Lord of Souls

SEVEN

Annaig picked at the flesh of the green nutlike thing and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. She felt a little heat like black pepper, followed by a rush in her nose like fiery mustard and green onions. The texture, though, was like a boiled cashew.

“That’s great,” she told Glim. “What is it?”

“Something new,” he said. “Maybe from Morrowind.”

“Maybe,” Annaig said dubiously.

“Wert says that sometimes the sump will go for years without producing a particular thing, then start again, while something else vanishes for a time.”

“How does it do it?” she wondered. “Does Umbriel store seeds and eggs someplace?”

“I don’t think so,” Glim told her. “I think it’s the trees.”

Glim had a sharp, excited scent about him, and he seemed to be barely holding something in.

“The trees?” she asked.

“The trees in the Fringe Gyre,” he said. “You saw them when we tried to escape.”

“Well, yes,” she said. “But it was dark, and I was distracted by-well, escaping.”

“I believe that they are cousins of the Hist.”

“That’s interesting. I can’t imagine what that means.”

“Well-think of water oaks and white oaks in Black Marsh. They’re both oaks because they have acorns; their leaves are arranged in a spiral. But other things about them are different. Like cousins.”

“Okay,” Annaig said. “I follow that, although I never thought of it that way. So are you saying that the trees in the Fringe Gyre are intelligent, like the Hist?”

“Yes and no. They communicate, as the Hist do, but in different tones. I didn’t really learn to hear them until Fhena showed me, and then-”

“Fhena?”

“Yes, one of the gardeners in the trees. She helped me find you. Surely I mentioned her.”

“No, you surely did not,” Annaig said.

“Well, she’s just someone I talk to,” Mere-Glim said. She thought he sounded defensive.

“A woman?”

“She is female, yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

He made a low growl in his throat, which she understood as embarrassment. “It’s not like that,” he said. “She’s not-I mean, she’s an Umbrielian. She looks like a Dunmer.”

“Fine. I’m just wondering, if you’re so friendly with her, why you haven’t mentioned her before.”

He blinked at her, and she realized she sounded stupid. Jealous. And what did she have to be jealous over?

But the fact that after all of these years as best friends, he hadn’t mentioned her…

She pushed it off.

“The trees,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. “Some of my people believe that the Hist came to Tamriel from Oblivion. Umbriel is from Oblivion, too, so it doesn’t seem too far-fetched to me that they could be cousins.”

“Yes, but it would be a huge coincidence.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I think the city tree somehow called Umbriel, or the Fringe Gyre trees may have called to the Hist-but I think there was some sort of collusion.”

“Are the trees here malevolent?”

“No, they are-vaguer than the Hist. Not as intelligent maybe, or maybe just in a different way. Simpler. But like the Hist, they can form their sap into different things, the way you do with your equipment. And they can shape life, change its form.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“That-makes sense. One of my tasks is to take raw ingredients from the sump and transform them into nutrients for the trees, but part of that process involves getting the roots themselves to release substances. I haven’t worked in the large fermentation vats, but I have noticed there are always roots involved.”

“I think it’s the trees who remember all the forms of life on Umbriel,” Glim said. “I think they produce the proforms-the little worms Umbrielians start as. Then the ingenium gives them a soul, and they grow according to some sort of plan the trees remember.”

“Well, that’s really interesting,” Annaig said. “If we could poison the trees, destroy them, that would in essence destroy Umbriel.”

Glim’s eyes went wide. “But you can’t-” he began, then stopped. “It would take a long time,” he said. “And it might not be possible.”

“If they are all connected at the root, like the Hist-sure, they all draw nourishment from the sump.”

An expression flickered across his features that she had never actually seen before, but it reminded her of anger.

“Look,” she said, “you’re saying these trees are responsible for the murder of almost everyone we know.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m saying they were used. Someone used them.”

“Glim, you can’t-I know how you feel about some of these people, but-”

“I don’t think you do,” he said. “You hate everyone you know here.”

“Glim, the one person I showed friendship to tried to kill me.”

“I know,” he said. “But the skraws are different. And Fhena.”

She sighed. “Look, let’s take one thing at a time. What about Phmer’s kitchen? Can I get in?”

“You can’t get in far,” he said. “Any more than I could get into your kitchen.”

“But here we are.”

“No, no. I can get to your pantry, and so could someone from another kitchen, in the proper disguise. But to go any farther would raise all sorts of alarms and protections. Some are in the walls, living things that see and smell the uninvited. Others, as I understand it, are sorcerous in nature. All I know is, they say at least twenty people from other kitchens have tried to invade past Phmer’s pantry; all were caught or killed. Almost as many have tried to get into Toel’s kitchen since you came to work there.”

