Shadow Magic (19 page)

“The inkwell was mine,” Alcibiades added, rubbing the back of his neck. “And the—No furniture was broken. I don’t think.”

“No need to apologize,” Lord Temur assured him. I wanted to point out that Alcibiades had very nearly ruined my new clothes in his fit of pique, as well, but it didn’t seem to be the time. “We will send for someone to take care of the mess. Should we instruct the maids to leave things as they are”—he gestured toward the barricade—“or return things to their usual place?”

“Might as well return them,” Alcibiades said. All the anger had
drained from his voice, leaving it hoarse and almost demure. “Didn’t work, anyway.”

“I can see that it did not,” Lord Temur agreed. “I was in fact just coming to call upon your companion, Lord Alcibiades, though now that I find you together I will extend the offer to both of you.”

“I’m not a lord,” Alcibiades said, managing to make it sound almost like a gentle correction and not something gravely rude. It must have been my influence. Or perhaps it was merely the reminder of dear Yana so close at hand.

Lord Temur bowed. He cut a very fine figure in his dark robes, but it was not a color that I could wear with my complexion. “My apologies,” he said. “We have a title for diplomats in our language, but there is none for it in yours. ‘Lord’ was the closest approximation I could think of, and therein lies my mistake.”

“Oh! No offense has been taken,” I assured him, coming round to stand beside Alcibiades now that the guards had left. “That’s merely Alcibiades’ face when he’s happy; one grows accustomed to it. You mentioned an invitation, Lord Temur?”

“It was an
offer,”
Alcibiades muttered, but he fell silent after that.

Lord Temur smiled cautiously, as though unsure of the resulting expression it would leave on his face. “Yes. I was under the impression that Lord Caius was interested in learning more about our culture. I might recommend the libraries as a place to start, but the artists’ district within the capital is something to behold.”

“The artists’ district!” I clung to Alcibiades’ arm with excitement. “We’ll go at once, won’t we? The scholars didn’t teach us anything about that.”

Lord Temur bowed again. “They might not have found any merit in the teaching. The artists’ district is not for the… upper class, the people of the palace. But it has many fine works of art, and it is a place full of entertainment, despite its reputation for scandal. If we are to share our culture, we cannot merely offer tours of the palace. It is…” He paused, searching for the proper words. “… one-dimensional.”

It was as though he’d known exactly what I’d been thirsting for. Perhaps the delicate network of servants had relayed such information to him, or maybe it had been one of our fellow diplomats. Whatever the reason, Alcibiades and I were about to be escorted to a place of
questionable repute
by one of the
seven warlords
.

Josette would simply die when she found out.

“Sounds all right,” said Alcibiades, though I caught him casting a longing look back at the desk and his unfinished letter. It was all right, I wanted to assure him; he could tell Yana all about it later that night. I didn’t think he would appreciate the effort, though, so I merely patted him on the arm. “Lead the way, then.”

Lord Temur led us through the halls with little conversation, pausing here and there only to point out a particular element of architecture or relate the history behind a particular room. Soon enough, we were outside the palace and flanked by two fearsome-looking men who must have been Lord Temur’s retainers. Alcibiades kept glaring at them and muttering what I had no doubt were unpleasant things under his breath.

“Your temper, my dear,” I murmured, low under my breath.

Alcibiades merely made a noise in my direction in reply—half grunt, half growl.

Lord Temur paused at the main gate to explain our destination to the guards. I bounced on the balls of my feet, eager to see the city we’d only been able to view previously from carriage windows. It had been so scintillating, those mere glimpses, the smells warm and exotic, the sounds of a foreign people going about their daily lives without realizing how absolutely and extraordinarily
different
they all were.

“Stop all that bobbing up and down,” Alcibiades said. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Don’t be so sour,” I admonished him. It was time for mollifying him. “Just think of all the interesting things you’ll be able to put into your letter
now.”

Alcibiades just stared at me as though trying to assess whether or not I was making a joke.

“Perhaps you might even purchase a watercolor,” I added. “To send along with your letter. A piece of the scenery, perhaps? Yana might like the memento.”

