Above His Proper Station (40 page)

Her face went pale. “Oh,” she said. She glanced in the direction the deputies had gone. “Anrel?”

“Yes?”

“I definitely want to go to Quand.”

“I understand.”

A few minutes later the pair arrived at the rear entrance to the wine merchant's house, where Perynis knocked loudly. She and Anrel stood on the rear stoop for a moment, waiting, and then the door swung open. Perynis turned to the opening, starting to say something.

Then she froze.

Anrel saw the man standing in the doorway, and recognized him instantly. He was thinner, his hair and beard longer and far more unkempt than when Anrel had last seen him, he stank of sour wine, and his clothes were much the worse for wear, but his identity was unmistakable.

Garras Lir.

“Father,” Perynis said faintly.

32

In Which Anrel Visits His Uncle

“Daughter,” Garras said. “And Master Murau. I didn't expect to see
you
here!”

“Where's Mother?” Perynis demanded.

“Inside,” Garras said. “I haven't touched her.”

“We came to speak with her,” Anrel said. “If we might enter, please?”

“What did you want with her?”

“With all due respect, Master Lir, our business is with her, not with you.”

“She is my wife,” Garras replied angrily. “Anything you might say to her is my business!”

“Nonetheless, we are here to speak to
her,
” Anrel said. “Please step aside.”

“Don't you give me orders, you sorcerer's bastard!” Garras snapped.

“I am assured that my parents were married to each other,” Anrel answered calmly. “Can you say the same?”

“Two sorcerers producing a commoner?” Garras sneered. “I know better than that—and I suspect your mother's husband did, as well. That's probably why he killed her.”

Anrel dropped his pack to the ground and stepped forward, and without consciously planning it he felt magical power surge up into him from the earth beneath the stoop. He reached to grab Garras, but the other man stepped back into the house.

He was not able to close the door, though, before Anrel thrust his foot inside.

They froze like that for a moment, Anrel squeezed into the opening, trying to force the door open, while the larger, heavier Garras stood behind it, trying to push it closed. Their faces were scant inches apart, and they glared at each other; Anrel could smell alcohol on the other man's breath. Magic tingled in Anrel's gut and in his hands, but he did not know how to use it, what he might productively do with it.

“You should have died in Beynos,” Garras growled.

“You did your best to arrange it,” Anrel replied.

“You raised our hopes, with that speech of yours, and then Reva died anyway.”

“I did what I could,” Anrel said. “No one regrets more than I do that it wasn't enough.”

“It's your fault my wife left me, with your lies and false hopes!”

“I wish I could take credit for her decision, but she came to her senses without my help.” Anrel raised his hand, reaching for Garras's face, thinking that perhaps he could stupefy Garras momentarily and push his way into the house.

Garras saw the motion, and pulled his head back. “What are you …”

He did not complete the question; instead there was a loud thump, and Garras crumpled backward, falling flat on his back on the mudroom floor. The door suddenly gave under the pressure of Anrel's shoulder, and he had to step forward, over Garras's outstretched legs, to keep from falling.

He found himself staring directly at Nivain Lir, who stood in the mudroom clutching a cast-iron skillet. Her hair was unbound and in wild disarray; her left cheek was covered by a large fresh bruise just beginning to go purple. Her husband's assurance that he hadn't touched her appeared to have been a lie.

“I don't … he was …” she said.

“Mistress Lir,” Anrel said. He glanced down at Garras, who was blinking at the ceiling; he was obviously still alive, and apparently conscious, though stunned. “I think it might be advisable to come with us.”

“Yes,” Nivain said. She stepped forward, hesitated, flung the skillet aside, then stepped across her husband.

His hand rose, groping for her ankle, and with a soft gasp she tumbled into Anrel's arms. He quickly pulled her out the door and set her on her feet, where Perynis could take her hand and steady her.

After allowing mother and daughter a moment for a quick embrace and a few words of comfort, Anrel urged them away from the door. “I hear him moving,” he said. That was the simple truth; the door had not closed fully, and Anrel could clearly hear Garras muttering to himself and trying to push himself up.

