The Diplomat (8 page)

“That idiot is more useless than an aphrodisiac in a monastery.” Yorin exhaled a long, irate sigh. “Nevermind, nevermind. Who is your colorful friend, Rema?”

“Welcome, palace man of great dignity!” It seemed Danoshan was not one of Muhan’s stronger languages. “I be known as a trader, Muhan.” He clasped his hands together in a gesture of respect. “To where is the address of my honor?”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Rema cleared her throat. “Yorin, can you speak Annari? It might help.”

“Well enough,” said Yorin in capable Annari. “Stop butchering my native tongue, Muhan. I’m Yorin, the king’s steward. I suppose you’re here to sell me something.”

“Exotic dyes!” Muhan spread his arms wide. “Shades beyond even the comprehension of nature! If you don’t mind me saying, your plain robe could be transformed into a spectacle of radiance with only a momentary soak.”

“If we can’t eat it, I’m not interested.”

“What you do with the dye is none of my concern. For all I know, it may taste as spectacular as it looks.”

“Give him a chance,” said Rema. “Don’t you think Elise and Loric might at least be curious to see him?”

“I suppose they might,” said Yorin. “Especially Loric. The boy’s too easily amused. And it’ll give him a chance to practice his Annari.” He scratched the tip of his nose. “You’re fortunate that you found our persuasive friend to talk on your behalf, Muhan. I’ll inform the court you’re here.” He retrieved an envelope from his robe. “And Rema, this is for you. I don’t know why she didn’t come to you directly.”

Rema turned the envelope in her hands. It was unmarked, but she detected a familiar perfume. To her alarm, the scent provoked her heart to beat faster. “Thank you,” she said, slipping the envelope into the pocket of her coat. “Shall I leave you two to get better acquainted?”

Yorin nodded, his mind clearly already on other things. Muhan grinned and twirled his mustache in her direction. “I appreciate your support, my lady of Arann. I look forward to meeting you again.”

“I’m not hard to find. Just follow the giggling of the servants.”

Rema returned to her chambers and closed the door behind her. It was cool within, and the room was dark enough that she paused to light a lamp at the bedside. She sat on the edge of her bed and tore the envelope open. The letter inside bore one of the strangest writing hands she’d ever seen; every letter seemed to have a new loop or flourish.

Sweetest R: You are beautiful and witty and I miss you already. Remember, there’s trouble on the way. Be a wary little diplomat and don’t forget to wear your present! Forever, E.

The intimacy of the letter was sweet, even touching—but its content was puzzling. If Rema were to list those people who had reason to see her harmed, Elise would be at the top, yet it was the enchantress herself sending her affectionate warnings. Yorin? He had the power to harm her, but he was the closest she had to a certain ally. Loric? Ridiculous. Cedrin and Talitha? No ruler would touch an imperial diplomat. What about Muhan? He had a personal motive to dislike the Empire, but Rema was a fair judge of character and found it hard to picture him as a brightly-daubed assassin. That left Calan and the mysterious hooded man.

It was too much to think about, and she was tired of this drab palace. Rema returned to the hallway and walked to the nearest guard. He eyed her nervously as she drew closer.

“Good morning, guardsman,” she said. “Is there a tavern close by where the food is edible and the water clean?”

“The guards usually drink at the Bristled Sow.” The guard stared at her trousers as if they were a wild animal. “If you go down the road from the gates, it’s the first tavern on your right when you reach the big square with the fountain.”

Rema saluted. “Thank you. Have a good watch.”

“You too, sir. Uh, my lady. I mean, have a good day, my lady—”

Rema fought back laughter as she walked away. No matter where she visited, be there painted traders, rebellious enchantresses or sinister hooded men, she unfailingly remained the greatest novelty of them all. Well, except for that time with the crocodiles.

Chapter Six

The courtyard behind the gate was in a state of confusion. A horse had leapt over its stall door, and several soldiers were in pursuit, attempting to subdue it before it kicked anyone. A child stood alone, staring at the twisting, rearing beast. He was too near those flying hooves for comfort. Rema took his hand and pulled him away from danger.

“Has someone lost a child?” she said, to no response. Frowning, she dragged the stray child over to a guardsman by the door. “Take this boy to Yorin. We can’t have parentless children wandering the courtyard.”