“Right.” The harsh lines of Alcibiades’ face smoothed out somewhat, making him look less monstrously cranky with the world; the whole effect made him look miraculously much younger. “I could do that, I suppose.”

“Gentlemen.” Lord Temur beckoned us and his retainers over with a regal sweep of his arm. He had
such
presence. “Your pardon, but the gate is open.”

A carriage—in the Ke-Han style, of course, a deep blue color that made Alcibiades snort when he saw it—awaited us.

The road from the palace stretched out for miles. All the city lay open before us. The scholars had given us maps before we left and explained that the lapis city was built with the palace as its hub, that formidable building set like a jewel in the very center of the glittering crown that was the capital. Buildings radiated outward from it like the sun’s corona, illuminating the glory of the palace itself. Closer to the palace were the larger houses, set far apart from one another; these were the lords’ homes, when they were recalled from duty to sojourn at the palace. The farther from the palace you traveled, the closer together the houses grew until, just in the distance, I could glimpse the cramped quarters of the town, the circumference of a great hexagon, which provided the framework for the entire city. The roads, the buildings, the lords’ houses, and the blossoming cherry trees were all planned down to the last seed or stone. It was nothing at all like Thremedon in Volstov, which resembled a handful of buildings flung together piecemeal and multiplying without proper planning, all scattered down the mountainside.

This was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.

At my side, Alcibiades snorted.

“Isn’t it lovely?” I said.

“That poor bastard up ahead just fell off his horse,” said Alcibiades.

So he had. I didn’t blame him, either, for as we drew closer and closer to the outer city, the streets grew more and more crowded; wealthier men, perhaps prosperous merchants, rode on horseback, while commoners scattered as we passed. Everyone bowed. It was crowded and full of noise, men recognizing one another and calling out greetings, women doing the same, or urging their children to keep up—and all completely different from the serene beauty of the palace and its environs.

I was somewhat disappointed with Alcibiades for being unable to recognize the great beauty laid out in perfect geometry before us.

“There are certain parts of the city, of course, that would be most unsuitable for our esteemed guests,” Lord Temur explained. I peered past the bamboo-curtained window of our carriage out onto the street, and saw a sprightly pickpocket flee the scene of his yet-unnoticed crime, purse in hand. “I would not dream of taking you there.”

“But what are they?” I began, perhaps too eagerly.

Alcibiades cleared his throat. “Understandable,” he said, and Lord Temur nodded.

“As it stands, my lord the Emperor would not approve of my giving our esteemed guests such a tour,” he continued. “This part of the city is not nearly of the same caliber as the palace itself, and there are places here that would shame us in your eyes. And yet…”

The carriage turned a corner, and suddenly we were up against the famed wall—passing, I noticed with some interest, a section of it that had not yet been rebuilt. A young man, dressed in common work clothes, had paused against the broken gap to pass his arm across his brow and eat a stick of fried dumplings. They smelled delicious. Perhaps Alcibiades would have enjoyed them.

Alcibiades must have caught sight of the same thing I had, now that I was holding the bamboo curtain up with one hand, and cleared his throat.

Lord Temur bowed his head, as though it were the only way to express momentary discomfort at the faux pas. “We must pass through that which is unseemly in order to come to the true artists’ district,” he explained. “There, you may see our culture as the artisans understand it. We have a wide variety of sculptors, calligraphers, and printers, and it would bring great honor to any man whose craftsmanship pleases you.”

The words, I recognized, were rehearsed, yet I was nevertheless delighted by them. So few had been chosen for this venture, and, not being a soldier or a combat magician, I would never have found the opportunity elsewhere to see these people for myself. It was better than being in a museum, for the exhibits were living and breathing, shouting from windows and bowing down as we passed by, children lunching on dumplings or chasing kittens, an old man stooped with age but laughing nevertheless.

My eyes caught Alcibiades’ in a moment of shared realization. We were so eager to watch these common people because they wore what we had so missed in our Ke-Han companions at the palace: expressions.

“Something smells good,” Alcibiades said suddenly, as though the connection unnerved him and he felt compelled to say something rude again to diminish the moment.

