City of Bones (13 page)

“
On the Motion of Thestinti
. I read bits and pieces. It was confusing; I couldn’t follow what it was trying to say. And I didn’t want Riathen to realize I could read it.” He wished his partner had been with him, for that at least. Sagai, who had studied Ancient Script in the Scholars’ Guild in Kenniliar, was better at deciphering the intricacies of it than Khat. “What does
thestinti
mean?”

“That’s a difficult one. I don’t suppose you remember the intonation markers?”

“No, I was a little distracted at the time.”

“Hmm. It could mean walls, barriers …”

“I don’t think it was about architecture,” Khat said. “I could read the words, but they didn’t make sense to me. Something about ‘to enter and leave by the western doors of the sky’ and ‘to know the souls of the Inhabitants of the West.’ ”

“And there was no dynastical seal, I assume?”

“No, not one of the Recognizable Seven, anyway. I wasn’t looking for one of the Hundred Hypothetical.” Amateurs were always claiming to find new dynastical seals; the Academia kept a register of them, and some scholars worked their whole lives to verify them, though none had been added to the Recognizable list in decades.

“Perhaps it’s a philosophical work. You said the Warders believed it related to their power. The Walls of the Mind, maybe. The Academia would be interested. Thousands of coins’ worth interested. An intact text of Ancient Script and a piece of an arcane engine that can actually be associated with a Remnant. Why, it might lead to a proof of Robelin’s theory about the Remnants’ housing arcane engines. Treasures beyond price! I can hardly believe it.”

Khat didn’t want to dampen his partner’s excitement by pointing out how unlikely it was that either of them would ever have another chance to closely examine the text or the engine relic again. “I doubt Riathen wants to sell them.”

“No.” Sagai sighed, and looked away over the dirty rooftops to the east, past the low clusters of mud-brick houses to where the tier’s rim dropped away and the Fringe desert and the Waste stretched out forever, the black rock featureless in the distance. The breeze was up, and the night that was never quiet inside Charisat was at least calm, with the rumble of handcarts from the streets and the shouting and scuffling from the more combative denizens of the nearby courts seeming far away. “He will hide them, and fight for them, and worship them, perhaps. And never think to sell them to the Academia, where the scholars could glean far more knowledge from them than he ever could.”

Khat yawned, and discovered one of his back teeth was loose. Another souvenir from the Warders. He would have to pull it out later, so the new one would grow in straight. “You think there’s anything to that story about the relics helping them find an arcane engine that’s going to unlock all the secrets of the Ancients?”

Sagai smiled down at him. “Unlocking all the secrets of the Ancients” was a stock phrase, something used to overwhelm inexperienced buyers. “I don’t know everything. But what I do know tells me to doubt it.”

Khat nodded, hearing his own belief confirmed.

After a moment, Sagai asked, “But will you help them?”

“I have to, don’t I? That or leave the city.”

Elen knelt on the floor of her room, facing the doorway into the small fountain court. The sun hadn’t risen high enough to top the bulk of the house, so the muted predawn light turned the bright colors of the tile to gray and dulled the sparkle of the water. The early morning heat sent sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts, and the tickle of it was enough to disrupt her meditation. She gave up, wearily rubbing the back of her neck. The Discipline of Calm and Silence had always helped her make up for lost sleep before, but now it refused to have any effect on her. The fault was doubtless with her and not the exercise.

A soft step in the doorway behind her, and Lithe, the servant woman who took care of her rooms, said, “Elen, the Master Warder wants to see you now.”

“All right.” Elen stood and stretched. Riathen never slept. He and the older Warders had learned to use the Disciplines to entirely take the place of physical sleep.
Maybe that’s why we go mad
, Elen thought, then winced at her own sour mood.

She pulled a mantle on over her kaftan and padded barefoot down the corridor to the wide sweep of the central stairs. The episode with the spider bite had left a mark on her leg that looked much worse than it felt now. She was hardly limping at all. Of course, explaining to the household physician what had been used to puncture the wound so the poison could drain away had been an exercise in bland-faced innocence she would not like to repeat.

Last night Ellen had also convinced Riathen that she would be the best one to go down to the lower-tier maze today and make sure Khat meant to fulfill his part of their bargain. The krismen’s disappearance last night had badly worried him. Elen had been a bit worried, but hardly surprised.

None of the other Warders in the household possessed more than common knowledge about the kris, which made Elen the current authority on the subject. She wished she had time to locate a book with a history of the Enclave’s contact with the cities, or at least a monograph that would tell her how to interpret the changes in eye color. She knew that a lightening to gray was for anger, darkening was for pain or distress, and rapid shifts between green, blue, and brown seemed the rule otherwise—if that was the rule, and not a sign of instability in this particular individual.

