Chapter 8:
The Wonder Garden
I
Danisal arrived at the private Hadiran section at the same moment the glassy-eyed visitors passed up the stairs from the misty underground. Though they looked toward him, none saw him, either as a Wonder Gardens employee or more broadly as a slave; those who’d gone below to breathe the vapors emerged with their thoughts upon the other world. If they had seen him, they would probably have paid him little heed, for at first glance he was not so remarkable, small and slim and plainly dressed. Closer consideration would have revealed a shrewd cast to his features, a natural charm with which he veiled a newly flowered tartness.
Slowing his progress, Danisal watched the Dervans emerge. Each turned immediately to the towering images of Hadiran gods arranged about the clearing, their shadows lengthened by the evening sun. A thin woman in an austere yellow stola preened before the deep-bosomed cat-headed statue.
“Who are you?” Philipa called. Her voice boomed from a speaking trumpet. She herself was hidden behind a thick stone.
“I am a powerful, sensual woman,” the patrician said, stroking her hair and then striking the air with her free hand as though it were tipped with claws. “With the blood of a lioness!”
Danisal let out something that might have been a laugh, although his joy this evening was muted.
A mincing high-shouldered man stopped before one of the other statues, and he cried out, in a quavering voice, that he was a cunning fox, just as an older knock-kneed fellow declared he was an eagle, sharp-eyed ruler of the heavens.
Their choices were usually simple to predict, for over the course of a day’s fasting and prayer most had already shown an inclination toward certain animal imbued deities. The best odds were never on the selection but on the expression their erring adoration would take.
Absurdity could be glimpsed in many regions of the Gardens, particularly in the areas segregated for adults, but none of the other special ceremonies were as dependably ludicrous. Danisal never tired of watching pampered Dervans make fools of themselves.
But he quickened his pace. The messenger had told him Paulus was deeply flustered by some new calamity, and the man could act rashly when excited. Danisal needed to calm things down.
A trio of stakeholders had put up the opening capital for the Gardens, but the initial idea had come from Paulus, and it was he who devoted the most energy to seeing it prosper. He lived on the grounds and involved himself so actively in the Wonder Gardens’ day-to-day affairs that he often spoke through the trumpet Philipa now used at the end of the Ancestry Ceremony.
Today, Paulus waited just beyond the gaudy red marble stairs that led to the stony fissures from which the vapors flowed, in a side cave that had been set up as an office, complete with rug and wall hangings. Sconces with expensive colored glass had been driven into the dark stone walls, and flames writhing within threw amber light across the desk and the chairs and the couch and the spindly old man lying motionless on the floor.
Paulus stood behind the desk pouring through a stack of papers. Two of the pretty, muscular guards waited nearby, and both visibly relaxed at Danisal’s arrival.
“He’s here, Master,” one of them said.
Paulus looked up. “Danisal! Just who I needed!” He was pretending calm, but his voice betrayed a manic edge. Shadowed, liquid eyes, refined nose, cleft chin, wavy dark hair—he would have resembled a heroic bronze come to life if his belly didn’t sag. Danisal knew he was on a strict diet, and how frustrated he was to be growing thicker.
“What’s happened!?” Danisal asked. Unlike the rest of the park slaves, he no longer referred to his master by any title. He paused over the body, which lay face down. “This is Senator Terentius, isn’t it?”
“It is!” Paulus said. “He slipped in the mist and hit his head. I thought I’d have his body thrown into one of the ponds. All the other believers will think he drowned.”
Danisal thought quickly and spoke delicately. “That might not work. The senator’s family and doctors will carefully examine his body. They might be able to see he didn’t drown.” He hoped Paulus was relaying truth about the aged senator’s accidental demise. Though impulsive, Paulus was not prone to violence and this senator was a special guest he’d been hoping would sponsor expansion plans.
“They can tell?”
Danisal said gravely: “Skilled doctors are said to be able to determine if people actually took in water as they died.”
Paulus’ be-ringed hand fluttered petulantly. “What am I going to do? This is terrible timing. Terentius was just telling all the rest of the believers about how he was going to donate a pile of money to improve the Hadiran temples! And then he up and died!” Paulus slammed his palm on the desk, then lifted a hand holding a sheaf of the papyrus. “Here’s all the letters he’s sent me about how much he longed to return for another ceremony!”
Danisal could sense where this was going, but knew he’d have to wait for the proper opening before guiding Paulus forward.
“I have all the proof of his intentions, but I won’t be able to get the money. Not now. Unless . . .” He looked imploringly toward Danisal.
“Unless Mikas forges a letter,” Danisal suggested. Mikas had smoothed an occasional challenge over with some carefully duplicated signatures. “But if anyone saw Senator Terentius die—”
“No one did,” Paulus assured him. “All the believers were getting drunk on the vapors. And they probably won’t notice he didn’t come out with them until they recover. But if they find out he died in the chamber, then they’ll know he didn’t have time to write the letter. And they must know he went in with them. They saw him heading down.”
“So he just fell, then, in the last little while?”
One of the two guards spoke. “I saw him go down. He was taking his time, and lingering at the back.”
A lot of repeat believers did that, having learned that the longer they spent in the vapors the more profound were the visions they experienced.
“I held my breath and dashed in to check on him, but I think he was already dead. He hit his head on a rock. There’s a bump on his head,” the guard added helpfully.
Danisal had reasoned out an answer that felt satisfactory. “All right. Here’s what we do. He’s old. We’ll say he complained about stomach pains and came back up, wrote his legal document for you, then tripped on the stairs. Blood would be better than a bruise, and if he hasn’t been dead long it will look right when it flows.”
“You’re saying we should . . . make sure he looks worse?” the other guard asked. For a big, powerful man his face screwed easily into a boyish grimace.
“Brilliant!” Paulus clasped hands tightly. “I knew you’d come up with something. But do you think Mikas can fake the letter? It’s really distinctive handwriting.”
“If you have the letters he can copy from, Mikas can do it. He should keep it short, especially if we’re to pass along that the senator had a stomachache.”
Paulus nodded his head in admiration. “Absolutely right. What would I do without you?”
From another area of the compound a deep bell tolled. The seventh hour of the evening had arrived, which meant Danisal was not where he’d said he’d be. Paulus saw his troubled expression.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m going to be late for a meeting,” Danisal answered.
“A meeting?” Paulus asked. “With whom?”
“Some outsiders. There may be a lot of money involved, or it may just be a lure. I wasn’t going to bother you with the details until l found out for sure.”
“Well, get moving then,” Paulus said with a nervous laugh. “The boys and I can take it from here. May the gods grant you luck!”
“I make my own luck,” Danisal said, knowing it would make Paulus smile.
Paulus was in such a fine mood now that he chuckled.
Danisal bade his master farewell, glanced down at the little dead man on the floor who’d thought his bloodline one with the absurd crocodile-headed god of ancient Hadira, then hurried up the stairs and into the sunlight.
What to say to Paulus if this meeting proved legitimate? He could not imagine, but he would just have to trust to his ingenuity. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with freedom anyway, especially since Paulus had told him he’d be manumitting him in another year or so. But the Herrene who’d reached out to him was offering freedom to all the Gardens’ Volani, and hinted that there’d be a lot of money in the offer. Paulus would at least want to hear about the numbers.
II
Antires continued his low-voiced complaints as they advanced along the cobbled street, heavily strewn with rushes. “What fool would place a Ceori region right next to the Herrenic one? Their lands are across the ocean from each other.”
“A fool making a lot of money,” Hanuvar offered.
