Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 (16 page)

Erik turned and stalked toward the door, the silence behind him crackling with suppressed fury. The silver chalice clattered to the floor. Erik pivoted to face the eunuch, whose face was flushed crimson.

“I am not some whore-mongering
barbaroi
who struts about
pretending
to serve the Emperor,” Damian said through clenched teeth. “Everything I do is pointed to one purpose—the glory of the Empire. How dare you imply otherwise?”

Erik inclined his head slightly. “Then our goal is one and the same. And as your ally and the emperor's servant, I urge you to heed me in this matter.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at Erik, searching for evidence of guile. “Very well. I agree. Whatever makes Valdis more authentic as a
seid
-woman furthers our cause. When I part with her, I will admonish her future master that she must remain pure to retain her powers."

Erik struggled to keep from showing the triumph that surged through him.

“But Valdis is exceedingly comely,” Damian said. “If her next master is minded to sacrifice her prescient abilities for her other attributes, I cannot gainsay him.”

“Who are you planning to sell her to?” Erik asked.

Damian bared his teeth in a grimace that couldn't be mistaken for a smile. “That is none of your concern. Leave me now.”

Erik strode toward the door with a lighter heart.

“Make certain to report to Quintilian by sundown, or I will know of it and will take steps to see you hung for dereliction of duty.”

Erik pushed open the heavy silver door. With any luck at all, sundown would give Erik plenty of time to learn where Valdis was bound.

Erik exchanged a handful of
nomismas
for a beggar's rough hooded cloak and took his station on the steps of the Hagia Sophia. From that vantage point, he could mark all who entered or exited the Imperial grounds. Once Valdis and her escort were underway, it was a small matter to blend into the press of people behind them. The plain cloak effectively rendered him of no account, but it was difficult to disguise his impressive height. Erik stooped his shoulders and bent his knees as he shuffled after Valdis and the chief eunuch.

Near the opulent public baths, Aristarchus met a grossly fat, smooth-faced eunuch dressed in precious silks. The inordinate length of time Damian spent talking with animated gestures to the other eunuch convinced Erik this was no chance meeting. He settled in a doorway to keep watch.

Valdis stood, seemingly aloof, while the two men conversed. The little dog was still with her, its collar studded with more sparkling jewels than a whore might earn in a lifetime of leg spreading. Loki strained at the end of his tether, then suddenly stopped, sniffed the air and turned back to his mistress, whining in distress.

Valdis collapsed to the pavement in a convulsing heap.

“By Odin's lost eye,” Erik swore softly. “The damned dog does seem to know when it's about to happen.”

A crowd gathered, curious gawkers circling about the woman writhing on the ground. Erik could no longer see Valdis through all the bystanders. He fought the urge to push through the press of bodies and start knocking heads about for their thoughtless nosiness.

Then he heard her voice, weak at first, then growing stronger with each syllable. She prophesied a windfall of good fortune for someone whose name Erik didn't recognize.

Habib Ibn Mahomet.

Erik stood. He had what he needed. The fat eunuch dangling a purse before Damian's face. Aristarchus waved it away and took Valdis's arm with every sign of solicitousness, leading her back toward the palace. The other man followed a few steps before giving up, but Erik heard him call out.

“If this prophecy turns out to be true, you may name your price and my master will pay.”

Canny,
Erik thought. Even though Damian was chomping at the bit to place Valdis in this Mahomet's household, he had arranged matters so his mark would pay handsomely for the privilege of having a spy at his side.

Erik strode toward his commander's office. Once he rounded a corner, he tossed the cloak to a scruffy-looking street child. He had no further need of disguise.

Two can play this game, Aristarchus. And I always play to win.

The general in command of the Varangian Guard did not occupy a silver-plated, sweet-scented office like the chief eunuch. Quintilian Maximus was a soldier first and an administrator a distant second. But that didn't mean he had no head for intrigue. A man didn't rise to a position of authority within the Empire without knowing how to navigate the serpentine river of plots and counterplots.

At least that's what Erik was counting on.

He stepped into Quintilian's spartan quarters and fisted a smart salute.

