‘Quite,’ Che agreed. ‘Thalric, please.’
Thalric nodded tiredly. ‘When she saw the two of us off in Collegium, setting off for Tharn during the war, she was ready to swear all manner of oaths that she would come and kill me if anything happened to you, Che.’
She eyed him wordlessly, but with a single nod.
‘Then I swear this: if she harms you – whether in her madness or her sanity – then I will hunt her down, you understand? If she so much as draws a bead of your blood, then I will see her die in flames.’ He was abruptly once more the merciless spymaster, the killer of children, the fatal hand of the Empire, and it was for her, for Che alone, that he would become such a thing again. The feeling of power, having him on her side, shocked her.
‘She won’t hurt me,’ Che did her best to assure him.
His expression held no confidence in that, and his threat, his promise, still hung in the air as Varmen said, ‘Well, then, who’s this fellow we’re to impose ourselves on? Prince Lousy, was it, you said?’
‘Lowre Cean,’ Gaved said quietly. ‘Prince-Major Lowre Cean.’ He gave the name some weight, and waited for the other Wasps to catch up.
Thalric was ahead of Varmen, but it was plain that the two of them registered the name.
‘You can’t mean their general?’
‘Yes, Thalric,’ Gaved confirmed, ‘none other.’
‘The man who crushed the…?’ Thalric’s words tailed off, his eyes drawn inexorably to Varmen. ‘The man who crushed the Sixth at Masaki.’
‘Pride of the Sixth,’ the big Wasp echoed. For a moment the strange pensive expression taking up unfamiliar residence on his face was enough to silence the rest of them. ‘Oh, yes, let’s go visiting. Why not?’
Gaved shot him a dangerous look. ‘He’s well liked, loved even. Don’t get any ideas.’
‘I’m not noted for them,’ Varmen replied. ‘What, you think I’m going to go take vengeance on him for a whole army? If I was going to do that, I’d dig up our old General Haken and spit on his corpse, I would. But I want to see this fellow. I want to see the face of the man behind Masaki. I knew there was a reason for me to come so far, and maybe that’s it.’
When Maure announced, without warning, that the ghost was nearing, presumably with Tynisa in thrall and in tow, Che opened the external panels of the house, so that her sister would see it as an invitation. Oh, she would be suspicious, of course, and it would not take Tisamon’s shade to prompt that, but she would enter nonetheless.
Inside, Maure had already made her preparations. A circle was drawn on the floor in bone ash and charcoal, and she had hung lanterns in each corner of the inner room, each housing a constellation of fireflies within. She had marked out the circle with symbols that were not letters but pictograms, which looked frighteningly familiar to Che. Testing the water, she asked the necromancer, ‘What do they say?’
‘Say?’ Maure shrugged. ‘They don’t say anything. They’re just the warding marks that we use, passed down from teacher to pupil, generation to generation.’
Che nodded dully, while interpreting, By Ephisemnas Queen of the Veiled Night I adjure you. By Telephian the Wise, Lord of the Seven Guards, I stay your hand. By… On and on, a rote of power rooted solely in the terror of ancient names and titles, but she could sense that power there. First the castle at Leose, and now this. How far did the reach of the Masters of Khanaphes stretch, in their heyday?
There was incense too, little smoking stacks of it on leaves floating in brass bowls of snowmelt water, and also sprigs of herbs tied to the eaves. Maure caught Che’s look and nodded grimly. ‘I know, you’re wondering which of it works and which doesn’t, hm? Well, who can say, but with this visitor I’m not minding to leave any of it out.’ Around the edge of the circle, she sprinkled a trail of white powder, and Che wondered if it was ordinary salt.
‘And what will this accomplish?’ she asked.
‘Assuming any of it has any staying power at all, it will prevent the ghost from simply striking me dead.’
Che blinked. ‘He can do that? Himself?’
‘No, but your girl there has a sword, so he only has to put the idea in her head. From Gaved’s evidence, she’s not exactly inhibited in that way.’