Though they walked warm Oscanus lands under a late summer sun, they passed round Ceori huts common to the high mountains where a pretty, freckled blonde waited by an entrance in something approximating a Ceori dress, but with a lower neckline and much higher hemline, smiling as she beckoned all who passed to enter. A heavyset man shepherding a gaggle of children took her invitation. Within the structure they’d supposedly see the sorts of beds where Ceori slept, the kind of tools they used, and even some of the games their children played. So Antires discerned from the woman’s patter.
He and Hanuvar had already passed a row of huts selling Ceori-approximated leather goods and foods, even the terrible Ceori beer, the smell of which had soaked into the trestle tables where men sat drinking and eating greasy sausages. Up ahead, beyond a wall of rounded timbers that looked more like a legion wall than an actual Ceori fence, a wooden gateway carved with images of long-legged hounds and foxes and ducks opened into an entirely different space, one of dark stone.
How could he have forgotten? “Nuvara,” Antires said in disgust. “That’s even worse.” He had a hard time believing even Dervans would place two representational regions beside one another that were separated by a sea, a desert, and at least two large mountain ranges, let alone a vast gulf of culture.
“For someone fascinated with stagecraft you’re awfully critical of its practice,” Hanuvar said.
“But the Wonder Gardens are being advertised as the next best thing to travelling to these different lands,” Antires protested. “They could at least try a little harder to get it right.”
“They’re trying just hard enough to make money.”
“And these people don’t know the difference,” Antires groused. “This place is terrible.”
In the lands of Nuvara they passed a pair of men garbed like warriors of ancient Derva, complete with old-fashioned feathered conical helms and square-sided breastplates shaped like muscular chests. They were part of the security troops patrolling the park, fit young men alert for troublemakers but lacking the hard eyes of the legion veterans.
Antires noted Hanuvar looking with some interest upon a square stone temple and its trapezoidal entrance; the painted blues and yellow diagonals along the sides of the building labeled it as a palace. Like his friend, Antires had heard Nuvaran lands described, but never walked them. He had seen their garb, however, and the handsome young men and pretty young women working shop fronts and gesturing visitors to enter faux dwellings wore the loose, bright clothing of that culture without the alteration given the Ceori woman’s dress, perhaps because the warmth of their lands already ensured their garb was mostly ornamental. Men wore only short kilts and the breasts of the women were bared.
“The first time I passed through,” Antires said, “most of the ‘Nuvarans’ were really Herrenes. Some of these are Ruminians. I expect a lot of Dervans can’t tell the difference. So long as they’re brown.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting the Dervans need to conquer another people to improve the Wonder Gardens?” Hanuvar asked.
“I’m just saying that they don’t do these places any justice,” Antires objected. He was about to explain further, but Hanuvar stilled him with a hand to his arm. Antires followed the direction of his friend’s gaze.
They had entered a square where outdoor seating composed of curved benches of dark wood were arranged about oval tables. All were shielded from the sun by sagging fabric of bright colors. Dozens of men, women, and children sat about the tables eating from platters of steaming Nuvaran food—primarily bowls with a dark stew, or a large, spongey beige meal cake.
Antires would have been curious to try their fare, for there was a pleasant smoky scent with an unfamiliar spice in the air mixed in with what smelled a little like roast boar. But he followed the direction of Hanuvar’s gaze to a trio of women sitting with a pair of children. Two of the women were younger, probably slaves from their simple dress. The children, though, he would have recognized anywhere, for they were the granddaughter and grandson of Ciprion. Sober nine-year-old Calvia munched on a deep brown pastry, intently eying a pair of tall, fierce-faced wooden statues of spear-bearing warriors beside their table. Young Marcus was talking with abandon to one of the slave girls, oblivious to brown sauce smeared across his chin.
The woman across from them sat with her back to Hanuvar, but Antires knew on the instant from the set of her shoulders and the dark hair arranged with unadorned clips that he looked upon Amelia, Ciprion’s wife.
It wouldn’t do to blunder into a reunion in the midst of a mission.
Hanuvar put his hand to his face and turned his head, striding quickly past a low fence where younger Dervan children were oohing and aahing over cages full of tiny gray rabbits and leopard kits.
Antires, scratching his beard to effectively shield his own features, followed. “I don’t think she saw us,” he said softly.
They took a shortcut through the large, central area where children were forbidden entry. Most of the visitors here were men, for most of the dwellings were themed brothels.
They hurried past a voluptuous woman in a short skirt and golden armor, holding a whip in the entryway to a round building painted starkly white. Antires only realized the building was supposed to be a Volani silver tower when she cracked the whip and called to them with an exaggerated Volani accent. “Are you two man enough to ride an Eltyr warrior?”
Hanuvar’s jaw clenched and he looked away. He nearly walked over a small dark woman, scarcely more than a child, who called out for men who dared to test their endurance with the Hadiran special.
“It’s just make-believe,” Antires assured him. “She didn’t really sound Volani.”
“I know,” Hanuvar said. But he did not speak again until they left the adult section and moved on toward the Hadiran reserve, one of the largest areas in the park. “I’ve made up my mind,” he said numbly. “You are right about this place.”
III
Beyond some imported Hadiran plants, native Oscani trees and bushes grew in profusion, a narrow band of woods serving as one of the park’s impediments to clear sight lines, the better for each distinctive area to feel like a remote region. Danisal slowed from his jog so that he wouldn’t be out of breath when he reached the arranged meeting place.
He wasn’t entirely sure what scheme his visitor was trying to run. He’d been mulling it over since the week the Herrene, Arjax, had reached out to him. Today the man was supposed to return with an actual Volani to explain matters, at which point Danisal imagined the con would become obvious.
He was half certain the Herrene wouldn’t show, but he found the handsome bearded man waiting in the tiny employee eating area within the woodland. There with him was a Dervan of middle-age, his well-trimmed hair starting to gray. Danisal knew then there’d be no pretense about an actual Volani conversation, and was surprised to discover how disappointed he was.
“So,” Danisal said. “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” Arjax agreed, “and I’ve brought a colleague.”
“Who’s going to offer me a once in a lifetime opportunity, I suppose?” Danisal asked. “Do you expect to convince me because he’s good-looking too? What’s your game?”
“We’re not here to play games with you,” the stranger said. His Volani was flawless. “I’ve come to acquire the freedom of the Volani held by this enterprise, and I’m told you lead them. But I don’t want to waste my time, or yours.”
That was an exciting development. Danisal reminded himself not to get all swept up in the possibilities. It was a trick, just one he didn’t yet understand. He kept his voice level, skeptical. His eyes were hooded. “Who are you?”
“You may call me Gisco. What part of Volanus are you from?”
Danisal studied the man’s features, recognizing something familiar in them, and it came to him that someone from Volanus might well pass for Dervan if they cut their hair just so, and presented themselves with the right Dervan arrogance.
“I am from Sodanus,” Danisal said slowly. To say that name was to give the town life in his memory, and he smelled the burning wood of the home he had shared with his husband and his sisters, and heard the terrible sound of his nephew’s face being ground in by the Dervan shield.
“I knew Sodanus,” Gisco said. “Some of the finest horses were sold there.”
This was true, but he was distracted by the remembered odors of his family’s blood, the anguished scream of his sister as she reached for her dying child, and the laughter of a Dervan soldier.
“How do I know you’re not running some complicated con?” Danisal asked.
“He isn’t,” Arjax insisted.
Danisal snorted. “Some of the Gardens’ best money is earned by people in elaborate pretense. Whether they want a whipping from a woman dressed as an Eltyr or to reenact Iskander leading a chain of Cerdian boys to bed, Dervan fantasies are all about game playing, with people as pieces. Maybe your fantasy’s to see slaves crucified for rebellion.”
“I offer freedom, not exploitation.”
