Dangerous Gifts (33 page)

“Well, I hope that I shall be able to fulfil the trust of my sponsor. And yourself? How did you come to be here, with things as unsettled as they are?”

I waved a hand. “This is what happens when one leaves one’s travel arrangements to others. Your sponsor... Perhaps, if I am fortunate enough to visit Scalentine, you could effect an introduction? It’s always so useful to know people of influence, when arranging
parties
and so on.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he said. “Charming ladies are always a welcome new acquaintance, after all. Tell me, where are you from?”

“Oh, a tiny little place you’d never have heard of,” I said, which was probably true. “Tell me, this mentor of yours, he’s a politician? Don’t they have some
strange
arrangement on Scalentine? I’ve heard that...” – I looked round as though fearful of being overheard – “even someone who isn’t, you know,
of the right sort
can achieve office there. It must make things so difficult.”

“Well, there are those of us who think it could be better regulated,” Filchis said. “But you can be assured that it will be. Quite soon, perhaps. And then” – he smiled – “a lady such as yourself need feel no qualms about visiting.”

I have seldom in my life wanted so badly to plant my fist in someone’s smile.

I kept my eye on Mokraine as I wittered brainlessly, and when he started to drift away, I extracted myself with a few more phrases of admiration and astonishment, and followed him.

Mokraine staggered, and I got a hand under his arm. “Right, that’s it. I’m getting someone to take you back to the house.”

“Nonsense,” he rasped. “Well, that was quite a performance, Babylon.”

“Me or him?”

“You. Very convincingly foolish.”

“Thank you.”

“As for the little wasp of a fellow...”

“Wasp?”

“A bee, without honey. All swollen fat with poison. Not an incapable mind, but one wrapped about with fear, and resentment; a conviction that someone, somewhere, is robbing him of what he deserves.”

“Unfortunately that doesn’t tell me what he was doing here.”

“Exactly what he said, so far as I could tell. He has been sent here, certainly. I can tell you what he feels about the one who sent him. Mistrust. A grudging admiration, an unhappy sense of obligation, fiercely denied.”

“Anything at all about his paymaster?”

“Eyes like coins. A currency he suspects is false.”

“No actual
name,
I suppose?”

“No. I do not know if he even knows it.”

“So whoever it is who sent him here managed to do so without giving anything away. I wonder what they promised him?”

“He sees it, as a cold traveller sees the light of a glowing fire. A time when he will have everything he wants, when all who have ever insulted him will be destroyed, when he will wallow in his triumph while others grovel. How this will be attained, I cannot tell you. I need to sit down.”

I propped him in a chair, motioned a servant to bring him some food and drink, and went back to Fain, keeping out of Filchis’ line of sight. Unobservant he might be, but there was no sense being too damn obvious.

I told Fain what I’d heard, trying at the same time to keep an eye on both Mokraine and Enthemmerlee. I felt stretched like a bowstring.

“Interesting,” Fain said. “So he’s here at someone else’s behest. Yet why him?”

“Well, yes, that’s the question. Do you know anything about him?”

“His family had money, once; no longer. Poor investments, I believe.”

“Why did you let him set up the Builders?”

“It is not the place of the Section to allow, or disallow, the expression of opinions. And sometimes one must provide people with rope, in the hope that eventually they will make themselves a noose of it.”

“So what are we going to do about him?”

“What can we do? He is doing nothing illegal.”

“He’s making the worst element of Gudain society think there are those on Scalentine who will back any play they make.”

“There are. Our Mr Filchis has been sent here to spy out the land. But by whom, and why, remains to be seen.”

“Maybe they couldn’t stand the man and simply wanted him somewhere else,” I muttered.

“That, also, is possible,” Fain said. “For now, let us make sure he is nowhere near the Itnunnacklish.”

“I don’t think he’d try anything,” I said. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to risk his
own
skin. Well, except by pontificating in a public place, and even then, someone just threw fruit at him. A waste of fruit, if you ask me.”

“But he is here for a reason, one we must discover. Did you hear anything else of interest?” Fain said. “Before Mr Filchis turned up and provided distraction.”

I dragged up what I could remember about my conversation with the two traders, and the Empire delegate. “None of it sounded as though they were doing anything other than watching, with one foot out the door.”

