Frowning, Marar took his collection bag from the bed frame and went out to make his rounds.
He stopped at the door to his apartment and pulled himself over the walkway railing to the rigging that ran alongside his home. There, tied up among the similar ships belonging to the wealthier of his neighbors, was the flyer. It was small, room enough for only four or five, but it would come in handy if it came time to flee the city of Mab. The flyer was registered with the city and could be taken out without special permission. The monks at Sylvan had even rigged it to come at his command.
The Gift of Premonition did not feel like a gift today. It urged him to leap into the flyer now and abandon his post, flying as far as he could manage, then running into the desert to live among the wild people. He swore to himself, checking the craft's mooring, then climbed back onto the path.
A sunny day. Dust in the sandals, sweat along the hairline. Marar climbed the steps of the tenements on the city's fringe. The buildings dragged behind the city of Mab on old ropes that had frayed over centuries and were patched and repatched until the bindings became a patchwork of sisal and hemp fibers that stuck out at odd angles, fluttering in the breeze.
He rang the bell of an apartment at the top of a rickety stairwell, the wooden planks swinging nauseatingly on their rope supports. From the top of the stairs, the city's backside was plainly visible, leaving no doubt about this location's undesirability. Like a giant snail, the city left a stinking trail in its wake, a slime made of wastewater and refuse and dirt. The odor was so intense that it survived even at this height, hundreds of feet above the ground.
An elderly gnomish woman answered the bell, a permanent snarl etched on her face. Seeing Marar, she recoiled.
'You tell them!' she shouted. 'You tell them I already paid my tax this month!'
Marar sighed. 'Woman,' he said. 'You paid your imperial at the stall. I'm collecting for the city. We've been through this before.'
'I shouldn't have to pay,' she muttered, fishing in her pocketbook for the coins. 'I'm old and the city gives me nothing but trouble.'
'It's fourteen in copper,' said Marar, consulting his list. 'That's seven for this month and seven you owe from last month.'
'Seven?' the woman said, clamping the pocketbook shut. 'It used to be five!' Behind her, a pair of scrawny gnomish children wandered to the door and tugged at the woman's skirts. Marar felt a deep sadness for them, and his premonition headache throbbed.
'The city raised it four months ago. We've been over this.'
'What's your take? I know you pocket the difference.'
Marar smiled. 'No, woman. I only profit from those who can afford to pay extra. I put no more burden on you than you can withstand.'
She fished out fifteen coppers and handed them over. 'You can keep the change,' she said. 'You're not as bad as the last man they had.'
'Thank you,' he said.
Marar finished his rounds in the tenement district and returned to the Assessor's Office for his break, his bag half full. The two legionnaires standing outside the office gave him pause; he stopped and closed his eyes for longer than a blink. They could not be there for him. No one knew. He'd been too careful. Even so, the premonitory headache refused to go away. It pounded behind his eyes, presaging terrible things.
One of the legionnaires cast a glance backward at the assessor, who nodded slowly in Marar's direction.
The legionnaire approached Marar, and for an instant his vision went gray, and the soldier spoke as if from a great distance.
'Marar Envacoro,' he said. 'You are under arrest for crimes against Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Mab.'
Hy Pezho, seated at the right hand of the Queen, paid close attention to his fingernails while Prefect Laese'am rattled on about taxation. Pezho knew that his inattention to Laese'am would draw disfavor from among the Prefecture, but it was necessary to bolster his position with the Queen. Only one truly close could ignore a Prefect so openly without censure. Mab, for her part, appeared to be ignoring both of them.
A messenger entered the council chambers deep within the heart of the Royal Complex. He bowed to Mab and held his message toward her, his face to the floor.
Mab read the message and laid it on the table. She rose.
'Gentlemen, there is more pressing business to which We must attend. Let us proceed to Our observation deck that we may witness yet another sign of Our glory.'
Mab led the way from the council chambers, creating a frenzy among the attendants and servants both of the Royal Person and of her Prefects. A swarm of valets saw to the robes and tunics, assuring that they hung correctly for walking. A pair of servants dusted the ground before the Queen, lest she tread on dirt. It was a group of over fifty that left the council chambers in a double-file line through the main entrance. A two-story teak door with brass knobs fit for giants opened for them. Hy Pezho stroked the wood as he passed, three paces behind the Queen.
They ascended a wide spiral ramp at the top of which Hy Pezho could see blue sky stippled with cirrus clouds. Along the ramp's path were hung bright scarlet banners bearing slogans in Old Court Fae depicting the past triumphs of Mab.
Hy Pezho drank it all in with a hidden smile. Already heads were beginning to turn when he entered rooms. And, no doubt, the tall, thin ladies-inwaiting were whispering his names from behind their pillows and fans. It was all he could have asked for, and soon it would be more than that.
Queen Mab's observation deck was a generous tiled expanse overlooking the entire city and the lands below. Terraced gardens overflowed with marigolds and chapelbells laced with flowering vinca and begonias. A fountain in the shape of the city sparkled in the afternoon sun, its worn stones scrubbed and polished to a shine. Servants had placed deck chairs near the south-facing railing, and the assembled Prefects jockeyed politely with each other for seats nearer Her Majesty.
Hy Pezho, accepting an iced coffee from a servant, looked out over the railing and saw what the Queen intended them to see: the city of Gefi.
Gefi was smaller than the city of Mab, but what she lacked in size she made up for in architecture. Golden spires pushed up past the city's mainmast, glittering in the sunlight. On the city's main deck, the streets were laid out like the spokes of a wheel, with a great fountain in the center. Even from this distance, Hy Pezho could see the rainbow that hung eternally over the fountain. Streamers of red and gold silk hung from the lower decks, and when the wind gusted, they twisted with the currents of warm air. The city's sails were at full mast, and she was tacking against what appeared to be a strong crosswind.
'Behold the city of Gefi,' said Mab. The assembled Prefects slyly checked each other's faces for a sign of the attitude one ought to take toward it. No one seemed certain.
Mab called forth a messenger and dictated a note to the Chambers of Elements and Motion. 'Bring the wind at Our back,' she said, 'and pull Gefi nearer.' The messenger bowed and ran from the deck.
The Queen took her seat and, as one, each of the Prefects did so as well. Hy Pezho found himself again at the Queen's right.
'Is Our demonstration ready?' she asked him, beaming broadly.
'Yes, Your Majesty,' said Hy Pezho. He sipped his coffee.
Mab waited a few moments, wearing no discernable expression, her attendants hanging with ever-growing suspense on her next motion. Finally, she clapped her hands.
'Have the prisoner brought forth,' she called.
A pair of legionnaires dragged a man onto the deck, holding him by a pair of manacles on his wrists. He was dressed in the robes of a tax collector and had been beaten severely. He had difficulty keeping up with the legionnaires and stumbled often.
The legionnaires brought the man before the Queen and pushed him to the ground, then retreated a single pace, at full attention.
The Queen stood, precipitating a mass arising within the rows of deck chairs.
'Your name is Marar Envacoro?' Mab said to the man.
The man lifted his head toward her and took a deep breath. 'Your Majesty,' he said. His voice was strained.
'You are an Arcadian spy, are you not?' The Queen lifted a single eyebrow, a refined gesture.