Riathen’s rooms were on the top floor, at the head of the stairs. At the landing she paused, looking at the door that led into the Master Warder’s chambers. If anyone had asked her a year ago if she had Riathen’s trust, Elen would have firmly said yes. Now he still hadn’t told her why he was so certain the relics were part of an arcane engine, or what sort of engine it could be that would help them discover the lost secrets of their power. She touched the new painrod at her waist, a little uncomfortably. It was proof that some of the Ancients’ arcane engines could be dangerous indeed.

She shook her head, telling herself not to follow where those thoughts led. She had pushed Riathen far enough by taking the plaque out to the Remnant without his permission.
And can I blame him
? Jaq’s death, and to some extent Esar’s, were on her head. She didn’t deserve trust.

Elen went on into the main chamber, which ran the whole length of this quarter of the house. The large windows in the inward wall looked down into the central court four stories below, where guests were often sent to wait under the shade of the stone gallery for an audience with the Master Warder.

Lamps were still lit in wall niches, casting warm light on the shelves packed with Riathen’s books and his astronomical instruments. The Master Warder was sitting on one of the cushioned stools at a low stone table inlaid with jet and turquoise, serving tea to Kythen Seul, who looked as fresh and rested as if he hadn’t been nearly killed by pirates or walked for miles along the trade road in the past two days. In the privacy of the house, neither man was veiled.

Riathen looked up at Elen’s entrance and smiled a welcome. Elen smiled back, and nodded to Seul, though she wasn’t terribly happy with him. Last night he had lectured her all the long way up from the docks to the First Tier about Khat. Seul seemed to think she was a trusting fool. She hadn’t told him that she had tried to use her power to protect herself and that the working had failed.

“I’ve spoken to Kythen,” Riathen said, setting aside the silver-veined quartz tea decanter and spooning a few mint leaves into his cup. “And he assures me the blame for your ‘excursion’ to the Remnant was all his, and that he was the one who persuaded you to ‘borrow’ the plaque and tear off into the Waste like a pair of mad children.”

Seul frowned. Elen correctly guessed that the wording of the charge was all Riathen’s and not the younger Warder’s. It was hard to tell what either one of them was feeling. The air in the room didn’t seem tense, but ever since Constans had gone mad all Warders habitually protected themselves against soul reading, and both Riathen and Seul were particularly good at it. She said calmly, “But all the blame isn’t his. I agreed with him completely. If I hadn’t, I would have told you what he meant to do.”

Seul sighed, as if she had spoken foolishly, and made an “I tried” gesture to her. To Riathen he said, “If the pirates hadn’t attacked the wagon, everything would have gone well, and you wouldn’t have had to make the journey yourself.”

Elen managed to keep silent. She supposed Seul meant well, but Riathen had been her guardian since she was a child, since she had first shown Warder talent. He had rebuked her before, and she supposed he would again; she didn’t need anyone’s protection from him.

The Master Warder raised an eyebrow at Seul, and added, “And Constans would not have discovered you, and nearly taken the text, and two of our lictors would not be dead?”

Seul said quietly, “I apologize, Master.”

“You will accompany me when I go to inform their families today, and repeat your apology to them.” He looked at Elen. “You’re ready to go down to the Sixth Tier today?”

“Yes. I was waiting for sunrise before I left.” She had wanted to speak to Jaq’s family herself, and was startled Riathen hadn’t required it of her. Perhaps he considered her mission too important. Well, she would go anyway, as soon as she could.

“Good. It will leave myself and the others free to try to find the source of that painrod the pirates had. I suppose it could’ve come from a cache in another city, but still… Constans must have supplied it to them somehow, and he must be prevented from obtaining more.”

Elen agreed. She was lucky Riathen had replaced her lost painrod and not made her go without one as punishment. If the number of Warders hadn’t been lower than usual this decade, there would have been none to replace it with at all. Her old rod had had no sentimental value; before her it had belonged to a student of the old Warder who had been Riathen’s master, but it annoyed her no end that she had been so careless as to lose it. If Khat hadn’t taken it, it must still be somewhere in the Waste. She supposed the pirates had found it by now.

Riathen’s expression was serious. “Seul suggested that it was not Constants who arranged the pirate attack, but our relic dealer. Do you believe that possible?”

Elen snorted. “Hardly. They tried to kill him just as hard as they tried to kill me. And he could have taken the relic at any time and left me stranded there.”
He took care of me, and I certainly gave him no reason to
, she wanted to add, and found herself holding back. Seul was watching her so intently.

Riathen nodded, satisfied. “Then I want you to find out everything you can about him. When he came to Charisat, and why. As much as you can.”

She frowned. “What does that have to do with recovering the relics?”

“Are you sure it’s wise to send Elen?” Seul countered. “She was alone with that creature for almost two days, and we’re only lucky nothing … that nothing happened. Sending her down there might be … dangerous for her.”

Elen didn’t look at him, didn’t allow herself to react to the note of possessive disapproval in his voice. She suspected her cheeks were reddening with embarrassment and anger, and she hated herself for it. She said, “I’m perfectly safe. He doesn’t find me attractive. And I have good reason to know.”

