City Without End (68 page)

Now and then Tai would come up with an English word, such as “food,” “sleep,” and “important visitor,” looking inordinately proud if he got it right.

Quinn surveyed the plaza. No Tarig appeared on the visible avenues of the hill, much less near his pavilion. Lord Inweer said he would retire for a time, perhaps conferring with the other solitaires. The Tarig were still a problem in many respects. He tried to think through what accommodation could be made with Inweer, if any. Perhaps the Tarig should all go home; but could the Entire remain intact without them?

Zhiya sat on the ground beside him, refusing to share the bench. She was his sole advisor and second in command. Under her direction, emissaries had been sent to the Magisterium to assure every sentient that their place was not automatically in jeopardy. Even Cixi was allowed to remain for now, provided that she either brought the steward Cho from his prison or provided proof of his death. The death scroll came soon thereafter, to Quinn’s great regret. Cho had provided him the redstone containing Johanna’s warning of the purpose of Ahnenhoon. Quinn asked for a poet to create a grave saying, and one went into seclusion to produce it.

A line was forming for sentients who’d had the courage to make the trip to this uncertain city. Many did and wanted to come forward to greet Titus Quinn; among them were acquaintances, merchants, functionaries, and the curious.

Here, standing before him was a man who claimed to have served him a nicely charred meat skewer four hundred days ago during the great godder expedition to the Nigh. Quinn thanked him and took down his name, receiving his promise of cooperation. He had no idea if he’d ever met him before.

Next in line was a Gond on his litter who said he was on his way home and would convey Quinn’s greetings to the nests of the forest. Quinn sent greetings. Tai had them written with a flourish on an activated scroll by a legate seated nearby.

The day continued in this manner, until toward Last of Day came one he knew. The Hirrin, Dolwa-Pan, who had long ago given him a ride in her sky bulb.

She made a leg, in a Hirrin bow, and eyed him coldly. “So you repay hospitality,” she said without greeting.

“Was there hospitality? Did I sleep through it?”

“I gave you hospitality, oh yes? To the very reach of the minoral, and now you harass the gracious lords. I am disappointed also, that you deceived me, Titus Quinn.”

“That I regret. You did help me with transport and never knew I was a fugitive. You haven’t suffered for it, I hope?”

“No. But you won’t see further favors from me. I am a princess among Hirrin, and I shall have little good to say of you.”

Hirrin were used to speaking their minds, and this was a welcome respite from the fawning that had gone before. “I’d like to have your forgiveness, Dolwa-Pan, but I’m a slayer of Tarig, so that’s hopeless, I suppose.”

“Slayer. So it’s true.” She flicked a glance at the Tower of Ghinamid.

Quinn said, “Since we’re speaking truth, I have to admit that Lady Demat set the birds against him, and he toppled from a surplus of them.”

Dolwa-Pan sniffed. “I’d have my heart chime back.”

“And so you would if it was in my keeping. I’m afraid my wife has it.”

At her look of surprise, he said, “You’ll be the first to learn, Dolwa-Pan, what her name is. If interested.”

She took an almost involuntary step closer. “Oh, perhaps.”

“Her name is Ji Anzi. Of Shulen Wielding. She went on a dangerous mission to the Rose, and I’m waiting for her to return. You may remember the woman I traveled with. If she still has the keepsake I gave to her, you will have it back.”

Dolwa-Pan puffed a little air through her lips. “That is a tender thing, to wait for one’s love to come home.”

“It’s a hard thing.”

“Oh, it is. You wait here for her, you say?”

“Yes, until she comes.”

Again, the puff of air that was the Hirrin sigh. “Please keep the heart chime, Excellency.” She bowed again and nodded at him as she left.

At last Quinn went inside the pavilion to rest. There were a dozen items waiting for his approval, those things that Tai and Zhiya decided they couldn’t dispatch on their own. A meeting with Lord Inweer at Early Day tomorrow. They would continue to parry and thrust and learn what each wanted and what each must have.

Then there were the scrolls sent by Cixi. Up to a dozen, now.

“Read them,” he told Zhiya.

Zhiya turned to Tai. “Read them, Tai, and tell us what you think.” She shrugged at Quinn. “One must use people’s talents or exhaust oneself.”

