A Matter of Oaths (34 page)

“It may be that the equipment will need to be maintained for
some time,” Braniya said. “Any tech brought in to help you could expect to live
for some years.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows. Braniya was telling him that
something had changed in the Guild, something that made it unlikely that Julur
would get any cooperation from them for years. For the Guild’s sake, that was
good news. For himself? If Julur wanted to keep him alive, he had to preserve
his skill in the web; otherwise web-cramp would kill him. The only way to do
that was another identity-wipe, which was preferable to the personality
disintegration he had been threatened with. Very marginally.

“I don’t need any help,” he said stubbornly. He would not
jeopardize anybody else’s life. And he would not share the excitement of this
web with anybody. Working on it stopped him thinking for hours at a time about
Joshim and Ayvar and what Julur intended to do with him. And about his
web-cramp, except when the spasms took him.

“The Emperor wishes your work to be checked, to be certain
that the web is safe to be used.”

“Only a webber could tell him that.” Rafe slid back under
the casing to replace the circuit he had just tested, to extract the next one. “He’ll
have to rely on my judgement. He’ll be questioning me under Gadrine; he’ll know
I haven’t done anything deliberate to hurt myself. For the rest, he’ll have to
assume I know what I’m doing. It’s my life I’ll be risking when I hook in. If I’m
not ecstatic about him meddling with my sanity, I’m hardly going to endanger it
by mistake.”

“Your life belongs to the Emperor,” she contradicted him
icily.

“If you bring a tech down here, I shall stop work,” Rafe
told her equally coldly. “Maybe the tech could complete what I’ve started. Maybe
you and enough guards could get me hooked into the web without doing permanent
damage to my web-contacts. But you couldn’t make me use it.”

When he stood up again, her lips were pressed into a thin
angry line. It must be difficult for her, he thought without sympathy, to have
a prisoner whose terms of imprisonment were so contradictory, about whom she
was forbidden to ask questions. Almost as difficult as it was to be that
prisoner, not knowing when Julur’s indulgence would end.

“If you want me in this web as soon as possible,” he
informed her, “you can stop distracting me. And you can tell Julur that it will
be ready for use first thing tomorrow. I’d appreciate it if he’d schedule his
question session then.”

He shrank from the thought of more Gadrine, but if it was
the only way to get into this fascinating web… Not just because of the
web-cramp, but because he itched to explore it from within. He would never know
whose it had been or why it was here in the Old Imperial Palace. He would never
share what he did learn with anybody else, but just once while he was still
Rafe who had been Lin, he wanted to web again. He wanted a world where
he
was in control, he admitted to
himself ruefully, somewhere where his every breath did not hang on the whim of
an Emperor.

…The Council will meet in private session in the Council
Chamber at 04:00/355/5043…

Rallya flung the sheaf of flimsies that she had
accumulated during the Council meeting onto the desk in the office she had been
allocated. Carher’s office, and noticeably larger than the other Councillors’. The
flimsies made a satisfying scatter on the floor as they slid off the highly
polished surface. If she could have been bothered, she would have dumped them
in the waste disposal.

Gods and Emperors, it was easy to see how Carher had been able
to get away with so much. Half the Council was incompetent and the other half
was worse. No, that was unfair. There were one or two brains struggling to
remember how to function, Ferin’s for one, and the woman with one arm, Rhonya. The
rest of them… If she had needed proof that democracy was no way to choose a
governing body, the Council was it, but having been elected, they could at
least have the decency not to try to unload their responsibilities on the first
saviour that came along. Yes, she was willing to take them by the hand and drag
them in the right direction until she was sure they could carry on by
themselves. No, she was not going to accept leadership of the Guild, not even
until they could arrange for fresh elections.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Fadir hesitated in the doorway, one foot
just inside the office as if he was testing the temperature before venturing
in. “Message from the Stationmaster.
Khetya
is coming into dock and Lord Dhur would like to speak to you as soon as
possible.”

