The Goblin Emperor (49 page)

Idra said, “There must be a great deal to—I mean, you must be busy.”

“Somewhat,” Maia admitted. “I should not stay.”

“Thank you for coming,” Idra said. “We were … concerned.”

“I don’t wonder at it,” Maia said gently; he met Idra’s eyes over Ino’s head and let Idra see that he knew “concerned” was a euphemism. “I was concerned, too.”

That got a guilty crack of laughter out of Idra, and he got off the bed to come kneel by Maia. “Ino, Cousin Maia has to go.”

Ino clung tighter for a moment, then let go. She looked up at Maia, swollen eyed and sniffling. “Wilt come back?”

“Yes, I will, I promise thee,” Maia said. “Although it may not be soon.”

“May we come visit thee again?” Mireän asked, and added with hasty conscientiousness, “Sometime. Not while thou’rt busy.”

“I would like that,” Maia said. He got up, and Idra rose with him, looking at him as anxiously as Ino.

“I’m all right,” Maia said to Idra. “Thou needst not fear for me. I am well guarded.”

“Of course,” Idra said, and did not add,
So was my grandfather.

“It is different when one knows to be careful,” Maia said, mindful of the little girls now clinging to Idra’s hands.

Idra’s eyes lightened a little. “I suppose it is. Thank you.”

Maia touched his shoulder gently, recognizing it as he did so for a strange muted echo of the Barizheise gesture he’d gotten used to seeing in the past few days, and said, “Try to get some sleep.
Somebody
ought to.”

And Idra actually smiled and said, “I’ll try.”

31

A Conspiracy Unearthed

In the Verven’theileian, Maia found Lord Berenar and Captain Orthema engaged in a heated debate, while Captain Vizhenka watched resignedly. Csevet was consulting with a pair of secretaries whom Maia recognized but could not put names to. Everyone stopped and bowed as Maia came in, and he thought he had better make use of the interruption before Berenar and Orthema started in again.

“Captain Orthema,” he said, “we remember that the Untheileneise Guard has been stationed to prevent anyone leaving the court.”

“Yes, Serenity.”

“Would you go and find out whether your men have actually had to stop anyone? We feel that that information might be very interesting.”

Orthema hesitated only fractionally before saying, “Yes, Serenity,” which, given the glare he directed at Berenar, was much to his credit. He bowed and departed, and Maia asked Berenar, “What were you and Orthema arguing about?”

Berenar sighed ruefully. “He wished to have all of the Tethimada currently in the Untheileneise Court arrested, along with the men Captain Vizhenka observed talking to Dach’osmer Tethimar. And while we do indeed see and sympathize with his point of view, we could not countenance it without Your Serenity’s direct order.” He gave Maia a cautious look, as if worried now that Maia would support Orthema.

“No,” Maia said. “We do not think we have reason yet to arrest anyone—although we would very much like to speak to the men to whom Dach’osmer Tethimar spoke.”

“Serenity,” Csevet said, interrupting politely. “The Count Nethenel and Mer Reshema have expressed their desire to cooperate and are waiting in the public meeting room across the hall. The Count Solichel’s manservant informs our page boy that he is ill and cannot speak to anyone.”

“A very sudden illness,” Lord Berenar said.

“Indeed,” said Maia. “And Dach’osmer Ubezhar?”

“Cannot be found, Serenity. Although perhaps Captain Orthema will have news of him when he returns.”

“Perhaps. Very well. Let us speak to the Count Nethenel.” Maia sat in his accustomed seat at the Verven’theileian’s long table, and Csevet slipped out, returning almost immediately with Pazhis Nethenel, the Count Nethenel, who was nearly gray with strain but otherwise composed.

The House Nethenada, Maia remembered from Berenar’s lessons, was a minor house of western Thu-Tetar, noted principally for their centuries-long stewardship of the Nethen Ford, where by a combination of causeways, dredging, and some fortuitously placed islands, they maintained the only reliable crossing of the Tetara for well over fifty miles. The current Count Nethenel was some six years older than Maia and had been named for the Empress Pazhiro, although if this had been an effort to curry favor with Varenechibel, it could not have been said to have succeeded. The Nethenada were one of the least wealthy families of Thu-Tetar, for of course the Tetara belonged to the crown, and the Nethenada could not charge tolls without permission which had never yet been granted. Maia, examining the ferret-faced lord in front of him, thought that perhaps a little more consideration was due the Nethenada than they had ever received.

