Kushiel's Chosen (78 page)

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Authors: Jacqueline Carey

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BOOK: Kushiel's Chosen
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I shivered, not at all sure; if there was a chance, any chance, of reaching Ysandre upon her entrance, I would be a fool to let it pass. Storming her ship, leaping onto it from a bridge, firing an arrow with a message tied around the shaft...
"Do we stand any chance of reaching the Queen from here?" I asked him.
Kazan hesitated, then shook his head. "With seven men? No. We would die."
"Then we go," I replied grimly.
Concealed within my awning, I saw little of our journey. Kazan's men maneuvered the battered gondola with swift efficiency, although I confess our route meandered considerably through the labyrinth of canals and it took some do ing to find the Yeshuite quarter. It lay in the impoverished eastward sector of the city, where the buildings were all of simple wooden construction and the muddy streets unpaved. Unfortunate for the Yeshuites, though lucky for us; once we had left the Great Canal and the larger waterways behind, we saw few guardsmen.
It was good that we had left at dawn. By the time we located the Yeshuite quarter, the sun was well above the horizon.

The Yeshuites had done what they might to make their dwelling place a more pleasant one. The houses were stur dily constructed and planked walks had been laid over the mire; the water of the narrow canals themselves was cleaner and lacked the reek of ordure one found elsewhere. Here and there, pots of flowers decorated the wooden balconies. Few people were about in the early morning, but I heard the sound of a resonant voice raised in song coming from somewhere within the quarter.

"That will be the temple," I said to
Kazan.
"Is it safe to disembark?"

"Safe enough," he said dubiously. "Better if you stay, and I go."
"Can you speak Habiru?" I asked him; he rolled his eyes. "It has to be me, Kazan. If I'm right, if they've sheltered him this long, they wouldn't trust anyone else.”

After a few minutes' quarrel, we settled on a compromise. I would go, taking Kazan and three others as my escort; the others would remain with the gondola. We traversed the quarter quickly, the Illyrians watching out on all sides, but no Serenissimans were in sight, not here.

The temple was a modest affair, low-built, of wooden construction with a solid stone foundation. I heard the voice of the chantor grow louder as we approached, rising and falling in ritual song; the Sa'akharit, I thought, recalling somewhat of the Rebbe's teaching. It was regrettable that we had arrived during the morning prayer, but there was nothing for it. I had no time to lose.
There was a
khai
symbol engraved on the wooden door. I pushed it open and entered, flanked by four Illyrian pirates.

We came into an antechamber that opened onto the tem ple proper, where scores of worshippers were seated. The chantor broke off his song and stared, and their Rebbe stood open-mouthed at his lectern. Everyone in the temple, men and women alike, wore bright yellow hats such as the Yeshuite man I'd seen in the Campo Grande so long ago had worn. One by one, the seated worshippers turned around to look.

All of them looked terrified, and Joscelm was not among their number.

"Barukh hatah Yeshua a'Mashiach, father," I said politely in Habiru; it was hard to get my tongue around the harsh syllables after so long. "For... forgive me for disturbing your prayers, but it is a matter of great urgency. I seek the D'Angeline, Joscelin Verreuil."

The congregation looked to the Rebbe; his eyes shifted and he licked his lips, two of the telltales of a man preparing to lie. "I do not know who you mean, child."

"No? Then I shall say it thusly, father," I said, and echoed the words the Yeshuite had spoken in the Campo Grande, after Joscelin had come to his rescue. "I seek the one whose blades shine like a star in his hands."

A voice—a young, male voice—uttered a sound some where within the congregation, and I saw a woman put her hand hard on her son's shoulder, forcing him to sit when he would have stood. Kazan shifted, looking to me for direction. The Rebbe stood silent. There was an aisle along the side of the temple. I walked slowly down it, drawing back the hood of my cloak, until I stood before the raised dais.
"Look well at me, father," I said softly, turning my face up for his regard. "I am Phèdre nó Delaunay, and Joscelin Verreuil is my oath-sworn companion. With those words and this visage I show to you, I have put my life into your hands."

