The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (35 page)

“No, no,” she said, and her expression returned to normal. “You did nothing wrong. I was just a bit intimidated, Captain. I seldom have soldiers to my salons.”

“I can understand that,” I said, trying a feeble joke. “Most of us don’t know where to put our sabers when we enter polite company.”

A wicked grin came and went. “That is not what I heard,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” I said, pretending innocence. She chose not to answer, but led me to the punch bowl and poured a cup.

“You have a choice,” she said. “You may join the throng, and listen to former Count Komroff hold forth on why we must all renounce our titles, move to the slums, and exist on clotted milk if there’s any hope for the world — ”

“Or?” I interrupted hastily.

“Or you may get the grand tour, since this is the first time you’ve been in my house.”

“Lead on,” I said. “Having no title, and little taste for farmer’s cheese, I put myself in your hands.”

I admired the paintings, sculptures, gold inlays, cleverly carved wood etchings on the lower floor, including that great ballroom. When we came to the kitchen, Marán merely opened the door, told me what was on the other side, and passed on. I would have liked to have seen the mechanism necessary to feed such a great household, but was content to do whatever she wished, comfortable just being in her company.

As we went up the curving stairs to the second level, I asked, “Pardon, but since this house sits on the water, I’d assumed it belonged to your husband. But you said — ”

“This was my wedding gift to him. And to me.”

“You have no other residence in the city?”

“I don’t know what you know of the Agramónte family,” she said. “But we are country lords, not happy unless we can open any window and sniff pig shit and hay. I’m afraid I’m the sport of the clan, since to me green pastures and lowing cattle are about as interesting as watching rocks turn into sand.”

“That’s a pity,” I said. “For I’m but a country lad and can think of nothing better.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, “perhaps I never saw it through the right eyes. Or … with the right person.”

Her hand touched my wrist, then was away.

“Now, on this level,” she said, mimicking a palace guide, “we have such horribly interesting rooms as the sewing room, which I refuse to enter, the nursery, which is vacant for the moment, the library, here, which I love dearly.”

The double doors opened into a great room lined with shelves, all dark wood, expensive quiet carpeting, and oak furniture. There were maps of our world and even a globe, one of the newer imaginings of the cartographers.

One of my most private fantasies was that somehow I’d manage to survive my military career and, even more improbably, amass enough of a fortune to build a great house somewhere in the country. Even though I’m not a reader, I’m not a barbarian, so of course part of the mansion would include a library. Here my friends and I could gather, and talk of old campaigns and long-dead comrades, while a great fire flickered and a winter storm roared, unheeded, outside.

Even though the books did not draw me, the maps certainly did, since I can sit over a map and dream of what country and terrain it represents by the hour, one of the few nonoutdoor pastimes, besides music, I enjoy.

I wondered what it would be like to have this library, and envied Count Lavedan again.

I admired the next room even more, a large room hung with curtains, with a podium at one side. This was their music chamber, Marán explained. “Once a month or so, we have a quartet or perhaps even a small orchestra in. We haven’t done it of late, since music is something my dear husband finds deadly dull.”

At the end of the corridor were arcing double doors that were open a few inches.

“This is my husband’s study. Since he’s not present, it would hardly be — ”

“Marán? Is that you?”

“I
thought,”
she said, “he was out.” She raised her voice. “Yes, Hernad. I’m merely showing one of our guests around.”

The door opened, and Count Lavedan emerged. He was about five or six years older than I, a big man, going a bit of fat. It was ironic — he looked every inch and pound the bluff country lord, yet his background was shipping, while his country wife appeared the city sophisticate.

“I came back from the docks an hour ago, and did not wish to disturb you, my dear. Good evening, sir,” he said, cordially. “It’s rare indeed to see a soldier attend one of Marán’s little parties. I assume you’ve come up with some new and vital scheme to reinvent the military?”

“No,” Marán said. “This is Captain á Cimabue. You know, the one who saved all those people down in the Border States.”

“No. Can’t say as I have. Don’t pay much attention to things that don’t pertain. But congratulations, Captain.” He snickered. “A Cimabuan, eh? I wager you’re tired of hearing jokes about your province.”

