Above His Proper Station (37 page)

“A noble ambition, certainly, but not one easily achieved.” Derhin straightened in his chair. “Would you stop laying blame entirely, then, and hold no one responsible for his actions? Would you forgive Lord Allutar for Valin's death, or the poisoned grain? Is there any way in which he could atone for such wrongs?”

Anrel put his hand to his breast, over the letter. “He could at least have the grace to
try,
” he said. “If he were to acknowledge that he had done wrong, that would be a start.”

Derhin's reply was somewhere between a grunt and a snort, his chin sinking to his chest. Upon hearing himself, he jerked upright again, and announced, “I am going to bed. I will see you in the morning, Anrel.”

“Good night, Derhin,” Anrel said as he sat and stared at the empty bottles on the table.

A moment later, alone in the room, he repeated, “If he were to acknowledge that he had done wrong, that would be a start.”

He was not thinking about Lord Allutar, though; he was thinking about his uncle and himself.

Lord Dorias had said not to make any attempt at an apology, and Anrel intended to honor that request, in part because as he thought back over his actions, he could think of nothing he should apologize to his uncle
for.
He had done no wrong to Lord Dorias. He had not, as the letter accused, urged Valin to his death; he had tried to prevent it. He had not encouraged Valin in his folly. He had not conspired with Lord Blackfield—not in Alzur or Naith, at any rate. He had not made any serious effort to dissuade Lady Saria from marrying Lord Allutar. His hand had certainly not held the torch that set the Adirane home ablaze.

Yes, he had given voice to Valin's seditious notions, but was that an offense against Lord Dorias? Yes, he had done whatever was necessary to escape from Naith, but again, why should that require an apology?

Perhaps he might contrive a nonspecific apology, saying that he regretted any dishonor or opprobrium he might have brought upon the Adirane name—but his uncle had told him not to apologize, so he would not.

No, any reconciliation must come about through his uncle's actions, rather than his own.

But perhaps he could somehow contrive to get word to the Adiranes that their true names were now in the hands of Zarein Lorsa, the hottest of the Hots. A warning was not an apology, and however hostile Lord Dorias might be, he deserved a warning.

Anrel decided immediately that he could not send a letter; if he knew his uncle, any such letter would be burned unread the moment his handwriting was recognized. Nor did he want to entrust such a message to an ordinary messenger—who could say where the political loyalties of such a person might lie? His warning might wind up in entirely the wrong hands.

Perhaps one of the boys from the Pensioners' Quarter who were now in Lord Blackfield's employ? No, Lord Dorias would not admit them. He would recognize them as the guttersnipes they were, and refuse them entry lest they steal the silver.

Lord Blackfield himself was out of the question; even had he been willing to trust his former host with the information, not only would it be unspeakably presumptuous to ask him, but Lord Dorias was not likely to trust anything a Quandishman might say, particularly not a Quandishman with whom his nephew had
conspired
.

Conspired to do
what
? Anrel wondered. The letter didn't say.

Then he shook his head and returned to more important matters. Who could he send to speak to Lord Dorias?

One of Anrel's fellow delegates to the Grand Council? No, that was preposterous—the other members of the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery seemed to be very solidly in favor of Lorsa's plan to use the Great List to bring the empire's nobility to heel, and who could he trust who was
not
on the committee? Derhin, perhaps, but no one else.

Derhin—but no, that would not do. Derhin, too, might think Lorsa's scheme a good one, and probably had no great love for Lord Dorias, who had done so little to defend his fosterling, Derhin's friend, from death at Lord Allutar's hands.

Perhaps Tazia?

That thought gave Anrel pause. Unlike all the previous notions, no objection sprang immediately to mind. Lord Dorias had a weakness, common in men of all ages, for pretty girls; he would not turn Tazia away without giving her a chance to speak.

Anrel frowned. He was, he knew, somewhat drunk, and perhaps there was some obvious flaw in the idea that the wine was hiding.

