The Wraeththu Chronicles (136 page)

For a moment or two the Prefect actually considered whether I was telling the truth or not. He looked once at the door, but decided not to summon help. I was Algomalid; I doubt if the Prefect was even Acantha. His will was like butter. He extracted himself from my hold, took great care to avoid my eyes, and wriggled back into his seat. His neck was red. He coughed to hide his embarrassment.

"You must forgive me, tiahaara; an oversight. Return to this office first thing in the morning and I will arrange for you to be accompanied to Sykernesse." He handed me Ferminfex's letter. "Here, take good care of this; it is precious."

Lourana led the way stiffly from the room. Once outside in the corridor he allowed himself the luxury of one or two repressed outbursts.

"You are both insane!" he decided. "Tomorrow, the Niz will be waiting for you! You have blown your chances of entering Sykernesse. By Aghama, to assault the very person of the Prefect! I can't believe it!" He shook his head sadly.

"You worry unnecessarily," I said, thumping him on the back. "That wimp in there won't risk his neck. His mind is empty; no match for mine."

"You are confident," Lourana remarked drily.

I shrugged. "Tomorrow the Prefect will have taken us to Sykernesse.The only disadvantage is that Ariaric may have been informed of my presence, thus ruining my surprise." "Shock," Panthera corrected.

Lourana had us back there virtually at daybreak. Perhaps he had developed a fondness for us; we could not persuade him to accept any more money than he had originally asked for. "Not even a couple of spinners for your nerves?" I asked. We were early. The Prefect had not yet arrived at work. A bland receptionist told us he was due at eight o'clock and, lo and behold, just as the clock above the stairs shuddered to the hour, the Prefect came bustling in through the door. He came over to us as soon as he saw us, smiling unctuously. I presumed he had already been in touch with Sykernesse about us.

"I myself shall take you to the palace," he said, grinning horribly, "but not until ten. May I suggest we offer you a light refreshment until then?"

Two hours. I doubted whether any refreshment in Maudrah could be termed as light.

We were taken to a small reception room, tucked away in the back of the building. Lourana tagged along behind, now more curious than loyal, I was sure. The room was pleasant enough, if featureless. The only decoration was another stern portrait of Ariaric that stared beadily into the room. I went to look up at it.

"Ferike work," Panthera said, taking my arm. "This style is formal, but far superior to that we saw in the Prefect's office."

The face was nearly the same as I remembered it (which was a relief, because I'd still had doubts about the Archon's identity), but the mane of the Lion had been shorn. He wore a close-fitting hat which covered all of his hair, if indeed any remained.

"I hope you know what you're taking on," Panthera said, squinting at the portrait critically. "I'm afraid I'm finding it hard to place any resemblance between the har you described to me and the face I'm looking at now."

I didn't answer that, mainly because I agreed with him. Had I been wrong to come here? Would my caste elevation be enough for me to cope with what might follow? I was going to meet a stranger without arming myself with weapons or foreknowledge. Beside me, I could sense Panthera's echo of my mood; fear and resignation, plus a certain relief that he had a relative in Sykernesse.

After a brief, but uncomfortable wait, a servant knocked on the door, bringing us a tray of cinnamon-milk served in cups of white china and a plate of hard, sweet biscuits. The drink was too sweet, but its aftertaste was pleasant, a hint of earth and bitterness. Presently, another door opened behind us to admit a pair of scantily-adorned entertainers. They bowed to us silently and then proceeded to enact a rather lurid drama, which involved too much scourging and suffering to be classed as entertainment. Panthera and I exchanged quizzical glances. Was this normal practice in Maudrah? It was certainly a place of weird contrasts. A reputation of brutality, yet a society that appeared pious and humble. A ballet of bureaucracy followed by a performance of bestiality. I asked Lourana to explain.

He looked surprised. "I can't understand why you ask this. Surely, one of the first things you learned after Inception was that without pain, pleasure cannot exist. Beauty is worthless without the contrast of ugliness. An honest society must learn to balance these things. Justice and outrage. Strength and meekness, aggression and humility . . ."

