‘Well,’
Corrian remarked in a satisfied way as they mounted their horses a
few minutes later, ‘Chantry prigs wouldn’t like this much, would
they?’
‘I can’t even
imagine what Portron would say,’ Keris said, ‘let alone the
devotions-chantor back home.’ She turned to Davron. ‘Is that a
windmill up on the roof there?’
‘It is indeed.
There are quite a few. They supply power for the mills, and they
draw water up from the lake. Come, follow me. It’s getting late and
we’re all tired.’ He turned his horse up into the nearest cobbled
street, she followed and tried not to remember that she was
suspended several hundred feet above the lakeside.
‘Hmph,’ said
Corrian, looking around, ‘If they do this to mere buildings, I
wonder what the whores look like?’
Quirk craned
to look upwards at a spiralled tower. ‘Do you think it will all
still be here when I wake up tomorrow?’
‘You may not
believe this,’ Davron said, ‘but Meldor actually insisted on
considerable restraint. You should have seen some of the things
Switchin wanted to build. Places with doors twelve feet high,
towers that would snag passing clouds, onion domes piled one on top
of the other, glass windows the size of a bean field—’
‘I was in two
minds,’ Meldor said. ‘I still am, if it comes to that. This is
undeniably pretty and joyful, and of course it’s obvious that
everything has to be built new, but the Rule wasn’t all bad, you
know. To dig the clay for the bricks, to quarry the stone for the
blocks, to cut down trees for beams, to mine the copper for the
roofs—all of it marks the landscape in horrible ways. Not all
change is good, I find. I did insist on a small scale. No
unnecessarily high roofs or huge rooms. Every tree cut must be
replaced, just as the Rule decrees. But even so—’ He shook his
head. ‘Some awful things were done to Havenstar to build all this.
Perhaps I should have been more severe with the rules.’
‘Why weren’t
you?’ Keris asked, knowing that Meldor never did anything without a
reason.
‘Because
somehow it seemed to be important for the human spirit to seek
beauty. We have been too long under the Rule, too long constrained
to conform. It has made people petty and mean-minded. I don’t need
frills in my life—I didn’t need them before I was blind and I
certainly don’t need them now—but I don’t like what the lack of
frills and fripperies does to other men’s souls. We had become a
bleak race of people, Keris, always thinking to punish and
restrict, hating our neighbour if he dared to be different. I
didn’t want Havenstar to be like that. Here people can spread their
wings. We just have to be sure that in so doing we don’t destroy
with the claws of our greed.’
She turned her
attention to the people they passed in the street, many of whom
gave kineses of respect when they saw the Margrave. Did they look
happier than people of the stabilities? They certainly appeared
brighter, for there was no restraint on apparel here. Any colour,
any fashion, and any decoration was possible. She was not sure she
entirely enjoyed the result.
‘Doubtless
they will tone themselves down eventually,’ Davron remarked. He had
been reading her mind again. ‘It’s just reaction to the narrow
austerity forced on them under the Rule.’
‘I suppose
so.’ A man hurried by; he had shoes that curled up at the toes so
outrageously they had to be tied to his breeches at the knee.
Another woman struggled through a doorway sideways because her
skirts were too wide to enter any other way.
‘Maybe there’s
an answer to your question about what whores wear,’ Quirk said to
Corrian, indicating a woman standing in a doorway. She wore
surprisingly little.
‘Those
children—’ Keris said suddenly, staring to where a group of young
children played. ‘Ley. There’s ley. And I’ve noticed so many
children too! But the ley. Are they…?
‘As far as we
can tell, children are born normal here, even to tainted parents,
except they contain noticeable amounts of ley. Noticeable, that is,
to the ley-lit. We don’t know yet whether it affects their
development. So far, it doesn’t seem to. They can be ley-lit or
not, just like anywhere else. And this isn’t the Unstable, thank
the Maker. Children don’t appear to have in any way degenerated,
and none of them are tainted. And there are a lot of them because
people aren’t restricted to just two anymore. Not yet, anyhow. They
can choose how many to have.’
She turned to
Davron to remark how wonderful that was, and surprised a look on
his face that left her breathless with pain for him. He had been
staring at the children, aching for what he’d lost. She left
unspoken the words she’d been about to utter.
