The Usurper's Crown (24 page)

“Now then, Chekhania,” he said gravely, still holding her hand. “I must tell you, your Mistress Imperial has taken ill, but she must make the journey to Vaknevos, for there are none to care for her here. She must do so in complete quiet and seclusion. An enclosed litter, such that it can be made a bower for her on the imperial barge will be the answer, I believe. Can you arrange this?”

Chekhania did not quite lick her lips, but she wanted to, Kacha could see it in her eyes. She knew exactly what she was being asked to do, and how much it meant he trusted her. She reveled in that knowledge, and the sight of that pleased Kacha to his core. Such a one would do all he asked, and more to keep her place of power. Oh, yes, in her he had chosen well.

“All will be as his Majesty Imperial commands,” said Chekhania solemnly.

“Excellent,” he said, giving her hand a secret squeeze. “You may go.”

She reverenced again and left him to stand and smile at the empty air.

Run away, Medeoan
, he thought.
Run far, run fast. When the time comes, Yamuna will find you, and I will bring you home in chains, and none will be the wiser
.

“We’ll spend the night in the lockhouse. The keeper knows how to keep secrets as well as his lock. Many’s a man put themselves up here.”

Medeoan nodded and clutched her bundle. Peshek led the skinny mule with great patience through Makashev’s crowded streets. It was so strange, down here amid the jostling crowds. She had, after all, lived all her life amidst a crowd of people. She had thought traveling anonymously through the traffic of foot and cart would be liberating, or at least familiar. But the ones who had always surrounded her had been her people and there to serve her. Here, she was just another body, another obstruction. Carters hollered when Peshek could not hurry the stubborn mule along fast enough, and he shouted back. Gossiping women shouldered past her without a second glance. Herders screamed at them to make way for flocks of geese or drifts of sheep. Beggars spat and leered as she passed, holding up grubby palms. Several times, she barely escaped a deluge of filthy water dumped unceremoniously from an upper window.

So much noise and stench and mud. So many people, and not one of them knowing or caring who she was, and only Peshek to stand between her and the whole wide world of them.

I can’t do this
. Part of her shivered.
I don’t know how
. She gripped the bundle tighter yet.
But I will
.

As bad as this was, the first part of their journey had been worse, for they had followed the imperial canal, and Medeoan had to bow her head and shut her eyes to keep from watching the barges, bright with pennants and heavy with the members and belongings of her household, row past. What if, despite all, someone recognized her? What if one of the guards Kacha had surely called out by now spied them on the bank? Fear had wrung tears from her eyes before Peshek turned them away from the canal, and Medeoan could breathe again, if only a little.

Now the sun was going down, and Medeoan was torn between exhaustion and a sort of wretched excitement.

“Here, mistress,” Peshek said. “Now we shall have some relief.”

He nodded indicating the way in front of them, and Medeoan looked up. At last, they had almost reached the city wall, and she could see the great gate standing open. A fresh breeze cut through the miasma of the city and Medeoan felt her heart lift a little.

It sank again instantly as she saw the ranks of the house guard standing on either side of the gate. Of course, how foolish. The guards kept an eye on everyone leaving the city, as they did on all those entering. Surely they were looking out especially for her. Medeoan bowed her head and bit her lip.

The mule, however, never slowed. A shadow passed over her, and all the noise of their fellow travelers pulled together and concentrated for a moment. Then, the shadow passed, and all the sound spread out on the wind again. Medeoan raised her head.

They had passed through the gate. Ahead of them, the road spread out and branched. The carts and riders, the men and women under their yokes, the herders with their birds and beasts sprawled out, spilling like water from a stream into a pond.

“That simple,” murmured Medeoan. “How can it be this simple?”

“It isn’t, mistress,” replied Peshek, thumping the mule’s side to urge it onward at a better pace. “The Emp … your husband can hardly sound a general alarm to say to all the world you are missing. Any search for you will be done quietly, and it will be under the auspices of the commander of the House Guard, I promise you. We must take care to be in a safe house before dark.”

