A Matter of Oaths (32 page)

The riser to which Braniya led him was locked to her voice,
its controls not labelled with the levels it served. The descent took ten
minutes at high speed: a very long way down. Rafe’s ears popped with the
changing pressure and his nose itched with the faintly musty smell that greeted
them when they stepped out, the smell of infrequent occupation.

The tunnels at the lower level were less ornamented than the
upper corridors, their walls heavily reinforced and each junction marked by
bulkheads waiting to be swung into position. It was possible to believe that
Julur could live through a few hundred years down here. Rafe wondered if there
was a similar bolt-hole beneath Ayvar’s palace. It was more likely that Ayvar
had his hiding place somewhere else, somewhere his enemies would not know to
look; he did not have Julur’s phobia of the universe beyond his palace.

“Gods.” Rafe swore aloud at the sudden shooting pain in his arms
and his back, leaned against the tunnel wall with his eyes closed fighting it. Web-cramp,
he thought hazily, twisting away from one of the guards who was trying to urge
him on. “Wait,” he pleaded.

“What is this, Rafell?” Braniya demanded.

“A minute,” he insisted. “Just that.” The pain was receding,
to a level where he could stand straight again. He squinted at Braniya through
watering eyes. “No trick,” he promised.

“You’re ill.” It sounded like an accusation. As if she
suspected him of arranging it deliberately.

“Web-cramp,” Rafe said, moving away from the wall
experimentally. “It’s over now. For the moment.” It would be back though. He
had last worked on the day that Churi died, more than forty days ago, and he
would not be back in the web for the foreseeable future, he thought bleakly.

“You can walk?” Braniya asked. “It isn’t far now.”

“Your concern is delightful.”

“The Emperor requires you to be kept in good health,” she
said stiffly. “I will be reporting this episode.”

Much good it would do Julur to know about it. The cure for
web-cramp was webbing, or deactivating the offending web, both of which would
require the cooperation of the Guild. And if Rafe was right, the cooperation of
the Guild was in short supply for Julur at the moment. He smothered a cynical
grin. He might still manage to frustrate the Old Emperor’s plans. Admittedly,
at the cost of considerable discomfort, but that was probably down on the
agenda already; the web-cramp was just hurrying things along. The thought made
him perversely cheerful.

“In here,” Braniya ordered. “Wait outside,” she told the
guards.

“Impressive,” Rafe said honestly, looking around him. “All
for me?”

“Leisure accommodation, sleeping room, sanitary facilities. And
an small gym. Please explore,” Braniya invited graciously.

“Later. The wisest thing I can do now is lie down,” he told
her frankly.

Braniya followed him into the sleeping room. “How serious is
web-cramp?” she asked.

“In my current circumstances?” Rafe gave her one of his best
smiles. “Probably fatal.”

“That can be checked.”

“Ask Julur. He knows everything I do.”

When she had gone, he curled on his side on the bed. Web-cramp
was a perpetual headache and creeping weariness and unpredictable spasms like
the one in the corridor. If he were back on
Bhattya
,
Joshim would give him a tablet to ease the headache and then, when his
concentration could be trusted, he would put him in the web to stretch the
cramp away. If he were back on
Bhattya
,
Joshim would… As well wish to be an apprentice back on New Imperial, with the
choice that had led him here still unmade.

Joshim would have problems of his own now, supporting Rallya
when she made her bid to oust Carher. And afterwards, avoiding Julur’s
attention without knowing that he needed to do it. For survival’s sake, he
needed to know about his resemblance to Ayvar, but it hurt to know how much
that knowledge would hurt him. Hurt to know what Joshim would think. Hurt to
think that it was partially true, and that Joshim would talk himself out of
being angry about it. Everybody had the right to be angry about a gods’ trick
like that.