Further on
down the road, they pulled up outside a shop. She looked up at the
sign dangling above the door, and her heart leapt as she saw the
symbol: a map scroll. This was a mapmaker’s shop.
‘This was
Kereven Deverli’s,’ Meldor said. ‘It is now yours, Keris, with all
its contents. Kereven had no family, and anyway we bought most of
what it contains. There is everything you need for mapmaking. I
hope you don’t mind taking hold of a dead man’s pen.’
‘I’d be
honoured. Deverli was a fine mapmaker, if the map I had was any
indication.’
Davron
dismounted and pulled the bell. ‘His manservant should still be
here. If it suits you, keep him on. His name is Colibran, but he is
known as the Cricket. His wife acted as Deverli’s housekeeper, I
believe.’
‘I suggest
Corrian and Quirk stay with you, until they decide what they want
to do,’ Meldor added. She nodded, a little intimidated. There were
times now when something about Meldor made her want to sink down on
one knee in obeisance. She was becoming reluctant to address him by
name.
Davron looked
up at her. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Get off that animal and come and
have a look at your house.’
She dismounted
in a daze.
A house of her own. A shop. Mapmaking equipment.
Servants. Keris Kaylen of Kibbleberry?
The door
opened and they saw why Colibran was called the Cricket. He was one
of the Unbound, and his tainting had resulted in stick-thin legs
and arms, two pairs of them, and his elongated head sprouted
rudimentary feelers. Two large oval eyes set perpendicularly on
either side of his face stared up at Davron out of a long mournful
face. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘The shop is closed—oh, it’s you,
milor’! And Margraf—my apologies.’ His twelve inch feelers waved in
a flustered fashion as he performed a kinesis of respect. ‘Do come
in.’
Meldor shook
his head. ‘Not I, I think. Scow and I will go on to the Hall.’
Davron nodded,
and as the two men rode away he indicated the mounts belonging to
Corrian, Keris and Quirk. ‘Take the horses, would you please,
Colibran? And spoil them a bit, if you wouldn’t mind. They’ve come
a long way and they need a bit of coddling.’
‘I’ll get my
two boys to do it. Nothing they like better than coddling horses.
Will you be staying the night, then, milord?’
‘No, but you
do have guests, Colibran.’ Davron introduced the three others and
added, ‘In fact, maid Keris Kaylen here is your new mistress and
mapmaker.’
The feelers
danced. ‘Kaylen? Kaylen? Would that be Piers Kaylen’s daughter,
milady?’
Davron
answered for her. ‘It would.’
‘Then I am
doubly honoured. Fine maps he makes. Fine indeed.’ The man called
for his sons as he led the horses away.
Keris muttered
to Davron, ‘Milord? Milady? You might be entitled, but
I
certainly am not.’
‘That’s the
way all ley-lit are addressed here, Keris. You are going to have to
get used to it, I’m afraid.’
She wrinkled
her nose and Corrian snorted.
Inside the
house Colibran’s wife, who was also tainted, made them welcome,
showed them the bedrooms, then bustled around talking of meals and
baths. She was a large woman with whiskers and kitten ears.
‘Come,’ said
Davron, ‘before you get plied with food and such, I’ll show you the
shop.’ Which was exactly what she most wanted to see, of course,
and he knew it.
It was all she
could have hoped for, and more. There was a theodolite in the
corner, complete with a telescope, worth a small fortune, she knew.
She fingered some of the parchment on the workbench and itched to
delve into the pile of maps on the shelf next to her. Davron saw
the way her eyes lingered on them and said, ‘We did look through
everything here, of course, looking for a clue about trompleri
maps, but the shop had been robbed by then, by the Mantis. And
apart from the maps, we didn’t know what to look for. Inks are just
inks to us.’ He nodded at the corked bottles on the bench. ‘Who
knows? They may be made of ley-drenched pigments.’
‘I’ll check
first thing in the morning.’ She shivered slightly, aware she was
stepping into a dead man’s shoes.
‘He wasn’t
killed here, you know. He died out in the Unstable. The Mantis was
with him, but managed to escape. We don’t think the Mantis betrayed
him, but rather just took advantage of the situation. He came back
here, telling no one what had happened, and stole the maps.
Probably he intended to sell them. Silly fool! The moment he tried
to sell one, both Havenbrethren and the Minions were on to him and
he had to flee. That’s probably when the first lot of maps were
destroyed—exactly how, we’ll never know.’
