Lies of Light (4 page)

“It is,” was the Faerunian’s only reply.

“7s this some secret the white men seek to keep from us?” Lau asked in Kao te Shou.

“With apologies, Master Devorast,” she said, then turned to Lau. “It is no secret. He is a very unusual man, and that is all. He will likely find it rude, however, if we continue to speak in a language he does not understand. With respect, Master Lau, he is a friend and important trade contact.”

“Indeed,” Lau replied, then bowed to Devorast. “Please accept my most humble apologies for my rudeness, Master Devorast. Perhaps you would be so kind…if you no longer build your tile ships, what is it that occupies you? Perhaps if it is one of a kind as well, I might have it instead.”

“It’s a canal,” Devorast replied.

The two Shou merchants exchanged a glance.

“Pardon me,” Lau said. He asked Ran Ai Yu, “Kuh-nahl?” She gave him the word in their language, and he nodded. “Well, then I will not be able to take it with me. Pray, where is this canal?”

“Northwest of here,” he replied.

“To connect the Lake of Steam with your great Inner Sea,” Ran Ai Yu said. Devorast nodded.

“This will be a mighty boon to trade,” said Lau.

“For me,” said Devorast, “it’s a canal.”

“I should like to see it,” Ran Ai Yu said. A memory tickled the edge of her consciousness—a similar conversation that she had had with Devorast when she’d last seen him.

“I should like to show it to you,” he said. “But in the meantime, we should see to a dock crew for you.”

“Is this the way trade is always conducted here? With such violence?” asked the tall merchant—a man Ran Ai Yu had her suspicions was no human at all. He gestured to the fallen dockhands, some of them beginning to rise.

“It was not so when I was last here, two years and three months ago,” said Ran.

“They made a mistake,” Devorast said.

Ran Ai Yu smiled.

7___

20Alturiak, the Year of the Sword (1365 DR) The Canal Site

When she first saw the work site Ran Ai Yu thought it was some kind of military drill. The sight of it gave the immediate impression of rigid organization that she had only experienced at the edge of a parade ground. But then details presented themselves, pieces took shape out of the whole, and that impression disappeared. She was left with chaos—madness, even—a barrage of colors and dizzying movement that erased any sense of organization at all, until she once again let those details melt into the beautiful whole.

“These men are all at your command?” she asked Devorast, who stood beside her on a low hill.

The sound of the men working deafened her, but then Devorast didn’t answer anyway. Picks chipped stone, shovels moved dirt and clay, and carts trundled past full of rocks, earth, wood, and more men. Oxen grunted, foremen shouted orders, and it was like music for a great dance.

“This is as it should be,” she said, unconcerned with whether or not Devorast could hear her. “You will find your destiny here. Your spirit will fill itself with this work.”

The heavy, damp air carried the smell of the Lake of Steam, but only faintly under the stench of turned earth and sweating bodies. It smelled like hard work.

“I hope you live to see its completion,” she said.

Devorast shrugged—a response that would have been considered rude in Shou Lung—but she took no offense.

Ran Ai Yu crouched and touched the dirt at her feet. It was damp but not muddy, and she was able to scoop up a handful, testing the weight of it in her hand. She tried to imagine the weight of the dirt and rock, the trees and weeds, that Devorast meant to move to make the trench for his canal. Then she tried to imagine the weight of the water that would fill it, and though she’d plied the waters of a far greater canal in her far-off homeland, still the weight felt unbearable.

“You will not require that I tell you how many people there must be… powerful people even… who will wish for you to fail,” she told him.

He waited for her to look up at him before he shrugged again.

She let the dirt pour out through her fingers, and something made her touch the tip of her tongue. She didn’t try to understand the impulse to taste it any more than she wanted to stop it. She just wanted to taste it—wanted to experience it with every one of her senses. It tasted like life, but not the same way food or water tasted; not physical life, but a deeper need within each human, the drive to build, the imperative to leave something behind, to make some mark. It tasted like the vital necessity to say, “I was here.”

“Yes,” he said, “you are.”

Ran Ai Yu felt her cheeks redden and her ears burn. She stood, avoiding his eyes.