Lord Temur paused for a moment—his only indication, it appeared,
of discomposure—then nodded in understanding. “Ah,” he said. “A street vendor. Stop the carriage.”

The two guards reined in the horses, then opened the door for us.

“After you,” Lord Temur said.

Alcibiades stepped out first, and of course completely ignored me as I held my hand out to him for assistance. Sighing—when
would
the man learn some decent manners?—I lifted the hem of my garment and alighted. The road beneath us was dusty, and my slippers were sure to be ruined, but it was for a worthy cause.

“Lord Alcibiades is hungry, I believe,” I explained to Lord Temur. “His palate is somewhat unrefined. He comes from the country, you see, and isn’t very adventurous when it comes to foreign spices.”

“I see,” Lord Temur said. “I, too, am from the country, but I have always enjoyed these dumplings. Perhaps Lord Alcibiades would honor this vendor by sampling them?”

“I told you,” Alcibiades began, but I silenced him effectively by offering him the delicacy in question—sticky dumplings served most cleverly on a wooden skewer.

“My lord Caius,” Lord Temur said, offering me a skewer of my own. They smelled simply heavenly, and I accepted, nibbling daintily at the one on top. They were filled with something sticky and sweet; Alcibiades was sure to approve, since after all, no fish were involved as far as I could tell.

“Good,” Alcibiades managed, after a long while of chewing, since he’d bitten three dumplings off at once.

“I believe you don’t eat the stick,” I said helpfully. The dumpling vendor, meanwhile, only looked deeply relieved, as though we had come to cart him away to the gallows and pardoned him, instead.

“If you will follow me,” Lord Temur said. He’d secured a dumpling stick of his own, and another for Alcibiades—which was quite thoughtful of him, really. “The artists’ district is very close by.”

“Well, if the art is anything like the dumplings,” Alcibiades said, apparently in a better mood now that his stomach was full. If I could have kicked him, I would have, but Lord Temur would have been sure to notice. I’d reprimand him privately later. Lord Temur was a sensitive man; the Ke-Han’s was a sensitive culture. They valued works of aesthetic beauty nearly as much as they valued a man’s strength and prowess in combat. To compare art to dumplings was the height of rudeness.
While Alcibiades’ churlishness was endearing in private, it was dreadfully inappropriate before others, especially after Lord Temur had gone out of his way to take us on such a fascinating tour.

Thankfully, Lord Temur pretended not to hear him, and we carried on by foot, one retainer waiting with the carriage, the other following behind us.

The houses were built almost too close together, as though they were all vying for the most room possible, and all of them were somehow losing. Awnings overhung us, and brightly colored banners with words I could not read—it was one thing to memorize a few Ke-Han phrases and quite another to learn their complicated, pictographic alphabet—hung outside of doorways. Most important, however, was that the people were staring at us. Of course they were; we were so obviously foreigners, and Lord Temur so obviously an important member of the upper class, that they must have wondered what purpose drew the three of us there.

“The streets are too crowded to continue by carriage,” Lord Temur said. “And we must pass by one or two of the theatres. My sincere apologies.”

“But I love the theatre,” I said. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Do you think we might be able to attend a play?”

“I shall see what I am able to do,” Lord Temur said, the stilted formality of his words still betraying nothing of his emotions. “We will have performances at the palace in our esteemed guests’ honor, of course, but I sense that you in particular, Lord Caius, are searching for a more… authentic experience.”

“Exactly that,” I confirmed. “How wonderful! Is that one of the theatres?”

It was a tall, imposing building with a sloped roof, and the first one I’d seen in a while that wasn’t fighting off the crush of other buildings around it, as though all the houses on either side were making way for it. I thought it looked like a member of royalty among the commoners.

Outside the building, a few young men stood in idle, relaxed poses, looking for all the world like the images from a storybook. Hands on their hips, ebony-black hair slicked into complicated chignons, their robes far more colorful and garish than anything I’d seen at the palace, they loitered outside the entranceway with their faces painted white and their lips daubed bright red, their eyebrows thick and high. After a
moment of closer inspection, I realized they were painted on for dramatic effect.