In Her Shadow (5 page)

Dux Lucius spent the day inspecting the barracks and armory of his garrison. The men were quick with their salutes, and well-drilled. In the absence of a real commander, Captain Marcus, the garrison's second in command, had taken over and established order. Though the soldiers were disciplined and trained, the once great fortress-keep they lived in looked as if bricks had been removed – probably sold off. The weapons and arms in the armory too, pawned by the last Dux to pirates.

Marcus was a good soldier, but he wasn't rich. No amount of training made up for the garrison's lack of basic supplies. It was little wonder the soldiers were ineffective against the thieves running the city.

Upon completing his inspection, Lucius drew up a list of the things he'd need and made estimates for requisitions. No telling if he'd be reimbursed or not. An old curse of the Regnal aristocracy, commanders were expected to be rich enough to cover any costs until the Emperor decided to reimburse them – assuming he chose too. It might not matter anyway, because the clerk who helped Lucius draw the list up told him any supplies they ordered from overseas would come through the docks, and would surely be looted. Lucius would have to pay off the longshoreman's guild to get what he'd ordered safely delivered. Even then, the abbey wanted a weak imperial presence.

"Which means they're likely to put an elbow on the longshoreman's guild so that – even if I pay them off – I get robbed blind and my supplies don't make it anyway."

"Just so, Dux Lucius."

"Suggestions?"

The clerk furrowed his bushy brows. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"Do you have any suggestions? Why do you look so surprised?"

"No one's ever asked me for my opinion before."

"Why not? You're the clerk, possibly the most educated man in this command."

"Uh – thank you, sir."

"Never mind, just tell me."

The clerk leaned back in his chair, his gaze intense as he turned the problem over in his mind. "Do you have the money to out bribe the abbey?"

"Not even close."

"I doubt it would matter if you did anyway. You're new here – an unknown mover with no political cache. The longshoreman's guild would rather deal with the devil they know. They're one of the richest guilds in the city. They won't be eager to go against the abbey and upset the established order."

"What if we do the hauling ourselves?"

The clerk's face blanched. "No sir! Under no circumstances! The whole city would revolt!" The clerk held the list up and shook it. "You wrote this, you know what sort of shape the garrison is in. We'd never be able to handle it. Even so, the pirates might get to your supplies off shore before you got the chance to try."

"What then?"

The clerk cleared his throat.

"Don't avoid the question. I won't punish you for honesty."

"Alright, sir. Approach the abbey and make peace with them. I mean, that's part of the reason you're here anyway, right? Make inroads of you own accord. Don't be at the behest of your father's connections. Take the initiative."

Dux Lucius considered the clerk's words as the poor man squirmed waiting for a reply. An unfortunate side effect of always being in control of one's emotions was that others tended to fill the void with their own worries. Surely this slight man with the big eyebrows thought he'd said something to offend his new commander. But he hadn't. "I suppose you're right," said Lucius, "but I'm not sure where to start."

The clerk visibly relaxed. "That's easy, Dux Lucius, just go there. I doubt the Abbess of Night will refuse an audience with you."

Lucius wasn't completely convinced, but he was willing to try.

***

His work done for the day – not done really, it would never be done, but unable to realistically do more – Lucius trudged through the streets. It was safe during the day, or so they said, but he went armed anyway. He wasn't a fool, and wouldn't be made one by being set upon unarmed.

While he walked, he eyed the comings and goings of Ankshara's citizens, making mental notes of high places and choke points. The clerk's words wriggled like worms in his head. Lucius might be able to stave off one riot, but given the situation in the city, and his father's plans to clean it up, there would be a reckoning eventually.

Eventually? It had already begun if assassins had been sent after him. But sent by whom? Rich merchants? Pirates? The abbey seemed like the most obvious source, but that was ridiculous. For all her posturing, it was Lucius's understanding the Abbess of Night was no fool. Not exactly a broken woman, but an opportunist who knew to change tack when the winds shifted. Every movement she'd made so far indicated she planed to do just that, adapt to the new regime. But, if she were losing power, that might mean the people beneath her were willing to step up. So perhaps it was a consortium of thieves, burglars, smugglers or other thugs that had, without her permission, sought to strike against the man who threatened their livelihoods.

