A Conjuring of Assassins, page 20
“Your Excellency,” I said, hoarse with awe, “someone in your house—”
Egerik’s sure fingers touched the pendant at my breast, drawing my gaze to his pale eyes. They bored into my own with relentless insistence until it seemed as if his determined fingers had touched my very soul.
His brows lifted; his lips parted; and he drew in a quick breath.
“You believe she speaks to you,” he said. “Lady Fortune, the divine Espe, to a common merchant’s shill? Can you read the Ascoltaré, girl?”
I nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed at his willingness … his need to believe. This was what I was made for.
Tears of joy and awe stung my eyes as Egerik took my uninjured hand and helped me to the pale wood floor. We knelt on either side of the tangled, blood-spattered needles.
“Tell me what this means, damizella. A casting laced in blood has significance, I know.”
I had not yet learned how to interpret every possible positioning of the Nine, but students of Lady Fortune learned one principle first. “Excellency, an unintended cast, confirmed with blood, means death arrives in your house after the sun’s next rising.”
16
ONE DAY UNTIL THE PRISONER TRANSFER
EARLY MORNING
“Begin now,” commanded Egerik. “Your interpretation.”
“Monette, what are you thinking?” snapped Papa. “His Excellency has no time for your foolishness. We have business.”
“You will stay silent or leave the room, merchant.” No mistaking the command in the ambassador’s quiet word. “And you, damizella, will clarify this warning your needles speak. You’ll need candles and…?”
“Yes, candles. Nine. Of beeswax, set in a ring around us.”
I clutched my bleeding hand—my right hand—to my breast. Could the urgency of Lady Fortune’s work be any clearer? The right hand belonged to Lady Virtue. The left—my uninjured hand—belonged to my mistress, Lady Fortune.
“And a towel of clean white linen.”
The ring of candlelight would separate the Lady’s influence from common concerns. The linen would hold the needles as I removed them from their positions.
Egerik stared at the bloody needles as if they might stand up on their tips and speak.
Papa hobbled back and forth, seething. But he knew any hope of profit now rested with me. Who could have imagined the Lady would use our scheme to deliver a true warning to our mark? Certainly not Papa, who believed in neither luck nor virtue.
The soft sound of a closing door brought Cei with an armful of candles, holders, and a rolled towel of white linen. With fluid motions, he set the candles in elegant brass holders—each an image of a different screaming mouth—and gestured for me to approve the positioning as he placed each in the circle.
When the last candle was set, Cei folded wooden shutters over every window and brought me a burning taper. Then he withdrew. Egerik had neither spoken nor even looked at him.
I turned my attention to the needles. Please, divine Lady, let me not falter.
Lighting the nine candles one by one, I contemplated each of the nine Mysteries—Jeopardy, Judgment, Mysticism, Order, Presence, Reason, Relationship, Power, and Substance—and their eighteen manifestations. Each Mystery had a primary manifestation and an obverse, represented by opposing tips of its needle.
When the candles were lit, I returned to my place on the floor. A halo of light surrounded Egerik and me, the needles, and the blood. Papa remained a shadowy bulk behind the fire. Perhaps he would believe me after this.
I carefully examined the lay.
The sharp tip at each end of the thin bronze needles signified the equal importance of the primary and the obverse. A single embossed ring marked the first third of the length from the primary tip and a double ring the second, so there was no mistaking which end was which. The symbol of each Mystery was embossed exactly in the center of its needle: the arrow for Presence, the crescent for Reason, the starburst for Order, and so on.
The needles had dropped from my hand into three distinct piles of two, two, and five. Easier to interpret than all nine in one tangle. The candlelight set the bronze aglow, the symbols and the rings easy to recognize. Though I had never performed a reading for a stranger, I felt ready.
I breathed deep and began. “Divine Espe, Lady Fortune, whispers in my ear, petitioner. By her hand alone has this casting been laid before us. Humble in the face of her will, serene in the surety of my calling, and steeped in her lore do I venture interpretation.”
As I spoke the ritual words, bathed in awe of the Lady’s gift, her serenity and confidence steadied my soul. I knew these needles. My hand could read them.
“Will you hear Lady Espe’s words from my mouth?”
“Oh yes, I will hear.” Egerik devoured the words as if they were bits of tender meat.
“I see three separate positionings,” I said. “Isolate, thus not dependent one upon the other, yet unquestionably linked by blood.”
