The Sleeping Life

Chapter Twelve

"Very different from the Little Mutching house," Sukata said, studying the building that would be their home for the next week.

After five long days on the road, Kendall was more interested in stretching than looking, but glanced up and nodded. "You’d not guess it belonged to the same family." The Claires' house in Little Mutching was bigger than Kendall’s own family’s had been, but of much the same type. This place was something else.

"We won’t be short on room," Rennyn commented, critically eyeing four levels of windows, every one of them lit.

There was only a low bit of fence separating the straight-up rise of the house from the paved walkway, and the houses on either side were all the same type, with little in the way of gaps between them, so at first glance it all seemed to Kendall like a single endless building stretching down the street. There were other entry doors to show that wasn’t true, but it was still a proper huge mansion, very near to the centre of Kole’s capital, Koletor. The kind of place a Duchess might live in.

The shrivelled-up turtle of a man of business they’d collected continued his endless Kolan gabble, leading the way up the nearest short set of stairs. He’d been acting like Rennyn was some long-lost niece, but with just a touch of deference, and a lot of twittery excitement only dimmed when he noticed how very hard it was to see some of Rennyn’s companions in the evening gloom.

"Mr Witteseer engaged servants after Her Grace’s letter arrived," Sukata said, translating. "The house has been fully turned out, although some of the linens had decayed and needed to be replaced." She paused, struggling to understand, then added: "He is glad to see it open again after so many years."

"I’ll be glad if he’d just get us inside," Kendall said, as the thin rain threatened to return. "Think these servants will have anything on hand to eat?"

"The agent said he engaged a household," the Pest said, coming up to them. "That will have included a cook." He was looking entertained. "Estimates of the remaining Surclere fortune have been over-modest. Do you suppose the library here is as extensive?"

"Probably," Kendall said shortly, though the Pest never could catch a hint.

Nor could he hide the avid note that crept into his voice whenever the Surclere libraries came up. Since one of the reasons Rennyn was here was to check this house for things she didn’t want people to see, there was a good chance there would be some juicy magical secrets for him to poke his nose into. More fool Rennyn for giving him the chance.

The front door of the house opened almost as soon as the turtle put his hand on the shiny knocker, but Kendall hadn’t a chance to do more than see how warm and welcoming the inside looked before Sukata abruptly moved to stand by Rennyn’s carriage door. Captain Faille turned from where he was waiting at the turtle’s elbow, and then came down the stair as a squad of uniformed people on horses clattered to a halt as close as the carriages would let them. A round dozen extra-fancy soldiers looked at them through masks of leather panels and loosely-swinging chain veils of black and silver. Their clothes were coloured the same, and even the horses were done up to show they were special and important.

More gabble, as one of the riders dismounted and came to talk to Captain Faille. It was unfair that everyone except Kendall could understand. Still, she could read tone and gesture well enough. Stern statement. Polite question. Uncompromising command. Glance at Rennyn. Request. Grudging agreement. The upshot of all that was that their luggage was quickly unloaded before they all had to pile back into the carriages, leaving the turtle behind to explain to the wide-eyed servants.

"Are we being arrested?" Kendall asked, as soon as the carriage door was safely shut.

"Summoned to audience," Rennyn said. "Having waited for us to reach Koletor after making ourselves so interesting, it seems the Emperor’s of no mind to delay any longer."

"He doesn’t sleep," the Pest put in, sounding more excited than anything else. "He conducts Court business at any time of the day or night."

"Must be really annoying to work for," Kendall said.

"There is a Day Court and a Night Court," Captain Faille said, his creepy, whispery voice unexpected just because he usually didn’t pipe up in the middle of conversations. "Two Chancellors, two Masters of the Guard, two Lords of Ceremony. The Night Court is smaller, but a great deal happens there."

Only one Emperor, though: getting on toward three hundred years old and probably meaning them no good. Kendall glanced at Rennyn, who was gazing out the lowered window. Was this summons just because of them helping out at the border? Or because the Emperor had heard of Rennyn’s power and current vulnerability? What would they do if he wouldn’t let them get on with chasing Rennyn’s nasty uncle about, but instead wanted to use her knowledge for himself?

