Dangerous Gifts (32 page)

“...lose all sense of proper behaviour...”

“But surely the Moral Statutes...”

“Well of course, if they were ever caught at it. But I heard only the other day...”

“
I
heard it’s something the scalys are putting in the water.”

“Oh, what nonsense you talk, Mansenay. Putting something in the water indeed! If people are behaving differently, maybe it’s because they’ve had the sense to stop doping themselves with
privaiya
smoke
.
”

“That’s disgusting talk. I suppose you think being an agitator is
fashionable.
Just because the young people are doing it.”

“First I’m an agitator for wanting justice and now I’m only doing it because it’s
fashionable?
”

“Well if you’re happy with people inciting riots, just don’t expect me to pick up your corpse.”

“Indeed, the Fenac seem to be far better at inciting a riot than stopping one.”

“The Fenac protect the public!”

“Protect that bit of the public who happen to be the right shape, you mean.”

“...calling a dressed-up Ikinchli ‘Ambassador.’ Whatever do the Scalentines take us for?”

“Oh, of course it will never hold.
That
can never be considered one of the Advisors to the Crown.”

“Enboryay has obviously decided the opposite.”

“Well, what choice has he, unless he wants to be exiled to one of the family farms?”

“Really, they can’t...”

“Oh, they can. There is nothing in the Statutes that says otherwise. She is of age and in her right mind.”

“If what I hear is true... and after all, she has officially
wed
them both... she is most certainly
not
. She couldn’tbe.”

A brief, appalled silence, and a sudden frantic chatter of irrelevancies.

I was glad to reach the other end of the room, and the silence surrounding the three foreigners.

There was an Empire delegate – you could tell by the brilliant scarlet and purple sash they wore over the elaborate layered robe that was the current fashion in the Empire court. I didn’t know the species, or the gender; only a nose and mouth and a few inches of skin, patterned with rich brown whorls (tattoos or natural, I couldn’t tell) were visible between the collar and the elaborate headdress. I wondered what the delegate was doing there; judging by what Malleay had said, the Empire didn’t want to get involved in this particular local difficulty, but presumably they thought the situation worth keeping an eye on.

There was also a Monishish and a tall Dithanion.

“May a favourable wind fill your sails,” I said, bowing. “Babylon Steel.”

The Empire delegate nodded. “And may all your ships come safe to harbour. Kinesitra dahana Oristin.”

The Monishish interrupted his conversation to wave at me. “Bententen Ententen Enthasa Enthasik.” Which might have been his name, with luck. His long, fragile-looking fingers glimmered with rings.

The Dithanion tipped her long bony head. I knew the Dithanion had some exquisitely complex greeting rituals, none of which I could remember, but as a trader among barbarians, she had presumably got used to such ignorance; she fluttered her mouth-fringes at me, and said, “Greetings, Babylon Steel.” Her voice was flutelike in the upswing, with a sort of moan in the lower register, like a mournful fiddle. She told me her name, a short but complex piece of music, and completely beyond my ability to pronounce. “You are here to see the Patinarai ceremonies?”

“I’m providing security,” I said. I didn’t say who I was providing it for.

“Ah. A much-needed service, at this time, I think,” the Monishish said.

“Indeed. Did you bring your own security?”

“Always,” they said together, and looked at each other with amusement.

“One was not expecting,” the Dithanion said, “to require such a degree of it. Next time I think I shall take a different route.”

“I must admit, I was surprised to see any foreign visitors still here,” I said. “Under the circumstances...”

The Dithanion pursed her fringed lips, her version of a shrug. “My business brought me in this direction, and I admit I was curious; I wanted to see the Itnunnacklish everyone speaks of. But as to actual trade, no, I think not, not now. I shall regard this as a brief and interesting diversion.”

The Monishish folded his long fingers in on themselves. “A pity. They have some superb hardwoods here, and the marble, of course, but everyone is waiting on the outcome of this current situation.” He swung his long-necked, warty-skinned head towards the Empire delegate. “Are they not?”

The delegate managed, elegantly, to be at that very moment looking elsewhere – at some long-lost acquaintance, perhaps – and thus able to ignore the question without appearing rude. The Monishish turned back to me. “Should things resolve themselves, so that supplies and labour can be relied upon, we
may
be looking at potential trade.”

