Above His Proper Station (16 page)

The Quandishman's expression turned serious. “A thoughtful question, sir, and one that deserves an honest answer, but to answer fully would take half the night, and we both need our rest. I will say this much—we are both the children of the Mother and the Father, and whatever differences in rank or station we may have are the doing of our human fellows, not our divine ancestors. I believe that every man, woman, and child should be judged by his actions, and not by his name or other accidents of birth, and I try to live in accordance with that belief. The world is a harsh enough place without adding any unnecessary harshness of our own. But I said you deserved honesty, so I will not pretend that my reasons are entirely unselfish; I expected you to provide me with information I may find useful, and you have indeed done so. I might have gotten it from you while treating you with disdain, but it was surely more pleasant for both of us to exchange information while conversing like the equals we are in the eyes of our ancient ancestors, rather than in some sordid game of threats and bargains. I remembered you from our brief encounters in Alzur, and you struck me there as a sensible and presentable young man; why should I not enjoy your society, then? Yes, you have fallen on hard times, while I have flourished, but that means nothing, really, except that I can well afford any generosity I have shown you. I have merely treated you as I would like to treat everyone, as I would prefer to be treated myself were I in your position.”

“You have my heartfelt thanks for that treatment, my lord,” Anrel said.

The Quandishman waved a hand in dismissal. “Now, sir, let us be off to our rest, and if you think of further questions tonight, pray, ask them in the morning.”

Anrel bowed in response, then turned and found the white-haired servant, Harban, standing in the open door.

“This way, Master Murau,” Harban said with a bow just slightly deeper than Anrel's own, and a gesture toward the hallway beyond the door.

“Thank you,” Anrel said.

He glanced back as he left the room, and saw Lord Blackfield still standing behind the supper table, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

13

In Which Anrel Enjoys a Quiet Morning

Anrel awoke feeling utterly relaxed and thoroughly rested for the first time in a season. This had been his first night in a real bed since fleeing Beynos, and an excellent bed it was. He lay there for several minutes, enjoying the cool smoothness of the linen sheets and admiring the gleaming whiteness of the bedchamber ceiling. Nothing in the Pensioners' Quarter was ever so clean as that painted plaster.

He was in no great hurry to rise and begin the day; there was nothing he particularly needed to do, and after the magnificent supper and plentiful wine Lord Blackfield had provided the night before he felt no need for a quick breakfast. Eventually he knew he would have to get up and be about his business, whatever business that might be, but he allowed himself to savor the moment.

At last, though, memories and guilt began to seep in, dissolving his contentment. His home in the Pensioners' Quarter was probably destroyed, and most of his meager belongings with it. He hoped that his friends—Po, Shoun, Mieshel, Doz, Bim, Mother Baba, even Apolien—had all survived the demonic attack, but he did not know; he had no idea how many people had died at the hands of those monsters, or in the fires they had started. He remembered the bodies sprawled in Duty Street, but he had not seen most of their faces; the ones he had recognized had been mere acquaintances, he had seen none he would call friends.

Still, they had been his countrymen, and they had been killed by demons, demons that had surely been summoned by the Cousiner magicians in the emperor's employ. They had been betrayed and murdered by their own government.

And he really had no idea how extensive the damage was. How much of the Pensioners' Quarter was still standing? How many of its inhabitants still lived?

The emperor had done this—or if the rumors were true, perhaps the empress, or some underling, but certainly the emperor had permitted it.

There was a popular myth among the commoners of Walasia that the emperor's purpose was to keep the excesses of the nobility in check, that the emperor was required to not be a magician himself so that he would always remember the needs of ordinary citizens and defend them against the sorcerers. The Great List gave the emperor the ability to render any sorcerer powerless, and the widespread belief was that he would use this to prevent sorcerers from abusing commoners too blatantly.

Sorcerers, on the other hand, believed that the emperor's role was to keep any one sorcerer, or any one faction, from gaining power over the others, and that his position had nothing to do with protecting commoners.