The clerk's reasoning was sound. Why not approach the Abbess of Night for help? If anyone could tighten the reigns on Ankshara's lowlifes, it was her. His father would be forced to implement his reforms slower than he'd hope, but with the abbey's assistance, the transition would go much smoother. Not the sudden sweeping clean the Governor had envisioned, but it would get the job done in the long run. Lucius thought it was a good plan.

Still, playing so close to the edge of darkness made him uncomfortable. "A moth who drew too near a flame was likely to get burned. But a moth with no flame was as likely to get lost." A convoluted, if accurate, truism from the Disciples of old.

Worse was his upcoming marriage. Between the assassination attempt and his duties at the garrison, he'd barely given it any thought. As he wandered the streets in the dying light of day, however, his thoughts kept turned to Britta. He saw her in his mind's eye: her hair, her eyes, her smile, the way she threw herself in front of him as she commanded their muggers away. "Know thy self," the Disciples taught. He knew he was attracted to her. He hated himself for it.

This marriage was supposed to be a political transaction. He couldn't afford emotional attachment to anyone except his immediate family. Even then he worried. His father was old, had lived a good life. If he should die, Dux Lucius would grieve as proper for any son, but if Ava died. . . He couldn't bring himself to even consider the thought. Proof that he was a long way from truly ruling his emotions. When Shavana, his first wife, died, it had almost broken him. That was the reason he'd studied with the Disciples of the Sun Triumphant. He didn't want to hurt anymore. After a while, through proper affirmations, meditations and exercises, he'd learned not to. Time too. Time helped, he wasn't a fool. But perhaps the healing was a little quicker. Though the painful memories of her slow, miserable death lingered, they weren't the open wounds they once were. He dare not ever love again, however; he couldn't stand to lose another.

His thoughts fell away like autumn leaves as he approached the abbey's gates. Old and worn, their time long gone, his assessment of the abbey's power appeared correct: it was waning. The rusted open, wrought iron gates proved that. So did the overgrown lawn whose grass sprouted up between the stone steps leading to the front porch. With its dark smooth stones piled into arched windows and doors, the abbey's tower loomed over him. The bottom, it was said, held a ballroom. Not unusual for Ankshara, but this one had once been the center of the priestesses' trade. A bawdy house, its lights now dim to the outside world. Why would the cloaked sisters possibly want to help him? His people had broken them. Their time was done. Surely their resentment would taint any attempted alliance.

Standing at the abbey's massive, oak front door, Lucius realized he'd made a mistake.  He was about to leave when the door creaked open. A woman dressed from head to foot in a black cloak and veil peeked out. Even her eyes were covered by thin gauze, but her darting head made Lucius think she could see through it. "Come back after dark," she said. "We don't like doing our business here, but we will. Just not before dusk. You must be fresh off the boat."

"Well," he said, "I am fresh off the boat, but I'm not here for–" He stopped, trying to think of the right word. "That."

"Whatever your business, it's not to be done in the light of day." She backed away into the darkness of the hall behind her and began to shut the door.

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

"I'm not – I'm not here to do any business that needs be hidden away. I'm not here to take a bribe or leave one. I'm not here to engage one of your priestesses for the night."

"Then why are you here?"

A thousand thoughts rushed through his head as he tried to pick out the right one, but too quickly and he found it hard to decide which was best. Which answer would leave him in a position of strength? "I am Dux Lucius."

"So you are here for a bribe, or to engage one of our priestesses," she said, and he could hear the smirk in her words.

"Please–" Again, Dux Lucius stopped himself short. Please? Really? So much for a position of strength.

"Please what?"

"I'm here to see the Abbess of Night."

"Then you certainly must come back after dusk, not before. She sees no one between sunrise and sunset. You understand? No one."

"Oh, uh. Then I apologize. I should have known."

"Yes, you should have."

"When would be a good time to–"

"Just shut the door in his face, Britta," called someone from behind the veiled woman.

She laughed and shut the door. Dux Lucius stood, blinking at where she'd stood.

***

"You shouldn't play with men like that," said Weboshi.

