The Office of Shadow (29 page)

"What are we after?" asked Silverdun. "Annwn is a bit of a backwater,
isn't it?"

"Yes," said Paet, "but it's a backwater that provides a massive amount of
tribute in the form of gold and a fair-sized army that can be mobilized against
the Seelie Kingdom should Mab see fit to do so."

"Do we have intelligence that leads us to believe she might?"

Paet nodded. "We have evidence that proves she already has. One of our
spotters along the border near Wamarnest spied two companies of Annwni
cavalry training alongside their Unseelie counterparts."

Ironfoot frowned. "Why train so near the border? Wouldn't it make sense
to hide that kind of force?"

Paet made a noncommittal gesture. "It may be that they wanted us to see
it, to frighten us."

"It's also the only place they've got to drill cavalry," said Silverdun. "Any
farther north and the ground is too unstable to risk horses. They build those
cities in the sky for a reason."

"Regardless," said Paet, "if we can find some way to undermine the
Unseelie in Annwn then we're that much closer to surviving a war."

"You'd like the two of us to whip up an armed insurrection? That
shouldn't be too difficult. We'll hand out a few sharpened sticks and some
pamphlets and that'll be the thing done."

Paet sighed. It was childish to needle him, but it was also gratifying.

"There are other methods that may prove more effective," said Paet,
ignoring him. "As you may know, the political system in Annwn is rather
unlike ours. Overall, they're ruled by the Unseelie, but Mab typically doesn't
dismantle the existing structure unless it suits her to do so, and in the case
of Annwn, it did not."

"So what's the existing structure?" asked Ironfoot.

"The city of Blood of Arawn, and thus the world at large, is run by a
number of elected magistrates, who themselves elect seven of their number
to act as a high council."

"Who elects them?" asked Silverdun. "The people?"

"Yes," said Paet. "Property holders, anyway."

"Very progressive," said Silverdun.

"Anyhow, this system of elections is rife with corruption, and any given
election can be bought fairly easily. A few bags of gold distributed to the
right people-"

"And we can help place in power those favorable to our cause," finished
Silverdun.

"Precisely," said Paet. "As Everess has told you both, our battles aren't
fought on the field. Our offensives are a bit more judicious."

"I imagine it would be fairly expensive to buy out the entire body
politic," said Silverdun. "Or do your pockets run deeper than I suspect?"

"Any trouble we can cause," he said, "even enough to disrupt troop
movements between worlds for a while, could give us a useful advantage.
And if we can help arrange a rebellion with the vague promise of Seelie assistance ..." Paet let the words linger in the air.

"But there wouldn't be any real Seelie assistance, would there?" said
Ironfoot.

"Not unless we wanted to start the war on our own, no. But allowing a
few rebels to believe it is a different matter altogether."

Silverdun smiled. "I see that Everess's way of thinking has rubbed off on
you," he said. "Anything for victory."

"Yes," said Paet. "For this victory, yes." He leaned forward. "For this victory I will lie and cheat and steal and kill if I must. If the choice is between
a single life and a way of life, then there is no contest."

He glared at Silverdun. "Spend some time in Annwn under Unseelie rule
and then tell me what you think about it."

Paet had a fine way of making even the most ruthless actions seem reasonable. No wonder Everess had him in charge.

Paet waited for what seemed a calculated moment and then added as if
in afterthought, "There's something else I'd like you to check into while
you're in Annwn."

"What's that?" asked Ironfoot.

"When I was there five years ago, I was working with your most recent
predecessor, a woman named Jenien. She was killed at the home of a man
named Prae Benesile on the night of Mab's invasion."

"The trail of her killer may be a bit cold after five years," said Silverdun.

"I know who killed her," said Paet, a bit more severely than seemed necessary, even for him. "I want you to find out about Prae Benesile. I want to know
why she was investigating him and why it got her killed by the Bel Zheret."

Silverdun and Ironfoot glanced briefly at each other. Ironfoot's face was stony,
but Silverdun could almost see the words "Bel Zheret" hanging on his lips.

"And what do we do if we encounter Bel Zheret ourselves?" asked
Silverdun.

Paet laughed, a short bark that echoed in the room. He stood slowly,
leaning on his cane. He turned around, facing the wall, and lifted up his
shirt. A long, purple scar made an artful swirl across his back.

He let the shirttail fall and looked at the two of them. "You?" he asked,
sighing. "You die."

He paused. "That reminds me of something," he said.

Silverdun wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear whatever it was the
thought of his death reminded Paet of.

"When you go on this mission, it's likely that you'll find yourself in a
stressful situation before too long," Paet said.

"That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Paet smiled his thin smile. "I suppose so. Regardless, when that happens,
you may find yourself experiencing ... certain reactions that you have not
felt before."

"What does that mean?" asked Silverdun.

"I can't say," said Paet. "You must be ready for anything. Just be aware
that if you find yourself suddenly more capable than before, that this is to be
both expected and encouraged. There's no way of telling exactly when or how
this will occur."

"How can you be so sure that whatever this is, is going to happen?"

"It always happens to newly minted Shadows. It's the way of things."

"Jedron never mentioned anything about it," said Ironfoot.