"In other words, a society of ridiculous extremes," I said, rather pompously. "On the journey here you spoke of blood debts, a need to make amends for the past and yet Maudrah is regarded as one of the most power-hungry, blood-thirsty tribes of Jaddayoth. You must admit, these two facets do not really make sense."

"A diamond is multifaceted, surely," Lourana answered, just as pompously, before popping a biscuit into his mouth, munching in relish, while staring with shining eyes at the performance.

I couldn't watch it. There were too many unpleasant reminders of Piristil within it. Panthera looked positively green. His sickly drink was untouched, developing a thick skin on its surface. Those two hours passed with agonizing slowness.

The Prefect returned at ten minutes to ten. By that time, the bizarre entertainers had gone. "It is my pleasure to escort you to the palace," he said, savoring the words. An honor for him as well then.

Sykernesse has three spires. One, it is said, to celebrate the birth of each of Ariaric's sons. The Prefect took us there by public conveyance, a car very similar to Lourana's. We'd left our guide behind us. There was no way the Prefect would let him follow us into the Palace. In a way, I was sorry to say goodbye to him. His knowledge of Maudrah had made us feel safe; now we felt alone. Sykernesse is surrounded by a high, impenetrable wall. Cages upon the wall contain the remains of condemned traitors, or perhaps hara who had accidentally fallen over in the street. I shuddered. What in Agh-ama's name was I doing here?

Madness. We were the cause of some minor fuss at the Main Gate as we sought entrance. The Prefect argued unintelligibly with the guards. Administration assistants were summoned to indulge in more earnest discussion, scanning forms and lists carried on clipboards. Panthera and I took the liberty of reclining back in the car to smoke. We'd had two cigarettes each by the time the problems were smoothed out. Then the car lifted itself with a sigh and swept grandly inside the shadow of the gates. The Formal Entrance to Sykernesse revealed itself in morning splendor. Wide, white steps, rows of columns, carved doors, heavy banners lifting sluggishly in a faint breeze. Braceleted ravens stalked and flapped and grumbled along marble terraces and velvet lawns. A groom, leading two glossy, enormous horses, excused himself as he crossed our path. The Prefect directed the car's driver to veer toward a smaller side door. The grandness of the front entrance was intended for the Archon and visitinglords alone. The side entrance was still fairly impressive though. We were ushered into a wide, dark passage by a grave and gracious servant and conducted across a polished hall. The Prefect followed us into a formal salon, furnished in deep crimson. I was beginning to doubt whether we would ever get to see the Archon himself. It was doubtful whether Ariaric, or even his staff, ever ventured onto the ground floor other than to leave the palace. The Prefect asked us to sign a document. Rather carelessly, 1 just scrawled my name without reading it. Panthera spent some minutes trying to scan the text, but just signed it and tossed it back at the Prefect in disgust after being unable to decipher the official jargon.

"Just a formality," the Prefect insisted sweetly, folding it tidily into an oblong. "We like to keep a record of all foreign visitors to Oomadrah. Now, if you would care to take a seat, someone should be along shortly to see to you." He backed from the room, bowing and smiling.

Panthera made an eloquent sign at the door with his fingers; a rare gesture for him. "Now what?" he asked accusingly. "Cal, we could be well on our way to Roselane now."

"Don't remind me," I said.

"Ah, prepared to admit you made a mistake then?" He smiled smugly.

I shook my head. "No. Let's wait and see, shall we."

He laughed. "Yes, let's see. You know, I never thought Oomadrah would be like this,

did you?"

"No. I didn't think anywhere would be like this nowadays."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that life before Wraeththu would have held little pleasure for you, my pantherine." He raised his brows, but we were interrupted. The door burst open and a tawny-haired har, dressed in white, virtually exploded into the room. He looked around quickly, raking a hand through his hair when he saw us sitting apprehensively on the nearest sofa. He smiled, rushed forward.

"Greetings cousin," he said. "Whichever one of you is my cousin."

"Lalasa?" Panthera inquired hopefully. He extended his hand which the har took in his own.