Since it didn’t look likely that Rennyn was going to try to avoid the meeting, Kendall resigned herself to an uncomfortable wait. It had been too many hours since their break for lunch, and even though Captain Faille said the palace wasn’t very far from Rennyn’s mansion, Kendall really wanted a privy, and a nice big meal. And she was willing to bet that, though she had slept much of the afternoon, Rennyn could do with a long lie down. All these days of coach travel had done her no good, especially since they’d started out before she’d properly recovered from casting. Even the restrained jouncing of a spelled coach on an Imperial Road kept giving her headaches.

Grumbling silently about the Emperor’s lack of consideration, Kendall felt the presence of a strong circle as they crossed it, and glanced past Rennyn to see they were in a tunnel or long gate. And then more rain-shimmering streets reflecting light from grand buildings. Kendall lowered the shutter on her side, and peered out curiously, trying to decide if this was the Emperor’s palace or just a fancier district of Koletor. And had her answer when the coaches slowed, and rumbled to a stop.

A woman in a mask that covered only the left side of her face appeared outside Kendall’s door, and waited for the man with her to open it.

"Your Grace," the woman said, looking past Kendall straight at Rennyn. "My name is Kishida Dzay. I will conduct you to the Waiting Rooms."

Caught between pleasure at someone speaking proper words and outrage that they’d been hurried up only to sit about and wait, it took Kendall half the first corridor to realise that the woman not only spoke Tyrian, but could recognise Rennyn at a glance. The implications of that weren’t exactly comfortable, and Kendall turned them over until it became impossible not to just gaze about her.

Kolan palaces were just like Tyrian Court costumes: not an inch left plain. The floors were red and honey-gold wood, locking together in tricky chains. The walls were a dusty moss green below waist height, with red panels bordered with black above. Not simple swatches of colour, but shot through with thin lines of gold in patterns which seemed to be floral from what Kendall could make out without stopping. The black was a very dark wood, with little designs at the corners. The doors they were passing were made of the same stuff, and cut full of diamond and flower-shaped holes so that you could see the rooms beyond: some empty, some with little groups of people. And there were tables with bowls of flowers, and great big vases taller than she was, and furniture that was all curving lines and cushions. It wasn’t cluttered, but because just about everything was scribbled on or painted, it meant that everywhere you looked your eye was caught and overwhelmed.

"This room has been reserved for you, Your Grace," said the Kolan woman, pushing open one of the hole-filled doors. "You will be given priority in the audience schedule. Would you care for refreshments while you wait?"

"Very much so," Rennyn said, sounding more resigned than annoyed at being hauled off to the palace without notice.

Kendall forgot her own annoyance when Kishida Dzay pointed out several doors down where the corridor widened out, and she took herself quickly off to use a privy that was bigger, cleaner and even smelled nicer than many houses she’d visited. Along with a screen hiding a throne of a privy chair, there was a big mirror with a table and stool and a stone basin and towels. A low firm couch was set against the opposite wall, just in case you felt tired on the way to taking care of your business, and beside that an ornamental pillar with a big vase full of fresh flowers. Most unprivy-like.

Not one to pass up Kolan wetworks, which she’d found would deliver endless amounts of hot and cold water, Kendall gave herself a quick wash, straightened her travel-rumpled coat, and then sneered at herself for preening in front of the mirror. If what they looked like mattered to this Emperor, then he shouldn’t have had them fetched the second they arrived.

Heading back, Kendall found that a new door in the long corridor had opened. She was sure that doorway hadn’t been there when she’d gone past before, and cautiously poked her nose around the corner. But it was only a passage leading to the kitchens. A trolley laden with food was waiting, and Kendall was tempted to go nab something, but then a tall boy stepped into view and snaffled one of the plates himself. Pushing his mask up so it sat on top of his dark hair, he lifted something gooey and bit into it, eyes squeezing shut like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

A man came out from the kitchen to the left, holding two more plates. He drew himself up as if to say something sharp, but then paused and hastily shut his mouth. Putting the plates on the trolley, he turned and fetched another to add, keeping his head tucked down and his shoulders bent like a wary dog with its tail between its legs. The younger one just watched, and stuffed his face, then turned his head, and Kendall had to duck back or be spotted.

