Burying the Shadow (57 page)

Liviana’s hand
fluttered nervously to her throat. ‘What is it?’

I spoke so
quickly, my words were little more than a gabble. ‘Livvy, who
are
the artisans? Years ago, you told me they were exiles,
or something like that, that they had no country of their own...
Could it be that they are
descended
from the race I’m
talking about?’

I’d been so
busy trying to make up excuses about my obsession with the
Metatronims that I had overlooked the obvious.

‘Why are the
artisans so special, Livvy? Why do they live hidden away from
everyone else in their own quarters? Do they have any political
power?’

Liviana held
up her hands and shook her head, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
‘Rayo, Rayo, sit down and stop shouting. You are making me
dizzy!’

I sat.
‘Well?’

She composed
herself and folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Well, first of
all, you have no proof that the mysterious woman you were told
about is actually an artisan. Personally, I doubt it very
much.’

‘I think I
know who it was,’ I said recklessly. ‘And, if I’m right, she is
definitely
an artisan.’

‘Who?’ Her
voice was very small. I could see I had frightened her.

‘Gimel
Metatronim,’ I said. I still wasn’t really sure of that myself, but
hoped to provoke a reaction from Liviana.

‘Gimel?’ Livvy
shook her head. ‘No, that’s impossible!’

‘Why? Is she
dead?’

Livvy shook
her head and made a helpless gesture. ‘No, far from it. It’s just
that she wouldn’t do a thing like that. Why should she?’

‘Why? Livvy,
listen to me. A long time ago, when I was here before, the
Metatronims affected me deeply.’ I laughed in embarrassment. ‘I
dreamed I was raped by Beth, here in this house.’

‘Rayo!’ Livvy
too couldn’t repress a nervous laugh.

‘But it is
more than that. All my life, ever since that visit, the Metatronims
have haunted me. It might be a coincidence, but now, I’m no longer
sure. As to why Gimel might be tormenting me, the answer is
obvious. If my suppositions are correct, I’ve discovered something
about the artisans, or their ancestors, which they want to keep
quiet. Their history! Livvy, it makes sense. There is evidence
that, in the distant past, a race of people lived in the
Strangeling who I believe oppressed the people of Khalt - perhaps
even Bochanegra - in some way. They were driven out. These people
are represented in some ancient art I came across as being very
tall and pale, as being teachers of art and science. Now, you can’t
deny the artisans fit that description quite well. Some very odd
things are happening in Khalt, which I believe are connected with
this ancient race. Will you answer my questions about the artisans?
Please! You can see that it’s very important.’

‘You don’t
understand,’ Livvy said. ‘The artisans are respected and powerful.
You can’t say these terrible, wild things about them!’

‘Look,’ I
said, taking a deep breath to calm myself. Upsetting Liviana
further would gain me nothing. ‘If you answer my questions, perhaps
we can eliminate the artisans from my theories.’

Liviana
sighed, and rubbed her forehead. She would not look at me. ‘I can’t
answer your questions, Rayo,’ she said. ‘I really can’t. It is...
forbidden.’

‘Then I’m
right, aren’t I,’ I said softly. I leaned back in my chair,
blinking at the ceiling, letting my heart slow down.

For a few
minutes, neither of us said a word. Everything was coming into
focus; everything. All I had to do was discover why the predators
were preying again. Now that I felt I was getting somewhere with my
investigations, the urge to delve deeper was upon me again. I had
to remind myself of how I had resolved not to tackle this problem
alone. I perhaps had enough information now; it was precious. I
must get it, and myself, back to Taparak intact.

‘Livvy,’ I
said. ‘There is one question you must be able to answer. A simple
yes or no will suffice. The artisans
are
different from the
rest of us, aren’t they; very different.’

‘Yes! Yes!’
Livvy shouted abruptly, making me flinch. She leapt to her feet.
‘They
are
different, they
are
exiles but, Rayo, they
are
not
... hostile! I know that none of them would have done
the things you’ve talked about, really I do.’ She seemed on the
verge of tears. ‘It must be a coincidence... They did not come from
the Strangeling...’

I stood up and
took her arms in my hands. ‘Livvy, please. Don’t get upset. Perhaps
you are right, but I have to find out one way or the other. People
have been hurt, you see. I can’t just ignore this.’

