Above His Proper Station (38 page)

If he stayed, he would almost certainly die. No matter how great an orator he might be—and he did not think himself as talented as others seemed to—he doubted he could sway the council. His fate had been decided; his enemies wanted him dead, and his allies were willing to sacrifice him, make him a martyr in their campaign to reform the empire. His death would help cement the power of what Gluth called the Joint Committee. Any ideas he might have had about what the council should do, any influence he might have had as a member of the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery, would be forgotten; his life would be nothing but a payment in the political transactions of the
real
powers.

If he fled, he would be giving up his established life and starting anew. He would be a fugitive once again, a traitor under sentence of death. He might be caught and killed at any time—but he would have a chance. He had been a fugitive before, yet he still lived.

And this time he might be able to remain in contact with Tazia.

Without another word he turned and hastened out of the alcove, back toward the tunnel by which he had arrived just moments before. He crossed the atrium to the room where he had emerged, closed the door behind him, and hurried down the steps. Once he was completely out of sight, alone in the tunnel, he broke into a run.

He was not sure he believed
everything
Gluth had told him, but he had no doubt there was a basis of truth in it. For one thing, as he fled, he could hear Lorsa's distinctive voice thundering from the floor of the great pool, “Fellow Walasians, today we will at last begin to cleanse the empire with the blood of its foes!”

Anrel knew that he was one of those foes, but with any luck, thanks to Gluth's warning, his blood would not be spilled.

Lord Allutar, on the other hand, was assuredly another such foe, and his blood very well might be a part of that cleansing. This was not quite the revenge Anrel had hoped for, but it would do.

He found himself taking surprisingly little satisfaction from his enemy's doom as he ran through the tunnel.

A rush of dread flickered through him as he passed out of the Baths, but he ignored it as he fled and tried to think what he should do, where he should go. He could not stay in the burgrave of Naith's town house, obviously, and Gluth had just warned him he could not expect any help from Lord Blackfield this time. If the gates were closed, as Gluth had said, getting out of the city would be difficult—not impossible, as he might be able to stow away on a boat, but difficult, and it would require planning.

Though where could he go, if he left Lume? He no longer had a home anywhere outside the walls. He had no trusted friends who might shelter him, and not enough money to buy anyone's silence.

No, at least for the present he would need to find a refuge
within
the walls. Gluth had spoken of alleys and tunnels, and certainly plenty of those existed, but Anrel did not know his way around them. Although many of the former residents of the Pensioners' Quarter made good use of the tunnels, until today Anrel had never been one of those people. Venturing blindly into the maze beneath the city was a hazardous undertaking; the rumors of monsters and magic lurking below the streets, however exaggerated they might have become, almost certainly had some basis in fact.

Anrel knew that a few hardy souls were beginning to resettle in the burned-out remains of the Pensioners' Quarter, but Anrel was not eager to join them, and besides, if anyone was seriously searching for him, that would be one of the first places they would look.

He could not hope for concealment in the student courts now any more than he had when he first arrived in Lume.

Lurking in alleys was hardly an appealing prospect, but Anrel could see little alternative. At least he might still be able to meet with Tazia occasionally; he would not endanger her by seeing her often, but surely they might risk an encounter or two.

He would probably have time to gather his few possessions from the town house before going into hiding; his would-be captors would expect him to be at the baths, and would not head for Lourn Street until after they discovered his absence.

Accordingly, when he emerged from the tunnel he turned his steps in that direction, walking briskly; a running man might attract the attention of wardens or watchmen.

He stopped dead, though when he rounded the corner onto Lourn Street.

There was a coach in front of the town house, a coach paneled in dark blue and black trimmed with white and gold, and built in a foreign style. Anrel recognized it immediately. It appeared that he would have an opportunity to say farewell to Lord Blackfield after all.

Either that, or it was a trap of some sort. He could not rule out that possibility. He approached the carriage warily.

Lord Blackfield's man Harban was in the driver's seat, a battered black hat pulled down to his ears, his white braid trailing down his back. He turned, spotted Anrel, and tipped his hat. Then he rapped on the roof of the coach.