Seul almost spilled his tea. Riathen pretended the interruption had not occurred. “It has nothing to do with recovering the relics,” he answered Elen, his expression grave. “But I’ve looked forward, and the results have not been as clear as I would like. Of course, they never are. I need more information.”

Elen nodded. “I understand.” She didn’t understand. She merely wanted out. “I had better go now.”

Riathen nodded permission, and she made for the door, not bothering to take leave of Seul.

Halfway down the main stair she realized she hadn’t changed her clothing yet; the plain kaftan, cap, and an old battered pair of sandals that she needed to meld into a lower-tier crowd were waiting for her on her bed cushions.
What am I doing
, she asked herself,
bolting out of the house like an angry child
? She went through the arch into the garden court, intent on taking the back way to her rooms. She shouldn’t let Seul shake her confidence like that. Elen knew herself to be a skilled infighter, especially for someone her size, and that her knowledge of the Elector’s court and the emissaries sent there from the other Fringe Cities, as well as the dangers they represented, could not be faulted. She had even acted as bodyguard for foreign ladies on high state visits, and spied on them when necessary, missions that would have been difficult if not impossible for a male Warder. It was only her power that failed her.

That oh-so-dangerous and unnatural Ancient magic that fled her grasp like shadows under the noon sun.

The garden court was small, filled with delicate green plants brought from the shores of the Last Sea, screened from much of the sun’s harshness by a netting of fine white gauze stretching high overhead, and quiet except for the soft music of water running in the stone basins. Someone called her name as she sped down the path, and she stopped, startled, and looked back.

It was Kythen Seul.

She considered continuing on down the path and ignoring his summons, but he was too close already, and she refused to run away.

He caught up with her and said, “Elen, take care.”

She faced him, her mouth grim. “Seul, I told you, I—”

He held up his hands, asking for a truce. “I’m sorry.”

Elen sighed. There were a number of things about him she found frustrating. He had come to them from the household of another elder Warder, and Riathen had embraced him like a son. Everyone believed he would be the Master Warder’s successor, and it was clear what Seul thought the relationship between himself and the woman Warder who had been raised as Riathen’s daughter should be. “Really, there isn’t anything for you to worry about.”

“I know,” Seul said, looking down at her uneasily. “But take care, anyway.”

After a moment, she managed to say, “Thank you.”

He nodded and walked away.

Khat slept on the roof until the predawn light woke him. It took long moments of staring at the glowing horizon and the gradually fading stars to remember what had happened, why he was so sore and stiff. Then he remembered what he had agreed to do and whom he had obligated himself to, and winced at the depth of his own greed and stupidity.

He stretched carefully and came to the reluctant conclusion that he was going to live, then sat up on one elbow. The court below was still quiet, and the city’s never-ending thunder was only a dull background roar of handcart wheels creaking, voices calling, the distant puffing of the rail wagon, the ceaseless movement of goods up and down the ramps connecting the tiers. Simply rolling over and going back to sleep was impossible, at least up here. This section of the Sixth Tier was fully exposed to the merciless rise of the morning sun.

The Inhabitants of the West
, Khat thought, remembering the Survivor text. There were no living cities further west than Charisat, so if the Inhabitants of the West had lived in one it lay buried under Waste rock. If they had even been real at all, and not a symbol for some forgotten philosophical ideal.

Khat went down the ladder into the crowded house, making it out into the empty court without waking anyone, and headed for the nearest bathhouse.

When he came back an hour or so later Elen was sitting on the edge of the fountain basin, watching the old keeper counting his tally sticks. She wore a plain undyed kaftan, a cap decorated by cheap beads, and sandals of lacquered wicker.
It’s started already
, he thought. The Warders could have at least allowed him a day or so to regroup.

Khat went to Sagai first, who was leaning in their house’s doorway and smoking a clay pipe, thoughtfully watching the young Warder. As Khat joined him Sagai asked, “Is that your Elen?”

“That’s her. How long has she been here?”

“A little after full light.”

“That long? We are anxious, aren’t we?”

Sagai gave him worried look and said, “Go carefully.”

Khat walked over to lean against the wall near the fountain. The sewer stink had faded, and the morning air was almost fresh. The smell of grain boiling somewhere nearby couldn’t disguise the rare promise of one of the infrequent rains that fell this time of year. A few of their neighbors were already out, gossiping over tea or readying bundles to carry to the markets. No one looked at Elen with anything more than mild curiosity. Dressed as she was, she wouldn’t get a second look anywhere on the Sixth Tier, a thought Khat was none too comfortable with.

He glared at the fountain keeper until the old man got the message, gathered his sticks, and retired in huffy silence to the other end of the court.

Without looking up at Khat, Elen said, “Riathen is worried. You left rather abruptly.”

“I didn’t think I needed his permission,” Khat said, and thought,
First they try to hire you, then they try to own you
.

“You don’t.” Elen shifted uneasily on the rough stone of the basin’s rim. “It was just a little disconcerting. He wants to speak to you again. I think he just wants to make sure that you will try to find the relics.”