Britta leaned with her back against the door, trying to catch her breath from laughing. She pulled the veil off so she could wipe her eyes. "Come on, Weboshi. A little harmless fun. And if anyone could use it, it's that great old bore. You should have seen the look on his face! I didn't know planks of wood could look so surprised."

"You shouldn't push him. Men are dangerous."

Were they, though? The only men the priestesses knew were the type they met at the docks. Even with their authority, they weren't completely immune to the occasional sadist who lost himself in his hatred for all things female. She'd seen the scars on Weboshi's back, and more than a few cloaked sisters carried theirs deeper than flesh. But not all men were that way, they couldn't be.

"I don't think he is dangerous," she said.

"You think that sword is for show?"

"No, of course not. But–"

"But nothing. He's a soldier, the son of a conqueror. He's the new commander of the city's garrison. Men are dangerous, New Moon." Weboshi grit her teeth, her dark eyes reflecting little embers of candle light. "Regnal men most of all. Why do you think we had you go armed to your first meeting?"

Britta laughed.

"It's not funny."

"No, I know. It's just – I forgot all about the knife you gave me, even when we were attacked. Kept it tucked in my back the whole time."

"As long as you have it on you at all times when you're out and about."

"Do you really think he's that dangerous? That stiff neck? Anyway, we're to be married."

"Just because you're to be married doesn't mean you'll want his paws all over you."

"Maybe I will. You don't know."

Weboshi thrust her chin out and squint. "I thought you said he's a bore."

"He is. But that was my first impression. Not fair to judge a man from a first impression. I mean, if you'd seen the look on his face when he found out it was me. . ."

"Don't tell me he's charmed you."

"I don't know. Maybe. He is handsome."

Weboshi's jaw flexed, but she didn't say anything.

"Is something wrong?"

"I've left something cooking down in the kitchen." Weboshi bowed her head, then ducked towards the secret passage. "If you'll excuse me, New Moon."

Lucius was a quarter way home when he stopped mid-step and turned back towards the abbey. He'd been embarrassed, and walking home was an admission of defeat. He couldn't stand for either. He wasn't some moonstruck young teen, waiting for the woman he pined for to show him favor with a handkerchief or chaste kiss sent on the wind. He was a warrior, a leader, a philosopher, an adult. They could giggle all they wanted – she could giggle all she wanted – but he wouldn't let it get to him. The best response wasn't retreat, but to face the situation head on. What he should have done was stay right where he stood until the sun went down and then knocked again. They'd get the hint he wasn't to be trifled with.

His retreat wasn't the only reason for his embarrassment. He'd considered it his duty to read everything he could get his hands on about the priestesses, their abbey and the city before he arrived. But the sisters of the abbey were as good at hiding details about themselves as they were about hiding their business. It was hard to find information about them beyond the broadest and breeziest of tenets. Still, there was enough in the literature he should have guessed daylight would be taboo to them.

Daylight.

Years of practice kept the laugh buried deep inside his chest, and his mind glossed over the humor before it even consciously registered.

When he made it back to the abbey, he sat on a stump off the side of the path. It was only a few minutes before sunset, but yet he waited, giving the priestesses plenty of time to bath and eat and do whatever ritual acts they needed to start the liturgical day. When the first handful trickled out of the front door, dressed in gauzy dark silks that hinted at the nude mysteries beneath, they seemed surprised to see him sitting there. They passed him by, hands to mouths as they suppressed giggles. Despite his attempt to approach the situation with his dignity intact, they managed to find a reason to laugh at him.

He snatched one of the girls by the upper arm as she passed, pulling her away from the other girls who gathered by the old gate and waited for their companion.

"Why are they laughing at me?" he asked.

"They're not laughing at you, exactly," said the priestess.

"No?"

She shook her head.

"Then what is it?"

"They think it's sweet you've come to see your lady love."

There were a lot of natural emotional responses that could be retrained, dulled through years of practice. Blushing was not one of them, and as his face burst into flame, the blaze only intensified knowing it was exposed for all to see. "I'm here to speak with the Abbess of Night."

"Sure," said the priestess around the faintest trace of a smirk.

"I am."

"Okay."

He let her go before he gripped too tight and hurt her. "What do I do?"

