The Assassins of Tamurin (29 page)

We were to present him with the fourth canto of
The Omen from the North,
which has everyone onstage and is very difficult, what with the mixed narrative and declamation, and singing in three modes. Being a meticulous sort, Tijurian also wanted it with the music and the movable backdrop paintings, which belonged to the palace theater and were of the quality you’d expect in such a place. But this was nothing new to my companions, for the Elder Company endured this official examination every year, and they treated it merely as an extra rehearsal.

We weren’t introduced to the magister. In fact, Tijurian didn’t even glance at me or the other actors—my first example of the haughtiness of many of the Sun Lord’s senior officials. He held a quick conference with Master Luasin, they both bowed to the Sun Goddess’s cabinet shrine, and then we got started. Eshin and I, being understudies, had little to do except keep out of the way, so we slipped into the wings to watch. I didn’t know about the spy holes in the wings then, or I could have peeked out into the theater to see how the magister was responding.

But everything went perfectly, and when the piece ended, a brief silence ensued. Then I heard Magister Tijurian say, in a tone of deepest respect tinged with agitation, “My lord, I beg you accept my worthless apologies. I did not see you enter.”

At the same instant, the entire Elder Company knelt on the stage, heads bowed. I’d never seen Master Luasin do this for anybody except Yazar, and Eshin whispered, “Father Heaven, it must be the Sun Lord!”

I suddenly couldn’t get my breath, and a wave of vexation swept through me. I was utterly unprepared. I wasn’t wearing anything special, and although my hair was clean I hadn’t done much with it. And now here he was. I cursed myself for being so careless, though obviously I wasn’t the only one to be surprised.

A flat, dry voice said, “Get up. Master Luasin. The rest of you, too. Well, such a pleasure to see you again. I was passing and heard the music. Admirable, flawless as always.”

The Sun Lord certainly didn’t have an appealing voice. Hearing
that
from the pillow next to mine wasn’t something to look forward to. I shrugged off my distaste and listened carefully.

“Thank you, my lord,” Master Luasin was saying. “Your praise far exceeds our merits, but your generosity is known to all.”

“So I hear,” the dry voice answered. It had a faint whistle, as if its owner breathed with difficulty. “I also hear that you have a pair of students with you. Are they here?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Permit me to see them.”

Master Luasin tumed to peer into the wings. “Lale! Eshin! Come out, if you please!”

This was the moment. I took a deep breath, stood up straight, put my shoulders back, and walked onto the stage.

Tijurian was in the valley, facing the man who stood by the Sun Lord’s dais. I almost stopped in my tracks. Whoever that man was, he wasn’t the Sun Lord. He was old, withered, plainly dressed, and leaned on a stick. There was nothing memorable about him; he looked like the gaunt old men you see anywhere, all wrinkled neck and spotted hands, sitting in the sun by a cottage door.

I knelt and so did Eshin, and we waited.

“Up you get,” the man said. “I don’t suppose you know who I am, do you? No, of course not. Tell them. Master Luasin, and tell me their full names.”

We rose, and Master Luasin said, ‘This is the Lord Halis 
Geray, the Chancellor of Bethiya. My lord, the student actress is Lale Navari and the student actor is Eshin Dareh.”

I noticed that Tijurian had at last taken a good look at my face and was gaping in surprise. But Tijurian didn’t matter; only the man by the dais mattered, for this was the monster himself: Halis Geray, architect of the usurper’s reign, the butcher of Mother’s family and child. He looked so harmless, just an old man with a wispy yellow-gray beard, pointed like that of a scholar of ancient times. But his gaze was hard and perceptive, and fixed on me. I stared into his eyes, then looked away, not because I had to, I told myself, but because he would expect it.

“You, Lale,” he said, still with that faint whistle. “Come here.”

I went down the stage steps to the valley and walked up to the Chancellor. The hall was silent, as if no one were there but the two of us. I bowed, fingertips to throat.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I didn’t think my eyes were that bad. Do you know who you look like, Lale?”

