Melissa McShane (7 page)

“I suppose it will really annoy Berenica if we don’t finish quickly and move on.”

“Who’s Berenica?” Nacalia asked. Relieved temporarily of guide duties, she was amusing

herself by dancing ahead of them and swinging back around in large swooping circles.

“That’s madama
tokthelis
to you, whelp,” Gerrard said. “Anyway, who says Genedirou is interested in help from a
thelis
not even of his faith?”

“Mam says the
tokthelos
of Sukman is crazy,” Nacalia chirped. “He’s as loony as a bag full of cats. He’s got a head full of butterflies drunk on rum. He—”

“The
theloi
of Sukman are not crazy, Nacalia,” Zerafine chided her. “You’d better not talk like that when we get to the sanctuary.”

“Better not to talk at all, disrespectful whelp that you are,” Gerrard said with a grin, tousling her wild black locks.

“No, sirrah,” she said, and then added, in a tiny voice, “They won’t make me crazy, will

they?”

“You don’t have anything to fear from them, little one.” Zerafine shaded her eyes. “What on earth is that?”

They were at that moment passing the temple of Kalindi. Not so far ahead, a roiling mass of people thronged the plaza, their movement centered on one point. Gerrard nudged Zerafine, and the three climbed the temple steps to the first landing to get a better look. The central point turned out to be the temple of Sukman. From their vantage point, they could see a small figure emerge from the sanctuary and raise its arms as if in benediction upon the crowd.

“Should we join them? I’d like to hear what he has to say,” said Zerafine.

“I’d feel happier if we weren’t part of that crowd. I don’t like how they’re crushed together,”

Gerrard replied. “Besides, you can guess what he’s saying. ‘Behold, the displeasure of Sukman is upon you, be humble and donate more, yea verily.’”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Zerafine chided him, but with a smile. “Though I admit the
thelos

Rovalt implied something like that. Or, at any rate, that Genedirou would like for this to be Sukman’s responsibility. But I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s not easy to serve Sukman at any time, much less under these circumstances.”

They watched as the small figure led the crowd in some sort of complicated ritual dance, the sound of chanting carried to their ears by the light wind. At their distance they couldn’t make out the words, though since this was a ritual of Sukman, the words might not make any sense. When the crowd began to disperse, Gerrard led them down the stairs and across the plaza to the temple.

The worshippers they passed seemed exhausted and not a little downcast. Unusual, Zerafine reflected, given that temple ceremonies were supposed to make one feel better, not worse.

A steady stream of worshippers continued to file up the steps and into the sanctuary.

Zerafine shamelessly used the power of the red robe to push her way past the line of people, Gerrard and Nacalia trailing in her wake. At the basin, Rovalt was anointing each worshipper with water and a murmured blessing. His ceremonial robe of silk and velvet patchwork was far nicer than the clothes she’d seen him in that morning. He caught her eye and nodded toward the office they’d met in earlier that day. Zerafine cast her eye on Nacalia, who appeared suitably subdued, then led their little group down the hallway.

Genedirou was a tall, middle-aged man whose lean physique was interrupted by a small

potbelly that threatened to grow larger. His crazily embroidered robe hung open over a loose shirt and long trousers, and his feet were bare. He stood next to the empty fireplace as if in contemplation, ignoring their entrance, then looked up a moment later as if he’d only just heard them come in. Zerafine was fairly certain he was simply being dramatic. “Welcome,
thelis
, Rovalt told me you were coming,” he said, his voice gravelly in a pleasant way. “I am
tokthelos
Genedirou.”

“Zerafine of Dardagne,” she replied, saluting him as an equal. “My
sentare
, Gerrard of Kionnar.” She didn’t bother introducing Nacalia; he wouldn’t expect her to. “Thank you for taking time to meet with us.”

“Anything for the
theloi
of Atenas,” he said, indicating that she should sit; Gerrard, naturally, continued to stand at attention, and Nacalia hid behind him. Genedirou took the seat opposite her. “Though I have to tell you, meaning no offense, that I’m surprised you’ve bothered to remain, seeing as how this is clearly the responsibility of Sukman.”