‘They never
hurt anybody!’ Liviana insisted. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Look,’ I
said. ‘Do you still have anything to do with that artisan family -
what was their name - Harim?’

‘Sarim,’ she
corrected me, in a subdued voice. ‘Yes, we are patrons of
theirs.’

‘Sarim. Livvy,
I want to talk to an artisan. Surely, if they are innocent, they
will be anxious to clear their reputation. Perhaps they can help
me. Could you arrange an interview with one of the Sarim for
me?’

She shrugged,
looking far from happy. ‘I don’t know. Rayo, I really don’t think
it would be a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

She wriggled
awkwardly. ‘Well, the artisan families can be very... touchy. They
are proud people, and very sedate. If you told them what you’ve
told me, they’d feel terribly insulted, I’m sure. The artisans have
the protection of the Kaliph. You could get into serious trouble if
you upset any of them.’

‘I’m willing
to risk that.’

She stood up,
wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Rayo, you must drop this, you really must!
I cannot get involved!’

‘Livvy, what
is it?’ I asked gently ‘What power do these families have in
Bochanegra? Why are you afraid of them?’

‘It’s not
fear!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s just...’

A new voice
interrupted her words. ‘Just what?’ Both Livvy and I turned to the
door.

‘Salyon...’
Livvy said lamely. Her brother came into the room.

‘Just what
is
it, sister dear, if it’s not terror?’ He stood in front
of me, shadow-eyed, sallow of skin, and painfully slender. ‘You
see,’ he said to me, ‘she dare not answer. It would be most
unladylike. And just what is
your
interest in the artisans,
hmm?’

‘Don’t tell
him!’ Livvy almost yelled.

‘What can you
tell me about them?’ I asked, ignoring her. I sensed that Salyon
would be far from unwilling to enlighten me.

‘Well, let me
say that my beloved sister
is
afraid of them,’ he said, ‘but
not in the way you think. Her fear is that of being abandoned, of
doing something disgraceful, which would get her excommunicated
from the elite society of artisan-worshippers. That is why she will
not answer your questions. Her sweet reticence is purely a
self-preservation instinct.’

‘Salyon!’
Liviana’s face and neck had gone very red. I suspected Salyon was
exposing some painful truths.

‘Look at her!’
he said coldly. ‘What you see before you is an addict. It’s
disgusting. And I would be just like her, if it wasn’t for the fact
that the drug makes me ill.’

‘I’m afraid I
don’t understand what you’re implying,’ I said.

‘If you say
any more,’ Liviana said in a chilly tone, ‘you will put Rayojini in
a very dangerous position, Salyon. You know that. Have a little
sense.’

‘All right,’
he said, ‘but let me ask her again why she’s so interested in
them.’

‘Strange
things have been happening to me,’ I said. ‘I think the artisans
might be connected with them.’

Salyon smiled.
‘Strange things have been happening to the artisans too, Rayojini.
What a coincidence.’

‘Oh, such
as?’

‘Maladies,
suicides... People like yourself asking unusual questions.’

‘Really! Well,
believe me, that sounds positively
infinitesimal
in
comparison with the peculiarities I’ve encountered!’

‘Oh, but it
isn’t. Artisans don’t commit suicide, and neither do people ask
questions about them, ordinarily.’

‘I would like
to talk to an artisan. Could you arrange that?’

‘Me?’ He
laughed. ‘No, I don’t think I could.’ He glanced at his sister who
stood rigid with anxiety beside him; she was clearly terrified of
what he might say next. ‘If you have any sense, Mistress, you will
leave the city as soon as you can, and stop asking questions. It
will get you nowhere, I promise you.’

At these
words, Liviana visibly slumped her shoulders in relief. She rubbed
her face with her hands. ‘We must not speak of this any longer,’
she said. ‘Rayo, I’m sorry. Enjoy your time with us. Let’s go for
walks, visit the theatre, go dancing; anything. We are friends. Go
back to Taparak with happy memories of Sacramante, and forget the
artisans. Enjoy their work for what it is, Rayo. You have your own
craft. You are safe. Forget them.’

‘I...’ I
looked at Salyon, who raised his brows. The expression could have
meant anything.

‘Let’s go back
into the garden,’ Liviana said, bravely cheerful. ‘Dinner will be
ready soon. Salyon?’

