The Ruined City (45 page)

There was no one to talk to now. As for the soup, she could not swallow a mouthful. It was ordinary, perfectly decent bean soup, but the sight and smell revolted her. There was nothing to do but wait. She bowed her head to fix a sightless gaze on the tabletop. She sat motionless, while the schemes spun wildly in her head.

She had no idea how long it was before a shadow glided across the table, and the air moved, and the chair opposite her was suddenly occupied. She looked up to meet intelligent eyes in a bland, utterly nondescript face that she had encountered once before.

“It’s you. It worked. You’re here,” she blurted, amazed.

“Maidenlady Noro Penzia.” Lousewort greeted her in his undistinguished, unclassifiable voice. “That copper might have been left by any of several people, but my money was on you.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“I’m glad to see you at liberty and in good health. Perhaps you’re in danger or want, though—it wouldn’t be surprising. Is that why you’ve asked for this meeting?”

“I am in want—of information, above all things. You know that Celisse Rione was executed yesterday morning. Her brother Falaste Rione was not.” She waited for his infinitesimal nod, then moistened her dry lips and forced herself to voice the question whose answer might devastate her. “Do you know if he’s still alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive in the Witch, and treated with exceptional favor, I’m told. Good food, extra blankets, candles, all that. And nary a beating.”

Alive
. The tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away and strove hard to keep her voice steady.

“I don’t understand.” There was only the slightest quaver. “He was condemned along with his sister. What’s happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“But I thought that the—I mean, I thought that your people know everything.”

“Not quite.” Lousewort offered a small smile that was bland but somehow sympathetic. “We know a little of what goes on in the Witch, but the Rione situation is as much a mystery to us as it is to you. At least for now. Maybe we’ll learn more, in time.”

“Does Falaste have time?”

Lousewort shrugged.

“You and the others would do what you can for him, would you not?”

“Gladly. He’s one of our best. What do you hope to do—send him a message, perhaps? This is something that might be arranged.”

“My plan is a bit more ambitious. I mean to deliver him from the Witch.”

“Really.” Lousewort’s brows rose. “You surprise me, indeed you do. Maidenlady, I admire your spirit and your devotion to our friend, but you must understand that the Witch is impregnable. The rescue of a prisoner is impossible.”

“Tricky and dangerous, yes. Impossible, no. I’ve a plan.”

“A plan. Of course. My dear young lady, if the matter were as simple as you seem to believe, do you think
we
wouldn’t have come up with a plan, long ago?”

“Perhaps a fresh perspective was required. I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and I’ve devised a scheme that might work. I can’t carry it out alone, though. That’s why I’ve come to you. I need some people.”

“People?”

“A good forger, for one. Then, a few women. Or boys who could dress up as women—either would do. Finally, an apothecary who knows what he’s about. Could you get them for me?”

“Why don’t I just pull ’em out of my hat? Maidenlady, I don’t wish to wound you, but this is madness. You must abandon
these dreams and accept reality. There’s no plucking a prisoner from the Witch.”

“No? Do you remember the last time I was here, Master Lousewort?” Leaning forward in her chair, Jianna eyed him intently. “We talked of Celisse Rione’s resolve to remove Anzi Uffrigo. And I spoke up then to say that it was impossible. She was just a young woman on her own, with little of wealth, rank, or resources. She’d never be able to come anywhere near him—I thought. You and Falaste just looked at one another. Those looks expressed your opinion of Celisse. Neither of you dismissed the possibility that she’d somehow overcome all obstacles to achieve her aim. And the two of you were right. She did it, she found a way. If Celisse could do it, then so can I. Understand me, Master Lousewort. With your help or without it, I will save Falaste Rione. I’ll find a way.”

Lousewort studied her face. His own expression changed. At last he invited, “Tell me about this plan of yours.”

Jianna complied.

“What are you mumbling about?” Yvenza demanded, her tone peremptory yet hushed. In the opposite seat slumped Master Innesq Belandor, fast asleep. She preferred that he remain so. Master Innesq habitually employed waxen earplugs to exclude the world, and quiet conversation between his fellow carriage passengers would not disturb his slumber. Nevertheless, she kept her voice subdued.

She might as well have spared herself the trouble. There was no sign of comprehension, much less intelligible response from Nissi. The girl sat beside Innesq, very close but not touching him. The pallid little face was slack, the colorless eyes huge and blind. A thin drone of meaningless noise dribbled from her lips.

“What is this? What’s the matter with you?” Leaning forward in her seat, Yvenza snapped her fingers. This produced no result, so she took the small jaw in her hand and jerked it toward herself. Nothing registered in the eyes. Sounds incomprehensible and alien issued from the mouth.

“Stop that. If you can’t speak sensibly, then hold your peace.”

The girl murmured a few nearly inaudible words that Yvenza strained to capture. Again she might have spared herself the trouble, for Nissi spoke in some language never meant for human ear or tongue.

“What do you hear? What do you see? When you are yourself again, you’ll tell me all of it.” No knowing when that might be. In the meantime Yvenza leaned back in her seat and stared out the window to watch the trackless hills flowing by.
By all standards of normality, such terrain was unnavigable by carriage. The combined skills of the arcanists in the party, however, had eliminated that difficulty, at least for the present. The six of them had contrived to create a short stretch of smooth, level roadway that somehow remained positioned perpetually beneath the wheels of the party’s carriages and wagons. And very odd it was to witness the land resume its natural rugged contours in their wake. The sight never palled.