Not sure she’d escaped being caught staring, Kendall took herself back to their waiting room and peered innocently at the patterns and furnishings until Captain Faille brought Rennyn back from their own trip. Knowing how Rennyn hated being babied about privy visits, Kendall tried to decide if her teacher was closer to collapse than she’d thought, or if Captain Faille was worried about her being attacked. She did look tired, but greeted the arrival of their refreshments with considerable interest, and stuffed herself with almost as much obvious enjoyment as the boy in the passage. It was definitely a fine spread, with many new and sometimes-tempting Kolan dishes.

When it seemed that their audience wasn’t going to happen immediately after food, Kendall sat back and said: "That lady’s was the first mask I’ve seen that just did one side of the face. Do the different sorts have different meanings?"

"Very much so," Lieutenant Meniar replied. "One of the histories we brought along lists them out. Only the Emperor wears a full mask—a white one. Everyone in the service of the Emperor—all officials directly appointed to carry out his orders—wears a charcoal-grey mask marked with the sigil that represents Kole. That’s not everyone who works in this palace or anything near as many—only what are known as 'delegates'—so anyone you see wearing that colour and symbol is carrying out the Emperor’s will. They wear different masks when they’re not representing the Emperor. And all masks break down into two groups. Those who have one side of their face covered are not of noble blood. Nobles cover both eyes, and differing amounts of their lower face depending on how important they are."

"And soldiers use those veil-masks," Kendall noted, trying to fit all the variations they’d seen into this system.

Meniar nodded. "Families have particular colours and wear their crests. There’s some wonderful stories of deceptions played using masks, and Kolan mask farces don’t lose much in the translation."

Before Kendall could ask what a mask farce was, their palace guide pushed open the door and said: "Please come this way to the Primary Waiting Room. His Excellence will have time for you shortly."

Just as if they’d been the ones wanting the meeting. Maybe the Kolan Emperor’s wits were going, and they were being hauled before a senile Emperor. Better and better.

Their escort took them off through a pair of big doors with guards outside to show they were important, and enough magic inside to make Kendall want to sneeze. Lots of spells, too many to separate out.

Otherwise the throne room was boring: a white box without windows or any decoration. Nothing but a throne on a raised dais. And an Emperor.

After the riot of pattern outside, the blankness of the room was almost dizzying. Even the throne and the figure upon it lacked any colour. To non-mages that would give an impression of emptiness that must surely be deliberate, though Rennyn did not quite see what it was meant to symbolise. To the senses of a mage, however…

Old enchantment: thick, rich and deeply flavoured, filled every gleaming corner. A week ago the layers of it would have fascinated, but Rennyn was still not in any condition to enjoy magical puzzles, and only felt stifled. Her students reacted like dogs come to point, Kendall predictably rubbing her nose and squinting with irritation.

"Rennyn, Duchess of Surclere," announced their escort, then turned on her heel and left, the heavy doors closing behind her.

~Come forward.~

Absently analysing the enchantment structures that had produced the voice, Rennyn let her fingers brush Illidian’s, then pushed aside growing weariness to walk the short length of the room so that she could see the figure on the throne properly. Her companions followed a step behind, silent and wary.

Yscaren Corusar. The Undying. Emperor of Kole for well over two hundred and fifty years. The precise details of what he’d done to himself had never been made public, but enough mages had visited this room over the centuries that Rennyn had a rough idea of the spell structure and methodology even before the shape of the enchantment came clear around her. Castings that allowed him to see, to hear, and to speak, while his body was preserved within a container of inscribed, enamelled armour, sustaining his life force but not allowing him to move, to eat, to breathe. Corusar had found a way to live indefinitely by ceasing to live at all.

