The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (22 page)

He roared with laughter. Obviously,
news traveled fast around this little corner of the world. Or rather, on the
very roof of it.

Kerris laughed as well, taking
Fallon’s elbow and ushering her away from the treasure trove of Old things. She
was still pondering her new acquisition when suddenly she seemed to realize she
was somewhere else.

“Hey!
I didn’t pay for this!”

“Not
to worry. Kirin did. Or rather, his Empress.”

Fallon slipped the bangle over her
wrist, sliding it as far as it could go. On such a thin arm, it went up quite
far.

“I think he likes her.”

“Who?”

“Your brother. I think he’s fond of
the Empress.”

“Mad
about her. Absolutely starved for her love, I can assure you. Always has been,
ever since we were children. But do you want to know something that’s even
stranger?” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, and suddenly, his very closeness
caused her pelt to tingle. “She’s mad about him too.”

“No!”

“Oh
yes. Why do you think there is no consort? No heir?”

“Wow...”

“Not a word, mind. Or it’ll be my
tail.”

“I
swear.”

“On
your father’s father’s father’s grave?”

“And
my mother’s.”

Kerris
grinned again, hooking his arm through hers.

“That’s what I love about tigers.
They know how to keep secrets.”

Fallon nodded quickly. She was
getting rather good at keeping them.

***

Major Ursa Laenskaya scowled all
around her.

“They are looking at us. Why are
they looking at us?”

“This is a very isolated region,
Major. These people see few visitors.”

“I
don’t like it. It’s bad for business.”

“Perhaps your reputation precedes
you.”

She
considered this. It seemed a reasonable thing.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

They
passed a large octagonal stall, each side spread with an elaborate variety of
goods, from hot cooked fruit to leather slippers to weapons. It appeared to be
a family operation for two men and one woman, ocelots all, moved from table to
table under the rough yak-hide canopy, bartering and selling in many tongues.
In the very centre, an elderly couple sat, observing all but saying nothing.
They nodded as Sireth passed by.

From under a corner of a nearby
stall, bright eyes darted in and out, hiding a small face behind a flap of
curtain. A kitten, thin and dusty, having no more than seven summers to her
credit was watching him with curiosity. Smiling, the Seer cupped fist to palm
and bowed. The child disappeared.

“Nice
work,” the Major was saying. “Where did you find it?”

“It has been brought by caravan,”
answered one of the brothers from within the stall. He was speaking Imperial
quite admirably. “From the white plains above
Gobay.”

“Hah.
Stolen no doubt. From the corpse of some dead Dog.”

The
brother said nothing but merely watched as Ursa picked the weapon, testing its
weight in the palm of her hand. It was a
jamviyah,
a short,
sickle-shaped blade and her silver fingers curled about the hilt with relish.
She held it oddly, Sireth thought, for the blade seemed backwards, curving back
under her wrist and into her body, as though she knew it intimately. But it was
when she began to move, slowly, gracefully, swinging her arm out and away like
a Chai’Chi mistress that he realized its lethal potential. It was indeed an
intimate weapon, a scimitar forged for close combat, a scythe as personal as
one’s very claws for it was common knowledge that Dogs had not the claws of
Cats and envied them for it.

Sireth
shuddered. These were not things he wanted to know.

 
“You are from
Sha’Hadin,
”
came a very frail voice, speaking in the ancient tongue of the Manda’Rhin. He
turned to see the elderly couple, standing now at the table nearest him, and
for some reason, he was reminded of Petrus Mercouri. They were a small pair,
ocelots with bright, glistening eyes, toothless smiles and fragile bones.
Almost
Sacred,
he thought. It was a blessing how Age did that to people.

“Yes.
I am,” he responded in Manda’Rhin.

“The
last of the Seven.”

“Yes,”
he said softly.

They bowed deeply and the man held
his spindly arms open wide.

“It is an honor to have you at our
stall,
sahidi.
Anything you desire is
yours.”

“Thank
you, but I have need of nothing.”