“Are there other traders still here?” I said.

“Not that I have met. Had we not been somewhat delayed, we would not be either.” He opened his fingers, fanlike. “There is another foreigner, though. From Scalentine, I believe.”

I tried not to let anything show on my face. “Oh, really? But not here to trade?”

“He seems to be here mostly in order to talk,” the Dithanion fluted. “Of which he does a great deal, to little point.”

The delegate excused him – or her – self and moved away. The Monishish made a gesture at their departing back. “In disgrace, I think,” he said. “I wonder why?”

“Who knows?” the Dithanion said. “The Empire being what it is, the delegate could simply have displayed the wrong décor at a reception.”

“In disgrace? What do you mean?” I said.

“A civilian delegate in high regard would not be found in a country of little power, on the verge of civil war, in which the Empire has shown absolutely no interest of late,” said the Monishish.

“Unless the Empire is playing a double game,” said the Dithanion. “Or did not realise that the situation was, in fact, as unstable as it appears.”

The two of them began an extended examination of current Empire politics; a subject about which I knew little and cared less. I extracted myself politely and moved off.

Scalentine? Someone here from Scalentine? They couldn’t mean Fain – he’d not been out, except to the Palace. Who the hells could it be? Maybe this was the clue Fain had been waiting for. I had to find out.

I didn’t have to wait long. “Well, of course, this sort of situation is inevitable when too much power gets into the wrong hands.”

I
knew
that voice. I turned.

Black hair, chunky build, several chins.

Oh, dragonfarts.

Angrifon Filchis. Angrifon bloody Filchis. What in the name of everything sane was he doing here?

Fain was deep in conversation with a group of Gudain; I moved over to him and waited. He caught my eye, eventually.

“What is it?” he said.

“Don’t look round. There’s someone here from Scalentine. You might want to keep your head down.”

“Who?”

Filchis was standing with his hands clasped behind him, his chest (or rather, the upper part of his not inconsiderable stomach) thrust out, and an air of trying to look down his nose at everything.

“Oh, yes,” I heard him say to the Gudain male standing at his side. “Of course, you know, humans and Gudain must be of the same line, one can always tell a superior species.”

“Angrifon Filchis. Leader of the Builders.”

“
Here?
”

“Yeah. As if things weren’t bad enough...”

“Go talk to him.”

“He might recognise me,” I said.

“A client?”

“Oh, please. I’d sooner bed a maggot.”

“We need to know why he’s here.”

“Fain...”

“It is what I hired you for, Madam Steel.”

“
I don’t want to talk to him,
” I said. “If I talk to him I may not be able to stop myself breaking his neck.”

“Ah. The threat to the Chief?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“If you were to break his neck, apart from causing a diplomatic incident, it might make it much more difficult to find out who is involved in the were murders.”

“If you already know
he’s
involved, why the hells isn’t he under arrest?”

“Because we don’t, for sure. And can you imagine the Chief arresting anyone without evidence?”

“No. The Section, on the other hand...” I said.

“You make assumptions.”

“Yes.”

“Madam Steel, if we have left him running around loose, perhaps we have our reasons. Now, if you please...”

“Oh, all
right
. I’ll try.”

“Find out anything you can.”

Find out anything... I looked around.

Mokraine, oblivious to the concerns of foolish mortals as always, was talking with one of the Ikinchli servants. The servant scurried off as I approached.

“Ah, Babylon.”Mokraine looked ghastly; not so much an ancient king as the revenant of one. And he was shivering, slightly but constantly.

“Oh, Mokraine.”

“So much emotion, so tangled. So... close. I am a starving man at a banquet.” He laughed, a sound so cracked and horrible that several people looked around.

“Would you rather leave? I can get someone to escort you...”

“No. You want something.”

“No. No, Mokraine. You should go, you look dreadful.”

“There is nowhere to go. Who do you want me to listen to?”

“The... You called it ‘leakage.’ It doesn’t satisfy, does it?”

“No. It makes the hunger worse. It is the scent of a meal, it is not the meal. But I will not eat. I will not lose the last of myself.”

