The Ruined City (31 page)

In the study of the private apartment situated on the second story of the Cityheart, the Governor Anzi Uffrigo sat at his desk. A spread of papers covered the surface before him, but one document among them monopolized his attention. It was a personal letter intended for his eyes alone. The arrival of pleading petitions was no uncommon occurrence, but this one was noteworthy in at least two respects. It had been written by a woman, and it offered exceptional reward in exchange for a large favor.

For at least the twentieth time Uffrigo examined the missive, with its clear, decisive handwriting on plain stationery of good quality. No ornamentation, no perfume, no feminine witchery, but still—her gender and her circumstances caught his interest. The Maidenlady Strinnza Coranna, daughter of the late Recognized Voro Coranna, executed twenty years ago for crimes against the Taerleezi state. He remembered the case well enough; he himself had signed the Faerlonnish loyalist’s death warrant. He had witnessed the Recognized Coranna’s decapitation, and clearly recalled deploring the headsman’s dearth of skill.

There had been a widow and some children who—owing to the promptness with which Coranna had volunteered a full confession—had gone unmolested. They had even been permitted to retain a measure of their wealth; although, to be sure, House Coranna had been stripped of its noble rank, and surviving members had been exiled from Vitrisi.

Now one of them was back in evidence, requesting full reinstatement of the Coranna name, estate, and privileges. And she was willing to pay handsomely for these things. In token of her regard, she had written, she begged leave to present His Excellency the Governor with a brace of fully mature, well-grown male Sishmindris. Such a gift was remarkable in itself, but incredibly, there was more—and better. The maidenlady offered a collection of documents, property of her disgraced father and secretly guarded by members of the Coranna family for the past two decades. Personal messages for the most part, they revealed the names of many of the Recognized Voro’s co-conspirators and fellow criminals of the Faerlonnish resistance.

Numerous Faerlonnish of high Houses had come under suspicion at the time of Voro Coranna’s downfall, but no evidence against any of them had been discovered, and their crimes had gone unpunished, to the Governor Uffrigo’s lasting dissatisfaction. For twenty years the guilty parties had lived free, comfortable, and insolent. Several of them enjoyed
wealth and ease unusual among the conquered. But now at last the truth was coming to light; late, but not too late to take action against the enemies of Taerleez.

The chimes in the clock tower above the Cityheart struck the hour, and there came a knock at the door. The governor looked up.

“Come,” he said.

The door opened, a guard’s face appeared, and then the announcement, “The Maidenlady Strinnza Coranna.”

“Admit her.”

The guard withdrew, and a woman entered. She was young—she must have been a small child at the time of her father’s death—and simply dressed. She could not have been described as a great beauty, but she was decidedly pretty, with a pale, fine-featured face framed in dark hair drawn back in a knot. Her eyes were quite exceptional—large, grey-blue, and intense in expression. As for her figure, it was completely concealed beneath a long, plain cloak colored the grey of winter tree trunks. Should her form prove as pleasing as her face, then it might be worthwhile to determine just how high a price she was willing to pay for the reinstatement of her House.

In the matter of the Sishmindris, she had kept her word, bringing two of them with her. They were neither fashionably svelte and supple, nor fashionably garbed. Quite the contrary, they were broad and bulky with muscle—probably the largest and most powerfully built Sishmindris that he had ever seen. Their livery, if it merited such a title, was modest to the point of shabbiness. They could lay no claim to smartness or style, but were doubtless capable of tireless labor. By any and all standards, the offering was impressive.

“Maidenlady.” Uffrigo inclined his head with an air of gracious warmth, but did not rise from his seat. She was Faerlonnish, and the daughter of a criminal, after all.

“Excellency. I thank you for receiving me, and I ask permission to present you with a gift in token of my gratitude and
appreciation. Will it please you to accept the Sishmindri brothers, Zayzi and Frayz? You will find them strong, willing workers, and highly serviceable.”

Her voice was low and melodic, yet possessed of an odd quality, something brittle and crystalline as winter’s delicate flowers of frost on glass.

Nonsense. She was young, attractive, and in need of his favor. The best of all possible petitioners.

“Brothers, eh?” He smiled, using his own mournful poet’s eyes to beam encouraging susceptibility. “There’s a pretty touch. They are certainly fine, well-grown specimens, and I thank you for the gift. But come, maidenlady. Will you not approach and seat yourself? I’ll order refreshment, and we shall chat at leisure.”

“Your Excellency is most gracious.” Approaching, she took the chair he had indicated, directly opposite him. The Sishmindri brothers flanked her closely, in the manner of trained bodyguards. Evidently the amphibians had failed as yet to comprehend the transfer of ownership.

Examined at closer range, her eyes were handsome as ever in size and color, but Uffrigo noted something displeasing in their expression, or rather their lack of expression. A rime of blue-grey ice seemed to conceal every trace of thought and emotion. Her pretty young face was mask-like, altogether unreadable. His initial impression had been favorable, but now he was beginning to decide that he did not quite like her. His air of cordiality, however, remained intact.

“Shall I ring for some wine, maidenlady?” he offered mellifluously.

“I would not abuse Your Excellency’s hospitality by too free an encroachment upon your time and patience. You have granted me this audience, and I in turn have offered up promises, one of which involves the delivery of certain documents. Here they are.” From somewhere beneath her enveloping cloak she brought forth a small paper packet. Leaning forward in her chair, she placed it on the desk before him.

