The Assassins of Tamurin (31 page)

The audience sat down. When the rustling stopped, the Magister struck the gong lightly with an ivory hammer and the play began.

I wasn’t onstage immediately, since Jian doesn’t appear until the fourth canto, although the audience twice hears her singing offstage. I put my heart into those two songs, keenly aware of who heard me. Then I listened through the third canto, the one where Maylane sets off for the islands to rescue her husband.

And then came the fourth canto, in which Jian discovers the treachery that awaits her sister and seeks to warn her of it. I was on.

Jian must declaim as she walks onto the stage, because she holds the letter from which she reads the enigmatic waming message. The declamation is emphatic, yet even so I heard the spectators’ soft gasp as I stepped into view. But I’d prepared myself for such a reaction and didn’t miss a beat, continuing with Jian’s plea for the Sun Goddess to aid her.

To you, most gracious deity of summer light,

My heart sends up these frightened words in hope That 'gainst this fearful treachery I may prevail,

And bring my sister safely home.

There’s a counterpoint lyric with the second male lead soon after that, and as I sang I was able to look into the theater. Everybody’s attention was fixed on me, but I barely noticed this. It was Terem I wanted to gauge.

His gaze never left me, but he had no more expression than before. I was busy singing, but still I felt a fleeting annoyance that his eyes weren’t wide with surprise. It never occurred to me how much pain might lie beneath his impassivity, as he watched a living, breathing woman who was almost the image of his dead beloved.

The canto ended and I went offstage. In the seventh canto I retumed, to die as I tried to tell Maylane of the traitors around her. The death scene with the two sisters is very poignant, among the best in the High Theater, and Perin and I played it for all it was worth. By the time I expired in her arms I was hearing muffled sobs from the audience and knew that the Elder Company was living up to its reputation. But when I looked at Terem from beneath my almost-closed eyelids, I saw that his face was as stony as ever.

I was then carried off as a corpse, my part in the drama completed. I’d done my best and could only hope that Terem’s love for his dead wife would induce him to look for her in me. Nilang had seemed certain he’d do so, but the Sun Lord was nobody’s fool. Would his sorrow and yearning overmle his judgment and ultimately bring him into the arms of an illusion? Until now I hadn’t doubted it, but after seeing that cold and indifferent visage, I wasn’t so sure.

I was still wrapped in these musings as the play ended. We all came onstage during the applause, and knelt to the Sun Lord, who rose and bowed to us to demonstrate his appreciation. I peeked to see if he was looking at me, but he wasn’t. Then he went down from the dais, up the stairs to the gilded door, and vanished.

I suddenly felt very let down. But what had I expected? That he’d call me up to the dais and congratulate me on my work? That we’d all be invited to leave with him, so he could spend some time in my company? Such ideas were ludicrous, as I’d have realized if I’d known him at all. For I’d been wrong about every eye in the theater being fixed on me; half were, but the rest were on Terem, and he knew it. Any reaction to me would cause gossip, and he hated having people chatter about his behavior and the motives it suggested. So he gave no sign that my presence had affected him; not that he’d have done so, even if we’d been the only two people in the theater^—^he usually kept his deeper feelings to himself, as much as he could.

I slipped into the wings to avoid the curious stares of the departing audience. Harekin was there, and she embraced me. “It
is
my part,” she said, “but you did well with it. A little tight in the high registers, perhaps, but a good first try.”

It was a peace offering, so I accepted it in spite of the dig. Then everybody else congratulated me, too. There was general amusement at how astonished the spectators were when I went onstage, as if I’d played a mild practical joke on them. Nobody seemed inclined to see more in it than that, which suited me perfectly.

But as we sculled away from Wet Gate in the early summer evening, Perin leaned over and whispered to me, “He
was
watching you, you know. Remember what men are like, especially the powerful ones. Be careful.”

“I will,” I whispered back, although she would never know just how careful I would need to be, nor why.

