Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

And her three clerks. Caith was one clerk. Who were the other two?

When Prince Caonabo arrested me, I had not allowed myself to be detained all mild and acquiescent, although who knows what I might have done had the man been cunning enough to shower me with ardent kisses and embraces, for clearly I was susceptible to such blandishments.

Instead I had leaped into action.

I conceived a violently imprudent plan.

I begged the steward to take me for a tour of the schoolrooms, since the heir and I hoped to bring into the world many well-behaved children. In one schoolroom I made myself useful with the older children by engaging them in a geography lesson in which they described to me in great detail the particulars of a map of Lutetia. When I returned to my rooms I kept the door to my suite open while I paged through books of fashion on a couch by the door. Every time I heard footsteps I took a turn around the sitting room that led past the door.

At mid-afternoon my labors were rewarded when the young steward ambled past, obviously on the lookout for me. Men did strut about life with a strong sense of their self-importance!

“Shh!” I whispered, “for they keep me trapped here. They don’t want me to talk to people lest I say unkind things about the heir’s wife.”

“Have you unkind things to say of her?” he asked with keen interest as he ogled my chest. “I hear all kinds of smoke but have seen no fire.”

“I could show you some fire,” I said with a look meant to inflame his interest. “I’ve nothing to do but sit for hours in the garden. Not that the heir’s wife needs watching by people like us.”

“Is it true a djelimuso guards the suite at all hours, day and night?”

“It is. I can’t hope to slip out as long as her eye is open! The frustrating part is that I could be gone for hours and she would never know, if I could just get out this door.”

He was eager to show me what he could accomplish! We arranged for him to create a distraction in the morning at second bell, after which I would meet him at a place he named that I pretended to know the location of. He hadn’t even asked my name, although by the evidence of his gaze he had become well acquainted with the shape of my breasts.

I hid Chartji’s letter in the skull and retrieved the one to Kofi, and retreated to the summer cottage, where I threw tantrums and also actual objects any time anyone attempted to enter. By evening they simply waited outside for me to ring. At dawn I rang for broth and informed them I felt so ill I wanted only to sleep all day and must on no account be disturbed. Then I dressed in my boots, my riding skirt, and my repurposed cuirassier’s jacket, which gave me the look of a humble but respectable woman. My cane and my locket gave me courage. The cacica I had to leave behind, because I saw no way to move her without the djelimuso’s wondering why. Anyway, I had to leave Chartji’s letter somewhere I could hope Vai would think to look for it.

What distraction the young steward concocted I did not know. As soon as I heard a commotion from the sitting room, I was up a tree and onto the wall and thence over the sloped roofs. Without djeliw following my every move it was easy for me to escape, as the mansa had known it would be.

With my newly acquired knowledge of Lutetia as a map in my head, I enjoyed a refreshing walk down to the lovely Sicauna River and over a stone bridge and across the holy island dedicated to the Lady of the River with her diadem and boat. On such a fine sunny day many people walked the streets, but I sensed a mood of fear and anticipation. I strode along a wide boulevard leading to the northwest. The long facades of the buildings were broken by gates leading to interior courtyards. Flagstones shone, drenched by pools of light from the midday sun. Side avenues broke away to smaller temples, shops, and city manufactories powered not by steam but by hand. A long line of shuttered windows down one narrow lane bore the plain white stamp of goblinkind, but their workshops were closed down for the day. I saw no trolls at all, because no trolls were allowed into the central city by order of the Parisi prince.

After several miles I reached Arras Gate, built across an old defensive wall of earlier days. Folk stood in line at a toll station, arguing with the guards over the cost of import duties on the items they were carrying into the city. Wrapped in shadow I walked right through, no one the wiser. Outside the gate more buildings spread along the Arras Road, for the city was growing outward. To the left rose a wooded hill on whose height stood a holy sanctuary dedicated to one of the aspects of Mars the Soldier. Farther off to the left I glimpsed the smokestacks of a factory district. I asked directions to the Tavern with Two Doors.

On such a beautiful summer’s day, trestle tables filled the tavern’s outdoor courtyard. Men drank and ate and argued. A youth read aloud from a pamphlet for those who could not read.

