Melissa McShane (3 page)

They ate in silence, as was also tradition among the older
theloi
of Atenas: roast duck, new potatoes, artichokes roasted in olive oil, with a light red wine Zerafine, not normally a wine drinker, enjoyed very much. She was conscious of being covered in road-dust and probably

smelling of sweat; they had been offered water to wash their faces and hands and feet, but nothing else. Of course no one would want to wait dinner on their guests’ ablutions, but Zerafine felt scruffy surrounded by such opulence. Even the utensils were of fine steel with carved olivewood handles. How on earth could Berenica afford such extravagances? Could Portena

really have so many ghosts? She felt certain Berenica was actually snubbing her under the cover of silence, and her irritation flowered into mild dislike.

Dinner was followed by a light sherbet garnished with mint leaves—an ice house was

another extravagance, but a welcome one—and chilled water for a palate-cleanser. Berenica rose from the table, a sign to the rest that they should follow, and moved to take a seat on one of the upholstered chairs. Zerafine chose to sit directly opposite her, Gerrard standing at attention behind her. Her chair was just the slightest bit shorter than Berenica’s; more accurately, Berenica’s seat was just that much taller than all the rest. Zerafine caught Darlen and Ricenz trading a glance of shared amusement as they sat on a nearby couch, and once again had to suppress her irritation. So, they liked seeing the young upstart humbled, did they? She owed Berenica at least the respect due her office, but her subordinates had no such protection.

“We’ve already seen one of the so-called ghosts as we made our way here,” she began,

pretending Berenica hadn’t just opened her mouth to speak.
It’s time you learned I’m not
someone you can manipulate to your benefit.
“Perhaps you can explain in more detail what’s been happening in Portena. I’m afraid the report we had at Atenar was...rather terse.”

“There’s little to tell,” Berenica said. “People are seeing images that interact with their surroundings, but have no substance. They fade after only a minute or so, often much less. And to the best of our observations, none of them are recently dead. You can imagine the outcry when someone sees his dear old mother, dead five years past, walking toward him on the garden path.”

“But they can’t possibly be ghosts,” Zerafine said.

“Not at all. Real ghosts are only visible because of the
seicorum
they accrete, and they certainly don’t take the shape of people. It’s not as if the citizens of Portena know nothing about real ghosts. This is a large city; we console some seventy or eighty ghosts every year, most of them by request of the family. But there’s no convincing them that these...these
apparitions
cannot possibly be ghosts. Fortunately, we’ve learned what they actually are.”

This was unexpected. Zerafine raised both eyebrows at Berenica to invite her to continue.

“They’re hallucinations, of course,” she said. “Figments of madness. The
theloi
of Sukman have declared their god’s involvement, and people are beginning to be convinced of the truth.”

“How interesting. If the truth is already known, then why bother to summon an emissary?”

Berenica appeared taken aback by the directness of the question. “I don’t know why the

Council does anything. They know I am too busy with the duties of the shrine to involve myself in mundane matters.”

“You certainly seem well-informed for someone who hasn’t taken an active role.”

“I’ve had to make statements about Atenas’s non-involvement in the situation, of course. It was my responsibility.”

Yes, and thank you so much for muddying the waters with your groundless assertions,

Zerafine thought. The apparitions might not be ghosts, but that didn’t mean Atenas wasn’t involved. But saying so would just make an already tense conversation openly antagonistic, so she merely said, “I’m sure you did your duty,” which was satisfyingly patronizing without giving Berenica grounds to openly accuse her of disrespect.

“It’s getting late. We shouldn’t keep you from your rest,” Gerrard said, breaking the silence in which he’d followed their exchange with fascination. Berenica looked at him as if she’d forgotten he existed, then rose from her chair so the rest could follow. Technically, as the
Marathelos
’s vicarious presence in Portena, Zerafine should have been the one to dismiss the gathering, but she was willing to throw the
tokthelis
a bone, at least this time.

“The Council offered to house you, but we thought, as you are a
thelis
of Atenas, to provide you with lodging in one of our properties,” Berenica said. She led the way out of the yard and to the house across the street, the other one that had lights burning in the courtyard. “I’ve arranged for servants to care for your needs, though I’m afraid they may have turned in for the night. I hope you don’t mind.”