The first was a simple crossing of two needles.
“The Mystery of Substance lies atop Presence, primary upon primary.”
The forefinger of my left hand confirmed my observation by touching the symbol on the uppermost and then the lower of the two needles without disturbing their position.
“The primary manifestation of Substance is flesh; the primary of Presence is arrival. Thus, a visitor of flesh will arrive here at the sun’s next rising. Tomorrow.”
The clarity of my understanding astonished me. The air quivered around us; Egerik’s agitation, not mine. My Mistress was with me, guiding my hand and my voice, infusing me with calm. I continued without hesitation.
“The nature of this casting, offered by the Lady without our intent and bathed in blood—blood which marks every one of these needles—tells me this visitor shall be either the victim or the agent of a mortal doom.”
Egerik stared at the needles I indicated, a dip of his head signaling acceptance. “You’ve no idea which he will be—victim or agent?”
The Lady’s power surged in me. “Certain, we who read the Lady’s intents are taught to consider the simplest interpretation first, until more of the context can be clarified. She has warned of death arriving at your house. Thus I would say that, the visitor brings the danger. And because the needle of Substance is not touched at exactly at its tip but nearer its center, the danger is not of flesh alone, like a disease, nor is it a danger of spirit alone, like murderous intent. Without more information, I can say no more of it.”
“Go on to the others then.” His eagerness fired my soul.
Another two needles lay apart from the rest, not crossed, but almost parallel, their primary tips pointed in the same direction. “These two represent the Mysteries of Mysticism and Power,” I said. “They are aligned primary to primary, obverse to obverse. This positioning says each Mystery both affects and is affected by the other.
“Enlightenment—attention to the extraordinary aspects of the world, the unexplainable—aligns with strength, while Mysticism’s obverse of mundanity—the preoccupation with the everyday—aligns with weakness. One could say strength is fed by enlightenment which in its turn builds strength.”
“And mundane concerns feed weakness,” he said, “which deepens preoccupation with the mundane.”
“Certain, Excellency.”
It was a profound alignment, entirely contrary to the truth of life in the Costa Drago where those with political power discouraged any investigation of mysticism.
I glanced at the ambassador. The creases at the corners of his eyes had deepened and furrows of deep thinking lined his brow.
“Again, I cannot interpret these further without moving on,” I said. “Unless you tell me where these sayings draw your thoughts.”
He jerked his head. “More.”
The other five needles were jumbled in a precarious tangle. I examined it from every angle.
“Atop all we find the Mystery of Jeopardy, with its obverse tip pointed skyward—highest of all the nine—”
“—and the obverse of Jeopardy’s mystery is danger,” whispered Egerik, the furrows on his brow deepening. “So danger towers over all.”
Though it was not proper for a petitioner to offer interpretation, I’d not the heart to reprimand him with so serious a matter at hand.
“Indeed so,” I said. “Jeopardy’s obverse tip rests atop the primary of the steeply tilted needle representing Relationship. That positioning implies that the source of the danger is a Relationship, rather than the Relationship resulting from the Jeopardy.”
“From an enemy.”
“Nay, Excellency, for as you can see, Jeopardy’s needle rests on the single-ringed end of the Relationship needle—its primary.”
His glance popped up to mine. “So a friend is the source of my danger?”
“The steepness of Relationship’s tilt suggests the relationship is much more than friendship. Your danger could arise from oath, pledged service, conspiracy, sworn fealty, or other relationship of a deep and significant kind.”
“And is it one dangerous person or more?”
I considered the stack yet again and invoked the Lady’s aid. “Nothing here speaks of numbers. And to say dangerous person is inaccurate. All we see here is that the relationship generates the danger.”
Egerik chewed his lip.
I was curious, but then it was not my role to apply the casting to my petitioner’s life. Only to illuminate the Lady’s handiwork in the needles.
“So my arriving visitor brings mortal danger with him. The danger arises from one or more relationships of sworn oaths or fealty or pledged service. That relationship might or might not be with the arriving guest.”
“Indeed, Excellency, that is how I interpret the Lady’s warning.”
“Go on. What else?”
Carefully, I removed the top two needles, confirming the symbols I’d seen on them and their placement with respect to the three below. When I laid them aside on the white towel, blood drips spread eagerly into the fine linen.