If he was getting bombarded by emotions from others without even trying, I wondered just how long he could hold on to the last of himself in any case. “Mokraine, I won’t ask you. Please, get out of here. Go somewhere quiet.”

“The world is full of noise,” Mokraine said. “Except for Darask Fain. He is quiet. So is the Scholar. They have taught him little else, but at least they have taught him to be quiet.”

“They have?”

“Oh yes. Fain has a thoroughly defended mind.”

“Defended how?”

“It appears to be his nature. The Scholar, on the other hand; he struggles to maintain his walls. A weak mind. Weak and arrogant and mundane.”

“Walls? I don’t understand.”

“He has built defences against me.” Mokraine smiled. If I’d been Bergast, that smile would have had me on the next boat back to Scalentine.

“I see,” I said. “I think. Well, perhaps he’s not comfortable with the idea of you picking up what he’s feeling.” Although I wondered.

“I could break his walls in a moment, if I wished.” He shrugged. “I do not.” The hunger in his eyes betrayed him. “I
will
not.”

“Oh, Mokraine.”

“Do not pity me, Babylon. Everything I am is the result of what I chose. I remember little, but I remember that. I can choose to be other, and I will.” His eyes were glittering cinders in his wrecked face; his will, the only thing holding him upright, flared off him like heat.

I couldn’t use him, not in his current state. I’d have to sound out Filchis alone. “Take care of yourself. Eat something, at least.”

He smiled, again, and this one had some genuine humour in it. “Babylon. You are not old enough to be my mother.”

“Well, I feel it,” I muttered. I started to move away, only to find he was following me.

“Who is it?”

“No, Mokraine, it’s not fair on you.”

His thin hand, veined and trembling, clamped on my wrist, icy. “We are not on Scalentine now, Babylon Steel. Do not presume to tell me what I will do.”

“Fine, all right!” I extracted my wrist, too easily, from his grip. “It’s the tubby bugger over there, the one who looks as though he’s just stepped in dogshit and is wondering what the smell is. But he has a disgusting little mind, don’t blame me if it gives you indigestion.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.” The idea that the smug, ugly-minded creature might be involved in a threat to Hargur filled my stomach and throat like a bad meal.

“Now, Mr Filchis,” someone asked him. “What is your feeling on the Ikinchli question?”

“Ah, well, if you saw how things were in Scalentine. It’s all become so mixed. No one knows where they stand any more. It’s hardly fair; one sees so many people who are simply not capable of the offices to which they’ve been raised, and the fact is, they will be as grateful as anyone once things are returned to their proper order.”

“You see a change coming, then?”

“Oh, it is inevitable that natural superiority will assert itself. Here, of course, you have the disadvantage of sheer numbers. These lower races so often breed like rats. Of course they don’t care for their children the way we do, having so many of them.”

I bit my tongue, hard, unclenched my fists, arranged my face into a simper, fluffed my hair and walked so as to make the tabard sway and swirl about my hips.

“Excuse me, but are you from Scalentine?” I fluted.

“Why, yes, madam.” He bowed, looking slightly puzzled.

“I
thought
I recognised the accent. How
charming.
Do tell me, is it true, one can buy things there from the farthest planes? Even Dofrenish perfume?”

“Well, we do have a great deal of passing trade, yes, but I’m no expert on perfumes, I fear.”

“What do you trade in?”

“I’m not a trader. I’m here as a representative of certain interests on Scalentine, keeping an eye on developments, you might say.”

“But how
intriguing.
What interests? Do tell!”

“Ah, well.” He tapped the side of his nose. “One must remain discreet, you know.” He reached out a hand. “Angrifon Filchis. Charmed to make your acquaintance, madam...?”

I couldn’t avoid taking his hand, not without seeming rude. It was plump and dry.

“Angrifon Filchis?” I fluttered. “Well, I’m sure that’s a name I should remember. I expect I shall be hearing it in
very important
circles. Not that I know the slightest
thing
about politics, but I have been known to spot a man with a future, you know. And it seems I’m not the only one.
Someone
thought a great deal of you, to send you into such a situation; I must say, with things so very...” – I looked around, but my chatter had driven off other listeners, for the moment – “so very
tense,
I’m not sure I should be able to keep my head and
observe.
”