“As you say.” Medeoan shivered again. The sun was still high enough to give warmth, and indeed, the city streets had been stifling, but Medeoan remained cold. The countryside rolled gently away from the city walls, cut by the arrow-straight canals with their stone bridges. Suddenly profoundly tired, she longed for the comfort and ease of water travel, but she said nothing. Peshek had seen her safe so far. She must trust him just a little farther.

Only a few buildings dotted the landscape immediately beyond the city walls, so the lockkeeper’s house was easy to spot. It was a two-storied, clapboard structure with a steeply pitched roof waiting beside a broad stone arch of a bridge. As they approached, Medeoan could hear the rush of the water through the lock’s works.

She must have passed the place a hundred times during her life, but she did not think she had ever truly seen it before. The house and the yard around it seemed neatly kept. The pens for the chickens and goats looked sturdy, as far as she could judge such things. The whitewash on the fence and house was fresh, and the door to the home was gaily painted red with green knots and waves over all for protection and serenity.

As they approached the gate, a stout woman emerged, wiping her hands on her embroidered apron. Peshek halted the mule, and gestured for Medeoan to wait where she was. Accustomed now to doing as he said, Medeoan waited patiently while Peshek opened the gate and walked forward to greet the woman. They conversed for some minutes. Medeoan could hear none of it, but the woman’s gaze kept darting from Peshek to Medeoan and back again.

At last, the stout lockkeeper’s lady gave a harsh bark of laughter at something Peshek said and shouted inside the house. A little boy, as jug-shaped as his mother, came running out. She pointed him at Medeoan, and he trotted up to take the mule’s reins while Peshek followed close behind and took Medeoan’s hand to help her down.

“It will have to be one room, mistress,” said Peshek apologetically as he accompanied her up the dirt path to the house. “They know me well here, so I cannot claim you as a sister.”

“Good greeting, mistress,” boomed the woman as she looked Medeoan keenly up and down. “You’ll be tired after traveling all day with this ruffian, I’ll be bound.” She cuffed Peshek affectionately. “I’ve a room ready for you to take your ease, now. Come along with me.”

Without waiting for reply, she led them into the dim house. Medeoan had an impression of scrubbed wood, the smell of boiled vegetables and the rush of wind and water from outside. She climbed the narrow stairway that squeaked and creaked beneath her hostess. At the top, the woman stood aside and let Medeoan, followed by Peshek, enter the first room on the right.

There was not much to see. Medeoan turned around and took in the rough, whitewashed walls, the single bed with its lumpy pallet under the rough woolen blankets, the table and chair, the hearth and the stand for the chamber pot.

Peshek nodded to the hostess, who closed the door with a look that came very close to a leer.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” said Peshek quickly. “If there was anything better to be had …”

Medeoan waved her hand to cut him off. “This will do very well, Captain,” she murmured. “I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

Peshek bowed, his hand over his heart. “I live to serve. We will wait here for a handful of days while I find us safe messengers to gather news and send out word to your loyal servitors.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Then, feeling utterly trivial and lost, she said, “Is there any chance of supper?”

There was. Turnip stew, hard bread and dark beer, but Medeoan ate gratefully while their hostess laid a fresh fire in the hearth. When they were done and the crockery cleared outside the door, Peshek laid his knife, sword and knout within easy reach, took one of the blankets from the bed and rolled himself up in it so his body blocked the threshold and he faced the wall. It was as much privacy as he could afford her. Peshek would never leave her alone, even in a house he knew.

Medeoan unwrapped her headscarf, undid her apron and took off her clumsy shoes. Except for that, she laid herself under the covers, stockings and all. She stared into the darkness, willing herself to stay awake. Despite the long, terrifying day, staying awake proved to be quite easy. All the sounds were strange; the night birds, the call of the distant watch on the city walls, the lapping water. Peshek’s heavy breathing was nothing like her ladies’, and even less like Kacha’s. The pallet’s straw bit into her skin even through her clothes, and she had an ugly suspicion that was not all that bit her. Without braziers to surround her bed, the room grew steadily colder, despite the fire, until Medeoan could see her own breath in the slices of moonlight the loose shutters allowed in.