“Count Nethenel,” he said, “thank you for agreeing to speak to us.”

“Serenity,” said the Count Nethenel with a jerky bow.

“We do not suspect you of anything,” Maia said as gently as he could. “We merely wish to know what Dach’osmer Tethimar said when he spoke to you this evening.”

Nethenel swallowed hard. “It was … it was in the nature of a threat, Serenity.”

“A threat?” said Lord Berenar.

“We…” Nethenel coughed and began again. “The House Nethenada and the House Tethimada have been in disagreement for some time about … well, about Dach’osmer Tethimar’s political ideas. We had only this summer again refused him our support in a complaint he was bringing to the emperor. This evening, he said that we would soon be sorry for our loyalties.”

He coughed again, and Maia said, “Some water for the Count Nethenel, please.”

Csevet poured a glass from the carafe sitting beside the samovar and brought it over. Nethenel’s hand was shaking when he took it, and he sipped it carefully. “Thank you, Serenity. We regret that we are … we are a little overcome still.”

“We do not blame you,” Maia said, and as it had with Idra, the wry understatement worked with Nethenel, for he managed to meet Maia’s eyes and even to offer a shaky smile.

“We would speak to Mer Reshema, please,” Maia said to Csevet.

“Serenity, he knows nothing of this!” Nethenel said in sudden desperation. “Please. He didn’t even know who Eshevis was.”

“We have no suspicions of him, either,” Maia said, puzzled. “But he is also a witness.”

The Count Nethenel looked as if he wished to protest further, but Csevet had already left the room.

Mer Reshema turned out to be barely older than Maia. He was, in fact, the young man in courier’s leathers whom Maia had seen dancing with Vedero. He was part goblin; although his skin was somewhat paler than Maia’s, his hair was black and his eyes were fiery orange. He had a better command of himself than the Count Nethenel, and Maia wondered, looking from him to Csevet, if couriers were chosen for their unflappable calm or if it was part of the education Csevet had spoken of. Mer Reshema confirmed Nethenel’s account: “He was gloating, Serenity. We thought—the Count Nethenel and ourself—that he must have gained some important concession from you, although we could not imagine what.”

“We did not expect,” Nethenel put in anxiously, “that he would—that he meant to—”

“How could you have?” Maia said. “We admit, it does not improve our picture of Dach’osmer Tethimar that he would stop on his way to murder us to indulge in petty gloating, but certainly you could not be expected to discern that he would go from petty gloating to murder.” He looked at Lord Berenar. “Have you any other questions for these gentlemen?”

“No, we do not think so. It is Dach’osmer Tethimar’s friends from whom we must seek further answers, not his enemies. Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Yes,” said Maia. “Thank you. We appreciate your help.”

“We only wish we could be of
more
help, Serenity,” said Mer Reshema, and the Count Nethenel murmured agreement. They bowed and departed.

“The Count Nethenel was very nervous,” Maia remarked.

“He should be,” Lord Berenar said. “The Winternight Ball is one thing, but bringing your baseborn lover to it is quite another.”

“What?” Maia said.

“Did you not know, Serenity? It seemed to us even the sparrows were gossiping about it. The Count Nethenel has been making an unseemly spectacle of himself since the spring equinox.”

“We found nothing distasteful in Mer Reshema.”

“And we know nothing to the young man’s discredit,” Berenar agreed. “It is Nethenel who is teasing the quicksand. And truly, that is neither here nor there, for imprudence is a far cry from treason, and the Nethenada have always been stupidly loyal.”

“We
beg
your pardon,” Maia said in mock outrage and was pleased when Berenar laughed.

“We did not mean in respect to yourself, Serenity. But previous emperors have … well, Varevesena for one gave them no reason to love him. But no matter. The question is what to do about Solichel and Ubezhar—once Ubezhar is found, of course.”

“We believe,” said Csevet, tilting his head, “that that may even now be happening.”

Maia heard it, too, a commotion in the corridor commingled of the chink and scrape of armor and a voice yelling indistinguishable words. Csevet opened the door just as the tumult reached the Verven’theileian; two soldiers entered, half-dragging a third man between them—not out of any desire to be brutal, but because he was struggling against them. By his clothing he was a courtier, and Maia guessed from his clear unwillingness to be brought before the emperor that he was the elusive Dach’osmer Ubezhar. Captain Orthema brought up the rear.

