Above His Proper Station (21 page)

The following day was the solstice; there was obviously no possibility of visiting the Adirane family land, so Anrel accompanied Lord Blackfield and Harban to one of the public shrines on New Altar Street, and said his quarterly prayers to the Mother and the Father, thanking them for his survival and for his good fortune in finding a place with the Quandishman, and pleading for mercy for Reva Lir's soul.

He thought about Tazia with longing, but said nothing about her at the shrine. Whatever her fate might be, he felt he had no say in it after so thoroughly failing her sister.

It was midmorning two days later, as Anrel was stepping out onto the street, that he heard a hiss and turned to find Shoun leaning against the corner of the porch. The boy's face was smeared with soot, and his clothes, never good to begin with, had several visible tears.

Anrel beckoned to the lad. “Walk with me,” he said.

With a quick glance around, Shoun scurried to Anrel's side, and the two of them strolled side by side along the boulevard. They were so obviously mismatched that they drew stares from a few pedestrians and the driver of a passing coach, but Anrel ignored this.

“It's good to see you,” Anrel said, as they rounded a corner onto a less-traveled street. “I was worried.”

“I was lucky,” Shoun said.

“What about Mieshel and Po?”

“They're safe, too. Mieshel and I went out through the alley behind Victory Square together, and we found Po later.”

“Where are you staying?”

Shoun looked mistrustfully along the tree-lined street, and said, “Around.”

Anrel had lived in the Pensioners' Quarter long enough to know what that meant; if the boys had found a new home, the answer would have been, “We have a place.”

“What about you?” Shoun asked, looking up at him. “You look well.”

“I am,” Anrel said. “I took a chance on an old acquaintance, and he took me in.”

Shoun looked straight ahead again. “You were luckier than we were, then.”

“I was,” Anrel agreed. “I was very fortunate indeed.”

“I saw your note.”

“I wanted to know what had become of everyone.”

Shoun shrugged. “We're getting by.”

“Do you know about anyone else?”

“I see some of them around.”

Anrel looked up as they approached a watchmen's arch; no one was visible atop it just now. “I suppose they're staying out of sight, if one doesn't know where to look.”

“Mostly.”

“It doesn't sound as if you trust me.”

Shoun cast him a look. “I came to find you, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did, but you aren't
entirely
sure it isn't some sort of trap, are you?”

“Is it?”

Anrel shook his head. “No. Thank you for coming.”

They walked on, under the arch, where Anrel stopped, glanced around to make sure no one else was in sight, and bent down to whisper to the boy.

“Listen, Shoun,” he said. “I'm staying with a Quandish lord—I met him in Alzur last year, and after the fire he took me in. He claims he's a do-gooder visiting Lume to try to help out, but I think he may really be a Quandish spy of some sort. He's made friends with some of the delegates to the Grand Council, he has connections in high places, but he says he's interested in meeting some of the others from the Pensioners' Quarter—some people like you. I think he may be hiring people to spy for him. Now, if you want, I can introduce you to him. He probably won't take you in the way he did me, it wouldn't look right, but he may be willing to pay you to do things for him. Are you interested?”

Shoun blinked, then stared at Anrel as if he had gone mad. “Of
course
I'm interested!”

“He may want you to spy for Quand. You're Walasian.”

“I'm not stupid, Dyssan, and I'm not a traitor, either. I can run his errands without being disloyal. If he asks me to do something wrong, I'll just disappear.”

Anrel straightened up. “Good enough, then.” He looked around, judging the hour from the shadows. “He's at the Aldian Baths right now, listening to the Grand Council argue, but he'll be home for supper. Come to the servants' entrance at Dezar House when the sun reaches the rooftops, and we'll arrange something—either I'll meet you, or Lord Blackfield's man Harban will. He's an old Quandishman with a white braid. Bring a friend or two if you want—but no more than two, this first time. If the job doesn't work out, at the very least I'll see you're fed.”

“Before sunset, back door at Dezar House. Good.”

“Now, I was planning to go down to the Promenade and see how the city is faring. You're welcome to join me, but if there's anything else you want to attend to …”

“I do believe my schedule could accommodate you,” Shoun said, smiling for the first time since Anrel had spotted him by the porch.

