Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter (66 page)

Dathka saw nothing of it. He moved like an automaton, eyes fixed ahead. The tension in the city was one with his personal tension. He had reached a point where he could tolerate it no longer. He would kill Raynil Layan, and Vry too if need be, and have done with it. His lips curled back from his teeth as he rehearsed the fatal blow over and over in his mind. Men started away from him, fearing his fixed look presaged the onset of fever.

He knew where Vry had her secret room; his spies kept him informed. He thought to himself, If I ruled here, I would close down the academy for good. Nobody ever had the courage to make that decision final. I would. Now’s the time to strike, using the excuse that classes at the academy spread the pest. That would really hurt her.

‘Take thought brother, take thought! Pray with the Takers to be spared, hear the word of great Naba’s Akha …’

He brushed by the street preacher. He would have those fools off the street, too, if he ruled.

Near the Yuli Lane hoxney stables, he was approached by a man he knew, a mercenary and animal trader.

‘Well?’

‘He’s up there how, sir.’ The man signalled with his eyebrows towards the garret window of one of the wooden buildings facing the stables. These were mainly hostels, rooming houses or drink
shops, which acted as a quasi-respectable front to the music rooms and bawdy houses ranged behind them.

Dathka nodded curtly.

He pushed through a bead curtain, to which fresh orling and scantiom had been tied, and entered one of the drink shops. The cramped dark room was empty of customers. On the walls, animal skulls gave dry, serrated smiles. The owner stood against his counter, arms folded, gazing into space. Already primed, he merely lowered his head so that his double chins spread on his chest, a signal to Dathka to do whatever he wished to do. Dathka passed him by and climbed the stairs.

Stale smells greeted him, of cabbage and worse things. He walked by the wall, but the boards still creaked. He listened at the end door, heard voices. Being of nervous disposition, Raynil Layan would be sure to have barred his door. Dathka knocked on the cracked panels.

‘Message for you, sir,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘Urgent, from the mint.’

Smiling a ghastly smile, he stood close, listening as the bolts were drawn inside the room. As soon as the door opened a crack, he burst in, flinging the door wide. Raynil Layan fell back, crying in terror. At the sight of the dagger, he ran to the window and called once for help. Dathka grasped him by the neck and flung him against the bed.

‘Dathka!’ Vry sat in the bed, pulling a sheet over her nudity. ‘Get out of here, you rat’s eddre!’

For answer, he kicked the door shut without looking round. He went over to Raynil Layan, who was picking himself up and groaning.

‘I know you’re going to kill me, I can see it, I can tell,’ the master of the mint said, putting out a tremblingly protective hand. ‘Spare me, please, I’m not your enemy. I can help you.’

‘I’m going to kill you with as much compassion as you killed old Master Datnil.’

Raynil Layan rose slowly, hiding his nudity, keeping a wary eye on his attacker.

‘I didn’t do that. Not myself. Aoz Roon ordered his death. It was legal, really. The law was broken. Killing me isn’t legal. Tell
him, Vry. Listen, Dathka – Master Datnil gave corps secrets away, he showed the secret book of the corps to Shay Tal. Not all of it. Not the worst thing. You ought to know about that.’

Dathka paused. ‘That world’s dead, all that corps scumb. You know what I think of the corps. To fessups with the past. It’s dead, as you will be.’

Vry seized on his hesitation. She had recovered her nerve.

‘Listen, Dathka, let me explain the situation. We can help you, both of us. There are things in that corps book that Master Datnil did not dare reveal even to Shay Tal. They happened long ago, but the past is still with us, however we might wish it otherwise.’

‘If that were so, then you would accept me. So long I longed for you.’

Raynal Layan drew his robe round himself and said, mustering his wits, ‘Your quarrel is with me, not Vry. In the various corps books are records of Embruddock in past time. They prove that this was once a phagor city. Possibly the phagors built it – the record is broken. They certainly owned it, and the corps and the people in it. They kept people as slaves.’

