All the Paths of Shadow (14 page)

Finally, even the clomp-clomp of straggling pedestrians and early evening revelers died. Meralda pictured Fairlane Street. It sounded empty, a thing she had never before seen, and yet the effort to rise and look out a window was just too much to bear.

“Everyone must be down at the docks,” said Mug. “I hear the Hang lit their ships with lanterns on the rigging. Looks like a city gone to sea, they say.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” said Meralda. She looked up at the Bellringers. “If you two would like to go and see, go ahead. I’m home, for the evening.”

“We’ll all see the Hang soon enough,” said Tervis. Kervis nodded assent. “We thought we’d better stay here, until they are docked and we know they’re peaceful.”

Mug chuckled. “Good idea,” he said. “That way, if the Hang attack, you two can ambush them in front of old Mrs. Whitlonk’s room. Kervis can use his crossbow, Tervis can wield both swords, and Mrs. Whitlonk can grab a hundred or so Hang at a time and complain to them about the noise.” he said.

Meralda sighed. “Shut up, Mug,” she said.

The sun set, and soon after, a trumpet blew in the distance. Meralda sat bolt upright, and the Bellringers leaped to their feet, and Mug even turned all his eyes toward the north, where the docks lay hidden behind the sprawling, twinkling heart of northwest Tirlin.

The first trumpet was joined by another, and then both began to play
“
Tirlin, Tirlin
.”
The faint sounds of cheering and the thump-thump of a Royal Guard kettle drum joined the song of welcome.

Meralda sat. The Bellringers moved to stand at the window.

“That’s a welcome to our shores, not a call to battle bloody,” said Mug. “Looks like the Hang are guests after all.”

“For tonight,” said Meralda.
Hang and ghosts and Vonats tomorrow,
she thought,
but at least tonight we can sleep in peace.

“That’s the sound of history being made, lads,” said Mug. “Something I hoped never to hear.”

The Bellringers nodded, as one, and watched late at the window while the faint music played.

Chapter Seven

Meralda was up and dressed before the summons to the palace arrived, via a breathless Kervis. “I saw the Hang!” he exclaimed, thrusting a thick brown envelope at Meralda before she fully opened her door. “They’re all lined up in the west garden, dancing.”

Meralda took the envelope and bade Kervis and Tervis to enter. The guardsman went on to describe the Hang’s odd morning dance, noting with awe that every one of them stood and moved together, all led by a spry little man in baggy short-legged pants who never spoke a word.

“Like birds, ma’am,” said Kervis, as Tervis rolled his eyes. “Like this!”

Kervis stood on his right foot, attempted to straighten his left leg and extend it away from his body, level with his waist, and fell over on Meralda’s couch when he lifted his arms over his head.

From the kitchen came the sound of applause. “Bravo!” shouted Mug, adding the faint roar of a tiny crowd behind him. “Bravo!”

Kervis reddened and stood. “Well, they didn’t fall,” he said.

Meralda shushed Mug and hid her own smile behind the sheaf of papers stuffed into the envelope. At the top, printed in a hurried court scribe’s neat hand, were the words “A Brief Summary of Our Hang Guests, and a Schedule for Today.”

Meralda sat. “There’s coffee in the kitchen, Tervis,” she said. “Have some, and don’t mind Mug.”

Tervis nodded, and headed for the kitchen.

Meralda flipped through the papers, searching for the schedule. The last page was a list of places and times. Meralda winced and read on.

Eight of the clock. Informal breakfast with the Eryans, the Phendelits, the Alons, and the Hang.

Ten of the clock. Court meeting, closed session.

Noon. Lunch, informal. Not mandatory.

Two of the clock. Tour of the palace. Informal.

The captain had added, in a hasty scrawl,
The Hang will be at breakfast, and may join the tour. Forget the court session. Lot of arguing about room assignments and troop postings.

Meralda shrugged.
Very well,
she thought.
Breakfast, skip the lunch, and then the rest of the day is free.

And at last, I’ll see a Hang.

Tervis came out of the kitchen, coffee in hand. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

Meralda looked up from the papers. “Well, sit down,” she said. “You’re not on a parade ground, you know.”

