Winterlong (27 page)

I cast Justice a look of grave fondness. With a slight twitch he nodded, rolled his eyes, and then laid his head in my lap. Toby sniggered, though his eyes remained shut.

“Oh, we are accustomed to much worse than that!” laughed Miramar. “Many of our guests fall prey to sleep before they ever succumb to our charms!”

I let my hand linger upon Justice’s forehead, then said, “I am tired as well. Can I find my way to a room by myself?”

“I will accompany you,” Justice said quickly. I started to object but caught Miss Scarlet’s slow nod as she stared across the table.

“Of course,” I replied. As I stood, Toby made a great show of yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“So early to bed? To bed at all, Sieur Aidan?” This with a leer at Justice.

“Even Aidan and Justice must sleep,” said Miss Scarlet. “Leave them alone, Toby.” She tugged at a lock of his hair, still gray with chalk powder from our show. Toby turned a fond glance upon her. He extended one arm to enfold her to him, until she stepped from her chair to stand upon his knee.

“My dear Miss Pan,” he murmured, burying his face in her soft ruff of dark fur. “Forgive me. Miramar, perhaps we will retire to our chambers as well.”

Miramar rose and drew back a curtain to show us the way from the Pandoric Seraglio. One by one we stepped over the legs of the sleeping Botanists, Toby escorting Miss Scarlet last of all.

“They will sleep forever,” Miramar snorted as the curtain fell back to hide them. “They smoke and talk of their poppies and sleep, smoke and sleep and talk some more. They are worse than the Historians for dull talk.”

Justice stepped ahead of me to walk beside Miramar. He nodded as the suzein prattled on about recent scandals, the success of certain liaisons and the expected failure of others.

“Your favorite, Raphael Miramar,” I heard Justice ask. He cast me a backward glance. “I have been away for so long, everything is news to me—he left to join the Curators?”

Miramar sighed, beckoning us to follow him up a narrow stair to the next level of the House. “Yes. I begged him not to, his Patron is notoriously fickle. It’s rumored he has taken a new pathic as his favorite, and will support him at tonight’s judging at the Butterfly Ball. Whitlock High Brazil, a young …”

I yawned and let Toby and Miss Scarlet pass me, so that I would not have to listen to more of this endless chatter. The hallways we paced seemed endless as well. Flickering tubes of luminous diatoms did little to dispel the darkness. Near dawn by my guess; but I had seen neither window nor timepiece since our arrival.

The aura of constant twilight was heightened by the thick and intricately woven tapestries covering the walls and the many doorways we passed. One showed the bomb blast of the First Ascension, a brilliant star rising north of the City. Another had two panels. The first showed stiff-jointed men and women in white coats and robes. Some held beakers and complicated optical devices; others sat in front of screens where even smaller figures performed. A woman prodded a four-legged body stretched upon a table, a geneslave with eyes sewn shut. Other women stared earnestly at the sky, where so many dirigibles, zeppelins, gliders, helicopters, balloons, and airplanes soared that it was a miracle none collided. Behind them gleamed Museums not yet overtaken by kudzu, an unbroken Obelisk. The same backdrop was in the next panel of the diptych. Only here gaudy Paphians cavorted in front of the Museums, and coupled with the white-robed Curators on the steps of the Sorrowful Lincoln.

As I went down the hall other tapestries showed similar scenes. In many of them the Paphians’ Magdalene figured: diverting flames from the five Houses; keeping aardmen at bay so that a group of children could safely cross the river; healing lazars so that they jumped and ran once more. Over and over again the same blue-clad woman, eyes closed because she is asleep, waiting for the hour when the Gaping One will wake her to do battle. She was usually shown alone, but one tapestry had her upon a stage with a figure much like herself, the two of them grappling or embracing while myriad Paphians and Curators watched their masque. Beneath the figures tiny words were stitched into the cloth:
Puissant Baal is dead.

For some reason these made me think of the small girl in our audience that evening. Her face pale, wistful to the point of yearning. I thought of her calling out to me; of Miramar too naming me
Raphael;
of a brother,
my
brother, somewhere in this City, and did he dream of me as Emma Harrow had dreamed of Aidan? I was seized with the overpowering desire to know more of him, but I could not risk betraying myself to the others in our company.

Without thinking, I quickened my footsteps.