The night deepened. Peshek’s breathing grew slow and regular. The moonbeams lengthened on the floor. One by one, the birds outside silenced, and Medeoan judged her time was right.

Slowly, so as to rustle the straw as little as possible, Medeoan reached for her bundle. Pulling it toward her, she spat on her two fingers and rubbed them against the knot tying the cloth. It fell open at once. The tiny pile of belongings inside seemed pathetic. How could she get by with so little?

Medeoan did not permit herself to dwell on it. Instead she drew out the god’s eye amulet she had woven against this night. It really should be tied around Peshek’s neck, but she did not trust herself to be able to slip it over his head without waking him. Nearby would have to do.

Medeoan wrapped the amulet’s blue thong around the bedstead. Raising her magic, she breathed across the knot as she tied it.

“Night and moon keep watch over Peshek Pachalkasyn Ursulvin and grant him sound sleep until you surrender the sky to Day and his sister Sun.”

The knot finished, she spat on it to seal it shut. She paused to listen. Peshek’s breathing deepened. For the first time, he began to snore.

Medeoan scrambled from her cold bed. Peshek did not stir. She took the sealed letter she had prepared for him and laid it on her pillow where he was sure to see it. Then, taking a deep breath, she lifted the gold-and-silver girdle out of the bundle.

Fixing her mind firmly on the need to reach the Heart of the World, Medeoan tied the girdle securely around her waist.

Eliisa Hahl cast a longing look around the room. It seemed a crime to abandon so stout a bed already paid for, and by a man who kept his hands to himself, of all the miracles! Still, there was no help for it. She reclaimed apron and scarf, and moved to tie up her bundle, and paused upon seeing her purse lying on the cloth. What fool had left so much money lying loose! As soon as she had time, she’d sew it into her waistband, but now there was nothing for it but to tie the purse up under her skirt and hope it would be safe enough.

The captain lay across the threshold, snoring in far too genteel a manner for a soldier. Well, he was an officer, after all. She leaned across him and pushed the door gently open. The captain did not stir. Hiking her skirts high, Eliisa stepped over him. She closed the door gently, and nimbly hurried down the stairs, making no more noise than a cat.

So far and all’s well
, Eliisa thought as she emerged into the night. Her gaze skimmed the length of the canal and she briefly considered making off with one of the boats, but decided against it. There was no point in theft when there was money to pay the way. So, instead, she fastened her bundle to her girdle like a peddler woman and strode back toward the town.

Peshek woke, rubbing his hand hard across his eyes and face. The first thing he noticed was that it was full light, which was strange because he was long accustomed to waking before dawn. The second thing he noticed was that the empress was not in her bed.

Peshek was beside the bed with his sword in his hand before he knew he had moved. His eye took in the tidy bedclothes, the flattened pillows, the unlatched door, the knotted amulet on the bedpost, and the folded paper, and his heart froze.

“Oh, no, Majesty. Please, no.” Peshek had faced bandits, bears, and all manner of violent drunkards without fear, but now his hand shook as he picked up the folded paper and he found his mouth had gone completely dry.

Peshek broke the seal to open the letter. His breath catching in his throat, he read:

Loyal Captain Peshek,

Forgive the necessity of this ruse. It is the only way to hide my escape from my husband and the magics he has available to him. I may be found while I walk any of Isavalta’s roads as myself, and I may also be found if I travel by sorcerous means through the Land of Death and Spirit.

You must go to Fortress Dalemar and await Avanasy. I have sent Lord Iakush to bring him home. Tell him what has happened. If all goes well I will send you word from the Heart of the World.

The letter was unsigned except for a crude sketch of a spread-winged eagle, the imperial symbol.

Gods of my fathers
, thought Peshek, clamping his fingers around the letter so it would not tumble to the floor.
What have I done?

The autocrat, the embodiment of the imperial, was the life and soul of Isavalta. When the keeper of the god house presented them to Vyshko and Vyshemir, they became Isavalta. Protecting their health and life was protecting the health and life of the land. Any order, all orders, no matter how incomprehensible, had to be followed, save one. Never was the autocrat to be left unguarded. Peshek had been taught this cardinal rule since he was ten years old and inducted into the house guard by his father.