These seemed like words only a fool would believe. “We are as free as Volani can be in these times,” Danisal said. “We eat well. We do as we like when we’re off duty.”
“Do you want to stay here, then, performing for the Dervans who can afford the price of admission?” Gisco asked. “Is that what you feel called to do?”
“What choice do we have? We put on some theatre and we get to see Dervans make fools of themselves. It’s not a bad life.”
“For a slave,” Arjax said irritably. “I don’t know why we’re having to work so hard to offer you freedom. You said you wanted proof that real Volani were in charge. Here’s one.”
“Why does he want to help us? Out of the goodness of his heart? Please.”
Arjax turned to the other. “I told you he was going to be like this.”
“He has every right to be suspicious. He has more to lose than many.” Gisco continued to speak to the Herrene though his gaze met Danisal’s own. “He’s relatively well off here. It’s not as though he’s chained to an oar. Or working to an early death in a silver mine. Or locked in a revenant dungeon. Or being raped every other day.”
A chill touched Danisal’s spine as each of these fates was offered, and such was the sound of Gisco’s phrasing and the look in his eyes Danisal was almost convinced he himself had encountered people who’d experienced those traumas.
Gisco addressed him with slow gravity. “For everyone’s safety there’s little more we can tell you until you’re away from here. We offer you transport to a place of security where you’ll find other Volani, living free.”
“Can you afford to free us?” Danisal asked. Against every inclination he was beginning to believe this offer might be real. “Paulus won’t let us go cheaply.”
“For the others, half again what Paulus paid, because your training’s made them valuable to him. For you, three times that. I know how essential you are here.”
“You’ve been poking around, then.”
“Of course,” Arjax interjected.
Danisal decided to maintain a hard front. He knew never to let them sense you wavering. “So you expect me to trust you,” he continued. “What’s to keep you from buying us, then taking us away to some awful fate?”
Gisco slowly shook his head. “I will sign the paperwork declaring you free the moment I pay. If you think Paulus can be convinced to sell.”
“What paperwork?”
The Herrene dug around in his shoulder satchel. Danisal readied to run, but was soon confronted with nothing more than a sheaf of papers, which he accepted tentatively. “What’s this?”
“Written letters of manumission for all seven of you. I will sign them before a witness, so that the moment I pay off your owner you will walk free.”
Danisal found that difficult to believe, but he was no stranger to contracts, and scanning through the papers he quickly saw that they were absolutely in order, written with all of the appropriate legal phrasing.
What was more, the strangers had paperwork for each of the Volani here in the gardens, down to the name they had been sold under. Gisco and Arjax must have done some very careful digging to learn that particular information.
“What’s to keep you from holding a counter stack of papers saying these are null and void?”
Arjax put his hand to his forehead and addressed his companion. “Will you believe this?” He then faced Danisal once more. “There isn’t an endless supply of money, or time. You think you’re the only people we’re trying to free?”
He looked as though he meant to say more, but Gisco silenced him with a raised hand. “At some point you will simply have to trust us. I promise I will tell you much more once your freedom is won. Now, tell me. Will Paulus sell?”
“I . . . Maybe. He’s always been pretty logical about business matters.” Danisal felt almost as dazed as he had when he’d descended into the vapors to better understand what the believers experienced. His memory was alive with images of Sodanus, and his childhood, and the red rays shining along the stalks of ripe grain as the sun sank behind the great gray-black bulk of the Kalak mountain range.
His mind was at war. He wanted to trust in Paulus’ affection and basic decency, and yet recognized that he couldn’t thoroughly predict the man’s reaction. Paulus was a showman, and he liked to project confidence, just as he liked to project magnanimity, for he believed good leaders possessed those traits. Danisal had encouraged all of those positive behaviors and he thought their growing prevalence in Paulus’ conduct meant they had a strong foundation. Sometimes, though, he worried he was simply deluding himself, making the best of a situation that was in some ways a horror, especially when compared to his previous life.
He had twisted himself to improve what was left of life, not just for himself, but for his fellow slaves, and he would not hazard mentioning this offer to Paulus until he had consulted with them. “I’ll talk with my friends,” he said finally.
“How long will that take?” Arjax asked.
“It can be done this evening. If you . . . if you want to wait in the Gardens, we can find some place to meet all together. To sit and talk. Over in the Herrenic area,” he added. “That’s where the central offices are. Find a spot and I’ll get word to you one way or another. And if I think Paulus is interested, I’ll bring him with me.”
Neither Gisco nor the Herrene seemed to like that very much. “We will wait in the Nuvaran area,” Gisco said finally.
Arjax beckoned for the papers. Danisal found it difficult to relinquish them. Then he raised his hand in farewell, and watched as both men turned and melted into the woodland. After a brief moment he heard a brush rustle behind him.
Waiflike Arabeta slipped out of hiding, her eyes large and questioning.
“Well?” Danisal asked. “What did you think of them?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“What do you . . . of course I’ll believe you. I asked you here because I trust your judgment.”
She pointed the direction Gisco and the Herrene had gone. “That’s Hanuvar.”
Danisal snorted. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
“No, that’s him,” Arabeta insisted, her eyes imploring. “I’ve heard him speak. He’s shaved, and he’s changed his haircut, but it’s him. Not just the sound of his voice, but the way he uses his words. The way he moves. That’s him. He’s alive. And he’s come for us.” Arabeta’s voice had grown more impassioned, though she still spoke quietly.
Danisal had a hard time taking that in. “Children’s stories.”
She shook her pretty head. “Sometimes stories are true. Sometimes good things happen, not just bad. You do know that when Hanuvar left Volanus, ships went with him?”
“Sure. People say that. People say lots of things. Everyone with sense says that Hanuvar drowned.”
“And other people say he’s been riding around Derva hunting down enemies and their children. I think that’s him, and he’s going to take us to New Volanus.”
“You think that, or you want to think that? Why’s he with a Herrene?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? He sent the Herrene in to talk with you first; you wouldn’t believe him, so he came himself.”
“So you think it’s real,” Danisal mused.
“You’re so used to pretending you’ve forgotten what real feels like.” She offered a tentative smile. “I know you’re just trying to watch out for us. But this time something wonderful is happening, Danisal.”
He wanted to believe, too. But then everyone wanted to believe in something, as Paulus was fond of saying.
“I have to get back to the bakery stall,” Arabeta said. “Sillela isn’t going to be able to handle the crowds without me much longer.”
“Hanuvar,” Danisal repeated. He felt a sudden chill, but then shook his head. The man he’d spoken with hadn’t been a spirit.
“The gods have sent him to us,” Arabeta said reverently.
Danisal frowned. “There are only gods for deluded men and women who drink too deep. I’m going to talk to the others . . .”
“And talk to Paulus. He likes you. You can make this happen, and then we’ll be free.” She looked off into the distance. “For now, though, I’ve got to go.”
She bade him farewell, and Danisal left a moment after. He was next scheduled to inspect the pulley system on the Herrenic ship swing. But that could wait. He had five Volani to share impossible news with.
IV
Hanuvar didn’t expect an outright betrayal from Danisal, but he remained alert for the unexpected, and had sighted three separate egress routes from the Nuvaran section of the park should things turn.
He had no way of knowing which regions Amelia and her family had visited, but could reasonably assume that since they had passed through “Nuvara” their return was unlikely, which was the primary reason he’d selected the area as the rendezvous point, the secondary being to never let an adversary choose the ground. He couldn’t be sure Danisal was an adversary, but he did not mean to permit any advantage.
