Above His Proper Station (24 page)

“You did say as much at supper, my lord, and you have previously mentioned talking to servants in the emperor's palace.”

“I can find uses for a wide variety of information.”

“I could scarcely doubt it,” Anrel replied, slightly puzzled by this remark.

“I am offering you employment, Master Murau.”

“You … what?” Anrel blinked.

“You seem to have friends in many quarters, from the alleys of Lume to the Grand Council.”

“I … I suppose I do, my lord.”

“That can be a valuable resource. I know you are no street urchin, to be paid in pennies; I would pay you a half guilder a day for your services as my agent.”

Anrel stared at him. He had just been despairing of his employment situation, and here was this generous offer, dropped into his lap. It was as if the Mother and Father were looking after him.

But generous as the offer was, and desperate as his situation might be, Anrel was in no hurry to accept it.

“I would be spying for Quand,” he said.

“You would be spying for
me,
” Lord Blackfield corrected him.

“Nonetheless, I would be spying.”

Lord Blackfield frowned. “I fear I have let my fondness for a clever turn of phrase lead this discussion in an unfortunate direction. The services I hope for need not be considered spying, surely?”

“You wish me to gather information and then deliver it to you, regardless of whether its source intended it for you, do you not?”

“I … well, yes.”

“That's spying.”

“Very well, then, it's spying. For me, for half a guilder a day.”

Anrel shook his head. “I owe you a debt, my lord, for taking me in when my home burned, for treating me as an honored guest, and for a thousand other considerations. I think I must consider you a friend, as well, for I have very much enjoyed my stay here. For these reasons I assure you that I will happily pass along information I think will interest you, should the occasion arise and my ethics allow it; you need not pay me for it, as I already owe you so much. That said, I am not ready to formalize our association and declare myself to be in your employ. I prefer not to place myself under any further obligation to you. I believe you to be an honest and honorable man with only the very best intentions, but the fact remains that you are a Quandish Gatherman, and I am a loyal subject of the Walasian Empire, and we are both caught up in political affairs, one way or another. You have chosen to involve yourself in the Lantern Society and the doings of the Grand Council, and I have inadvertently made myself infamous as Alvos, the orator of Naith. It may be that our loyalties and circumstances will force us into conflict. I would hope that our friendship might survive such mischance, but I would not put the additional weight of employment upon it.”

Lord Blackfield set his wineglass down and stared at Anrel. “Mother and Father, Master Murau, but you surprise me! I would hardly expect such scruples in a man who by his own admission has been earning his bread by theft and deception, but I cannot help but admire them. I am honored that you consider me your friend, and I hope to remain worthy of that honor.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Mind you, I am not accepting your decision as final and irrevocable. The offer will remain open for the present; should you reconsider, simply say so.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Anrel began to find his host's scrutiny uncomfortable; he set his own glass down. “If you will pardon me, my lord, it has been a long and eventful day.”

“Indeed it has. Sleep well, Master Murau.”

With that, the two men rose and went their separate ways, and as Anrel prepared for bed he found himself grimacing at what he had done. Although every word he had spoken in explaining his reasoning was true, the facts were that he needed an income, and Lord Blackfield had offered him one, yet he had refused it. Could he really
afford
such scruples? He had spent a season as a thief, and a season as a witch; would a season or two as a spy be any worse?

Well, he would give the matter serious thought for a few days, and see what he conclusions he might reach. Perhaps another, more acceptable opportunity might fall into his lap, just as this one had.

He hoped that the three boys were safe.

And he wondered what had become of Amanir. Surely, despite the obvious provocation, even Lord Allutar would not simply murder him, not after so openly arranging a meeting. Perhaps the delegate would be found alive and well, come morning.

But knowing Lord Allutar, Anrel doubted it.

19

In Which Anrel Is Offered Unexpected
Political Advancement

Lord Blackfield had already left for the baths when Anrel rose the next day, and Anrel once again took refuge in the Quandishman's library. There he mused on whether he might somehow make a living reading books, since that was what he found himself doing every day of late. He could not think of how that might be managed.

But then he realized that he was reading a book in colloquial Quandish—an account of a shipwreck in the northern isles of the Quandish Archipelago—and it occurred to him that there were not so very many people in the empire who could do that. Might he perhaps find work as a translator? If he found these Quandish travelogues so enthralling, might not other Walasian readers enjoy them, and pay for the privilege?

This might even be an occupation he could pursue more or less anonymously, so that his death sentence would not be an insuperable problem. If he could find a reliable publisher, perhaps use someone he trusted as a go-between …

This, he felt, was a very promising notion, so promising that he found himself distracted from his book. He knew very little about the book trade beyond the fact that as a student he had thought his texts too expensive, but surely, he could learn. A single new copy of a book might sell for a guilder, or even more; he wondered how much of that money found its way back to the author or translator. Did the publisher pay the author a lump sum, or was the money dependent upon how many copies sold?

As a translator, would he need to share his proceeds with the original Quandish authors? He had no idea what the law had to say on the subject, if it said anything at all.

How long would it take to translate a book?

This was intriguing, and offered the first viable alternative he had come up with to working as Lord Blackfield's spy, so that after some further meditation he decided it was time to visit one of the bookshops off the east end of the Promenade, near the courts, and ask a few questions. He gathered himself up, informed Harban of his destination, and set out.

He discovered that booksellers and publishers were all very willing to discuss their trade, but that no one was sure whether there would be a market for translations from Quandish. A few seemed startled to learn that there
were
books written in Quandish; the thought had apparently never occurred to them. After all, Quand was outside the Bound Lands, and therefore assumed to be rather barbaric; one didn't ordinarily think of barbarians as literate. Quand was associated with foggy forests, rocky coasts, and rain-swept moors, not with books.