Together the two made their way down to the banks of the Galdin, and along the waterfront toward the emperor's palace, continuing to ignore the stares they drew. As they came in sight of the palace Anrel studied the ramparts, and noticed something that looked odd.

“The cannon,” he said, pointing. “I remember them as being a brighter red. Perhaps the light…?”

“They were fired into the crowd during the riots,” Shoun told him. “The smoke stained them.”

That was what Anrel had feared. He had not heard them, so far as he knew—not that he knew what cannon sounded like, but the stories said they roared like thunder, and he had not noticed anything fitting that description. Of course he had been far away, and the sound might well have been lost in the chaos of the fire.

He had learned as a student that it was the Walasian custom to paint new cannon red so that their crews could judge how much use they had seen by how much of the barrel was stained black with smoke, and could adjust their handling appropriately. A new cannon might have poor welds or other flaws, and might well explode when it was first fired; likewise, an old and heavily used cannon might have eroded away enough of its metal that it, too, might burst. Therefore either pure red or pure black cannon were considered untrustworthy and handled with caution, while one that was half red and half black was deemed experienced, but sturdy and safe.

The cannon on the palace walls had always been bright, pure red—until now.

“You saw that? You saw them fired?”

Shoun shook his head. “No. But it's all over the city.”

Anrel knew that did not mean the tale was true, but the darkened mouths of the cannon certainly provided good evidence. He shuddered. As if demons were not enough, the emperor had apparently turned guns on his own people. What was
wrong
with the man? Did he not understand what he was doing?

The sorcerers, the nobles, were supposed to keep order among the common people; that was not the emperor's responsibility. While the Emperor's Watch was indeed used to watch over the capital, since the city's own burgrave simply couldn't afford to safeguard so large a population without that assistance, it was certainly not the job of foreign magicians or palace guards to interfere.

Had any of the nobility addressed the matter? There was supposed to be a balance between the emperor and the nobles—the sorcerers had their magic, so that they could restrain the emperor and his soldiers if necessary, while the emperor had the Great List that could strip any treasonous sorcerer of that magic.

But it had only been a few days, and the existence of the Grand Council probably complicated the situation.

Anrel had never believed that the Grand Council could accomplish anything useful; he had always taken it for granted that a way would be found to pay off or repudiate the empire's debts, that the famine would end either through better weather or magical intervention, and that everything would then return to what it had always been.

Now, after seeing the demons, and the cannon, and the vandalized bakeries, and the ruined bread, he was not sure.
Could
the empire go on as before after this?

But then, order had been restored after the wars. That had all been before he was born, but he had read about it in his student days. The wars with Ermetia or in the Cousins had not seriously strained anything but the imperial finances, but the Quandish Wars had seen two invasions of Walasia that had laid waste to broad swathes of the empire.

Yet the empire had recovered, had flourished, and now traded with Quand and allowed Quandishmen like Lord Blackfield to wander freely.

Perhaps this crisis would pass, as the wars had, and order
would
be restored.

Anrel wondered whether that would really be a good thing.

17

In Which Anrel Learns Something of Imperial Politics

Lord Blackfield returned home earlier than Anrel had expected; the afternoon was scarcely half over when the big Quandishman flung open the door and stalked into the sitting room, his expression stormy.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Anrel said, looking up from his current book.

“Oh, it is anything
but
good, Master Murau!” Lord Blackfield roared, flinging his hat at the wall.

Then, as if a bubble had burst, his obvious rage vanished, and he was as calm as ever, standing coolly in the center of the room, his hands folded behind his back, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“
Do
excuse me,” he said. “I can't imagine what I was thinking, bellowing like that and flinging my hat about. What would my haberdasher say if he saw me treating his work so callously? I'm sure the poor fellow would be reduced to tears by such inconsideration—quite unforgivable, don't you think?”

Anrel blinked. “I'm sure he could find it in his heart to forgive you, my lord, if you had sufficient provocation.”

Lord Blackfield smiled. “Why, by the Father and Mother, I believe you're right—he's a gentle soul, all in all, far kinder than
I
am. And I cannot deny that I
have
been provoked, in large part by an individual with whom I understand you to be acquainted—a delegate by the name of Amanir tel-Kabanim.”

