Elizabeth Hand - Winterlong

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.