Kushiel's Chosen (78 page)

The Yeshuites had done what they might to make their dwelling place a more pleasant one. The houses were stur dily constructed and planked walks had been laid over the mire; the water of the narrow canals themselves was cleaner and lacked the reek of ordure one found elsewhere. Here and there, pots of flowers decorated the wooden balconies. Few people were about in the early morning, but I heard the sound of a resonant voice raised in song coming from somewhere within the quarter.

"That will be the temple," I said to
Kazan.
"Is it safe to disembark?"

After a few minutes' quarrel, we settled on a compromise. I would go, taking Kazan and three others as my escort; the others would remain with the gondola. We traversed the quarter quickly, the Illyrians watching out on all sides, but no Serenissimans were in sight, not here.

We came into an antechamber that opened onto the tem ple proper, where scores of worshippers were seated. The chantor broke off his song and stared, and their Rebbe stood open-mouthed at his lectern. Everyone in the temple, men and women alike, wore bright yellow hats such as the Yeshuite man I'd seen in the Campo Grande so long ago had worn. One by one, the seated worshippers turned around to look.

All of them looked terrified, and Joscelm was not among their number.

"Barukh hatah Yeshua a'Mashiach, father," I said politely in Habiru; it was hard to get my tongue around the harsh syllables after so long. "For... forgive me for disturbing your prayers, but it is a matter of great urgency. I seek the D'Angeline, Joscelin Verreuil."

The congregation looked to the Rebbe; his eyes shifted and he licked his lips, two of the telltales of a man preparing to lie. "I do not know who you mean, child."

"No? Then I shall say it thusly, father," I said, and echoed the words the Yeshuite had spoken in the Campo Grande, after Joscelin had come to his rescue. "I seek the one whose blades shine like a star in his hands."

The Rebbe licked his lips again, and glanced past me toward the Illyrians. He was not old for the position, no more than forty. Behind him, the flickering light of the Ur Tamid, the light that is never extinguished, cast shadows over the sacred ark of scrolls. "I... hear your words, child. But this person you seek ... is not here."

"You can get word to him." I kept my voice steady. "I beseech you, by all you hold sacred, to do so. Tell him I have come. Tell him you have seen a D'Angeline woman, who bears in her left eye a fleck of crimson. The men I am with are friends; I trust them with my life. Tell him I swear it, by Cassiel's Dagger. Until the sun stands high overhead, I will wait for him, at the Inn of Seven Strangers."

No more could I say. Putting up my hood, I turned and made my way back. In the shadowy antechamber, Kazan grinned, teeth gleaming white against the darkness save for the gap where one was missing. "We wait?" he asked; he may not have understood my words, but he read the Rebbe's face well enough and he knew my plan.

"We wait," I said.

Kazan secured a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the inn by shifting a sleeping drunkard, who took little no tice. We disposed ourselves about the table, and Ushak went to purchase a jug of wine, carefully counting over the Serenissiman coins Kazan gave to him to be sure of the cur rency's value.

"That's foul stuff!" Tormos proclaimed, drawing in his breath with a sharp hiss as he tasted it. "We make better on Dobrek. I thought it would be all ichor, here in Serenissima."

"That's because you're an idiot," his brother Stajeo said promptly. "My lady Phèdre ... I will drink bad wine and play dice all day, if you like, but why are we here? I thought we came to kill Serenissimans and save your Queen! What can this ... D'Angeline ..." he pronounced the word with a contempt that I was now spared, "... do that we cannot?"

There were grumbled echoes of the query all around, and Kazan raised his brows at me; although he had forborne asking, he was surely wondering.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "In truth ... mayhap naught. If nothing else, he will make our count eight men rather than seven; nine, if Elua's mercy is with me, and my chevalier Philippe yet lives."

"Nine will die a little slower than seven," Kazan said. "Not much."

"And death it will be," Kazan mused. The wine-jug went around again, and his men tossed dice to see who would bear the cost of a refill; it fell to Epafras, who went with a grimace. Kazan ignored them and reached out to brush his fingers down a lock of my hair. "You are not afraid of death, you, I think," he said softly in Caerdicci. "But I think, I, you are afraid of dying without seeing this, this Joscelin Verreuil once more."

"What I have said is true," I said to him.

He gave a crooked smile. "This much I believe, eh? I would like to meet the man, I, who assailed the black isle single-handed. I stood with you on the ship, yes, and I saw the tower empty, the bridge dangling. Others did not dare to look, but I did, I. And yet... your voice goes soft when you speak his name. I think that you love him, you."

Time passed, and another wine-jug was drained; Stajeo and Ushak went to relieve Oltukh and Volos of their guard duty on the gondola. They came in reporting that the sun stood a few degrees shy of noon. Out came the dice, with good-natured quarrels. I began to despair, when the Yeshuite entered the tavern.

He was alone, which marked him, and his eyes scanned the crowd, seeking and discarding. I did not know him for a Yeshuite at first; he did not wear the yellow cap, and his sidelocks were cut. We took no chances. When his gaze fell upon our table, Kazan pulled me onto his lap with a hearty laugh, making pretend indeed that I was a rented doxie for his pleasure.

It would have fooled a casual observer; it did not fool the young man with the dark, intent eyes. He made his way to the table and asked in Habiru, "Be you the Apostate's oath- sworn?"

Volos sprang to his feet and drew his dagger, setting its point at the Yeshuite's throat

"Let him be," I said in Illyrian, and then added in Caerdicci, that Kazan might understand, "I am Kushiel's Chosen and Servant of Naamah, and Joscelin Verreuil has sworn Cassiel's Oath to protect me. Do you doubt it?" I drew back my hood, and the Yeshuite inhaled sharply.

"No." My heart hammered within my breast; Kazan's hands rested lightly on my waist. "Is he here?"

I stood up; Kazan's hands fell away. "Then take us."

Micah had a skiff, more disreputable than our hastily purchased gondola. He boarded it and leaned on the oars, wait ing. Kazan decided that he and I would travel with the Yeshuite, as well as Oltukh; the rest would follow in the gondola, under Tormos' command. It sat ill with Stajeo, to obey his brother's orders. I saw the Yeshuite go wide-eyed, watching while the Illyrians argued. He was younger than I had thought in the tavern, no more than seventeen or eighteen.

"Go," I said, leaning forward. "They will settle it, and follow."

Kazan spared a grin.