He would not act on it immediately, then—for one thing, calling on Tazia and Perynis at this hour would be inappropriate. If he could still see no argument against it by the light of morning, though, he would give it a try.

With that decided, he got unsteadily to his feet and after a moment's uncertainty as to exactly which direction he needed to go, he headed for bed.

30

In Which Anrel Receives a Warning

Morning was well advanced when Anrel arose; he had not made a late night of it, by any means, but it had been a long and tiring day that ended with a significant quantity of wine. Although he remembered his decision of the night before—a pleasant surprise, under the circumstances—there was no time to act upon it if he was to have any hope at all of being at the baths when the Grand Council's daily session was called to order. Besides, Tazia and Perynis were probably already begun on the day's labors.

There was no sign of Derhin; whether this was because he was still asleep, or because he had already left on the day's business, Anrel did not know and did not investigate. The empty wine bottles still stood on the table where he had left them, but that signified little; Derhin might well have left them there as Anrel's responsibility.

He did not eat a proper breakfast, any more than he had eaten a proper supper the night before, but he did wolf down enough bread and cheese to quiet his belly before setting out for the Baths.

Since he was alone this time he did not walk openly along the street to the front of the Baths, but instead followed the directions he had been given that took him down an alley to a tunnel that supposedly led under the surrounding ruins and emerged in one of the unused and unidentified back rooms.

He cautiously descended the steep stone stairs at one side of the alley, and found the tunnel just as described. The underground passage was gloomy, but not utterly dark—gratings in the pavements above let in enough daylight for Anrel to see where he was going.

One feature his informants had failed to mention, though, was the prickly sensation of dread and foreboding that washed over him as he passed under the outer wall of the baths. He was unsure whether this was a ward someone had placed to keep thieves and beggars from wandering into the council's chambers, or some lingering remnant of old magic; it didn't
feel
like any ward he had ever encountered, but that proved little.

The Aldian Baths were said to be haunted, and whatever it was he felt at that point would certainly fit with such a belief.

The fear faded quickly, though, as he pressed on, and he found himself with a choice of stairs leading up. He chose one at random; it brought him up into a dim gray room with a single door.

When Anrel opened that door he emerged into the atrium, which was deserted; the council was already assembled in the central bath. He hastened to join them.

The day's speaker was introducing the chairman of the Committee on Imperial Finance for yet another report, presumably to tell the council once again that nothing had changed; seeing that, Anrel slowed his pace. There was no need to rush.

He had therefore not yet reached the steps down into the pool when Pariel Gluth spotted him and hurried to his side.

“Delegate Murau,” he said quietly.

“Delegate Gluth,” Anrel acknowledged. “A pleasure to see you here today. You were missed yesterday.”

Gluth smiled a tight little smile. “I'm sure. Could you spare me a moment, though, before we join the council as a whole?”

Puzzled, Anrel said, “Of course.” He followed Gluth to the side, to a small alcove where they could see the edge of the main gathering, but where they had a modest degree of privacy.

“You have been of great service to us,” Gluth said when they had reached the back of the alcove. “I felt it only fair, therefore, to warn you.”

“Warn me of what?” Anrel asked uneasily.

“Some of us on the committee took action yesterday to facilitate matters,” Gluth said. “It has long been clear that the Grand Council as a whole is simply too large and unwieldy, and too varied in its composition, to be effective, while the committees are too specialized and for the most part too timid to do what needs to be done.”

“I had noticed that the council has not been particularly efficient in bringing about an earthly paradise,” Anrel answered dryly.

“Indeed,” Gluth said, his humorless little smile widening very slightly. “Therefore, certain forward-minded individuals have taken it upon themselves—or perhaps I should say, ourselves—to act in the council's stead in certain matters.”

Anrel was in no mood for subtlety. “Forgive me, Delegate, but what are you talking about? When you say I have been of service to you, of whom are we speaking?”