“The
monastery has been good to us,
sahidi.
It would please us to return some of that generosity. The
jamviyah
,
perhaps?”

 
Sireth noticed the
prick of Ursa’s ears at the mention of the deadly weapon. It lay now amongst
common daggers on another of the eight tables. He shook his head.

“
She
has need of nothing, either. But thank you again. You honor me with your
offer.”

Hungry
young eyes peered at him again from under the dusty flap.

“Wait,”
he said as he turned to leave. “Perhaps there is one thing...”

“You
need but name it,
sahidi.”

He
could see Ursa’s gaze slide back to the blade. She seemed to be holding her
breath.

Clasping
his hands behind his back, he breathed deeply a sickly sweet scent.

“Is that the smell of honey-roasted
bananas?”

“Our
specialty,
sahidi.
Hanshan, bring the
Seer a kz’laki!”

“Two?”

“Two kz’laki!” The old man bowed
deeply once more. “You have honored us,
sahidi.
Enjoy them with our compliments.”

Two
bananas skewed on wooden sticks, crisp and crackling with candied honey, were
passed across the table into Sireth’s waiting hands. The Major was gaping at
him. He smiled at her and began to walk away. She scrambled to his side.

“You
are an idiot!”

“Sometimes.”

“Did
you see the goods in that stall? The silks? The leathers? The blades?”

“I
saw them.” As he walked, he clasped his hands once again behind his back, the
kz’laki waggling like come-hither fingers. “I did not want them.”

“Well,”
she snorted, “I will not eat those things. They are disgusting.”

“Good.
They are not for you.”

“Candy
for kittens.”

“Precisely.”

“And
you are no kitten.”

There
was a flurry of movement behind them and Ursa whirled in time to see a tiny
dirty figure snatch one of the kz’laki from the Seer’s gloved hand and bolt off
into the crowds. In a heartbeat, she had pulled one of her daggers, flipping
the blade into her palm for throwing. Sireth caught her wrist.

“Major! No!”

“It
has stolen your kz’laki!”

“So?
What of it?”

“It
is a thief! It must be punished!”

“It
was a child! I am the injured party, Major, but I shall in no wise lay charge
against a hungry child. Would you?”

 
The kitten had long
since disappeared into the crush of bodies and there was no way now for the
Major to track it successfully. Growling, she sheathed her dagger.

“Children are not above the law.
They must be taught order.”

“And
is that how you were taught, my wild Empress? Obedience at the point of a
blade?”

She
wheeled on him, eyes flashing and she stabbed a finger at him.

“Stay out of my soul!” she hissed
and with that, she spun on her heel and marched off through the stalls like a
drill-sergeant, fists clenched, hair swinging in straight, coarse lines across
her back.

“Would
that I could, Major,” he sighed, shaking his head as he watched her go. “It is
a very frightening place to be.”

***

The shopkeep looked up from his
whittling. There was someone entering his tent.

It was a woman.

“Go back to your husband,
sidala,”
he purred. “Women have no
business here.”

 
Long, speckled fingers
reached up to remove the hood and the shopkeep almost hit the floor. Instead,
he scrambled to his feet. “Of course, if you
have
no husband...”

“You
are the tobacconist?”

“I
am,
sidala.
Seller of fine pipes and
finer tobaccos, imported from the furthest reaches of the Kingdom. Our incense
is the finest, even the Empress herself sees fit to call.”

Heavy,
golden eyes roamed the dark, smoky confines of the tent.

“I have need of a hookah pipe.”

“Ah,
don’t we all,
sidala.
But of course,
you know those are illegal.”

“And
a good measure of opium. Enough for one man, one night. I will take them now.”

“
Sidala
, I would be more than happy to
help you, truly I would, but the legalities are prohibitive. I’m sure you can
appreciate my position.”

She
moved towards him, fixing him with her hypnotic stare.

“Of course. But I have my orders,
sidi.
I am directed to offer you
whatever you need.”

 
She was almost upon him
now, so close he could taste her incense on his tongue. He breathed her in,
deeply.

