Spiritwalker 3: Cold Steel (44 page)

As the door of the guest suite closed behind us, Vai sank onto the silk-covered couch.

“Cultivated by your seed! You are reduced from animal to plant!” I pressed a hand
to his forehead. Ashen shadows dulled his eyes, and lines of weariness soured his
mouth. “You’re warm.”

“She piled her cold magic on top of mine to try to cut the threads of my power.”

“She did? The woman?”

“The mansa could not be bothered to test me himself… yet what if he didn’t challenge
me because he already knew his cold magic isn’t powerful enough to challenge mine?
Perhaps the woman is the more powerful cold mage.”

“Then wouldn’t she be mansa?”

“A woman can’t be mansa. The mansa is a man who rules the House as a prince rules
a territory or the emperor rules Rome.”

I placed the cacica’s skull on the side table, positioned to stare directly at Vai.
“What do you think of this argument, Queen Anacaona?”

“Catherine!”

“Why should I not appeal to a woman who ruled a powerful empire? Either the most powerful
cold mage in any House rules as mansa, or the mansa is chosen by some other criterion.
But you cannot say that the mansa is the most powerful, if he is not. I would like
to hear what Chartji would make of your argument.”

“Lawyers are paid to make arguments. Furthermore, the feathered people love nothing
more than picking through the most arcane details to find things to quibble over.”

“You have no answer to my perfectly reasonable point, have you? For that is exactly
why you hired Chartji in the first place.”

He beckoned. I returned the skull to the basket. When I sat next to him, he pulled
me close and whispered, “So much for our attempt to spy. The steward said ‘village-born.’
The mansa knew you aren’t Houseborn. I think they know who we are.”

His words fell like stones, unpleasant because they were so hard. “How could they
know? I’d better go see what I can learn.”

“You need not look quite so eager, love. Although I suppose it is natural that you
do.”

He released me as a parade of solemn servants entered bearing
platters. As they readied the table I retreated to the bedchamber, drew the shadows
around me, and walked unobserved back through the bustle in the sitting room and out
the open door.

Near the entry hall I recognized the djeli’s distinctive tenor. I peeked around a
corner. The djeli and the steward were speaking to a soldier who had saddlebags slung
over a shoulder. Although their speech had a rhythm different from that of Adurnam,
I could string together sense.

“Ride to Four Moons House. Tell the mansa we have the young magister he seeks. Go
in haste. Do not rest.”

Four men armed with crossbows stamped in from outside and bowed to the steward. He
directed them down my corridor. They walked past without seeing me.

The djeli was holding a sheet of foolscap, which he read. “There are four fugitives,
my lord,” he said to the steward. “We are advised to keep the wife as hostage for
his good behavior, but that she has peculiar abilities and must be watched by a djeli
at all times. Also, remove all mirrors. Kill her rather than allow her to escape.
There may also be another man and woman. Shoot the man and capture the woman.”

The steward made a sign to avert evil spirits. “Ill-omened! Strange to have them turn
up a year after we got the letter.”

The djeli perused the letter again. “The four have become partisans for General Camjiata.”

“If they are partisans for the general, why are they not with his army?” asked the
steward. “Why would the young Diarisso come here in such disorder? He is not on a
Grand Tour, although no doubt the women will wish to pursue the matter.”

The djeli nodded. “Above all, we must not make them suspicious. We will coax them
to stay.”

Pursue the matter! Coax them to stay! I retreated to the sitting room, still in my
shadows. The table had been tastefully laid and a side table arranged with platters:
spiced beef with apples, fish in a pepper sauce, and winter parsnips stewed with leeks
and garnished with freshly bloomed violets for decoration. Three servants awaited
orders.

“We will serve ourselves, as we prefer to dine alone.” Vai spun cold fire into lamps
of fluid silver shaped like a lion, a crocodile, a stag, and a
horse. This casual feat made the servants murmur as appreciatively as if he had done
it to entertain them, and maybe he had. “Do not disturb us unless we call for you.”