Tervis backed up to the reading chair and sat. “Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Docile, too,” said Mug, from the kitchen. Meralda glared, and flipped back to the first page of the captain’s report, and began to read.

The Hang,
wrote the scribe,
have sent, as we thought, representatives from the house of Chentze. Chentze, we believe, means “long dragon,” or perhaps “long-lived dragon
”.

Chief among these visitors is Que-long. We are as yet unsure whether this is a name or a title, or indeed something of both. Suffice it say that Que-long is the ranking member of the delegation, if not of Chentze itself. We are asked not to address Que-long directly, or to offer directly to him any gifts, documents, or objects of any kind. All interaction with Que-long is to be performed with Chezin. Direct all statements to Chezin. Give all gifts to Chezin. You will know Chezin by his red robes, and the fact that he alone of the Hang bears a weapon.

Note that the king has relaxed the customary ban on weapons in the Gold Room for Chezin. Chezin is to bear his sword wherever he will, and no one shall challenge or attempt todisarm him on pain of the most direct and severe royal displeasure.

The other ranking members of the Hang delegation are:

Donchen - Rank unknown. Introduced himself merely as “Donchen.” Probably an ambassador, or the Hang equivalent thereof.

Loman - Court Mage? Bears a short plain staff, cast a magelight from his hands during last night’s procession to the palace.

Sopan - Wife of Que-long. Attended by three black-clad females introduced as “Sopan’s shings.” The shings may be bodyguards, though they bear no weapons and are slight of build.

Tolong - Captain of Long Dragon flagship. Statesman, perhaps, as well. Chezin defers to him with nearly as much respect as to Que-long.

The captain had added one final note:

Meralda. Que-long has expressed a desire to see firsthand the wondrous magics of this fair and happy land. That means you, so whip up something wondrous, won’t you? We’ll pop around in a day or so.

He’d signed it with a scrawl.

“You scheming old chicken thief,” muttered Meralda.

The Brass Bell rang seven times. Tervis finished his coffee by the sixth peal, and he and Kervis and Meralda were out the door by the seventh.

Alone in the kitchen, Mug spread his leaves to the rising sun and watched the Tower’s shadow swing wide around the park.

Carter, himself, escorted Meralda to her place at the middle King’s Table. “Enjoy your breakfast, milady,” he said, as he pulled back Meralda’s chair and waited for her to take her place.

“Thank you, Carter,” she said, sitting.

Meralda’s tablemates were entirely Tirlish. At her sides sat bankers and scholars. Across from her, Yugo Austin toyed with his fork while to his right, iron magnate Cobblestone sat in barely concealed slumber.

Meralda twisted round in her seat, hoping for a glance of the Hang, and noticed many others were doing the same thing. Meralda even thought opera star Lydia Grace looked a bit annoyed as people looked past her in search of more exotic sights.

The Alon delegation was seated at the north end of the table to Meralda’s right, though the Good Mother’s place at the head of the table was empty. Meralda did recognize the Alon ambassador to Tirlin, who was engaged in a whispered, but agitated conversation with a red-bearded, red-kilted man who wore the diamond-braided shoulder sash of an Alon mage.

Red Mawb,
said Meralda, to herself.
If so, this Red Mawb looks more like a Spree Isles pirate than a mage.
Meralda could see the man was missing an upper incisor, and a thin red scar ran the length of his face, vanishing under hair at his forehead and beard at his jaw.

And if that’s Mawb,
Meralda decided,
then the fat little bald man glaring at him from across the table must be Dorn Mukirk
. The fat man shifted in his seat, and Meralda caught a glimpse of a diamond-worked sash on his shoulder, as well.

Then the north doors opened, and three iron-helmed Alon guards marched in, and every Alon in the Gold Room, mages included, leaped noisily to their feet.

Meralda rose as well, remaining standing until the slight, grey-haired queen of Alonya was seated, and the rumble of conversation began anew.

The king and queen of Erya walked in a few moments later, to no fanfare, even from the Eryans present. Soon after a small army of waiters appeared, pushing silver-worked wheeled serving carts which steamed and sizzled and smelled of scrambled eggs and Westfield sausage and pancakes. But Yvin was absent, and the left-most King’s Table, which was covered in white linens and marked off by red velvet ropes in obvious reserve for the Hang, was empty.