“I had not meant to… to speak that,” she stammered, her Common almost deserting her.

Devorast said, “I’ve tasted it too.”

She smiled at that, and smiled wider than she felt

proper in front of a man she had not—

The Shou merchant pushed that thought away before it was completed.

“This is supported by your leader,” she asked, “your ransar?”

“I don’t consider him my ransar,” Devorast replied, “but yes, it is.”

“Both with the gold to pay these men and to buy their tools and materials, and so on,” she said then had to pause to again search her memory for the correct word. “Politically?”

Devorast nodded. He didn’t look at her. Instead, his eyes darted from one part of the realization of his genius to another.

“It is my understanding, having traveled to Innarlith on more than one occasion,” she went on, “and over more than a few years, that their ransar is a temporary post. Is this not true?”

He glanced at her with a mischievous grin that further embarrassed her, and said, “Any job that is answerable to others could be called temporary.”

“Ah, and is that not true of master builder?”

“I’m not the ransar’s master builder,” he said.

“Even worse for you, I should think.”

He looked at her again, but for a longer time, and she finally met his gaze.

“If it is the ransar’s gold and the ransar’s men,” she said, “then you work for him, whether either of you admit it or not. If… pardon me, when there is a new ransar, will that ransar be as generous? Will he be as taken with this canal as is Osorkon?”

Devorast replied, “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Of course, I’ve considered that.”

“And you have a plan?”

Devorast was silent.

“Meykhati,” she said. “You’ve heard this name? You know this man?”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“There is a reception at his home in six days’ time,” Ran Ai Yu said. “I have been invited, and you should come with me there.”

“I have no time for social—”

“Do you have time to bury your garbage to keep the seagulls away?” she asked, glancing up at the sky but gesturing with one open hand at a refuse pit.

He didn’t follow her gaze. He knew there were no gulls.

“Of course you do,” she said. “You make time for what is important for the completion of your canal, even if it is not pleasant to consider or to do.”

Again, silence.

“Meykhati will likely be the next ransar,” she said. “How do you know that?”

“I do not know that,” Ran Ai Yu replied. “I have heard it said by people who I have reason to believe have reason to believe it. That is enough, for me, to begin to acquaint myself with this man so that he knows my name and my face, knows my trade, in the event that these people are correct.”

“And I should do the same,” he said. “I should ingratiate myself to this pointless, mumbling busybody so that on the off chance that he succeeds Osorkon he will continue to support the canal?”

“Master Lau Cheung Fen will be there,” she added, “at this gathering of Meykhati’s friends and associates.”

“And sycophants.”

“And those who think ahead.”

He shook his head.

“Perhaps,” she said, “if Meykhati feels well toward you and your efforts here, with Meykhati as ransar, you will be his master builder, even if you are not Osorkon’s.”

“I have no interest in titles and offices,” Devorast told her. “I build to build, not to advance myself in the Second Quarter.”

“I understand that the master builder of the moment

may have decided to keep hold of that title and office anyway, should Meykhati advance. He will be there with his daughter.”

Devorast stiffened—not much, barely enough for Ran Ai Yu to notice. Could it be that Devorast sought the post of master builder after all? Or was it something else she’d said?

“Perhaps,” he said. “Yes. Fine.”

8_

26Alturiak, the Year of the Sword (1365 DR) Second Quarter, Innarlith

]Marek watched the dancers for a few heartbeats, then watched one of the partygoers watching the dancers, then the dancers again, then another guest, on and on. He hadn’t come to Meykhati’s ridiculous affair for the pleasure of it, after all, but to do what he always did.

The dancers had been brought by the exotic merchant Lau Cheung Fen, and the guests were dazzled by their otherworldly beauty and alien gestures. Seven women dressed in silk gowns eovered in tiny brass bells and what appeared to be miniature cymbals, twitched and jerked to the strains of a Shou “musician” who made the most horrendous, atonal bleats on some kind of unwieldy string instrument. Marek’s head began to pound, and he found he had to use a spell to make the “music” fade from his hearing, to be replaced by the private, often whispered conversations of Meykhati’s other guests.

