The Eyes of a Doll (The World of Shijuren Book 2) (23 page)

I woke up immediately needing to fill the chamber pot.

Afterwards, with a long sigh, I stretched out and looked at my borrowed armor. It had weathered the trip well, so I turned my attention to my blades. There had been little to do except care for them during the trip, and they were immaculate. My only entertainment had been sparring with Hristo and his troop each night, learning the feel of the overlong and misbalanced swords they were used to.

A little water remained in the bowl, so I splashed that on my face. I walked downstairs to find Jovanka.

She stood in the kitchen, pounding out dough. She barely paused when I arrived, shrugging her shoulder at a table where a stone on a cord sat next to a plate with a pastry on it.

“That’s the keystone and a zelnik for you.”

“Thank you.”

I flipped the keystone over my head, then picked up the pastry and bit into it. It seemed to be made of the same light flaky dough as baklava, layered with a bitter cheese, spinach, and goat spiced with sorrel. I decided I liked zelniks, which I immediately told Jovanka.

“It’s Radovan’s favorite.” She smiled as she continued to knead the dough.

As I finished the zelnik, she glanced at the hallway. “The door under the stairs leads to the garden. I’ll cook for you and I’ll put out new sheets. I’ll even mend those pesky holes knives make in tunics. What I won’t do is empty your chamberpot. Take it outside yourself and put it into the bed to the right.”

I laughed, nodded, and did so.

When I returned she was placing the loaf into a stone oven. I could feel its warmth all the way across the room.

“Jovanka, I need to watch a play at the amphitheater.”

She turned to me with a raised eyebrow for a moment. “Don’t tell me my Radovan is working for a higher class of criminal.”

I laughed. “Not at all. I just need to see the next play. Do you know when it is?”

She started laughing uproariously at that. “Me? Watch a play? Closest thing I get to a play is watching Radovan try not to say ‘sheep’s dick’ in my presence.”

I joined her laughter. “How would I find out?”

“Go up to the amphitheater and ask?”

I shrugged at that obvious response.

“They also usually have a crier in the Heartsquare yelling their plans.”

I nodded my thanks and returned to my room to prepare. Walking around Achrida with a spear would make me too noticeable, so I decided to leave it. Armor would catch the eye if I wore it as well, so I decided on one of the tunics that Era’s mother had made for me, in a patterned orange fabric decorated in long strips of woven green trim. The colors seemed garish to me but were common here.

Then I thought about the spatha. While I had my dagger in its calf sheath, I felt almost unarmed without either a sword or my saex. However, people did not wear swords routinely here.

Should I rely upon the henna and my scratchy beard, or should I be armed for emergencies? I could see arguments for either option, and I hesitated. I finally asked Jovanka, who seemed to know plenty about successful crime in Achrida.

“Oh, my. Dearie, one shouldn’t go out with a single blade. That’s just foolish.”

“I should take the sword, then?”

“No, everyone will think that’s odd, especially with that outfit.”

“Change the outfit?”

“Dearie, the tunic’s fine, no one will remark upon it. Just not with the sword.”

“Well, I only have this small knife I keep in my boot.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that was the problem.” She giggled and wiped the flour off her hands. “Wait here for a moment.”

She trotted up the stairs and returned with four sheathed knives.

“Take a look at these, dearie. See if they fit your hand well. You can borrow any.”

“Won’t Radovan mind? I certainly don’t like people handling my blades without permission.”

“Dearie, they’re mine, not his.”

“Oh.”

“So please look at them.”

“You’re sure you won’t need them?”

“I’m sure. Those are all ones I don’t use anymore. I keep them by my bed just in case.”

“Ah.”

I covered my embarrassment by examining the blades. They slid out of their sheaths smoothly, with a fine sheen of oil. None of them had a speck of rust, and they were all sharp. Two were longer—not as long as my saex but longer than many. I felt the weight of each, but none felt as comfortable as either of the blades I had left in Lezh. Nevertheless, I narrowed my choice down to the longer two blades.