Nothing happened immediately. The next day we performed at the Rainbow. I didn’t act, but Eshin substituted once for Kalaj the support actor, who put up with it cheerfully enough. But word had gotten around about the actress who looked like the Surina, and on our second day in the Rainbow we could have filled the theater twice. People wanted me and would not be denied, so I had to come on stage after the play and sing a couple of solo lyrics. I don’t know how many of them had ever actually laid eyes on the Surina, but they wanted to see me anyway.

The same thing happened after the third public performance. I didn’t like being a curiosity and complained about it to Master Luasin. He said I should be patient, that they’d lose interest soon enough, and in the meantime I was helping the receipts. He was right, although a month passed before my novelty wore off.

Tsusane also came to watch me. She brought Yerana, the girl she lived with, and we went to a punch house after the performance, where I told them about appearing before the Sun Lord. They were impressed, Tsusane even seeming a little bit in awe of me.

On the day after that, we were supposed to have some time to ourselves, and Perin was taking me to meet some literary friends of hers. But by now I was starting to worry. Several days had passed since my debut before Terem, and I'd expected some response from him by now. Would he be content with merely watching me onstage? I couldn’t do much for Mother if he settled for that.

But moments before Perin and I went downstairs to depart, I heard Master Luasin shouting through the villa for me. We met on the staircase. “Sir?” I asked.

He looked agitated. “Thank the Sun Goddess you’re still here. A sequina’s come from the palace. The Chancellor wants to see you by midday. He says you may bring one woman with you for propriety. I suggest Perin, if she can spare the time.”

She could, and we were off to the palace before the mid-moming bell, in a sequina of four oars and a steersman. Harekin came out on the landing to watch us depart, with a knowing look on her face. I knew what she was thinking: that it wasn’t the Chancellor who wanted to see me, and that the man who did wasn’t looking for musical entertainment.

Perin was thinking this, too, although she didn’t speak until we reached Jade Lagoon. Then she said in a low voice, “Lale, this interest may seem like an honor, and it is. But you
must
be careful. If he wants what most men do, try to put him off as long as you can. He’ll value you all the more for it.”

Her assumption that I couldn’t control events annoyed me. “Well,” I said with some asperity, “I may put him off for good, if I feel like it, no matter what he wants.”

“But, Lale, he’s the—” She remembered the steersman a few feet away and lowered her voice again. “He’s who he is. You
can't
refuse him. If you do refuse and he lets you get away with it, it’s only because he’s decided to indulge your whim.”

“He’ll have to go on indulging it, then.” At that moment I realized I had a delicious new role to play: the plucky young heroine who is not to be trifled with, even by the powerful and great. “I’m not a ripe plum,” I went on, getting into the spirit of it, “to fall into the lap of a man just because he shakes the tree. Anyway, why do you think he wants
thatl
He can have his pick of a myriad women, each one prettier than I am. Maybe he’s just curious.”

Perin shook her head wearily. “Lale, Lale. Of course he’s curious, just now. But you’re ... so like her. What will you do if he keeps seeing you? Falls in love with you? Because if he does, it won’t last. Eventually he’ll realize you’re
not
her. Who knows what he’ll do then? What will you do if it all goes wrong?”

If it went
really
wrong. I’d be over the palace wall and running away from Kuijain as fast as I could. But I only said, “I’ll have to take my chances, and so will he.”

She regarded me with exasperation. “You’re an odd one. Doesn’t anything scare you? Or anybody? Not even him?” “Not even him,” I said, staying in character, and then we were gliding under the arch of Wet Gate. As we emerged into the palace’s mooring basin, the sun slid behind a bank of cloud and stayed there. The breeze was warm and damp, smelling of rain to come.

We disembarked and waited on the quay until an official from the palace administration came to collect us. He was a young man and very conscious of his dignity, although he wore only the white sash of an Eighth Rank official, and the lower degree at that. Still, the sash meant he’d passed the Universal Examination, and his air said that he thought himself a very fine fellow indeed. On his head was the soft black cap of a govemment official, with a gilt badge on it.

