The Hero Strikes Back (39 page)

I wasn't going to tell them what I suspected. That the Reanists had been sacrificing aristocrats, and that the sacrificed had been preventing the events. That I suspected there was also a connection to the weather—the events weren't happening as they were supposed to, so the pressure events released came out in the weather—and the behavior of the regulars. I had no evidence of any of it, except that all of the changes had happened contemporaneously.

I had also found that I could and did effect the weather myself, but only once it had calmed down on its own could I control the nature of that effect. I could, if I chose, stop the rain. Or start it. But once the weather had become seasonal, I saw no reason to play with it.

It was an interesting thing to know, that I could do it, but of no real use.

So the weather was what it was supposed to be, but the changes had come too late for most to recover their lost crops or other earnings. People had gone bankrupt. People had died. The damage was done.

Yet some had managed to recover something. Some had planted late variety seedlings. Some had been forced to find other ways of making money and had experienced an amount of success at it. People willing to travel to nearby villages and cities to pick up supplies continued to make a fortune. And Prince Gifford had promised and delivered grains from the royal stores. No one was going to starve over the winter.

Then there were the executions. I was horrified to acknowledge that the hanging of the Reanists appeared to provide people with some kind of perverse thrill or release.

The first batch from the parade, Risa had told me, had been throwaways. Expected to fail, they were meant to address any rumors the Prince might have been hearing concerning an attempt on his life by posing as whatever threat the Prince had been told to anticipate. The protection provided by Lord Yellows' guards was meant to encourage Gifford's trust and reliance on his host.

The residents of High Scape resented that their city had been used to attempt an assassination on the Crown Prince. They really resented learning that Reanists had been living among them without anyone doing anything about it. Having every single one of them executed made the High Scapers feel vindicated.

These successes seemed enough to take the edge off everyone's anger. At least enough that I didn't have to worry about being spat at on the street. Not enough, however, for them not to enjoy watching us make complete fools of ourselves on stage.

Next year, I didn't care what it took, I was going to be away from High Scape during the Hallin Festival. If it meant temporarily abandoning my post, or even being relieved of it, I was never doing this again.

I got off the stage, I kept my head down, and I walked, resolute in achieving my escape. I was thinking ahead to putting my feet up in my flat and drowning my sorrows in a cask of wine. Then I was grabbed by the arm and almost whirled off my feet.

“Oh no you don't,” Risa grinned down at me, her brother a pace behind her. “It is shockingly ill-mannered of you to deprive the spectators of your presence after such a fine performance. I'm sure they are all longing to tell—”

“Shut up, Risa,” I snapped at her. Of course she had been there to see it. Despite my refusing to tell her the location and time of our performance. Despite my forbidding her to come should she manage to find out. “When are you going up again? I want to be sure to be there to watch and mock.” And laugh.

“I went yesterday,” she informed me smugly.

She—what? She went yesterday? “You told me you were going on the last day.”

“I lied.” She smiled. A superior curve of the lips that had me debating the merits of slugging her. On the one hand, she deserved it. On the other, she was much bigger than me. “I didn't want you coming and heckling me.”

Wench. Refusing to tell was one thing. Lying about it, that was just wrong. I wished I'd thought of it. “But you felt perfectly comfortable coming here to heckle me?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “I'm a commoner. A regular. A member of the lower orders. I'm not expected to know better. But you are, being a responsible Shield and all. You're supposed to be above publicly humiliating others. You should be thanking me, for helping you stick to your standards.”

What complete bosh. I had no standards.

“Besides,” Erin added, “You would have nothing to heckle Risa for. She's an excellent tumbler.”

Another reason I'd wanted to avoid Risa right then. I'd left things with Erin kind of hanging. True, Risa had said he wasn't terribly interested in continuing things with me, but I felt there should have been some kind of ritual closing of the possibility, a shared glass of wine or an argument.

On the other hand, Erin didn't appear to be feeling awkward right then, so why should I? “I suppose you've already done yours, too?” I demanded.

He grinned. “Nothing gets people laughing harder than mimicking politicians.”

Damn. I would have liked to have seen that. I could have used a laugh.

“But,” he said, frowning a little. “What are oysters? And how can they wear shoes if they haven't any feet?”

I waved my hands in front of my face in a negative gesture. “I don't know what any of it means,” I admitted. “Karish claims he doesn't either, though he's the one who found it. I don't even know who wrote it. Karish says it's very old. I think an early Source wrote it to torment all generations who come after. And I'm going to do my best to burn it out of my memory. Liquor is good for that, isn't it?”

“Come to my place tonight,” Risa suggested. “I'm having a little party for Erin. He's leaving tomorrow.”

I looked at him with surprise. “You're leaving already? The Bill's drafted then?”

He shuffled his feet, suddenly serious. “We've been told the Empress' health has taken a turn for the worse,” he said. “And she's anxious to get this Bill shoved through before she dies.”

I felt my mouth drop open before I hastily pulled it shut. “It's that serious?”

He shrugged. “That's what they say. The last week has been sheer hell, trying to get all the important bits on parchment. That's been done and most of us have been ordered home. There're three solicitors still working on it, polishing it as much as they can. I think the idea is to get it through and then do the fine-tuning after it's passed.”

I whistled. “The Prince must be thrilled with that.”

Ah, the Prince, the Prince, I'd promised myself I wouldn't think of him. At all, if I could help it. Since he left High Scape I'd been waiting for something to happen. For summons to Erstwhile. For the Runners to show up to arrest me. For the Triple S council to order us back to Shidonee's Gap. Something.

But nothing had happened. Which was good. But I didn't know if that meant there was nothing to worry about, or that the different parties involved were just taking their time deciding what to do. All I could do was wait and hope it was all coming to nothing. Very hard on the nerves.