Ayvar would be angry when he knew. Not about the gods’
trick. About the wasted mourning he had done ten years ago —
I save it for the people who are worth it,
Lin
— and about the fresh mourning he would have to do, knowing there was
nothing he could do to rescue Rafe, nothing that would not cost more than Rafe
was worth. He would protect Joshim, as well as he could, and maybe Julur would
be wary enough of the Guild to leave the Webmaster alone. But there was no
power in either Empire that would make Julur hand Rafe back, not without
letting chaos loose. The Old Emperor need not worry about an attack; Rallya
would not do it, had too much sense to do it, however much she hated to back
off. Some deal would be made to cover the cracks between Julur and the Guild,
and everybody would hope fervently that Rafe was dead. Which he would be, if
Julur was pressed for evidence; his body would be produced with apologies and
Braniya would be handed the blame. Rafe hoped that Rallya and Ayvar would
insist on proof; Ayvar at least would know the importance of that.

The hiss of a sliding door told him that somebody had
entered the suite. Braniya, or somebody bringing the clothes that had been
provided for him. He curled up tightly, ignoring the footsteps coming towards
the sleeping rom.

“You are unwell.”

Gods, that voice. Julur, come to see if he was to be
deprived of his entertainment.

“I have web-cramp.” Rafe uncurled slowly, balancing hatred
for Julur against a desperate wish not to push him too far too soon. Braniya
was there as well, a sleepbeam trained on him in case he indulged himself and
tried for Julur’s throat.

“You did not suffer this on a previous occasion.”

“How would you know? How would I have known? I wasn’t
identifying every piece of pain.”

“You will not die of it.”

“Is that a request or an order?”

“It is not usually fatal.”

“Not when there’s a chance of webbing, no. Or when there’s
somebody around who knows how to deactivate a web. Going to ask the Guild how
to do that?” Thank the gods that was a secret that not even the Threes knew.

“That will be the long term solution,” Julur said evenly. “But
the Guild is currently preoccupied with internal politics. Such a request would
not be welcome.”

“If you don’t come up with a short-term solution, you won’t
need the long-term solution,” Rafe said spitefully. “You could give me access
to
Havedir
’s web. If your yacht’s
web-room swallowed my abduction from Central, they’ll swallow that.”

“You will not leave the palace.”

“Then I suggest you enjoy watching it while you can.”

“This web is a complication that endangers your health,”
Julur said, as if Rafe had not spoken. “Braniya, he is to be sedated for my
investigation. And have the Webmaster of
Havedir
brought to me.”

Braniya coughed. “
Havedir
are still refusing to accept our orders, sir. Until the situation within the
Guild is clarified.”

Julur muttered something that sounded very like a curse. “Are
you capable of commissioning a web?” he demanded of Rafe.

“How large a web?” Rafe asked, intrigued. Julur had a web
within the palace?

“It was used for amusement only.”

“It’s not my speciality, but I should get by,” Rafe said
cautiously. “Providing it isn’t too far from what I’m used to.” Gods knew how
old it would be; if Julur was anything like Ayvar in his memories, that
amusement could have been fifty years ago or five hundred. “Where is it?”

“If medical examination proves the necessity, you will be
taken to it. Braniya, you will arrange for the supply of the necessary tools
and technicians.”

“Expendable technicians?” Braniya queried.

“The prisoner’s existence is to remain a secret,” Julur
agreed. “You,” he added to Rafe, “will commission the web for your own use. You
will be interrogated before you are permitted to use it, to verify that what
you have done is acceptable.”

Rafe nodded, not understanding why he was being given this
lifeline when his life was measured in tens of days anyway, but finding that he
could not turn it down. Julur was mad. There was no understanding him except on
his own terms, and he was the only one who knew what those were. But if he
could not be understood, perhaps he could be manipulated a little. If he did
not want Rafe to die of web-cramp, Rafe would not die of web-cramp. But it
would take time to commission a web, time in which — perhaps — Julur would put
off any other action.

To all ships in Khirtin Fleet:

The fleet will depart at 03:00/353/5043…

[Fleet Group Three in position for jump,] Vidar reported,
relaying the message from the Group Commander. [Fleet Group Six undocking
complete.]

[Acknowledged.]