“Ah, Heimdalsson,” the general said. “Back from your tour of duty with the third sex, I see. About time too. That gang of ruffians of yours misses you. They nearly ran your replacement into retirement, and he's not a day over thirty. I assume you're ready to resume your duties.”

Erik allowed himself a quick smile. “With a will, sir. If ever I darken another perfumed chamber that doesn't have a woman in it, it will be too soon.”

The general guffawed. “They are an odd bunch, those ball-less wonders, without doubt. But the Empire wouldn't make it through a day without them. Their be-jeweled fingers stir everyone's pot.” He made a dismissive gesture. “But of all the half-men I've known, Aristarchus is the least like a eunuch of any of them. Still carries himself like a man, that one. I respect that.”

Erik nodded his grudging agreement. “But as you say, into everyone's business.”

The general's eyes narrowed in speculation. “And just whose business is the chief eunuch most interested in now?”

“A silk trader of all people. No one you need trouble yourself about,” Erik said, hoping Quintilian would rise to the bait. “Now if you've no further need of me—”

“Stay a moment,” his commander said. “The trader’s name?”

Erik frowned, as if straining to call up the name. “Habib Ibn Maho...”—he let the name dangle unfinished for a few heartbeats—“Mahomet, I think.
Ja,
that's it. Habib Ibn Mahomet.”

Quintilian drummed his thick fingers on the desktop. “I know of him. A leading player in guild politics. What does the chief eunuch want with a silk merchant?”

Erik shrugged. “I doubt he's concerned about new hangings for his apartments. After all, Aristarchus has gone to quite a bit of trouble to insert a new informant into the man's household.”

“Has he indeed? Something big must be afoot.”

“You may be right,” Erik agreed, shaking his head in disgust. “But what can we do? Men of action frequently take a poor second to others when it comes to intrigue. The chief eunuch sits like a spider in the center of a web of a thousand strands, just waiting for one of them to vibrate. It's a pity that a perfumed courtier like Damian Aristarchus will earn the gratitude of the emperor when whatever Mahomet is involved in comes to light.”

The general cleared his throat with a growl. “I'm not going to let a bunch of fat aunties steal the march on the Guard. Not without a fight. You have no idea what Aristarchus suspects?”

“He's closemouthed as a corpse when it suits him.”

“Then we'll have to dig up the information on our own.” Quintilian leaned back and folded his arms across his beefy chest. “But time is against us. It's no easy task to buy a reliable set of ears and eyes in some places. If it's taken Aristarchus months to arrange a plan, how could we expect to accomplish it in less?”

Erik gave his beard a thoughtful stroke, as if trying to think up a course of action. “I suppose you could tell Mahomet that you've caught wind of an assassination plot against him. If, as you say, he's a leading man in the silk guild, such a threat has the ring of truth. Isn't it often said that men of power attract enemies like a dung pile does flies?”

Quintilian grunted his agreement with the earthy comparison. “This Mahomet can probably think of at least a handful of traders he's cheated over the years who would shed no tears over his untimely demise. Good plan. Puts him off balance. I like it. Then I could offer to place a member of the Varangian Guard in his household to oversee matters of security till we've run the plot against him to earth.”

“A good idea, General, but you’d better insist rather than offer. Couch it as a mark of Imperial favor and Mahomet would be unable to refuse.”

The general nodded. “And I have just the man for the job.”

Erik held his breath.

“You'll have to put off getting back to your cohort for a while longer, I'm afraid. A month, maybe less if you do your job quickly.”

“Me? I'm no spy.”

“No, you're not, which makes you perfect for this. Mahomet will never suspect there's a worm in this apple even after he takes a bite.” The general dipped his stylus in the ink pot on his desk and started scratching out Erik's orders. “With your ear for languages, you'll be picking up some Arabic, I shouldn't wonder. I'll expect weekly reports, oftener if something urgent arises. Whatever you do, don't let Aristarchus realize you're there on my account.”

“I doubt he'll think that.” Damian would know full well Erik was there for Valdis.