“It happens,” said the guard. “They come to see the palace. Isn’t that right, son?”

“I want to see the King,” said the boy. “My father is sick and he won’t get better.” He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and his pudgy face showed a touching determination. Rema’s compassion stirred—the poor thing was barefoot, and his feet were black and swollen.

“Forget about taking him to Yorin,” she said. “Take him to Elise.”

“My lady, while you are a valued guest, you aren’t really allowed to give orders…”

Rema crossed her arms. “Are you defying me, guardsman?”

The guard blanched. “As you wish, my lady. Come on, boy.” He took the boy’s fat hand and led him toward the palace. Another guard sniggered, and Rema glared at him. He snapped back to a respectable composure.

After the horse was brought safely to rein, Rema left the courtyard and moved beneath the shadow of the portcullis. The morning remained pleasant, and the worst odors of the city were some distance off, though every now and then a whiff of sulfur or manure caused Rema’s eyes to water. As she strolled down the road leading to the palace, her skin prickled beneath the stares of the city folk. Many looks were appreciative, others bewildered, and quite a few hostile—but such was to be expected when garbed in fine silk and scandalous trousers. Rema kept her head high. She had no illusions about the dangers of the city, but confidence was effective armor.

Despite her bravado, it was a relief nonetheless to reach the square. As promised, its center was dominated by a square fountain. A modest jet shot from its waters and broke into a glistening spray that crashed musically onto the surface of the pool. Children splashed in the waters while travelers passing by stopped to appreciate the sound. Several merchants roamed the square selling fruits and toys, and Rema moved quickly to avoid being sold a tin windmill.

The Bristled Sow proved warm and well-lit. The smell of alcohol had worked its way into every surface, true of taverns everywhere. Several off-duty guards were sitting together at the large central table, thumping the table, clinking their mugs together and braying with thin, drunken laughter. No doubt they were night watchmen to be drinking so heavily at noonday. Either that or they were shameless drunks, a not uncommon secondary occupation for guardsmen.

The guards paused in their revelry to look at Rema. They giggled in tipsy conference. “Hey!” one of them said. “Hello!”

“Hello to you too.”

“I told you!” The guard knocked one of his companions on the back of the head. “It’s a bloody woman!”

Drunken guardsmen, like bed lice, were the same the world over—an irritation. Rema took a seat at the next table. The guards continued to stare, and she stared back. “Do you lads ever chase criminals, or are you more interested in pursuing the bottom of your tankards?”

Several of the guards smirked. “You’ve got a pretty voice,” said the one who’d had his head thumped, slurring and spilling his drink on himself. “Pretty little face too. Wouldn’t mind spending a night or two with you.”

“And yet a moment ago you thought I was a man. What does that tell you, lads?”

The guards cheered and clapped their chastened friend on the back. Rema couldn’t resist laughing with them, and the tension in the room dissolved. Satisfied with their fun, the guards returned to their bantering.

A servant took the opportunity to duck over to Rema’s table. “Morning, miss,” he said. “May I get you a drink or a meal or both or neither?”

“I’d be afraid to touch what they’re having. I’ll have a meal and some water. What do you serve here?”

“Our usual customers like it simple, which his fortunate, as simple is all we do. If you’ve money for it, there’s meat. Otherwise, we can bring you a mash of vegetables, with a bit of butter if you like.”

Rema had no desire to learn what passed for meat in Danosha. “I’ll take the vegetables. And just a little butter.” She took a coin from her purse and pressed it to the surprised servant’s palm. “Keep whatever is left over.”

“Yes, miss! We’ll cook it extra quick, miss.”

“No rush. Just bring the water first.”

Rema crossed her legs and waited, and the servant soon returned with a mug of water. It tasted of tin but soothed her throat and cleared her head. As she put her purse away, a thought struck her: she might well be the wealthiest person in this kingdom. Ormun’s father, Togun, had rewarded her exceptionally for her long service. She had one of the largest offices in the palace, and she owned a ten-room mansion by one of Arann’s lukewarm bays, where the water always seemed to be the color of the sun. Her work kept her so busy that she was rarely able to visit it.

