S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

A salute. “As you wish, Ambassador.”

Sergei saluted the man and moved painfully toward the bridge. He found the prisoners easily, seated on the ashsmeared cobbles near the bridge and ringed by sullen gardai. The o’offizier in charge saluted as Sergei approached, stepping aside so that Sergei could look at the captured rioters. Some of them glared back at him, others simply stared with heads down at the pavement. “I need to know where Nico Morel is,” he told them. “I know at least some of you know. I need one of you to tell me.”

There was no answer. The closest of them to him-an e’teni, his green robes of office torn and stained with ash and soot, blood smeared across his face-scowled and spat in Sergei’s direction. The man’s hands were bound-so he could not use a spell to escape or attack the gardai. “We won’t tell you, Silvernose,” he said. “None of us will. We won’t betray him.”

Sergei smiled gently toward the man. “Oh, one of you will. Willingly. And you’re going to help me. Take him,” he said to the e’offizier. “Bring him over here.”

Sergei stepped back, waving his cane to the driver of his carriage, who slapped the reins on the horse and came clattering over to where Sergei stood. “I need rope,” Sergei said, and one of the gardai ran to fetch a length. “Tie his feet also,” he said, pointing to the teni and knowing that all the prisoners were watching. When the gardai had finished binding the feet as they had his hands, Sergei had them lash a short length of rope from the man’s hands to the back of the carriage. The e’teni watched, his eyes widening.

Sergei tapped the cobbles of the Avi at his feet with the brass ferrule of his cane, and the teni glanced down. “These stones… These are the very soul of Nessantico. The Avi wraps the city in its embrace-and as you know as a teni, defines the city with its lamps. The people who made the Avi did so with care and with a love for their work. Look at these cobbles; they were carved from the granite of hills south of here and brought to the city by the wagonload, and placed carefully. It took sweat and labor and care, but they did it. They did it not only because they were paid, but because they love this city.” The teni was staring at him; both prisoners and gardai were listening to him. “But… These stones, ancient as they are, remain rough and hard. Eternal-like this city and the Holdings, I like to think. Why, these stones are so stern and unforgiving that I must have a wheelwright replace the rims of my carriage’s wheels twice a year, and they’re made of steel. Can you imagine what these stones would do to mere flesh if, let us say, someone were dragged over them like the wheels of this fine carriage? Why, it would tear and rip and flay the skin from that person, break his bones, and pull him apart, piece by piece. That would be an unpleasant and horrible death. Don’t you agree, e’teni?”

The man’s mouth had opened as he realized what Sergei was saying. Sergei could feel the man’s fear; he could taste it, and he savored the sweet spice of it. “Ambassador,” the man stuttered. He held out his bound hands in supplication. “You wouldn’t do this.”

Sergei laughed; a few of the gardai chuckled as well. “I would do whatever I need to do to serve the Holdings and Nessantico,” he told the man. “Right now, to serve her, I require Nico Morel’s location from you. So… Will you tell me?”

The man licked his lips again. “Ambassador…”

Sergei lifted his cane. The driver shifted in his seat, and the teni lifted his bound hands again in supplication. “No!” he nearly shouted. “Please! The Absolute… He… He is in a house on Lamb Street, on the south side two down from where Herringbone crosses. I. .. I swear it. Please, Ambassador…”

“You see,” Sergei told the teni. “I knew you would tell me.”

He gestured again with his cane, hard this time, and the driver slapped his reins at the horse. “Hey, up!” the driver called, and the teni shouted as the rope suddenly tightened and the carriage lurched away, gaining speed. The man screamed as he was pulled from his feet, as his body bounced along behind the carriage and the stones began to tear at him. Even in the darkness, they could all see the dark, wet trail that his body left on the cobbles. The teni’s voice was a long, wordless wail as the carriage made the turn and headed across the bridge: shrill and terrified, then eerily and horribly silent. The carriage continued on its way across the A’Sele.

“My driver will return shortly,” Sergei told the other prisoners, his voice calm and almost gentle. “Now, it’s possible that our e’teni was lying about the location. I’m certain that-to avoid his fate-you all will tell me whether that’s the case or not, won’t you?”

He smiled as they shouted affirmation back to him, their voices a loud, terrified jumble.

Faintly, the wind-horns of the temples were sounding First Call, though there was little sign of the sun in the eternal ash-dusk.

Sergei knew before they ever entered the house that he was too late. Again.

“I’m not going in,” he told cu’Ingres. “They’ve already left.”

The Commandant gave Sergei a long stare. “You killed a man for this. A teni.”

“I did,” Sergei told the man easily. “And I would do it again, without a regret. And I chose the teni deliberately, for the effect it would have on the others-if I would kill a teni, I would kill them just as easily.” He shrugged and tapped his cane on the street as the gardai, moving swiftly, encircled the house. Yes, this was the correct address: he could see the new footprints in the ash; the mob had gathered here, first. “They were here, but they’re not here now, Talos. I’m sure someone is watching to bring a report to Nico. I can feel it. But… Go on. Do what we must.”

Cu’Ingres sniffed. Almost angrily, he tore his gaze away from Sergei and gestured harshly toward his offiziers, who gave quick orders. Several gardai rushed the front door of the house and broke it down. Swords drawn, they entered. A few minutes later, one of them emerged again; he shook his head.

Sergei drew a long breath that tasted of the dead ash in the streets. “Tell Nico Morel that I will find him,” he said loudly, turning as he did so to face the other dwellings along the street. “I will find him,” he repeated, “and he will face justice for what he’s done. Tell him.”

There was no answer to his call. Sergei turned back to cu’Ingres. “Have your people tear the house apart. They may have left something behind that will tell us where they’ve gone. Have a report on both my desk and the Kraljica’s by Second Call,” he said. The Commandant saluted without a word, though his eyes were still full of quiet accusation.

Sergei started toward his waiting carriage.

They would find nothing in the house that Nico didn’t want them to find. He was certain that Nico was too careful for that. But he would keep his promise to the young man. He vowed that much.

Allesandra stood on the balcony of her rooms and stared out over the grounds. The ashfall had stopped two nights before, and the sunset tonight was stunning. Yellow-and-white clouds billowed near the horizon: wind-streaked, brushed in scarlet and orange-gold, and caught in a deep azure sky while the sun threw shafts of brilliant golden light through the gaps between them. The land underneath was caught in gold-green light and purple shadow. Fragments of saturated color seemed to lurk wherever she looked, as if a divine painter had smeared his palette across the sky.

Below her, workers were still sweeping the walkways of the stubborn gray and brushing the clinging ash from the bushes and plants of the formal garden her apartments overlooked. It had mercifully rained earlier in the day- already, the palais grounds were beginning to look as they once had, but Allesandra could smell the ash: astringent and irritating in her nostrils. The entire city, the entire land stank of it.