Rallya checked the information against the timetable for the
jump. Still on schedule and if the gods were kind — or at least looking the
other way — still with the advantage of surprise. The charges against Carher
had been broadcast from the other side of the Disputed Zone; no message had
been sent from Khirtin without her approval; no ship that had approached the
station had been allowed to leave. There was no way that Carher could know the
scale or timing of what she faced. Unless the pickets around Khirtin had missed
the jump flare of a spy’s arrival, and Rallya would have somebody’s ears for
web-bands if they had. If they
were
going to jump into a shooting gallery around Central, she wanted to know about
it in advance.

Whatever they were going to jump into, she would have liked
to know about it in advance. But there had been no response from Central to the
charges she had made, neither from Carher nor from the rest of the Council. There
would have been a denial if the Council was backing Carher; the silence meant
that Carher was in control, but without their support. Which meant that she
would only be able to rely on her co-conspirators to defend her, and there was
no knowing how many of those there were, or how quickly she could gather them
at Central. Which meant there was no knowing what was waiting for Rallya’s
fleet when it came out of jump.

[Damage control Team One in place,] Vidar signalled. [All
nonessential power drains being shut down.]

[Acknowledged.] That too was on schedule,
Bhattya
’s own preparations for the jump
and afterwards. It was a familiar routine, familiar to her but to very few of
the other members of the fleet’s web-rooms. To them, real fleet battles were
history, in the Homir wars and before that. All they were used to were the
push-and-shove imitations in the Disputed Zone, or kiss-and-run encounters with
Outsider raiders, not full-scale shooting wars where both sides had everything
to lose. It had made Rallya feel damned old to realize it and damned worried
about how they would stand up to what was coming.

[Damage control Team Two in place. With passenger.] There
was a flavour of amusement in Vidar’s message.

[Query passenger,] Rallya sent sharply.

[Fadir. Found in his cabin.]

Rallya swore inwardly. Of all the times for Fadir to find
out that he had some initiative… Only he would be stupid enough to give up a
safe berth running errands for Ayvar in favour of being underfoot on a
patrolship in battle. Or maybe not, she conceded; in his position, she might —
just might — have pulled the same stunt. And he had done well to remain
undiscovered for so long, until there was no time left to put him off. There
might be some hope for him yet.

[Query Rasil,] she sent.

[Negative.]

At least they had one apprentice who knew how to obey
orders. [Message to web-room for Fadir,] she told Vidar. [Sit down, shut up and
consider a future without ears. Copy to web and damage control teams.]

Since he was aboard, he might as well be useful. Tension was
building up in the web; she could feel the undercurrents of fear. It would be
worse where Jualla’s team and Lilimya’s waited in the maintenance spaces with
nothing to do until — gods forbid — the ship took damage. It would do them all
good to know that Fadir had sneaked aboard, give them something to laugh about.
Battles were not only won by conserving every erg of energy for fighting with,
they were won by knowing your web-room’s strength, by knowing how to blunt the
razor-edge of waiting that cut away at concentration.

[Fleet Group Four in position for jump,] Vidar reported.

Two more groups still manoeuvring into formation. Ten more
minutes until jump. Ten minutes in which to consider all the mistakes she might
have made, the possibility that Carher
did
have the support of the Council, that she
was
waiting at Central with the capability to destroy all of them as they came out
of jump.
If
she had enough warning,
if
she had enough ships,
if
somebody miscalculated the jump from
Khirtin and emerged in somebody else’s shadow…

[!] The signal from Joshim was just a flicker, a warning
that her jitters were leaking out into the web. Disgusted with herself, Rallya
returned an equally brief acknowledgement. Pre-battle nerves were another
familiar part of the routine, but she had never forgotten herself so far as to
let them show. Only Joshim would have noticed, but that was no excuse. Nor was
being tired from five days of drumming sense into a collection of Commander’s
skulls. If a junior had made the same mistake, she would have expected Joshim
to dump them from the web.

[Fleet Group Five in position for jump.]

No trace of nerves in Vidar’s web-presence, not even concern
that his beloved ship systems were out of his control. Comms control was a
senior’s job in battle, but
Bhattya
was short of seniors and Rallya would not trust her link with the fleet to
anybody else. She wanted somebody she could rely on to feed her the information
she needed when the data inflows were too great for a single person to handle. Somebody
who would know which messages to pass to her, which messages to handle
themselves. Somebody who would not crumble if things went wrong.