Queen of Candesce

13

There were plenty of people waiting for Venera at the docks, but Garth was not among them—oh, she had accountants aplenty, maids and masters of protocol, porters and reporters and doctors, couriers and dignitaries from the nations of Spyre that had decided to conspicuously ally with Buridan. There was lots to do. But as she signed documents and ordered people about, Venera felt the old familiar pain radiating up from her jaw. Today’s headache would be a killer.

She had to provide some explanation for why she’d returned early from the expedition, if only for the council representatives with their clipboards and frowns. “We were successful beyond expectations,” she said, pinioning Brydda with a warning glare. “A customer has come forward who will satisfy all of our needs for quite some time. There was simply no need to continue with an expensive journey when we’d already achieved our goal.”

This was far more information than most nations ever released about their customers, so the council would have to be content with it.

The return of the ruler of Buridan was a hectic affair, and it took until near dinnertime before Venera was able to escape to her apartment to contemplate her next move. There had been no messages from Sacrus, neither demands nor threats. They thought they had her in their pocket now, she supposed, so they could turn their attention to more important matters for a while. But those more important matters were her concern too.

She had a meal sent up and summoned the chief butler. “I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason,” she told him. “I will be working here until very late.” He bowed impassively, and she closed and locked the door.

In the course of renovations, some workmen had knocked a hole in one of her bedroom walls. She had chastised them roundly for it then discovered that there was an airspace behind it—an old chimney, long disused. “Work in some other room,” she told the men. “I’ll hire more reliable men to fix this.” But she hadn’t fixed it.

Ten minutes after locking the door, she was easing down a rope ladder that hung in the chimney. The huge portrait of Giles Thrace-Guiles that normally covered the hole had been set aside. At the bottom of the shaft, she pried back a pewter fireplace grate decorated with dolphins and naked women and dusted herself off in a former servant’s bedroom that she’d recast as a storage closet.

It was easy to nip across the hall and into the wine cellar and slide aside the rack on its oiled track. Then she was in the rebels’ bolthole and momentarily free of Buridan, Sacrus, and everything else—except, perhaps, the nagging of her new and still unfamiliar conscience.

The insane organ music from Buridan Tower’s broken pipeworks had ceased. Not that it was silent as Venera stepped out of the filigreed elevator; the whole place still hummed to the rush and flap of wind. But at least you could ignore it now.

“Iron lady’s here!” shouted one of the men waiting in the chamber. Venera frowned as she heard the term being relayed away down the halls. There were three guards in the elevator chamber and doubtless more lurking outside. She clasped her hands behind her back and strode for the archway, daring them to stop her. They did not.

The elevator room opened off the highest gallery of the tower’s vast atrium. It was also the smallest, as the space widened as it fell. The effect from here was dizzying: she seemed suspended high above a cavern walled by railings. Venera stood there looking down while Bryce’s followers silently surrounded her. Echoes of hammering and sawing drifted up from below.

After a while there was a chattering of footsteps, and then Bryce himself appeared. He was covered in plaster dust and his hair was disarrayed. “What?” he said. “Are they coming?”

“No,” said Venera with a half smile. “At least not yet. Which is not to say that I won’t need to give a tour at some point. But you’re safe for now.”

He crossed his arms, frowning. “Then why are you here?”

“Because this tower is mine,” she said simply. “I wanted to remind you of the fact.”

Waving away the makeshift honor guard, he strode over to lean on the railing beside her. “You’ve got a nerve,” he said. “I seem to remember the last time we spoke, you were tied to a chair.”

“Maybe next time it’ll be your turn.”

“You think you have us bottled up in here?”

“What would be the use in that?”

“Revenge. Besides, you’re a dust-blood—a noble. You can’t possibly be on our side.”

She examined her nails. “I haven’t got a side.”

“That is the dust-blood side,” said Bryce with a sneer. “There’s those that care for the people; that’s one side. The other side is anybody else.”

“I care for my people,” she said with a shrug, then, to needle him, “I care for my horses too.”

He turned away, balling his hands into fists. “Where’s our printing press?” he asked after a moment.

“On its way. But I have something more important to talk to you about. Only to you. A… job I need done.”

He glanced back at her; behind the disdain, she could see he was intrigued. “Let’s go somewhere better suited to talking,” he said.