He chose a table that lay in shadows of twin stern-faced Nuvaran statues. Any passersby would be much more interested in the statues than two ordinary-looking men nursing a meal. A further enticement was that he was curious to try the fragrant meat dish, which the cook told him was goat, seasoned with traditional Nuvaran spices. Antires admitted he’d been intrigued himself, and ordered the same meal. Soon both men were trading disappointed looks, for the first bite made clear the meat had been overcooked. It wasn’t burned, just incredibly chewy.
Antires ate less than half of his portion, then wandered off to investigate the nearby shops while Hanuvar remained in the shadows, slowly sipping a watered wine. He tried to imagine how long it would take Danisal to consult with his people, starting with the one who’d been quietly observing them.
He liked that Danisal was cautious. One of Carthalo’s agents had made discrete inquiries about his background prior to Antires’ initial contact efforts, and the man seemed universally liked by his fellows. The youngest son of a family that owned a large stable, Danisal had grown up learning to manage both horses and people. Once in Dervan custody he had emphasized his managerial talents to the slave auctioneers, then skillfully advised his purchaser on additional personnel for the Wonder Gardens. He had protectively shepherded those same people ever since, lifting all under his aegis into positions of greater responsibility. In a little less than a year Danisal had risen to become one of the most valued slaves in the Gardens, owing not just to his organizational skills but to innovative ideas that had transformed the attraction from little more than a human zoo with tawdry elements into a lucrative endeavor attractive to a large swath of Dervan tourists.
From a terrible starting point Danisal had maneuvered himself and his people into a position of security and privilege. Hanuvar didn’t just understand why Danisal was cautious of change, he respected the man and his accomplishments.
A graying Herrene stepped into the Nuvaran region, carrying a staff, no matter that he walked briskly. A boy of seven or eight was at his side, pointing in Hanuvar’s general direction.
Neither seemed to have seen him, though. The boy stopped before the statues, sat down in the dirt, then took the drawing slate the man offered him and set to work with charcoal. The Herrene looked on thoughtfully.
Hanuvar knew them both, though he had not been introduced. The first was Silenus, tutor to the grandchildren of Ciprion and Amelia. The child, a little younger than Calvia, was almost surely the tutor’s son Delmar, whom Ciprion had described as having artistic gifts.
Antires stepped out of a false Nuvaran temple and advanced to converse with the Herrene. He too had been in Ciprion’s burning home, but had apparently failed to note the child or the tutor amidst the chaos, for neither seemed to recognize the other. Hanuvar overheard Antires questioning Silenus about his home city. Among many Herrenes the next point would be favorite playwrights or poets, and the conversation predictably turned there after only a few moments.
Hanuvar surreptitiously leaned further into the shadow. Perhaps only the tutor and the boy were here, and the rest of Amelia’s entourage had seen enough of the area.
The boy’s focus intrigued him, for he seriously applied himself to the drawing. Had Hanuvar not wished to remain hidden he would have risen and stepped around to observe his work.
Other visitors passed in and out through the Nuvaran region, and many stopped to purchase food or drink. Young ladies perused the jewelry and fabric and eyed the distinctive red-gold pottery. Some wandered over to the craft booth where a handful of actual mahogany skin-toned Nuvarans shaped clay. Young people of both sexes admired the beautiful people dressed in Nuvaran clothing. So heavy was the traffic that Hanuvar almost missed the significance of the girl who skipped in as part of one group.
He identified her as Calvia shortly before she stopped at the statues. She conferred with the young artist, said something to Silenus, then turned to take in her surroundings.
She was tall for her age, with light brown hair worn in tight braids, a small pointed chin, and honey-colored eyes that seemed to miss nothing at all. Most children could be counted upon to be lost in their own world, but Calvia was atypical. She spotted Hanuvar and made her way toward him in the same instant he moved to shield his face with his hand.
In moments she stood at Hanuvar’s table. “Hello, sir,” she said. “I do believe we’ve met. You are a friend to my grandfather.”18
Her voice was soft but formal and precise. And her gaze was both guileless and full of tremendous curiosity.
“Yes,” Hanuvar answered. “I am. Are you enjoying your visit here?”
“Yes. My tutor says some of the elements in each display are quite accurate, although many of the actors in this region are not actual Nuvarans.”
“I believe that’s true.” Hanuvar had observed the arrival of one of the young women he’d assumed to be a slave brought to help mind the children, now searching the crowd nervously. A little ways behind her was the other slave girl, Ciprion’s grandson, and Amelia herself. So much for avoiding that particular encounter. “Is Delmar interested in Nuvaran depictions?”
“Yes. He remarked that the exaggeration around the eyes conveyed personality despite the stiffness of the forms,” Calvia said. “We are writing a book about trees and are quite close to completion, although we are thinking about adding a chapter devoted to interesting statues.”
“Perhaps that should be a different book,” Hanuvar suggested.
“That is certainly more conventional,” Calvia agreed. She looked up with Hanuvar to observe Amelia’s approach. “Hello, Grandmother. I was just chatting with Grandfather’s friend about the book Delmar and I are writing.”
Amelia’s cheeks were colored from the sun. It would have been obvious to many that she had wealth, for she was a handsome, well-cared-for woman of middle years travelling with a small entourage of slaves, but any judging from her simple dress and hairstyle might have guessed her nothing more than a prosperous merchant’s wife. This was deliberate, for Amelia did not care to be fussed over.
“It sounds quite an undertaking,” Hanuvar said to Calvia. “I wish you success with it.”
“That’s kind of you to say, sir.”
Amelia spoke to her fondly. “Calvia, why don’t you run along. I’m going to visit with your grandfather’s friend now.”
“Yes, Grandmother. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, sir.”
“Likewise.”
“Thank you ever so much.”
Amelia sat down not across from Hanuvar, but beside him, probably so that she might better watch the children and her servants.
Antires had noted her arrival and raised a hand in greeting, but remained in earnest conversation with the tutor. Calvia rejoined Delmar and turned to examine another Nuvaran statue.
Amelia fanned herself. Hanuvar poured from the small jug of wine into Antires’ empty cup and passed it to her.
“Thank you. Do you know, not so long ago, I would have been horrified to learn you were anywhere near my granddaughter.”
“I never made war on children.”
“I don’t suppose you did but it affected them nonetheless.” Amelia sipped.
“That is sadly true. I’m glad that no one in your household was harmed in that fire.”
She raised her hand to forestall further comment from him. “There’s no need for apology. I know it’s not something you wished, and we’re grateful to you for your help fighting it.” She turned to watch the children. “I’m not sure where Calvia gets all of her curiosity. Cornelia’s always liked the outdoors, but with her it was horses and flowers. She certainly didn’t sound like Calvia, and Calvia’s father isn’t much of a scholar either.”
“I like her. She’s a smart young lady.”
“That she is. I have to confess I’m a little surprised to see you here. And in the Nuvara section, of all places.” She scanned the nearby shops while she drank. “I just saw Hanuvar, you know. Every day about this time he ‘escapes’ and is pursued through the Volanus region by men in legionary costumes.”
“What did he look like?”
Amelia lifted a hand over her head. “He was a tall hairy fellow with an eyepatch. He pretended to chase some children until the troopers turned up.”
“It’s nice to hear the Dervans remember Hanuvar so accurately.”
Amelia smiled crookedly and finished another drink. “I was honestly worried they might have someone dressed as my husband come out and tackle him.” She set the cup down. “The spice taste in this wine keeps building the more I drink.”
Hanuvar nodded.
“You’re here on one of your missions, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I should go then, shouldn’t I. Am I interfering?”
“I don’t believe so. But there’s always an element of risk to these things, and it’s probably better for you if you’re not involved.”
