S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

Ce’Guischard stared as Sergei dried his hands on a towel, and then, ostentatiously, gave ce’Guischard the sign of Cenzi. “Thank you for coming,” Sergei said as he took the chair behind ci’Doulor’s desk.

O’Offizier ce’Falla remained standing to ce’Guischard’s left and just behind him; the man kept glancing over his shoulder nervously. Sergei folded his hands on the desk, gazing at ce’Guischard.

He had seen Gilles ce’Guischard dozens of times over the years, always in the background, one of the ubiquitous staff running errands for the a’Kralj or escorting the ca’-and-cu’ through the labyrinthian maze that comprised the protocols of the palais. Ce’Guischard was thin, with a severely-trimmed mustache and beard that mimicked that of the new Kraljiki, but his was flecked with gray. The man’s skin was sallow and studded with the scars and craters of the Children’s Pox. His eyes were the color of a storm-blown sea, and would not remain still. His hands twitched in his lap, plucking at his cloak and pants legs as if searching for dropped crumbs.

“You seem nervous, Vajiki,” Sergei commented.

“Ah,” the man said. Twitch. Shake. “It’s just that I’ve been here for a turn of the glass, waiting, and this place. .” Shudder. “Forgive me, Commandant, but the Bastida is hardly a place to make one feel comfortable.”

“I suppose not.” Sergei took in a long breath. He scratched under the metal loop of his left nostril, where the adhesive that held his nose to his face itched his skin. “You must be wondering why I requested that you meet me here.”

A nod. The man licked dry lips. Shifted his weight in the chair. Sergei reached into his belt pouch and produced the shell necklace. He laid it carefully on the desk, smoothing out the silver links. Ce’Guischard’s eyes seemed snared by the motion. “Do you recognize this, Vajiki?” Sergei asked.

He hesitated just a breath too long. “No, Commandant,” he said.

Sergei nodded as if he’d expected the answer. “It’s something a Numetodo would wear. It was found around the neck of the painter

ci’Recroix, the painter that I understand you personally requested Vajiki cu’Varisi of Prajnoli hire for the Kraljica’s portrait.”

Another lick of lips. “Commandant, the A’Kralj told me that it was my duty to hire a painter for the Kraljica’s Jubilee portrait, and when I made inquiries within the community, ci’Recroix’s name was always prominent among the recommendations. I had no idea the man was a dangerous Numetodo, Commandant. I have lived with the guilt ever since. .” He stopped. Continued. “Chevaritt cu’Varisi actually met with the man since Ci’Recroix was living in Prajnoli at the time. The chevaritt assured us that he had investigated the painter’s reliability and found nothing suspicious. I trusted his word-he is cu’, after all, and has served the Kraljica for decades.”

“Ci’Recroix wasn’t a Numetodo,” Sergei told him. “At least I don’t believe so. I believe the necklace was placed on him to blame them.

Gilles-” The use of the man’s name nearly made him jump in his chair. “-do you know the retainer for the Chateau Pre a’Fleuve? Remy ce’Nimoni?”

His gaze remained on the necklace. “No. .” he said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Strange. He was just telling me how the Kraljiki-as the A’Kralj- often had you run errands for his good friend Chevaritt Bella ca’Nephri, the owner of the chateau. He also mentioned how well he knows you, how you came to the chateau the day after Gschnas and told him that he should go the banks of the A’Sele the following day, how he would find ci’Recroix there.” Sergei paused. “And that you told ce’Nimoni that he was to kill the man and put this necklace on the body.”

“He lies!” ce’Guischard spat indignantly. “I was at the Grand Palais, Commandant, attending to my duties, and couldn’t have gone to the chateau-”

“No,” Sergei interrupted. “I had Renard check the records of the palais staff, though he remembered quite well on his own. You were not there the day after Gschnas, Gilles. Not at all. You’d asked for leave to tend to your matarh. I’ve spoken to her also: your matarh somehow doesn’t recall your visiting her at all, nor do any of her house servants.”

Ce’Guischard squirmed. Smiled. “Ah, that. I’d. . I’d forgotten, Commandant. It’s. . well, it’s rather embarrassing, actually.” He gave Sergei a quick, tentative smile. “I had asked to be released from my duties that day and used Matarh as an excuse. In truth, there was a woman I’ve been seeing, a married woman of cu’ rank. You can surely appreciate how, umm, delicate that might be, Commandant. Her husband had been sent out of town on business for a few days, and. . well. .” Another smile, creasing the mustache and beard. His hands lifted and fell back. “But this retainer ce’Nimoni. . I’m sure I’ve seen him in my visits to the chateau, Commandant, but I know nothing

about. . that.” He waved his hand at the shell necklace. “You have my word that what I say is the truth.”

“No doubt the Vajica would also confirm your story for me. Privately.”

“I’m certain she could be convinced to do so, Commandant, if that’s truly necessary.”

“It will be.”

Sergei could see the man thinking desperately. “Then allow me to contact her first, so I can prepare her and assure her that there will be no scandal.”

Sergei plucked the necklace from the desk and placed it back in his belt pouch. He rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time and cooperation, Vajiki. I’ll expect to hear from you with the Vajica’s name, and I’ll make arrangements to meet with her and confirm your story. Discreetly, of course.”

Ce’Guischard gave a hurried sign of Cenzi to Sergei, then lifted his clasped hands quickly to his forehead for ce’Falla. He rushed from the office and away. Sergei smiled at ce’Falla, who stared at the door through which ce’Guischard had vanished. “Say it,” Sergei said. “You can speak freely.”

“The man’s lying, Commandant,” ce’Falla said. “He knows about ci’Recroix and the Kraljica’s assassination. But you let him go.”

“He was lying, and I did let him go,” Sergei admitted. “And you want to know why?

A nod.

“Because sometimes there is too much pain in truth,” Sergei answered. Ce’Falla frowned, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve done well, O’Offizier,” Sergei told him. “Go get some food and rest; you’ve earned it. You’re dismissed for the evening. Oh, and if you would dispose of this on the way out.” He gestured to the basin of bloodied water. “Lamb’s blood,” Sergei told the man, seeing his stare. “From the kitchens. I’m not entirely the butcher I’m reputed to be.”

Ce’Falla smiled slightly, saluted, then took the basin and left. Sergei went to the door of the office. He looked out onto the courtyard of the Bastida, where the dragon’s head glared out at Nessantico,

and watched ce’Falla salute the guards at the gate. Iron groaned and echoed in the evening as ce’Falla went out onto the brilliantly-lit Avi a’Parete and strode away in the crowds under the teni-created glow.

Somewhere out there, Gilles ce’Guischard was also hurrying homeundoubtedly with fear nipping at his heels. If Sergei was correct in his assumption, then ce’Guischard would waste no time talking to

the person who had given him his orders. I actually feel sorry for poor Gilles. He was only following orders, and now he’s dangerous. Probably too dangerous. .

If Sergei was correct in his assumptions, then he would soon find that this investigation was abruptly over, and that to continue to pry into the matter of ci’Recroix would be too dangerous for Sergei as well.