The Assassins of Tamurin (25 page)

The pavilion contained cushioned benches. Dilara sat down and said, “The Despot does well for himself.”

“He does, doesn’t he? The food’s very good, too ... but I must say, I'm surprised to see you both. There’s no risk, is there?” I asked this because I didn’t think for an instant that Tossi was really here to sell tin, although I was sure the shipment existed—there was always a plausible reason for Mother’s girls to be wherever they were.

“No risk at all,” Tossi said, and added dryly, “Anyway, what could be more natural than for Mother’s former students to visit each other? We’re sisters, after all.”

“Exactly,” Dilara said. “Now, Lale, tell me everything you’ve been doing here. Is it fun? Does Master Luasin treat you well? What’s the Despot like?”

I did my best to answer her, and discovered that she herself was working as a public scribe. I tried to imagine Dilara sitting at a folding table with ink stone, paper, and pen, writing people’s love notes and business letters for them, and found it difficult. But she made no complaint, and we nattered happily on while the moming passed. Tossi said little as we talked, apparently more interested in Yazar’s prize irises, which decked the gardens in great swaths of purple and gold. Eventually she asked if she might look more closely at them, and I told her Yazar wouldn’t mind, as long as she didn’t go near the palace itself. She agreed, and wandered out into the garden.

This pleased me, for as glad as I was to see her again, her presence had constrained our gossip. Now I could say, “I know you can’t tell me exactly what you’ve been doing, but has it gone well?”

“I had a very important assignment ” she said, glancing in Tossi’s direction. “It went well. Tossi says Mother is very pleased with me.”

“I'm so glad! Will you be going home now?”

“I don’t think so.”

I studied her narrow face. All morning I'd sensed that she wasn’t quite the same old Dilara, and now, in this unguarded moment of hers, I glimpsed the change. She’d hardened in some deep place, had become colder and more secretive. Even as she giggled over my accounts of Master Mourken’s artistic tantrums, there was a watchfulness about her that never flagged. She held herself back, in some obscure manner, and I could not help but feel that a little of the old intimacy had ebbed from our friendship. It saddened me.

“How is it really, being a scribe?” I asked. “It’s hardly the weaving you hoped for.”

She shrugged. “It’s what Mother wants, and my clients don’t complain. But you know why she did it. It’s a portable profession—^I can go anywhere and not be noticed much.” “True.” I sighed. “You can’t drag a loom around on your back.”

“No, unfortunately. It’s a terrible living, though, being a scribe. It’s not hard to do, but if I had to depend on it I'd starve. But Mother sends me money, so I get along.”

Tossi was well out of earshot. “Dilara,” I said, “I killed a man.”

For an instant, that watchful reserve evaporated. Her eyes widened and she exclaimed softly, “You
didT

“Yes. But it was an accident. Sort of.” I told her what had happened. When I finished, she emitted a soft whistle and said, “Good for you. I'd have made sure of him after he hit the ground, though. Suppose he’d identified you later?”

“It was dark. He never got a good look at me.”

Dilara laughed. “Well, he certainly never will now. And here I find myself with the Moonlight Girl. But see how brave I am? I'm not afraid of you in the least.”

I laughed, and as I laughed, the palace bell sounded the fifth hour of the moming watch. Moments later the city’s timekeeper dmms took their cue from the bell, and a low mmble, like that of a distant army, quivered in the soft spring air.

“An hour till midday,” Dilara said. “I guess I’d better go. If I’m not on that lorcha when it sails, Tossi will box my ears.” “I suppose you must.” I feh very downcast, for our time together had sped so swiftly. My best friend was leaving me, and I didn’t know when or where I’d see her again. “Can you find your way? Shall we come with you to the port?”

She grinned, a flash of the old Dilara. “I can find my way from anywhere to anywhere. I just have to get my things from the hostel, and I’m off. Travel light and fast, that’s me.” She kissed me on both cheeks and went across the lawn to Tossi. They embraced, Dilara tumed on her heel, and vanished among the budding cherry trees. Tossi rejoined me in the pavilion.