“It would be interesting to talk to them myself. I may try to do so, later, if this blasted oath permits.” He frowned. “Time is passing. I assume your Fey friend got the message?”

“If your messenger was reliable, and gave it to either Laney herself, or Flower, or Ireq... I hope they didn’t give it to Jivrais.”

Fain’s gaze sharpened. “Why not?”

“Because the irritating little f...
faun
is likely to forget it, remember it wrong, or decide it sounds so interesting he wants to come too. Or instead.”

“That would
not
be helpful,” Fain said.

“You’re bloody telling me. Especially since he’s grown horns. Half these Gudain would probably think he’s a demon. Is it any good my apologising again?”

“You can hardly be held responsible for Jivrais.”

“I mean for the oath.”

Fain looked at me gravely. “Babylon, if anything that I could have prevented happens because I am here, rather than on Scalentine, I know that your regret will be far greater than mine. Apology is rather beside the point, don’t you think?”

Then I spotted Tovanay, the rejected suitor, making his way through the crowd with determination. I set my feet to his charge.

He made that sideways Gudain bow. The snake on his arm shifted its coils, raised its head. “Enthemmerlee. Or should I say Madam Patineshi Defarlane Lathrit en Scona Entaire the Itnunnacklish?”

The words were loaded with ice. The crowd hushed, and turned to look.

“Tovanay, I am glad to see you here,” Enthemmerlee said.

“I regret that I do not share your gladness. You desired this more than an alliance with my house. I will not stand in the way of your triumph, such as it is.” He gestured at her, the great puffed sleeve seeming to move slowly, a sail bellying in the wind. I was already between them; his hands moved, and I grabbed for his arm, but not fast enough, because it wasn’t Enthemmerlee he was going for.

He pinched the back of the snake’s neck, and it sank its teeth into his wrist, inches from my fingers.

He stayed smiling, calm, even as he buckled, a sudden weight against my hands.

Enthemmerlee said, “Tovanay.”

I let go, let him fall, got back in front of her. He hit the floor, shuddered, and his eyes rolled back.

The snake dropped to the floor. People shrieked, leaping out of the way, and it whipped away between skittering feet, lost. Some of the household guard were around us now, a rank of blue backs, holding off the crowd.

I didn’t look at Enthemmerlee. I kept watching, every face, every movement. A Gudain woman running towards us; my shield went up, but she wasn’t even looking at Enthemmerlee. She fell on her knees beside Tovanay, calling his name.

The resemblance was clear, even in this place with too many faces that looked alike. His mother.

Even now, she didn’t touch him. Her son lay blue and rigid on the cold marble, and she only said his name, over and over, like a spell or a prayer.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

T
HE WHOLE ROOM
was focused on this pathetic little tableau, silent, staring. Enthemmerlee moved forward. “Daryellee. Daryellee, I am so sorry.”

“Sorry?” The woman’s head snapped round as fast as a striking snake; her eyes flared with hatred. “My son is dead. My line is dead, because of you, because you chose a scaly myth over your own people. And you, you are
sorry?
”

She got up, tripping over her gown. I moved in front of Enthemmerlee. Daryellee looked at me. “Another foreigner. Will
you
bed her next?”

Shock slapped through the watchers. Daryellee turned and walked away.

“I must go after her,” Enthemmerlee said.

“Lady Enthemmerlee!” I said. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I agree,” Lobik said.

“She blames you,” Malleay said. “Em...”

“And so she should,” Enthemmerlee said, her voice dead. “Who is responsible, if I am not?”

“How about bloody Tovanay?” Malleay said.

I couldn’t help agreeing with the boy, for once.

“She has lost her
son!
” Enthemmerlee’s voice cracked. “This is not... I never meant...” She pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head.

Lobik glanced around. People were looking, so he leaned close, to hide the gesture, before taking her hand and pressing her fingers to his lips. “My love,” he whispered. “My brave one, my
itna.
He made his choice, as you did, as we all do. You cannot take responsibility for it.”

Malleay looked away, saying, “Maybe we should...”

Fain moved with almost inhuman speed, his arm flicking upwards. There was a
crack.

My shield went up, but Fain had got there before me; deflecting whatever it was. He was swearing, supporting his arm with his right hand.

There was an odd, gulping sound. Lobik, looking puzzled, had his hand to his throat.

“Lobik?” Enthemmerlee said. “Lobik!”