Nivain immediately started away, choosing her direction at random until Perynis caught her elbow and said, “This way.”

A few seconds later the three of them were hurrying up the alley in the direction that would eventually bring them to Wizard's Hill Court. Garras staggered out the door and bellowed, “Come back here!”

Nivain hastened her pace, and the others hurried to catch up.

“He's drunk,” Nivain said.

“So it would appear,” Anrel agreed, as they emerged from the alley.

Nivain started to turn left, and the others caught her, one on either side, and guided her to the right. She looked up at Anrel, startled. “Where are we going?” she asked. “I thought … either the tenement or …”

“We are bound for my uncle's house in Wizard's Hill Court,” Anrel replied. “I will explain why as we walk.” He glanced back over his shoulder; Garras was following them, stumbling along the alley with one hand to his head, but losing ground.

“Are you all right, Mother?” Perynis asked. “Did he hurt you?” She studied her mother's face, apparently trying to judge the extent and severity of the bruising. “He said he hadn't touched you,” she added accusingly.

Nivain shook her head. “I will be fine,” she said.

“How did he
find
you?”

“I don't know,” Nivain said. She smiled bitterly. “He complained about how long it took, but he never said how he accomplished it.”

“He probably simply asked everyone he met if they had seen you,” Anrel said. “You don't seem to have made a point of secrecy, after all; you have been using your own names.”

“I never thought he would come here looking for us!” Nivain cried.

Anrel held his tongue.

Nivain looked at him, then at Perynis. “Where is Tazia?” she asked.

“She is to meet us in Wizard's Hill Court,” Anrel said, speaking firmly. Nivain did not yet seem fully in command of herself, which was entirely understandable under the circumstances, and he wanted to keep her focused on essentials—most importantly, their destination.

Nivain looked at Perynis, who nodded. “That's right, Mother. She's meeting us there, along with a Quandish sorcerer.”

“A what?”

“A friend of mine,” Anrel said. “Lord Blackfield.”

Nivain turned to Anrel. “You said you would explain?”

“As long as we keep walking, yes,” Anrel said. He glanced around. There were relatively few people on the street, and none of them seemed to be paying any particular attention to Anrel and his companions. Anrel thought he could hear shouting somewhere in the distance, but it was far enough away that he felt they could safely ignore it.

“It seems that some members of the Grand Council have finally tired of their pointless hairsplitting arguments, and have chosen to act,” he said. “At their orders the city gates have reportedly been closed, Lume is to be sealed off, and wardens and watchmen are gathering up everyone the council considers enemies of the empire. That includes a few dozen sorcerers, perhaps certain troublesome foreigners, and assorted rabble-rousers—including myself. We are to be dragged before tribunals and questioned, and although no one has yet said so openly, I suspect most of us will be hanged as traitors.”

Nivain stared at him. “Hanged?”

He snorted. “That's hardly new, is it? I was under sentence of death when you first met me.”

“But aren't you a delegate to the Grand Council?”

“I was until this morning, yes. I believe I have now effectively resigned my seat.”

“But they … how can they
do
that? Did the sorcerers take over the council?”

“Oh, they most assuredly did not,” Anrel told her. “No, the radicals on either side have joined forces, each side sacrificing some of its own to accomplish this alliance. Lord Allutar is on their list of enemies, and his name surely comes before my own. They think to appease the mob and make peace.” He peered along the largely deserted street. “It may even work, but I am not inclined to donate my life to the experiment.”

“So you are going into hiding? But what does that have to do with your uncle, or this Quandish lord?” She glanced at Perynis. “Or us?”