“My lord,” I said meekly, “the actress Perin, who once met the Surina, says I much resemble her.”

Halis Geray pursed his lips. “So you do. A remarkable coincidence.”

I smiled winsomely. “My lord Chancellor, one of my teachers exactly resembled a local washerwoman. It was a source of great annoyance to both.”

Behind me, the magister emitted a grunt of outrage at my presumption. The Chancellor’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and I knew I’d amused him. He said, “Indeed, it must have been vexatious. Magister Tijurian, were you aware of this oddity of Lale’s?”

Tijurian said, “No, my lord, it’s a surprise to me also. But as for the girl, she’s a foundling. Raised in that school of Makina Seval’s, out in Chiran.”

He would have discovered this from Master Luasin; no one of uncertain background would be allowed near the Sun Lord. But I disliked the way he blurted it in front of everybody and the disdainful way he said
 foundling,
as if I were an inconvenience whom my mother had cast off as soon as she bore me. I was nothing of the kind; I was the daughter of a Despotana, and he had no business speaking of me in that tone. I marked him down for future attention.

“Yes, I know where she came from,” the Chancellor said. For a horrible moment I imagined he might know much more than that, and might in the next breath say:
And I know what you learned at Three Springs and why you're here.

But he didn’t. My alarm passed, and I waited while he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Will we see you in some of the performances?” he asked.

“That’s for Master Luasin to decide, my lord.”

“Of course. And are you being well treated by the bureau? Is there anything you need that you don’t have?”

I was certainly not the person to whom he should put this question—it was Master Luasin’s to answer. But I later discovered that the Chancellor liked to make such queries to inappropriate people, to see what might wriggle out from between the tiles. His unpredictability was one reason why so many people were afraid of him; you never knew what question he might ask next, or of whom he might ask it. But he was utterly predictable in one respect: his loyalty to the Sun Lord.

I should have answered.
Yes, my lord, everything is perfect,
but I didn’t. I’m still not sure what came over me; no one in her right mind would dare complain to the Chancellor about one of his bureaus, much less in front of a senior official from that very bureau.

But I said, “Well...”

Behind me there was an agonized silence. I could almost hear Master Luasin’s silent bellow of
Hold your tongue, you stupid girl.

“Well?” Halis Geray prompted me, with a glint in his sharp green eyes.

“Lord, forgive me, no doubt this is merely an oversight and easily corrected, but since we arrived here we have been unable to perform in front of an audience, for reasons you know. As a result, our income has been nonexistent. The agreement between our Elder Company and the bureau specifies compensation in such a case, but the bureau has been tardy in issuing this compensation. However, I am sure this is merely a misunderstanding that could be wafted away by the proper word in the proper ear.”

In a strangled voice, Tijurian said, “You impudent—” Halis Geray raised a hand, and Tijurian instantly fell silent. The Chancellor looked me up and down with an interest he hadn’t displayed before. I stood very still, cursing my runaway tongue, and waited for the sky to tumble down and crush me.

The comer of the Chancellor’s mouth again rose slightly. “A misunderstanding,” he said in his whistling voice. “Yes. I will look into it. Now, forgive me, honored guests, but I must be on my way.”

We all bowed, and he tumed and strolled from the theater in a silence thick with the smell of bumed bridges. The instant the bronze door boomed shut, Tijurian fell on me in a tirade almost incoherent with outrage. I stood with my head bowed and let his deluge of invective roll over my head, though occasionally I peeked sideways at Master Luasin and the rest of the company. Master Luasin looked furious, but a couple of the others were trying to suppress grins, and I thought I saw Perin wink. Eshin stared at me in astonished awe.

