Gorel and the Pot Bellied God (7 page)

‘So tell me,’ Mistress Sinlao said, ‘about your quest.’

‘I seek,’ Sir Drake said, ‘nothing more than Truth.’

‘Truth is a valuable thing,’ Mistress Sinlao said.

Sir Drake nodded, and took another sip from his drink. It went down rather smoothly, he thought. He told Mistress Sinlao of his quest: how his father, who was a noble of Kir-Bell, had been treacherously slain in ambush as he was returning one day from the Draeken vats. How the assailants were never caught, though suspicion had been pointed at Sir Drake’s uncle, his father’s brother, who shortly afterwards married Sir Drake’s mother and assumed control of their estate.

‘I determined then to go on this quest,’ Sir Drake said modestly, emptying his glass, ‘to discover the truth of my father’s murder. Only with proof could I go back and challenge my uncle. It is the code of the knights of Kir-Bell that the innocents must not suffer unduly, and the benefit of the doubt must be extended to all, divorced from emotion. It is a most difficult situation –’

‘Indeed it is,’ Mistress Sinlao said. ‘You have my sympathies –’

‘And I thank you for it,’ Sir Drake said. ‘And so, here I am. I have come to your beautiful city of Falang-Et for I have heard told that here lay a rare magical object that can tell all manner of truths, and it is known as the Mirror of Falang-Et.’

Mistress Sinlao was silent then, and he had the sense that she was examining him closely. ‘And where have you heard such a story?’ she asked at last. Sir Drake shrugged and said, ‘A dying sorcerer told me so, on the sands of Meskatel.’

Mistress Sinlao’s eyes expanded, and she said, ‘You have travelled far, sir knight.’

‘And I would travel further, if need be,’ Sir Drake said. ‘For I cannot rest until my quest is complete, and my errand successful.’

‘Yes,’ Mistress Sinlao murmured. ‘Yes, I see. Yes, indeed.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Drake said. There was a silence. Finally he said, ‘Do you know of such an object?’

Mistress Sinlao nodded, but she seemed preoccupied. ‘I have heard stories,’ she said. ‘Just as you have.’

‘I see. If I may put it bluntly, you do not know the whereabouts of this mirror?’

Mistress Sinlao raised her head. She smiled. She looked like a woman who had made a decision. ‘I did not say that.’ She made a gesture; the servant girl reappeared and refilled their drinks. She looked sideways at Sir Drake, nervously. He smiled at her. She ran off. ‘No, I did not say that. Tell me, Sir Drake.’

‘My lady?’

She moved her chair closer to him, and put her arm in his. Her heavy head rested on his shoulder. Her breath was on his neck, her lips close to his ear. ‘You are a knight, is it not?’

‘Most assuredly,’ he said.

‘A man of honour.’

‘Of course.’

‘Perhaps I can help you,’ she said, and her fingers were on the back of his neck, massaging him. Her perfume was overpowering.

‘Indeed? That would be a kindness of a –’

‘Not a kindness,’ she said. ‘Oh, no, not a kindness. But I can tell you where it is, oh yes, I can. Deep in the temple it lies, the Mirror of Falang-Et. In the most sacred and holy of shrines, in the falang god’s own private domain.’

‘His private domain?’ Sir Drake said. Mistress Sinlao’s other hand was patting his thigh and moving rather uncomfortably up.

‘His garden,’ the husky voice whispered in his ear. ‘In the heart of Wat Falang, beyond the outer and the inner walls, beyond the outer and inner sanctums, in the sanctum sanctorum. But it is guarded, Sir Drake. Guarded fiercely.’

‘Perhaps I could petition the god or his priests –?’ Sir Drake suggested. He felt rather than saw Mistress Sinlao shaking her head. It made the hairs on his arm stand on end. ‘No one is allowed into the sanctorum.’

‘But –?’ Sir Drake said. He could sense the
¬but
just hovering there, waiting to be said. Mistress Sinlao giggled against his neck. She stuck her tongue in his ear, and he shuddered. ‘But,’ she said, and giggled again, ‘maybe I can help you.’

‘How?’

‘First you must do something for me.’

