Burying the Shadow (58 page)

The
innkeeper’s daughter, Terissa, was sitting behind the registration
counter looking bored. I went over to chat to her for a few minutes
before going upstairs. She looked up and smiled when she saw me,
and then, with a furtive glance to either side, beckoned me closer.
‘Rayojini, listen,’ she hissed in a theatrical whisper. ‘There is a
visitor for you - in the salon. They’ve been waiting for
hours.’

‘Who?’

‘No name...
but...’ She glanced into the salon, which was lit only by the fire
burning in the huge hearth. ‘I felt I recognised them. I have tried
to keep them here, like you asked me. I have primed them with
brandy!’

I gripped her
hand in excitement. ‘Well done, Terissa!’ I said. ‘Is it the same
woman?’

‘No, a man
this time.’

A man? That
was different.

Terissa pulled
my hand to bring my ear close to her mouth. I could smell the clove
freshness of her breath. ‘It is an artisan, Rayojini, I am sure of
it.’ Her eyes were bright with excitement. She was clearly
impressed by my recent train of august visitors.

‘Then let’s
hope his patience is enduring,’ I whispered back and patted her
cheek. ‘Thank you.’

I advanced
cautiously towards the salon, nervous that my discovery would be
the same as before: nothing but an empty seat, a mocking coin.
However, my anxiety was unfounded, because there was definitely a
shadowy figure seated in a wide, high-backed chair next to the
fire. It was turning a glass in its hands; long, pale hands. I
could see little else, other than the shape, but for a few seconds,
my heart leapt in hope. Beth. Beth.

‘Good
evening!’ I said loudly, marching over to the fire. ‘You wanted to
see me?’

My visitor
raised his face and, for a moment, I was quite literally stunned,
although it was not Beth Metatronim. He was radiant; eyes so dark
in the dim light they looked like the purple-black of death lilies.
His face was smooth, the skin taut over sculpted bones, his lips as
fine as if painted by the most delicate of brush-strokes. An
abundance of curling reddish-black hair fell over his loose white
shirt, catching the ruby tints of the dull flames in the hearth. A
cloak was draped carelessly over the back of the chair. I suddenly
remembered where and who I was and closed my lolling mouth. My
visitor smiled and put down his glass in the hearth.

‘Mistress
Rayojini?’ He spoke to me in Tappish. Just a short phrase, and most
of that my name, yet the accent was perfect, the inflection
precise.

‘That is me,’
I replied. ‘And who do I have the honour of addressing?’

He stood up
and bowed formally, switching to the Bochanegran tongue. ‘I am
Avirzah’e Tartaruchi.’

The name was
instantly reinforced by information from my memory. I remembered
the milling crowd, a youthful Liviana pushing her way to the front
of it, an arrogant male beauty courting praise. So long ago; a
moment past.

‘Ah, the
playwright!’ I said. But surely, that was impossible. This man was
so young. If he had written the play I had seen with the Tricantes
all those years ago, he must have been an infant prodigy, and the
haughty Tartaruchi who’d wooed his adoring audience after the
performance had been no child. This would have to be a relative,
perhaps the son.

He smiled more
widely. ‘You are familiar with my work?’

I shrugged,
aware of how I was slipping into a kind of reverent awe for this
man; seduced by his beauty, his candid smile. Years ago, I had
despised that tendency in the Sacramantans. I tried to inject a
reserved stiffness into my voice. ‘Well, I did think so, but now I
can see that isn’t possible. A long time ago, a friend of mine took
me to see a play at the Coliseum here. Of course, it could not have
been one of yours. You are...’ I did not want to sound too rude.
‘Well, it was, as I said, a long time ago.’

He did not
pursue the topic.

‘So, might I
ask why you wanted to see me?’

He pulled a rueful
face. ‘Forgive me. It must seem so... clandestine, me turning up
here in the middle of the night.’

By Sacramantan
standards, this was hardly the middle of the night but more like
early evening. He obviously expected me to be unfamiliar with city
customs.

‘Is there
somewhere more private we could talk perhaps?’ he asked.

‘Forgive
me
, Avirzah’e Tartaruchi, but in the light of recent events
in my life, I am loath to put myself in a private situation with
anyone I don’t know - however respectable they are. Can we not talk
here?’

