Glen Cook: Water Sleeps

Only Gokhale and Drupada seemed unaware that their days had to be numbered. The Protector of All the Taglias was not enamored of them at all.

The final member of the Council was absent. Which was not unusual. The Great General, Mogaba, preferred to be in the field, harrying those designated as his enemies. He viewed the infighting in the Palace with revulsion.

None of which mattered at the moment. There had been Incidents. There were Witnesses to be Brought Forward. The Protector was not pleased.

Willow Swan rose. He beckoned a Grey sergeant out of the gloom behind the two old men. “Ghopal Singh.” Nobody remarked on the unusual name. Possibly he was a convert. Stranger things were happening. “Singh’s patrol watches an area immediately outside the Palace, on the north side. This afternoon one of his patrolmen discovered a prayer wheel mounted on one of the memorial posts in front of the north entrance. Twelve copies of this sutra were attached to the arms of the wheel.”

Swan made a show of turning a small paper card so the light would fall upon the writing there. The lettering appeared to be in the ecclesiastical style. Swan failed to appreciate his own ignorance of Taglian letters, though. He was holding the card inverted. He did not, however, make any mistakes when he reported what the prayer card had to say.

“ Rajadharma. The Duty of Kings. Know you: Kingship is a trust. The King is the most exalted and conscientious servant of the people.”

Swan did not recognize the verse. It was so ancient that some scholars attributed it to one or another of the Lords of Light in the time when the gods still handed down laws to the fathers of men. But the Radisha Drah knew it. The Purohita knew it. Someone outside the Palace had leveled a chiding finger.

Soulcatcher understood it, too. Its object, she said, “Only a Bhodi monk would presume to chastise this house. And they are very few.” That pacifistic, moralistic cult was young and still very small. And it had suffered during the war years almost as terribly as had the followers of Kina. The Bhodi refused to defend themselves. “I want the man who did this.” The voice she used was that of a quarrelsome old man.

“Uh...” Swan said. It was not wise to argue with the Protector but that was an assignment beyond the capacities of the Greys.

Among Soulcatcher’s more frightening characteristics was her seeming ability to read minds. She could not, really, but never insisted that she could not. In this instance she found it convenient to let people believe what they wanted. She told Swan, “Being Bhodi, he will surrender himself. No search will be necessary.”

“Hunh?”

“There is a tree, sometimes called the Bhodi Tree, in the village of Semchi . It is a very old and highly honored tree. The Bhodi Enlightened One made his reputation loafing in ; the shade of this tree. The Bhodi consider it their most holy shrine. Tell them I will make kindling wood out of the Bhodi Tree unless the man who rigged that prayer wheel reports to me. Soon.” Soulcatcher employed the voice of a petty, vindictive old woman.

Murgen made a mental note to send Sahra a suggestion that the guilty man be prevented from reaching the Protector. Destruction of a major holy place would create thousands of new enemies for Soulcatcher.

Willow Swan started to speak but Soulcatcher interrupted. “I do not care if they hate me, Swan. I care that they do what I tell them to do when I tell them to do it. The Bhodi will not raise a fist against me, anyway. That would put a stain on their kharma.”

A cynical woman, the Protector.

“Get on with it, Swan.”

Swan sighed. “Several more of those smoke shows appeared tonight. One was much bigger than any seen before. Once again the Black Company sigil was part of all of them.” He brought forward another Shadar witness, who told of being stoned by the mob but did not mention the demon Niassi.

The news was no surprise. It was one of the reasons the Council had been convened. With no real passion, the Radisha demanded, “How could that happen? Why can’t you stop it? You have men on every street corner. Chan-dra?” She appealed to the man who knew just how much it cost to put all those Greys out there.

Gokhale inclined his head imperially.

As long as the Radisha did the questioning, Swan’s nerve stood up. She could not hurt him in ways he had not been hurt before. Not the way the Protector could. He asked, “Have you been out there? You should disguise yourself and go. Like Saragoz in the fairy tale. Every street is clogged with people. Thousands sleep where others have to walk over them. Breezeways and alleyways are choked with human waste. Sometimes the press is so thick you could murder somebody ten feet from one of my men and never be noticed. The people playing these games aren’t stupid. If they’re really Company survivors, they’re especially not stupid. They’ve already survived everything ever thrown at them. They’re using the crowds for cover exactly the way they’d use the rocks and trees and bushes out in the countryside. They don’t wear uniforms. They don’t stand out. They’re not outlanders anymore. If you really want to nail them, put out a proclamation saying they all have to wear funny red hats.” Swan’s nerve had peaked high. That was not directed at the Radisha. Soulcatcher, speaking through her, had issued several proclamations memorable for their absurdity. “Being steeped in Company doctrine, they wouldn’t be anywhere around when the smoke emblems actually formed. So far, we haven’t even figured out where they come from.”

Soulcatcher unleashed a deep-throated grunt. It said she doubted that Swan could figure out much of anything. His nerve guttered like a dying lamp. He began to sweat. He knew he walked a tightrope with the madwoman. He was tolerated like a naughty pet for reasons clear only to the sorceress, who sometimes did things for no better reason than a momentary whim. Which could reverse itself an instant later.

He could be replaced. Others had been. Soulcatcher did not care about facts, insurmountable obstacles or mere difficulties. She cared about results.

Swan offered, “On the plus side there’s no evidence, even from our most eager informants, that suggests this activity is anything but a low-grade nuisance. Even if Black Company survivors are behind it-and even with tonight’s escalation.”

Soulcatcher said, “They’ll never be anything but a nuisance.” Her voice was that of a plucky teenage girl. “They’re going through the motions. They lost heart when I buried all their leaders.” That was all spoken in a powerful male voice, by someone accustomed to unquestioning obedience. But those words amounted to an oblique admission that Company members might, after all, still be alive, and the final few words included in a rising inflection betraying potential uncertainty. There were questions about what had happened on the plain of glittering stone that Soulcatcher herself could not answer. “I’ll worry when they call them back from the dead.” She did not know.

In truth, little had gone according to anyone’s plan out there. Her escape, with Swan, had been pure luck. But Soulcatcher was the sort who believed Fortune’s bright countenance was her born due.

“Probably true. And only marginally significant if I understood your summons.”

“There are Other Forces Afoot,” Soulcatcher said. This voice was a sybil’s, rife with portent.

“The Deceivers have been heard from,” the Radisha announced, causing a general startled reaction that included the disembodied spy. “Lately we’ve had reports from Dejagore, Meldermhai, Ghoja and Danjil about men having been slain in classic Strangler fashion.”

Swan had recovered. “In classic Strangler work, only the killers know that it happened. They aren’t assassins. The bodies would go through their religious rites and be buried in some holy place.”