Dusk was settling over the garden. People paced its confines, lighting stone cressets
with cold fire. I shut the curtains. Yet I could not despair, for the food smelled
delicious. I again set out the skull and placed a spoon with a bit of meat, fish,
and parsnip by the white jaw, then steered Vai to the table.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, with the burning look of a proud man who is preoccupied
by feeling he has allowed himself to be outmaneuvered by his enemies.

“Yes, yes, magic feeds you. So you told me before, although I’m sure I don’t understand
what you mean by it. You will eat to keep up your strength.” I shoved him into a chair
and whispered. “They’ve sent a messenger to Four Moons House.”

With my own plate piled rather higher than his, I savored a fine meal, and he did
at length start eating. I demolished the remaining dishes and afterward, before I
quite realized I was doing it, cleared the table and set everything in stacks on the
side table as I had become accustomed to doing at Aunty Djeneba’s. Closing my eyes,
I allowed my senses to range afield. The vast compound was deeply woven with threads
of pulsing magic. By the sounds of boot-heels, I could track the guards patrolling
the garden and passage.

I led him to bed and undressed him. Beneath the covers we snuggled close.

“We’re under guard,” I whispered in his ear.

“It will take at least a week for a courier at speed to reach Four Moons House and
return,” he said, in a better mood now that he had eaten and had his arms around me.
“Our difficulties are threefold. They know who we are, so our attempt to spy has already
been thwarted. You must warn Bee and Rory they’re in danger. You and Bee must have
time to speak to the headmaster before we leave Noviomagus, so it may be best to play
along for a day or two before we break out. Also, this is a very comfortable bed,
do you not agree?”

“A woman does not have to walk the dreams of dragons to foresee you plan to enjoy
its comforts tonight.”

“So I do!” he remarked, as if surprised at my perspicacity. “I’m not
sure you’re appreciative enough of your good fortune. As for tomorrow, I have a plan
that plays to both our strengths.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you imagine those to be.”

“Nor will you wait. I am methodical and persistent. You are impulsive and unpredictable.
Ouch! Not to mention wild and ungovernable.”

That was true enough, as he soon discovered.

It was a simple plan with room for precipitous change. In such a sprawling compound
there were layers of propriety meant to separate the high from the low. The mage House
had a lovely breakfast room where a select group of adults broke their fast. There
Vai insisted we would go, although the steward asked us four times if we would not
prefer a comfortable tray of food in our suite. As we walked through the corridors
I could not help but notice they had taken down all the mirrors.

Vai wore the dash jacket of midnight blue with exploding flowers, which he had brought
along in the satchel precisely to overawe the House residents. To my surprise it looked
splendid, not at all ridiculous. As good as the man looked out of his clothing, he
looked particularly fine when he was well dressed and with his beard and hair trimmed
the way he liked. He had a way of moving meant to draw the eye. As we entered the
dining parlor, shadowed by the steward, everyone looked up. Men and women sat at separate
tables, and the women in particular watched as Vai paced the length of the side table
with its platters of apple and yam pudding, various porridges of rice, corn, millet,
or wheat, warm bread with butter, fried beancake, a haunch of moist beef, and a dozen
other mouthwatering trifles. The coffee looked sweet and milky.

“Is this all?” he demanded. “I expected a repast fitting to a House of stature, but…”

I picked up a plate, because the beef was whispering seductively to me.

“Catherine! I cannot allow you to partake of inferior comestibles.” His breathtaking
obnoxiousness commanded the entire room. Even I disliked him a little, and that was
saying something considering what we had shared in the night. “Is it possible your
cook can bestir herself to deliver something edible?”

I hadn’t meant to, but I whispered, “Please, I’m so hungry.”

The next thing I knew a tear was trickling down my cheek. The effect of the tear on
the patrician mages was remarkable. They reacted as if a large saber-toothed cat had
leaped into their midst: Some froze, while others made ready to flee.

“What is your desire, Magister?” asked the steward in the tone of a man who is never
awed by the fits and starts of the powerful, because he is their equal.

“I desire a tour of Noviomagus,” Andevai said not as a request but as a demand. “What
sights there are to see, if indeed there are any in such a town, for I recollect my
lessons that once this was nothing more than a frontier outpost of the Roman Empire,
now sadly fallen. Catherine! Put that down!”