“I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“That’s because they all went into the sump,” he said.

“Huh. But you think I can get into the pantry.”

“At night, if you’re very careful.”

“Suppose I was invisible, had no scent, made no sound?” she asked.

“You might make it another fifteen paces, as some of the others did.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Thanks, Glim, that’s very helpful.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said. “You remember the last time you tried to make someone invisible? For a week all my organs were on display for everyone to see.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” she assured him.

“I hope so. When are you going?”

“Tonight.”

Annaig was wakened by a gentle pressure on her arm. She opened her eyes and found Dulg standing there, his little froglike form perched on the stool by her bed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Chef Toel requires your presence,” he said.

She stirred, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“That’s not for you to ask,” Dulg replied.

She looked around. “Where is Slyr?” she asked.

“Summoned earlier,” Dulg supplied.

“Did she wear my gold-and-black gown?”

Dulg looked a bit puzzled. “You said I could offer it to her.”

“Right. I did, didn’t I? Well, just fetch me the black one.”

Dulg nodded and bounded off.

An hour later, properly dressed and coiffed, she met Toel on his balcony. He wasn’t alone this time. His underchefs Intovar and Yeum stood on either side of him. Intovar was a spindly fellow with dirty yellow hair and an air of the rodent about him. Yeum was a thick woman with an appealing, heart-shaped face and dusky skin. Neither had ever spoken to her except to give her orders.

Slyr was also there, of course.

On the other side of the balcony-as if relegated there by an invisible line-stood another party. The obvious leader was an impressively tall, narrow woman with close-cropped hair and large emerald eyes. She was accompanied by two men, one brick red with horns and the other a merish-looking person who looked perpetually surprised.

“Chef Toel,” Annaig said, bowing her head slightly.

He smiled oddly and gestured at the green-eyed woman. “I should like to present you to Chef Phmer, and also her assistants Jolha and Egren.”

“An honor, Chefs,” Annaig replied.

Phmer smiled, but it reminded Annaig of the toothy grin of the piranhas that lived in the dunkwaters.

“I’m told you are to thank-or blame-for many of the fads passing through some kitchens,” she said. Her voice was silk, coiled thick and made into a noose.

“I suppose I might be,” Annaig replied.

“And yet your inventiveness would appear to have its limits.”

“Everything has limits,” Annaig said cautiously.

“And yet fetching up against these limits has tempted you to do something rather costly,” Phmer went on.

Annaig looked at Toel, whose expression was blank.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Phmer’s expression changed, going from one of apparent good humor to barely checked rage.

“Do you deny you broke into my kitchen last night in an attempt to steal the secret of the ninth savor?”

“Chef,” Annaig said, “I do. I certainly do.”

“And yet we have testimony that you did. And other evidence.”

“Testimony?”

But she couldn’t miss the suppressed look of triumph on Slyr’s face.

“If you did this thing,” Toel said, “you know I must give you over to her. It is the law.”

“It’s permissible to invade another kitchen wholesale and slaughter everyone there, but not to sneak into one to steal?”

“I obtained permission for my raid on Qijne’s kitchen,” he replied. “Nor is that here nor there. You are not the head of a kitchen. Did you do this? Did you try to steal from Phmer?”

“I’ve already said I didn’t,” Annaig pointed out.

“Well, we shall see about that,” Phmer said. She gestured at a box on the floor, and her red-skinned underchef bent to it. He unlatched one side of the thing, and something crawled out.

She thought at first it was a spider, but its legs weren’t rigid; nor were they as supple as those of a squid, but something in between. And-she realized as it unfolded them-it had wings, rather like those of a mosquito, and in fact now it somewhat resembled one, albeit one that could fit into the palm of her hand.

The wings blurred into motion, and the little creature lifted into the air; three stalks or antennae began probing about as it approached her. She remained still, wondering if it had some sort of sting, and if she had made a mistake. She tried to slow her heart with simple willpower, but it thudded on irrespective.

The tentacles tickled across her face and down her dress, lingering on her left hand, but then the creature darted over to Slyr and began to make an annoying high-pitched sound. Phmer frowned, but Toel’s lips turned up.

Slyr just looked puzzled, then aghast.

Toel lifted his hand toward Phmer, then turned it gently toward Slyr. Two of his guards took Slyr by the shoulders, and the woman looked wildly at Annaig.

Phmer reached into one of Slyr’s pockets, and then the other. From the second she withdrew a small vial. She uncorked it, sniffed it, and then tasted a bit on her finger.

