The Goblin Emperor (44 page)

We did not work with Bralchenar the next day, but we asked the men we did work with about “great men” visiting the hangars and found out two things. First, that tours of the hangars were to be expected when the Prince of Thu-Athamar had guests. Second, that in the protracted negotiations leading up to the prince’s recent marriage—attendance at which was, of course, the reason the emperor was on board the Wisdom of Choharo—everyone had become quite accustomed to seeing men of the bride’s family “hanging around.” We did not ask for many details, but we believe the prince’s interest in the Amal-Athamareise Airship Company may have been part of the settlement negotiations. In any event, Tethimadeise men were inspecting everything and asking questions of everyone, and we received hints, although no one said so outright, that they had been very free with their money as well. Someone said sourly that Bralchenar had been trying to get himself adopted, and that, we thought, completed the circle. We were still puzzled, Serenity, for by no means did Bralchenar have either the knowledge or the ability to make a device such as the one which destroyed the Wisdom of Choharo. We decided to continue to encourage him to talk to us when we worked with him again, for we felt sure that he was involved, and we felt sure that he would not be able to resist indefinitely the lure of a sympathetic listener. In this we were correct, for on only the third time that we worked together, Bralchenar told us that he could see we were a true ascender (as the Curneisei style themselves) and invited us to come with him that evening to a teahouse called the Stone Tree, where he promised to introduce us to men we would appreciate. His efforts to make us feel that we were one of a select group were very clumsy, but we began to understand the appeal of Curneise philosophy to men like him. For if all men are your brothers in the struggle for godhood, it doesn’t matter so much if you are unskilled at making friends, just as it does not matter if you are a younger son, or the son of a younger son—or if your house has no inheritance at all.

We accompanied him that evening to the Stone Tree, which is a teahouse in the Athamareise style: a warren of small, inconvenient, interconnected rooms, each the particular territory of one group or another. Many of the rooms seemed to be occupied by Curneisei; Bralchenar was hailed as “kinsman” on all sides—zhornu, the north-country word for “cousin.” The Curneisei all call each other that, to signify their rejection of bloodties in favor of the brotherhood of struggle. It makes them sound very warm toward each other—even affectionate—which we think may be another reason young men like Bralchenar are drawn to them. There were women in some of the Curneise rooms, and they called each other zhornu with the rest. In fact, the group Bralchenar eventually sat down with had two women along with four or five men. Bralchenar introduced us proudly as “our new zhornu,” and none of the others seemed at all inclined to question either him or us.

We listened without speaking much that first night and for several nights thereafter, and we learned that the motivating force behind Bralchenar’s cadre of Curneisei was an intense young man, part goblin, who had come to Amalo from Zhaö; he had, in fact, been apprenticed to the Clocksmiths’ Guild and been thrown out as a troublemaker. His name is Aina Shulivar, and we saw very quickly that here was one who would have no difficulty in either imagining or constructing a device such as the one which destroyed the Wisdom of Choharo and all aboard her. Shulivar and one of the women, Atho Narchanezhen, are the two most intelligent of the Curneisei we met, and we noticed in listening to them that, although they use the words Universal Ascendance, what they mean by it has nothing to do with godhood and everything to do with power here among the living. In other words, they choose to read Curnar metaphorically, and imagine Universal Ascendance as a world in which no man holds power over any other. Or, for Narchanezhen, over any woman (and we heard many long arguments between her and Shulivar about whether man’s power over woman is natural—and therefore unchangeable—or not). And they believe this world is achievable.

Personally, Serenity, we think this as much a cloud-fancy as the more typical Curneise dream of becoming gods, for it requires men not to desire power, and that, we think, is impossible—we notice that as much as the Curneisei speak of taking power away from the powerful, they speak just as much of holding power themselves. But that is not truly the point; the point is what people like Shulivar and Bralchenar and Narchanezhen, holding this belief, are prepared to do in its service.