The first trumpet blew, and the waiters busied themselves with coffee urns and serving spoons. Soon after the north door opened again, and a small, black haired man darted through it.

At first, Meralda mistook him for a server. His shirt was plain, long-sleeved, off-white, with a button front and a plain circle collar, not unlike what the waiters wore. But then he turned to speak to someone behind him, and in that instant Meralda saw clearly his tawny skin and the upturned corners of his wide grey eyes.

Conversation in the Gold Room died in that same instant. The Hang in the doorway heard, and turned back to face the crowd while he held the door open.

“I present the House of Chentze,” he said, in perfect, unaccented New Kingdom. “Good is the guesting in the House of Yvin.”

Then he stepped forward, opened wide the north door, and held it open.

An even smaller, much older man stepped into the Gold Room, bright eyes peering around, small mouth growing into a smile. The older man wore a loose white robe belted at the waist with a thin golden braid. Soft black shoes peeked out from under his robes.

The Alon queen rose to her feet. “Let us rise in honor of our guests, who have come so far to grace us with their presence,” she said, in a voice that rang throughout the Gold Room. “Rise, and show them honor.”

People rose. Meralda lost sight of the Hang after that.
They are a small people,
she thought, amazed. Her last sight of the old man was of him smiling and reaching out to stroke the corner of a battered, time-worn King’s Table.

Three trumpet blasts rang out, and the west doors opened, and Yvin and Pellabine charged through. Yvin took a few hurried steps, saw that the Hang were en route to their seats, and halted, Pellabine at his side. They stood until the last of the Hang were seated.

Yvin motioned the court to sit, and he and Pellabine resumed their own march for their places at the head of the center King’s Table. Yvin seated his queen, and lifted his hands, turning toward the Hang.

“We bid you welcome, honored guests,” he said. “Will you do us the honor of breaking fast with us?”

Now that the court was seated, Meralda could see most of the Hang delegation. There were perhaps two dozen of them, all peering back at the court with smiles and nods.

The slight, almost frail man seated at the head of his table was certainly Que-long. Meralda stared until she realized what she was doing, and turned her gaze away. But, try as she might, she could find no hint of menace in the small man’s merry smile. His hair was close-cropped and white, his face round and smooth, his eyes large and dark, belying his age. When he smiled, his teeth were white, and perfect. Just before Meralda looked away, he poked his fork into a pancake and laughed.

Seated on Que-long’s right was a grim-faced man, clad in a plain red robe, who sat, hands at his side, eyes moving slowly about the room.
Chezin,
thought Meralda, surprised by the man’s size.
He’s no bigger than Kervis.

Que-long’s wife sat to his left, primly regarding her sausages as though they might be something other than food. Her hair, too, was white, though long, and pulled back into a tight bun. Her robes were white and worked with gold fluting at the hems. She laughed at something her husband said, and laid her hand upon his shoulder, and then looked shyly up and about the room.

The Chezin rose. “It is you who do us honor, King of Tirlin,” he said, his voice even and surprisingly deep. “Let the meal begin.”

He sat. Que-long raised his fork high, stabbed a sausage, and brought it to his lips.

The court was suddenly full of clattering silverware and clinking glasses. Meralda ate, all the while stealing looks at the Hang, who seemed both amused and mildly embarrassed by all the attention.

Meralda tried to match faces at the table to names in the captain’s report. Que-long, his Chezin, Sopan, and her shings were easy enough to single out. But what of Tolong the Long Dragon ship captain, and Donchen, the may-be ambassador?

Meralda cut up her sausages and watched. She decided Captain Tolong was seated four places to the left of Que-long. Beardless and small, he was a shade darker and quite a bit more muscular than any of his fellows.

Meralda swallowed, and cast her gaze to the other end of the Hang table.

The man who had been first through the north door met her gaze, and smiled. He was Hang, but while the other Hang sat upright or stood straight or marched with purpose toward their seats, this man lounged with an air of easy grace.
That must be Donchen
, Meralda thought, mentally checking off all the other names on the list against other members of the Hang party.