One of the glass windows slid down, and Lord Blackfield's face appeared. “Master Murau!” he called. “A word with you, if you please.”

“Of course, my lord,” Anrel said, stepping up. The door of the carriage swung open, and Lord Blackfield's hand reached out for him, fine lace at the cuff.

Anrel accepted this help, and a moment later the two men were seated facing each other as the coach began rolling forward.

“Rest assured, sir, I am not abducting you,” the Quandishman said. “I think we will draw less attention if we are moving, though, and at the present time I think that drawing attention would be most unfortunate.”

“We are in full agreement, my lord,” Anrel replied.

“You have heard, perhaps, that all foreigners are being expelled from Lume? We are to be without the walls by sunset, on penalty of—well, they did not actually say, but the penalties were implied to be dire indeed. You knew about this?”

“Yes, I knew. I was informed perhaps half an hour ago. I am honored, my lord, that you troubled yourself to come by to wish me farewell, under the circumstances.”

“I came by to offer you something more than a farewell, Master Murau. I have reason to believe that you are in danger here.”

He looked as if he might have more to say, but Anrel interrupted, “As do I. In fairness, I must warn you that my presence in your carriage may be a danger to
you,
as well.”

The big Quandishman dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Oh, do not trouble yourself about that, sir! I assure you, I am entirely capable of coping with whatever dangers you may bring with you. No, I have come to offer
you
a way out of Walasia.”

Anrel blinked. “What?”

“I am inviting you to join me for the journey to Quand, Master Murau, and to be my guest in Ondine for as long as it suits you to stay.”

“I … I am honored, my lord,” Anrel said, as he tried to gather his wits. He had almost never seriously considered the possibility of fleeing the Empire entirely; what would he have done, as an outcast in a foreign land? What he knew of the Cousins did not render them particularly attractive, and Walasians were not generally very welcome in Quand or Ermetia. But to stay in the Quandish capital as a Gatherman's guest was a far more pleasant prospect than anything he had previously imagined.

There were still drawbacks, of course, severe ones.

“You have demonstrated yourself to be a resourceful young man,” Lord Blackfield said, before Anrel had entirely decided on a response. “I do not know whether your talent for oratory will translate into Quandish, but I believe you have sufficient other skills to earn your keep, should you fear you might abuse my hospitality. Not that
I
am concerned about such things, as I assure you, even the most protracted stay would be no great imposition, but I think it might trouble
you.
”

“My lord,” Anrel said slowly, “your generosity must surely do you credit in the eyes of the Mother of us all, and your soul's reward in the next world will undoubtedly dwarf the riches you possess in this one, but I cannot accept.”

Lord Blackfield cocked his head to one side. “Whyever not?”

“To begin with, my lord, I am already a fugitive—my pardon has been withdrawn, and I am to be arrested by representatives of the Committee for the Restoration of Order at the first opportunity. That is why I am not at the baths at this very moment, in my role as a delegate to the Grand Council. I am told that the city gates are already closed, and I will not be permitted to leave.”

“Oh, I know
that,
” Lord Blackfield said, dismissing it with an airy wave. “The messenger who delivered the letter from the burgrave, ordering me out of Lume, told me that he would be taking orders to the gatekeepers to seal off the capital. But as a foreign dignitary, you see, I am to be given free passage out of the city, even when no Walasian is allowed to pass.”

“They will undoubtedly look in this coach, though, and see me, and detain me,” Anrel said. “My presence might well endanger you, perhaps void your guarantee of passage.”

The Quandishman waved that away as well. “You forget, Master Murau, that I am a sorcerer, and very practiced in seemings, glamours, and deceptions. You will to all appearances be a member of my staff, and not a Walasian at all.”

Anrel
had
momentarily forgotten that; he had to admit it made the offer more practical, but there were still other factors to consider.

“There are those here in Lume I cannot bear to leave behind,” he said. “I will go nowhere without them.”