The tall Ikinchli’s chest heaved. His hand fell away, and he crumpled to his knees. His throat was the wrong shape; there was no blood, only an awful, obscene dent.

“Lobik.” Enthemmerlee fell to her knees beside him, took him in her arms. “Help him, please!”

I couldn’t. I had to guard her. I didn’t know where the missile had come from. It lay on the floor; a grey lump of stone. The household guard clustered around, looking every which way; a couple of them dragged the others into position around Enthemmerlee.

Fain fell to his knees beside Lobik, digging into his pockets one-handed, cursing. “Has anyone a pipe? A quill? Something hollow!”

Bergast thrust a quill at him. “Hold it steady.” Fain sliced off the feathered end, then held the knife, point first, to Lobik’s throat.

“What are you doing? No!” Enthemmerlee grabbed for the knife. Fain elbowed her aside, with no ceremony.

“His windpipe’s crushed,” Fain said. “He needs air, and this is the only way he’ll get it. Give me room.”

Lobik’s chest pulsed, his hand flailed, knocking the knife away. He convulsed upwards, his hands clutching at the air, then he fell back, his head hitting the floor with a dreadful solidity. His eyes rolled up; the third eyelid slid over them.

Fain pressed the tip of the knife to the hollow at the base of Lobik’s throat, and pushed. The knife slid in; there was no gush of blood, only a small bubbling of fluid. A little air wheezed out.

Fain slid the quill into the cut. “Please,” Enthemmerlee said. “Please.” She took Lobik’s hand.

Malleay dropped down beside her. “Lobik?”

Lobik lay unmoving.

Fain put his lips to the quill and breathed. Breathed. Breathed.

It was one of the most extraordinary pieces of field surgery I’ve ever seen.

People tried to crowd round, peering over each other’s shoulders; I snarled at them. The assassin could still be among them, weapon hidden, face innocent.

Finally, Fain sat back, cradling his wounded arm to his chest, and shook his head.

The crowd let out its breath, and shifted, and there was Daryellee, the dead boy’s mother, standing only feet away from me. She had an Ikinchli sling in her hand. She hadn’t even thought to hide it.

I wondered, for a moment, where she had got it, and where she had learned to use such a thing. Perhaps from a nurse, or a stableboy. From some Ikinchli who had brought her up with love, and care. And this is what she had given them.

Of course, it hadn’t been meant for Lobik; she’d probably hardly realised he was there.

Now she looked bewildered, the lethal thing hanging limply from slackening fingers.

Enthemmerlee didn’t notice when I moved. Daryellee didn’t even try to run, though she gasped when I grabbed her wrist and held up her hand, with the sling. A murmur ran through the watchers.

“You?” I said.

Daryellee shook her head, but it wasn’t a denial. “I didn’t... Is he dead?”

“Did you do this?”

She looked down at the sling; its cradle empty and slack. “Yes,” she said.

“Lobik,” Enthemmerlee said, her voice barely a breath. She hadn’t even looked up.

“He can’t...” Malleay said. His hand moved out, towards hers, but dropped back to his side, as though it were simply too heavy.

E
NTHEMMERLEE DID NOT
weep. She did not scream. She stood up, silent and pale, and turned, and saw Daryellee, and the sling.

She nodded. Then she turned to walk out as though none of us were there. “Guard! Stay with her!” Tantris snapped.

I shot a glance at Fain, who said, “Go with her.” His normally warm-coloured skin was wax-yellow, with blue shadows under the eyes. Abruptly, his knees folded, and he slid down the wall.

“Fain!”

“Arm. Broken, I think.”

“Guard!” I snapped.

Enboryay burst through the crowd, choleric and yelling. “What’s going on? What...”

I thrust Daryellee at him. “She killed Lobik. It was meant for your daughter. Do something with her.”

Enthemmerlee walked down the steps as though in a dream. The guard hovered around her, at a loss.

“Lady Enthemmerlee. Enthemmerlee,” I said. “Come this way. I’ll take you home.”

She was crying now, but she didn’t seem aware of it; the tears spilled, unnoticed, down her still, pallid face. I manoeuvred her towards the waiting carriages, opened the door, helped her in. “Stikinisk, Vorenay, Koverey, get in with her. Vasik, you’re on the roof, with me.” We climbed up beside the driver.