Oh, that was a masterful stroke.
Zerafine mentally applauded. Turn the insult of not offering guest quarters in Berenica’s own home into a gesture over which she could not take offense; make Zerafine’s late-evening appearance justify the failure to give her full hospitality on her arrival. She’d have to take care not to underestimate Berenica again.

“Not at all, you’re too kind,” was all she said. “Thank you very much. You’ll excuse me if I don’t join you for morning ritual. I’ll be far too busy on the
Marathelos
’s business.” With that parting shot, she and Gerrard entered their temporary home.

The servants might have gone to bed, but they had left lights burning in hand-sized lanterns made of wrought iron and translucent white glass. The interior layout was almost identical to Berenica’s, minus the colorful décor; it looked as if it were rarely used. On the other hand, it had been well swept and dusted, and the unornamented furniture looked comfortable. Zerafine’s explorations led her first to a bedroom and then to a cavernous bathing chamber which appeared to have both hot and cold running water. Ah, civilization.

“I want the room with the chickens,” Gerrard said, looking over her shoulder into the

bathing room. He had removed his armor and helmet and his blond hair stuck up in tufts here and there. He looked as sweaty as she felt. “Sweet goddess of light, if I weren’t so tired I’d fall into that thing this minute.”

“And smack your brains out on the empty bottom of the bath.”

“And I wouldn’t even care.”

“Wait—what were you saying about the room with the...chickens?”

Gerrard showed her another door farther along the hallway. The bedrooms had been

decorated more lavishly than the sitting room—though that still wasn’t saying much—and

someone very fond of poultry had had their way with this one. The bedspread covering the

narrow bed had been embroidered with rooster heads. A mural of a pastoral scene adorned the wall opposite the bed, with chickens heavily featured therein and a proud rooster stretching out its neck to crow from atop a fence post. The wooden clothes cabinet was carved with a pair of chickens that, when the doors were shut, appeared to kiss. Even the oaken bedposts were tipped with small, perfectly carved chicks.

“You’re not serious,” Zerafine said. “It’s like a farmer’s nightmare in here.”

“There is the chance that I’ll have dreams about ghostly chickens trying to lay eggs in my hair,” Gerrard admitted, “but it’s got a sort of whimsy to it, don’t you think?”

“My room has flowers. Lots of flowers. Berenica is a very nasty person indeed. She

practically had to host us, to show the Council that there are still matters in which she has control, but she won’t provide more than the bare minimum of hospitality to avoid insult.”

“I didn’t like that story she told. They aren’t ghosts, but we’re needed here anyway to tell people they aren’t ghosts? Either she’s stupid or she thinks we are.”

“I’m guessing the latter. She certainly believes she can lead me around by the nose—not to mention believing her efforts toward controlling me would matter. I don’t think she understands what I’m doing here. She’s so wrapped up in herself that as far as she’s concerned, the traditional role of the
theloi
of Atenas as consolers of the dead is all that matters. It infuriates her that she can’t just say ‘they aren’t ghosts’ and have the problem just disappear.”

Gerrard blew out a hard breath. “Are you sure we can’t just poke around a little, give the Council an answer they’ll like, and move on? This really isn’t what we’re trained for.”

“I know, but I accepted the
Marathelos
’s commission, and I mean to do him proud. I at least need to speak to the Council. I’m not sure whether they simply want me to find out what’s going on, or if they expect me to do something about it. Either way, we’ll stay as long as it takes for me to fulfill my word. But more importantly, we’ve been traveling rough for four months and I think we’re due a rest.”

“We stopped at Atenar two weeks ago.”

“Yes, but we only stayed overnight, and the holy city doesn’t have nearly the amenities of Portena.”

“The city’s going to be hottest during Ailausor,” Gerrard said.

“It will still have theater and good restaurants and sport and a lovely bath with a cold water tap.”

“I forgot about the bath.”

“Well, keep forgetting, because I plan to bathe first tomorrow morning.”