The Rebbe licked his lips again, and glanced past me toward the Illyrians. He was not old for the position, no more than forty. Behind him, the flickering light of the Ur Tamid, the light that is never extinguished, cast shadows over the sacred ark of scrolls. "I... hear your words, child. But this person you seek ... is not here."

"You can get word to him." I kept my voice steady. "I beseech you, by all you hold sacred, to do so. Tell him I have come. Tell him you have seen a D'Angeline woman, who bears in her left eye a fleck of crimson. The men I am with are friends; I trust them with my life. Tell him I swear it, by Cassiel's Dagger. Until the sun stands high overhead, I will wait for him, at the Inn of Seven Strangers."

No more could I say. Putting up my hood, I turned and made my way back. In the shadowy antechamber, Kazan grinned, teeth gleaming white against the darkness save for the gap where one was missing. "We wait?" he asked; he may not have understood my words, but he read the Rebbe's face well enough and he knew my plan.

"We wait," I said.

The Inn of Seven Strangers had the advantage of being highly disreputable, and an establishment given a wide berth by the Serenissiman Guard unless absolutely necessary. It was a tavern and flophouse recommended with considerable enthusiasm by one of Pjètri Kolcei's sailors, who had so journed as a mercenary before joining the Ban's service.
Even in the morning hours, it was thronging with out-of- work seafarers from a half-dozen nations; Caerdicci, Ephe sians, Akkadians and Umaiyyati, even a few Skaldi, which always gave me an involuntary shiver. No other Illyrians, which I was glad to see. There is privacy in a tongue un shared. Two men stayed with the gondola, and Kazan and Tormos forged a path to the rear of the common room, bull ing their way by main force while the others took care to keep me surrounded.
I kept my head down and hooded; there were a few good- natured curses but, for the most part, the other patrons of the inn took no notice, supposing I was a harbor-front whore hired to be shared among Kazan and his men. For once, I was glad of such a mistake.

Kazan secured a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the inn by shifting a sleeping drunkard, who took little no tice. We disposed ourselves about the table, and Ushak went to purchase a jug of wine, carefully counting over the Serenissiman coins Kazan gave to him to be sure of the cur rency's value.

"That's foul stuff!" Tormos proclaimed, drawing in his breath with a sharp hiss as he tasted it. "We make better on Dobrek. I thought it would be all ichor, here in Serenissima."

"That's because you're an idiot," his brother Stajeo said promptly. "My lady Phèdre ... I will drink bad wine and play dice all day, if you like, but why are we here? I thought we came to kill Serenissimans and save your Queen! What can this ... D'Angeline ..." he pronounced the word with a contempt that I was now spared, "... do that we cannot?"

There were grumbled echoes of the query all around, and Kazan raised his brows at me; although he had forborne asking, he was surely wondering.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "In truth ... mayhap naught. If nothing else, he will make our count eight men rather than seven; nine, if Elua's mercy is with me, and my chevalier Philippe yet lives."

"Nine will die a little slower than seven," Kazan said. "Not much."

"It may be." I took a breath. "From the age of ten, Jos celin Verreuil was raised a member of the Cassiline Brotherhood, taught fighting skills to ward the scions of Elua and his Companions from harm. My lord Kazan, you and your men are doughty warriors, that much I have seen, but to thwart the assassination of a regent at close quarters ... this is what Joscelin has trained all of his life to do. If there is a way it may be done, he will find it."
The other Illyrians made disparaging remarks and jests— they had never faced a D'Angeline in battle, let alone a Cassiline—but Kazan's face was thoughtful. "Your Queen," he said. "Does she not already have such guards in her ser vice?"
"Yes," I admitted. "At least two, mayhap more, for the
progressus.
But if aught happens, they will not look to Prince Benedicte's quarter for betrayal." I gave a hollow laugh, remembering Joscelin's once-fierce loyalty to his vow. "Indeed, they are Cassilines; they will protect House Courcel to the death."

"And death it will be," Kazan mused. The wine-jug went around again, and his men tossed dice to see who would bear the cost of a refill; it fell to Epafras, who went with a grimace. Kazan ignored them and reached out to brush his fingers down a lock of my hair. "You are not afraid of death, you, I think," he said softly in Caerdicci. "But I think, I, you are afraid of dying without seeing this, this Joscelin Verreuil once more."