They took silence for assent, as the zealous often do, and the longer we sat among them and said nothing, the more loquacious and fervent they became, the more inclined to hint at great deeds already accomplished as well as great deeds still to be done. We sat and we listened and we thought of the dead—not merely of the emperor and his sons, but of all those who died stathan, who died terribly, in agony and fear, merely because someone wanted Varenechibel out of the way. We can understand and even sympathize with the Curneisei’s desire to improve their lives, their desire to change the world, but we cannot abide the deaths they caused uncaringly, the grief and fear and desperation they left among the living in their wake—the people whom they condemned to the sort of struggle and hopelessness that they avow themselves to be eradicating. The widows we talked to in Cetho all said the same thing, even when their words varied. They did not know how they and their children would survive. And they may not survive, Serenity, the smaller children killed by diseases they could survive if they were properly fed, the older children killed in the factories. Before we were sent to Aveio, we served as a curate in the Ulimeire of Sevezho, where the factories run from dawn to dusk in summer, and in winter the workers rise in darkness and return home in darkness and never see the sun at all. We know how many children die in those factories because they aren’t strong enough or fast enough or tall enough for the jobs they have been hired—at cruelly low wages—to do.

But we have wandered from our point. Again, we must ask your pardon, Serenity. We have heard enough from the Curneisei, and from the workers at the Amal-Athamareise Airship Company, to be confident that Aina Shulivar made the device which destroyed the Wisdom of Choharo and Evrenis Bralchenar concealed it in the airship’s armature where it would not be detected. We believe that they were inspired to this task, as well as paid to complete it, by a man or men of the House Tethimada, but of that we cannot find proof without questioning them officially. We do not know what part Atho Narchanezhen played in the plot, although we are sure she knew of it. We believe, however, that all the other Curneisei of Amalo are innocent. Tomorrow, Serenity, we will speak to the Amalo Chapter of the Vigilant Brotherhood. We have the priest of the Amalo Ulimeire to vouch for us—he is an old colleague and we think perhaps a friend. We hope most fervently that in less than a week we will be able to return to the Untheileneise Court with all the answers you asked us to find.

In loyalty and gratitude,

Thara Celehar

Maia folded the pages carefully and returned them to Csevet. “And again where there is trouble, we find the House Tethimada. What can you tell us of the Prince of Thu-Athamar’s wedding?”

“Ah,” Csevet said. “We know nothing to the detriment of the young lady, and it was certainly a very favorable match. There was speculation that your father’s attendance at the wedding of the Prince of Thu-Athamar to a daughter of the Tethimada was a harbinger of peace between them.”

“If Mer Celehar is right, that irony must have amused someone very much,” Maia said. As succinctly as he could, he put Csevet in possession of Mer Celehar’s facts.

Csevet’s eyes widened as he listened. “We believe the Tethimadeise wealth to have been a strong motivation in Prince Orchenis’s marriage.”

“Indeed,” Maia said grimly.

Csevet eyed him uneasily. “We must hope Mer Celehar will be able to move as swiftly as he predicts. At the moment, Serenity, we have no proof of anything.”

“We know,” Maia said. Csevet did not sigh with relief, but it was clearly only willpower that stopped him; Maia remembered Lord Pashavar’s comment about mad dogs and knew what Csevet had feared. “Will you, please, put Mer Celehar’s letter somewhere that is both safe and unlikely?”

Csevet’s eyebrows went up, but after a moment, he said, “Yes. We understand, Serenity, and we will do so.” A momentary gleeful grin made him look no older than Idra. “We have already thought of several promising options.”

“We thank you. We must return to the reception, as we are certain we have already been missed.”

Csevet walked with him back to the ambassador’s
dav,
as if he would be leaving his emperor alone if he did not. Maia’s nohecharei padded invisibly behind them, and Maia thought unhappily that he understood why Cala had said they could not be friends.

Gormened was there as soon as Maia had cleared the door and the saluting guards. “Serenity, the Avar requests a moment of your time.”