I did not realize that Jovanka had left until she returned to my side. She pointed at the one with a soft leather grip.

“Take that one, it’s luckier.”

I shrugged. “Hopefully, I’ll never know.”

I unbuckled my belt and slid it through the scabbard. It was not designed to hang from the back of my belt like my saex, so it could never be where I preferred. Nevertheless, I settled the belt and scabbard where they felt most comfortable.

After I finished, she smiled. “And I have something else for you, dearie.”

“Yes?”

“Stronger on your right or left?”

“Right.”

She moved to my left arm and pushed back the long sleeve of the tunic. She buckled on a small sheath containing a short dagger.

“It’s not something to use all the time, but it never hurts to have an extra blade.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re going to the amphitheater?”

I nodded.

“Do you want me to send Radovan there later?”

I thought about it for a moment, but the answer was obvious. “I have no idea what is going to happen. What I do know is that the person I’m supposed to meet expects me to be alone.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell Radovan to find you but stay in the background. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“Indeed? He’s an awfully large man.”

She laughed. “That he is, but he’s been doing this sort of thing all his life.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

I turned to leave.

“Be safe, dearie. Don’t make my Radovan have to do anything silly.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

Svetislav had led me to the amphitheater the only other time I had been there, so finding it ahead of time seemed like a good idea. In any case, asking about plays there definitely seemed wiser than listening to a hawker in Heartsquare, where Kapric, Zvono, or any other Imperial might see past my darker hair and beard.

I mostly remembered the route and only had to backtrack once. The amphitheater itself was empty, except for an old man sweeping the stage. If there were other preparations for tonight, they were happening in some of the various buildings attached to the back.

“Milord, when’s the next play?”

He continued sweeping. I moved closer and shouted a little louder. This time he heard me.

“Eh, what? Next play?”

“Yes, when is it.”

“Oh, it’s the solstice today, eh?”

“Yes.”

I waited, but he continued sweeping.

“Um, it’s the solstice today. What are you showing?”

He looked up irritably. “Eh? What are we showing?”

“Yes.”

“What we show every solstice.”

“But you are showing something?”

“Eh? Of course. It’s the solstice.”

He kept sweeping.

Fortunately, I cared less the name of play than whether or not something was being shown, so I let him shuffle dirt around. I did chuckle at myself for forgetting Wodensniht.

I had no idea when the show would start, but I had no other place to be so I decided I would think like Sebastijan. As I walked up out of the amphitheater I noted all of the exits. I walked the long way around so I could determine at least two ways to leave the area plus the one Svetislav had showed me.

I then found the nearest street vendor and ate something that probably included meat, though there was no way to be sure, stuffed inside something made out of flour. It tasted no better than it looked, but I needed food so I ate it.

I sighed. Two or three miles away from me Zoe was feeding people something delicious.

I spent the rest of the afternoon praying. Sort of. Near the amphitheater was a shrine to the Mousai, three godlings prayed to and revered by artists, poets, and actors.

The chapel led into the hillside and was cunningly decorated with majestic mosaics. The walls showed each of the Mousai alongside people painting, scribing, acting, reading, dancing, playing musical instruments, and singing.

As I entered, a priestess who, given the stains on her hands, apparently served her godling as a painter, asked if she could assist me. I told her that the solstice always made me feel closer to the gods and I always spent that day at a different shrine.

She smiled happily at the lie and let me be.

Throughout the afternoon I admired the artistry as a variety of scops serenaded the chapel. I had never heard any of the songs, but they were performed skillfully.

The hours crept by. Bedarth had spent years trying to teach me patience, but I had always been too angry to learn any of those lessons. The lovely surroundings eased, but did not eliminate, my nervous anticipation.

After a while, I caught the priestess as she strolled by.

“They’re showing a play at the amphitheater tonight?”

“Oh, of course. It’s the solstice.”

“What are they showing?”