She leaned toward him. “Now you have me intrigued, but I’ll save my questions. Perhaps you can tell me later.” She started to rise. “Is this a dangerous mission?”
“It will hopefully involve only an exchange of money. Which is honestly refreshing,” Hanuvar admitted.
“Good luck with it.”
“Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She departed to where the little boy was observing a dancer whirl large wooden hoops around her neck and arms.
V
Paulus had listened expressionlessly to Danisal’s account of his meeting with Arjax and the man who might be Hanuvar. Danisal hadn’t mentioned Arabeta’s supposition, only Gisco’s large suggested price.
“That’s a very generous offer,” Paulus said. “But, I mean . . . what would I do without you? Would you . . . would you still want to work with me?”
“Of course!” Danisal said. The two sat alone, so he patted Paulus’ hand reassuringly.
Paulus remained troubled. “The whole thing is strange. Why only Volani? Why give you your freedom? Do you think . . .” His eyes were suddenly hard. “Freedmen can testify. No one believes a slave in court.”
Danisal almost asked why anyone would want to have him in court, but stilled his tongue. To the left of where he sat a dead senator’s body had recently been lying.
Paulus shook his head and rapped the surface of his desk. “It’s a trick. I’m sure of it. Montius set this all up to try to ruin what I’ve built here.”
“Oh, I really don’t think—”
“Don’t you? You’re really smart, Danisal. Are you just not thinking about this because it’s something you want? You know it’s strange, don’t you?”
“It is,” Danisal admitted. Almost he said something about Hanuvar, but if this really were Hanuvar, might Paulus try to profit off that knowledge?
Paulus was thinking out loud. “Suppose you’re Montius and you’ve heard about two or three of the accidents we’ve had here, and the donations left us. Like the one today.”
Danisal hadn’t needed that clarification, but did not interrupt to point that out. He was more troubled by Paulus’ mention of accidents, plural, as though there had been more. Before he could think how to inquire, Paulus continued his speculative ranting.
“You want to maybe claw some of that money toward you, so you need proof. Who better than you, my most trusted slave? And your Volani are intimately involved in a lot of your management. They’ve seen things, like Mikas. It could even be some rival trying to buy you away from me and build something of their own to put me out of business!” Paulus could work himself up into great agitated furies. “Where did you say you were supposed to meet these people again?” he asked. “In the Nuvaran area?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see them.”
Paulus proved to be speaking literally, for the park owner felt so apprehensive he wished to observe from a distance. They relocated to look out from the second floor of the faux Nuvaran palace, in a cubicle in the upper floor designed as a spy hole for their security people. It had been Danisal’s contention that folk must be safer here even than on public streets if the Wonder Gardens were to attract visitors, and that meant having guards both on patrol and watching unobtrusively.
Spotting the Herrene proved simple enough; he was talking animatedly with a countryman. The man who might be Hanuvar, though, was almost invisible in the evening shadow, and Danisal had to point him out to Paulus.
“Him? Who’s the woman beside him?”
“I didn’t see her earlier,” Danisal admitted.
Stanos, Paulus’ sturdy chief of security, waited just behind them. “Who’s she?” Paulus asked him. “Did those two come in with her?”
“My people didn’t pay particular attention to those two when they paid their entrance fees.” Stanos sounded pleased with himself, as though he was about to convey important details. “But one of my people recognized the woman. She came with a bevy of slaves and her grandchildren, but not the two men. She is Amelia, the wife of Ciprion.”
“Ciprion?” Paulus repeated, so loudly that he glanced out the spyhole to make sure he hadn’t been overheard. “The Ciprion?” he asked more softly.
“Yes.”
Paulus scoffed and jabbed a finger at the wall while starting at Danisal. “And there your stranger is sitting next to her. Tell me why any Volani would be associating with the wife of the man who defeated them!”
Danisal’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t know.”
“They wouldn’t,” Paulus said waspishly, and paced off toward the other wall. “This is some kind of trick. Just like I said. I can see it now. Ciprion’s gotten suspicious of what I’m doing and is going to use the Volani as witnesses. I bet he wants to buy up the Gardens! They’ve so much potential for making even more money!” He wrung his hands. “Was he asking questions about us, and what we’re doing?”
“Not a one,” Danisal said. “The discussion was entirely about buying our freedom.”
Stanos stepped to the spyhole.
Paulus mulled over Danisal’s information before deciding what it meant. “This man’s sticking with his cover story to win you over. He won’t start prying for details until you’re free. And I use that term loosely. He’ll find a way to keep you under his control. We’re going to have to talk to them.”
Stanos turned to address Paulus. “The woman’s leaving, sir.” A freeborn man, he did not have to address his employer as master.
Paulus cursed nervously. “I want to talk to her. Send someone to pick her up . . . but nothing, uh, alarming. Tell her she’s been singled out for a special meal or prize or something and then I’ll talk to her. Distract the kids and slaves with some treats. Bring her to me in the downstairs office.”
Stanos assured him he would and hurried off.
“I think you should slow down,” Danisal advised. “You don’t want to antagonize the wife of a powerful senator.” Ciprion was in a whole different league than Terentius—he was not only connected at the highest levels he was practically revered by some Dervans as a national treasure. Was Paulus blind to the danger here?
“I’m just going to politely chat with her.”
Danisal worked to dissuade him but Paulus proved obstinate. He had just settled himself behind the desk in the little ground floor office when the door opened. Amelia was hustled in by a muscular Ruminian girl.
“The slaves and children are all delighted,” Stanos reported as he closed the door. “The woman was too until we guided her further off.”
Amelia advanced to stand before Paulus and addressed him with icy disdain. “You will release me at once.”
“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” Paulus said. “A man has come to me claiming to wish to purchase the freedom of Volani. I know he’s an agent of yours. What does Ciprion want with my people?”
“My husband has no interest in your people.”
Paulus laughed. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Amelia said. “And I don’t particularly care. But I can tell you that my husband won’t like you taking this demanding tone with his wife.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Paulus assured her. “I’m just trying to get to the truth.” Danisal thought his insincerity was manifest to all, and shook his head quickly, trying to warn him to change course. Paulus should have known that threatening Ciprion’s wife even covertly was a terrible idea.
But Paulus ignored him. “You clearly know this man Gisco well. What were you talking about?”
Amelia frowned. “He is a family friend. He sometimes buys slaves as part of his business.”
“For whom? Himself? There is something strange to your story, Lady Amelia.”
“You are the only one acting strange. Things will not go well for you if you threaten me or that man. And if either of us is harmed,” she added with chill certainty, “my husband will take this place apart, brick by brick, and throw you in a prison so deep you’ll never see the sun, if you survive the process.”
A wiser man would have understood the conviction in her voice. Paulus merely chuckled indulgently. “So he is important to Ciprion. He’s one of his agents, isn’t he?”
“My husband would find that funny. He is no employee of ours. I assure you.”
Paulus sighed. He nodded to the guard. “Take her away. Give her some of the tea, show her the Gardens. I need to speak to the man alone.”
“You will release me, at once,” Amelia commanded.
“You’ll be unharmed,” Paulus said with an unctuous smile. “Take her away.”
She held herself stiffly as the two guards led her off.
“Paulus,” Danisal said. “I don’t think—”
“Danisal, go get the man. Don’t let him know anything’s wrong. Tell him I want to speak with him. Oh, and bring the guards in here. Four of them,” he added. “He doesn’t look that big, but . . . I don’t want any trouble.”
Danisal bowed before Paulus could second-guess himself again. He found himself leaving almost against his will, as though he were a child’s wheeled horse pushed into motion across the tiles and unable to stop of its own volition. No good would come from anything Paulus had just done. And the mention of the tea used to make the believers sluggish and suggestible was ominous.
