'By whom?'
The Law, my Lord.'
Carnelian stared, not understanding.
Opalid read his face and his lips took on a sneer. 'Surely you know that at this time only Ruling Lords are permitted at court? It is-'
'It is part of the Balance,' Spinel broke in. 'Intended to dissuade the House of the Masks from seeking to take the Ruling Lords hostage, or worse.'
Carnelian fought a frown. He could see that Spinel was thinking furiously. The Master took a step forward, trying a smile. 'However, if my Lord feels it essential that he join his father, there might be a way.'
'What way, my Lord?'
The Ruling Lord Imago, now sadly deceased, was expected at court. It is almost certainly the Lord Jaspar's intention to go there in his father's place. The Law insists that he will have to accompany the body to the Plain of Thrones for its embalming. It is likely that he will go from there straight up to the Halls of Thunder. He might be worked upon… but of course I am neglecting to take into account his grief.'
'Finish your thought, my Lord.'
Spinel opened his hands. 'I was just thinking that perhaps the new Imago might be worked upon to take you with him, my Lord… passing you off as one of his minor kin. It is unusual to take a companion, but then Imago Jaspar is not yet fully a Ruling Lord and in the electoral negotiations he might well desire to lean upon the experience of an older Lord.'
'You propose that I deliberately break the Law?'
Spinel shrugged. 'It is a minor infringement, my Lord. The penalty would not be above a little wealth.'
'And Jaspar?'
'He could pass it off as an amusing jape. He might do it for a friend.'
Carnelian thought about it. 'We know each other well enough. It might not go amiss if I were to pay him my condolences personally.'
'Such an act of compassion would be… eccentric, but then-'
'Imago Jaspar is well used to my eccentricities,' said Carnelian, reliving the road.
'My Lord could join his father, and return here with him once the election is over. Meanwhile, in the time we still have before we ourselves shall go to court, we could continue to prepare the coomb for your return.'
Carnelian nodded. 'I will go to Coomb Imago.'
Spinel smiled. 'My Lord will have need to plan his journey.' The Master bowed. 'We shall return to our halls and immediately resume our labours.' He began to turn.
'My Lord, you have forgotten something.' Spinel turned back, his eyebrows arching.
The Seal?'
Spinel's nostrils flared. 'But I had understood-' 'I will have the Seal.'
Spinel's hands clenched. 'How shall we make all the necessary changes without it?'
The time has come for my Lord to be relieved of the burden of rule that he has borne for so long. On behalf of my father, I thank you for your stewardship of our House, but now it is time for another to bear its weight.'
Opalid stared at Carnelian. 'Surely you do not mean…?'
'Urquentha,' said Spinel, his voice as dull as his eyes. 'Yes. I feel my grandmother has been locked away for long enough.'
There was a pleading look in the eyes that Spinel turned on Carnelian. 'It was done for a reason. She is a dangerous woman.'
Carnelian gave him a cold smile. 'Perhaps she has been made so. I shall give her the Seal.'
'Did you see their faces?' said Carnelian, grinning. He was weighing the Seal in his hand.
'I saw them, Master,' said Fey, looking at the Seal with a doleful face.
Alarmed by her expression, he reached out and took her shoulder. 'Are you all right?'
Fey straightened, smiled, nodding. 'I was just thinking that Mistress Urquentha has been much wronged. It is justice that she should have the Seal again.'
Carnelian ran his hands over the carvings on the block of jade, over its handle, its tassels. 'Here, take it.'
Fey put her hands out and he put the Seal into them.
'Please, go now. Take it to her with my respects. Come back as quickly as you can. I'd like you to help me make arrangements to go to Coomb Imago. If I leave it to anyone but you I'll get a lot of fuss. All I really need is a mourning robe.'
INTO THE LABYRINTH
Crucifixion is a punishment capable of infinite refinement. A spectrum of pain effects can be readily achieved. With judicious care, the agony can be extended for long periods without danger of accidental fatality. The technique is particularly useful as an object lesson to the inferior and has, besides, an element of aesthetic display.
Fey struck the smallest heart-stone turtle. Its chime rippled off across the water. Fey struck it again. The second vibration dulled away to silence. The crater seemed to be an ear listening to the sky. The further curve of the Sacred Wall could have been a crack in the world. Carnelian's red mourning robe looked grey. He turned to look along the quay, up past the towers of the Lower Palace to the Eyries. While waiting for Fey, Carnelian had tried to sleep, but he had been unable to quieten the arguments in his mind. At last he had given up and gone to a window from where he could see the Pillar blotting milky swathes of stars. He had reread the letter that Spinel had given him many times, until he was able to convince himself it might have come from his father. Fey had come at last, alone, as Carnelian had asked her to. She had helped him put on the mourning robe. Then, together, they had made their way down the stair with guardsmen carrying lanterns to fight the steps.
On the quay, as he searched the darkness for the kharon boat, Carnelian felt the ceiling sky begin to redden. Twilight still filled the crater right up to its brim. Mist seemed to be teasing out from the bobbin of the Pillar. A thin birdsong stirring only thickened the silence. The Yden's lagoons were reflecting some murky alien sky. Beyond them, the Labyrinth seemed a burial mound. Carnelian shivered though he was immersed in the hot humid breathings of the lake. He began to ask Fey about the crater mosdy to feel breath moving in the cavity of his mouth, to bring his world back to a scale in which he was more than just a sliver of fleshed bone. He drew answers out of Fey as if they were arrowheads buried in her flesh, but then paid no attention to them.
Suddenly, Fey turned to him. 'Please tell the Master that though I failed his trust I never betrayed his love.'
'You can tell him yourself when we both return,' said Carnelian.
Fey would not look at him. Carnelian felt he was being judged.
'We'll come back, Fey. We will, and when we do, we'll put right all the wrongs.'
Fey put her hand on his arm. 'You've already put things right with your forgiveness.'
He put his hand over hers. As they watched the pallid boat ruffling the fiery mirror of the lake, Carnelian checked his hand to make sure he had brought the jade rings he needed for payment. He looked down at Fey. 'When Tain's finished his quarantine, will you see if you can find a way to send him to me?'
'Of course, Master.'
The bone boat was slipping along the quay, a ferryman at her bow, his one eye spying out her way. Carnelian squeezed Fey's hand and let it go. There were tears in her eyes.
'It'll take a few days to get a household to you. I'll make sure to include a court robe.' That's good.'
They looked at each other. 'Goodbye, Fey.' 'Goodbye, Carnelian.'
He stood for a moment, unsettled by her use of his name, then climbed aboard. As the boat sighed away he