“Excuse me,” murmured Miss Scarlet. I had trodden upon the trailing hem of her taffeta gown, so caught up in my thoughts that I did not notice the others had paused in the hallway.

“Sieur Aidan and Justice may have this room,” Miramar announced. With a flourish he swept back a fringe of indigo cloth to display a narrow door inlaid with rare titanium discs and metal gears. “You will be shielded from the sistrum sounding first worship, and there are no windows to let the sun in.”

As Justice began a lengthy paean of thanks I interrupted him.

“Suzein Miramar,” I began, stroking my fingers across my open palm to signify I was interested in obtaining a doxy for the night. Behind me Justice choked audibly. Toby Rhymer snorted and loomed past me with a broad wink, on his way to a familiar chamber for the rest of the night. From beneath her lacy mantilla Miss Scarlet cast me a piercing glance as she minced behind him.

“Do not sleep too late, Aidan,” was all she said in a low voice. They disappeared down the hall.

“Ah!” Gower Miramar exclaimed, nodding polite goodbyes before turning to me with a radiant smile. His interest now lay with myself alone, although he beamed at Justice glowering at my side. “Sieur Aidan, you at least do not disappoint me! I pride myself on the luster of our House’s reputation—with all respect to you, Saint-Alaban, may your House never gray. But from Master Aidan’s demeanor I guessed he is unaccustomed to our ways. I would relish the opportunity to share with you both the ministrations of Lais—”

He pressed three fingers to his mouth, with his tongue traced the outline of one finger. I shook my head; I had been misunderstood.

“You are too generous, Suzein. But my own taste is rather more—” I struggled for the right word, looked helplessly to Justice. He regarded me for a long moment before coming to my aid.

“Aidan is shy,” he said. He leaned against the wall and toyed with a velvet cord that hung there. I looked at my feet, trying to appear awkward: not too difficult under the circumstances. Fortunately Miramar had the grace to regard me with something like sympathy rather than affront at my unintentioned insult.

“He is—inexperienced with women?” suggested Miramar. Justice flicked me a look. I nodded at Justice; he nodded at Miramar; and Miramar nodded to himself.

“He might perhaps like a young boy?” The suzein raised one finely plucked eyebrow to Justice, the experienced merchant steering a recalcitrant customer to the appropriate wares. Again Justice glanced at me; I shook my head. We played out the same guise of innocence, Justice fingering the velvet tassel, Miramar pretending thoughtfulness as he touched the blinking lumens upon his sleeve and changed their pattern from that of The Capitol to The Veil, myself trying not to demand that the suzein produce Raphael’s elfin friend upon the spot.

“Ah. Maybe a young girl?” said Miramar with a sudden show of insight. He extended his hand as if admiring the new light pattern upon his sleeve. “A very young girl, perhaps?”

I nodded, looking directly at Miramar and so breaking the chain of pretense that bound us. “Yes,” I said. “The ones who accompanied you this evening: they are available?”

“They are all abed,” Miramar said thoughtfully. “No, wait—Arethusa has been engaged by two Senators for dousing—”

“Is she the fair one?”

“No—that would be Fancy.” Miramar’s glance suddenly
grew
sharper. “Fancy … Did you know she was the special intimate of Raphael Miramar?”

“I couldn’t help but hear her interrupt my performance,” I said. “But so what? You said yourself he was the loveliest of all of you. If I so resemble Raphael Miramar, then certainly I may request an intrigant deserving of my absent brother.”

I grinned; but it seemed that I had been too bold. For a long moment Miramar regarded me shrewdly.

“You are not what you seem,” he said at last. A flash of anger in his dark eyes. “Do you know who you travel with, Saint-Alaban?”

Justice stood up straight, sleep’s last softness gone from him now. “I do.”

“Who is he?” Miramar’s eyes narrowed. That dim fragrant hallway seemed suddenly to have shrunk into another place, a closed inquisitory chamber like that where I had spent so many hours in my last days at
HEL
. I took a step nearer to Justice.

“Who is he, Saint-Alaban?” repeated Miramar. “A rebel? An Ascendant delator?”

“He is not a spy,” said Justice. “I told you, he is what you see: my friend, a Librarian now traveling with Toby Rhymer’s troupe. Miss Scarlet can vouch for him.”

From the belled cuff of his robe Miramar withdrew a sheaf of anaphylactic lozenges. He peeled one from the rest and applied it to his temple without offering one to either of us. “I only want to know who I am doing business with,” he said. “Fancy Miramar is a particular favorite of Constance Beech the Botanist.”