She looked at me like my mind was as sharp as crushed limestone from the mountains.

“I’m new to Achrida.”

“Oh. Well, they always show the same play,
The Courting of Aegiala
.”

“I’ve never heard of it. What is it about, and why do they show it every year on the solstice?”

“Hmmm. How do I tell you the story without spoiling the play?”

She paused for a moment.

“You know the story of Aegiala, of course.”

I shook my head and did not quite lie to her. “The Empire is large. I’m from a long way away.”

She smiled politely. “It’s the story of the children of the sun. The daughter, Aegiala, helped her brother try to fly to her father, though they had been foreordained to fail. In their arrogance, they tried anyway and the greater gods punished them.”

I knew not the particular myth, but so many others followed a similar path that I nodded in understanding.

Aegiala and her sisters were turned into poplar trees. One day Marko— you’ve heard of Marko, right?”

I nodded.

“One day Marko passed by Aegiala and was struck by her beauty, even in the form of a tree. Marko returned and attempted to woo her, but Aegiala could neither respond nor inform him of the success or failure of his charms.”

“Frustrating.”

She laughed. “Very. So Marko demanded that the gods return her to her form so that she could tell him of her choice. Three challenges the gods placed before Marko before they would grant his wish.”

“And the play is about his heroics.”

“And his wooing, can’t forget that.” She smiled.

“Of course, not.” I smiled back.

“I hope you go. You’ll love it, everyone does.”

“When does it start?”

She frowned for a moment in thought. “Soon. They ring bells about an hour beforehand and again when it’s nearly time to start.”

“How far can you hear the bells?”

“Pretty well in the neighborhood. Outside of the district, not much.”

“Good. There should be a food vendor within hearing then.”

She dimpled at that. “Oh, gospadar, allow us to offer our hospitality since you’ve spent so long communing with us.”

I wondered if she had seen me donate two silver dinars. Either way, I decided to accept. Surely they had better fare than a mass of dough that briefly met meat somewhere in its travels.

I was right, though the fare was simple. They laid out loaves of dark, sliced bread upon which we spread an odd pink substance. It hinted of walnuts and the cheese from Jovanka’s odd-named pastry, but mostly tasted of a rich flavor I could not identify. Each diner was allotted a small amount of a hard sausage, salty, with a hint of paprika. We sated whatever hunger that remained with fresh blackberries. I ate too many, but so did the priestess and four others who joined us.

I donated another silver dinar as I got up. She started to protest the amount, but her protests were cut off by the loud ringing of bells in the direction of the amphitheater.

“An hour to the show?”

She nodded.

“I’ll take my leave then and go there now.”

“Thank you for enjoying the gifts of the Mousai, gospadar,” she said formally.

“Thank you for sharing,” I replied.

Outside, the sun informed me the shaded interior of the shrine had been well designed to keep its visitors relatively cool. On the longest day in Achrida for the year 1712, no clouds had impeded the sun’s wrath, and the streets and building were armed with her violent heat.

I found the amphitheater much more active than earlier in the day. I picked a shaded corner and watched the preparations.

The stage had been covered with a long curtain. Occasionally, someone behind the curtain would move against it, creating odd-looking bulges. The occasional sharp command also echoed up to my spot.

The old man was now methodically sweeping the seats of the amphitheater. His pace was no faster than before, and I suspected he had simply been sweeping all through the day. As I watched, he slowly stepped up to the last row. The Mousai would be pleased, for it looked like he would successfully get the entire amphitheater clean in time for the show.

Groups of people had already claimed their spots, and several others were strolling down the steps. The only sign that any of them noticed the heat were the blankets and rugs they placed on the stone seats before sitting.

Several food vendors were cooking for the anticipated crowd. I could see at least four groups maneuvering casks into temporary racks. I longed for Ragnar’s ale. Other vendors with non-consumable goods were arriving and setting up their kiosks.

I saw no sign of Gabrijela or Radovan.