It seemed to Anrel that the attack on the Pensioners' Quarter demonstrated that the sorcerers' theory was closer to the truth. This emperor plainly had no great love for the lowliest citizens of his empire.

This emperor was, in fact, a disgrace to his position. He had turned foreign magicians loose on loyal Walasians. Anrel found himself more sympathetic than ever before to the idea that the empire's whole system of government needed to be replaced.

Overall, though, he still believed that so radical a change was not worth the risk. Replacing Lurias with his brother Sharal, or with a regency in the name of his infant son, would probably be enough to restore sanity and order to the empire—though it would not restore the Pensioners' Quarter, nor restore the dead to life.

As for his own role in the disaster, Anrel hesitated to assess that. Some might argue that he had been a coward to evade the demons and flee the quarter as he had, and indeed, a part of his own heart seemed to believe this, but rationally he told himself that he had done what he could. He had intended to stop the demons by stopping the magicians who had summoned them, but he had been unable to do so alone, and he had been unable to find any help. Nothing would have been accomplished by an attempt to stop the demons directly, or by climbing a stair to the walkway above Harbinger Court and attacking the magicians there; the result would most likely have been his own death or incarceration.

That assumed he could have climbed such a stair in the first place; the iron gates at the top and bottom of every stair had undoubtedly been locked, and despite his recent training in many of the criminal arts he was not a skilled lock-breaker.

Perhaps he could have helped others escape from the quarter, but really, everyone there knew the streets as well as he did. He suspected that the surviving residents of the quarter were now scattered all through Lume.

No, rationally, he had done the best he could, even if in the end he accomplished nothing but delivering himself to this delightful bed. The guilt that nagged at him was unjustified.

Knowing that did not make it go away, of course, but it allowed him to keep it under restraint.

He wondered whether there was anything he could do to remedy his errors of the evening before. Was there some way he could help the survivors of the quarter? Some way he could ensure that the emperor never again unleashed such horrors on his own people?

And at root, the cause of all the catastrophic events was Lord Allutar's arrogance, and his sacrifice of Urunar Kazien's life to fuel black magic. It was that spell that had poisoned the fields of the Raish Valley, and triggered yesterday's events. It was Master Kazien's death that had driven Lord Valin to denounce Lord Allutar and provoke his own death. It was, in turn, Lord Valin's death that had led to Anrel's own speeches in Naith and Beynos.

Lord Allutar had killed Urunar Kazien, and Lord Valin, and Reva Lir, to maintain and enhance his own position. He had cheated half the city of Lume of their daily bread, and brought on riots and disaster.

Anrel had considered Urunar's death an acceptable cost of maintaining the traditional order. He had deplored and protested Valin's death, but only on a personal basis; he had not thought it meant Allutar did not deserve his position as landgrave of Aulix. But ruining the grain harvest—
that
was a grave failure in Lord Allutar's performance of his duties, and one that had led not to one death, but indirectly to dozens.

But what could be done about it? Once appointed, landgraves served for life, unless either successfully challenged by another sorcerer, or deposed by the emperor.

Or, perhaps, removed by the Grand Council. Anrel mused on that for a moment.

Lord Blackfield had said that Derhin and Amanir were on the council. Could they introduce some motion to censure Allutar, perhaps?

Anrel shook his head. Even if they did introduce such a measure, it wouldn't pass. Half the council was made up of sorcerers or their appointees who would surely vote to protect one of their own. No, Lord Allutar's misdeeds would go unpunished.

Unless, of course, Anrel found some way to punish him. Anrel had no idea what that might be, but he certainly wouldn't find it lying in bed; he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

As if he had been waiting for this signal Lord Blackfield's manservant appeared in the door of the room, a bundle in his arms.

“Your pardon, Master Murau,” he said. “I took the liberty of having your clothes cleaned, and ordering a few items.”

“Thank you—Harban, is it?” Anrel accepted the bundle.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know whether Lord Blackfield is expecting me to join him for breakfast?”