And yet, the next thing he knew, he was stepping out of the faux palace and making his way through a small crowd. He needed time to stop and think, and he didn’t have it.
The Nuvaran area was never as busy in the evening, when many of the visitors liked to eat more familiar food. The man who’d identified himself as Gisco somehow sensed his approach and looked up at him. He was sitting now with Arjax. When Danisal appeared before them, both started to rise. Knowing Paulus only wanted Gisco and not the Herrene, Danisal shook his head. “Only him. We’ll be back in a few moments.”
The man rose, waved off the Herrene as though he felt comfortable talking with Danisal alone, then moved with assurance to follow. Watching him, Danisal’s anxiety grew even more pronounced. This fellow felt familiar. He had spoken so easily in Volani. But then he’d been sitting with Ciprion’s wife, hadn’t he? And Ciprion was purportedly a very clever man—wouldn’t he find someone to put his opponents at ease, before he struck? Someone fluent in Volani?
Explaining that Paulus was interested in his offer and had cancelled an appointment to talk things over, he waved Gisco to his side as they entered a shop that led to the office.
“Did you talk to your people?” Gisco asked. He scanned the interior as they moved through and around a pair of teenaged boys studying a display of black Nuvaran spear points.
“I did.” Danisal held open a door labeled in three languages with expressions meaning no entry. Gisco gestured for him to precede, and Danisal did so.
“And what did they say?”
Danisal didn’t answer until the door had shut. He laughed a little. A lantern hung in the dark hall lit their way toward two separate stairwells and the door to the office. He pitched his voice low. “They were all for accepting.”
He opened the door and gestured for Ciprion’s agent to enter. Once again Gisco insisted Danisal precede him.
He saw two guards behind Paulus, smiling nervously from behind the desk. Not until the stranger was further in did the two additional guards trot down the stairs and enter, closing the door behind them.
Gisco saw then he was cornered and advanced to the center of the room, eyes on Paulus.
Danisal made his way around the edge of the room to stand at his employer’s right hand.
“I don’t want you nervous,” Paulus said. “But there are things that just don’t add up for me. And before we come to any kind of agreement there are questions that have to be asked.”
“Ask them.”
“Why were you sitting with the wife of Ciprion?”
“She is a friend.”
“So you, who want to buy Volani, are friends with the man who defeated them? Who are you, and what do you really want?”
Gisco answered easily. “My employer likes what you’re doing here. He wants to build something similar, but private, just focused on the Volani. He doesn’t intend to compete with you, since his gardens won’t be open to the public. He understandably wants genuine Volani to advise him. I know you’ve valued them, but you don’t seem to specifically need them now yourself.”
He sounded so reasonable that Danisal almost believed him himself.
Paulus looked uncertain for a long moment, then laughed. “I don’t buy it. I truly abhor violence, but I am capable of it.”
Gisco didn’t look worried, merely disappointed, as though Paulus were a child who’d failed to understand an important lesson. “I don’t think you realize the mistake you’re making.”
His statement gave Paulus honest pause. “Mistake?”
“This deal could make you quite rich.” Gisco reached slowly for his belt pouch and, while the guards watched carefully, removed a flattened green gem that threw back torchlight.
Paulus motioned Danisal to take it. Danisal kept his gaze downcast until he was directly in front of Gisco, and then he searched his face. For a brief moment their eyes locked and Danisal saw the man’s utter conviction, entirely at odds with the morass of confusion typical of Paulus.
Danisal looked down at the stone until he walked it to Paulus, who then held it up to the light.
Paulus’ face shone with avarice. Visibly mastering himself, he slowly closed his hand over the stone. “There are more like these?”
“Yes. I can give you three, beyond the money I’ve already promised.”
Paulus gulped. He didn’t know what to do. His pleading eyes sought Danisal.
Unfortunately, Danisal wasn’t sure what to do either, for he had begun to suspect Gisco had been telling the truth. He had presented a cover story to Paulus that sounded reasonable, but he had meant every word he’d said earlier and Arabeta might even be right about his real identity. It still didn’t make sense that Hanuvar would know Amelia, though, did it? But then weren’t Amelia’s husband and Hanuvar supposed to respect one another? Might they actually be friends?
Hanuvar, if that’s who he truly was, looked boldly at Danisal, as if daring him to understand the truth.
“I need to think,” Paulus said, and pointed at the guards. “Take him to the holding area.” He addressed his prisoner. “I’ll consider this and come talk to you.”
“Don’t think too long.” The man who might be Hanuvar allowed the guards to approach, but made clear by his narrowed eyes that they’d best not touch him. They refrained, though they stepped close. He allowed himself to be marched away.
Then it was just Danisal and Paulus, eying the gemstone.
Danisal spoke with quiet respect. “I think you should take the deal, and forget whatever you think you’re going to do about Ciprion’s wife.”
Paulus smiled indulgently. “You don’t need to worry about any of that.” His hand closed over the gem and he seemed to weigh it in his hand. “I’m going to take care of everything.”
Danisal sucked in a breath. “You asked me to tell you when you’re being too risky, remember? Tell me what you’re planning to do with Ciprion’s wife. Why are you giving her the tea you give the believers?”
“She’s going to have a sad accident is all, over by the ponds.”
He’d lost his mind. “You’re going to drown her? You can’t do that!”
“It will all make sense soon.”
“I thought you didn’t want attention! You don’t think that will bring you some?”
“I can make it work. And you can help me.”
“And what about that man?” Danisal still couldn’t quite manage to say his name.
“I think he and I will come to an arrangement to get the rest of the gemstones.” Paulus smiled and stood. “I can see you’re confused. Someone’s just trying to take advantage of you, again. To trick you, again. I’m looking out for you, and the money we’ll get from this little venture will really help us build our future.”
“What if they’re telling the truth, and acting against those two will destroy everything we’ve built?”
Paulus lifted the emerald. “I’ll think about it.”
Danisal knew that his employer had fixed upon a terrible course. “Paulus, listen—remember when you insisted it would enhance the realism to let the crocodiles roam around the Hadiran area so long as we kept them well fed? You asked me to tell you if—”
“Shut it!” Paulus backhanded him across the face.
The blow caught him completely off guard. It sent Danisal stumbling into the wall. His cheek stung, but was still not as great an injury as his surprise.
“Look what you made me do!” Paulus cried. “I’m the master, you’re the slave, and I am not going to sell you! Do you get that?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes. Master,” Danisal said softly.
Paulus’ mood cooled on the instant and his voice grew wheedling. “You have to be reminded who’s in charge sometimes. We need this money, don’t you see? We can keep expanding. We can add more areas. And I’ll let you design them.”
“Yes, Master.”
His answer set Paulus into a whole new rage. “Just get out! I need to think!”
Danisal left, rubbing his cheek. Paulus was going to kill Amelia. He was probably going to kill Hanuvar, too, after he tried to get more money out of him. Danisal had scoffed so often at the believers and their desperate search for something more important than themselves he hadn’t realized how he’d done the same thing himself.
The old hillside over which the Wonder Gardens were built was layered with caverns. One run of them was directly connected to the fissures from which the vapor wafted, but others had long since been used for storage, and so previous owners of the property had built steps into the caves and fitted them with sconces and even occasional doors. One had kept guard dogs. Over a narrow cul-de-sac, a door constructed from iron bars had been attached, to keep the long-vanished guard animals in, and Paulus had occasionally employed the place as a disciplinary tool, always saying how much he regretted its use.
When Danisal arrived at the cell after a few minutes of labored running, he expected to find at least one man on guard, and he expected to lie to him about some orders from Paulus. What he found instead was Hanuvar spinning to face him after locking the door in place.