The Quandishman blinked at him in astonishment. “Father and Mother, Anrel, who
do
you mean? When you came to me in Dezar House not half a season ago, you said you had no one else to turn to!”

“Indeed, I did not, but since then I have learned of others recently arrived in Lume. Most important, Mistress Tazia Lir, my beloved, who I hope to make my wife one day, is here.”

Lord Blackfield stared at him for a moment, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh, magnificent, Master Murau!” the Quandishman exclaimed at last. “My congratulations upon finding her, and may your hopes soon be realized! Of course you shall not leave her behind; you must bring her with us!”

Anrel's mouth opened, then closed again.

Why not? Tazia had little to keep her here in Lume; in Quand, where magic was not restricted to the nobility, she could presumably work openly as a witch, rather than settle for domestic labor.

But she was Walasian, born and bred. The empire was her homeland, and Quand a foreign mystery.

“I cannot speak for her without consulting her, my lord,” he said.

“No, of course you cannot,” Lord Blackfield agreed. “Let us go and speak with her, then, and see what she says.”

“She has … she has her mother and a sister to think of, my lord.”

Lord Blackfield's blandly cheerful expression faltered at that. “Four of you?” he said. “Well, I could certainly have managed a staff of four had I wanted to—five, counting Harban. I think we might still manage it. Fortunately, Mistress Uillea has chosen to remain in Lume.”

“And …” Anrel swallowed. “And there is my uncle, my lord.”

“Lord Dorias?” The Quandishman actually frowned at that. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He and my cousin Saria are here in Lume, my lord, at the Adirane town house in Wizard's Hill Court. Their home in Alzur was burned, and they fled to Lume.”

“Well, what of it?”

“Lady Saria is betrothed to Lord Allutar, and Uncle Dorias has spoken in Lord Allutar's defense. I am sure you know how unpopular Lord Allutar has been of late; his name is first on the list of those the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery wishes to condemn, and I have no doubt that his friends and associates may be questioned. What's more, I know that the chairman of the committee has obtained their true names. I fear they are in grave danger if they remain in the capital.”

“Indeed? Their true names are known?” The Quandishman's expression was unreadable.

“The committee was granted access to the Great List,” Anrel explained.

“Were they? How did
that
happen?”

Anrel did not feel like explaining the foul bargain the emperor had made. He said, “The Grand Council has ultimate authority in the empire, my lord.”

“In theory, but I had not expected it to be accepted in such a manner! Well, well. That does seem to put them at risk, if you are sure of your facts.”

“Quite sure, my lord.”

“That makes seven, then.” Lord Blackfield sighed. “I fear the coach will be most unpleasantly crowded, and even for my sorcery, convincing the guards at the gate to let so many pass unhindered may prove a challenge.”

“I know,” Anrel said miserably. “I cannot ask you to put yourself at risk—but I cannot simply abandon any of them. It may well be that Nivain and Perynis Lir will choose to remain in Lume, or that my uncle and cousin will refuse my aid, but I cannot in good conscience fail to consider any of them. It is
your
coach and safe-conduct, my lord; I have no right to inconvenience you in any way.”

“Oh, don't be so dismayed,” the Quandishman said. “I can never resist a noble gesture. Let us see who is interested, and who is not, and take it from there, shall we?”

“I … I don't know what to say.”

“
I
say, let us meet somewhere in, oh, two or three hours—that will give you time to speak to them all?”

“I think so, my lord.”

“Good. It will give
me
time to prepare a few spells. Where shall we meet, then? Your beloved's residence, perhaps?”

“No,” Anrel said as he quickly reviewed the logistics. “My uncle's town house, in Wizard's Hill Court.”

Lord Blackfield nodded, then glanced up at the sun, or where the sun would have been if it were not obscured by clouds just then. “Wizard's Hill Court, in three hours' time, then,” he said. “If you are not there I will not wait long, though, and I will not look for you elsewhere. I have my doubts about whether they will truly give me until sundown, and I would prefer not to test it any more closely than I must.”