“I’m sorry she had to leave so soon,” she said.

“So am I. I’m very glad you brought her with you. But you’re not in Istana about tin shipments.”

“No, I’m not. By the way. Mother’s extremely pleased with your work here. She’s had reports from Master Luasin, and commends you for your talent and for your diligence.” “I’m very gratified. Please tell her so, and give her my thanks.” After a pause I said, “Perin says I look a lot like the Surina. The one who just died.”

“Yes, Mother told me that, too, before I left. She noticed it herself a few years ago, she said. It’s a very useful resemblance.” She smiled. “You’ll be sure to catch the Sun Lord’s eye because of it.”

Excitement vibrated through me. “You mean—”

“Yes, I do. You’ll be going to Kuijain with the Elder Company this season.”

Even though I’d expected this, it was still a shock to hear it. “You’re
surel
Mother said so?”

“Yes. I brought her dispatch with me. Master Luasin has it by now.”

“Well, I do think I earned it,” I said. “So I’m to go to Kur-jain. What then?”

She told me. It took a while. When she finished, I stared for a long time at the gardens.

“Lale?” Tossi murmured after a while. “Say something.” A ringed pigeon was waddling around on the grass, pecking. I said, “I see now why she couldn’t trust anybody but you to come. I’m just trying to grasp it. I never imagined anything so . ..”

I found myself at a loss for words, an unfamiliar sensation. Tossi said, “Audacious?”

“That, yes.” I wondered if I ought to be frightened. I’d always known my work could be dangerous and that I might die in Mother’s service. But I wasn’t afraid; what I felt was nervousness mixed with excited anticipation. I owed Mother everything, and now I could begin to repay her for what she’d given me. And as Dilara had said. I’d be at the center of
everything.

“You’ll do very well, Lale.” She took my hands and looked into my face. “You’re a fine actress. This is the greatest role you’ll ever play.”

I laughed. “A secret one. No applause from my audience.” “Except fi’om Mother. And from me. But, perhaps, if it all goes as it should, the world can someday know what you’ve done.”

“Maybe,” I said modestly. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She had to go soon after that, to attend to the tin business. I would not, she said, see her again before she left Istana. So I accompanied her to the prefecture’s main gate and we made our farewells, as would sisters who were fond of each other but now must go their separate ways.

After she left I returned to the veranda and my book, but although I stared at its pages I did not see them. Visions of a glorious future danced before my eyes, for I was profoundly excited at what lay before me. When younger. I’d imagined being written down in the histories, like Maylane, and now it might actually happen. And perhaps I’d appear not only in the histories. Great poets might write about me, and High Theater dramatists portray my triumphs. It was one of the things I’d longed for, this fame, and now Mother had put it within my reach. Once I was in Kuijain I had merely to grasp it, and I had every intention of doing exactly that.

The Elder Company and I reached Kuijain early in the month of New Leaf, after a journey of four days. Including Master Luasin, there were thirteen of us: Perin and Radam the male and female leads, plus the two second leads and the pair of supporting actors. Filling out the company were the musicians Guyal and Yoshin, and the married couple who worked as stagers. And finally there were Eshin and I, the two lucky students who had won apprenticeships in the Elder Company.

We loaded the wagons onto river lorchas at Istana, but we took no horses with us, since we were to remain in Kurjain all summer and wouldn’t need them. Then we set out on the first leg of our journey, gliding with sail and current down the Pearl to the city of Sutkagin, where we would take the Short Canal toward Kuijain.

Soon after we set out, I asked Perin the question that had been on my mind for days. We were leaning on the rail, watching the river fishermen bob about in their skaffies. Along the shore, herons and yellow stilts stalked among the reeds.

“What’s he like?” I asked. “The Sun Lord, I mean. You’ve met him.”

“Ah.” Her face grew thoughtful. “You could certainly say he’s well-favored. A strong face, straight back, broad shoulders. He’d make a good lead actor, especially in paint. But he’s not as tall as I thought he’d be. In fact, I don’t think he’s much taller than you. Maybe a thumb’s breadth, if that. But. ..”