“More chairs, less rope?”

He winced. “Something like that.”

“You can see Sacrus from here,” she said. “It’s a big sprawling estate, miles of it. If anybody is your enemy, I’d think it was them.”

“Among others.” The venue was the tower’s library, a high space full of gothic arches and decaying draperies that hung like the forelocks of defeated men from the dust-rimmed window casements. Venera had prowled through it when she and Garth were alone here, and—who knew?—some of those dusty spines settling into the shelves might be priceless. She hadn’t had time to find out, but Bryce’s people had tidied up and there were even a few tomes open on the side tables next to several cracked leather armchairs.

Evening light shone hazily through the diamond-shaped windowpanes. She was reminded of another room, hundreds of miles away in the nation of Gehellen, and a gun battle. She had shot a woman there before Chaison’s favorite staffer shattered the windows and they all jumped out.

Bryce settled himself into an ancient half-collapsed armchair that had long ago adhered to the floor like a barnacle. “Our goals are simple,” he said. “We want to return to the old ways of government, from the days before Virga turned its back on advanced technologies.”

“There was a reason why we did that,” she said. “The outsiders—”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I know the stories, about this ‘artificial nature’ from beyond the skin of the world that threatens us. They’re just a fairy tale to keep the people down.”

Venera shook her head. “I knew an agent from outside. She worked for me, betrayed me. I killed her.”

“Had her killed?”

“Killed her. With my sword.” She allowed her mask to slip for a second, aiming an expression of pure fury at Bryce. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?” she said in a low voice.

Bryce nodded his head. “Take it as read that I know you’re not an ordinary courtier,” he said. “I’m not going to believe any stories you tell without some proof, though. What I was trying to say was that our goal is to reintroduce computation machines into Virga and spread the doctrine of emergent democracy everywhere, so that people can overthrow all their institution-based governments, and emergent utopias can flourish again. We’re prepared to kill anybody who gets in our way.”

“I’m quite happy to help you with that,” she said, “because I know you’ll never be able to do it. If I thought you could do what you say…” She smiled. “But you might accomplish much, and on the way you can be of assistance to me.”

“And what do you want?” he asked. “More power?”

“That would help. But let’s get back to Sacrus. They—”

“They’re your enemies,” he said. “I’m not interested in helping you settle a vendetta.”

“They’re your enemies, too, and I have no vendetta to settle,” she said. “In any case I’m not interested in making a frontal assault on them. I just want to visit for an evening.”

Bryce stared at her for a second, then burst into laughter. “What are you proposing? That we hit Sacrus?”

“Yes.”

He stopped laughing. He shook his head. “Might as well just march everybody straight into prison,” he said. “Or a vivisectionist’s operating room. Sacrus is the last place in Spyre any sane person would go.”

Venera just looked at him for a while. Finally, she said, “Either you or one of your lieutenants works for them.”

Bryce looked startled, then he scowled at her. “You’ve said ridiculous things before, but that one takes the prize. Why could you possibly—”

“Jacoby Sarto said something that got me thinking,” she interrupted. “Sacrus’s product is control, right? They sell it, like fine wine. They practice it as well; did you know that many, maybe most of the minor nations of Spyre are under their thumb? They make a hobby of pulling the strings of people, institutions—whole countries. I’m not so big a fool as to believe that a band of agitators like yours has escaped their attention. One of you works for them—for all I know, your whole organization is a project of theirs.”

“What proof do you have?”

“My… lieutenant, Flance, whom you have yet to meet, has spent many nights walking the fields and plazas of Greater Spyre. He knows every passage, hedgerow, and hiding-place on that decrepit wheel. But he’s not the only one. There’s others who creep about at night, and he’s followed them on occasion. Many times, such parties either started or ended up at Sacrus.”

Bryce scoffed. “I’ve seen a nation that was controlled by them,” Venera continued. “I know how they operate. Look, they have to train their people somehow. To them, Greater Spyre is a… a paddock, like the one where I keep my horses. It’s their school. They send their people out to take over neighbors, foment unrest, create scandals, and conduct intrigues. I’d be very surprised if they didn’t do that up in the city as well. So tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not working for them. And if not, look me in the eye and tell me that you’re impervious to infiltration and manipulation.”

He shrugged, but she could tell he was angry. “I’m not a fool,” he said after a while. “Anything’s possible. But you’re still speculating.”

