Emissary (8 page)

‘Of Tariq?’ Pez asked, sounding incredulous. ‘Now you jest, my Zar,’ he said and the tone cut like a blade.

‘I didn’t think so. There’s nothing to envy. He intrigues me, that’s all.’

‘Is it?’

‘Well, surely his chameleon-like changes fascinate you?’

‘In a different way to you perhaps, my Zar,’ Pez said, and none of the pain in his expression had dissipated.

‘How so?’

‘You say you find him intriguing. Personally, I find him dangerous.’

Boaz gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Dangerous? Tariq?’

Pez grew grave now. He did not say anything, simply stared hard at the Zar.

Boaz filled the awkward silence. ‘But that’s ridiculous. Dangerous to whom?’

‘I’m not sure…not yet.’

‘You’re being paranoid. Who can Tariq endanger?’

‘You, me, the Valide, your harem, do you want me to go on?’

Boaz shook his head as if needing to clear away the nonsense he was hearing. His voice was filled with sarcasm again. ‘Pez, how is he dangerous to my mother, do explain?’

‘Prior to your father’s death, who would you say aligned himself most closely with Herezah the Absolute Favourite?’

Boaz looked away momentarily, as if mildly irritated to have led himself to this point.

‘You asked me to explain, so I’m trying,’ Pez said, his tone friendly as ever now.

Boaz sighed. ‘All right, it was Tariq.’

‘Indeed. I think now the Valide would have to all but make an appointment to meet him face to face.’

‘She’s in the harem. He can’t—’

‘Don’t make excuses, my Zar, you know I’m right. And all the time that he’s been curiously withdrawing from the Valide, he has invested that time ingratiating himself with you.’

‘It is his task, his duty as Vizier.’ Boaz was silently angered by the defensiveness of his tone.

Pez shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said and began humming to himself.

‘You’re infuriating, Pez.’

‘Oh, but that’s my task, my duty as your royal buffoon, my Zar,’ Pez replied, echoing the Zar’s words, but there was no humour now.

Boaz sensed it and growled his displeasure. ‘I won’t have you treat me like a child.’

Pez rounded on him. ‘Then don’t act like one!’

It was the first time in his life that Boaz had been scolded in such stern fashion by his friend and it was obvious from his stormy gaze that he did not take it lightly. ‘How dare you,’ he said, a voice as wintry as though it were coming from the Shagaire icecaps.

Whether Pez had intended such provocation or not, it seemed he wasn’t going to renege on his insult. ‘I dare, my Zar, because I care about you.’

‘Is this how you spoke to my father?’ Boaz
snarled, truly angry with Pez for the first time in their relationship.

‘I had no need to.’

‘And you will never have an opportunity to address me so again.’

Pez nodded, the realisation of the consequences of his firm attitude shown in his sad expression. ‘Then Tariq has won, my Zar. Your father despised the Vizier…and for good reason.’

‘Give me that reason!’ Boaz bellowed at the dwarf. He sounded almost desperate.

Pez would not give him satisfaction. ‘I shouldn’t have to. You should feel it as I do,’ Pez said and it felt like an accusation to Boaz.

The accusation hurt and Boaz reacted in a manner as if stung. ‘Begone, dwarf. I’ll choose to surround myself with whom I want.’

Casting caution out of the open window towards the Faranel, Pez gave his final warning. ‘Yes, that’s why I fear for you, my Zar. You should dismiss him as your father always wanted to. You can, you know, because your reign is still young. Mark my words, Zar Boaz, you will regret it if you don’t. I am gone, Majesty,’ he said and, despite his awkward gait, he managed a noble air as he walked towards the door.

Boaz spoke to his childhood friend’s back. ‘I shall summon you should I ever want to see you again, Pez. Don’t visit me without invitation.’

Pez turned and nodded once. There was something achingly final in the way their gazes
met, then locked, before Pez dipped his glance in required deference to the Zar and removed himself fully from the chamber.

Boaz sat down heavily as the door closed. His heart was racing and the painful sense of being cut away from something secure and familiar was his new companion. He had never felt as lonely as he did in this moment with the words of Pez echoing in his mind.