He looked
mournful. ‘Do you think I mean to harm you?’

‘May I ask you
a rather forthright question in return before I answer that? Have
you, or any of your colleagues, been following me recently?’

He raised a
perfectly arched eyebrow, very slowly; a hopelessly sensual
gesture. ‘What reason would I have to do that?’

I pressed my
fingers against my eyes and then gestured with them emphatically.
‘Look, one of us is going to have to answer sometime. Please,
indulge me and give me a straight reply.’

He sat down
again, his hands languidly trailing over the arms of the chair,
putting his head on one side quizzically and fixing me with a
powerfully lovely stare. ‘I have not met you before, Rayojini. Have
not seen you before. I admit to having heard of you, however.’

I exhaled
noisily and sat down in a chair beside him, pulling it closer to
the fire. ‘Good, good. Thank you. The answer to your first question
is that I do not exactly
expect
you to harm me, but it could
be a possibility. Therefore, I would like to avoid circumstances
where such a possibility could be realised. The answer to your
second question, as to why you should want to harm me anyway, I
rather hope you can tell me yourself. Why are the artisans, or
perhaps
one
artisan, interested in me? I’m finding it
increasingly annoying that the reason for this has not been
revealed to me. The games are entertaining, I suppose, but what is
the point of them?’

He opened his
arms, the hands uncurling like buds into pale flowers. ‘The
artisans tend to work in metaphor. We create continually and
sometimes our meaning escapes the... no, I can’t call you
unenlightened.’ He curled up again and leaned towards me
confidentially. ‘I really would rather speak to you alone.’

‘We are
alone.’

‘This is a
public place. You have nothing to fear from me; you are perfectly
safe. I have important information for you. It does concern your
welfare, yes, but the threat is not from my direction.’

I narrowed my
eyes at him. ‘You cannot expect me to believe you are that
concerned for my safety - a stranger. What is all this to you?’

He steepled
his fingers and tapped his lips. ‘Sorry, I will not speak aloud
here.’

I sighed,
hoping I wasn’t going to regret this. ‘Very well; is my room
private enough?’

‘It should be
adequate.’

Accompanied by
the frank and open-mouthed stare of Terissa, I led Avirzah’e
Tartaruchi upstairs.

In my room, he
closed the windows and twitched the drapes across them. I watched
his security precautions with something akin to amusement, but it
also discomforted me a little. Had it been foolish to let him
convince me to bring him up here? He sat down in a chair against
the curtains and I sat on the bed, keeping a safe distance between
us.

‘Well,’ I
said. ‘I can call for some wine, if you like.’

He shook his
head. ‘No, I am adequately refreshed.’

‘So, what is
your information, then?’

‘Rayojini, I
will speak plainly,’ he said. ‘The most sensible information I can
impart is to urge you, in the strongest terms, to return
immediately to Taparak.’

‘Mmm.
Why?’

‘For your
well-being.’

‘I see. That
is most considerate of you. What if I ignore your advice?’

He stared at
me for a moment. ‘You seek to throw red meat to the lion, don’t
you? You are trying to provoke me. How brave you are and yet so
ignorant. You do not understand. I cannot, dare not, harm you.’

‘I am
relieved. Who are the artisans, Avirzah’e Tartaruchi? Am I right in
thinking their bloodlines are rooted in the Strangeling?’

He smiled, a
little taken aback by my remark. ‘You have been busy!’

‘Not really.
Information just seems to fall in my path. It’s very strange.
Well?’

‘I really
think you should strain your inquiries of unpalatable lumps,
Mistress! I am not prepared to discuss the history of my people
with you.’

I forced a
laugh. ‘This all sounds very intriguing! First you tell me you have
information for me, now you’re telling me to leave the city and
keep my mouth shut...’

He
shrugged.

‘Let’s just
get back to basics for a moment,’ I said. ‘How did you know I was
staying here? Did the Tricantes contact you?’ Perhaps Livvy had
arranged an interview with an artisan for me after all, but not in
quite the manner I had envisaged.

Avirzah’e
laughed quietly. He was not at all amused. ‘Rayojini, for someone
who knows this city as well as I do, it is a simple procedure to
discover where a nosy soulscaper is staying.’

