Those Below: The Empty Throne Book 2 (13 page)

In the moment after seeing the chancellor Calla had a strong and sudden recollection of breaking into her mother’s chest of make-up one rainy afternoon as a child – the powders and paints that rested neatly inside, each in their proper compartments, and then those same powders and paints covering her flesh, thick-coating round the eyes and lips, and scattered about the bureau, and onto the floor. Her mother coming in that evening and gagging at the sick-sweet scent, looking at her daughter and not sure whether to laugh or find a strap.

Those lucky enough to serve the Eternal directly knew better than to try to imitate them in matters of dress or fashion. But among those residents of the Second Rung in particular, that curious stretch of territory between where the gods resided and where man held sway, it was customary to ape the aspect of Those Above. The chancellor wore robes of brightly patterned paisley, narrow-fitting and vile, and his cheeks and chin and forehead were obscured with white make-up, and he or more likely one of his servants had done something absolutely hideous with his eyes, swells of purple as if he had been struck hard in the face.

‘Chancellor,’ Calla said.

He offered the Eternal greeting comfortably, though, to Calla’s practised eyes, with no particular grace. ‘Seneschal,’ he acknowledged as he stretched back upright, a few flecks of powder falling from his forehead. ‘You esteem us with your presence.’

As indeed, she did – a visit from any representative of Those Above was an honour, let alone the seneschal of the Prime himself. ‘You will allow me to introduce Eudokia Aurelia, the Revered Mother, and her nephew Leon of Aeleria.’

Eudokia offered the Eternal greeting with the poise and grace Calla had come to expect. Leon performed no less admirably, though neither attempt seemed to win much esteem from the chancellor, who returned the courtesy without enthusiasm and dropped back down into his seat. Calla joined him, and Eudokia, and Leon finally as well. The as yet unnamed Parthan, maintaining his implacable and absolute air of disinterest, remained standing.

‘I am afraid I know little of the politics of the slave nations,’ the chancellor said, in a tone of voice suggesting he did not strongly lament his ignorance. ‘And thus fail to understand your particular function within the Commonwealth.’

‘As I explained to the seneschal, there is no element of formality to my visit. An old woman, new to the customs and glories of the Roost, seeking only to learn everything she can about this extraordinary place before shuffling off into the night.’

The chancellor nodded and smiled a smile that didn’t rise to his painted-purple eyes. Calla was happy to discover that, at the very least, this man largely responsible for the day-to-day running of the Roost was not so foolish as to believe anything the Revered Mother thought to tell him. ‘And what role might I play in furtherance of this quest?’

‘You might begin by explaining to me your role within the Roost.’

‘The function of the chancellor is little different from that of the sensechal,’ the chancellor answered smoothly. ‘To oversee those duties which Those Above, in their wisdom, feel unworthy of their time.’

‘Then I am to understand that the essential questions of governance in the Roost, of justice and of order, are supposed by the Eternal to be beneath their interest?’

The chancellor’s lips pulled back into a sneer. His teeth were stained the colour of pistachio meat. ‘I would not be so foolish as to presume to know the mind of an Eternal.’

‘How modest,’ Eudokia observed. ‘And yet you feel bold enough to run their city?’

The chancellor composed himself for a long moment before speaking. ‘The laws and customs of the Roost are immutable, absolute, have remained blessedly unchanged since the days of the Founders. To us falls little more than to execute orders long passed, whose specifics are clear as sunlight and whose wisdom has been proved by the tranquil harmony that the Roost has enjoyed for millennia uncounted. Like the Source itself, it is an ideal machine, needing only the most occasional tinkering.’

‘Yes, it is this exactly which I find so marvellous. Since coming to the Roost, I have known wonders undreamed of. Vast castles and keeps, bridges of white and imposing mien, towers rising to the sky, the very oceans themselves tamed and made to work in the service of Those Above. And yet, who could deny that this placid amity of which you speak is a thousand times the more extraordinary? The smooth interaction of so vast a population, an uncountable horde interacting without rancour or dispute, is an accomplishment worth a thousand castles, though every one be as beautiful as the Red Keep itself.’