Nor any sign of an ambush. The crowd’s lack of weapons longer than my saex reassured me somewhat.

The bells rang again. Here, next to the amphitheater, their sound pounded at our ears, but one could also discern the subtle, smaller bells that wove amongst the larger ones to provide music as well as notice.

By this point the vendors were selling briskly to a large crowd assembled on the street above the amphitheater. At the bell’s call, the people began making their way into the arena.

I found a spot to the right-hand side on the penultimate row next to one exit, near another, and a straight shot to a third across the way.

Warily, I eyed the crowd, again finding no familiar faces. The amphitheater was full, and discerning particular features proved more difficult than I expected. I scratched my beard, hoping it was confusing any who looked at me.

Soon the curtain opened and the play began.

I am not sure who would have been angrier with me, Sebastijan, Piri, or Hlodowic. Bedarth would have approved my devotion to study and chastised me for my stupidity at the same time.

In any case, I forgot that I needed to find Gabrijela. I forgot all about Honker Harald. I forgot that this night might easily result in my death from an ambush I did not notice.

The story caught my attention immediately, and the man playing Marko was immensely powerful. He effortlessly dominated the entire amphitheater with his presence.

I assume I breathed at some point during the first act, but I was not aware of doing so until the first intermission.

I guiltily looked around for any of the relevant faces or signs, but found none. The crowd moved around me, but no one tried to stick a knife in me or appropriate any of my belongings.

I resolved to concentrate on my surroundings when the play resumed.

I had no greater success during the second act and spent the second intermission redoubling my resolve.

Despite that resolve, I found myself cheering and crying with the rest of the crowd when Marko, having successfully overcome the challenges, managed to win Aegiala’s heart.

As the last applause died down, I sighed and let the people crowding around me make their ways to public jakes or to the vendors who eagerly took their coins. Apparently, Gabrijela had not received the message or Gibroz had refused to send her.

Then a woman I had barely noticed at the far end of my row of seats pulled back her hood, and there she was.

Subtly, she motioned for me to follow. I trailed her out of the amphitheater among the crowd strolling home. She led me through quieter streets east of the Trade Road into an old neighborhood that wanted to retain its pride, but could not.

Limestone decorated most houses, eaten away by the years instead of having been replaced or fixed decades ago. The ceramic roof tiles that pelted roads in every neighborhood after a major storm remained in the street, crunching underfoot. It lacked the sheer trash of the Stracara, but also its desperate life-and-death vibrancy. This might have been a safer area to live in, but not necessarily a better one.

My hands now poised to grab blades, I prowled down the street. Gabrijela, seemingly at random, turned into one of the cheerless buildings.

No help for it, I supposed, and I followed her into the building. Inside she was seating herself in a chair, having placed two ceramic mugs on a table before it. Another chair awaited me next to the table.

She and sipped from one of the mugs. Her daintiness contrasted starkly with the rough pottery. She motioned to the other chair, and I sat down.

She was as lovely as I remembered.

“I’m glad you came. I didn’t see you until the end.”

She laughed.

“I did not recognize you immediately, so I didn’t meet you before the show. I’m not sure I like the beard.”

“I know I don’t.” I scratched furiously. The beard, and the scratching, both made me feel uncomfortable around her.

She laughed again. “And then, when I was sure I’d found you, you seemed to be engrossed in the show.”

“I was. The main actor was fantastic.” I blushed.
When was the last time I blushed?

She nodded and shifted to business. “Gibroz would like to know what you’ve discovered.”

“I bet he actually said something like, ‘Find out what the fuckin’ Sevener knows.’”

She laughed yet again. “Something like that.”

“Since you’re here, I assume he read Ylli’s letter.”

She nodded.

“So he knows someone is playing both of them for fools.”

She nodded again.

“I can’t tell much more than that. What I can tell you is my plan for finding out more. It will require your assistance.”

She leaned back.

I took a breath and for the first time in a while relaxed.
Look and look again. Such pretty eyes she has.