“ ‘A Declaration of Rights and a Civil Code. Book One. Title One. Chapter One. Every person shall enjoy civil rights.’ What do you think of that, eh? Every person!”

A lively argument arose among the men over who could be deemed a person. Did the word person include women? Inside, to my delight, I immediately spotted Rory seated in a corner next to a young man. They were sharing a mug of beer mostly, I thought, for the chance to dandle each other’s fingers. I gently eased my shadows away so no one would be startled by my sudden appearance. Seeing me, Rory broke off. Excusing himself with an apologetic smile, he made his way to me. I followed him to the back, into a separate building made up of rooms where, for the first time, I saw trolls. In a sequestered courtyard clusters of trolls drank and ate. After so long, I had forgotten trolls saw my cane as a sword even in daylight.

“Roderic, what is that shiny blade?” called one red-and-yellow male, the question followed up by whistled inquiries from all around the courtyard. Feathered people turned to look with the bared teeth of trolls mimicking human emotions, in this case amusement and curiosity.

“My sister has come to visit,” he replied, at ease in this flock. “Has Chartji flown off?”

Yes, she had, in company with the Honeyed Voice.

“The Honeyed Voice?” I asked as Rory hurried me out the back past a warren of lanes hung with mirrors and shards of glass whose flashing and spinning made me reel and gag. I felt like the very threads of being were unraveling.

“Those troll mazes are unpleasant, aren’t they?” He steered us to a lane lined with shops whose windows had only glass, no mirrors. I leaned against a wall as nausea and headache did a frenetic dance that slowly receded. After a while, he went on. “The Honeyed Voice is what the feathered people call Bee. It’s a play on words. She’s a Bee and she gives speeches…”

o;It is. I can’t hope to slip out as long as her eye is open! The frustrating part is that I could be gone for hours and she would never know, if I could just get out this door.”

He was eager to show me what he could accomplish! We arranged for him to create a distraction in the morning at second bell, after which I would meet him at a place he named that I pretended to know the location of. He hadn’t even asked my name, although by the evidence of his gaze he had become well acquainted with the shape of my breasts.

I hid Chartji’s letter in the skull and retrieved the one to Kofi, and retreated to the summer cottage, where I threw tantrums and also actual objects any time anyone attempted to enter. By evening they simply waited outside for me to ring. At dawn I rang for broth and informed them I felt so ill I wanted only to sleep all day and must on no account be disturbed. Then I dressed in my boots, my riding skirt, and my repurposed cuirassier’s jacket, which gave me the look of a humble but respectable woman. My cane and my locket gave me courage. The cacica I had to leave behind, because I saw no way to move her without the djelimuso’s wondering why. Anyway, I had to leave Chartji’s letter somewhere I could hope Vai would think to look for it.

What distraction the young steward concocted I did not know. As soon as I heard a commotion from the sitting room, I was up a tree and onto the wall and thence over the sloped roofs. Without djeliw following my every move it was easy for me to escape, as the mansa had known it would be.

With my newly acquired knowledge of Lutetia as a map in my head, I enjoyed a refreshing walk down to the lovely Sicauna River and over a stone bridge and across the holy island dedicated to the Lady of the River with her diadem and boat. On such a fine sunny day many people walked the streets, but I sensed a mood of fear and anticipation. I strode along a wide boulevard leading to the northwest. The long facades of the buildings were broken by gates leading to interior courtyards. Flagstones shone, drenched by pools of light from the midday sun. Side avenues broke away to smaller temples, shops, and city manufactories powered not by steam but by hand. A long line of shuttered windows down one narrow lane bore the plain white stamp of goblinkind, but their workshops were closed down for the day. I saw no trolls at all, because no trolls were allowed into the central city by order of the Parisi prince.

After several miles I reached Arras Gate, built across an old defensive wall of earlier days. Folk stood in line at a toll station, arguing with the guards over the cost of import duties on the items they were carrying into the city. Wrapped in shadow I walked right through, no one the wiser. Outside the gate more buildings spread along the Arras Road, for the city was growing outward. To the left rose a wooded hill on whose height stood a holy sanctuary dedicated to one of the aspects of Mars the Soldier. Farther off to the left I glimpsed the smokestacks of a factory district. I asked directions to the Tavern with Two Doors.