He bowed to us
formally. ‘Forgive me, ladies, I cannot escort you outside. I will
see you at dinner. Until later, Mistress Rayojini.’

I smiled and
inclined my head. He pulled a mordant face at me and left the
room.

‘You must not
pay too much attention to my brother,’ Liviana said, linking her
arm through mine and leading me to the door. ‘He never fully
recovered from his illness, you know.’

‘Really? He
looks pretty healthy to me,’ I said, which was not exactly
true.

‘It’s his
mind,’ Liviana said, darkly. ‘He is prone to strange fancies. We
have to humour him.’

‘Yes, I expect
you do,’ I answered. I wondered what it was she was hiding. What
had she meant by the remark, “You have your own craft, you are
safe”? Her insistence, and Salyon’s, that I abandon my
investigation of the artisans only fired my curiosity. What was
going on in this city? The gods walked the road east from
Bochanegra and the old families created in their high ateliers,
reliving the dusty memories carved on ruined walls deep in the
heart of Khalt. The old families created; the nomads’ gods walked.
The dead walked.

Out in the
garden, Livvy had recovered her composure enough not to display the
slightest sign of unrest to the rest of her family.

‘You spoke to
Salyon?’ her mother asked me. ‘He remembers you, of course. We
could never repay what your mother did for him.’

‘Yes, we met,’
I said. ‘He seems to be in good health now.’

The Tricante matriarch
frowned. ‘Yes, but he is an outsider now. Very strange. Sometimes,
I feel he lives in a different world from ours.’ She smiled
vaguely. ‘Still, we are thankful he survived his illness.’

Liviana
pressed my hand briefly, and pushed me into a seat. She attempted
to restore the atmosphere of our earlier sojourn in the garden, but
no amount of frivolous chattering and cavorting could deceive me
now. I had an inkling there was a razor-sharp intellect, a shrewd
individual cocooned within the fluff of Livvy’s persona. There was
another side to Sacramante, something of which I’d caught an echo
as a girl, something that intrigued and seduced the unwary. Liviana
was an initiate of these mysteries, but I knew I’d never learn its
secrets from her.

I was anxious
to get back to
The Temple Gate
and talk to Keea. I wanted to
make arrangements for him to take me to the libraries as soon as
possible. However, despite my sense of urgency, the company of the
Tricantes was intoxicating. They fed me with exquisite viands and
then dragged me back into the twilit garden, where perfumed torches
illumined the autumn evening, and begged me for soulscaping tales.
I love telling stories, so I was hopelessly seduced. Salyon hovered
like a spectre at the back of the family group; I could feel his
attention and knew he wished to speak to me alone. It was a
sentiment I reciprocated, but I doubted whether Liviana would allow
me to speak to her brother in private.

By the time
the Tricante parents got to their feet and sent one of their
servants to prepare the family carriage to take me back to my
lodgings, it was well past midnight. I had had no opportunity to
speak to Salyon and several times made a point of mentioning where
I was staying, in the hope he’d pick up the hint. Liviana wanted to
make plans for us to meet up one evening, and assured me she could
find me some work should I need it. Now, I wasn’t sure I’d be
staying in Sacramante long enough for that, but thanked her warmly
and promised to call at her home over the next couple of days.

‘I will give
you precisely two days,’ she said, ‘and if you haven’t turned up by
then, I shall send my carriage to
The Temple Gate
to kidnap
you.’

‘I’m sure that
won’t be necessary,’ I said, kissing her cheek briefly.

‘Remember what
we talked about,’ she whispered in my ear, returning the kiss.

‘You too,’ I
said.

The Temple
Gate
was quiet when I returned, which was unusual for an inn in
Sacramante at that hour. I did not expect Keea to be in the
building, because I was convinced he was more familiar with
Sacramante and its residents than he led me to believe. On the way
back to the inn, I had considered the possibility that Keea himself
might have some connection with the artisans. It would certainly
explain how whoever was following me was aware of my every move. He
was a difficult creature to assess in many ways. Physically, he did
not appear as fey as the artisans I had seen at close quarters (and
that had been a long time ago), but there was definitely something
about him that hinted of
difference
. Maybe that was
contrived. Still, if he was in league with the artisans, he might
be a threat to me. How could I determine his position? I’d learned
that honesty was the last thing to expect from him. Perhaps I
should face him out with what I knew and observe his reaction.