Guy Kay - Sailing to Sarantium

"Then how.?"

"I ran away."

Shirin of the Greens smiled briefly. She might be young, but it was not an innocent smile. The houseservant appeared with a tray. Wine, water, a bowl of late-season fruit. Zoticus's daughter dismissed her and mixed the wine herself, bringing his cup across. He caught her scent again, the Empress's.

Shirin sat down once more, looking across the room at him, appraisingly. "Who are you?" she asked, not unreasonably. She tilted her head a little sideways. Her glance went briefly past him, then returned.

"Is this the new regimen? You silence me except when you need my opinion? How gracious. And, yes, really, who is this vulgar-looking person?"

Crispin swallowed. The bird's aristocratic voice was vividly clear now in his mind. They were in the same room. He hesitated, then sent, inwardly, "Can you hear what I am saying?"

No response. Shirin watched him, waiting.

He cleared his throat. "My name is Caius Crispus. Of Varena. I'm an artisan. A mosaicist. Invited here to help with the Great Sanctuary."

A hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! You're the one someone tried to kill last night!"

"He is? Wonderful! A splendid fellow to be alone with, I must say."

Crispin tried to ignore that. "Word travels so quickly?"

"In Sarantium it does, especially when it involves the factions." Crispin was abruptly reminded that this woman, as Principal Dancer, was as important to the Greens in her way as Scortius was to the Blues. Seen in that light, there was no surprise in her being well informed. She leaned back a little, her expression openly curious now, watching Crispin's face.

"You can't be serious? With that hair? Those hands? And look at the left one, he's been in a fight. Attractive? Hah. It must be your time of month!"

Crispin felt himself flushing. He looked down, involuntarily, at his large, scarred hands. The left one was visibly swollen. He felt excruciatingly awkward. He could hear the bird, but not Shirin's replies, and neither of them had any idea he was listening to half their exchanges.

She seemed amused at his sudden colour. She said, "You dislike being talked about? It can be useful, you know. Especially if you are new to the City."

Crispin took a needed drink of wine. "It depends what… people are saying, I suppose."

She smiled. She had a very good smile. "I suppose. I do hope you weren't injured?"

"Is it the Rhodian accent? Is that it? Keep your legs closed, girl. We know nothing about this man."

Crispin began to wish Shirin would silence the bird, or that he had a way to do so. He shook his head, trying to concentrate. "Not injured, no, thank you. Though two of my companions died, and a young man at the gates to the Blues" compound. I have no idea who hired those soldiers." They would know, soon enough, he thought. He had battered a man senseless just now.

"You must be a terribly dangerous mosaicist?" Shirin's dark eyes flashed. There was a teasing irony in the tone. The report of deaths seemed not to disturb her. This was Sarantium, he reminded himself.

"Oh, gods! Why not just undress right here and lie down? You could save the long walk all the way to the bed —»

Crispin breathed a sigh of relief as the bird was silenced again. He looked down at his wine cup, drained it. Shirin rose smoothly, took the cup. She used less water this time filling it, he saw.

"I didn't think I was dangerous at all," he said as she brought it to him and sat down again.

Her smile was teasing again. "Your wife doesn't think so?"

He was glad the bird was silent. "My wife died two summers ago, and my daughters."

Her expression changed. "Plague?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry." She looked at him a moment. "Is that why you came?"

Jad's bones. Another too-clever Sarantine woman. Crispin said, honestly, "It is almost why I didn't come. People urged me to do so. The invitation was really for Martinian, my partner. I passed myself off" as him, on the road."

Her eyebrows arched. "You presented yourself at the Imperial Court under a false name? And lived? Oh, you are a dangerous man, Rhodian."

He drank again. "Not exactly. I did give my own name." Something occurred to him. "In fact, the herald who announced me may also have lost his position because of that."

"Also?"

This was becoming complex, suddenly. After the wine at the baths, and now here, his head wasn't as clear as it needed to be. "The. previous mosaicist for the Sanctuary was dismissed by the Emperor last night."

Shirin of the Greens eyed him closely. There was a brief silence. A log crackled on the fire. She said, thoughtfully, "No shortage of people who might have hired soldiers, then. It isn't difficult, you know."

He sighed. "So I am learning."

There was more, of course, but he decided not to mention Styliane Daleina or a hidden blade in the steam. He looked around the room, saw the bird again. Linon's voice-the same patrician accent all the alchemist's birds had-but a character entirely other. Not a surprise. He knew, now, what these birds were, or once had been. He was quite certain this woman didn't. He had no idea what to do.

Shirin said," And so, before someone appears to attack you in my house for some good reason or other, what message did a loving father have for his daughter?"

Crispin shook his head. "None, I fear. He gave me your name in case I should need assistance."

She tried to hide it, but he saw the disappointment. Children, absent parents. Inward burdens carried in the world. "Did he say anything about me, at least?"

She's a prostitute, Crispin remembered the alchemist murmuring with a straight face, before amending that description slightly. He cleared his throat again. "He said you were a dancer. He didn't have any details, actually."

She reddened angrily. "Of course he has details. He knows I'm First of the Greens. I wrote him that when they named me. He never replied." She tossed her head. "Of course he has so many children scattered all over. From his travels. I suppose we all write letters and he just answers the favoured ones."

Crispin shook his head. "He did say his children didn't write to him. I couldn't tell if he was serious."

"He never replies," Shirin snapped. "Two letters and one bird, that is all I have ever had from my father." She picked up her own wine cup. "I suppose he sent birds to all of us."

Crispin suddenly remembered something. "I don't. believe so."

"Oh? And how would you know?" Anger in her voice.

"He told me he'd only ever given away one of his birds."

She grew still. "He said that?"

Crispin nodded.

"But why? I mean.?"

He had a guess, actually. He said, "Are any of your. siblings here in the City?"

She shook her head. "Not any I know of

"That might be why. He did say he'd always planned to journey to Sarantium and never had. That it was a disappointment. Perhaps your being here.?"

Shirin looked over at her bird, then back to Crispin. Something seemed to occur to her. She said, with an indifferent shrug, "Well, why sending a mechanical toy would be so important to him, I have no idea."

Crispin looked away. She was dissembling, but she had to do that. So was he, for that matter. He was going to need time, he thought, to sort this through as well. Every encounter he had in this city seemed to be raising challenges of one sort or another. He sternly reminded himself that he was here to work. On a dome. A transcendent dome high above all the world, a gift to him from the Emperor and the god. He was not going to let himself become trammelled in the intrigues of this city.

He rose on that thought, resolutely. He'd intended to go to the Sanctuary this afternoon. This visit was to have been a minor interlude, a dutiful call. "I ought not to outstay your welcome to an uninvited stranger."