So they had proved themselves capable of working together, which augured well. Innesq Belandor had displayed a quiet contentment that was in no way affected by the Taerleezi boor Pridisso’s attempt to claim the lion’s share of credit for himself.

“When?”
whispered Nissi, quite clearly.

Yvenza took note.

“Will they speak?”
A profound, almost convulsive shudder rocked Nissi’s slight frame. She gasped and recovered herself. Her eyes flew to Innesq Belandor, who slept on unaware. She then turned to find Yvenza studying her minutely.

“Tell me,” Yvenza commanded.

“They … are coming. Soon.”

“Who or what comes?”

“They are of It.”

“It? The Overmind thing that Innesq speaks of, you mean?”

“They will be … seen. They are a … face of It, neither flesh nor spirit. They grow stronger. And They will be seen.”

“Somebody or something is about to attack us? Is that what you’re saying? Are they armed? Are they arcane? How do we kill them?”

“They are coming. Soon.”

The day advanced, and in the late afternoon the shifting stretch of hospitable roadway brought the carriages and wagons to an inky tarn girdled with trees, occupying a natural depression
among the surrounding hills. There they halted and set up camp for the night. The roadway under the wheels faded into nothingness, not to resume existence before morning.

It soon became apparent that the site was a treasure trove. The water that appeared so ominously dark was in fact clean and pure. Better yet, the place offered a rich supply of fresh food.

Dusk, and one of the Taerleezi servants drawing water at the tarn spied a small creature burrowing out of the muddy bank. He scooped it up and took a look. The animal resembled a newt, with a moist green-brown skin, stubby little legs, round yellow eyes, and a long, whiplash tail. It was far too small to make a meal, and he was on the point of tossing it aside when he noted a second newt emerging from the mud. And a third. Then more; dozens, scores, hundreds. Within moments, the bank teemed with newly hatched creatures scrambling for the water. Here was more than enough meat to feed the entire party.

They were easy to catch. Scooping them up by the handful, he quickly filled his bucket. While doing so he loosed a distinctive, tremulous whistle that summoned several of his fellow servants, both Corvestri and Belandor. Spying the prize, they ran for buckets of their own. Soon the containers were loaded with wriggling green-brown cargo.

That evening they collaborated on dinner, with Taerleezi and Faerlonnish cooks alike contributing ingredients to the communal pot. It was the first time in days that they were to enjoy fresh meat, and therefore something of an occasion. Ojem Pridisso’s servant produced an impressive assortment of vegetables, together with Taerleezi wine to add flavor to the broth. The Faerlonnish chefs brought forth herbs, spices, and dried petals worthy of an aristocratic Vitrisian table. As night fell, a magnificent aroma filled the camp.

For the first time since the journey had begun, all of them were to dine together. There was no table or board large enough to accommodate the entire party, and thus they
arranged their various collapsible stands and tray-tables, their jointed stools and folding camp chairs in a close circle about the central cookfire. For once the various households mingled. Even the nationalities mixed—something unprecedented.

Taerleezi Littri Zovaccio was sitting among the Faerlonnish Belandors for the first time. Yvenza and her ward sat at Ojem Pridisso’s lavish table, with its new, very white linen cloth and its blindingly polished new silver candelabrum. Young Vinzille Corvestri was there as well, sitting beside Nissi. The Magnifico Vinz Corvestri and his wife sat alone together, served by their own attendants.

The Magnifico Aureste did not wish to observe Corvestri and his lady. Better by far to focus on his own brother Innesq, whose expression communicated exceptional satisfaction. Understandably so. Matters were finally arranging themselves in accordance with the middle Belandor brother’s hopes. Aureste suppressed a smile. Innesq, that lifelong recluse, actually appeared to be enjoying himself. Even now, sitting there in the glow of the firelight and striving manfully to engage Littri Zovaccio in conversation, Innesq looked happy.

“Does it not appear to you, Master Zovaccio, that a shared meal of this kind is a particularly agreeable occasion?” Innesq essayed.

Littri Zovaccio inclined his head with a faint, mournful smile.

“We chat, we exchange ideas, we come to know one another, do we not?”

Littri Zovaccio nodded.

“The food and wine, the warmth of the fire, the conviviality—these things lighten the tedium of a long journey.”

Zovaccio considered, then nodded.

At least they were not to be subjected to the aural scrape of the Taerleezi accent, Aureste reflected. He decided to help his brother.

“I’ve heard it rumored that Taerleez now requires her citizens
to secure official safe-conduct in order to enter Faerlonne. Is there any truth to this?”

Zovaccio replied with a melancholy shrug.

Dinner arrived, served by a Belandor attendant. Bowls of the collaborative stew were placed before Zovaccio, Aureste, and Innesq.

Aureste swallowed a spoonful, and his brows rose in surprised appreciation. The stew was excellent, as finely flavored and subtly seasoned as anything he might expect to grace his table at home in Vitrisi. The vegetables were varied and perfectly cooked, each retaining a hint of a crunch, while the entire concoction was generously laced with shreds and small chunks of mild, tender white meat. It had been too long since he had tasted fresh meat of any description. He ate with pleasure, then looked up to gauge the reaction of his companions. Littri Zovaccio appeared as content as the lugubrious cast of his features allowed. Innesq, however, was not eating. He sat frowning down at his bowl.