And worth her weight in opium because of that,
I thought. I drummed my fingers against my lip, facetiously imitating the Paphian’s beck, and waited for Justice to reply. His blue eyes sparked angrily for an instant. He let his breath out slowly, then laughed.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miramar! All this for one little mopsy? A pretty girl, but really! Come on, Aidan—” He made as though to pull me after him into our chamber.

Miramar sniffed, then smiled. A flush crept from the edges of his scalp. The lozenge was beginning to have its effect.

“Ah, well, forgive me! Doctor Foster will no doubt examine me and suggest I join the elders after this Winterlong: I am growing old and suspicious.

“But we hear frightening tales these days. Some weeks ago a drunken janissary told me of an Ascendant coming to govern the City. Since then we’ve heard that a band of Ascendants was attacked near the river; that another group was captured by the Curators and killed. They were searching for someone, prisoners escaped from the Citadel. And there is talk of lazars gathering in the Cathedral under a leader. They have grown bold these last few weeks. A group attacked Mustapha Illyria’s birthday party and bore off three boys. And last week we entertained Zoologists who told me of aardmen trying to lure children from the Zoo, and betulamia devouring a Botanist near the Gardens.”

“I’ve heard none of this,” said Justice. “I told you, I have been gone … but surely this doesn’t bear on our plans for the evening?”

Miramar sighed. “No, no. It’s foolish to worry about all this; leave that to the Curators. Good sense is bad business, after all! It’s just I’ve had no word of Raphael for so long, and I worry.” He made the Paphian’s beck and bowed, turned a smiling face to us once more.

“So your bashful friend will engage Fancy Miramar for the rest of the evening?”

There followed several minutes of bargaining in low voices. The two Paphians spoke as much with their hands as their tongues as I waited. After another minute or two they kissed. It was done.

“She will be here?” I asked as Justice stepped beside me. A few feet away Miramar stood smiling. The lumens on his robe blinked faster and faster as they responded to the lozenge’s quickening of his blood.

“Well, yes. Wendy, he—” Justice stared at my feet. “He won’t take payment.”

“Well, good. We have nothing to trade.” I tugged at the door handle.

“No—I mean, he’ll only take one payment. He wants a kiss; he wants you to kiss him.”

I began to argue but he cut me short.

“Because you resemble Raphael—well, don’t do it then, Wendy.” I sniffed as he put his hand anxiously on my shoulder: jealous! “We can go to bed, it’s late—”

“I want to see the girl.”

I turned to Miramar. “Well, Miramar, you demand small payment for the special intimate of Raphael Miramar and Constance Beech.” I tilted my face to his.

He kissed me so violently that I recoiled, twisting so that his hands would not feel my breasts. The lozenge’s acrid taste lingered on my tongue. I shut my eyes and tried not to respond to his desire, its memory of a face so much like mine that I felt queasy, as though I tasted my own blood. I clutched at Miramar’s sleeve. His laughter rang out, flecking the air with that bitter smell.

“He
is
an innocent!” he said, eyes flashing delightedly. “How gratifying to see that I can make you dizzy with a kiss, Sieur Aidan! No, he is not Raphael Miramar,” he said to Justice. “Kisses like a Curator, doesn’t he?”

Justice smiled wryly. I untangled myself from Miramar’s embrace and stepped away, noting that Miramar’s lumens now glowed a brilliant violet, pulsing like a warning beacon.

“I will wake Fancy,” he said as he turned on his heel.

Once inside our chamber I set to warming the room’s single diatom lantern with my hands. Its cool light flared to a brighter blue to show us our sleeping chamber: a long narrow room overhung with more tapestries. Justice stood by the door staring at me, waiting for an explanation. I met his gaze, felt a surge of desire stirred by his anger. I turned away from him.

“I should have taken my own chamber,” I said, staring at the bed that stood at the room’s center: wide and sumptuously pillowed, canopied with drapes of viridian velvet. I felt uneasy, as though on the edge of a seizure, and empty, the way I had felt after the janissaries siphoned me.

“This is dangerous, Wendy,” Justice said, drawing closer. “This girl: she’ll know you’re not Raphael Miramar.”

“I don’t want her to believe that I’m Raphael Miramar,” I said. “I want to tap her.”

“You can’t do that!”