‘For a lady such as yourself, it would be a pleasure to abide,’ he said – bracing himself for the inevitable giggle – and she said, ‘I wasn’t quite thinking of myself, in this instance…’

The House of the Mothers of Jade is an imposing structure; that had been mentioned. Or rather, Mistress Sinlao’s abode had been – and Mistress Sinlao was the Grand Mistress of the Mothers of Jade. So. The house – or abode – its nature and purpose, may require some elaboration. From the outside, the house stands four stories high. There are jade windows and an observer standing outside could not, in any circumstances, look in. Nor can the ones inside look out. The house is set in its extensive gardens, and surrounded by a tall and sturdy wall. Many plants grow in the gardens, but few ever visit it, and never for pleasure. Inside, in the spacious offices of the ground floor, the Mothers of Jade pour over charts, and the Archives are highly-protected by means of falang sorcery. A statue of Falang-Et, the frog-god, the pot-bellied god, squats by the entrance to the house, but it is strangely incomplete. Its head is a smooth shaven dome and it is made of the finest jade, but as it stands before the House it has no eyes, and its face is as smooth and as featureless as stone. They are not affiliates of the temple, the Mothers of Jade. In some quarters, indeed, they could be called heretics, though few would level such a charge at them directly. Many in the city owe their allegiance, if not their very lives, to the Mothers. Also on the ground floor is the Herbarium; the Birthing-Pools; the laboratories; and the kitchens. The second, third and fourth floors resemble both a prison and a brothel, though the mothers would resent very much any such comparison. It is hard, nevertheless, to escape from the House, just as it is difficult to get in. You are either brought in to the House of Jade, or invited, and neither option is particularly attractive. Sir Drake of Kir-Bell was about to find some of this out. He was escorted into the house arm-in-arm with Mistress Sinlao. There were no guards he could see, which did not mean there weren’t any there. He could feel the stench of sorcery hanging in the cool, bare corridors. He was led up the wide polished stairs to the second level of the House. Here, rows of doors gleamed faintly in the relative darkness of long corridors. He was taken to a door, third from the last in the second corridor they came to. Mistress Sinlao leaned on his arm. ‘It would be nothing to you,’ she said. ‘A moment of pleasure, and why not? She is a beauty, that one, though she does need taming.’

‘And you could help me find the –’ he said, and Mistress Sinlao shushed him. ‘Don’t say it aloud,’ she said. ‘Yes, I will help you.’ The door had no handle, it was a smooth jade wall. Mistress Sinlao put her hand on the door and Sir Drake could feel again the thrum of sorcery in the air. Mistress Sinlao pushed the door and it opened. ‘Go on.’ She pushed him, her hand on his lower back, gently. Sir Drake stepped forward, and the door closed behind him. He looked about the room. His eyes slowly grew accustomed to its gloom.

The window, letting in no light, no sight. On the left, a dresser, a mirror, a wardrobe and a chair. On the right, a sumptuous bed, with green silk sheets and – and a figure underneath. He stepped to the bed. The figure under the sheets stirred, then was still. He came closer and stood above it and looked down.

The bed-sheets exploded upwards and she was upon him, a small naked creature, hands reaching for his throat. He fell back; her hands were remarkably strong. He felt the fingers squeezing out the air from his lungs. He kicked. He tried to grab her by the hair but she had none. He attempted to head-butt her, but she moved out of his reach. All this was done in total silence. He fell. She was on him. He was aware of her naked body even as she squeezed away his life. With his last energies he rolled, catching her by surprise. She was underneath him now, still choking him. Her legs were around him, holding him down to her. She gasped when she felt his weight. At that moment he saw her face, and she saw his. Her eyes opened wide and her hands on his neck loosened their grip for just one moment, but it was enough. He grabbed her arms and pinned her down on the floor and gasped air. The girl said, ‘You.’ The fight seemed to have gone out of her.

Gorel of Goliris stared at her face. The last time he had seen her, she was following a funeral procession. And before that… He said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, ‘If I let you go, will you promise not to kill me?’

‘You’re letting me go?’