“Serenity.” The soldiers saluted—a little awkwardly because of their need to keep a grip on their prisoner. Captain Orthema stepped fastidiously around them, and Csevet closed the door and then stood with his back to it. Dach’osmer Ubezhar became abruptly silent—and intensely focused on the task of straightening his clothes.

“Serenity,” said Captain Orthema, “Dach’osmer Ubezhar was discovered in the south stables, attempting to bribe a groom to open the gate. We commend Khever, the groom, to your attention, for he refused most vehemently, and our corporal says that he threatened to punch Dach’osmer Ubezhar in the nose.”

“We have nothing to say,” Dach’osmer Ubezhar announced—which was interesting, Maia thought, as no one had yet asked him to say anything at all. He was not a prepossessing man, with none of Eshevis Tethimar’s power, and his attempt at hauteur fared badly, although it would have been hard for any man to carry it off with his hair coming down.

“I think,” said Captain Orthema, and no one in the room was foolish enough to think his use of the familiar-first was in any way friendly, “that you will find that you do.”

“Captain,” Maia said—not quite a rebuke, but definitely a warning. Orthema gave him a grudging nod and came around the table to stand by Berenar’s chair. But neither he nor Maia ordered the soldiers to step back.

Dach’osmer Ubezhar said, “Are you a boggart to frighten children, Captain? We are not a child.” His sneer was too clearly a copy of Tethimar’s, and Maia thought that under the bluster he was badly scared.

“Dach’osmer Ubezhar,” Maia said, and waited until Ubezhar was at least looking in his direction—although not coming even close to meeting his eyes. “We regret if we are the first to inform you, but Dach’osmer Tethimar is dead.”

Dach’osmer Ubezhar said nothing, although Maia could see it was an effort. He did not seem at all surprised.

Maia said, “He spoke to you this evening.”

If Ubezhar had had the wit or the nerve to stay silent, Maia was uncomfortably aware he would have been at a stand, with Orthema’s solution all too tempting. But Ubezhar said, instantly defensive, “Doubtless he spoke to many persons.”

“Including us,” Maia agreed, and was unworthily pleased at Ubezhar’s wince. “We have spoken already to some of the others and will speak to the rest, but that is no concern of yours. What did he say to you?”

“Surely that is a private matter between us and our dead friend.”

“Not when your dead friend went from your side to an assassination attempt,” Lord Berenar said.

Ubezhar winced again, although Maia, watching him closely, thought it was more for Berenar’s lack of tact than for the idea that his friend had intended to murder the emperor.

“If he spoke to you of unrelated matters, we will—”

“He did!” Ubezhar said, much too eagerly. “Nothing to do with … that is, we had no idea that…”

“Because,” Orthema said silkily, “if you
had
known, you would—of course—have stopped him.”

“Of course,” Ubezhar said, but he was not a good liar.

“Dach’osmer Ubezhar,” Berenar said, “do you know the penalty for treason?”

“Treason?” Ubezhar said, his voice squeaking.

“That is generally what the murder of an emperor is called.”

Ubezhar went white and blurted, “I had nothing to do with it! It was all Eshevis’s idea!”

Berenar raised his eyebrows. “The murder of Edrehasivar the Seventh? Or the murder of Varenechibel the Fourth?”

Ubezhar stared at Berenar in mingled fury and panic, and then wrenched free of the soldiers and lunged for the door. And Csevet, making good on the groom’s threat, punched him in the nose.

Once Ubezhar cracked, he cracked completely and the details came pouring out around the bloodstained handkerchief pressed to his face: Tethimar’s dissatisfaction, shared as it was by many nobles of Thu-Athamar and Thu-Tetar; their increasing impatience with Varenechibel’s refusal to heed them. “It was never like this under Varevesena,” Ubezhar said indignantly, although he was not old enough to remember for himself. Tethimar had had little difficulty in gathering a number of like-minded men about him, little difficulty in convincing them they were ill-used. And from there, it required unfortunately little imagination to follow the path they had taken to murder and treason. Sick at heart, Maia said to Berenar, “Is our presence needed?”

Berenar looked started, then something illuminated his face that Maia shied away from understanding. “No, Serenity. Not at all. Please, go and sleep.”

And Maia had no strength left to resist kindness. It took all his attention to get back to the Alcethmeret without falling over his own feet, and there he found himself an obedient puppet as his edocharei undressed him, bathed him, offered him food which he could not face, and put him to bed. He lay and stared at the wrestling cats and was so exhausted that the room seemed to be spinning very slowly around him, and he could not sleep.