“No offense taken,” Zerafine said, excusing herself a little white lie. “But it was the Council who requested an emissary from Atenar, not the temple acting on its own initiative, so I’m obligated to conduct an impartial investigation.” She resisted the urge to put emphasis on the word “investigation.” “But I’d like to know what you think.”

“An investigation?” Genedirou sounded surprised, which was natural, but also a trifle angry, which was not. “What do you mean, investigation?”

Zerafine cocked an eyebrow. She decided to pretend disingenuousness. “Investigation is part of my responsibility, you know. I interacted with one of the apparitions just half an hour ago. I was surprised to find it had no substance—”

“No substance apparent to mortal eye, yes,” Genedirou said. He clasped his hands together in his lap. “You were very fortunate in your encounter. These figments of Sukman’s madness have been known to drive people mad themselves. I’ll have to ask you not to interfere with them again. For your safety.”

Patronizing
and
pulling rank, eh? We’ll see how far that will take you
. Zerafine smiled.

“What do you mean, ‘figments of Sukman’s madness’?” she asked, making no promises.

Genedirou sat back in his chair. “Our Lord is, of course, profoundly mad,” he said. He

sounded more like a bored schoolmaster than a
thelos
. “We care for those He touches, though we cannot cure them, and we attempt to reach Him in His madness by embracing madness

ourselves, though temporarily. Now, however, Sukman’s anger at this city’s pride and

selfishness has manifested itself in these illusions, visible to some as a warning to all. I have been able to banish many of these illusions, though at great cost to myself, and my
theloi
labor daily to guide the people in worship that Our Lord might turn His wrath away.”

“Have you any idea what Sukman might want? What could possibly turn His wrath away?”

Genedirou gave Zerafine a narrow-eyed look, but she returned it with one of innocent

concern. “More humility in their treatment of others,” he said. “More generosity in dealing with their fellow men and women. Sukman’s mind is hard to read at the best of times, but in this time of greater madness, it’s almost impossible to know the truth. The outpouring of support for our temple is certainly a heartening sign.”

“I saw the noonday ritual,” Zerafine said, “though I regret I was too far away to observe closely. I imagine worshippers have also been very generous to the temple.”

Genedirou nodded sharply. “Money is of little consequence to us; you’ve seen how we live.

But Sukman’s work is always aided by...financial support.” He clasped his hands so tightly that his knuckles showed white against his olive skin.

“I understand,” she said with sweet, false sincerity. “Sirrah, I thank you for your time.

You’ve certainly cleared up a lot of my questions.”

Genedirou rose when she did, and saluted her perfunctorily. “I hope your visit here won’t be entirely wasted on our problems,” he said. “And that your...investigation...will be swiftly concluded.”

“Oh, we’ve decided to stay here for a few weeks anyway,” Zerafine said cheerily, and was

rewarded with Genedirou’s tightening all his facial muscles at once. “We’ve been traveling for so many months, I think we’ve earned some rest, even if it
is
during the height of the summer heat. I find Ailausor to be so
draining
, don’t you?”

They exchanged a few more inconsequentialities, then Zerafine took her leave. The three

were silent as they crossed the sanctuary, still full of people, but Zerafine took a moment to salute Rovalt, who nodded in return. Back on the street, they walked for a while in silence, Nacalia running ahead, until Zerafine said, “Well?”

“He’s milking this thing for all he can get out of it,” Gerrard said. “He was
definitely
not happy that you were meddling in what he thinks of as his affairs.”

“Agreed. I would bet he has no idea what these apparitions really are.”

“And yet he has some way of making them disappear and stay disappeared.”

“So it might still have something to do with Sukman.”

Gerrard scratched his beard. “Possibly. My impression is that Genedirou really believes

Sukman is behind it all, but he’s sort of flailing around and has happened upon something that works.”

Zerafine sighed. “If it’s true that Sukman is responsible, then that makes it none of our business, except that the
Marathelos
gave me the responsibility, which makes it my business again. And the Council wants me to be part of the solution, whatever Genedirou says. So it’s my business twice over.”