That was almost certainly not how the matter had originally been phrased; Maia followed Gormened to one of the small tables, this one offering puff pastries filled with pate of duck and sour cherries. The Avar, expansive and possibly slightly drunk (Maia had confined himself to tea after one experimental sip of sorcho, the hot rice wine the goblins preferred), was telling a mixed audience of goblin merchants and elvish courtiers about the visit of the self-styled king of the Chadevaneise pirates to the Corat’ Dav Arhos. “
Eight
lion-girls he brought with him,” the Avar was saying as Maia approached. “Poor things, they were freezing, and even King Khel-Avezher didn’t have the heart to make them—” He broke off when he saw Maia. “Grandson! We are told you have been introduced to our daughter Nadeian.”

Inwardly, Maia quailed; he had promised Merrem Vizhenka that she would not get in trouble. “Yes,” he said. “We were most pleased to meet her.”

“Excellent,” said the Avar with such a twinklingly malicious look that Maia could not help smiling back. Apparently the Avar was as fretted by his ministers and their strictures as Maia was by the Corazhas and its squabbles. “Our daughter Thever sends you many good wishes, and we believe there is a gift. Selthevis! Where is our daughter Thever’s gift to the emperor?”

Selthevis emerged from the crowd as if conjured. He was middle-aged, soberly dressed, unremarkable except for the dark, almost purplish red of his eyes, which was emphasized by the rubies braided in his hair and hanging from his ears. “We have it, Maru’var,” he said and, bowing low to Maia, presented an ornately lacquered box.

For a moment, Maia quite literally could not think what to do. The last time he had had a present of any sort had been his eighth birthday, when his mother had given him the only set of her earrings that were at all suitable for a boy. Setheris, he remembered, had nearly fainted when he realized the delicate rings in Maia’s ears were genuine Ilinverieise work and the jewels were not glass and fish-scales, but real pearls.

He took the box and fumbled awkwardly until he found the catch. Inside, each in its own blue silk hollow, was a complete set of ivory combs, tashin sticks, and two strands of amber and rubies. The combs were carved in a pattern of scales, and the tashin sticks each ended in a dragon’s head with brilliant, faceted ruby eyes. He closed the box and saw what he had not managed to assimilate at first: it was emblazoned with a magnificent carved and lacquered dragon.

“A glorious dragon,” Maia murmured, feeling his face move in a smile as if it belonged to someone else.

“Exactly so,” said the Avar.

Perhaps he had learned something from Chenelo’s death. Maia wondered, but he knew there was no way to ask. He could only bow to his grandfather over the box—for it might be a gift from his mother’s sister, but he would never have received it if his grandfather had not approved—and say, “Thank you.”

From the Avar’s return nod, Maia thought he understood.

29

A Ball and a Deathbed

Maia didn’t know whose job it was to decorate the Untheileian, but they had done a splendid job, with crimson and gold and blue banners which artfully suggested the colors of both Barizhan and the Ethuveraz. Maia’s uncomfortable throne had been outfitted with gold-embroidered blue cushions, and he silently blessed whichever servant had had the wits to think of that. He sat and watched the dancing and told himself this was practice for the Winternight Ball when the dancing would start at sunset and go on—with pauses for the banquet and for the midnight celebration in the Untheileneise’meire—until dawn. “Like a wake,” he had said, and Csevet had smiled and said, “Yes, Serenity. It is called dancing the old year down, and it is the one night of the year when servants may join their masters in the dance.”

It was also Maia’s birthday, and although he had tried to explain that he did not want any particular festivity, Csevet had stared at him in horror and said, “You are the
emperor.
Your birthday will be—and should be—celebrated in every corner of the Elflands. You
cannot
ask people not to celebrate, Serenity.”

“No,” Maia had said, defeated. “We suppose we cannot.” But he was oppressed by the thought, appalled at the idea that children would be forced to celebrate his birthday as he had been forced to celebrate his father’s.

’Tis not the same thing,
he pointed out to himself, striving to be reasonable.
What reason has any child to resent thee as thou didst resent thy father?

Idra,
a darker voice responded promptly.
Ino. Mireän.

I will tell them they need not.
And then he realized his own absurdity and had to stifle a laugh.

“Serenity?” Cala said. “Are you well?”

“Yes, we thank you. Merely ridiculous.”

“Serenity?” Beshelar, instantly disapproving.

“It is nothing,” Maia said. “Is not the dancing beautiful?”