"Knock on the door. No challenge there. You've done it once, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Good then." She started towards the gaggle of priestesses waiting for her.

"I am," said Dux Lucius after her, "here to see the Abbess of Night. Not Britta."

The priestess looked over her shoulder just long enough to flash him a smile. "Okay," she said again, then joined her companions. They all giggled and whispered to each other as she absorbed into the crowd of them.

He knocked for a second time that evening. No one answered. He leaned against the porch railing while he waited. Was Britta here? Was she out with the other priestesses? He might not have spotted her if she were in disguise, much as he hadn't realized it was her who'd answered the door before. No, she couldn't have been with the others. Those were priestess-prostitutes. Though the abbey was a religion of great liars, their New Moon was too valuable to risk on the dirty streets of Ankshara. But then, where was she? Why hadn't anyone answered the door?

He knocked again, louder this time. Half-expecting no one to answer, he began to pace the porch, stepping heel to toe, listening to the sound of his hard-soled boots clack against the worn wood.

"Hello?"

Dux Lucius swiveled around. He hadn't even heard the door creak open. Framed in the doorway stood a beautiful middle aged woman with dark hair and eyes – eyes unlike he'd ever seen in his travels. "Yes," he said. "I'm Dux Lucius. I'm here to see–" Britta's name almost slipped from between his lips. "The Abbess of Night."

"Your business?" the woman asked.

"I just told you: I'm Dux Lucius."

The woman scowled. "I know who you are."

"Then you should know my business. Now let me in at once."

"No. I'll–"

But before she could finish her statement, another voice echoed like a whisper on the breeze from the darkness behind her. "Let him in, Weboshi."

The woman at the door bowed her head. "As you wish." She opened the door and beckoned Dux Lucius through.

The inside of the abbey was as threadbare as the outside. Braziers of incense burning in the corners barely covered the faint scent of mold and moss. Candles flickered wildly, their flames tossed about by drafts through the walls. The whole place stood in contrast to the Governor's manse because, down here on the bottom floor, they seemed very much alike in construction. Intentionally, maybe. His father's home wasn't built but taken, and therefor didn't follow the traditional architecture of a Regnal home. Yes, the two buildings were alike in some ways, but very different in others. The dimness, for one. Also to be expected, though from the broken chandelier dangling above the ballroom floor and the tarnished candelabras in the corners, the space could be lit up completely if the sisters wished it – and clearly once had, back when the abbey was the center of Ankshara's night life. The boarded up doors lining the walls spoke to this history as well. He wondered what lay behind them.

No, the empire hadn't been able to shut the abbey or its wicked goddess down. No, they hadn't been able to tame her or bring her into the fold of their own, cosmopolitan pantheon, but the day was coming. Soon, this abbey would be a formality, the sisters' thealogy theoretical, mystical, but in no way practical, no way a threat to the empire or its people. Eventually, even the night would serve the Sun Triumphant. The very fact the empire had brought this old guild of thief-priestesses so low was proof enough of that. And his marriage would be the final shovelful of dirt atop this religion's grave.

"This way," Weboshi said, sweeping her arm out towards a spiral staircase. He followed her upwards, around and around, skipping floors with more doors boarded shut. The stairs wobbled beneath his feet, and he wondered if the levels had been cordoned off for safety's sake. This is what Britta had grown up in, riches turned to squalor – the dusty memories of glories long gone. What was it like? Barring some grave misfortune, Lucius would never know. One day the empire he'd sworn his life to would crumble like this. The sun set on everything, eventually. Yes, it always rose again, but the works of man were temporary. Dux Lucius took tromping through the ruins of this once great tower as a lesson.

"We're here," Weboshi said as she stopped before a nondescript door. "Mind you don't bang your toes."

Dux Lucius understood why after she shut the door behind him. The room was perfectly dark and quiet. His eyes bulged, trying to make anything out in the formless black. "Hello," he said, his voice a husky whisper though he did not know why. Fear? Reverence? He cleared his throat and said "Hello" again, this time louder, firmer.