“But what?” I prompted.

“It’s odd, but even when he’s in a throng, where the men are taller than he is, he still stands out. It’s almost as if he’s the only one you can see. I’m not sure why that is. You know how a compass needle moves, always pointing south? It’s like that. As though he’s the south, and everybody else is a needle.”

“Really?” I said, startled at her fervor. Perin’s observations on men were normally flippant, sardonic, or disillusioned. I’d never heard her speak of one this way, and I decided that she’d been beguiled by the Sun Lord; perhaps she was even infatuated. Powerful men had that effect on many women, and I was a little disappointed to find Perin among them. I had imagined she’d be more clearheaded. Of course, I told myself smugly,
I
was in no danger of having my head tumed.
My
eyes were wide open, and I’d keep them that way. Terem Rathai would never make
me
tum pink, as Perin had just done.

“It’s hard to describe,” she said weakly, and we left it at that.

From Sutkagin we were to follow the Short Canal north to Kuijain. I had missed seeing Sutkagin on my previous river journey, but I now discovered that I’d missed little, for the city was no more interesting than Dimn, except for a vast pink rock rising out of the earth, with the mins of an enormous shrine to the Bee Goddess on its summit. In the old days the shrine had been a great attraction; people came from all over Durdane to see it and to visit the humming bee caves in the rose-tinted cliffs below.

However, Exile raiders had destroyed both shrine and city during the Year of the Five Emperors; they also bumed out the bee caves and killed or drove away all the bees. The city was later rebuilt, but it was thought that the shrine could not be restored until bees retumed to the caves. Sadly, they never did, so the shrine remained a ruin. I wanted to see it anyway, but moving wagons around by boat is expensive, and Master Luasin wouldn’t allow any time for sightseeing. He had everything transshipped from the lorchas onto five canal slippers as soon as we arrived in Sutkagin, and before I knew it we were on our way to Kuijain.

He had assigned me to the women’s bunk wagon with Perin, Imela, and Harekin, who were the second female lead and the supporting actress, respectively. (The lady stager and her husband bunked in with the musicians.) Imela was the oldest of us, quite plain, and usually played dowager roles. I liked her, but I didn’t care much for Harekin. She was a fine talent, but she had a supercilious streak and paid as little attention to me as she could. Also, she snored.

Our wagon was chained down in the slipper’s midships, and for convenience we slept in it. During the day we sat on the forward hatch in the sunshine and watched the landscapes of Bethiya glide by. This was the south of the Sun Lord’s realm, rolling green farmland broken by conical hills, with the canal winding among them like a blue and silver road. The hills had been terraced long ago, and on these were emerald lines of young wheat and barley. Down on the flatland lay more grain fields, as well as vineyards and orchards of peach, plum, cherry, and pear. These were in full bloom, so that we traveled between banks of pink and white clouds, as if the sky had descended to earth. Their fragrances vied with the weedy damp scents of the canal and of the marsh marigolds and purple mud roses that grew along its banks.

Our slippers each had a pair of masts, so that the crew could use the wind if they were out on a big river like the Pearl. But on the narrow waters of a canal, the boats were hauled by enormous horses that lumbered along a towpath. The tow master rode on his beast’s back to guide it, but he never had much to do, the animals being so placid. Where there was no towpath, as when the canal went through a town or village, the tow master unhitched the horse and took it on ahead. Then the slipper’s crew put their long sculling sweeps over the stem and worked the vessel along until we came up with the towpath again.

This happened several times, since there were four sizable market towns on the canal between Sutkagin and Kuijain, and as many villages. All were in better repair than any I’d seen elsewhere, except in Chiran and Istana, and I noticed few of the walled manors that betrayed the holdings of rich magnates. This puzzled me. We’d studied Bethiya at school, but it was mostly the dynastic history of the Sun Lords, and I’d assumed that there were great landowners in his realm, just as there were everyw
here else. I asked Perin about it, since she’d spent a lot of time in Bethiya over the past seven years.