“Well, I was speculating… but then I decided to do some research.” She held up a sheaf of news clippings. “The news broadsheets of Lesser Spyre are highly partisan, but they don’t disagree on facts. On the run-up to my party I spent a couple of afternoons reading all the news from the past couple of years. This gave me a chance to check on the places and properties that your group has targeted since you first appeared. Quite an impressive list, by the way—but every single one of these incidents has hurt a rival of Sacrus. Not one has touched them.”

Bryce looked genuinely rattled for the first time in their brief acquaintance. Venera savored the moment. “I haven’t been deliberately neglecting them,” he said. “This must be a coincidence.”

“Or manipulation. Are you so sure that you’re the real leader of this rabble?”

Bryce began to look slightly green. “You don’t think it’s me.”

Venera shook her head. “I’m not totally sure that you aren’t the one working for them. But you’re not—” she almost said competent, but turned it into—”ruthless enough. You don’t have their style. But you don’t make decisions without consulting your lieutenants, do you? And I don’t know them. Chances are, you don’t really know them either.”

“You think I’m a puppet.” He looked stricken. “That all along… So what—”

“I propose that we flush out their agent, if he exists.”

He leaned forward and now there was no hesitation in his eyes. “How?”

She smiled. “Here, Bryce, is where your interests and mine begin to converge.”

“I’ll speak only to Moss,” said the silhouetted figure. It had appeared without warning on the edge of the rooftop of Liris, startling the night guard nearly out of his wits. As he fumbled for his long-neglected rifle, the shape moved toward him with a lithe, half-remembered step. “This is urgent, man!”

“Citizen Fanning! I—uh, yes, let me make the call.” He ran over to the speaking tube and hauled on the bell cord next to it. “She’s back—wants to talk to the botanist,” he said. Then he turned back to Venera. “How did you get up here?”

“Grappling hook, rope…” She shrugged. “Not hard. You should bear that in mind. Sacrus may still hold a grudge.”

Shouts and footsteps echoed up through the open shaft of the central courtyard. “Tell them to be quiet!” she hissed. “They’ll wake the whole building.”

The watchman nodded and spoke into the tube again. Venera walked over to look down at the tree-choked courtyard far below. She could see lanterns hurrying to and fro down there. Finally, the iron-bound rooftop door creaked open and figures gestured to her to follow.

Moss was waiting for her in a gallery on the third floor. He was wrapped in a vast purple nightgown, and his hair was disheveled. His desperate, unfocused eyes glinted in the lantern light. “W-what is the m-meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry for rousting you out of bed so late at night,” she said, eyeing the absurd gown. We must look quite the couple, she mused, considering her own efficient black and the sword and pistols at her belt. “I have something urgent to discuss with you.”

He narrowed his eyes, then glanced at the watchman and soldiers who had escorted her down here. “L-l-leave us. I, I’ll be all right.” With a slight bow he turned and led her to his chamber.

“You could have taken over Margit’s apartments, you know,” said Venera as she glanced around the untidy, tiny chamber with its single bed, writing desk, and wardrobe. “It’s your right. You are the botanist, after all.”

Moss indicated for her to take the single wooden chair; he managed one of his mangled smiles as he plunked himself down on the bed. “Wh-who says I w-w-won’t?” he said. “H-have to get the sm-smell out first.”

Venera laughed, then winced at the shards of pain that shot through her jaw and skull. “Good for you,” she said past gritted teeth. “I trust you’ve been well since I left?” He shrugged. “And Liris? Made any new sales?”

“W-what do you want?”

Tired and in pain as she was, Venera would have been more than happy to come to the point. But, “First of all, I have to ask you something,” she said. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of c-course. You are V-Venera F-Fanning, from—”

“Oh, but I’m not—at least, not anymore.” She grimaced at his annoyed expression. “I have a new name, Moss. Have you heard of Amandera Thrace-Guiles?”

His reaction was comically perfect. He stared, his eyes wide and his mouth open, for a good five seconds. Then he brayed his difficult laugh. “Odess was r-right! And h-here I thought he was m-mistaking every new face for s-somebody he knew.” He laughed again.

Venera examined her nails coolly. “I’m glad I amuse you,” she said. “But my own adventures hardly seem unique these days.”