In a realm like this, it was hard not to grow nostalgic for the days of Togun. He had been a good Emperor, insofar as there could be such a thing. At Rema’s urging, he had reformed the Empire and the great city of Arann, improving opportunities for women and ending slavery. In return, she’d brokered many of the foreign deals that had allowed him to consolidate his reign. If it hadn’t been for Ormun’s coup, the Empire today would be very different, and she wouldn’t be crossing the world to abduct innocent women.

The meal landed in front of her, returning her to the moment. The mash was a terrifying brown and filled with haggard lumps. “What vegetables are these?” she said.

“All sorts, miss. Potatoes. Parsnip. Some other things.”

“Why is it all so brown?” She tentatively tried a spoonful. It warmed her mouth and the taste was bearable, though the texture was mysteriously grainy. “It’s not so bad. Thank you.”

The servant bowed and trotted off to refill the guards’ mugs. Rema tried another spoonful and discovered a potato skin. Spitting it out seemed impolite, so she began to chew it.

“That dead-eyed bastard is back in the city,” said one of the guards, his voice amplified by ale. “I saw him this morning, skulking about.”

Another laughed. “Better not fall asleep on the job, then, or Calan’ll have him after you.”

“I heard that he went into a Lyornan village at night, killed all the children. Can you imagine what it must feel like, seeing your little one’s head on a pike?”

Her interest piqued, Rema shifted as if to make herself more comfortable, and in the process she inched a little closer to her neighbors.

“I’ve got two daughters,” said a third guard. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“He’s not human. I don’t know where Calan found him, but it weren’t on this earth.”

“Here’s what troubles me,” said the guard with the daughters. “War gets desperate, fair enough. I’m no cringing heart. But when you hit a man, it gives him license to hit you just the same. How long until Lyorn are putting the heads of our children on pikes?”

The guards fell into silence, each of them focused on his mug. “I’ll tell you this,” said one, breaking the quiet. “I fucking dread the day I get shifted into the army. They’re dying like flies out there.”

Rema finished her meal and pushed the bowl aside. It was about time she returned to the palace; the glow of morning had long been consumed by the steady light of afternoon, and it wouldn’t do to miss anything important at court. She glanced at the guards as she left the tavern, but they had long lost interest in her—the solace of stupor was all they cared for now.

Her walk back was uneventful but for a boy who kept chasing her, hitting her legs with a stick. After enduring his foolery for several seconds, Rema snatched the stick from his hands and snapped it, and he ran away crying. She had little patience for unruly children, who never responded well to diplomacy.

Arriving at the palace, Rema found the flow of visitors as steady as before. As she escaped to the relative quiet of a corridor, three servants wobbled toward her with a mattress on their shoulders, and she flattened herself against the wall to let them by. Amid all this activity, what was there for her to do? Perhaps she might visit Elise and inquire about the well-being of the barefooted child—not merely as a pretext to see the beautiful enchantress again, of course, but in order to alleviate her concern for the boy.

In daylight, Elise’s tower had become a well of radiance through which motes of dust capered. A quick tap at the door conjured the sound of muffled movement from within. The door cracked open, revealing Elise’s delighted face. “You’re very early for dinner,” she said, opening the door and waving Rema in.

Rema stopped short at the edge of the room. The disarray was astonishing. Piles of soil and red trailing weeds covered the table, and a crucible was hissing on the windowsill. “What happened in here?”

“I was working on a remedy for that little boy’s father.” Elise dusted her hands. “It sounded like he had the red scabies, so I mixed up a little potion. And just in case it’s not red scabies, an unguent to reduce itching.”

“Who’d have known magic was such messy work?” Rema swept soil off a chair before sitting. “What exactly is the red scabies?”

“It’s horrible, that’s what it is.” Elise sighed. “The guard mentioned that it was you who sent the boy my way. What am I to do with you, Rema? You’re not just clever, funny and beautiful. You’re kind as well.”

Rema leaned back in her chair and admired Elise, who had been transformed by her art. Her hands were covered in soil, and she’d managed to transfer a streak of the dirt to her cheek. She wore no cosmetics, smelt like dirt and bitter roots, and had replaced her seductive dress with a brown smock that covered her shoulders and disguised her figure. Yet she appeared even more attractive than the night before. Her eyes seemed warmer, the curve of her lips more suggestive. Above all, she displayed none of the giddy nerves that had plagued her over wine and custard.