When all was said and done, Anrel was not sure whether he had found himself a viable career or not. He returned to Dezar House in midafternoon with his head full of information about typesetting costs, print runs, royalty schedules, and the like, through streets that seemed alternately unnaturally quiet or full of angry voices. He was so focused on his newfound knowledge of publishing that it took him some time to realize that something must have happened to disturb the city, but that obvious conclusion had been reached well before he climbed the stairs to Lord Blackfield's rooms.

He wondered what had caused this fresh unrest, and hoped it was not Amanir's murder. Amanir had been Valin's friend, and for that reason, if no other, Anrel hoped he was still alive and well somewhere.

He paused on the landing as two of the women who lived on the third floor came hurrying down the stair past him, chatting excitedly and ignoring him completely. He bowed politely but said nothing as they passed, and they seemed utterly unaware of his existence.

He wondered whether they had noticed how disturbed the city's atmosphere was, or whether they were as oblivious to the concerns of the common people as they were to his presence. He hoped they would be safe, that none of the anger he had heard would be directed at them.

When they were gone he opened the door to find Lord Blackfield already home, settled in the sitting room, staring out the window at the boulevard.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Anrel said with a nod.

“Master Murau,” Lord Blackfield acknowledged. “Have you heard the news?”

Anrel glanced out the window as well, but saw nothing he had not already observed. He stepped inside and closed the door. “What news is that, my lord?”

“Delegate Amanir tel-Kabanim hanged himself this morning.”

Anrel's mouth tasted suddenly sour.

“Hanged himself?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How did it happen?” Anrel suspected he knew a part of the answer already.

“It would seem he had arrived at the baths during the night, and brought a rope with him,” Lord Blackfield said. “He rigged a noose from one of the exposed beams above the pool that gave the Hots their name, and when his friends arrived this morning they found him standing atop the headless statue of Mother Earth, staring at nothing, with the rope around his neck. He ignored their greetings, their expressions of delight that he was alive, and their entreaties to explain what he was doing. They tried to talk him into removing the noose, but he screamed out something about how they were defying the natural order, then stepped off the broken stump of the Mother's neck—and the rope then broke
his
neck, so although his companions cut him down as quickly as they could, he was quite dead.”

“Horrible!” Anrel said, the image of poor Reva Lir hanging from the Beynos bridge filling his thoughts.

“Naturally, the Hots accused Lord Allutar of killing him, but a dozen of the Cloakroom swore that Allutar had been with them all night at an infamous brothel in Old Altar Street.”

“But … surely, Amanir
was
enchanted, to hang himself thus!”

“So the Hots say, but the Cloakroom argues that he had merely finished the process of going mad. There was no trace of sorcery lingering on the body, but then, there wouldn't be, if a properly constructed binding was used.” Lord Blackfield sighed. “Allutar himself has said nothing, as yet.”

“If he admitted the crime, would his pardon protect him?”

“I think not; as I understand it, the pardon was for all crimes committed before election to the council. Anything subsequent to election would be subject to the relevant laws. What those laws might be in a case like this, however, I cannot say.”

Anrel frowned. “He is landgrave of Aulix, and Amanir was a commoner from Aulix. Lord Allutar might claim that Amanir's death was within his right to dispense justice.”

“Tel-Kabanim was openly calling for Lord Allutar's head, but I know of no other offense he might have committed. Was that a crime justifying summary execution under imperial law?”

“That might well qualify as sedition,” Anrel said. “Lord Allutar would be within his rights to hang a man for sedition back in Aulix.”

“Or for incitement to riot, perhaps? Tel-Kabanim helped rouse the crowd outside the baths.”

“Perhaps. But that would be in Aulix. Here in Lume, Lord Allutar's authority is questionable, at best.”

“Then it would be murder, if he killed tel-Kabanim.”

“That would be for the courts to decide; Allutar would probably plead unpardonable provocation, or perhaps self-defense. As a landgrave he would be tried before either the Lords Magistrate or the emperor himself, not in the burgrave's courts, and I am unsure what laws would apply.”

“Ah, the niceties of imperial government are beyond me. Would his membership in the Grand Council have any effect?”

Anrel puzzled over that for a moment, then said, “If the Grand Council said so, yes. Otherwise, I think not.”

“This all assumes that Lord Allutar did indeed compel tel-Kabanim to hang himself. Might it have been some other sorcerer?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Anrel admitted, “but Lord Allutar certainly had the greatest motive, the putative authority, and the sorcerous skill, and allegedly arranged to meet with Amanir last night. I would think that solid evidence.”

“Indeed.” The Quandishman stroked his beard. “Not just any sorcerer can make a man hang himself.”

The image of Reva lingered. Anrel said, “Lord Allutar has done it before, of course.”

Lord Blackfield blinked. “Has he?”

“Well, he enchanted a woman to hang herself, at any rate. He did so in Beynos—the witch Reva Lir put her own head in the noose and jumped from a bridge, rather than wait for the hangman, while under Lord Allutar's spell.”

“Ah.”

“I find—” Anrel began, but then he was interrupted by a banging behind him, and several voices arguing. Then many rapid footsteps came battering up the stairs beyond the sitting room door, and a moment later a fist hammered upon it.

Lord Blackfield was on his feet before Anrel could react, pushing him aside, behind the door and out of sight. The Quandishman opened the door as the pounding renewed.

“Yes?” he demanded.

Two voices spoke at once; Anrel recognized one as the landlady's footman who regularly answered the front door, and the other was also familiar, though he did not place it immediately.

“I'm sorry, my lord, I tried to stop them,” the footman said.

At the same time the other voice said, “Lord Blackfield, we must speak with you at once.”

“Thank you, Kalnes, that will be all,” Lord Blackfield said. “I will speak with these men.”