“Your time with Aristarchus was well spent. Congratulations, Heimdalsson,” the general said as he sifted sand over the parchment to set the ink on his missive. “You've learned to think like a Roman.”

Erik tucked the scroll into the pouch at his waist and saluted the general. Thinking like a Roman? It wasn't a compliment he sought, but the weapon of guile fit as neatly to his hand as the handle of his ax these days. Deception wasn't a blade he felt comfortable using, but if it put him within sight of Valdis, it was a sword he was willing to sling.

Damian burst through his apartment doors rubbing his hands together with barely disguised glee. “The deed is done, Valdis. You are one step closer to freedom.”

Her belly fluttered at this news. She'd been sold as Damian planned. Since the day she'd had her last public spell, she'd known this was coming. Now that it was upon her, all she could think was that she was about to enter a harem, a silk-lined prison from which few women ever emerge.

“You've agreed on a price?”

Damian smiled. “Even more than I hoped. I won't even have to dip into the emperor's treasury to pay my agents for their work in making sure your prophecy came true. Mahomet will be paying for his own windfall, so to speak.”

Valdis had been instructed to predict an obscene profit for the silk merchant. Damian held up all the
dhow
s
bearing the luxurious fabric in specious customs inspections. All except the ones consigned to Mahomet. For a few days, the Arab trader enjoyed an effective monopoly on the cloth of choice and was able to charge exorbitant prices for his wares. Several other members of the silk guild were beggared, but Damian counted that an acceptable loss when so much was at stake.

“And what of Erik's suggestion?”

“That you remain a virgin to ensure you retain your powers? Yes, yes, he's agreed to all that even though it makes little sense to him.” Damian bustled around the room brimming with nervous energy. “After all, in Habib Ibn Mahomet's homeland, as here, a woman lives to give birth to a son. The fact that you will not even have a chance to demonstrate your fertility will make you an object of pity among the other women of the zenana.”

Valdis cared little for that so long as she could save herself from bedding a stranger.

There'd been no time to bid Erik farewell when he parted company with her master's entourage; no time to arrange for her to find him if she finally managed to win her freedom.

No, not
if. When,
she told herself with sternness. Nothing would interfere with that goal.

“Hurry, Valdis. You can stare into space later. You've packing to do.” Damian directed Lentulus to gather Valdis's wardrobe into a large chest. He loaded the pots of paint and her silver comb into a smaller chest himself. “Publius is sending a sedan chair for you and he expects you to present yourself ready to go by sunset.”

Valdis rose and mechanically went about the business of packing her belongings. She realized with a start that as Damian's slave, she'd amassed an amazing cache of goods—beautiful pallas made of the sheerest silk, soft kid-soled sandals with gilt leather straps, and an amazing assortment of jewelry. She refused a nose ring and Damian didn't force her, but she delighted in the tinkling earrings that dropped from her lobes, the gold bangles on her wrists and ankles and multiple rings on her fingers and toes.

It was all part of the illusion. If Valdis was to be taken for a woman of power and importance, she must dress the part. Even little Loki had been fitted out with an extravagant collar crusted with gems. She'd trained herself to stare at the flashing lights sparking from the dog's collar to bring about a spell when Damian signaled for one. So far, it had worked each time she tried.

Damian was right. Knowledge was power. She knew the trigger that caused her fits. One of them, anyway. Repetitive flashes of bright light. She hoped never to discover more, because this one was easy to avoid. Loki still seemed able to sense the onset of a seizure. He always growled and tugged at her hemline before she slipped into the abyss of the sickness.

She picked up the little dog and hugged him till he squirmed. "I will be able to take him, won't I?"

“Of course,” Damian said. “I told Publius the dog was your familiar and Loki will be allowed to stay with you in the zenana. I hope you realize what a concession that was. It was almost harder than the virginity clause, because followers of the Prophet consider a dog to be a dirty animal. You’ll have to keep him away from the other women.”

“Loki is cleaner than most people.” Valdis dropped a quick kiss on the little dog's muzzle and set him down. “Thank you. I will be grateful for his company in a strange place.”