Above His Proper Station (32 page)

“Compliant?” Then Anrel realized what she meant; wealthy men often found serving wenches convenient for more than cooking and cleaning. “Oh.”

“We have been living quietly here in Lume ever since,” Tazia said. “We have taken no part in any of the politics, any of the riots—well, Perynis was caught up in the crowd that looted a bakery, but nothing else. We wanted nothing but to stay out of trouble and out of sight. But then today we heard that Alvos the orator had been made a member of the Grand Council, and we knew it must be you—no, we
hoped
it was you, but feared it was some imposter. I asked after you, and encouraged cooperation with a few gentle spells, and … and here I am, and it
is
you, and I am so,
so
very glad to see you!”

And with that she flung herself from her chair into Anrel's arms, weeping with joy.

25

In Which Anrel Receives Unhappy News

Tazia's visit lasted for roughly another hour, in which she provided more details of her family's misfortunes, and listened avidly to Anrel's and even Derhin's accounts of what they had done. At last, though, she rose. “It's getting dark,” she said. “I should go.”

“The streets are not safe for a woman alone,” Derhin agreed. “Which is a disgrace to the empire.”

“I would be happy to accompany you, to see you safe to your family's bosom,” Anrel said. “Or perhaps …” He glanced at Derhin.

“Perhaps what?” Derhin asked.

“I am not certain I should suggest this,” Anrel said. “I am not at all sure of the finances or the proprieties; if either of you feels it inappropriate, do not hesitate to say so. It occurs to me, though, that perhaps we could employ a housekeeper here. Or even a staff of three.”

“I don't … I …” Derhin blinked, and did not finish his sentence.

Seeing his discomfort, Anrel said, “Well, let us not be hasty, in any case.” He dismissed the matter with a wave. “I will walk Mistress Lir home, and if she and her mother and sister would care to consider working here, we can discuss it another day.”

“I think we will give it every consideration,” Tazia said, smiling. “Though you do understand, I trust, that we are not as compliant as some hired women.”

“I would hardly think otherwise!” Anrel replied, smiling back.

He did indeed escort her back to her home in Catseye, where she shared a shabby attic room with her younger sister. Tazia informed Anrel that their mother Nivain was employed in a somewhat better household, and had a room there, but the two sisters worked for the manager of a row of tenements, and their accommodations were far from luxurious.

When Tazia opened the door at the top of the stairs Anrel was standing behind her, and Perynis, looking up from where she sat at her sister's return, spotted him immediately. She let out a squeal and sat bolt upright.

“You found him! It's really him!”

“Yes,” Tazia said, and Anrel thought she blushed, though it was hard to be sure in the orange glow of the single lamp above the steps.

“Come in, come in!” Perynis called, beckoning

“We aren't allowed to have men in our room …” Tazia's voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Oh, but he's a delegate to the Grand Council!” Perynis said, getting to her feet. “Surely, that exempts him from ordinary rules!”

Tazia looked helplessly at Anrel.

“I'm afraid I cannot stay,” he said, sparing her any temptation to impropriety, “but you are both most welcome to come visit me tomorrow—or perhaps more than visit.”

“More?” Perynis looked from Anrel to Tazia and back.

“I'll let Tazia explain,” Anrel said. Then with a wave, he turned and hurried back down the stairs before he could change his mind, his heart filled almost to bursting with a fiery stew of emotion. He was overcome with delight at seeing Tazia again, frustrated that he must part from her even briefly, pleased to see Perynis alive and well, furious at Tazia's account of their father's actions, distraught that they were reduced to near poverty, relieved that neither woman seemed to hold any ill will toward him despite his failure to save poor Reva, and wildly eager with anticipation of seeing Tazia again, and perhaps pursuing the courtship he had long thought impossible.

He could scarcely think, his mind awhirl as he trotted through the streets.

Back at the town house on Lourn Street he found himself barraged with questions—very politely—by Derhin. Anrel gradually explained to him the entire tale of how he had fallen in with the Lir family, and what had become of their eldest daughter.

