoor sprang up from the floor beside him.
Of course he’d have an escape route handy, though I doubt he’d have had a chance to use it if I hadn’t turned up.
Cery took a step toward the trapdoor, then paused and looked back at her appraisingly. “By the way,” he said. “Nice coat.”
CHAPTER 10
SECRETS SHARED
Something was gripping Lorkin’s shoulder and shaking him. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at a grinning Evar.
“What?” he asked, pushing away a heavy, cloying tiredness. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Evar assured him. “But if you don’t get up soon you’ll be late.”
Lorkin sat up and blinked at the empty beds around him. If most of the men were up and gone, he was already late. He groaned and rubbed his face, then got up.
“I wish you Traitors had time pieces,” he complained. “How am I supposed to wake up on time when you don’t have alarm gongs?”
“Some of the women have them. But here … what would we set them to?” Evar said, shrugging. “We all sleep and get up at different times.”
Lorkin sighed and started changing out of his bedclothes and into the simple trousers and shirt he liked best of all the Traitor styles of garb. Evar brought over a plate of bread covered with a layer of sweet fruit paste so thick that it must have broken the rules of winter rationing. Lorkin ate quickly, telling himself it was only so he could get to the Care Room faster, not to hide the evidence of Evar’s excess.
“Leota spoke to me last night,” Evar said between bites.
Lorkin paused and regarded his friend. The man’s expression was wistful.
“She said she enjoyed our evening together,” Evar continued, smiling faintly.
Chewing and then swallowing quickly, Lorkin fixed his friend with a stern stare.
“I’m sure she did.”
Evar looked at Lorkin and shrugged, his smile gone. “Oh, I know it’s more likely she means she enjoyed reaping the magical and political rewards, but there is a chance she wasn’t faking the other kind of enjoyment.”
“Are you tempted to find out?” Lorkin asked.
Evar shook his head. “Well, at least not until I feel like the cost is worth it again,” he added, then took another bite.
“You’d trust her again?” Lorkin was unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“I never trusted her the first time,” Evar said, between chews. He paused to finish the mouthful. “I knew what might happen. There were going to be people who thought I should be punished for taking you to the caves. If they didn’t do it that way, they’d find another.” He grinned. “This way I got a bit of fun out of it. And while Leota may be opportunistic, she’s also got a great body.”
Lorkin stared at his friend, unable to decide what to say to this. I can hardly say “Evar, you’re not as stupid as I thought you were”. Nor would he like it if I told him he was as ruthless as the women. But he’s not been as powerless or clueless as he appeared to be. In fact, he may have been planning this since before our tour of the stone-makers’ caves.
“And if she did happen to enjoy more than gaining some magic and the satisfaction of punishing me, then maybe she will come back for more,” Evar added, his gaze turning misty again.
Or maybe he’s just making it up as he goes along, Lorkin amended. I still have to admire him for it. He seems to be able to find an upside to any situation.
“Better you than me,” Lorkin said. He dusted the crumbs off himself, then stretched. “Not that I’d have time. I’m off to the washrooms, then back to work.”
Evar grimaced. “I’ve heard things are getting bad there.”
Lorkin nodded. “It looked like the number of fever patients was easing off for a while, but then we got twice as many sick people arriving, and some of them are much sicker than before.”
“That happens every year.”
“So Kalia tells me. But I don’t believe everything Kalia says, in case she tries to trick me again.”
“Good idea,” Evar said, popping the last piece of bread in his mouth. He uttered a muffled farewell as Lorkin headed for the door.
The city seemed quieter than usual as Lorkin made his way to the washrooms, then on to the Care Room. Coughing echoed down the corridors and from behind closed doors. Only when he neared the Care Room did he realise that there was something he wasn’t hearing: the constant hum of voices throughout the city. When he finally heard the sound it was coming from the Care Room – from a queue of waiting patients extending into the corridor beyond the room’s entrance.
People saw him and scowled. Some glared. Others looked at him in a measuring way.
Kalia has no doubt been making it known that I’m late. He wasn’t that late, however. He’d made up time by bathing very quickly, which he hoped wasn’t going to make him unpleasant to be around. If only a good bath was all it took to make Kalia pleasant to be near.