I cannot deny it. Che nodded unhappily. And then Tynisa came stalking into the room, with drawn sword.
She stopped, as though having struck a wall, and stared about her. ‘Oh, my word, what’s this?’ she got out, with a choking sound, and a moment later Che realized that she was laughing.
‘Tynisa,’ she greeted her sister, feeling a slight tension as she did so. For names have power. ‘This is Maure, a friend. She and I are conducting… an experiment. I want you to join us for it.’
Tynisa eyed the paraphernalia with contempt, and moved to kick out at one of the bowls, but something stopped her, clearly to her own surprise. ‘You called me out here just for this?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Where are Gaved and his woman?’
‘Away,’ Che said firmly, seeing in that instant how wise it had been to ensure that the Wasps were absent. ‘Sit down, please.’
‘More ghosts?’ Tynisa asked her mockingly.
‘Possibly. Will you sit?’
The Spider girl shook her head, her expression pitying, and she seemed about to turn and leave when Maure said, ‘Do you not know me, Tynisa? Have you not seen me before?’
‘No.’ But Tynisa frowned. ‘Have I?’ Her sword, which had been hanging loose by her side, was abruptly levelled across the circle, directed at Maure’s heart. For a moment Tynisa went very still, save that Che could see a slight tremble in her, as though she was fighting with her own body. ‘What…?’ she got out, ‘I should…’
‘You want to kill me,’ Maure observed.
‘No, why would I want to…?’ Tynisa was staring at her own arm, which seemed to be warring both with the rest of her and with the rapier itself. At last, with a great effort of will, she rammed the weapon home in its scabbard. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, with a tremor to her voice.
‘Sit down, please,’ Che repeated, and Tynisa did so, looking all of a sudden uncertain.
‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she asked, with a hint of pleading in her voice.
‘Maure is going to perform a ritual,’ Che explained. ‘A ritual to try and call up certain ghosts that are near to us. You and I have both lost loved ones. We… the Inapt believe that there may be traces, shadows of the dead left in the world. Wouldn’t you want to speak to them?’
‘No,’ said Tynisa hollowly, but she did not get up. ‘Che, I have seen… On my journey to this place, I’ve had them at my elbow every day. Just in my own mind, but that’s enough ghost for me. I’ve only recently got rid of them, so… even if it was possible, I wouldn’t want to see them again.’
‘Even if they could then let you go? Give you their blessing?’ Che pressed. She was not sure whether she was now speaking for Tynisa’s benefit or her own.
For a long while Tynisa stared into the circle sketched in ash and charcoal. ‘You’re mad,’ she said at last, but her voice had a plaintive tone. ‘This woman’s led you on. How much money did you give her?’
‘Tynisa-’
‘But perform your nonsense. Go on, get it over with. I’ll sit here and listen. Why not?’
Che nodded, somewhat mollified. ‘Maure, would you…?’
‘You must think of him, both of you. Draw into your minds all your recollections, the precise shape of him, the shadow he cast on the world.’ She closed her eyes and began visibly steeling herself. Che had expected incantations, mystic words, a high-blown patter to go with all the props and clutter that the woman had assembled here, but there was none of that, simply a name.
‘Tisamon.’ It was dropped like a stone into a well, and although the walls around them were not capable of it, Che was sure that there was an echo.
‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated. ‘Tisamon, I name you-’ names signifying power to the old Inapt kinden. The air within that central room twanged with tension, the incense smoke coiling but refusing to rise properly. In the lanterns, the fireflies seemed to spell out strange sigils with their lights.
The beating of rain on the sloped roof above them was sudden enough to make Che start, an abruptly descending hiss as the skies broke open, soon joined by the sound of a miniature waterfall as the water began sheeting off the roof’s lower edge. Not the thunderstorm that traditionally belonged to this kind of venture, but a moderate shower remarkable only for the timing of its onset.
‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated, over the sound of it. ‘Come forth and speak your piece. You have grievances, let us hear them. Speak to us, Tisamon.’