"What I have said is true," I said to him.

He gave a crooked smile. "This much I believe, eh? I would like to meet the man, I, who assailed the black isle single-handed. I stood with you on the ship, yes, and I saw the tower empty, the bridge dangling. Others did not dare to look, but I did, I. And yet... your voice goes soft when you speak his name. I think that you love him, you."

"Yes." I owed him the truth. "I do."
Kazan nodded. "So we will see, eh? If he comes, it is to the good. And if he does not?"
I turned the earthenware wine cup in my hands. "If he does not, we go to Lord Ricciardo Stregazza, and beg his aid. It will alert the Dogal Guard, and likely we will be hunted for it, but mayhap Ricciardo can rouse the other Scholae to counter Marco's attack."
"Good," Kazan said briskly. "It is something, and Ser-enissimans will die. It is better to try than to surrender."
To that, I made no answer; I could not but help thinking that most of the Serenissimans were merely following or ders, knowing no more of Marco's machinations than a babe. It did not please me, to think on their deaths. In the cavern of the
thetalos,
I would be accountable.

Time passed, and another wine-jug was drained; Stajeo and Ushak went to relieve Oltukh and Volos of their guard duty on the gondola. They came in reporting that the sun stood a few degrees shy of noon. Out came the dice, with good-natured quarrels. I began to despair, when the Yeshuite entered the tavern.

He was alone, which marked him, and his eyes scanned the crowd, seeking and discarding. I did not know him for a Yeshuite at first; he did not wear the yellow cap, and his sidelocks were cut. We took no chances. When his gaze fell upon our table, Kazan pulled me onto his lap with a hearty laugh, making pretend indeed that I was a rented doxie for his pleasure.

It would have fooled a casual observer; it did not fool the young man with the dark, intent eyes. He made his way to the table and asked in Habiru, "Be you the Apostate's oath- sworn?"

Volos sprang to his feet and drew his dagger, setting its point at the Yeshuite's throat

"Let him be," I said in Illyrian, and then added in Caerdicci, that Kazan might understand, "I am Kushiel's Chosen and Servant of Naamah, and Joscelin Verreuil has sworn Cassiel's Oath to protect me. Do you doubt it?" I drew back my hood, and the Yeshuite inhaled sharply.

"No," he said simply and bowed, crossing his forearms in the Cassiline manner. Beneath rough-spun garb, leather vambraces protected his arms. "Do you doubt who has sent me?”

"No." My heart hammered within my breast; Kazan's hands rested lightly on my waist. "Is he here?"

"Not here." The young Yeshuite shook his head. His Caerdicci was faintly accented, and he ignored Volos' hov ering blade as if it didn't exist. "I am Micah ben Ximon, and he has sent me to bring you where he is."

I stood up; Kazan's hands fell away. "Then take us."

SEVENTY
A quarrel broke out as we left the Inn of Seven Strangers; I saw Tormos deliberately jostle the elbow of a tall Uma iyyatì holding a pot of ale, and suspected it was staged. Insults were traded, with accompanying gestures; a few blows were exchanged. Kazan hurried me past unnoticed, following Micah ben Ximon, and Tormos caught up with us outside, grinning.
The patrons of the inn might recall a handful of quarrel some Illyrians leaving, but they would not remember a D'Angeline woman with them, nor a lone Yeshuite.

Micah had a skiff, more disreputable than our hastily purchased gondola. He boarded it and leaned on the oars, wait ing. Kazan decided that he and I would travel with the Yeshuite, as well as Oltukh; the rest would follow in the gondola, under Tormos' command. It sat ill with Stajeo, to obey his brother's orders. I saw the Yeshuite go wide-eyed, watching while the Illyrians argued. He was younger than I had thought in the tavern, no more than seventeen or eighteen.

"Go," I said, leaning forward. "They will settle it, and follow."

He glanced once at Kazan, who nodded; Oltukh settled himself on the bench next to Micah and took an oar, and the skiff moved speedily into the center of the canal as they rowed in unison. Before long, the gondola followed, the sound of Illyrian voices raised in quarrel still audible.

Kazan spared a grin.

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