‘If you won’t try to kill me,’ Gorel said. She said, ‘I thought you were going to –’

She really did have lovely eyes, he thought, especially when surprised. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he said, and tensed, but she startled him by laughing. ‘I promise,’ she said. It was good enough for Gorel. He rolled off and lay on his back, gasping air. The girl stood up. Gorel ignored her. He dragged himself to the wall and leaned against it. Then he reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small packet.

Dust. He put some on his finger and breathed it in. His head swam. Above, looking down at him, the girl, an expression of distaste on her face. He took another pinch of dust, folded the packet carefully closed, and put it back. He rested his head against the wall and sighed. This plan wasn’t going very well. He wished he had his guns with him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

He looked at her, and felt his body abuzz with sensations unwanted. His body was whispering to him to get up, to take the girl, to… what was in that drink Mistress Sinlao had given him? He could feel it, but it was subsumed now by the dust: the black kiss brooked no competition. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said again, more softly. Her eyes were enormous, looking at him. Her body was green and slender. She said, ‘Waiting for rape,’ and the silence lengthened between them.

‘What is this place?’ he said at last. ‘What do they do here?’ Questions he hadn’t asked himself were forcing themselves on him now. He had assumed the place was nothing more than an expensive brothel, but…

The girl sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘A breeding place,’ she said. ‘They breed people here. Hybrids. They bought me from my… from my…’

He pushed himself up. He went and sat beside her. She did not object. ‘The boy you were with?’ he said, surprisingly gentle. She nodded. ‘I thought he loved me,’ she said. ‘I killed Dornalji for him. I thought we would be free, then.’

‘I thought he was just an apprentice,’ Gorel said. The girl smiled, a bitter almond smile. ‘His son,’ she said. ‘Now that Dornalji is dead, he inherits. Everything.’

‘Including you.’

‘Yes. And so he… he sold the deeds to the Mothers of Jade. The ones who run this house. And they… they like me. My lineage fits into their charts. I heard them say they could get five or six spawning-cycles out of me before… before I was no good to them any more.’

He looked into her eyes, and felt an urge to reach for her, and resisted it. He said, ‘Your lineage?’

‘I’m of the line of the First Pond spawning,’ she said, as if that explained everything. It didn’t. Perhaps she read that in his bemused expression. ‘Before, I was at the temple,’ she said, patiently. ‘I am of the first line. When man and frog first… first joined. When the god and the princess met and the first children were spawned –’

‘But that’s just a story,’ Gorel said. ‘It’s like –’ he tried to remember what his adoptive grandmother would have called in, in her school. ‘An origin myth,’ he said.

The girl shook her head, but not in argument. She looked tired, defeated. Gorel said, ‘Wait, you were at the temple?’

‘I served She Who is Mother to Us All,’ she said, the words like a long-ago remembered ritual. ‘In the place where the mirror reflects the sun and the rain and the changing skies… All of us who are of the right age, and sex, and purity, and who come from the first line. I should never have left. It is why the Mothers value me, you see. They seek to improve on the god’s own children. To breed a new race, that will be more like, even better than, the gods themselves…’

But Gorel had no time for contemplation of whatever arcane experiments were being conducted in this house. Only one word caught his attention. He said, ‘You know where the mirror is?’

‘Of course. Inside the temple, in the garden of She Who is –’

‘Yes, fine,’ Gorel said. He went to the window and put his hands against it. The girl watched him. ‘It can’t be forced,’ she said. ‘There is no escape.’

‘Do you have any clothes?’

‘No.’

Gorel shrugged. Then he shoved his hand deep into the crotch of his pants. The girl shied away, and he grinned. When his hand returned it held a small, carefully-wrapped packet. ‘Go to the corner and cover your head,’ he said. He unwrapped the packet. It held a square of a soft, white substance. He tore a chunk of it off, carefully, wrapped the rest and put it back. The girl watched him unmoving. ‘Go!’ he said. She scuttled away from him to the corner.

It was like a paste, and he stuck it against the hard, opaque material of the window and smoothed it over the surface, checking it the way he had been taught.

‘It is protected by powerful sorcery,’ the girl said, her voice muffled. He looked up. So she’d done what he’d said. Good. He didn’t know why he told her, but he said, ‘I was adopted, in the Lower Kidron.’