The older man was alert and unblinking. He held no weapon, but the threat inherent in him was frightening.
Seeing that Danisal was alone and out of breath he relaxed only slightly.
“Where are the guards?” Danisal said.
Hanuvar pointed to the cell.
Danisal could just make out one motionless sandaled foot in the darkness.
“Are they dead?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“We disagreed about who belonged in the cell. Where’s Paulus?”
“Still staring at your jewel, I’d bet,” Danisal said, a little stunned by Hanuvar’s simplified explanation. “I came to get you out.”
Hanuvar shifted to Volani. “So you’re with me? Or are you with him?”
“With you.”
“Where’s Lady Amelia?” Hanuvar asked impatiently.
“That’s another reason I came,” Danisal said. “Paulus means to kill her.”
Hanuvar’s answer was a growl. “Where?”
“He’s giving her a sleeping draught, so he can drown her.”
“Where?” he repeated with more emphasis.
“I can show you—”
“You’d best be ready to run again.”
VI
Antires had noted Hanuvar’s signal to remain vigilant. He already had been, although he wondered if he ever would be as sensitive to details as Hanuvar, even after taking careful note of his friend’s actions for a year or more. By this time of the evening he was frequently writing down his thoughts, or organizing previous drafts of their adventures in the code he’d agreed to use, but instead he watched for suspicious activity, particularly groups of three or more who might be gathering to maneuver from behind. He could still see through the restaurant doorway to where Silenus and Amelia’s slaves sat with the children, all enjoying honey cakes and mixed fruit juices. That they had been singled out for special treatment had not struck Antires as particularly concerning, for powerful patricians and their relatives were often given honors if they were recognized, in the hope that those bestowing gifts would be remembered when favors were needed.
But Hanuvar had not cared to see Amelia invited away, remarking that someone could have been watching the two of them talk.
“No one,” Antires countered, “would antagonize the wife of Ciprion.”
Hanuvar had allowed that no one with any sense would do that, then reminded Antires how many stupid people they’d encountered over the course of their travels.
Antires still mulled that over as he watched the feast underway. He guessed he’d be welcomed to join if he were to walk across the lane, but more and more he looked off toward where Hanuvar had gone. Perhaps being alert meant having a better understanding of what was happening, but right now he had none.
He’d observed Danisal leading Hanuvar into the two-storied “palace” housing the Nuvaran artifacts, and recalled seeing a closed door there beside a sign saying no one was permitted entry. Given that he’d seen no other exit from the building, he was certain Hanuvar had been led beyond it.
Though he had complete faith in Hanuvar to endure any number of challenges, he also knew his friend had been in tight spots before, and as time plodded on he began to grow concerned that this might be one of them.
He eased off the bench and headed into the faux palace. A trio of adolescents were talking to the pretty pair of girls behind the counter displaying Nuvaran charms. The young people had eyes only for one another. He headed for the door in the wall as though he had every right to open it, then did so and passed through into a hallway lit by lanterns. One direction dead-ended in a narrow stair going up with another going down. Antires went the opposite direction, which stopped at a door set in the gray stone. He listened, heard what sounded like someone chuckling, and opened it.
Before him was a small office, complete with desk and chair, a cupboard, and a big wax board that looked like a duty roster, judging by names stenciled in it. A single window looked out on an overgrown garden area he’d seen from outside, around a corner of the “palace.”
Seated behind the desk was a handsome man growing jowly with easy living. Rings gleamed on every finger, and they were the gold ones that stepped-up merchants liked to wear in demonstration of their wealth, as though stylish haircuts and fine clothes weren’t signifier enough.
The man stilled at the sight of Antires. One of his hands was outstretched toward the large candle in the holder on the desk. He held a small, flattened emerald between thumb and forefinger and had apparently been enjoying the play of light through the stone.
Antires supposed it could have been someone else’s emerald, but he knew it for the kind that Hanuvar carried with him, one from a dwindling stock pried from the tomb of his ancestors.
He closed the door behind him and advanced, for he had learned that much from Hanuvar—seize the initiative.
The stranger pulled the gem toward himself protectively. “Who are you? Get out. You don’t belong here.”
“Where did you get that gem?” Antires didn’t slow until he stood before the desk.
“I’ve had it for a long time. You’re trespassing.”
It was just possible that Hanuvar had worked out an arrangement, but Hanuvar had taught Antires to trust his instincts, and every one of his senses screamed that this man was not to be trusted; he was nervous, and a poor liar. “Where are Gisco and the Lady Amelia?” he asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with them,” the man said quickly. “They’ll be fine, and be out in just a bit.”
He hadn’t asked if anything was wrong with them, just where they were. He’d heard enough. When he stepped around the desk the man stood, fumbling to unbutton a flap at his side that looped over a knife hilt. Antires surprised himself by how quickly he acted. A single punch to the fellow’s soft gut doubled him over. He couldn’t quite bring himself to slam the man’s head against the desk, as he expected Hanuvar would have done, but he did push him back into the wax duty roster in its frame, rattling it, then, when the man was still off balance and opening his mouth, Antires drew his own knife and twisted one of the fellow’s arms behind his back.
“The emerald’s mine,” the man said. “Gisco gave it to me.”
“That’s nice,” Antires said. “But I have some other questions. And I expect you to answer quickly.”
VII
The clouds glowed dully with the moon’s light, as though a great lamp hung behind a veil in the sky. It seemed almost as though the moon were trebled in size.
Far beneath it, Danisal kept up with Hanuvar, though he was breathing heavily by the time they reached a walled-off garden beyond the Hadiran region. Set on the side of a gently sloping hill, it held a mix of flowering and fruit trees and well-shaped bushes, spread among ornamental ponds. Evening was darkening on toward night, but their objective was made simple by someone holding a lantern about halfway down the gentle slope. Hanuvar accelerated into a sprint toward a trio of figures who appeared to be dancing along the side of one of the pools.
It was not a dance, though. Two of the people struggled to push the third forward by the light of lantern borne by a fourth.
Hanuvar was only a few hundred feet out when the two succeeded in shoving the other into the water, where she landed with a splash and a feminine cry of surprise.
The lantern bearer turned at the sound of Hanuvar’s approach.
Danisal still labored to catch up. The few remaining doubts he’d held about the identity of the man he followed vanished in the coming moments as Hanuvar rushed straight on for the guards.
He drove a knife through the lantern bearer’s belly, pushing the man away as he crumpled. Hanuvar then sprang at the closer of the two at the pool side; so fast had he acted that the other, slim Stanos, still watched the progress of Amelia’s drowning.
The guard slung a sap weighted with sand at Hanuvar’s head. He ducked and drove his knife into the man’s chest, then plunged it with terrible speed again and again.
Danisal neared at last, smelling blood and bile as he sucked air into his laboring lungs. He was acutely aware that the splashes out in the pool had grown feeble, to be expected from someone both drugged and knocked senseless. Time was scarce.
Stanos, alert at last, bore in with a professional sword thrust that Hanuvar slid back from.
Danisal didn’t wait to see how the battle resolved. Still panting, he reached the stone lip framing the rectangular pool and kicked off his sandals. Bright though the moon was he saw no way to judge the depth, but he spotted a mass of rags floating about six feet out from the side and threw himself at it.
He hit the water and dropped, plunging until he touched bottom. He pushed up, gasping, discovering that when he stood at full height the water reached to his lips. He kicked forward through the water, arriving at the wet cloth and seeking quickly through it for something human until his fingers closed on an arm. He planted himself, discovered Amelia’s head, and raised it above the level of the water.
That didn’t seem to help anything. She didn’t move.