I frowned as a new worrisome thought disrupted the others. I looked at Risa. “This is none of my business,” I said, “but should you really be throwing one of your extravagant parties right now?” I've heard of people who were bankrupt going out with a bang, but I didn't want to see Risa following down that path of folly.

She grinned, apparently unoffended by my inquisitive question that I had no business asking. “Got a loan,” she announced. “Erin arranged it.”

“Not so you could blow it all on frivolous tripe,” Erin muttered.

She glared at her brother. “Don't start,” she warned him in a hard voice. “I'm not a child. I'll use my money as I like.”

It was on the tip of my tongue, the suggestion that now that she had gotten this break she should use it to start clearing up her debts, not squander it on insubstantial amusements. But I didn't want to resurrect our earlier argument. And Risa was right. I had no idea how frustrating it could be to want something and not be able to afford it. To know you would never be able to afford it.

Everyone did stupid things every once in a while. I'd indulged in some masterpieces. Just look at my fiasco on stage.

Risa's gaze left her brother and she made a deliberate effort to resume her earlier carefree air. “So are you coming?” she asked me.

“Aye, and bring your mother,” Erin added. “She's brilliant.”

Risa nudged him in the ribs and he glanced at her with surprise.

“My mother went home,” I told him.

“Oh. Sorry. I was under the impression that she was here for a good while.”

“She felt she had to get back home.”

I had received a letter from her the other day, thanking me for my hospitality and congratulating me on High Scape's improved circumstances. Telling me that it looked like Dias was developing serious interest in an appropriate girl. Enthusing about the profit margins of the last quarter. In other words, it was a letter identical in tone and general content to all the other letters she had ever sent me. No mention was made of why she had left early. No attempt was made to continue the discussion she'd left with. No hint was given that we ever would.

I didn't know how to respond to the letter. So I had decided not to, for a while.

I pulled in a quick breath of surprise as an arm curled around my waist from behind. Then I realized who it was. “Trying to ditch me?” a voice spoke into my ear.

I tried to jerk away, though not too hard, because I didn't want to make a scene, so Karish didn't let me go. “I'm not speaking to you,” I told him. “That poem was a disaster.”

“Ah, they're all a bunch of city sackers,” he said dismissively. “What do they know?”

“Bad poetry when they hear it.”

“In time those who achieve real wisdom will look back on this day and appreciate that poem for the artwork that it is.”

Erin snorted.

“I'm having a small get-together tonight, Karish,” Risa said. “It's a going-away party for Erin. I've just asked Dunleavy. Would you like to come?”

I didn't look up at Karish; it would be too uncomfortable from my current position, but I imagined him cocking his head in that gracious way of his. “We can't attend,” he said formally. “We have a watch in the Stall this evening. But thank you for the kind invitation.”

Risa's gaze watched to me and I nodded. “I was going to tell you but I got side-tracked.” And I was relieved not to be going. I wouldn't have felt comfortable drinking Risa's wine and eating her food and knowing she couldn't afford to be serving it.

Someone on the stage started singing. Really really badly. So completely off-key I couldn't believe he wasn't doing it on purpose. He had to be. No one could be that bad by accident. I clapped my hands over my ears without thinking. Erin and Risa, who'd had their backs to the stage, glanced over their shoulders with grimaces of disgust. Didn't the man know he was risking a barrage of fruit?

“What's wrong?” Karish asked.

I looked up at him then. And saw he was serious. He honestly couldn't hear it. For a brief moment I thought how wonderful it must be to be tone-deaf.

“Let's get out of here,” said Erin.

“Wait wait wait!” a voice called from the side, and Doran of all people jogged up to us.

Karish's arm tightened to an almost uncomfortable degree before loosening again.

“What are
you
doing here?” I demanded with an appalling lack of manners. It was just, did everyone I know show up to watch my humiliation? He was another person who'd asked when I was performing, and another person I'd refused to tell.

He smiled without repentance. “I wanted to see your show.”

I held back a sigh and gave into the hints Risa was giving me with her steady, unsubtle stare. “Doran, this is Solicitor Erin Demaris and Runner Risa Demaris, his sister. Erin and Risa, this is Lord—” I stumbled, realizing I didn't know Doran's proper title, “—Doran Laidley?”

“Lord Stoneridge, if you want to get pompous about it,” he said easily. “Old title, little chunk of land you couldn't grow potatoes on, no cash. No excessive pride, here.”

“Do you work, then?” Erin asked.

Doran, if he had felt like it, could have expressed horror and indignation at the thought. Instead he shrugged. “I've been known to carve the odd trinket or two. Little statuettes. Miniature profiles. Toys even. People have been willing to pay a few coins for them.” And then he put his index finger to his lips, a parody of a request for secrecy.

And once again I had to squash down the envy I felt for people who could do things with their hands. “How's Lydia?” She had, of course, left the hospital, and I had visited her at her home, but she was requiring a long convalescence.

“Getting over the fever, finally. But still quite weak and finding it infuriating. And Ivan—her fiancé—is simply driving her mad with his hovering.” He grinned. “It's fun to watch.”

“You have no sympathy for the poor woman? Hard-hearted man.”

“I have sympathy for us right now.” He winced at the stage. “That guy is simply awful. Do you think he's working out some latent anger?”

“Think I should arrest him?” Risa asked with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Disturbing the peace or something. Inflicting emotional distress on the public.”

“Voluntary assumption of risk,” said Erin. “Everyone knows going in that they might see something awful.” And he looked at me with amusement, the prat.

“Aye, but he can't use that defence until he shows up in court. In the meantime I'll have him arrested and silent. A short-term solution is all I'm looking for right now.”