“Not at all,” I said. “There’s little fighting with real enemies to be had these days, so I must make do with jesters.”

The smile vanished, and he looked at me carefully.

“My apologies, Captain. But you need not be so touchy.”

“I am sorry, Count Lavedan. But such tales are more than wearisome.”

“I suppose so,” he said, indifferently. “But if my state were the butt of such japes, I think I’d just learn to ignore them. Words are nothing but air, anyway.”

I thought I knew a seer who would disagree, but said nothing. I had no idea why we were bristling in such a manner; certainly my attraction to his wife could not have been noticed, and I surely had no right having any feelings about him.

“Would you like to see my study, Captain?” he said, changing the subject. I said I would.

It was quite a chamber, cluttered with ship models, charts, bills of lading, and the big table in its center overflowed with samples, letters, and packages. The prize, though, he saved for last. It was a small glass case. In it was the model of a ship, one like I’d seen moored at one of Nicias’s landings. I saw it appeared to be floating in water, then I looked more closely. It was a marvel: The ship was animated, each sail, each rope moving, as it was driven by an invisible wind. I looked more closely, and saw tiny men on its decks, busy with their tasks. The water it floated in changed as well, waves curling from the ship’s bows and a smooth wake at its stern.

“That cost a sum,” Count Lavedan said. “The wife bought it for me for our second anniversary last month. It took five seers to come up with it. It’s a model of my most recently launched vessel, and it makes a real voyage, from Nicias to foreign landfalls.” He grinned fondly down at Marán. “The little woman knows how to please, she does.”

Again that look of the puppy waiting for punishment came and went on Marán’s face.

“Are you coming downstairs, Hernad?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I’m busy, and besides, I have no interest in whatever’s being prattled by your latest charlatan. You’ll see, Captain, that while my Marán’s got a sensible head to her, at least for a woman, she really has no thought of how foolish all these clowns appear to men of real sense.”

Marán reddened, but said nothing.

“At any rate, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve got some letters to compose,” he said.

“Shall I knock when I come up for bed?” Marán said.

“You needn’t bother. I’ll probably be up most of the night.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Nice meeting you, Captain.”

He went back inside his study and closed the doors.

Marán looked closely at me, as if waiting for me to say or show an opinion. I showed none.

“So this finishes off the second floor,” I said. I indicated stairs. “Up there is …”

“Third floor, my bedroom and Hernad’s. Nothing of interest.”

“As someone who’s spent too many nights trying to believe a rock can make a pillow, I certainly disagree with that. Only two bedrooms for the entire floor? What else do you do up there besides sleep? Have a small rõl field? A swimming pool?”

Marán giggled. “No. There’s dressing rooms, bathrooms, reception areas.” Her smile vanished, and she said, almost to herself, “but we
don’t
do much besides sleep up there.” She went on, quickly, “Above that, servants’ quarters, then the solarium, plant rooms, and such. All the areas we rich and foolish people need to occupy our lives.” She brightened, stepped back and curtsied.
“Là,
sir, there you have it. The residence of Count and Countess Agramónte and Lavedan.

“Your opinion?”

I complimented her and we started back downstairs. This is most strange, I thought. Married two years and each with a separate bedroom. But perhaps that was how the very rich lived. As to Count Lavedan’s mockery of his wife’s pastimes, I hardly thought that a courtly thing to do. As we returned to the ground level a wistful thought came: If I were married to this Marán, I certainly would have better use for my nights than correspondence. That, too, was improper, and I tried to put the matter out of my head, merely assigning Count Lavedan to the list of assholes I’d met.

It seemed no one had missed us in the round room, and the party had broken down into a handful of hard-arguing knots, each defending or attacking a different problem. Marán poured me another cup of punch.

“While I’m delighted to have met you, Captain,” she said, “I was frankly looking forward to meeting your friend, the Seer Tenedos.” She motioned to the people around us. “Hernad may have been too … forceful, but he does have a point. Sometimes the people I invite here are very long on theory, but haven’t much in the way of experience.” Her face became serious. “But I’m hardly one to talk. All I’ve done is be born and grow up rich.”