“This is why I was so certain that Lord Allutar was responsible for Amanir's death,” he explained. “I had seen him hang someone before.”

“Ghastly!” Derhin said with a shudder. “That poor girl!”

Between them they finished another bottle of wine, and then retired for the night.

In the morning they returned to the Aldian Baths for Anrel's second day as a member of the Grand Council. The speaker of the day was not as good at the job as his immediate predecessor, and several discussions wandered off topic or descended into shouting matches. By midday everyone was obviously weary of it, so the afternoon was dedicated to committee meetings, rather than continuing the general assembly.

The Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery met once again in the old heated pool, where Delegates Savar, Guirdosia, and Essarnyn reported on their initial contacts with the emperor's staff. The first meeting, the previous evening, had gone well; they were awaiting word on an audience with the emperor himself, and were optimistic about their prospects. His Imperial Majesty had met with the Committee on Imperial Finance several times over the past season, so there was certainly precedent in their favor. Whether an audience would be granted for just the three of them, or for the entire committee, remained unclear—if an audience happened at all.

In other business, the committee began compiling a list of sorcerers who should be investigated; almost every one of the thirty members had a name to put forth. Anrel did not mention anyone; his only complaints were against Lord Allutar, who headed the list by unanimous agreement.

The most common reason for adding a name was a suspicion that the sorcerer in question had been practicing black magic, which prompted Anrel to suggest that the committee might do well to speak with members of the Lantern Society.

That was met by a moment of puzzled silence.

“Who?” someone asked at last.

“The Lantern Society,” Anrel said. “It is an organization of magicians from Quand and Ermetia who have been campaigning against the use of black magic. They had hoped to convince the empire to ban such practices.”

Another, more hostile silence met this explanation.

“Foreigners, trying to tell Walasians what to do?” Delegate tel-Olz asked.

Anrel saw his mistake, and tried to ameliorate it. “They offered neither threats nor promises, but only advice,” he said. “The Lantern Society magician I spoke to, a Quandish sorcerer, said that they believed black magic invariably held hidden dangers, and sought only to help make their Walasian comrades aware of the risks. And now we know, from what befell the Raish Valley, that black sorcery
does
carry risks we had not realized. It would seem that the Lantern Society was right.”

“If you believe your informant, perhaps,” Gluth murmured.

“Why would he lie? I have reason to believe this particular Quandishman to be a good and generous man.”

“And can you be sure he is not in the pay of his nation's government, sent to spy on us and subvert
our
government?” Lorsa demanded.

Anrel hesitated.

He did not want to lie, and any brief recounting of the truth would not help him—Lord Blackfield
was
a Quandish Gatherman, after all, and he
had
recruited spies here in Lume.

“I have no reason to believe he wishes the empire ill,” he said at last.

“He is Quandish, and we are Walasian,” tel-Olz said. “Isn't that enough?”

“We are not at war with Quand,” Anrel said.

“We have been in my lifetime, and I suspect we will be again before many years have passed,” tel-Olz replied.

“These people, this Lantern Society, may be at the root of all our problems,”said a man Anrel did not recognize. “What if they somehow
changed
Lord Allutar's spell, and that was why it went wrong? What if they have been damaging our farms all along?”

“I hardly think they could do anything of the sort without our own sorcerers noticing,” Anrel said. “Magic leaves traces, does it not?”

“But what if they never worked magic of their own, but only distorted good Walasian spells?”

Anrel had no answer for that; he simply didn't know enough about sorcery. Since there were, by design, no sorcerers on the committee, and the observers were mostly Hots who had made sorcerers feel distinctly unwelcome in the room, no one else present knew whether it was possible, either.

The discussion continued, but Anrel, disturbed by the course it had taken, made his way out to the edge of the bath and did not take part for a time.