“Put these around your necks,” he said, handing us each a bronze chain with a red-and-white pendant to it. The Sun Lord’s emblem of a running deer was molded into the glossy ceramic surface.

“Why?” I asked.

His face took on the expression of one who must deal politely with imbeciles. “It means you’re here by leave of the Chancellor. You can’t go most places in the palace without one, even if you’re with me.”

“You’re not wearing one,” I pointed out, “and you haven’t introduced yourself.”

“I have this,” he said tersely, indicating his cap badge. “It means I work in the Chancellery. You may call me Associate Clerk Kirkin. Now come, we must be brisk or be guilty of effrontery through tardiness.”

We set off toward our destination. At the back of the quay was a high brick wall with a big double gate, which stood open. The gate had guards in silver-washed armor, who saluted Associate Clerk Kirkin as he led us past. Once though the gate, we were in the main palace grounds, and Kirkin took it upon himself to reveal their mysteries.

“Jade Lagoon is not like the old Imperial Palace in Seyhan,” he said. “You would not be aware of this, doubtless, but that was one very large building spread over many acres of land. Jade Lagoon, on the other hand, is many buildings set among gardens. It is thus much more healthful.”

“What’s behind that wall on our left?” I asked.

“That is called the Lesser Quarter. The palace domestics live there, and it has guard barracks, stables, bakeries, and facihties of that lower sort. I myself spend very httle time there, so I cannot really enlighten you further.”

Kirkin’s superior air was beginning to grate, but I wanted to know as much about the palace as he’d tell me. I went all wide-eyed and kept asking him questions, which he answered in an affected drawl.

“Over there is the Great Audience PaviUon—that’s where the senior ministers have their offices. . . . There, with the green roof, that’s the Lesser Banqueting Hall, behind that is the Porcelain Pavilion.”

“We’ve been there,” I said. “What’s the tower I see from the canal, the one with the round windows?”

“It’s the Arsenal Tower. It’s for the palace fire watch. There’s an alarm bell that rings if the sentry sees smoke.” 

“Oh. Do you ever have fires?”

He disregarded my question and went on. “Ahead on our left, although it’s hidden by trees, is the library and the records archive. And now, directly before us, is our Chancellery.”

He said it as if he’d constructed the place himself. It was a severe building, as if to emphasize the nature of the activities within: three stories of white stone, with guards at its entrance. Kirkin conducted us past them into an inner courtyard, still nattering away. He was now larding his speech with classical aphorisms, the better to show off his erudition. Perin tried to look properly humble, although she was having trouble keeping a straight face.

But by now I was becoming very annoyed, and finally he went too far. We were hurrying toward a large vermilion and gold door on the courtyard’s far side when he said, “Before you is the seat of the Inner Chancellery, where Lord Geray will speak with you. Be careful not to give offense, for as Master Tolan writes in his
Golden Discourse on Manners and Customs,
‘If you do not observe the canons of good behavior, your character cannot be established.’ ”

His insolence in suggesting I had poor manners was not to be borne. “Indeed,” I said in an acid tone, “Master Tolan does write to that effect. But elsewhere he also says: ‘Beware of that apparent civility that is a mask for corruption, for debased practices, and for moral deficiencies.’ ”

Kirkin tumed pink and opened his mouth for a rejoinder. I ignored him and continued, “In the light of this second aphorism, there is scholarly debate as to whether your quotation is indeed by Master Tolan, or attributable to an interpolation from the hand of his disciple Adjel. The question has yet to be resolved, although Master Hanay proposes in his
Discourses Weighed in the Balancé
that Adjel is the true author. But of course you know all this, and my observations merely inflict tedium upon you.”

Kirkin had become bright crimson but managed to say, “Such is the case. You are quite right to point out the complexity of the matter.”