"I imagine that half of what Jedron told you was outright lies, and the
other half was misleading."

Silverdun couldn't argue with that.

"Be warned," said Paet. "That's all."

"Paet," said Ironfoot. "When we were on that island, something very
strange happened. There was a pit, and it was black-"

"I know what you're going to say," said Paet. "And I'm afraid I'm not at
liberty to discuss it. What happened on that island is not for you to know.
For the time being."

"And when will that time cease to be?" asked Ironfoot.

"When it becomes necessary for it to be otherwise."

Paet stood and shooed them out of his office.

"Now go into the den and wait. I'll be down in a few minutes with the
mission specialists, and we'll go over in detail exactly what I expect you to
do."

Mag Mell is a place of circles and mirrors. The world is
a spiral archipelago of round volcanic atolls, with calm
waters within and raging seas without. The waters
within the island grottoes are preternaturally, magically
still, and because the sand beneath them is black, they
provide a perfect reflection of the sky above. In Mag
Me II, mirrors are holy; to break one is to break the symmetry of life itself.

It is a segregated world. The men live aboveground
on the islands in houses of wood, and the women live
beneath the water in villages of rock and woven seaweed. They come together in the shallows to court and
to mate, but the majority of their lives are spent
separately.

Children in Mag Mell are born androgynous and
amphibious, capable of living either above or below the
water, but when they reach puberty they must decide on
a gender.When that time is reached, a special ceremony
is held during which the child declares itself either male
or female. If the child chooses to be male, then it remains
on land and after several months it loses its gills and
takes on masculine attributes. If it chooses to become
female, it goes to live beneath the waves and loses its
lungs instead. It is said that when a native man peers into
the coastal waters of Mag Mell, he sees the woman he might have been. He can ask her questions and she will
answer with the wisdom of the woman he is not.

Stil-Eret,"Mag Mell:World of Mirrors;'
from Travels at Home and Abroad

ilverdun had visited the world of Mag Mell once as a very young man.
He'd traveled here with his father on holiday. Now that it occurred to
him, he was fairly certain he owned the house on Isle Dureicth where they'd
stayed. Or at least he should.

Silverdun remembered Mag Mell as being warm and bright, but when
they stepped through the Port-Herion Chancery Lock, they were greeted
with dim light and a stiff chill. The arch on the Mag Mell side of the gate
was located underground, Silverdun remembered. When the warping mists
of the lock left his eyes, he saw a long stone ramp leading upward toward a
stout metal gate, and more dim light beyond. Powerful witchlight chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but they weren't quite capable of dispelling the
sepulchral feel of the place.

Or perhaps that was only Silverdun's imagination. The delegation of jewelry guildsmen that stepped through the gate just behind them were jolly
enough. They had laughed and spoken loudly all the way through the customs check on the Faerie side of the gate, which seemed to have lasted for
hours, and their temper hadn't changed now. One of them, in fact, was still
speaking to Silverdun about his guild's mission to negotiate mineral rights
with a mining consortium on one of the southern islands. Silverdun and Ironfoot were both dressed as minor government officials, and Silverdun supposed
that this was the sort of thing that such people were forced to endure on a
daily basis.

As they proceeded up the ramp toward the gate, Ironfoot looked around
brightly, taking it all in. They could have done much worse in their selection.
He barely knew Ironfoot and already he felt as though they'd been working
together all their lives. The binding ring? Perhaps, but if so, it was a wonderful spell, because Silverdun found that he genuinely liked the man.

Had Silverdun ever had a friend of his own social rank? Maybe he wasn't
cut out to be a lord after all.

At the top of the ramp, they were subjected to Mag Mell customs agents
who were, sadly, quite a lot more efficient and friendly than their Seelie counterparts. They looked more or less like Fae, although they were darker of
skin, and had rounded ears like the Nymaens, like Silverdun's old traveling
companion Brian Satterly. The agents inspected Silverdun's and Ironfoot's
Foreign Ministry identification closely, but waved them through without
question.

Past the metal gate at the top of the ramp, they rounded a corner and
stepped outside into a light rain that dotted the sea like ground pepper all
around the tiny island that housed the gate. A ferry waited to take them to
Isle Cureid, the capital.

"Lord Silverdun!" came a voice behind them.

Baron Glennet, Silverdun's dinner partner from a few months before, had
just emerged from the gate and was hurrying toward them, followed by a
small retinue of aides and attendants.

"Baron," said Silverdun. He was aware of Everess's approval of the man,
but he couldn't decide whether that made him trust Glennet more, or less.

"I saw you on my way through the lock, but I just missed being in your
group. I'm glad I was able to catch up with you."

He turned to Ironfoot. "You must be Master Falores from Queensbridge.
I've heard a lot about you."

"A pleasure," said Ironfoot.

Glennet leaned in and whispered, "I wanted to wish you luck on your
errand in Annwn."

Silverdun smiled. "We'll do our best," he said. "What brings you to Mag
Mell?"

"Work, as always," he said. "Trying to negotiate a better price for silver
ore on behalf of the Smiths' Guild."

"Your works sounds like all sorts of fun," said Silverdun.

"Less dangerous than yours, anyway," said Glennet with a knowing
smile.