He looked like a segmented statue, the limbs smooth, the joints subtle. The white faceplate merely hinted at human features, and there were the faintest ridges in the armour’s smooth surface to suggest the possibility of clothing, of hair, of what the man within should look like. It would be interesting to know if the flesh had decayed beneath the casing.

All the white, without any hint of the Emperor’s family crest or colours, reminded Rennyn strongly of Solace as she’d been after so many years in the Eferum—bleached and without human warmth. Corusar’s reputation was of an impartial pragmatist, avoiding cruelty but not quick to give second chances. More Emperor than man. Even if his humanity had survived the preservation spell, it was unlikely they would succeed in achieving friendly terms with Kole’s Emperor, or have him place anything above his Empire’s interests.

Curtseying brought spots to dance before her eyes, but she kept any hint of asperity from her voice when she said: "You wished to see me, Your Excellence?"

~And your companions.~ The voice was directionless, without inflection, but gave her a definite impression of a mind, if not a personality. ~There have been many new reports of the people known as Kellian, and your activities on the border have caused considerable stir. The group you set down in Port Enara have not made such a loud impression, but their progress has not been without incident. They are expected to reach Koletor within four days.~

"Queen Astranelle mentioned the efficiency of Kole’s intelligence network," Rennyn said, faintly amused. "Allow me to introduce, then, my husband, Illidian Faille, my students Kendall Stockton, Sukata Illuma and Fallon DeVries, and our escorts Lieutenants Aven Meniar and Keste Faral of the Tyrian Sentene."

Stepping back, Rennyn made herself one of the group—and conveniently within range of Illidian’s arm. Her general stamina had dropped dramatically following that light casting, and she could only hope she made it through the audience without collapsing.

~There have been no confirmed reports of the one you hunt,~ the uninflected voice continued. ~A spate of unexplained deaths in Dunnesan five weeks previous, but no verification, and no further reports of killing of that type.~

Extremely efficient intelligencers. "Thank you. If we cannot gain his direction using our divinations, then that information may come in very useful."

~No pattern has been isolated that could be linked to the creature’s ability to control the Eferum spawn. However, the number of current occurrences significantly outweighs the aftermath of the previous Grand Summoning.~

"The final iteration of the casting was considerably more powerful than the first," Rennyn said, finding the abrupt series of statements a little disjointed, perhaps because the figure on the throne was a frozen object, not reacting to her responses. At least their audience was likely to be quick, given how much the Emperor already knew.

~In addition, in the months since your defeat of Solace, twenty-two of Kole’s strongest mages have vanished without trace. I cannot say whether he is responsible for this, or any of the instances of Eferum-Get outbreak, but Kole judges this Helecho Montjuste-Surclere a major threat. A resource has been assigned to coordinate action with you.~

The doors behind them opened, apparently indicating that their audience was over. Surprised by the number of missing mages—far more than generally discussed—Rennyn hesitated, then simply dropped into an abbreviated curtsey, and slid her arm through Illidian’s as he rose from his bow. Ushering her collection of students before her, she found their escort, Kishida Dzay, waiting outside the throne room doors beside a slim man wearing a charcoal grey mask that left only his chin exposed.

"Our resource, I presume?"

"Your Grace, allow me to introduce Dezart Rhael Samarin," Kishida said, then bowed and smoothly effaced herself. Samarin, by contrast, inclined his head just a little.

"So what does a resource do?" Rennyn asked Samarin, puzzled by the multiple traces of casting she could sense about the man. The mask had a certification enchantment, but there was layer upon layer of something else…something distinctly out of the ordinary.

"Channel to you any supplies or manpower you might need," Samarin replied, his voice younger than she’d expected, but immensely self-assured. "Whisk you past checkpoints unchallenged, authorise access to restricted areas—or keep you out of them."

The mask made it nearly impossible to guess his expression, but she thought he smiled when he added: "Primarily I will save the Intelligence Service a great deal of following you about and watching what you do. And serve to frighten off others wanting more than to watch."

"Perhaps you can tell us about the recent disappearance of mages while we return to the carriages," Illidian said, which told Rennyn she was leaning too heavily on his arm.