“Miss Phyrea,” the Shou woman Ran Ai Yu, who Marek found almost as fascinating as he did frustrating said with a shallow bow. “I have not had the pleasure to see your father this evening.”

“He’s not here,” Phyrea choked out.

The beautiful, haunted daughter of the inept master builder couldn’t even look at the Shou woman. Her eyes

had fastened themselves to the red-headed man who stood at Ran Ai Yu’s side. Marek had never been formally introduced to the man, but he knew who Ivar Devorast was. So too, it would seem, did Phyrea. Devorast, if he recognized the master builder’s daughter at all, gave no outward sign of it. For all that, the man gave no outward sign of anything. Phyrea squirmed under his ambivalent glances.

Yes, Marek Rymiit thought, much more interesting than dancing girls.

“May I introduce you to Ivar Devorast of Cormyr,” Ran Ai Yu said.

Marek found the look on Phyrea’s face so priceless he just had to smile and clap his hands. The other guests around him clapped as well, apparently thinking he was applauding the performance.

“Aren’t they just?” a shrill voice invaded from his side. The effect of the spell made it painfully loud, and Marek couldn’t stifle a grunt and body-racking twitch. “Goodness, Master Rymiit. Are you well?”

Meykhati’s awful wife.

He forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, quite,” he whispered, his own voice rattling his ears. “I would hate to further interrupt the music.”

The woman smiled and made a childlike motion as though she were locking her lips closed. A spell that would actually do that came to Marek’s mind, but he suppressed the nearly overwhelming urge to cast it, and a second incantation that would make the lock permanent. Instead, he kept his ears on the Shou merchant and her odd little couple, while his eyes made a great show of adoring the dancers from beyond the Utter East.

“No,” Phyrea said, her voice so thick with the lie that Marek wished he could at least glance at Ran Ai Yu’s face to be sure she detected it as well, but alas Meykhati’s hideous wife still stood at his elbow, believing him to be every inch the dilettante her husband was. “No, we haven’t met.”

“I would have remembered, I’m sure.” Devorast must have lied too, but there was no hint of that in his steady, uninterested voice.

“Of course, though,” Phyrea said, “I have heard of your great… your great undertaking.”

Two of the dancers swayed their hips to the jarring rhythm while the other five stood as still as statues. Marek found their utter lack of motion interesting, but only passingly so. The two lead dancers jangled their bells and otherwise made rhythmic hissing and pinging noises. They waved their hands in a way that Marek thought looked a bit like they might be casting spells, but he detected no fluctuation in the Weave.

“It keeps me occupied,” Devorast replied. “I am away from the city for prolonged periods.”

“Are you?” Phyrea accused. Marek raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps that explains why our paths have never even once crossed, though we seem to know many of the same people.”

“Not too many,” Devorast assured her. “Meykhati, at least,” she said.

Devorast shook his head, but it was Ran Ai Yu who said, “I asked Master Devorast to come with me tonight so that he might make the acquaintance of the senator.”

“And have you?” Phyrea asked Devorast.

“We have been introduced,” he replied.

The two lead dancers wiggled back to the line behind them, and looking for all the world like water foul plucking food from a still pond, pecked one each of their companions and froze. Those so pecked began to sway and slipped out of line to take over the incomprehensible series of motions. The music changed too, going from one set of atonal pings to a series of bursts of grinding metal. Marek resisted the urge to flee.

“It can be a burden, can’t it?” asked Phyrea.

“Ma’am?” Devorast prompted.

“Having too many friends.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked, and Marek got the feeling she thought she might be toying with Devorast. Silly girl. “You seem like a man who would have unusual friends. Like Miss Yu, here.”

“Miss Ran,” Devorast corrected, and Marek so wanted to see Phyrea squirm. But instead, he watched the dancers sway around each other like two snakes reluctant to mate. “I have friends, yes. I don’t feel burdened by them.”

“Sometimes I feel so burdened I can hardly stand,” Phyrea said, and again Marek lifted an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you don’t have enough to occupy your mind,” Devorast said.

“Should I build a canal then?”

“No,” he told her, still without a trace of emotion. “But you can do anything else.” “I wish that were so.”

“It is,” he assured her, and Marek felt bile rise in his throat.