“Who invited him here?” she demanded. “No, don’t try to
answer that, Fadir. You might wear your brain out thinking, and you wouldn’t
want to be the only one around here with a used brain. Message to the
Stationmaster. I’ll see Lord Dhur as soon as
Khetya
has docked. Let the idiot who calls himself my secretary
know too.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lord Dhur
obviously thought he did not need an invitation to Central, Rallya thought
darkly as she dropped into the high-backed seat. That was one mistake he would
not make again. If he thought the loan of his fleet — which he was not going to
get back — entitled him to special treatment, he was wrong. And if he thought
he could persuade her to besiege Julur, he was also wrong. Blood and hell, the
man was stubborn. Joshim stood more chance of changing her mind and at least he
knew better than to try.

“Lord Dhur, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Fadir. Find out if the idiot in the outer office
can produce some alcad, and bring it in yourself.” She nodded to Ayvar,
gestured at the empty chair. “If you were in such a hurry to be here, you
should have stowed away with Fadir.”

“Fadir didn’t tell me what he planned.” Ayvar took the seat
he had been offered. “I came to find out what you plan.”

“What I plan or what the Guild plans?”

“For current purposes, the two are the same.”

“No, they aren’t,” Rallya objected sharply.

“The Guild Council is ready to accept any suggestion you
make,” Ayvar said smoothly. “No,” he added, holding up a hand to silence
Rallya, “I don’t have a spy in the Council. I’ve seen the same situation in
other places and times — in so many thousand years, there’s little new. You’re
strong. You have strong ideas about the Guild. And you’re willing to put them
into action. It’s inevitable they look to you for a lead.”

Rallya snorted. “Well, they are not going to be led into
besieging Julur. Rafe’s life isn’t worth what it would cost. And he would agree
with me, no matter what Julur does to him.”

“Is that your final word?”

“If I can win Rafe’s freedom by negotiation, I will. But I
will not throw away the peace of both Empires to do it.” She studied him
suspiciously. It occurred to her that there was another potential source of a
fleet, the F’sair who had taken Julur’s hire in the past, who might take Ayvar’s
hire in the future. Was he so intent on Rafe’s freedom that he would go that
far?

“I think, Lord Dhur,” she said slowly, “that you had better
resign yourself to an indefinite stay at Central. I want you where I know what
you’re doing.”

Ayvar looked at her without expression. “You aren’t worried
that holding me will provoke the same chaos as besieging Julur?”

“Not if you make no protest,” she said calmly, “and you won’t,
will you?”

“I’ll give you two days to try negotiating,” Ayvar conceded.
“But I warn you, Commander Rallya, I will hold you personally responsible if I
lose Lin.”

Rallya stiffened at the threat in his voice. “Julur might
release him in exchange for you,” she suggested provocatively. “One webber —
any webber — is worth more to me than an Emperor. No doubt the reverse is true
for Julur.”

Ayvar shook his head. “Even if you offered, he’d refuse. I’ve
told you, nothing will make him give Lin up except fear for his own life.” He
stood up. “Two days, Commander. And for Lin’s sake, don’t bring my name into
it.”

Rallya called the Stationmaster when he had gone, to warn
her not to let him leave on any ship. Then she sat glaring at her reflection in
the glossy desktop. If Ayvar was convinced that what she had to bargain with
would not gain Rafe’s freedom, then it was not enough. Gods, was she going to
be forced to abandon Rafe? She felt sick to her roots at the thought.

“Alcad, ma’am.” Fadir halted in the doorway, looking in vain
for Ayvar.

“Bring it here,” she said irritably. “He couldn’t wait.” She
took one of the mugs off him. “Make it yourself, did you?” He nodded. “Then you
may as well drink the other one. And sit down while you do it. You make me
uncomfortable standing up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sat so close to the edge of the seat that
the weight of the mug should have unbalanced him.

“Have you been aboard
Bhattya
today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You can tell me how the repair work is going.” She
had not been back aboard since they docked. She needed something simple to
worry about and damn it, it was still her ship. “Vidar still angry with me?”