“I’ll be happy when this is all over. Almost nobody involved really wants us here. Even the Council wishes we weren’t necessary.” Gerrard stopped. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Where is
Nacalia
?”

They had been following her without thinking, and now found themselves in a warren of

tiny streets and tall apartment houses of lath and stone. Nacalia had vanished. Gerrard cursed. “I knew I should have been paying closer attention to her.”

“She wouldn’t have run off and left us.”

“No, but she might have gotten too far ahead. She’s sort of flighty sometimes.”

They moved to the side of the road and watched the traffic for sign of their little guide. After about five minutes, Nacalia ran up to them from a completely unexpected direction. She was wide-eyed and harried.

“Where did you run off to?” Gerrard thundered.

“Don’t growl,” Zerafine said. She crouched down to Nacalia’s eye level. “The girl is

terrified.”

“Can’t imagine
her
being afraid of anything on these streets,” Gerrard muttered.

“Madama
thelis
,
sentare
, I...I got lost!” Nacalia exclaimed, and burst into tears.

“Oh, little one, that’s not so bad—”

“It
is
,
thelis
, it
is
!” Nacalia was beside herself. “I ha’nt never been lost on these streets, not once my whole life long, and I turned a corner along the way to your place and I swear it wa’nt there, and when I turn around the road I come down was the wrong road. Took me an age and some to find my way back to you.” She wiped her eyes and her nose. “I swear it,
thelis
. Don’t send me back!”

“I believe you,” said Zerafine, glancing at Gerrard, who merely shrugged, “and I’m not

going to send you back. Let’s stick closer together this time, and if anything happens, at least we’ll all be together. But I’m sure you won’t get lost again.”

They didn’t get lost. In just a few minutes’ time they were back at the Atenas compound, as Zerafine had begun to think of it, with no trouble. A traveling coach of great size and gaudiness stood outside their door, its perfectly matched bearers lounging around the gate. Gerrard tensed and looked ready for action, but the men only straightened to attention as the little party approached, with one man stepping out of the way as Gerrard reached for the gate.

As they approached the house, they could hear the murmur of voices within. Zerafine

motioned for Gerrard and Nacalia to remain silent, and she went quietly forward until she could make out words.

“—old sour-patch like Berenica, so just sweet-talk her and keep her out of the way.” That was a woman, young but not too young, with a sharp edge to her voice.

“Kalindi save me from old sour-patches I have to flirt with,” said a second person, male, of indeterminate age. “She’ll probably keep herself out of the way, eager for her comforts and not interested in our problems, emissary or not.”

Zerafine raised her eyebrows. She threw the door open and swept in, Gerrard a step behind.

“This old sour-patch is most definitely interested in your problems,” she announced. “But I’ll be happy to stay out of your way if that’s what the situation calls for. I am nothing if not at your disposal.”

She’d caught both her visitors by surprise, their mouths agape and their faces flushed. Both were dressed in semi-formal tunics and knee-trousers. The young woman wore her dark hair cut short and her face carefully made up despite the heat. The man, possibly in his early thirties, was taller than his companion by a few inches and was remarkably good-looking, with high

cheekbones, a well-chiseled nose, and startling blue eyes in a darkly tanned face. He ran one hand through his curly black hair and said, “Madama
thelis
, I beg your pardon. This is very embarrassing—”

“Not for me,” Zerafine said cheerfully.

“—really just unforgivable, please accept our apologies,” he continued. “I’m afraid we were expecting someone much older, given your responsibilities, and we—”

“We’re used to dealing with Berenica,” the woman said, as if that explained everything.

“I hope you’re more respectful of her to her face,” Zerafine said, frowning. This was fun.

“We are,
thelis
, we really are,” the woman said. “But even you must admit—”

“Nothing,” said the man. “Berenica is a fine woman and it was inexcusable of us to make

such comments in your house.”

“But not elsewhere,” Zerafine needled him. He ran his hand through his hair again and

smiled. “You’re having us on,” he said.

“Just a little,” she admitted. “I am Zerafine of Dardagne and this is my
sentare
, Gerrard of Kionnar.”

The man gave her a nod, acknowledging that she’d won again—he should have introduced