“It’ll cost you a thal a day,” said Karra. Her lean, brown face showed no fear at dealing with one of Atenas’s servants, though admittedly she was dealing with
sentare
and not
thelis
. Zerafine was used to letting Gerrard handle the money aspect of their partnership, though he had a tendency to over-tip; he was in every other way very careful about their expenses.

“A
thal
?” Gerrard exclaimed. “Six parses and not a soldi more. You don’t make more than that on the girl’s labor in a day.” He’d left his armor and helmet behind, since their business here was unlikely to involve consoling ghosts, but his bulk was still intimidating. Or should have been; the sharp-faced woman seemed not to think him a threat.

“I still have to pay for her upkeep,” Karra said. “Nine parses, then.”

“Seven and a half. We’ll pay for her upkeep.”

“That hardly covers my costs! She’s one of my best runners. You’ll pay eight and be

grateful for the bargain.”

Nacalia watched the byplay with eager curiosity. She was probably nine or ten years old,

sharp-faced, with curly black hair and a spattering of what were either freckles or dirt. She’d need a bath and some new clothes if she were going to be a representative of Atenas, even indirectly.

Gerrard appeared to be thinking hard, though Zerafine knew him well enough to tell that

he’d already come up with a plan and was about to sell it hard. “You know, the girl won’t earn any tips while she’s with us,” he said. “How about we call it ten parses on the condition you split it equally with her.”

Karra’s eyes gleamed. “Deal,” she said, and stuck out her hand to seal it with a shake.

Gerrard gripped her hand briefly, then dipped into his pouch and pulled out six large silver coins.

“For the week,” he said, “and we’ll settle up at the end of our stay for however longer we keep her.”

Karra handed half the coins to Nacalia and stowed the rest away somewhere on her person.

“Don’t think about cheating me,” she warned Gerrard.

“I’m sorry, did you just suggest that we might?” Zerafine said mildly.

Karra’s face went pale under her tan. “No,
thelis
,” she said after a moment’s pause to collect herself. “No offense meant.”

“None taken, I’m sure. Come along, Nacalia.” Zerafine turned on her heel and walked away, leaving her companions to catch up to her.

Nacalia giggled and skipped like the child she was instead of the tiny adult she’d been the night before. “Oh, madama, I never saw Karra looking like that before! One parsis less than she wanted! She’s hard mean most times and nobody bests her at nothing, I swear. Thank you for taking me on, madama!”

“You’re welcome, Nacalia, and please stop bouncing,” Zerafine said. “Thank you. Now, you

should call me
thelis
in public, not madama, and you may call me Zerafine in private so long as you don’t mix up the two. People will think you’re being rude. This is my
sentare
, Gerrard; you call him
sentare
or Gerrard.”

“
Sentare
,” Nacalia said, pronouncing all three syllables distinctly. “Is that like a bodyguard?”

“Something like,” Zerafine said. “Bodyguard and traveling companion and ghost-wrangler.

Now, it’s the baths and the clothier’s for you. You can’t work for me and look like a

ragamuffin.”

“New clothes,” said Nacalia, stricken. “Mada—I mean,
thelis
, I can’t wear new clothes in my mam’s quarters, I’ll get stuff thrown at me. I don’t favor letting you down right off, but I just can’t.”

“It will be more convenient if you just stay with me for the duration. If your mother doesn’t mind.”

Gerrard looked mildly shocked at the idea that they might invite a street urchin to share their quarters, but kept his mouth shut. Nacalia looked surprised, then eager. “Oh yes,
thelis
, mam will be fine pleased to have me out of her hair for a bit. Only—” She cast her eyes down. “I need to take this lot home to her, as she depends on me to help.”

“Take us to the Capitol building first,” Zerafine said.

Though the main street leading away from the city gate seemed to cut straight to the heart of the city, Nacalia had a fondness for side streets that intersected crazily and dodged through parts of the city ranging from very poor to upscale and wealthy. As they crossed an intersection where shifty-eyed young men loitered in every doorway, Gerrard moved closer to Zerafine, his

attention pulled in all directions. “Should I be worried?” Zerafine asked in a low voice. Her eyes lingered on a man in a dirty smock who leered at her, then blinked and let his mouth fall open in a slack-jawed gape.