Dathka stood regarding them darkly. All he said in his head was, We are all slaves – knowing it to be stupid.

‘If they owned Embruddock, who killed them? Who won it back? King Denniss?’

‘This happened after Denniss’s time. The secret book says little; it records history only incidentally. We understand that the phagors simply decided to quit.’

‘They were not defeated?’

Vry said, ‘You know how little we understand the brutes. Perhaps their air-octaves changed and they all marched away. But they must have been here in strength. If you ever studied the painting of Wutra in the old temple, you would know that. Wutra is a representation of a phagor king.’

Dathka rested the heel of his hand on his brow. ‘Wutra a phagor? It can’t be. You go too far. This damned learning – it can make white black. All such nonsense stems from the academy. I’d kill it. If I had the power I’d kill it.’

‘If you want power, I’ll side with you,’ said Raynil Layan.

‘I don’t want you on my side.’

‘Well, of course …’ He gestured frustratedly, tugged the twin points of his beard. ‘You see, we have a riddle to resolve. Because it seems that the phagors are returning. Perhaps they will reclaim their old city. That’s my guess.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It’s simple. You must have heard the rumours. Oldorando’s alive with the rumours. There’s a great force of phagors approaching. Go and talk to the people passing outside the city. The trouble is, Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd will not protect the city, being too involved with their private interests. They’re your enemies – not I. If a strong man killed the lieutenants and took over the city, he could save it. That’s just my suggestion.’

He watched Dathka scrupulously, seeing the play of emotions on his face. He smiled encouragingly, knowing he had talked his way out of being killed.

‘I’d help,’ he said. ‘I’m on your side.’

Vry said, ‘I’m on your side, too, Dathka.’

He shot her one of his darkly glittering looks. ‘You’d never be on my side. Not if I won all of Embruddock for you.’

Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein were drinking together in the Two-Sided Tankard. Women, friends, and toadies were with them, enjoying the evening.

The Two-Sided Tankard was one of the few places where laughter could be heard nowadays. The tavern was part of a new administrative building which also housed the new mint. The building had been paid for mainly by rich merchants, some of whom were present with their wives. In the room were furnishings that until recently were unknown in Oldorando – oval tables, sofas, sideboards, rich woven rugs hanging on the walls.

Imported drink flowed, and a fair foreign youth played the hand harp.

The windows were being closed to keep out the chill night air and to shut out an odour of smoke from the alleyways. On the central table, an oil lamp burned. Food lay about, uneaten. One of the merchants was relating a long tale of murder, betrayal, and travel.

Faralin Ferd wore a jacket of suede, untied to reveal a woollen
shirt underneath. He rested his elbows on the table, half-listening to the story while his gaze roved about the chamber.

Tanth Ein’s woman, Farayl Musk, padded quietly about, ostensibly to see that a slave was securing the shutters correctly. Farayl Musk was distant kinswoman of both Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd, being descended from the family of Lord Wall Ein Den. Although not exactly beautiful, Farayl Musk had wit and character, which commended her to some people and not to others. She bore a candle in a holder, which she shielded against the draft of her progress with one hand.

The light made her face glow, throwing unexpected shadows on its contours, lending her mystery. She felt Faralin Ferd’s eyes on her, but forbore to return his gaze, knowing the value of feigned indifference.

He reflected as he often had done before that he deserved Farayl Musk, rather than his own woman, who bored him. Despite the dangers involved, he had several times made love to her. Now time was short. They might all be dead in a few days; drink did not drown that knowledge. He lusted after her again.

Rising, he stalked abruptly out of the room, casting a significant glance in her direction. The long story was reaching one of its periodic excitements, involving the smothering of a prominent man with the carcass of one of his own sheep. Laughter rose from round the table. Nevertheless, watchful eyes saw the lieutenant disappear – and his fellow lieutenant’s woman made her exit after a discreet interval.

‘I thought you wouldn’t dare follow.’

‘Curiosity is stronger than cowardice. We’ve only got a moment.’

‘Do it with me here, under the stairs. In this corner, look.’