Gluth's smile vanished. “Some of us from the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery spent most of yesterday in conference with members of the Committee for the Restoration of Order, and with the burgrave of Lume, and with the chief wardens of the city,” he explained. “We have developed a plan of action to resolve certain matters, and move the empire forward into a more progressive future. In the course of negotiations each faction made certain concessions to facilitate cooperation.”

That, Anrel presumed, explained who Gluth represented, but not the nature of any warning. He was about to say so when Gluth continued, “
You,
Delegate Murau, were one of those concessions.”

“What?” The single word was startled out of him.

“Starting this morning the Joint Committee, with the assistance of the burgrave and his men, will be assuming temporary control of the city of Lume,” Gluth told him. “The city will be sealed off—indeed, the orders have already been sent to the gates—and all those suspected of treason will be brought before tribunals for questioning.
All
those suspected, regardless of rank or affiliation. Each party provided a list of suspects. The representatives of the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery produced a list of some forty-three sorcerers who are to be arrested and tried, while the spokesmen for the Committee for the Restoration of Order put forth fifty-six names, most of them officials or hirelings of the imperial court. One of those fifty-six names is your own, Anrel Murau.”

Anrel stared at his informant. “So you agreed to let them arrest me?” he said. “Then why are you telling me this?”

“You have been very useful to the progressive factions, as I said,” Gluth said. “While we cannot protect you, and have agreed to sacrifice you for the greater good, we are not ungrateful. I am therefore giving you this warning so that you will have a chance to put your affairs in order, and say your farewells.”

“And if I do more than that? If, perhaps, I manage to elude capture?”

“I would not be unduly dismayed,” Gluth said, again smiling his tight little smile. “While a martyr can be valuable, a hero of the people who has vanished into the alleys and tunnels also has a certain romantic appeal that will most likely rouse the enthusiasm of the populace. Our alliance with the Committee for the Restoration of Order is unlikely to be permanent, and the time may come when we have uses for such a legendary figure.”

“I see.” Anrel glanced out at the council, apparently carrying on with the day's tedious business in the usual fashion, and wondered whether he could really believe what Delegate Gluth was telling him.

Gluth cleared his throat. “You might also want to know that at the burgrave's suggestion, to facilitate the maintenance of order, all foreigners have been instructed to leave the city by sunset tonight, or face arrest. You will not be able to take shelter with your Quandish friend. A messenger has been sent to inform him of this—him, and perhaps two hundred other assorted foreigners, not counting any who may be in the employ of the imperial court. Those last will be dealt with separately. We have no need for foreign spies and agitators while we are purging the capital of traitors.”

“Of course not,” Anrel agreed. He saw that Gluth was still gazing intently at him, and added, “Is that all, then, or is there more?”

“That is the entire extent of the warning. I wish you the best of luck, Delegate Murau. Will you be joining us in the great chamber, then, or do you think you might prefer to forego this session?”

“I am not …”

Anrel's answer was drowned out by a tremendous roar from the gathered council.

“Ah,” Gluth said. “The first announcement has been made.”

“What?” Anrel turned to stare out at the main chamber.

“The Committee on Imperial Finance has just revealed that the impasse has finally been broken—the empire's debts are to be paid from the confiscated property of convicted traitors.” He smiled crookedly. “Delegate Arnuir, the chairman of that committee, has been waiting half a season to have something to say that our fellows wanted to hear; I am sure he took great pleasure in presenting the news as dramatically as possible. When he has completed his explanation, Lord Huizal, of the Committee for the Restoration of Order, will be speaking next, naming the first suspects, and the arrests will begin immediately thereafter. If you intend to leave, friend Murau, you had best leave
now.
”

“Thank you,” Anrel said, shaken. He no longer seriously doubted Gluth's warning.

He hesitated a fraction of a second longer, though, as he considered what he would do. He had two choices, stay or go.