pretending they were Siddarmarkian. Everybody knew better, but did it matter?
No, of course it didn’t! Whatever the registration papers might say, they were Charisian ships, and the Charisian privateers knew it. So they got safe passage while everyone else’s shipping got wiped off the face of the ocean. The shippers and the warehouses and the longshoremen were still doing just fine, them and their fucking Charisian friends. But the honest workers-the honest Temple Loyalist workers-who couldn’t find jobs as carpenters or sailmakers or chandlers or in the ropewalks, they were starving to death! Unless they wanted to go crawling to one of the soup kitchens, at least. But a man had his pride, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for good, hardworking, believing Siddarmarkians to be thrown out of work and forced to accept charity just to survive.
His father hadn’t been able to face it. They could say what they liked about accidents, but Samyl knew better. His father had always liked his beer, yes, but he’d never have gotten so drunk he staggered accidentally off the end of the wharf in the middle of winter and drowned, assuming he hadn’t frozen to death first. And he’d been careful to arrange an apprenticeship with his older brother for Samyl first. No, it hadn’t been an accident. He’d made it look like one so Mother Church would agree to bury him in holy ground, and he’d done what he could to take care of his boy first. It wasn’t his fault Uncle Byrt’s sail loft had collapsed into bankruptcy as well.
Samyl felt the hot tide sweeping up inside him again, but he fought it down. This wasn’t the time. Master Bahzkai and Father Saimyn were right about that. If they started actually attacking Charisians, really hurting the bastards the way they deserved, they were likely to actually generate some kind of sympathy for them. The very idea seemed impossible, but the city authorities were letting the damned heretics stay right here in Siddar City, weren’t they? If they were willing to whore themselves out for Charisian gold to that extent, then who knew where they’d be willing to go in the end?
No, he thought, turning away and shoving his hands into his tunic pockets as he stamped angrily down the narrow, noisome alley, the time might come, but it hadn’t come yet. Father Saimyn promised God and the Archangels would smite the Charisians in the fullness of time, and for now-at least-Samyl Naigail would wait to see that happen.
But if it didn’t, he wasn’t going to wait forever.
“Good evening, Madam Pahrsahn,” Tobys Suwyl said. He knew he sounded more than a little stuffy, but he couldn’t help it. Pahrsahn was just as charming, witty, beautiful, and wealthy as all her champions claimed, but he caught the stink of Reform from her.
“Good evening yourself, Master Suwyl,” Pahrsahn replied, smiling at him and extending one slim hand. Appearances had to be maintained, and he bent over it, brushing it with his lips. “I hadn’t expected to see you tonight,” she continued as he straightened.
“When my wife heard Sharghati would be performing at your party, she simply had to be here,” he said.
“Ah.” Pahrsahn’s smile broadened and turned impish. “I’d rather hoped it would have that effect,” she confided. “And I have to admit any excuse to listen to her sing was worthwhile.”
Suwyl nodded. And she was right. Ahlyssa Sharghati was the most highly sought-after soprano in all of Siddarmark. She’d traveled all the way to the Harchong Empire to study voice, and even the most sturdily Siddarmarkian critic had to acknowledge opera still attained its highest expression in the Empire. She could command any venue-or fee-she chose, and the fact that this was the second party of Pahrsahn’s she’d graced said a great deal about the woman’s wealth.
Either that, or it may say some unappetizing things about Sharghati’s own religious leanings, he thought, looking around the assembled guests.
“Well, I do hope you and your charming wife will enjoy yourselves this evening,” Pahrsahn said to him. “In the meantime, however, I see the Seneschal’s wife has just come in. I’m afraid I’m going to have to meet my social obligations and greet her. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask one of my servants to see to it for you.”
She swept him a stylish half-curtsy with all the polished elegance only to be expected from someone who’d come from Zion itself. Then she moved away, smiling and gracious, strewing conversational tidbits in her wake, and Suwyl watched her go with a sense of relief.
If he was going to be honest, his dislike for her stemmed far less from religious principles than from the threat she represented. Personally, Suwyl didn’t really care who ran the Temple. As far as he was concerned, that was God’s business, and God would get around to straightening it out eventually if He wasn’t happy about it. In the meantime, however, one of Mother Church’s responsibilities was to see that people behaved themselves. And when people behaved themselves, there weren’t things like wars and violence. And when there weren’t things like wars and violence, simple bankers could engage in honest, gainful trade without having to worry about what the lunatics on either side were going to tear down, burn to the ground, or blow up next.
Suwyl considered himself as Charisian as the next man, but he’d lived here in Siddar City for almost thirty years. He was part of the city, a known man, respected and listened to throughout the business community, not just in the Quarter, with contacts at the highest level of the government. Or at least he was for now. There was no telling how long it would continue to be true, though, and it was the maniacs like Staynair and “Emperor” Cayleb who were to blame.
Remember what the healers keep telling you about your temper, Tobys, he reminded himself. The last thing you need is to work yourself into an apoplectic fit over things you can’t do anything about anyway.
He drew a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly. His wife Zhandra had taught him the technique, and it actually worked. Sometimes, anyway.
Fortunately, this was one of the sometimes, and he felt his anger ease. A business colleague nodded to him in passing, and he managed to nod back with a genuine smile. Then he accepted a goblet of wine from one of Pahrsahn’s servants and sipped.
At least the woman’s taste in wine is as good as her taste in music, he reflected morosely. That’s something, if I’m going to be stuck here all night anyway.
He took another sip and began easing his way through the crowd, looking for his wife.
“Good evening, Aivah,” a quiet voice said, and Aivah Pahrsahn turned to smile at the silver-haired man who didn’t happen to be wearing a cassock this evening.
“And good evening to you, too, Zhasyn,” she said, tactfully avoiding any last names or ecclesiastic titles. “You are aware the Seneschal and his wife are both attending tonight, aren’t you?” she added teasingly.
“I assure you, I’ll stay out of Lord Daryus’ way,” he replied with a smile. “Although according to my sources, he’ll probably be going pretty far out of his way himself to avoid noticing me. May I ask if your… negotiations with him have prospered?”
“Oh, I’m sure both the Republic and I will be making a great deal of money, Zhasyn,” she assured him. “And it really won’t hurt for Hahraimahn’s foundries to get a small infusion of capital at a time like this.”
“Small?” He raised his eyebrows in polite incredulity, and she laughed.
“Perhaps not so small on the scale of individuals,” she acknowledged, “but still relatively small on the scale of entire realms. Indeed,” her smile faded slightly, “small enough I think there’s an excellent chance none of Clyntahn’s eyes or ears will realize it’s even been made. For a while, at least.”
Zhasyn Cahnyr nodded, although his eyes were worried. “Madam Pahrsahn’s” investment was nowhere near so cut and dried as she chose to pretend, and she was playing a more dangerous game than she was willing to admit. He was less certain than she that the Inquisition wouldn’t get wind of a “private investment” which amounted to the purchase of several thousand rifled muskets and bayonets. More than that, he was more than a little frightened of exactly what she intended to do with them once she had them.
Perhaps it’s just as well she hasn’t enlightened you on that particular point, he told himself dryly. You’d probably worry even more if you did know what she was going to do with them!
“You have made it clear to your ‘special guests’ that there’s a degree of risk involved here, haven’t you?” he asked now, changing the subject.
“Of course I have, Zhasyn.” She smiled and touched his cheek gently. “I admire and respect you, my friend,