“I think so, ma’am,” Fadir said cautiously. “Although not as
angry as he was yesterday.”

“His temper is directly proportional to the amount of damage
still to be repaired,” she said drily. “If you ever make it to command rank,
Fadir, remember that all Captains have an unnatural attachment to the fabric of
their ship. If you ever want to annoy one, bring their ship into dock a virtual
wreck. Even if it is in a good cause, they won’t talk to you for days.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Fadir sounded justifiably uncertain whether
that was the response expected of him.

“How’s Joshim?” she asked.

“He’s… working very hard. And not very happy,” the
apprentice said bravely. “I think he’s worried about…”

“Rafe. We’re all worried about Rafe,” Rallya said heavily. So
much for something simple to worry about.

…The Guild has withdrawn its services in the Disputed Zone
from both Emperors…

“These are where the attachment is made?” With distaste,
Julur examined the bunch of web-contacts lying on the couch. “Barbaric. It
should not have been allowed.”

“It was my own choice,” Rafe argued, probably unwisely. “Are
you convinced yet that it’s safe?”

He held his fingers rigidly straight, to prevent his nails
from digging into his palms. After the latest interrogation under Gadrine,
there was nothing else he could do to convince Julur. Was it all a hoax? Had
Julur never intended to allow him in the web? Had he held out the possibility
for the pleasure of denying it?

“You may use it.” Julur dropped the web-contacts. “I will
observe.” He crossed the room to the seat he had had carried in. “How long a
period will you require for good health?”

“Initially, two or three hours,” Rafe said cautiously. “I’m
accustomed to webbing for eight hours a day. To prevent the web-cramp
recurring, I should maintain that level of activity.”

“It will be permitted.” Julur sat down. He had dispensed
with his guards again, brought only Braniya with him. “You may begin.”

Rafe stretched out on the couch, removed his web-bands. His
web-contacts would need cleaning — vividly he remembered Joshim doing just that
— he would not ask Braniya or Julur to do it for him. He strapped the
signal-contacts onto his wrists; they were warm, already active. There was no
monitor for him to check their placing, only experience to tell him that they
felt right. He strapped the control-contact to his neck, hardly aware of his
audience in his eagerness.

At the instant of engagement, there was a disconcerting
impression of size from the web, larger than it should be within the confines
of the casing. He fought that down; it was the strange configuration
disorienting him. He wanted to stretch out to the edge of the available space,
to give his nerves the freedom they had lacked for so long. He fought that down
too. In a web as strange as this, he had to be cautious. At least while there
were still things to learn about the web.

The strangest thing was being alone, the knowledge that
there was no one on the end of his signal circuits. It made the web cold, less
inviting than the Guild’s webs. Or was that just his imagination? Whichever it
was, he was not comfortable, did not feel safe, felt like a child tiptoeing
through a deserted building.

Tentatively, he sent a signal, expecting it to vanish into
nothing or to be reflected back to him. What came back was neither silence nor
an echo. Intrigued, he repeated the experiment on a different set of circuits
with the same result. The response was nothing he could understand, but it was
not the signal he had sent.

Slowly, he extended along a single circuit, looking for the
terminus. He found nothing, even stretched so far that he would have reached
the edge of
Bhattya
’s web. He
withdrew, sent the same probe down other circuits. All of them seemed endless,
reinforcing his initial impression of size.

There were no external sensors, but were there status banks,
information banks from which he could read a matrix? Nobody built a web as
complex as this for amusement, whatever Julur claimed. It had to have another
purpose. Station webs held information about arrival and departure schedules;
he remembered hearing the suggestion that all the Guild’s records should be
held in the same way. There were no circuits in this web whose function he had
not understood, no excess storage that he had noticed. The only anomaly was the
large bank of comms circuits, approaching the complexity of a ship’s comms
circuits. Were they a link to storage elsewhere? Was he misinterpreting his
signal circuits? Direct comms circuits would be open-ended, he thought
excitedly. If he could just master the signal system…