Pez felt hollow. That certainly didn’t go according to plan. He had hoped to use the element of his surprise arrival to bluff his way through any question of his absence. But it seemed the Zar was already agitated about other events and Pez suspected his timing was ill-conceived. It was his own fault, though; he should never have ignored his duties to Boaz. His cheeks burned with the humiliation of what he had brought down upon himself. The frightening prospect that he no longer had the ear of the Zar—or his indulgence—took a strong hold over him. For the first time in over two decades, he was vulnerable.

Flying in had proved to be imprudent. What had begun as a jest to surprise the Zar had turned ugly and now downright dangerous. Since the argument, he had travelled blindly, his legs moving as if on memory rather than direction, but found himself crossing the threshold of the harem and knew he would find comfort here.

She was sewing, a look of disgust on her face as she poked the tiny needle through her silk.

‘Pez!’ one of the other girls cried and it was obvious they were all looking for a distraction.

The tutor’s pinched expression turned even more sour as Pez scratched at his own crotch and then belched. The class disintegrated into laughter and the helpless tutor, unable by palace law to banish the clown, took her leave but with a promise to return after the midday meal for more of the same.

‘Let’s swim with the fishes,’ Pez suggested, pretending to glide through make-believe water.

‘We’re not allowed outside, Pez,’ someone told him.

He looked to Ana, sucking at her finger she had pricked with the needle on seeing him. She smiled. ‘We have to sew adequately first,’ she sighed.

Already the class had broken up and girls were moving into groups, munching on the platters of fruit and confections being delivered by a host of servants. The garammala pipes would inevitably follow.

Pez glanced towards the food and back to Ana. It was an invitation she declined with a soft shake of her head. ‘You’re looking thin,’ he whispered.

‘And you’re looking miserable. What’s happened?’

He told her very briefly and watched as something akin to his own pain settled across her
face. ‘With Boaz in this mood he might permit anything,’ he concluded.

‘Are you sure he said that?’ she asked, referring to the Zar’s dismissal and warning.

‘Quite. I could hardly mistake the finality of his words. Our friendship is done with.’

‘I don’t think so. Even the little I know of our Zar suggests he will think it through and regret the way the discussion went.’

‘You may be right,’ he whispered, moving to stand on his head and act out his part.

‘Salmeo for sure will take every advantage of this new turn of events,’ Ana said softly, frowning.

‘And the Valide will relish any opportunity to return years of frustrating harassment with cruel interest,’ he reminded, carefully watching that no-one was paying them any attention.

‘Oh, Pez. What are we going to do to help you?’

‘I must lie low for a while, not be seen around too much. Forgive me if I disappear.’

‘Don’t leave me.’

‘I won’t, I promise. I’d better go. I’ll come tonight. Leave your window open.’

‘My window?’ she queried, watching him roll back to his feet and pull an ugly face at a girl passing by, who giggled. ‘I’m on the top floor.’

‘Just do as I ask,’ he said and winked before skipping out of the room.

The Valide smiled as she took her seat in the Chamber of Silence. It had been so many years since she was in this area of the palace that she had forgotten it existed. This was the chamber where she had been first presented as a newly purchased slave to the Valide Zara of the day; a stern, seemingly permanently scowling woman, who fortunately lost her position soon after. Herezah recalled it all now. The scowling Valide’s son, Zar Koriz, had died suddenly and his death had diminished his mother’s long-sought and powerful position. He had fallen prey to the feared bloatfish, earning its name from the fact that it swelled as it died, gasping in the fishing nets. It was a delicacy in Percheron but needed very special handling by cooks to ensure that the liver of this fish was fully removed. It contained some of the most powerful toxins known at the time and eating even the tiniest morsel of the liver meant certain death. The Zar of the day was a fine cook, priding himself on being skilled in cleaning and gutting this favourite of fish with precision and did just that after one of his regular fishing expeditions. These were days when no-one dared even offer advice to the Zar unless asked, and although one of his newest aides found the courage to suggest that it would be best to take the fish back to the palace, the Zar scoffed. He wanted to cook the fish on the banks of the Daramo River, that flowed into the Faranel. It was on these same shores that the aide
lost his tongue for his trouble and the Zar lost his life. The poison was swift but not fast enough to prevent immense suffering as the vicious toxin gradually claimed every inch of his body with paralysis. By the time his shocked party got the Zar back into the city, all of his major organs had burst and he was bleeding from his nostrils, ears, mouth, and was dead before he could even be laid in his chamber.