‘You mean you
didn’t find out from the artisan who has been following me
around?’

He frowned. ‘No
artisan has been following you around, Mistress. You have my
word.’

‘I am in awe
of your influence, if you can speak for all your people in that
way!’ I said. ‘How do you know my pursuer isn’t an artisan?’

He sighed.
‘Well, to be honest, I don’t, but if it is, I cannot imagine who it
might be.’

‘Not Gimel
Metatronim?’

He shook his
head. ‘No, sorry.’

‘Why
apologise?’

He
hesitated.

‘You
know
, don’t you!’ I said. ‘Are you familiar with the
Metatronims?’

He looked
faintly embarrassed. ‘Well, of course I know them.’

‘They have
haunted me since childhood,’ I said. It was a raw moment.

Avirzah’e
looked me straight in the eye. ‘I know,’ he said, softly. I felt he
was trying to tell me I was not alone in that. Suddenly, things
became clear to me. Avirzah’e Tartaruchi knew the Metatronims were
interested in me. I had a feeling they were interested in him too;
now, he was trying to warn me off. I wondered what they had done to
him. He looked positively haunted.

‘I appreciate
your gesture,’ I said. ‘I know what you are trying to do.’

‘You do?’

I nodded.
‘Yes. Avirzah’e, if I may be so informal, how much do you know of
the history of your race?’

‘I am familiar
with most of it.’

‘Does the term
Host of Helat mean anything to you?’

He looked
wary. ‘No. Should it?’

‘I have
discovered something,’ I said. ‘Can I trust you?’

‘Rayojini, we
are strangers!’ I felt he was trying to back away from me. What was
he afraid of?

‘Well, I shall
tell you something anyway. It might explain why the people you
insist aren’t interested in me
are
interested in me. I
believe the artisans in Sacramante are descended from an ancient
race, which once populated the Strangeling. There is evidence they
once had... I don’t know... powers. Now, I believe someone is
trying to rekindle those powers. I know it sounds outrageous, but I
am sure certain of your people are involved.’

‘This is
indeed bizarre!’

I laughed. ‘I
do not believe this is a revelation to you. Why else would you come
here and tell me to leave the city?

He leaned
forward. ‘I have not conducted myself well, mainly I suspect,
because I underestimated you. Rayojini, please listen to me very
carefully. You were led to Sacramante for a purpose, yes, but
events have gone awry and it is now very hazardous for you here.
You can be sure, if you trust my word, that if you abandon your
investigations, no harm will come to any of your people.
Individuals most equipped to understand it are dealing with the
situation. You will only complicate matters if you insist on
getting involved.’

‘Stop!’ I
said, raising my hands. ‘Avirzah’e, I want to see Gimel
Metatronim.’

He lowered his
eyes. ‘That is impossible. You can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘She... cares
for you very deeply, Rayojini, don’t ever doubt that. She has made
a mistake, that is all. She cannot see you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of
the way you are!’ he exclaimed. ‘She cannot trust herself!’

I flinched
back as if he’d physically struck me. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘I have to understand. Please! All these years, I’ve thought I’ve
been suffering from delusions. I’ve tried so hard to deny what my
instincts have been telling me. Now, at last, I realise my
fantasies are real. Can’t you see how important this is to me as a
soulscaper? Please, tell me what’s happening!’ I could hear the
ragged anguish in my own voice. This was probably one of the most
important moments in my life. It had been real all along. I had
proof now. It had been real!

The interview
had plainly become painful for both of us. Avirzah’e stood up.
‘Look, Gimel has instructions to silence you. As I said, she cares
for you deeply, but there are others involved who don’t share her
concern. For the good of the many, the few may be sacrificed. This
message comes from her, Rayojini, from Gimel’s heart. Please listen
to it. Leave Sacramante! Go home!’

‘If I do that,
I shall have to report everything I’ve learned to my guild,’ I
said, as a threat.

He raised his
hands expressively, clutched air. ‘Then do so, but just leave!’

And when
representatives from Taparak arrived to take up the trail, they
would find every path leading to nowhere. The evidence would be
gone, the mess tidied away. I was sure of that. If I let go of the
thread now, I would lose the Metatronims forever, and the mystery
of which they were a part would remain unsolved for eternity.