He was standing there, elbows behind him, leaning on the side of the bath, when Delegate Gluth came up beside him. For a moment neither spoke, but then Gluth said, “This Quandish magician you know, the representative of the Lantern Society—that would be Barzal, Lord Blackfield, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Anrel admitted.

“And he was most generous with you, so naturally you would be reluctant to think ill of him.”

“I sought him out in the first place not because I knew him to be generous, but because I believed him a good man,” Anrel said. “Yes, he has been extraordinarily kind to me.”

“You don't believe he is acting against the interests of the empire?”

“Delegate, I no longer know what the best interests of the empire
are,
” Anrel said gloomily. “I believe Lord Blackfield genuinely wishes harm to no one, and that he seeks to maintain peace—or rather, given the present state of the empire, to restore peace. He sought to dissuade Lord Allutar from using the execution of Urunar Kazien in a spell, not because he knew precisely what the spell would do, but only because he did not trust any sort of magic based on blood or death.”

Gluth nodded. “Was Barzal of Blackfield present when Allutar Hezir carried out this execution?”

“No, he was not,” Anrel said angrily. He knew that Gluth was implying Lord Blackfield had tampered with the spell.

“Are you certain of that? Were
you
present?”

“No,” Anrel admitted reluctantly. “I was celebrating the solstice with my family.”

“Ah, your family. The unfortunate Lord Dorias and his daughter, I suppose.”

“Unfortunate?” Startled, Anrel turned to look Gluth in the eye.

“Had you not heard?” Gluth said, meeting his gaze calmly. “The home of Lord Dorias Adirane, then burgrave of Alzur, was burned to the ground by irate townsfolk when he made the mistake of trying to defend Allutar Hezir's estate. He and his daughter have taken refuge in the Adirane family property here in Lume.”

Anrel stared at the other man in astonishment, then asked, “
Then
burgrave? Do you say he is burgrave no longer?”

“No, no,” the other said, smiling faintly. “To the best of my knowledge he retains the title, for the present.”

Anrel found it infuriating that Gluth maintained an imperturbable calm while making these vicious implications, but forced himself to contain his rage and restrict his response to the simplest facts. “But you say he is here in Lume?”

“So I am given to understand, yes.”

“His house in Alzur was burned? My
home
was burned?” Anrel was surprised at how painful the thought was. He had never expected to dwell there again, had not really expected to ever again set foot across its threshold, but the idea that the Adirane manor had been burned still hurt him badly.

“Your uncle's home in which you were suffered to reside, yes.”

Anrel glared at him.

He had spent more than half his life in that house, which had stood for almost four centuries, and which had been in the Adirane family for well over a hundred years. To have this miserable little man speak so casually of its destruction was almost unbearable.

Perhaps the reports were exaggerated. Perhaps it was merely damaged. After all, its outer walls were solid stone. Even so, the thought of those lovely old polished wood floors and paneled walls ruined by fire and smoke was horrible. The books, the carpets, the tapestries …

And the people. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked. “My uncle maintained a staff of six.”

“I am not aware of any injuries,” Gluth replied.

“Thank the Father for that, then.”

“You seem untroubled by your uncle's attempt to aid Allutar,” Gluth said.

“My cousin is betrothed to Lord Allutar,” Anrel said calmly. He had regained control of his temper. “I would scarcely expect my uncle to be entirely heedless of his daughter's future happiness. Besides, burning down a house hardly seems an appropriate way to punish Lord Allutar for his crimes. Would it not be better to take that house away from him and give it to someone more deserving? Maybe one of those he has wronged. Transform it into a hospital, perhaps, or an orphanage.”

“An interesting suggestion.” Gluth smiled a tight little smile. “Alas, too late to be of any use.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Yes.” Gluth eyed Anrel consideringly. “I confess, Delegate Murau, that you puzzle me sometimes. I am accustomed to men who have chosen a side and adhere to its every tenet, which you do not seem to have done. You seem determined to see Allutar Hezir brought to justice, yet you will speak no ill of his allies, and you appear to regret actions his own people have taken against him.”