“I know him slightly,” Anrel said warily.

“Do you know what he has done, then?” The faintest glimmer of suppressed fury flickered in the Quandishman's eyes.

“Not at all, my lord. I took a stroll by the river this morning, but have otherwise spent most of the day in this very room, taking advantage of your library, utterly without news from the outside world. What has Amanir done that has irked you so?”

“Let me first explain, sir, that as is my custom, I betook myself to the baths to listen to the Grand Council's deliberations. I do this so that after the conclusion of business, or before the start of the next day's labors, I might talk to the delegates in full knowledge of what has been discussed, and counsel them in hopes of preventing needless strife. I have spoken with Delegate tel-Kabanim more than once, and he is familiar with my views, and has claimed to be in sympathy with them.”

“I have understood this to be your habit, yes,” Anrel said.

Lord Blackfield took a deep breath, and said, “This morning it was necessary to
fight
my way to the baths, as a great unruly mob had gathered outside, and when I reached the doors I found my path barred by soldiers of the City Watch, who told me that they had orders to admit no one but the delegates and their guests. I protested that I was indeed a guest, of Delegate li-Parsil, and a messenger was sent, and the delegate was kind enough to confirm that I was welcome within. I was admitted, and took up my accustomed place in the gallery above the central gathering, but by that time the crowd without had taken up a chant, shouted in unison by a thousand or more voices, calling over and over, ‘Bring us Allutar's blood! Bring us Allutar's blood!'”

“Oh,” Anrel said. “
Oh.
”

“And that confounded fool, tel-Kabanim, took up the chant on the floor of the Grand Council!”

“
What?
”

Lord Blackfield nodded, and held out a hand toward Anrel. “You see? So much for his protestations of supporting my efforts at peacemaking!”

“Indeed, my lord.”

Lord Blackfield let his hand fall. “Fortunately today's chairman, Lord Guirdon, called upon him not for silence, which I suspect would have provoked outright revolt, but to present the case against Lord Allutar and offer suggestions as to how the matter might best be handled.”

“Ah.”

“That inspired quite an instructive and productive morning, really,” Lord Blackfield said, dropping into a chair. “It was made clear that Lord Allutar, and he alone, was indeed responsible for the ruination of the Raish Valley wheat fields—that is no longer mere rumor or speculation, but acknowledged fact. It was further made explicit that he cannot be subjected to any legal penalty for that action—the Grand Council has granted all its members pardon for all actions taken prior to their election, no matter what those actions might be, or what repercussions they may have had. Suggestions that this decision might be rescinded stirred lively debate, but were defeated in the end.

“It was then proposed, by tel-Kabanim and his compatriots, that the Grand Council devise some arbitrary penalty for Lord Allutar regardless of the law, since after all the council is
above
the law, but that … well, the debate degenerated into shouting at that point, and it took some time for Lord Guirdon to restore order.” He glanced at Anrel. “Have you followed much of the council's actions?”

“No,” Anrel admitted. “I spoke with Derhin, but I cannot say I have paid close attention.”

“Well, you may know that there are several factions within the council, named for where in the ruins their members gather before the general meetings. The Hots hold forth in the pool the ancients heated with fires in the room below, the Beaters in the room we believe to have been used for massages, and so on. Amanir tel-Kabanim is one of the loudest of the Hots, commoners who blame all the empire's ills on the misuse of sorcery, while Lord Allutar is a leader of the Cloakroom, sorcerers who lay everything at the emperor's feet and would solve the empire's problems by deposing Lurias and replacing him with his brother Sharal, then confiscating enough of the imperial family's property to pay off the empire's debts. No matter what the subject, you can rest assured that anything any member of the Hots might propose will be blocked by the Cloakroom, while every suggestion from the Cloakroom, no matter how benign, will run afoul of the Hots. Everyone knows this, so anything that truly needs to be done is introduced by one of the more moderate groups, so that the Hots and the Cloakroom can vote for or against it on its own merits. There are also committees dealing with various matters, so that they might be handled more expeditiously than they would be through the Grand Council as a whole.”