Another splash sounded from behind him and he discovered Hanuvar in the pool. Together the two men guided Amelia to the side, supporting her head above the water. Hanuvar then vaulted up to the edge and Danisal helped lift her to safety.
She wasn’t breathing.
VIII
Hanuvar crouched beside Amelia while Danisal struggled to pull himself from the pool, wheezing heavily.
While Hanuvar hadn’t spent the long years at sea typical of his people, his culture had roved the waves since time immemorial and had long since learned how to help those who’d breathed in water. He turned Amelia over, pressed her back again and again, moving her arms over her head and back down, and was rewarded after the fifth press with a light cough. After more presses, Amelia moved feebly and water rolled from her mouth.
Finally she pushed up on her hands, her dark hair straggling down the sides of her face, and vomited.
“Praise be to Melquan,”19 Danisal muttered.
Amelia gagged again and pushed away, her arms shaking. Hanuvar helped her to sit upright. Part of her vomit had dripped down the front of her wet dress. Her dark hair streamed down raggedly across her forehead and shoulders.
“I must look terrible.” Her raspy voice was incredibly soft.
“No, you’re radiant in the twilight,” he said, and she laughed so hard that she launched into another coughing fit and expelled more water.
He put a hand to her shoulder. He feared she might overbalance and fall back in.
“Is this how things always work out?” she said, voice still soft. “Something goes awry and you have to rush in and fix it?”
“Often. But sometimes I can’t get there in time.” He didn’t want to reflect on how close he’d come to failing. Or how much harm she’d come to simply because she sat next to him at a park. “If Danisal hadn’t helped, I’m not sure you’d have made it. Come on. Let’s get you away from the side. How’s your balance? Did they hit you in the head?”
“Yes—” She reached up to feel the back of her skull and winced. She tottered as he helped her upright, and she coughed out more water. “Gods, but I feel awful.”
“Is your vision clear?”
“I think so.”
“How well can you walk?”
“Not well,” she said. “My head still feels fuzzy, but that dip seems to have cleared things a bit.” She only now seemed to become aware of Danisal, still breathing heavily to the side. “Who’s this fellow? Wasn’t he in the room with that odious man?”
“This is Danisal. He jumped in to save you,” he explained, then added, “he’s on our side.” Hanuvar guided her by the elbow past the bodies. “You might not want to look there.”
But she did, and sucked in a breath. “Sweet Jovren. Did you kill them all?”
“I did.” He thought at first she objected, and then she made herself clear.
“By yourself?”
“You were drowning. There wasn’t time to take prisoners.”
“I’m not criticizing. I’m just impressed. And grateful. Have I thanked you yet?”
“You managed not to vomit on me, which I appreciate.”
She patted his arm. “Thank you.” And then her eyebrows shot up in alarm. “The children! By the gods . . . I can’t believe I forgot the children!”
Footsteps raced toward them and a figure ran out of the gloom. A pair of men trailed after, calling for the interloper to stop.
Hanuvar guided Amelia further away.
Antires reached them, looking over his shoulder as two helmeted figures ran up, shouting that he had to clear out, and that this was a special guest area. So far the darkness had obscured that bodies lay behind them, and the guards must not have overheard the earlier commotion.
Danisal interposed himself. “These people have my permission to be here.”
The two pursuers resolved themselves into two of the guards costumed in ancient Dervan armor. While they seemed deferential to Danisal, who held authority in the park despite his social status, they were curious about why he was sodden. Some explaining in a reassuring tone was undertaken.
Antires stopped before Hanuvar and Amelia, speaking as he recovered his breath. “Praise the gods you’re all right.”
“Thanks go to Decius,” Amelia said.
“What are you doing here?” Hanuvar asked.
“I got to worrying about you.” Antires shook his head in chagrin. “But you had things in hand, as usual.”
“Barely. How did you find us?”
“I went into the Nuvaran palace, looking for you, and found a nervous man staring at one of your emeralds. First he claimed never to have seen you, then to have taken you for questioning.” He continued with obvious pride, “I got the truth out of him. And your emerald.”
Hanuvar laughed. “Nicely done.”
Danisal rejoined them as the guards headed away.
“Where are my grandchildren and little Delmar?” Amelia’s voice was tense with apprehension.
“The last I saw, they were still eating free desserts the park offered them,” Antires answered. “Silenus and your family slaves were minding them.”
Hanuvar felt Amelia let out a long breath in relief. “Where’s Paulus?” he asked.
“I tied him up in a storage room. Some of that training you’ve shown me has paid off,” Antires continued, still clearly excited. “He must have sent most of his guards with you.” He tipped his head the direction his two pursuers had gone. “Because that pair didn’t start chasing me until they saw me running past the Hadiran lodges.”
Hanuvar nodded his approval, and Antires smiled.
Amelia squeezed his arm. “Well then, all has worked out. You’re going to take me back to my family, and while you round up your people and get them out of the park, I’m going to send word to the local legionaries, and then I’m going to see that strange man arrested for trying to kill me.”
“There are some freedmen working for him who can testify to other crimes, I’m sure,” Danisal said. “The ones he thought you were going to uncover.” He turned to Hanuvar. “You really are here just to liberate us, aren’t you? And you’re Hanuvar? Like one of my friends said?”
Hanuvar didn’t want it to be said he had ever identified himself in front of Amelia. “We’re here to set you free,” he confirmed.
“It’s like a play,” Antires mused. “The park’s owner brought his own end by calling attention to his fears.”
“I don’t recall plays making me so wet,” Amelia said testily.
Hanuvar leaned toward her and spoke softly, as if unaware Antires could hear. “He thinks everything’s like a play.”
“‘I could live long without the maunderings of poets, playwrights, and philosophers,’” Antires said, quoting Etipholes.
“It’s not poets who are bothering me today,” Amelia responded. “It’s grasping madmen and their minions. But enough talk. You need to take me to somewhere less horrifying. Decius, the next time I see you out in public I’m going to look the other way.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for that at all,” said Hanuvar.
You may be interested to know that Paulus’ arrest and conviction actually drew more visitors to the Wonder Gardens, and that owing to Danisal’s innovations the place remained profitable for almost a decade, until nearly everyone who could afford them had attended a time or two. The year it finally folded, it was a sad ghost of itself, having fallen into disrepair. Perhaps if its new managers had understood that they needed to invent new attractions, or had at least practiced upkeep on the existing ones, it might have endured a little longer despite its flaws.
When Hanuvar and I returned with these Volani slaves we had achieved nearly all that we had set out to do in the Oscanus region. The last group of children arrived from Amelia’s villa, and once we had arranged for the release of a few slaves housed in more pleasant circumstances, and Carthalo secured the freedom of the last individuals to the far south, we would be on our way to Selanto, and the north, and from there we would depart for more distant regions of the empire.
I am tempted to say that we had achieved these goals against all odds, but in truth it had more to do with exceedingly careful and clever planning carried out by extremely capable men and women. For all that, we knew we had been fortunate.
One major goal was left unrealized: Hanuvar had still heard nothing about his daughter.
—Sosilos, Book Fifteen
18. Calvia was not at all aware of Hanuvar’s true identity, but she had observed the uncommon regard with which her grandfather had spoken to him the previous year when her brother had been abducted, and deduced that he had been instrumental in her brother’s safe recovery. More recently she had glimpsed him at her grandfather’s side when the villa she was visiting caught fire. She reported that it seemed her grandfather’s friend appeared only when her family most needed assistance, almost as though he were a guardian spirit, and thus she wished to speak with him and take his measure.—Silenus
19. The Volani lord of strength, stamina, and some say the protector of the innocent, but regardless, one who safeguards life.—Silenus