‘The people of the Roost are an orderly bunch, content with their lot. They trust in the wisdom of the Founders, in the Eternal and the generations which proceeded them.’

‘Marvellous,’ Eudokia said again, the compliments falling so fast and free that one might almost have supposed them unmeant. ‘Then these … rumours I have heard, of some cult which flourishes far downslope, near the docks – of secret meetings and whispered signs, of a vast and terrible tumult which goes on beneath us – these are stories, and nothing more?’

The false smile on the chancellor’s false face dropped into a stern line, a dash of purple wax.

‘The Revered Mother is well-informed,’ Calla said quietly.

Eudokia waved away the compliment. ‘The servants speak of nothing else,’ she said. ‘But then, you know the way of servants. Gossip is their daily bread, calumny their every motive. To hear them tell it, below the Third Rung the duly empowered representatives of the Eternal dare not even show their faces, and the docks themselves will any day be engulfed in flame.’

‘Gossip and calumny, as you say,’ the chancellor answered, after a long moment. ‘Some small handful of madmen, smearing profanity on walls and intimidating the poorest denizens of the Roost. They are of no meaningful account.’

‘Then this report of an attack on a financial centre on the Third Rung is entirely without merit?’

‘It is true that there was … an assault on a bank on the Third Rung, one swiftly beaten off by the custodians.’

‘A clever tactic, for madmen and fools.’

‘A pinprick,’ the chancellor said. ‘The Roost takes no more notice of them than a bullock does a fly.’

‘You seem very little concerned about the spread of disorder within your fiefdom.’

The chancellor took a moment to compose himself, drinking from a small glass of what Calla assumed, or at least hoped, was water, then running his pink tongue along green-inked teeth. ‘As I said, Revered Mother, my job is a simple one. The Roost has held for time beyond measure, and in those vast ages we have learned how best to govern the population below. Among so vast a horde, there are, of course, some negligible few who fail to properly appreciate the blessings which are provided them as subjects of the Roost. It rarely proves difficult to enlighten them – with gold, or, if necessary, with steel. We have more than enough of both.’

‘Not all men are motivated by avarice, Chancellor, nor fear.’

‘Not all – but very nearly, very nearly. And if the man you are dealing with is one of those … zealous few who cannot see where his own interest dovetails with that of larger society, that in the end makes no difference. You only need to find the man below him, or the man below him. In the end, Revered Mother, it is not the threat of the custodians’ cudgel that keeps the people in line – nor, I daresay, that of our masters above. It is awe of the thing they have built. These men, they do not truly desire to destroy what we have built, but rather to join it.’

‘An ideal machine indeed,’ Eudokia said, smiling. ‘I cannot exaggerate the comfort it gives me to know that the duly appointed authorities of the Roost work with such wisdom, diligence and justice.’

‘It pleases me to offer you succour,’ the chancellor answered stiffly.

Their farewell was lengthy and eloquent and Calla worked hard to keep a smile on her face all the way through it. Before beginning their return upslope, Eudokia and her manservant disappeared to the lavatory, and for a few moments Calla and Leon were left to face the afternoon sun alone.

For once, Calla’s fund of etiquette had dried away entirely, as had any enthusiasm she maintained for the errand. The sooner she had this foul old harridan back to her quarters, the happier she’d be. Some dim sense of guilt at the depth of her animus towards Eudokia bid Calla into awkward contact with her nephew. ‘Are you enjoying your time in the Roost?’

‘A singular experience, without dispute,’ Leon admitted. ‘There is nothing I have ever seen to match it.’

‘Your aunt says the same.’

‘And means it – do not suppose everything she says to be false, she is just as enamoured of your city as am I. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile so often, nor so vigorously. Then again,’ he observed, offering what Calla suspected was the first unfeigned grin to be exchanged that day, ‘she loves a challenge.’

‘Of course your aunt and I are not engaged in any sort of competition, though I am flattered at the suggestion.’

Now there was more pity in Leon’s smile than levity. ‘I had not been speaking of you.’

