The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (7 page)

“
Kutesosh gajair’is?”
the magical warhammer resting by her chair asked quietly.

“No,” she muttered. “Shh.”

“Is someone in there with you?” asked the young man.

“Sometimes the goddess speaks to us,” Desidora said through the divider, and then glared down at Ghylspwr.

Desidora had been a love priestess ever since the voice of the goddess had spoken in her dreams and marked her for sacred duty. It had sometimes been trying, but always satisfying.

Then she’d been transformed into a death priestess for a time as part of a divine mandate to save the world. She’d gotten a magical talking warhammer and the ability to command the spirits of the dead in the bargain.

“So,” said the young man, “you’re a love priestess. How do I get women to have sex with me?”

“
Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is,”
Ghylspwr said in a tiny sarcastic whisper. Desidora glared at him in warning. As a spirit of the ancients now possessing a warhammer, Ghylspwr had a vocabulary of only three phrases, but he managed to make himself understood far better than most people would have guessed.

“The key to getting women to
love
you,” she said to the young man on the other side of the divider, “is to stop thinking of it as the end goal and start thinking of it as the enjoyable result of becoming a more interesting person.” Even though he couldn’t see her, Desidora put a smile on her face. That usually helped. “After all, the first step to gaining the love of others is to love yourself.”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” said the young man. “My bed is really squeaky, and my parents get angry when they catch me.”

Desidora was sincerely relieved to be a love priestess again, with no worries about draining the life out of someone in a fit of anger or projecting an aura that redecorated the room in a skulls-and-gargoyles theme.

Still, some part of her missed having the power to destroy things that annoyed her.

“What I’m saying,” she said, glaring again at Ghylspwr before he could say anything, “is that the reason the women you know go after
jerks
is because those jerks are confident and do interesting things. So one way to start would be to develop one of your hobbies or interests, like . . .” She squinted. The divider blocked her view of the young man—ostensibly to protect his privacy despite the fact that she recognized his voice from the jeweler’s shop three streets over—but with the eyes of a love priestess, she
could
see his aura. Athletics? No. Art? No. Music? No. Acting? No . . . but he at least enjoyed
going
to performances, so, “. . . theatre,” she finished. “You’re fortunate to live in Heaven’s Spire, which has a number of acting troupes, some of them even friendly to beginners. Maybe you could try out for a part. Or even volunteer to work on the sets as a way to meet people?”

“What, like I’m supposed to paint stairs for some stupid show, and that’s going to get some woman to have sex with me?” The young man snorted. “They always go for the jerk in the lead, even though he’ll never treat them right, like I would.”

Desidora picked up Ghylspwr, just for comfort. “You have to start somewhere.”

“Nah, I’d have to go do work like every night, and what if nobody started liking me after all that work?” said the young man who lived off his parents’ money and spent most of his evenings sitting in the local kahva-house glaring at people or trying to find ways to love himself without waking up his parents. “Aren’t there tricks you can give me, like things I can say to get women to have sex with me? I heard that if you kind of insult a girl, but then turn it into asking her out for a date, her head gets confused?”

A knock sounded on the door to Desidora’s side of the consulting booth, and it opened a moment later. A young priest poked his head in, looking apologetic and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Sister. I have an urgent request from a justicar that—”

“No, of course, absolutely.” Desidora was out of the booth before the priest had finished his sentence. “You can take over for me, I’m sure. Good luck.” The young priest blinked, and Desidora realized she was holding Ghylspwr in something that was just a little too close to a fighting position.

She lowered Ghylspwr and gave warm smiles to the priests and visitors in the temple’s large central hall.

Justicar Pyvic was pacing at the far end. “. . . confirm that it’s Ajeveth,” he was saying into a small blue crystal he held near his mouth. “I don’t have anything from the dwarves yet. I’ll be in contact once I do. Good luck.” He thumbed the crystal off, then started when he saw her.

“You should have told her you loved her,” Desidora said, and gave Pyvic a hug. His aura was a little uncomfortable with that, either because he found her attractive and was a bit nervous or because he had once seen her smash a blood-gargoyle so hard it had actually popped.

“She knows.”

“Of course she does,” Desidora said, smiling. “She still likes to hear it.”

Pyvic smiled, but he was still troubled. “I’ve got a problem. I could use your help.”

“Is this a matter of love?” Desidora asked, although she doubted it. Loch and Pyvic had a strong and healthy relationship, if somewhat more competitive than she would have preferred personally.

“It’s a matter of love
songs
,” Pyvic said. “One in particular.
The Love Song of Eillenfiniel.”

Desidora blinked, then gestured at a small meeting room off to the side. “In here.”

He followed her into the room lit by rose-colored candles. It had no windows, but the walls were hung with gently curving satin curtains nevertheless. It contained a lovely bed and a small pool whose water was heated and scented with lavender.

“Did it have to be this room?” Pyvic asked, looking around for someplace to sit.

“Would you prefer the one themed as a dungeon?”
Desidora asked, tossing Ghylspwr onto the bed. “The shackles can be adjusted to fit anyone . . . or anywhere.”

“Thank you, no, I believe Loch and I are doing fine without exploring any of the sacred mysteries of intimacy,” Pyvic said. “I’d rather just stop the Republic and the Empire from going to war.”

“Again?” Desidora ran her fingers through her hair. “Because of that book?”

“Apparently. Loch’s on her way to Ajeveth to try to recover it.”

“And you aren’t with her.”

“She needed thieves, not justicars,” he said, and grinned.

