A Magic of Twilight

Karl laughed despite the filth, despite the grim reminder on the Pontica above them. “Now there’s an image I don’t care to retain.”

Mika sniffed and pressed his kerchief against his nose. “It’s true, still. All those grand ca’-and-cu’ sit and look at Oldtown from their lovely houses on the Isle or South Bank and grumble about how disgusting and filthy it is, but they’re no different. Even the grandest chateau has its privies.”

“If you’re going to start spouting cliches, then let’s do it where we can drink and eat as well. Where’s this Mahri? I thought he asked to meet us?”

“I’m here.” With the word, a portion of the stained Pontica seemed to detach itself from an arched support, and Mahri stepped out from the shadows under the bridge, directly under Dhaspi’s gibbet. Karl shivered at the sight of the man’s ravaged face under the black cowl, hoping that Mahri didn’t notice the quick revulsion.

“You live up to your reputation,” Karl said.

“And what is that?” The man’s voice was as broken as his face, a hissing and grumbling issuing from a misshapen maw. If the expression on his twisted lips was a smile, it couldn’t be read; the raw and exposed socket of the missing left eye seemed to glare. The breath from his mouth smelled nearly as bad as the riverbank itself.

“That you’re a ghost who appears anywhere there’s trouble.”

That seemed to amuse Mahri. He turned his head, glancing back

and up over his shoulder at the caged body surrounded by crows. Something approaching a cackle emanated from his mouth, and a thick tongue prowled the edges of his few teeth as he looked back to them.

“Ah, the Numetodo are indeed trouble, aren’t they, Envoy?”

“That’s not our intention,” Karl said. “Why did you want to meet with me, Mahri? You told Mika it was important.” Karl had been reluctant to agree to the rendezvous, but Mika had persisted. “They may call him Mad Mahri, but I’ve also heard them say that Mahri knows things that no one else knows, that nothing happens here without his somehow knowing about it first. It may be a waste of time, but. .”

Again, the cackle. “Ah, so impatient. That’s not a good quality for someone trying to gain the Kraljica’s sympathy. Patience is a virtue she possesses in abundance, and one she expects from those who petition her. I would expect that someone trying to negotiate with her must understand that.”

Karl pushed down the rising annoyance. He saw Mika glance at him and shrug. “I’ll remember that advice,” he said. “It’s true enough, considering how long I’ve been here.” He waited, his boots squelching noisily in the mud as he shifted his weight. Mahri waited also, until frustration at the man’s silence threatened to make Karl snort in derision and stalk away. He was ready to do exactly that when Mahri spoke again.

“I came to offer an alliance.”

“An alliance?” Karl couldn’t keep the scornful chuckle from his voice. “I’m afraid that I wasn’t aware that you represented anyone.”

Mahri lifted a single shoulder. “You mean to say that you can’t imagine an alliance with a common beggar? I see the Numetodo aren’t so much different from the ca’-and-cu’, Envoy. I hear the same disdain and scorn in your voice that I hear from those who worship Cenzi.”

Karl glanced at Mika, who rolled his eyes. Again, he took a breath and pushed down his irritation. “I’m sorry for that, Mahri. You’re right, and I would ask you not to judge all Numetodo by my poor example.”

He could hear Mika snicker under his breath.

“Ah, now that is spoken more like a diplomat, even if you mean nothing of it. Good.” The beggar pulled his tattered clothing around himself as if cold; on one hand, Karl glimpsed a thick silver seal ring.

The insignia carved in it was unfamiliar, and it was certainly not a ring a beggar would wear. He stole it or found it. He’ll have sold it by evening for a drink. “Those I represent have some of the same interests as the Numetodo, Vajiki. We, too, see the world changing, and we want to ensure that we have a place in it.”

“And who is it that you. . represent?” Karl couldn’t avoid the hesitation, nor the faint smile that accompanied it.

“I’m not prepared to reveal that yet.”

“That makes it difficult for me to assess whether this proposed alliance between us would be advantageous.”

“I’m prepared to make it worthwhile to you. What I can offer you now is knowledge. Other than the ca’Ludovici line, which of the ca’

families is most dangerous to you?”

Karl felt the scowl that tightened the muscles of his face. “That doesn’t require any thought at all,” Karl answered. “It’s the ca’Cellibrecca family, with A’Teni Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca the worst among them. No Numetodo is going to forget what he did in Brezno; the skeletons are still gibbeted on the town walls.”

“A’Teni Orlandi’s daughter Francesca, here in Nessantico, holds her vatarh’s beliefs just as strongly,” Mahri said.

“If that’s the knowledge you have to offer, then I’m afraid I have to tell you that we’re well aware of that. I’ve met the woman at the court. She’s made it quite clear where she stands, as has her husband U’Teni Estraven in his admonitions from the High Lectern. Estraven comes from the ca’Seurfoi family, after all, and his vatarh is Commandant of the Garde Brezno-the blood of the Numetodo killed there are on the commandant’s hands as well as those of A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca and Hirzg Jan.”

Mahri was nodding. “Do you know this, Envoy? From what I hear, there’s no love between Estraven and Francesca. Their relationship is simply what it was intended to be-a political marriage: A’Teni

ca’Cellibrecca’s reward to his commandant’s family for long and loyal service. That’s all. But Francesca is in love, Envoy. She is the A’Kralj’s paramour.”

The announcement sent a lightning bolt shock coursing through Karl. If the A’Kralj was indeed making Estraven ca’Cellibrecca a cuck-old, and if the A’Kralj shared Francesca’s beliefs as well as her bed. .

Karl shivered. He could imagine a dozen scenarios of what might happen, and none were pleasant. For the Numetodo, they could each make Brezno seem like a summer’s dance as soon as Justi took the Sun Throne as Kraljiki.

“Cenzi’s balls,” Mika cursed softly, and Karl knew his friend’s thoughts had traveled along the same lines as his own.

“You can prove this?” Karl asked, though his heart knew that Mahri had spoken the truth. He could feel it in the dread that burned in his stomach. He could hear it in the groan of the gibbet’s chains.

“If I do, will I have your ear, Envoy ci’Vliomani? Will you want to talk further with me?”

A glance at Mika. A quick nod. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mahri answered. His hand came from under his clothing again, this time with a scrap of grimy paper on which Karl could see a scribbled address. “Be here tonight, an hour after Third Call. I’ll meet you there. Just you. Alone.”

With that, Mahri turned and began walking back toward the Pontica. He stopped halfway and looked back at them. “What you smell

here is the true odor of the city,” he said. “Without the perfumes and the grand houses, the jewelry and the clothing. This is the city stripped of its pretensions. And we all, eventually, end up like your friend above us.” Mahri pointed, and Karl and Mika followed the gesture to the cage holding Dhaspi’s body.

When they looked down again, Mahri was gone.

Dhosti ca’Millac

Clawed feet clicked on the tiled floor; a hissing, malevolent

breath scented the air with the foul odor of carrion, and the heat from the creature’s body made him sweat. Dhosti’s eyes opened in the darkness.

He could feel the demon creeping closer to him as he lay there, but he couldn’t move. The muscles in his body were locked and frozen. sweat beaded his forehead as he felt the long, taloned hands of the