"Are you a mage, Dezart Samarin?" There was a recent casting about him, in addition to the enchantments on the mask. Healing magic?

"In theory," he said, ushering them toward the entry hall. "I haven’t built strength with practice, or summoned a focus. I’m not chasing your techniques, if that matters to you, though we are seeing some impact of them: injuries from attempts to use Thought Magic. One death reported so far."

Rennyn bit her lip, but the guilt stabbed less than she’d expected. Ultimately, she couldn’t control the actions of others.

"I really am going to have to release some kind of guide," she said. "Although there will still be accidents, and people totally unsuited to Thought Magic making the attempt, it will at least give them some idea of the safest way to go about it."

"That will lessen the number of deaths." Samarin’s voice held just a hint of forbearance, as if she had apologised for an error. "As to the disappearances: the only firm similarity among the lost is their strength as mages. They were not taken in obvious order, and Mezuna and Keffar—considered the strongest in Kole—have not been taken, but all who have vanished are in the very upper tier in terms of unenhanced power.

"They’ve vanished at different times of day, but mostly at night. Two separate witnesses have claimed to have seen a mage literally vanish. Each assumed at the time it was a guise-shield, and only mentioned the incident when the mage was reported missing. That has led to a flood of reports of vanishing mages, who it eventuated were using guide-shields."

"Broken locks? Signs of struggle?" Illidian asked.

"None. Everything suggests voluntary departure. Multiple reports of a trace of strong magic a short distance from where the mage had been staying, but no clear sense of its intent. No reports of strangers—beyond the usual that follow any crime or event. Most mages have been taking precautions. Eslay Feralan, gone only five days, had hired guards and warded her rooms. The wards weren’t tripped, and the guards saw nothing, but she left some time during the night."

"Do you know what wards she used?"

"Six Points Exclusion and the Non-named Alert."

Strong, fundamental castings. "A magic detect may have been more useful. Have any of the missing been young mages, strong but not yet having summoned a focus? Or were taken while not wearing their focus?"

"No very young mages. Details concerning their focuses I will find out." They’d reached the entrance to find their coaches waiting, the hired drivers goggling interestedly. A girl in livery was holding an over-tall horse, saddled and laden with bags. It was the kind of animal that jigged and danced about, but Samarin didn’t seem to find this a bad thing, nodding approvingly and taking the reins. "Compiled dossiers are to be delivered in the morning. I will follow your coach."

Another servant set a long cloak around his shoulders and he mounted, apparently intending to ride despite the light rain. Rennyn obediently climbed into her coach, hoping that there would be no more interruptions to keep her from a bed that didn’t bounce and rock. Her head was starting to throb, and she very much wanted quiet, so was glad when Meniar and Faral deftly channelled all her students into the second carriage.

"Samarin seems liable to organise us with ruthless efficiency if not checked," she said, curling against Illidian. "But is probably more useful than inconvenient. Hopefully."

"Did you believe his claim not to be a mage?"

"I don’t see what he’d gain by lying. It’s obvious he has a grounding in theory, as you do. Unusual for anyone with mage talent to study the art, but not to practice it though. There’s a distinctly odd aura around him too, very subtle, and that mask is thick with enchantment. I’ll have a better idea of what it’s doing when I have a chance to study him away from so much background power. As he will study us. Would you be interested in working for the Kolan Emperor?"

"I would consider it." Illidian sounded almost surprised, and let out his breath slowly. "He has been a balanced ruler—and compassionate when compared to many of those who came before him. His long reign has given the Empire a stability it has never previously enjoyed, and what I know of his judgments I have agreed with. But Kole is not our home."

It was rare for him to allow himself to sound so tired. Rennyn curled her fingers through his, studying the blunted close-clipped tips, then held his hand to her cheek. Home to her was Illidian. Seb was nearly as important, but Illidian had become the single absolute. And she could do no more than support him as he struggled to heal, to find some measure of the equilibrium she and the Black Queen had destroyed.

Tucking herself against his shoulder, Rennyn wished she had the power to spare him nightmares.