Something in the corner of the room moved. He couldn't see it, exactly, but heard cloth ruffle and felt the air move as it glided towards him. Then there was a face, pale and white. The Abbess of Night, he presumed. But he wasn't startled, or if he was, only vaguely. Of all the emotions he'd learned to master, fear was the first and foremost. The Disciples of the Sun Triumphant taught courage as the beginning of wisdom. Lucius had spent long hours facing the things that terrified him most, meditating on them, eliminating his responses to them. With ruthless logic, he sought the source of each and every one, strangling it before it was given birth. He did this now, recognizing the dark, her voice, the way she appeared from nowhere, as ways to disorient him, throw him off his emotional balance so that she might have the upper hand in their negotiations.

"Sit," she said.

Dux Lucius did not sit.

"Why have you come here?" she asked.

"Last night I was attacked."

"I know," she said. "I didn't think you'd come to me with something so petty, though. If you want them dealt with, however, I supposed that can be arranged. I know who they are. Sailors already put out to sea. Out of my reach for now, but if they set foot in the city again–"

"No."

The Abbess of Night's scowled, then faded back into a neutral smile. "I'm not used to being interrupted."

"I'm not used to being lied to."

The old woman scowled again, but there was something else there, something underneath the expression. "Lied to?"

"Was the mugging meant to mask what happened later?"

"Surely I don't know of what you speak."

Another lesson the Disciples taught was that one must learn to see emotions in others. He'd never been great at it – few were – but hers were plainly etched among the lines of her face: confusion. Or was that a put on?

"Plausible deniability?" he asked. "Is that the game?"

"If you are trying to impugn my reputation as an honest and honorable woman–"

"If you are an honest and honorable woman, then let us speak clearly."

The Abbess of Night gave a slight nod. "Let's."

"After I returned home, I was attacked attacked again by a masked knife-man. I killed him, but if I weren't so experienced with ambushes I would have died."

"Oh my."

Was her surprise genuine? Dux Lucius didn't care. "'Oh my,' indeed. And though he wasn't alone, only he assaulted me. The others, shall we say, faded into the night."

The Abbess of Night's face vanished in the darkness. "This happened?"

"Now who is accusing who of being dishonest?"

There followed silence. He stood, alone in the dark, the only sound his own breath as he counted each inhale and exhale in even, calming beats. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"You know there is."

"You didn't know about it."

Silence.

"You didn't know about it, and you know everything that happens in the city."

More silence.

"Someone has done something outside your control and you're angry."

More silence.

Dux Lucius took a step forward, chest out and chin high. "This city is changing, sliding out from between your fingers and you can do nothing to stop it."

"Enough!" Her voice rattled the floorboards.

"What are you going to do? Send men to kill me?" He stopped himself before going any further. That last sentence had been a mistake, and he knew it as soon as it escaped his lips. "I apologize," he said. "That was uncalled for. I'm not here to make an enemy of you, Abbess of Night."

"Oh? And then why are you here?"

"To make an ally of you."

"We're already allies."

Dux Lucius shook his head. "No, we're not. We're at peace, but we're not allies."

"Then what do you suggest?"

Now it was his turn to remain silent as he tossed around in his mind for something solid.

"You haven't thought this through, have you?"

"No."

"You're an honest man, at least."

"Thank you."

"This is not a city for honest men."

"It will be, Abbess of Night. That's why I've come here. Whether you like it or not – whether I'm here or some other Dux or Governor – the darkness that infests Ankshara is fading. You have a choice: help us and retain some semblance of your power, or be blinded when the empire banishes the last of this city's shadows."

"Is that all?" the Abbess of Night asked.

"For now."

"Then leave." But there was no harshness to her words. Perhaps she too sought to control her emotions, at least in this diplomatic instance where revealing her true feelings might give Lucius an edge. It was hard to say.

"As you wish," he said with a curt bow of the head. As he stepped out of the room, he found Weboshi standing off to the side. Had she been eavesdropping? A paranoid thought. Most likely she was the Abbess of Night's handmaid, always on hand to do whatever her abbess commanded. "Can you point me to where Britta might be?" he asked her, thinking it a poor diplomacy to stop by and not call on his future wife.

Weboshi's jaw clenched. "I can point you out."

"Hm. I can find my way out."

And he did.