“
Sidala,
I’m sure you are aware of the visitors at the Inn. There is
a lion who bears the Royal Standard. It would be madness to even
consider—”

“It
is in his name that I have come.”

For some strange reason, his
resolve was growing weaker by the moment and the tent spun around him as in a
dream. He nodded and she pushed him away, turning her back to him as he began
to gather the goods from deep and secret places. After several minutes, he
handed her a package and she slipped from his tent without another word.
Finally, he slumped to his seat and resumed whittling, as if nothing at all had
happened.

***

“Well, what do you think?

Fallon looked up from the saris on
the table as Kerris spun around for her, the cloak of midnight blue billowing
like a banner around his body. The linen tunic was of the same color and
spattered with starry embroidery – suns and moons of silver thread, with
laces of grey and clasps of pewter. She sighed. He looked fantastic. She
swallowed and looked back at the saris.

“Oh. Well. It’ll do.”

“Not
good?”

“Oh! No, no it’s good. Quite good,
really. Good colors for you. Blues and greys and stars and all that. Yeah,
good. Good.”

“It’s
really expensive,” he said, running his fingers along the sleeves. “Look at the
needlework.”

“Hm.
Good.”

“So
I should get it, then?”

She
moved away from him, keeping her eyes glued to the jewel-toned silks of teal
and scarlet, orange and purple.

“Get what you want. I’m not your
mother.”

“I’ll
try to remember that.” He turned back to the seller of linens. “Despite what my
friend here says I quite like the set. If you don’t mind, I’ll wear it out.
Charge it to the lion at the Inn. Keep the blanket.”

“And
perhaps, a sari for your wife? The finest silks from
Bhen’ghal—
”

Fallon’s
head snapped up.

“I’m not his wife!”

“She’s not my wife,” echoed Kerris,
grinning.

“Forgive
me,” sputtered the shopkeep with a modest bow. “I assume too much. Your mistress,
then?”

“I’m
no one’s mistress! You take that back!”

The
shopkeep turned from Kerris to Fallon, a bewildered frown on his face.

“But
sidi.
On your back, the scratches... Are they not made by... during...?”

“Her
claws, that’s true.” The grey lion grinned. “Oh, yes. She’s a wild thing, right
and sure.”

“I
am not!” Fallon stamped her foot. “I am not wild. I – I - I am very
tame.
You tell him. You take that back!”

“See? Wild.”

“More
like a wife,”
said the shopkeep.

“Hm.
Yes. Very. Well come along, love. Time to be getting back to the Inn.”

“You can walk back yourself, Kerris
your name was,” she snapped. “I have no desire to be the object of your joking.
And, and, and you can take this back, while you’re at it. Add it to your little
collection of trinkets, ‘cause I won’t be among them.”

She
pulled the Old bangle from her arm and tossed it at him before storming off
through the stalls in the direction of the Inn at the Roof of the World. Kerris
slipped the bangle into a deep pocket, wondering how such an innocent affair
could sour so quickly. And moreover, why in the Kingdom it should bother him so
much.

He
was comforted by the smell of incense.

“She
is a sensitive soul,” purred the Alchemist, as she slid up on him from behind
and ran the back of her hand along his hip. “Accustomed to parents and sisters
who love her and protect her and tend to her every whim. She has no experience
with men like yourself.”

Kerris
turned to face her. Her mouth was only a kiss away. He grinned, breathing her
in.

“And you do?”

“I
do.”

“Well then. I have no consuming
desire to return to the Inn anytime soon and I could really use a drink. Care
to join me?”

He
waited a heartbeat, for he knew it was coming.

“Of
course.”

***

The road to the Inn was steep and
winding, furrowed by ox-cart and carved by runoff. But the sun was now high in
the afternoon sky and warm on his face. Sireth resisted the urge to close his
eyes and enjoy it for if he slipped in one of the many ruts or gullies, he
could not trust that the Major would catch him. And it was a long way down.

She was walking several paces ahead
and had said nothing for a very long time.

“Major,”
he called after her.“I wish to ask your forgiveness.”

She said nothing.