Part 7 (1/2)
”I know ... You were angered.”
”Not by him.”
”Yes ... by him.”
”But why? Save loving me, what has he done?”
”We betrayed him, Esmi. You You betrayed him.” betrayed him.”
”But you said-”
”There are sins, Esmi, that not even the G.o.d can absolve. Only the injured.”
”What are you saying?”
”That this is why he angers you.”
It was always the same with him, always the same remembrance of things beyond human memory. It was as though she-like every other man, woman, and child-awakened every moment to find herself stranded, and only he could tell her what had come before.
”He will not forgive,” she whispered.
There was indecision in his look, frightening for its rarity. ”He will not forgive.”
The Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires turned, too numb to possess any force of person and too drunk not to. ”You live,” he said.
Iyokus stood dumbstruck at the threshold. Eleazaras watched the red-irised eyes survey the smashed pottery and congealing wine. He snorted, neither in humour nor disgust, then turned to look back out over the bal.u.s.trade, at the Fama Palace, dun and inscrutable upon its hill.
”When Achamian returned,” he drawled, ”I had a.s.sumed you were dead.” He leaned forward, glanced back at the wraith once again. ”Even more,” he said, raising a finger, ”I had hoped hoped you dead.” He returned his gaze to the walls and buildings encrusting the opposite heights. you dead.” He returned his gaze to the walls and buildings encrusting the opposite heights.
”What happens, Eli?”
He tried his best not to laugh. ”Can't you see? The Padirajah is dead. The Holy War prepares to march on s.h.i.+meh. We We prepare to march on s.h.i.+meh ... Our foot lies upon the neck of our enemy.” prepare to march on s.h.i.+meh ... Our foot lies upon the neck of our enemy.”
”I've spoken to Sarothenes,” Iyokus said, unimpressed, ”and to Inrummi ...”
A mawkish sigh. ”Then you know.”
”I confess, I find it difficult to believe.”
”Believe it. The Consult exists exists. All this time, laughing at the Mandati, and it was we we who were the mumming fools.” who were the mumming fools.”
A long, accusatory silence. Iyokus had always told him he should heed their claims more seriously. It seemed plain enough ... now. Everything they knew about the Psukhe suggested it was a blunt instrument, far too c.u.mbersome to fas.h.i.+on something like these ... demons.
Chepheramunni! Sarcellus!
In his soul's eye he saw the Scylvendi, bloodied and magnificent, hoisting the faceless head for all to see. How the mobs had roared.
”And Prince Kellhus?” Iyokus asked.
”Is a prophet,” Eleazaras said softly. He had watched him-he had seen-after they had cut the man down from the Circ.u.mfix ... Eleazaras had watched him reach into his chest and pull out his f.u.c.king heart!
Some kind of trick ... it had to be!
”Eli,” Iyokus said, ”surely this-”
”I spoke to him myself,” the Grandmaster interrupted, ”and at quite some length ... He's a true prophet of the G.o.d, Iyokus ... And you and I ... well, we're quite d.a.m.ned.” He looked at his Master of Spies, his face screwed into an expression of pained hilarity. ”Another little joke we seem to have found ourselves on the wrong side of ...”
”Please,” the man exclaimed. ”How could you-”
”Oh, I know. He sees things ... things only the G.o.d could see.” He swung at one of the earthenware decanters, caught it, shook it in the air to listen for the telltale slosh of wine. Empty. ”He showed me,” he said, casting it against the wall, where it shattered. He smiled at Iyokus, letting the weight of his bottom lip draw his mouth open. ”He showed me who I am who I am. You know all those little thoughts, all those half-glimpsed things that scurry like vermin through your soul? He catches them, Iyokus. He catches them and holds them squealing in the air. Then he names them, and tells you what they mean.” He turned away once more. ”He sees the secrets secrets.”
”What secrets? What are you saying, Eli?”
”Oh, you've no need to worry. He cares nothing whether you f.u.c.k little boys or press broomsticks up your a.s.s. It's the secrets you keep from yourself, you keep from yourself, Iyokus. Those are his interest. He sees ...” A pang gripped his throat so violently he had to look at Iyokus and laugh. He felt tears spill hot across his cheeks. His voice cracked. ”He sees what breaks your heart.” Iyokus. Those are his interest. He sees ...” A pang gripped his throat so violently he had to look at Iyokus and laugh. He felt tears spill hot across his cheeks. His voice cracked. ”He sees what breaks your heart.”
You have doomed your School.
”You're drunk,” the chanv addict said, his tone both unnerved and disgusted.
Eleazaras raised his hand in a foppish wave. ”Go speak to him yourself. He'll discern more than pickled meat through your skin. You'll see-”
He heard the man snort, then kick away a metal bowl as he withdrew.
The Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires reclined in his settee, resumed his study of the Fama Palace through the afternoon haze. The network of walls, terraces, and Fanic colonnades. The faint smoke rising from what had to be the kitchens. The clots of distant penitents filing beneath the square gates.
Somewhere ... He's in there somewhere.
”Oh, yes, and Iyokus?” he abruptly called.
”What?”
”I would beware the Mandate Schoolman if I were you.” He absently pawed the table beside him, looking for more wine-or something. ”I think he plans to kill you.”
CHAPTER THREE.
CARASKAND.