“Where is home?”
“Far from here in the West,” he answered. “But not so far that we haven’t heard of Nessantico, though we’ve so far managed to avoid her armies. But that day will come.”
“Why are you here?”
He did smile then. And didn’t answer. He took a sip of his tea.
“The city is like a nervous dog ready to bite anyone who approaches,” he said finally. “First the Kraljica’s assassination, then the Archigos dead under suspicious circumstances. Now there is talk that Firenzcia’s army is on the march-the Kraljiki has expanded commandant ca’Rudka’s duties to include the Garde Civile as well as the Garde Kralji, and the Commandant has called for all able-bodied men to enlist in the Garde Civile. Some say that conscription squads will be roaming through the city soon. The Kraljiki sent out riders to the north, south, and west last night, supposedly to summon the nearest Garde Civile garrisons to come here. There’s been a request to the local farmers for hay and any wheat stores they may have. Archigos Orlandi has sent additional worker-teni to the smithies and forges.”
Mahri glanced over at Karl. “The Numetodo still in the Bastida have been executed,” he continued. “Their bodies-hands cut off and tongues removed-are hanging this morning from the Pontica Kralji.
But there weren’t nearly as many of them in their cells as there were supposed to be. Most of the Numetodo escaped somehow last night via some dark magic.”
Even as she recoiled from the news, she noticed the weariness in Mahri’s body: the way he propped his body on the table, the heaviness of the lid over his good eye. “That was
Again, he didn’t answer directly. He inclined his head toward the sleeping Karl. “He will need support when he hears of this,” he said.
“Not all those in the Bastida escaped, and those were his comrades who were murdered.”
“Why are you here?” she persisted. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not on any side.” Mahri drained his still-steaming mug of tea.
She touched her own mug; it was still too hot to hold comfortably. “I need to sleep now. It’s been a long, tiring night. Have some more tea if you like. There’s bread and cheese in the cupboard. If you’ll excuse me. .” He rose from the table.
“What if someone comes?” she asked him. “What should I do?”
“No one will come,” he told her. “And as long as you stay here, you’re safe, at least for this day. If you go out on the street. .” The folds of his cloak shifted as his shoulders rose and fell. “Then I can’t say. That would be in the hands of your Cenzi.”
With that, he shuffled off to the far corner of the room, pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and sat. She could hear his breathing slowing and becoming louder almost immediately.
She sat in the chair and sipped her tea, looking out at the Rue a’Jeunesse and wondering what she would say to Karl when he woke.
Sergei ca’Rudka
A double hand of Numetodo bodies swung on their gibbets on the lampposts of the Pontica Kralji. There should have been two double hands, enough to decorate the Pontica Mordei as well. That those bodies were missing both troubled and pleased Sergei.
It pleased him. . because he was convinced that the Numetodo had nothing to do with the death of the Kraljica or the heretical treason of the Archigos and his staff. He had personally supervised the interrogations of the Numetodo who had remained in the Bastida and who were now hanging above him for the crows. He had listened to and watched enough men under torture to see and hear the difference between extracted truth and lying admissions screamed in hopes of stopping the torment. All of the Numetodo had eventually “confessed” before their execution; all of them, Sergei was certain, had only said what they hoped their captors had wanted to hear-their stories didn’t connect, didn’t make sense, didn’t substantiate each other. He was glad that ci’Vliomani had escaped that torment and that humiliation, glad that so many others had escaped it as well. It didn’t please him to see so much unnecessary death.
But the escapes troubled him. . because it
the gardai rendered unconscious; the disappearance of many of the prisoners before several teni arrived from the Archigos’ Temple and dispersed the false mist with their own spells. By then, it had been too late, but he knew that if Kraljiki Justi or Archigos Orlandi decided that they needed a high-level scapegoat, they might look at Sergei. Had the Numetodo all escaped, that certainly would have been the case.
Yes, the escapes troubled him. . because Sergei suspected that truth lay elsewhere, and that if he dared to speak his own suspicions, his would be the next body hanging on the Pontica after days of torture in the Bastida.
“Commandant?”
The query brought him out of his reverie. His boots squelched in the mud of the riverbank as he turned. “Yes, O’Offizier ce’Ulcai?”
The man handed ca’Rudka a sealed letter. His gaze flicked past ca’Rudka to the bodies swaying above them on the Pontica, then back.
“Your aide said to give this to you immediately.”
“Thank you,” Sergei said. He examined the seal, then tucked his finger underneath the flap to break the red wax from the thick paper.
He unfolded the letter and read it quickly.
Commandant-I have investigated the matter you requested me to look into. I apologize for the length of time it has taken me to reply, but my queries required both more travel and correspondence than I expected. Here are the facts, as I know them: The artist Edouard ci’Recroix was born here in Il Trebbio in a village on the River Loi, near our border with Sforzia and Firenzcia. There is no evidence that he had Numetodo tendencies; in fact, in his youth he spent two years as a teni-apprentice under A’Teni ca’Sevini of Chivasso, though he did not receive his Marque. Still, by all appearances he was a devout member of Concenzia. His early paintings, before his time as teni-apprentice, are unremarkable; I have viewed several of them, and there is little indication of his later skill.
But after his release from his studies by the a’teni, his reputation (and his skills, evidently) began to rise, and in that time he obtained commissions in several of the cities within the Holdings. The fact that he had teni-training undoubtedly led to the persistent rumors that he tapped the Ilmodo to gain the vivid likenesses in his later painting.
A shame no one realized how true that was.
One oddity-which I admit I would not have noticed had you not alerted me to look for any strange connections-is that most of the subjects of his portraits, especially those considered to be his mas-terworks, are dead. At least three of them died within a few days of ci’Recroix’s delivery of the finished painting, at which time ci’Recroix was generally gone from the city, not that any suspicion was ever
cast on him at all. Given the distance between cities and the slowness of news passing between them, the fact that most of his subjects were elderly, and ci’Recroix’s consistent wanderlust, no one seems to have found anything sinister in this. I hesitate to remark on it myself. This still may be nothing beyond a set of odd coincidences. There is no proof of a definite connection, especially since not all of the painter’s subjects have died.
However, you did ask me to determine who hired ci’Recroix to do his portrait of the Kraljica. The contact with ci’Recroix was made here in Prajnoli by Chevaritt cu’Varisi, a diplomat connected to the Kraljica’s office. It was he who signed the commission for the artist to paint the Kraljica’s portrait. In the wake of the Kraljica’s death, cu’Varisi has been removed from his duties and is on house arrest
until the matter is cleared up. I spoke to the chevaritt; he said that his contact was within the Grand Palais: a Gilles ce’Guischard, who is connected to the palais staff of the A’Kralj. Chevaritt cu’Varisi conducted a brief inquiry into ci’Recroix’s qualifications and background before tendering the commission; he knew of the Ilmodo rumors but
discounted them, something he now regrets. He let me see his notes from that investigation, and he insists