Well. No pretty hesitation, no trace of shyness or uncertainty. Utterance direct, economical, to the point. The young lady was all business. Her almost masculine bluntness was not particularly attractive, but perhaps there was something to be said for clarity. He picked up the packet and saw that it was elaborately sealed with wax and bound with string. It would have been easy to break the seals and cut the string, but Uffrigo did neither. Taking up a letter opener as sharp as any dagger, he carefully shaved the waxen seals off one by one, preserving each whole. This done, he inserted the point into one of the many knots in the string, and gently, lovingly began to worry it loose.

A stranger observing him might have thought that the governor took extraordinary pains to avoid damaging the packet’s contents. Some other stranger, fancifully analytical, might even have concluded that the unnecessary delay reflected some sort of unacknowledged reluctance or fear. Neither observer would have been correct. A connoisseur in all his pleasures, Anzi Uffrigo appreciated the flavor of anticipation, prolonged and reduced to an exquisite concentrate. He knew how to savor it in full.

So absorbed in his delicate task was he that the governor did not immediately note the advance of the two Sishmindri brothers, Zayzi and Frayz. A subtle shifting shadow alerted him, and natural instinct warned him. With speed worthy of a viper, he dropped the packet, rose to his feet, and expertly thrust his dagger-pointed letter opener under the ribs of the nearest Sishmindri. Blue-green fluid gushed, and Zayzi or Frayz fell. Almost simultaneously, Uffrigo’s left hand stretched forth, found the bellpull beside the desk, and yanked.

A large, web-fingered hand closed on the outstretched wrist. The captive arm was twisted behind its owner’s back. A second powerful greenish hand clamped over the governor’s mouth.

Uffrigo could neither move nor speak, and he could hardly breathe, but he could see well enough. His visitor, Voro
Coranna’s daughter, as she claimed to be, was on her feet, coming around the desk, and now she had a knife in her fist. She would never dare to use it; she was nothing more than a girl.

She halted before him, and he saw no rage or hatred in her eyes, but only a cold purpose.

Still he did not believe it.

“Anzi Uffrigo, Taerleezi despot and murderer, thus my country frees itself of your tyranny.” She spoke as dispassionately as a judge pronouncing sentence, but her pretty face reflected stern exultation.

The remark seemed melodramatic and artificial, like something from a bad play. He could imagine her standing before a glass, rehearsing intonation and expression. Ridiculous, really. But there was no time to consider such matters, for her hand, clasping the poniard, flashed toward him, and the blade sank into his throat.

He saw the arterial spurt of his own blood, and felt little beyond shocked incredulity. She was still standing there, apparently calm and unmoved, but behind her the door was opening, and into the study stepped one of the servants, in obedience to the summoning bell. Uffrigo was unable to draw breath, much less call for aid. He knew that assistance had arrived too late to save his life, and it was the last thing he knew.

Taking in the situation at a glance, the servant—evidently trained to double as impromptu bodyguard, as required—drew a dagger from his belt while lifting his voice in a great cry for help. The surviving Sishmindri, Frayz, released the governor’s body, which collapsed like disappointed expectation. Launching himself across the desk, the amphibian collided with the servant, his momentum sending the two of them crashing against the wall. As if wordlessly expressing the pent hatred of years, Frayz locked powerful hands about the human neck and squeezed.

The servant plunged his blade once, twice, three times into the Sishmindri’s side. Frayz staggered, and his grip loosened perceptibly, but he did not let go. Springing to her ally’s aid, Celisse drove her poniard underhanded at the servant’s midsection. Twisting desperately, he managed to knock her arm aside. When she came at him again, he slashed, his blade opening a long, deep gash along her forearm. The weapon dropped from her grasp. Her arm was instantly soaked with blood.

The wounds that the Sishmindri had received were mortal. Frayz sank to his knees, clearly in extremis, yet somehow maintaining a grip on his enemy’s throat. Seeing this, Celisse straightened. There was nothing she could do for him. Pausing briefly to survey herself, she found that her cloak was sprayed with blood and blotched with two or three spots, inconspicuous against the dark fabric. With any luck, the marks would go unnoticed. She drew her wounded arm back out of sight beneath the woolen folds, then cast a final deliberate glance about her and walked out of the room.

She had noted the route from the Cityheart entrance to the governor’s apartment with care upon arrival, and she remembered it perfectly now. Walking briskly but without the least appearance of haste, she retraced the path that she had followed with her Sishmindri companions scant minutes earlier. As she went down the corridor, she encountered a trio of armed guards hurrying in the opposite direction, toward Uffrigo’s study. As they passed, she contrived to throw them a glance of mild curiosity, as if wondering at their air of urgent purpose. They, for their part, scarcely noted the existence of the plainly clad, quietly respectable-looking young woman.

She passed them, and continued along the hall; down a curving stairway to the ground floor, then on along an endless mirror-lined gallery to the grandly columned entrance hall, teeming with servants, guards, sentries, messengers, liveried Sishmindris, tradesmen, petitioners, and even the occasional person of quality. She crossed the endless expanse of marble
floor to the tall doorway, and always she listened for the shouting voices and the pounding of pursuit behind her, but there was none.

Through the door and out into cool springtime air clouded and scratchy with smoke. Down the broad marble stairs to the paved drive, and still no commotion behind her.