“Lord Blackfield has offered me transport to Quand,” Anrel said. “He has been promised safe passage out of Lume until sunset; after that, he is given to understand that he will be unwelcome here, and perhaps anywhere in the empire. At some risk to himself, he has agreed to bring me out of the city in the guise of one of his servants, and I am, I assure you, very grateful for this generosity, but I will not go without Tazia. Leaving her behind in Beynos was the worst mistake of my life, and I have no intention of repeating it. I am offering her the chance to accompany me, and for her sake and yours, I am offering
you
the same opportunity. While I realize Quand is a foreign land that can never be your home in the way Walasia is, witchcraft is legal in Quand, and to the best of my knowledge there are no mobs shouting in the streets of Ondine, nor club-wielding wardens dragging people to unknown fates. I think an extended stay there might be a good idea for us all.”

Nivain nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Then she asked, “And your uncle?”

Anrel sighed. “I fear that he and my cousin Saria may be on the list of alleged traitors,” he explained. “She is Lord Allutar's betrothed, and my uncle attempted to defend Allutar's home from the mob. I am hoping that they, too, might accompany us to Quand.”

“How many people can this Quandishman
take
?” Nivain asked. “How will he transport us all? Does he have a ship?”

“A coach,” Anrel said. “And whether there will be room for us all is an open question.”

“Are there any others, then?”

“No,” Anrel replied. “That's all.”

“It seems more than enough. All of us in a single coach, all the way to Quand? It may be a very crowded ride,” Perynis remarked.

Neither Anrel nor Nivain bothered to answer that.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour later the trio arrived in Wizard's Hill Court. Anrel was relieved that no warden had attempted to stop them; he guessed that the one he had met before was busy elsewhere, arresting some enemy of the people at the council's behest.

The court was empty. There was no Quandish carriage, nor any sign of Tazia, and for a moment Anrel feared that something dreadful might have befallen her, and cursed himself for sending her alone.

But then, if he had come, there was no chance that Lord Dorias would have admitted them. If all had gone as planned Tazia was inside the house even now, talking to his uncle. Anrel marched up the granite steps and swung the knocker for three deliberate blows.

The wait seemed interminable. Anrel looked back at the entry to the court, at the watchmen's arch; there was no watchman in sight on the walkways, no warden on the streets, but Anrel knew that one might happen along at any moment.

Then at last the door opened, and Ollith stood there.

“Master Murau,” he said.

“Good day, Ollith,” Anrel said. “Is my uncle in?”

“I have been given specific instructions, sir. You are not permitted in the house, nor is anyone accompanying you, but if you wish to speak to Lord Dorias, and would be so kind as to wait for a moment, he will come out.”

That was not a complete acceptance, but it was certainly better than Anrel had feared. “Thank you, Ollith, I will be happy to wait.” He glanced at the others. “I believe Mistress Lir is here?”

“She is.”

“You might mention that her mother and sister are with me.”

“I will do so, sir.” He bowed, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

“I don't understand,” Nivain said. “Why must we wait out here?” She glanced up at the sun, which was uncomfortably bright and already well past its zenith. None of them had eaten since breakfast, nor had anything to drink in hours.

Anrel admitted, “I am afraid that my uncle and I are not on the best of terms.”

“But aren't you coming to save him from the mob?”

“I believe that is why he is willing to speak with us at all. I asked Tazia to plead my case, and it would appear she has done so.” He glanced at the arch over the court entry, uncomfortably aware that a watchman might appear without warning—though it occurred to him that he had not, in fact, seen a member of the Emperor's Watch all day. The arches and walkways were still there, of course, but he had not seen anyone on any of them, nor had he seen any watchmen at the baths that morning.

He blinked, trying to decide just how unusual that actually was. The watchmen were such a common part of the city's background he no longer consciously noticed them, but an entire day on the streets without seeing one seemed a little peculiar.

He had certainly seen wardens and their deputies, though. He peered under the arch, dreading the prospect of a man in a black coat, or a crowd in red armbands.

He thought he glimpsed a figure in the shadows, but could not be sure. He debated going for a closer look, but decided against it; his uncle might appear at any second, and if Anrel were not immediately ready to talk to him he would most probably take it as a deliberate affront.