“This is it,” she said. “The scent of my kitchen is on her dress, the ninth savor in her pocket. Do you need more?”

“I do not,” Toel said. “The evidence is clear enough.”

“How did you do it?” Phmer asked Slyr. “There was sign that you had been in the kitchen, but my best safeguards are those around the taste itself, and you left no trace there. I must know how you did this.”

“I didn’t!” Slyr exploded. “It was Annaig! Somehow she made it look as if-why would I warn you she was going to steal from you if it was really me coming? Why would I-This is her doing!” She plucked wildly at her clothing, as if discovering it was made of fire. “This is her dress! She’s tricked us all somehow.”

“Let me understand this,” Toel said softly. “You warned Phmer against someone on my staff? Behind my back?”

Slyr shrank back, like a cornered animal, a little whimper escaping her.

“She remains mine,” Phmer said.

“Oh, you may have her,” Toel replied. “I have no doubt you will extract revenge enough for both of us.”

“First there will be questions,” she said. “Many, many questions.” She nodded at Annaig. “I would question her as well.”

“There is no evidence against her other than the testimony of a thief,” Toel replied. “You may not have her.”

Phmer lifted her chin haughtily, but she didn’t argue. Instead she signed for her creature to take Slyr.

“Annaig, please,” Slyr whimpered.

She felt her heart soften, remembering her first few weeks in the bowels of Umbriel, nights with Slyr, gazing at the stars.

“It’s not in my hands, Slyr,” she said quietly. “Your own actions brought you to this.”

And so they dragged Slyr off. She didn’t beg or plead again, at least not in Annaig’s earshot.

When they were gone, Toel indicated one of the chairs.

“Sit,” he said.

She did as he commanded.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

“Chef-” she began.

“You are safe,” he replied. “Unless you left some sort of evidence that might turn up later, you are safe. I can easily see how you manipulated Slyr into going to Phmer, and how you used the chemical stains of that kitchen to implicate her, how you might scrub them from your own person. But I ask you again, how did you do it-how did you pass the inner safeguards and steal the savor itself?”

Annaig felt her fear melting, then transforming, igniting into triumph.

“I didn’t, Chef,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I only entered the outer corridors of her kitchen, to taint the dress. The ninth taste I invented-or reinvented, I suppose-on my own.”

For perhaps the first time since she had met him, Toel’s mouth moved as if in speech but without producing any sound.

“How?” he asked.

“All I had to do was think about it a bit. Once I understood the principle, making the taste was simple enough. And just now, Phmer confirmed that I was right. Until then I couldn’t be sure.”

“What is it, then? Do you have more?”

“I can make more,” she assured him. “For obvious reasons, I don’t have any with me.”

“But what is it?”

“The ninth savor is the opposite of all other tastes. It is the utter absence of flavor.”

Toel’s pupils constricted, then widened again, reminding her of Glim.

“Like the space between words,” he murmured.

“I thought of music,” she said. “There are many pitches, chords, harmonies, and dissonances-but silence-that, too, is a part of music.”

His smiled broadened a little and he tapped the table with his forefinger.

“I had given up on you, you know,” he said. “I thought all of that talk about showing me what I didn’t know I wanted to see was desperate nonsense, and yet you’ve done it. And Slyr-she never saw it coming. But why did it take you so long?”

“I do things in my own time, for my own reasons,” she said.

His gaze intensified and he placed his hand on hers.

“You’ve pleased me more than you can imagine,” he said. “Come with me now, and let me please you.”

She squeezed his hand, leaned forward-and with a slight hesitation, brought her lips to his. They were amazingly smooth, like slippery glass, and an unexpected tingle fizzed down to her belly, leaving her feeling both excited and somewhat sick. He responded, lightly at first, but as he grew hungrier she pulled away.

“In my own time,” she said softly. “For my own reasons.”

For a breath or two she didn’t think he would relent, but then he laughed. “I will have to kill you one day,” he said. “But for now, I love you. Go now; invent delightful things for Lord Rhel. I will see you tomorrow.”

In the corridor, her knees wobbled.

“Xhuth!” she swore.

She hated Toel, hated him, now more than ever. And yet her body didn’t care about that at all. It was disgusting.

Later, in her rooms, she drew out her locket. Maybe tonight Attrebus would answer, finally.

But did she want him to? What would she tell him? How could she explain what she had done to Slyr? Or talk about what had happened with Toel?

She couldn’t. And so she closed the locket and sought sleep, turning so she could not see Slyr’s empty bed.