“You don’t have to do that,” Desidora said, settling on the edge of the bed.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you aren’t worried for her and sad not to be at her side.”

“You can stop reading my aura any time you like, Sister.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” She sighed. “How
can
I help? You already know where the book is.”

“We know what, and we know where,” Pyvic said. “I’m looking for
why
.”

“I’m thinking the airship needs a name,” Kail said a few days later as he set the team down in the landing field outside Ajeveth.

“No,” said Icy, who had changed back into his robes now that they were dry, if somewhat wrinkled.

“You’re remembering that we stole this airship, Kail?” said Loch.

“Also, we’re all sick to death of this ship and hoping never to see it again,” said Tern, who had proven to have a weak stomach for long flights.

“How about
Iofegemet
?” Kail said after a pause just long enough for Loch to hope he was going to drop it. “It means ‘lying helpfully’ in the language of the ancients.”

“How about something we can
say
?” said Tern. Loch hopped down from the airship that was ideally not going to be named
Iofegemet
and stretched her legs and shoulders as she got used to being on land again. Around her, other airships were tied to docking posts, a great field of canvas balloons on either side. Up ahead, the walls of Ajeveth rose imposingly before her, great gray stone arches like the mountains behind them.

Ajeveth was a border town. Although technically part of the Republic, it was controlled by the dwarves, who understood that the humans who wanted their goods would have a difficult time getting into the mountains where the dwarves lived. The city had been built on the lower slopes of the Titan, and its buildings, rising up behind the walls, were tall and strangely angled.

“It’s because they live in the mountains,” Tern said, no longer quite so green now that she was on land again. She pointed at the buildings. “Dwarves are all about economy of space, so their houses are narrow and built to accommodate slopes.”

Icy stared at the great planes of angled stone in surprise. “In the Empire, we heard that most of the dwarves lived underground.”

“Nah, that’s just a legend,” said Tern. “Also kind of racist.”

“My apologies.”

“They do a lot of mining, but they live aboveground, just like the rest of us. Dwarven society has three big groups. See that?” Tern pointed at one building in the distance, a great spire that rose up to a needle-thin point. “That’s the Hall of Masters, for the crafters who build all the expensive stuff we use in the Republic. And that one over there, the dome? That’s the High Cave, for the miners. The dome is shorter, but covers more area. Dwarven society is all about that balance. Not identical, but equal.”

“What’s the third group?” Kail asked. “I don’t see anything else big enough for whatever that group is.”

“The walls,” Loch said, and turned to look at Tern.

“The Guardsmen,” Tern said, nodding. “There are a lot of things out there in those mountains that don’t like people very much. The dwarves don’t often start trouble, but they’re
very
good at taking care of themselves.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Kail asked.

Tern reached into her many-pocketed brown dress and produced a silver-tipped crossbow bolt. “Where did you think I had all these made?”

Loch smiled as a group of dwarven officials came out from behind a massive cargo airship and approached. They were sturdy men and women a little shorter than Tern and built like they could shrug off a rockslide. One of them wore chainmail fine enough to be ornamental, while the others wore the loose-flowing shirts and breeches of merchants. “Afternoon,” she called. “Justicar Loch. No cargo. Docking fees can be applied to the government account.” She produced her badge and showed it to them.

The nearest dwarf, the one in the ornamental armor, examined the badge, then frowned. “Welcome, Justicar,” she said, sounding more grudging than anything else. “Do ye wish to share any information wi’ our local security teams?”

It was a warmer welcome than Loch had been expecting. “Not at this time,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “This is a background investigation. I’m not currently pursuing anything that would threaten your city.”

At that, the dwarven official looked relieved. “Understood, Justicar. Please enjoy yer visit to the city. If ye need any assistance, our security teams will be pleased to offer information. Your docking registration, to be billed to the Republic government offices.” She passed Loch a slip of paper.

“If ye have leisure time,” another official added, “this pamphlet lists entertainment activities suitable for human visitors, including casinos, fine dining, sports and recreation, and
Irke’desar
, the Bounty of the Past, our new publicly accessible museum offering historical artifacts legally purchased from a variety of different cultures.”

“Thank ye again for coming,” said the third official as the second pressed a folded pamphlet into Loch’s hands. “Please enjoy yer stay.”

Loch nodded politely as the dwarves trooped off. When they were gone, she looked over at Tern.

“Yeah, pretty much always like that,” Tern said. “They’re very polite, though.”

Kail shook his head. “I’ve been on the Spire for too long. That much
directness
just cuts right through you.” He glanced at Loch. “Also, did you notice how they didn’t ask to double-check your badge or insist on searching
Iofegemet
or anything?”

“I do not concede that this is the airship’s name,” said Icy.

“Yeah, dwarves don’t really get the big deal about the Urujar or the Imperials,” Tern said, ignoring Icy. “If they ever said anything that wasn’t thoughtfully premeditated, I might actually want to live here.”

A small flicker of motion caught Loch’s eye, and she looked up to see a white shape flitting down their way. The snowy dove landed before them, then shimmered and became Ululenia.

“The dwarves work like ants, industrious and pure of purpose,” she said, “and like the ants, they care little for the unspoiled beauty of nature.”

Tern shrugged. “Nature spends most of its time trying to kill them.”

“The hare sings few songs in praise of the wolf,” Ululenia said in what was probably agreement. “Their minds are also ordered and calm, but many have plans to see a new item being displayed in a place that tells the story of the past, like the thin rings of an ancient tree remembering the dry years.”