A strange woman, I decided. Most mercurial in her moods. But she would certainly never be boring.

Once again I found myself looking into her eyes, and once more the vortex drew me. I pulled back with an almost physical effort.

“Perhaps you can convince your friend to come to another of my evenings,” she said. “Of course, I wish you would come as well.”

“I could do better than that,” I said, thinking quickly. It was wrong, but I wanted very much to see this married woman again. “I don’t know if this is proper to ask a married woman, but the seer is speaking two nights hence, three hours after sunset, at the Morathian Hall. I would be happy to escort you there and ensure you arrive safely home.”

“Escort, my good Damastes, if you do not mind me calling you that? That word is
most
improper, unless you mean it in the military sense.”

“What other way
could
I mean it?”

She smiled. “Since you have such a pure mind, sir, then I accept the invitation. Shall I have my carriage pick you up?”

I bowed acceptance, and then one of the servants came up with a problem for her to deal with. I drifted through the throng, never hearing any of the earnest proposals being touted.

I was, in short, as dreamy-minded as any bumpkin who’s just had an invitation to a harvest celebration accepted by a lass.

• • •

The next two days swam past in a haze. I paid but little attention to my duties, and even the dullness of my Tin Centaurs, as I’d privately dubbed them, couldn’t rouse my ire.

Half an hour before the time she’d said her coach would arrive, I was waiting outside the mess, in dress uniform. Eagerness played apart, but I also did not wish any of the wagging mouths in the Helms to see us, although there was nothing particularly irregular about the matter.

Her brougham was luxurious, red enameled wood, with gold leaf covering it, and panels representing mythological events. There were four matched bays, and the driver and an outrider sat atop, and there was a stand for two more at the rear.

Marán opened the door and greeted me. She wore baggy pantaloons, which I’d learned were the latest style, a red-and-black silk blouse that buttoned demurely around her neck, and a hooded fur jacket against the chill. Her face was a bit flushed, even though she had the window rolled shut.

I bowed, kissed her hand, and climbed in. She shut the door and we rolled smoothly away. The inside of the coach was silk and comfortably padded upholstery.

“I am delighted to see you, Countess,” I said formally.

“And I you, Captain.” She smiled. “May I tell you something shocking?”

“You may tell me anything, shocking or no.”

“Here we are, on our way to a probably boring lecture, yet I feel like I could be a character in a romance, wickedly eluding her husband to meet with a dashing lover.”

I started to make a jest out of it, but changed my mind.

“Thank you, Marán. I am honored at the thought.”

I could not see her expression in the dimness, and she remained silent for a moment. I broke the stillness:

“I am curious about something you said the other night. You came to Nicias out of boredom?”

Marán considered her words for a few moments. “That is what I tell people,” she said. “But there’s more than that. My family, as no doubt you know, is very old, and feels that all Numantia should revolve around their best interests.”

“Most of us do, even if we don’t admit to it.”

“Not as intensely as the Agramóntes,” she said. “My father, for instance, found me reading a book called
The Duties of Man
a few years back. Are you familiar with it? Well, it’s a long essay that holds all men have a duty to each other, that a man who owns slaves must take care of them and, in the end, the Wheel will return him to a better position if he is willing to free someone from bondage for performing extraordinary services. We Agramóntes, by the way, have not manumitted a slave for at least five generations that I know of.

“The book also says the rulers of Man have a duty to rule wisely, firmly, and well, or else they forfeit their right to the throne. It says that a benevolent, but staunch, monarchy is the best of all possible rulers.

“Since my father is close friends with most of the Rule of Ten, this is heresy. The book, by the way, while not quite proscribed, is not in wide circulation.

“My family thinks that all is set, all is regulated, Irisu is the best of gods and Umar was well to abdicate to him. They frankly disbelieve in the merits of the Wheel, and while they’ll grudgingly concede a bad man might be taken down a few levels in his next life, most of us return on the same level we died on.”