“So that’s the way, even here.” Quinn went to his private section of the pavilion, as Tai eagerly sat at a makeshift desk and activated the first scroll.

Following Quinn into his private quarters, Zhiya murmured, “Does he have to wear a sword indoors?”

“Yes.” Quinn would not have parted Tai from the jeweled sword for love nor money. The young man had earned his embellishments and then some.

When Quinn came out of the washstall, Zhiya said, “It would be a lot easier on the functionaries around here if you’d decide on a title.” She grinned. “You know the one I prefer.”

Yes,
king
. “Let them flounder.”

“You don’t make it easy on people. You keep changing your name and your face. Give them a handle on you.”

But then he’d have to decide what he was. In Sidney’s voice,
Prince of the
Ascendancy
came uncomfortably to mind. He changed the subject.

“Any word of Su Bei?”

She shook her head. “We watch Rim City. Nothing.”

The old man had never come to the city. With his minoral collapsed, Quinn feared he’d died in the calamity.

A rustle at the flap of his quarters. Tai stepped in. “Master Quinn.”

Nothing Quinn had said could persuade Tai to call him anything else.

“Master Quinn, others are gathered outside. Among them are two named Yulin and Mistress Suzong, who are certain you will see them quickly.”

A smile came to Quinn. He felt it poke into his face, still stiff from the cuts he’d taken. “By God, Yulin and Suzong.”

Zhiya led the way from his quarters and out onto the plaza.

The old bear stood some paces from the bench, looking thinner than before, but with a strange joy on his face. At Yulin’s side was Suzong, who, glimpsing Quinn, made as deep a curtsy as was possible for a woman of one hundred thousand days. She also looked mightily pleased. It touched him.

But when they stepped aside, he saw the real reason for their joy.

Someone else stood with them.

It was Anzi.

She stood by her quasi-uncle and aunt, supported on one arm by Suzong, because she had just come through . . . come over . . . come home.

Quinn rushed forward, taking her into his one good arm. He held her so hard that Yulin roared with laughter, and Suzong shushed him, and even Anzi laughed. Finally pulling back, he looked at her magical presence.

“We aren’t dead,” he said with true wonder.

“I thought I was. I thought you were.”

They sat on the bench as everyone gave them room in a wide circle. He held her face between his hands, struggling to keep his right arm raised. He couldn’t speak.

“Titus,” she whispered, “the lord did not kill you.”

“Birds . . .” he said, not thinking clearly. Her hair was matted around her face as though she’d come out of a swamp; her face, pale and strained from her ordeal. But still, she was beautiful. He felt that if he could just look at her for a few hours more, he would never ask the Miserable God for anything again.

For the next hour he kept her on his left, where his good hand could reach for hers, and he could, even while talking with Yulin and Suzong, assure himself that she was still there. She would not take any rest, and the truth was, he couldn’t bear for her to sleep just yet.

At last, stories exchanged, Suzong knelt in front of Quinn.

“You have our fealty, Titus Quinn. This time, we will hold steady.” She eyed Yulin, who tried and failed to look both noble and contrite.

Quinn turned to Tai. “Have the scribe write that down.”

Happy to be in charge of such a high task, Tai rushed off to supervise a particularly beautiful document, complete with a seal he had spent some hours devising: one with a stylized Rose that long ago he’d admired on a bolt of silk in his father’s shop.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K
AY KENYON
, nominated for the Philip K. Dick and the John W. Campbell awards, began her writing career in Duluth, Minnesota, as a copywriter for radio and TV. She kept up her interest in writing through careers in marketing and urban planning, and published her first novel,
The
Seeds of Time
, in 1997. She is the author of eight science fiction/fiction works, including
Bright of the Sky
and
A World Too Near
. Recent short stories appeared in
Fast Forward 2
and the
Solaris Book of New Science Fiction: Volume
2
. Her work has been translated into French, Russian, Spanish, and Czech. When not writing, she encourages newcomers to the field through workshops, a writing e-newsletter, and a conference in eastern Washington State, Write on the River, which she chairs. She lives in Wenatchee, Washington, with her husband, Thomas Overcast.

Visit Kay Kenyon online at
www.kaykenyon.com
.