This story had always stayed with Herezah, not so much because of the colourful tale itself but because of this particular Zar. It amazed her that, despite this Zar’s predisposition to punish his servants without mercy, for something so innocent as trying to offer him protection, he nonetheless had a deep soft spot for his stepbrothers and had refused his mother’s pleas to execute them as each new Zar had done before him. Herezah felt fortunate that Boaz had still been immature enough that he could not prevent the actions she took on his behalf to ensure no heirs remained after Joreb’s death. That said, Zar Koriz’s compassion for his siblings had worked in her favour, for his favourite brother was Joreb and it was Joreb who took the throne, eyes still wet from weeping over his lost brother. It was Joreb who had chosen her from all in the harem for special consideration. Yes, she had plenty to thank the poisoned Zar for. Joreb’s mother was more successful in insisting on traditional rights and the remaining stepbrothers were swiftly dealt with. Herezah was glad that her
Joreb had found the courage to deal with his rivals, unlike his brother Koriz.

The new Valide, however, chose not to dismantle the harem, for the girls were still so young and new. Joreb inherited his brother’s harem and with it came a precocious girl called Herezah.

She hadn’t been in this chamber since that fateful day when the old Valide’s stern gaze had fallen upon her and chosen her within seconds of that first glance. Her fate was sealed with that woman’s glare, although her destiny—like any woman of the harem—was her own to carve.

And carve it I did,
she thought now, pride catching in her throat as she saw her son enter the room. He looked taller, more imposing, and there was more colour in his cheeks. He was obviously getting out a lot more now than in his days as a prince. He also looked miserable. She wrongly presumed that his grim expression was all about fear of what he was about to witness.
He was always a squeamish one,
she thought, as he bent to take her hand.

‘Mother,’ he acknowledged, kissing her hand and placing it on his chest, in the formal way.

She felt a shiver of delight. He was certainly making a fuss with such a show of affection. Just being invited to this private event had been enough and she was going to put this morning’s pointed discussion behind them. She had overreacted, she was sure. ‘Darling, I’m sorry
about my mood earlier. Forgive me. And thank you for sharing this with me,’ she said smoothly.

To her surprise he waved away her apology as if it had not troubled him. ‘I can’t promise a fun afternoon, I’m afraid,’ he said, falling heavily into his chair beside her. ‘This is duty, not my idea of entertainment.’

Herezah was secretly pleased to know he continued to put duty ahead of his fears, but she knew she needed to say the right words to his admission. ‘Then where is your clingy clown? Surely your court jester should be here alongside you to provide that entertainment,’ she replied, and then, contriving still more concern, she looked to where the Grand Vizier stood patiently. ‘Tariq, where is the dwarf?’

The Vizier glided towards the royal couple and bowed. She hadn’t seen him in several weeks and, although this was a man in his senior years, he looked more dashing than she could have imagined. His beard was neatly groomed, not oiled, and shorter now—no longer demanding to be noticed. It was also no longer the rich glossy black that the Tariq of old had insisted on achieving through dye. He had allowed the peppery grey to emerge, and to Herezah’s expert eye it looked far more distinguished. His neatly kempt hair was also now the same colour. She approved, although it still continued to fascinate her that this new person seemed to be emerging before their eyes.

He answered Boaz, not her. ‘I was told he left your chambers not so long ago, my Zar. Perhaps you know better than I of his whereabouts,’ he suggested, frowning.

Again Boaz waved away Tariq’s concern as if it did not trouble him. ‘I know not of his location, Vizier. Carry on,’ he ordered.

Tariq bowed again and withdrew. A signal was given and, as a tray of refreshments was brought in for the royals, a small queue of young men was led in through another door.

‘Is something wrong, son?’ Herezah enquired, distracted from the Vizier and intrigued by her child’s mood. And as only she could, Herezah moved straight to where her instincts beckoned. ‘Are you upset about Pez?’ He turned to her and by the surprise she could see in his eyes, she knew she was right with her wild stab in the dark. ‘Has something happened to him?’ She knew how much he cared for the dwarf. This would be the right initial question to pose—it showed the right balance of care.