‘Standing, Faralin Ferd?’

‘Feel this, woman – is it standing or is it not?’

She sighed and leaned against him, clutching what he offered with both hands. He recalled from previous occasions how sweet this woman’s breath was.

‘Under the stairs, then.’

She put the candle down on the floor. Ripping open her
bodice, she revealed her majestic breasts to him. He set an arm about her and dragged her into the corner, kissing her excitedly.

There they were caught when a party of twelve men under Dathka came in from the street with torches burning and swords naked.

Despite their protests, Farayl Musk and Faralin Ferd were brought forth. They barely had time to draw their clothes together before they were thrust back into the meeting room, where tbe rest of the lieutenants were already confronted by sword blades.

‘This is all lawful,’ Dathka said, eyeing them much as a wolf regards kid arang. ‘I am taking the rule of Embruddock into my own hands until such time as the rightful Lord of Embruddock, Aoz Roon, returns. I am his deposed but oldest-serving lieutenant. I mean to see that the city is properly guarded against invaders.’

Behind him stood Raynil Layan, his sword sheathed. He said loudly, ‘And I support Dathka Den. Hail, Lord Dathka Den.’

Dathka’s eye had found Tanth Ein, lost in the shadows. The older of the two lieutenants had not risen with the rest. He sat still at his place at the head of the table, arms resting on the chair arm.

‘You dare defy me!’ Dathka cried, leaping forward with his sword raised, to confront the seated man. ‘Get to your feet, scumb!’

Tanth Ein never moved, except that a rictus of pain traversed his face as his head jerked back. His eyeballs started to roll. As Dathka kicked at the chair, he slid stiffly to the floor with no attempt at breaking his fall.

‘It’s the bone fever!’ someone shouted. ‘It’s among us!’

Farayl Musk began to scream.

By morning, two more lives had gone, and the smell of burning once more tainted the air of Oldorando. Tanth Ein lay in the hospice under Ma Scantiom’s courageous care.

Despite the dread of contagion, a large crowd gathered in Bank Street to hear Dathka’s public proclamation of his rule. Once on a time, such meetings would have been held outside the big tower. Those days had passed away. Bank Street was more spacious and more elegant. On one side of it, a few stalls dotted the bank of
the river. Geese still strutted there, aware of their ancient rights. On the other side was a line of new buildings, with the old stone towers rising behind them. Here, a public platform stood.

On the platform stood Raynil Layan, shifting his weight from foot to foot, Faralin Ferd with his arms bound behind him, and six young warriors of Dathka’s guard, armed with sheathed swords and spears, grimly regarding the crowd. Bouquet sellers roved through the people, selling protective nosegays. The pilgrim Takers were there too, dressed in their distinctive black-and-white garb, holding banners urging repentance. Children played on the edge of the crowd, sniggering at the behaviour of their elders.

As the Hour-Whistler blew, Dathka climbed onto the platform and began immediately to address the crowd.

‘I am taking up the burden of authority for the sake of the city,’ Dathka said. It seemed his old silence had dropped from him. He spoke with eloquence. Yet he stood almost motionless, not gesturing, not using his body to help carry his words, as if the habit of silence had quit nowhere but his tongue. ‘I have no wish to supplant the true ruler of Embruddock, Aoz Roon. When he returns – if he returns – then what is rightfully his will be rightfully handed back to him. I am his lawful deputy. Those he left in command have abused his power, have cast it in tbe gutter. I could not stand by and see it. We will have honesty in these bad times.’

‘Why’s Raynil Layan beside you then, Dathka?’ called a voice from the crowd, and there were other remarks, which Dathka tried to override.

‘I know you have complaints. I’ll hear them after – you hear me now. Judge Aoz Roon’s usurping lieutenants. Eline Tal had the courage to go into the wilderness with his lord. The other two creatures stayed at home. Tanth Ein has the fever as his reward. Here stands the third of them, the worst, Faralin Ferd. Look at the way he trembles. When did he ever address you? He was too busy about his sly lascivious ways indoors.