At length Master Luasin ventured to intervene. “My lord magister,” he said in respectful tones, “I humbly wish to note that the girl isn’t used to palace protocol, and it is clear that I have been very remiss in not instmcting her suitably. She isn’t worth your attention. Leave her to me, I beg you.” “Remiss!” Tijurian screeched. “Incompetent, more like. Yes. Do that, discipline her, so I won’t have to. And keep her out of my sight henceforth. The performance—” He paused, and we all held our breath. He wanted to cancel us, but I knew as clear as day that he was remembering the Chancellor’s praise of our work. If we did not appear, there would be questions.

“The performance will proceed as scheduled,” he said. “You may go,” He tumed on his heel and stalked out of the theater.

The stagers raised the backdrops while everybody but me stood around and muttered about the canto we’d presented, but they kept casting sidelong glances in my direction, I remained by the dais, wondering wretchedly how to undo the catastrophe I’d caused. When we left the theater no one spoke to me, except for Perin who gave my hand a secretive squeeze and whispered, “Good luck.” Master Luasin wouldn’t even look in my direction.

Eventually we were aboard the sequina that was to retum us to our villa. I sat next to Perin, worrying fruitlessly. I had no idea what my rash act would cost us. Apparently I’d learned nothing, despite all my teachers’ admonitions. My tongue still wagged as loosely as it had in Riversong.

“Lale.”

I looked around. Master Luasin was at my elbow.

“Yes, Master Luasin,”

“You were educated in a Despotana’s court. You know protocol better than your behavior suggests, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master Luasin, I do.”

“Did you think to help us by speaking out so ... improperly?”

Did I? There could be no other explanation . . .
Unless,
whispered a small voice at the back of my mind,
you reckoned to make an impression on the Chancellor, who would then recount the amusing incident to the Sun Lord, who would find his interest piqued. Very clever.

But I didn’t see how I could be that clever on the spur of the moment. More likely I’d simply been stupid and thoughtless.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m very much at fault. I only wanted to help.”

“Never mind,” he said wearily. “You’ve damaged us somewhat with the magister, but he’s a rancid swine and I don’t mind seeing him vexed, especially since the Chancellor didn’t seem troubled about the incident. And now we’ll probably get paid, so in the long run perhaps we’ll profit more than we lose. But I think I’d better appear to punish you, because the magister will ask.” He paused, thought about it, and then said, “So when we open for the Sun Lord tomorrow, you won’t be with us.”

It was such a ghastly disappointment that I wanted to complain at the top of my voice. Instead I mumbled, “Yes, Master Luasin. I’m sure I deserve much worse.”

“But,” Perin said in an alarmed voice, “you won’t keep her away
all
the time we’re here? What good will that do her?”

“She can come with us the second night at the palace. But, Lale, when you
are
in the theater, just stay out of Tijurian’s sight, will you? Keep to the wings while he’s around.”

I nodded. It was settled, and I knew better than to protest. But even in my disappointment and chagrin I knew it could have been much worse. So when we got home, I went to the shrine next door and bumed a stick of incense to Our Lady of Mercy, and felt somewhat better afterward.

Nevertheless, I felt very hard done by when they went off to the palace the next aftemoon, and for consolation I decided to go and see the theater we were to use for our public performances. This stood in the famous Kuijain pleasure gardens, so I’d be able to look around there as well. As it was the third day of the Torch Festival, I reckoned that lots of interesting things would be going on.

The gardens, which were called the Mirror of Celestial Delight, spanned several of Kuijain’s smaller islands. Chiran and Istana had once boasted such places of amusement, but Uttle of them remained in either city, and the Mirror was the first real pleasure garden I’d set foot in. Some of it was parkland, with shade trees and little footbridges over the narrow canals that threaded the grounds. Families went there for picnics and to fly kites in the brisk breezes off the sea, and children sailed toy boats on the omamental ponds. And on warm evenings the unmarried youth of the city would promenade along the gravel paths, the girls meandering in shoals like daintily colored fish, while the young men tried to attract their interest without risking rejection or, worse, giggles.