"Ah, Lahela's son; I should have known. Yes, I'm Lalasa. Now, what godforsaken reason brought you to this little nest of vipers?"

"Of course, the rigors of Maudrah society are somewhat relaxed in Syker-nesse," Lalasa told us, as he poured us coffee. Servants hovered in the background, anxious to be at hand should he need them. I admired the way he was so convincingly oblivious of them. He was a typical Kalamah, I suppose. It was easy to see that he shared Lahela's blood. "We get quite a lot of outlanders here," he continued, "many visitors, many hara presented at court. Elisyin won't have Maudrah restrictions anywhere near his apartments. Even the Niz aren't welcome there, except for Wrark Fortuny, but he's a friend of Ariaric's, so that's different. How long are you planning on staying here? What the hell do you want? I can't believe you've just come to see me."

"Well, we haven't," I agreed bluntly. "I want to meet Ariaric."

Lalasa did not gasp, or even change his expression. "That figures," he said, rather enigmatically. "If you're from Megalithica, you can expect to be sent on to Garridan rather swiftly. Our beloved Archon does little to encourage faces from the past to remain here. I guess it embarrasses him or something ... I doubt if he'll kick you out straight away though, and he'll certainly secure a good place for you in Garridan before he does ..."

"I don't think you understand," I said. "I'm not looking for a permanent position."

"Aren't you? Forgive this indiscretion, you know, mentioning the terrible word, but a lot of Uigenna have headed this way, thinking that now Ariaric has his own little kingdom, they'll be able to sponge off his good fortune and hard work. We have to be careful."

"Ah, so it's no secret he was once with the Uigenna then?"

Lalasa pulled a face. "Oh, please! He never was! You'd best remember that, my friend. Ariaric only left Megalithica because things got a little out of hand over there. He didn't like it."

"That's the official version?"

"It is."

"Do any of the visitors from back home ever get to meet him in the flesh?"

"Are you kidding?" Lalasa pulled yet another expressive face.

"No, I'm serious."

"Well, what do you think? I'm with Elisyin. I get to hear things. No-one with Uigenna blood gets past the first floor, believe me. They might get sent on with a full purse, but he won't see them, not even for old time's sake. If you knew Ariaric before, best not mention it. Understand?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I was rather indiscreet with the Prefect. I mentioned I was an old friend of the Lion."

Lalasa shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. The fool's an insect, a pen-pusher. He has no influence and no contacts of importance here."

"If I write a letter to the Archon, will you see that he gets it?"

"No, not on your life. Write to Elisyin. I'll probably be able to get you onto his floor. He likes having pretty hara about the place and you'll certainly suit requirements there. Just don't mention past alliances. Say Ferminfex sent you to tout for business amongst the idle rich or something. Panthera, can you paint portraits?"

"I can paint anything," he answered sourly.

"Good, that's the way in then. All of Elisyin's court are extraordinarily vain. Let's get cracking." He called for paper and a pen. Servants were driven into a panic of activity. Whatever I might have said about Kalamahindolence before, forget it. We were installed in a suite on the second floor within an hour.

The opulence was exquisitely understated. We had two rooms, plus a bathroom, which was modest by Sykernesse standards, but probably more than we deserved. After all, we were far from official envoys from Ferike. The apartment had an air of impermanence about it, as if all of its previous occupants had never stayed there very long. All the furnishings were terracotta red and brown and cream. Panthera examined an object hung on the wall.

"What's this?" he asked, pressing various buttons.

Lalasa snatched it from his hands. "A telephone," he said. "Be careful."

"A what?" Panthera was only used to thought-transference units; even I was slightly surprised.

"A primitive form of communication device once used by men," I explained to him. "Well, it looks as if we might be back in the twentieth century, doesn't it!"

"We're not that far out of it yet," Lalasa remarked. He told us that Elisyin would receive us later in the afternoon. I wasn't convinced that the Lion's consort had any interest in us at all really, but obviously Lalasa had no small degree of influence with him. No doubt he had dropped heavy hints about how grateful he'd be to have his relative from Jael received at court.