“Lord Blackfield breakfasted some time ago, sir, and has gone out.”

“Oh, has he?” Anrel glanced at the nearest window, trying to judge the time. He had assumed he had awoken at his usual early hour, but perhaps the fine bed had coaxed him into more than his usual amount of sleep.

“Indeed.”

“Did he leave any instructions concerning me?”

“Your breakfast will be ready momentarily, sir, and Lord Blackfield would consider it a favor, should you leave the house before his return, if you would inform me before you go.”

“Thank you.”

Harban bowed, and left the room.

Anrel dressed himself quickly, and took a good look out the window at the streets and the sky. The streets were still not as crowded as their norm, but neither were they as deserted as they had been at yesterday's dusk.

The sky was streaked with smoke, more than seemed entirely appropriate for a warm day, and Anrel guessed that the Pensioners' Quarter was still smoldering. He
hoped
it was the Pensioners' Quarter, and not some other part of the city.

And as Harban's remarks had implied, the angle of the sunlight through the smoke showed that Anrel had slept much later than his usual custom.

Well, he told himself, he was up now. He straightened his coat.

This was not his old, much-abused brown velvet coat; that was lost forever in the ruins of the Pensioners' Quarter. This was a dove-gray garment he had bought perhaps a quarter season ago, to help him pass for a wealthy man. Upon casual inspection it gave every appearance of being a fine and costly garment, but a closer look would reveal that it had no lining, that the lapels had no backing, and that the fabric was not of the first quality. The cuffs were made to look as if a generous bunch of lace had been tucked back into them, when in fact there was only a narrow strip of real lace, and the rest a bit of well-worn rag.

Still, it served him well enough.

His breeches were of much better manufacture; he had decided to pay the cost of real quality there, so that they might last, rather than make do with some further sham. As Harban had said, they had been freshly laundered, the smoke stains sponged away, yet were not even damp; someone must have been busy.

Anrel's blouse was adequate, if not particularly fine; it, too, was a recent acquisition. The lace-edged handkerchief in his pocket was new, as well. Thus attired, Anrel could pass for a wealthy man; he had demonstrated as much. Doz had been pleased with this outfit, and despite the previous day's abuse, Harban or some other servant had restored it to its original glory.

Thus reminded of Doz, Anrel hoped very much that the other man was alive and well, and that they would meet again, but he was glad Doz was not there. Doz would probably want to pocket a few valuables and then head home to the quarter; Anrel, on the other hand, preferred to remain Lord Blackfield's guest for several days yet, if he could. He wanted to get another perspective on Lume, to see it as a wealthy foreigner would, rather than as a Walasian swindler and thief, or as a student at the court schools.

He wondered where Lord Blackfield had gone, what business he was about. Might the Quandishman be courting some Walasian lady, perhaps?

No, Anrel told himself, that was unlikely, and that it had been the first possibility that came to mind said more about his own streak of romanticism, and perhaps how badly he missed Tazia, than about anything Lord Blackfield might do. Wherever Lord Blackfield was, it was his own business, and not Anrel's.

It might be useful, though, to have some rough idea of when to expect his host to return. If Lord Blackfield was going to walk in at any moment, then Anrel's plans would be rather different than if he knew the Quandishman would be out all day.

Either way, though, the first order of business would be that breakfast Harban had mentioned. He turned away from the window and headed for the door.

Although he had seen some of Lord Blackfield's rooms the night before, he was startled to discover that the residence had several more he had
not
seen, one of which was a breakfast room with magnificently large, clear windows that gave a grand view of the gardens behind Dezar House, and even a glimpse of the Galdin River. Harban saw to it that Anrel was seated alone at a table much larger than a single person needed, in a position where he could gaze out the window as he ate.

The actual breakfast was delightful—honey-glazed ham, an assortment of fruit, and odd, eggy little cakes unlike anything Anrel had previously tasted. Whatever they were, they were clearly not made from Raish Valley flour; they were delicious.