I had taken advantage of his speech to creep over to the side table and fork a slice
of beef onto my plate.

“Lord of All, Magister,” said one of the men, goaded into speech, “let the girl eat.”

My husband smiled in the most condescending way imaginable as he turned his dark gaze
on the other man, who was not much older and had the look of a person gone a little
soft from having lived in luxury all his days. “That is how revolution starts. You
give them one scrap of beef out of pity and suddenly they wish to eat rich food that
isn’t good for them and is likely spoiled besides.”

I could not help myself. Right in front of their astonished gazes, I wolfed down the
slice of beef before he could take the plate away from me. His eyes flared. The chamber
grew so cold so fast that my next exhalation made mist.

“I am sure a tour can be arranged,” said the steward hastily.

Vai’s eyebrows rose as the cold eased fractionally. “I am sure you can arrange such
a tour, but have you any decently sprung carriages in which we may be conveyed in
comfort? I was shocked at the condition of the bed. It was not adequate to my wife’s
needs.”

I choked down a laugh, and tried to turn it into a coughed sob.

At the far table one woman whispered to another, “See how he dresses himself like
a peacock and fits her in dull, ordinary feathers!”

Ordinary! Blessed Tanit! In Sala I had myself overseen the making of this sensible
ensemble of mock-cuirassier jacket and perfectly
tailored traveling skirt with a double row of buttons in the front for ease of dressing
and sewn of the finest challis dyed a sophisticated rich spruce green that exactly
complemented my coloring.

The steward was by now looking angry. “You may be assured that our carriages are of
the first quality, Magister.”

He tried the bread. “Sadly, the same cannot be said for your cook. I will endeavor
to accept what you set before me. My wife has begged me to break our journey here
for some days of needed respite, for she has a frail constitution and the coach accident
quite overset her delicate nerves, but I am not sure I can endure these conditions
for even one more night, much less perform other duties.”

As the steward assured him that all would be arranged to his satisfaction, I stealthily
ate two slices of bread magnificently flavored with a tincture of garlic and dill.
Then I managed to eat my way down the side table as Andevai complained at length about
the unlikelihood of anything being arranged to his satisfaction.

Not long after, we were seated in a spacious and exceptionally well-sprung carriage
taking a tour of the city under the guidance of the steward. He was, he informed us
imperiously, the son of Five Mirrors’s mansa. He did not like Andevai, that was obvious,
but best of all, he had begun addressing gentle comments to me as if he felt sorry
for me. The djeli had come along, ostensibly to narrate our tour. Although he glanced
at the laced-up basket and my cane, he did not remark on them.

Noviomagus had the look of a prosperous town. Folk were out shopping. Servants pushed
carts along the cobblestone streets. Like most urban centers that had survived the
collapse of the Roman land empire eight hundred years ago, the old forum of the Roman
city had developed into a civic center of a new town. A clock tower and a council
house identified the public square where festival dances could be held, soldiers could
parade, and princely bards and djeliw could declaim to large crowds. My husband compared
these agreeable surroundings unfavorably to the superior architecture of cities I
was pretty sure he had never visited except in prints collected into books. He then
demanded to see New Bridge, whose splendors the djeli described in lengthy detail
as we rolled through the streets toward the river. I enjoyed the djeli’s resonant
speaking voice and fluid delivery
not least because it meant I didn’t have to listen to Andevai go on in that appalling
tone.

It was a mercy to get out of the carriage at New Bridge. The air was cool, and the
cloudy sky was rent by wind. Andevai asked question after question about the design
and engineering of the bridge. He sounded as if he actually knew what he was talking
about, as perhaps a man trained in carpentry by an architect would. I lagged behind.
The moment the djeli turned his back on me, I slipped away behind a passing wagon.
The men attending us shouted in alarm, but I had already hidden in the shadows and
raced away. Because the Feast of Mars Triumphant began this evening, shopkeepers had
hung the red festival wreath pierced with a short sword from their doors or over their
windows. I saw no ram’s masks in honor of the old Celtic war god Camulos, as were
customary in Adurnam. Here, Mars Intarabus was known as the wolf-killer because he
wore a wolf’s pelt for clothing.