Entering the room, his heart sank as he took in the sight and smell of so many sick people. Kalia saw him and immediately stalked across the room toward him. He braced himself for a scolding, but instead she grabbed his elbow and led him over to a couple hovering over a girl of about six years.
“Examine her,” she said. “Come and tell me your assessment.”
He looked at the parents and felt his heart sink even further. Both stared back at him with dark, desperate eyes and said nothing. Turning to the girl, he saw that she was pale, her breathing was laboured and when she coughed it was weakly, her lungs rattling with congestion.
He knew even before he touched her and sent his senses within that she was sicker than she ought to be. The chill fever always claimed a few Traitors each year. The old and the young were the most likely victims, and those already weakened from some other illness.
He also knew that he would have to face this at some point. Kalia had known it too. He had already decided what he would do. But he would not do it now. Not while all these people were watching him so closely.
And not, he realised, until he’d had a chance to ask Tyvara if he’d guessed correctly what the consequences would be.
* * *
As the Guild House slaves began serving dinner, Dannyl was surprised to hear Tayend’s voice in the corridor.
“Then I’ll join him,” Tayend said. A moment later he stepped into the main doorway of Dannyl’s rooms. “Would you like some company for dinner?”
Dannyl nodded and gestured to a nearby stool. He had feared that he and Tayend would have an argument or some sort of confrontation, but nothing of the sort had happened and so far they had settled into their new roles without any conflict. And perhaps, since Tayend was so often out visiting Sachakans, it made sense to take advantage of the chance to catch up on ambassadorial business.
“No Ashaki to visit tonight?”
Tayend sat down and shook his head. “I asked Achati for a night off. I’m surprised he didn’t invite you out instead.”
Dannyl shook his head. “I’m sure he has other people to see than us Ambassadors. You’ve been getting along with the Sachakans very well.”
A slave hurried into the room with a plate and knife for Tayend, so that he could begin serving himself from the platters of food the others were offering.
“I have, haven’t I? It certainly appears so. Or am I wrong in assuming that? From what Ashaki Achati tells me, you were popular when you first arrived. Perhaps I, too, will fall out of favour.”
“You don’t have an assistant for anybody to abduct.”
“No. Though I could do with one – preferably of the kind that nobody would want to kidnap.” Tayend grimaced. “I want to work out what the situation is here, before I get anybody else involved. Whether it was safe. How things worked.” He moved some of the spicier meat onto his plate, then some stuffed vegetables, before indicating that the slaves could leave.
“I suspect finding out how things really work would take quite a few years.”
Tayend smiled crookedly. “Even so, I think I’ve worked out some things,” he said. “How about I tell you what I’ve guessed and you tell me if I’m right.” Popping food into his mouth, Tayend chewed and regarded Dannyl expectantly.
Dannyl shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Tayend swallowed, drank a mouthful of water,
then cleared his throat. “I’ve worked out that you and I are no longer a couple.”
Surprise was followed by a flush of guilt. Dannyl forced himself to meet Tayend’s eyes. Tayend’s gaze was steady.
“I guess not,” Dannyl replied. Rather lamely, he added silently.
“I worked that out when you put me in the guest rooms,” Tayend added. “And don’t tell me it would have caused a scandal if I’d slept in your bed. The Sachakans knew all about us before you got here.” He speared another portion off his plate.
Dannyl coughed in protest. “They might still have disapproved – enough to demand we be replaced, or to refuse to deal with us.”
“There’s nothing to make deals over. We have no work to do. They don’t need to trade with our countries. Having us here is a gesture of goodwill, nothing more. Other than that, our value to the Sachakans is merely as a novelty or entertainment. I suppose it has taken you longer to work this out.” Tayend waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve also worked out that Achati is a lad, and rather fancies you.” His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t quite worked out if you fancy him in return.”
Once again, Dannyl felt his face warming, but this time not out of guilt.
“Achati is a friend,” he said.
“Your only friend among the Sachakans,” Tayend continued, pointing his knife at Dannyl for emphasis. “You won’t be able to string him along forever. What are you going to do when he gets sick of waiting? He doesn’t seem the sort of man I’d want to make angry.”
Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. “You once would have said that about me,” he managed.
Tayend smiled. “Then I got to know you, and you’re not at all scary. Sometimes you’re even a little pathetic, always worried about what people think, burying yourself in your research to make yourself feel worthy.”
“It’s important research!” Dannyl objected.