He came and
stood close to her. ‘Keris, I have something for you.’ He fumbled
in his jerkin pocket. ‘I bought it in the Fifth. I knew you’d need
it here if you came.’ He produced a ring and held it up.
‘You brought
me a ring?’ The enormity of the gesture left her breathless. She
was to wear jewellery. How Sheyli would have loved to have done
that! Instead she’d had to embroider lace on her underwear in
secret…
The ring was
gold and set all around with tiny ruby, emerald and sapphire chips.
She stared, disbelieving. ‘It’s beautiful!’ She was not sure how
she could come to terms with wearing such a thing. It seemed
sacrilegious.
‘Your finger,
milady?’
She held up
both hands, still bemused. She had no idea which finger to use.
‘Let’s try
this one for size.’ Careful not to touch her, he slipped it on to
the middle finger of her left hand. For a moment she stood admiring
it, then a single tear slid down her cheek. He reached out and
collected the drop on his fingertip. Still not touching her, he
place it on his tongue in an act of tenderness that choked her with
emotion. She covered her nose and mouth with steepled fingers,
watching him.
‘Don’t cry,’
he said gently. They were standing so close the buttons on his coat
brushed her breast. ‘You know, I used to feel perhaps you had the
right of it when you first found out what I was. You said it would
be better for us all if I died. But now, what you have found out
about the trompleri map has given me hope. It makes things—easier,
when you hope.’
‘I want—I
want—’ But she choked again.
‘I know. So do
I. Keris, perhaps it is better we do not see each other too
much—’
She shuddered.
‘I can’t bear it either way.’
‘I know.’
They looked at
each other helplessly.
‘I’m so afraid
for you,’ she whispered.
‘I know that
too.’
‘Promise …
promise me—’
‘I can’t make
any promises. When the time comes, I must do what I think is right,
and who can say now what that will be?’ He rushed on, changing the
subject. ‘I am going to the Hall now. That’s the City Hall. Meldor
and Scow and I have rooms there. It’s where all the administration
of Havenstar is done. I—I can’t afford ever to be far from Meldor,
you know. Not in Havenstar.’
She nodded and
dropped her hands away from her face. ‘I love you Davron of
Storre,’ she said and walked away from him, back into the main
rooms of the house.
~~~~~~~
He of darkness
who offers light; she of talent who bestows colour; he of betrayal
who shows courage; he of cowardice who is inconstant: apart they
are nothing, but together their sacrifice shall offer hope. Pray
that they prevail, for if not, Chaos shall. If even one should
falter, then the Margravate is lost.
—Predictions
XXII: 5: 1
On her first
morning in Deverli’s shop—
her
shop—Keris discovered that the
inks and paints he kept under his counter out of sight were made
with ley-soaked earths, pigments and minerals. They were all the
colours she could have wished for, not only the earth tints, but
cobalt blue, greens of all descriptions, reds, sun-gold and
moon-cream, shadow purples, sepia, devil’s black and chalk white.
There was a faint lambency to them that told her they were probably
infected with some kind of ley, but that was not unusual in
Havenstar. So many things, children included, had visible ley.
So, without
too much hope, she tried out all the colours, tracing an outline in
the ley-ink from one of her own maps, then colouring it with the
paints. No sooner had she filled in the lines than the hills and
trees and rocks leapt up out of the vellum at her. She stared,
gripped tight with emotion. Trompleri, in all its perfection. An
immediate three-dimensional map. But where had Deverli obtained
such a range of trompleri hues? Surely he could not have found all
the ingredients conveniently situated under ley lines.
She called
Colibran into the workroom of the shop to ask how much he knew
about the origin of the inks and colours.
One of his
feelers moved around to scratch the back of his head. ‘I don’t
really know, milady,’ he said, apologetic. ‘Milord Deverli was very
secretive and always, always out, you understand. He’d bring back
the ingredients for the paints and the Mantis’d mix them up here,
but he never said where they came from in the first place. Except
for the verdigris. He used to get that from old Graynix at the
metalmakers. Oh, and the chalk he used for white, I used to get
that from the herbalist in Solidarity Street. I think she uses it
in her medicines.’ Every time he emphasised a word, his feelers
would flick backwards in harmony. She had to concentrate to prevent
herself from nodding in rhythm.