A
palanquin left from the side exit of a small mansion on the Second just before the hour of the Owl, moved downslope along the Sterling Canal, the moon reflecting ripe and pale and pockmarked in the still water. It was an ugly and unobtrusive vehicle, of the kind used to carry furniture or heavy goods. Strange to see one out so late in the evening but not bizarre, not worth noticing. Though if one had made a point of noticing – as none of the passers-by on the Second that evening, clerks and bureaucrats coming home from the taverns and drinking houses or heading towards some or other late-night liaison, were doing – one might also have noticed that the four men carrying the burden looked less like porters and more like something else, particularly the heavyset Parthan, shorter than the rest but keeping up his corner seemingly without any effort.

They were halted briefly at the barrier to the Third Rung, but their marks were in order, and there was no reason to stop or even to pay particular attention to them, and the custodians in that portion of the Roost were not the sort of men inclined to prosecute their duties with any extraordinary effort. The guards at the Fourth Rung were even less predisposed, brushed them past without even a cursory glance at their brands. A few links downslope there was a young man of no particular distinction, save that he wore a strangely coloured ribbon in his long brown hair, and he nodded at the Parthan and slipped down a smaller side avenue, the palanquin following in train.

They ended their journey some time later, near the boundary to the Fifth. The warehouse was on a lonely side street, the distant suck of the pipes audible but not overwhelming. The boy with the ribbon in his hair banged on the main gate, a broken beat, two fast, pause, two slow, and after another moment the double door swung open, wide enough to allow the palanquin swift entry.

The interior was as the exterior suggested, a wide and unprepossessing space for the storing of goods. High-stacked bales of cotton took up most of the corners, but in the centre a space had been cleared of debris and merchandise, and a table set. Three men sat there silently, as if in a triptych for the stages of life: the first old but well-formed, white-haired and clean-shaven; the second middle-aged, well-dressed with nervous eyes; and the third in the very prime of youth, squat and hard and dark.

Once they were inside the men pretending to be porters set their burden down, and the Parthan reached inside to offer his hand, bringing Eudokia swiftly to the ground.

‘Revered Mother,’ said the white-haired man.

The palanquin had not been intended to transport humans, and the men who had been carrying it had never learned to walk in harness, mule-like, an art that by far the largest proportion of the men downslope mastered just after the onset of adolescence. More than two years since Eudokia had broken her ankle while escaping an assassination attempt, and she could get around easily enough with the use of her cane, but the awkward confines of the box had forced her into an uncomfortable position, and the ache in her leg was more than piquant. She dropped happily on the empty chair that awaited her. ‘Edom, the First of His Line,’ Eudokia observed, voice a friendly cipher. ‘It has been far too long.’

A smile as boundless as the sea, though perhaps less deep.

Eudokia turned to greet the second man, handsome in a shrewish sort of way, looking nervous and perhaps for no weak reason. ‘Steadfast, a pleasure.’

‘Revered Mother,’ he said.

And then a moment of silence as Eudokia inspected the third member of their group, cool eyes on the rough skin of his face, the unbecoming outfit, the thick shoulders beneath. What had Edom told him of her? What explanations were given for her presence? Had he any idea of the true nature of their arrangement? No, she did not think so. This one had more than the whiff of a fanatic, he had the very reek.

A long time she looked at him, but he did not look away. ‘And you would be young Pyre, chief of the Dead Pigeons, whose name is spoken with equal fear and reverence the length and breadth of the Roost.’

‘I would be Pyre. As to the rest? The people, yet ignorant, yet uncertain of themselves, not realising that it is their strength which will win themselves free – they need heroes, and will create them.’

‘Well spoken, Pyre, the First of His Line, well spoken. And yet you can hardly blame the mob for settling upon you as the object of their adoration, if the tales I’ve heard have any truth to them.’

Edom smiled wider.

‘Stories often grow large in the telling,’ Pyre said.

‘And the oak rises from a seed, though still it does not spread from nothing. Tell me, Pyre, the First of His Line, can you not claim responsibility for last month’s attack on the financial infrastructure of the Roost? Are you not the reason that the bankers on the Second are gnashing their teeth and rending their garments, and the men and women of the Fifth left correspondingly drunk and happy?’