The grin left his face. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Not that you have any obligation to tell me anything,” she said, “but… surely you’ve seen that there are odd things afoot in Greater Spyre. Gangs of soldiers wandering in the dark… backroom alliances being made and broken. Something’s afoot, don’t you agree?”

He sat up straight. “Th-the fair is full of rumors. Some of the l-lesser nations have been losing people.”

“Losing them? What do you mean?”

“When the f-first of our people v-vanished, we assumed M-Margit’s supporters were leaving. I th-thought it was o-only us. But others have also lost people.”

“How many of yours have left?” she asked seriously.

He held up one hand, fingers splayed. Five, then. For a miniature nation like Liris, that was too many.

“Do you have any idea where they went?” she asked.

Moss stood up, walked to the door, and listened at it for a moment. Then he turned and leaned on it. “Sacrus,” he said flatly.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” she said. “I came here to talk to you about them. They… they have one of my people. Moss, you know what they’re capable of. I have to get him back.”

Her words had a powerful effect on Moss. He drew himself up to his full height, and for a moment his face lost its devastated expression; in that moment she glimpsed the determined, intelligent man who hid deep inside his ravaged psyche. Then his features collapsed back to their normal, woebegone state. He raised shaking hands and pressed his palms against his ears.

He said something, almost unintelligibly; after a moment Venera realized he’d said, “Are they toying with th-these recruits?”

“No,” she countered hastily. “My man is a prisoner. The recruits or whatever they are… Moss, Sacrus has a reason to want an army of its own, possibly for the first time. They’ve finally discovered an ambition worth leaving their own doorstep.” She said this with contempt, but in her imagination she saw the vast glowing bubble of nations that made up the principalities of Candesce. “They don’t have the population to support what I think they’re planning. But it wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve been recruiting from the more secretive nations. Maybe they’ve always done it but never needed them all before. Now they’re activating them.”

Puzzlement spread slowly across Moss’ face. “An a-army? What for?”

Venera took a deep breath, then said, “They believe they have the means to conquer the principalities of Candesce.”

He stared at her. “A-and do they?”

“Yes,” she admitted, looking at her hands. “I brought it to them.”

He said nothing; Venera’s mind was already racing ahead. “Their force must be small by my standards,” she said. “Maybe two thousand people. They’d be overwhelmed in any fair fight, but they don’t intend to fight fair. If we could warn the principalities, they could blockade Spyre. But we’d need to get a ship out.”

“Uh-unlikely,” said Moss, with a sour expression. “One thing I d-do know about Sacrus is that they have been buying ships.”

“What else can we do?” she asked tiredly. “Attack them ourselves?”

“Y-you didn’t come to ask me to h-help you do that?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Buridan and Liris against Sacrus? That would be suicidal.”

He nodded, but suddenly had a faraway look in his eye. “No,” Venera continued. “I came to ask you to help me break into Sacrus’s prison and extract my man. I have a plan that I think will work. Margit told me where they keep their ‘acquisitions.’ I believe they view people as objects, too, so he’s likely to be in that place.”

“Th-they guard their lands on the ground and a-above it,” said Moss skeptically. But Venera smiled at that.

“I don’t intend to come in by either route,” she said. “But I need a squad of soldiers, at least a score of them. I have some of the forces I need, or I will,” she half smiled. “But I need others I can trust. Will your people do it?”

Now it was his turn to smile. “S-strike a blow against Sacrus? Of c-course! But once the other nations who’ve l-lost people find out it was S-Sacrus stole them, y-you’ll have more allies. A d-dozen at least.”

Venera hadn’t considered such a possibility. Allies? “I suppose we could count on one or two of the countries whose debts we forgave,” she said slowly. “A couple of others might join us just out of devilment.” She was thinking of Pamela Anseratte as she said this. Then she shook her head. “No—it’s still not enough.”

Moss gave his damaged laugh. “Y-you’ve f-forgotten the most important faction, Venera,” he said. “And they have no l-love for Sacrus.”

Venera rubbed her eyes. She was too tired and her head hurt too much to guess his meaning. “Who?” she asked irritably.

Moss opened the door and bowed slightly as he held it for her. “You c-came in s-secret. You should return before Candesce l-lights. We will assemble a force f-for you.

“And I will't-talk… to the preservationists.”