I plunged ahead. “These two needles are the underpinning of the danger. The primary of Reason, which reaches high enough to touch the indicator of danger, is knowledge. The same segment of Reason touches the obverse of Judgment, which is unresolved error or unpunished crime, as opposed to justice. This positioning implies a most serious crime, like murder or theft. Its connection with knowledge implies secrets—terrible secrets. Those are the bones of this augury, Excellency.”
“So unpunished crime or unresolved error inflames this towering danger. Betrayal, perhaps. Treason, perhaps. And if I adhere to mundane concerns, I am weakened, but if I travel the path of faith … as I do now, for example … I gather strength.” His first assertion puzzled him, but he spoke the second with confidence.
“Logical conclusions, Excellency. And too—” I peered closely at the remaining needles. “There is one more thing.”
I had thought the last needle, Order, unconnected to the divination. Though it lay beneath the large pile, it did not touch any of the other needles. But in truth its obverse came within a fingernail’s width of a needle in the first pairing. Heart and mind quivered, alive with the Lady’s spirit, filling me with assurance that this was a matter of great significance.
“Here is a fundamental strangeness,” I said, pointing to the needle of Order. “Chaos is the obverse of the mystery of Order. Look at how chaos is all but touching the lower end of the Substance needle, which speaks of spirit.”
I struggled to make my interpretation into a cohesive story. “It appears that your arriving visitor will bring death to some in this house. The source of this arriving danger is your relationship with person or persons bound by solemn oaths or the like—coupled with secret knowledge of crimes like betrayal or treason. But the foundation of all these events seems to be yet a third entity, a chaotic spirit. An angry spirit, unable to leave this world.”
I sat back on my heels and reviewed the positions of all the needles and everything I had said. Finding no fault in my reasoning, I glanced up, only to see Egerik’s face turned to stone and his pale eyes peeling back my skin.
All serenity and confidence dropped away. How absurd for this man to put faith in a merchant’s daughter who dreamed of speaking with Lady Fortune’s voice.
“Of c-course, there are many ways to interpret these things,” I stammered. “I could draw a diagram that you could take to someone more—”
“I want you,” he said, in a cold assurance of a man who assumed his desires would never go unfilled. “Tomorrow afternoon. You will cast again, this time apurpose. Then we shall see how the future is arranged. Is it true that if objects or persons in the augury are present or near to hand, it changes the energies of a second cast?”
I struggled to reconcile his wishes and his question with the augury, and the outcome terrified me. To be so close to unnamed dangers … death in some unguessable guise.
“Yes, yes, certain, it would affect the cast if any of them were nearby: the arriving person, whose physical presence poses the danger, or anyone bound by oath or fealty which is the source of that danger, or the chaotic spirit. You think one or more of them could be present tomorrow?”
“Certainly the agent, and those bound by oaths. The malignant spirit … I hope not. A second cast should tell me more, I think. Of course you could be just a silly girl spouting nonsense.”
“Calumny, Segnoré Ambassador! My daughter is beloved of Lady Fortune.”
Papa stood outside the ring of candlelight, an indignant giant in the gloom, gray-faced and leaning hard on his cane. I’d forgotten him completely.
“My daughter and I have other appointments, and I would not have her in the path of dangerous visitors, living or—”
“Your arrangements are nothing to me,” said Egerik, rising to face him. Though his stature in no way approached the figure of my father, Egerik was clearly master here. “Your daughter will be present in this house by the second hour past midday, even if I have to send my household guards to fetch her. She will stay as long as I have use for her. Naturally, I’ll pay you well for her services. No need to bring your shoddy cloth of gold, or yourself for that matter.”
I wanted Papa to say no. This man who collected beautiful things frightened me. Or was it the Lady’s breath on my cheek frightened me more? Conspiracy, death, malignant spirits. The seeing … the words … had been so clear, as if graven in my soul. My hands had dropped the needles as if Espe’s own had guided them. I stared down at my right hand, bundled in bloody linen. Only now had I regained any awareness of the throbbing punctures.
Papa sniffed and wriggled his moustache. “Well, certainly, Excellency. We shall be here by the hour you say. Understand, segnoré: Monette is my only daughter, gifted with talents and beauty as all men dream of. I cannot and will not leave her alone with strangers, no matter how elevated their position. We shall negotiate the price of her services upon our arrival tomorrow.”
No matter his pompous words, my stomach churned at Papa’s easy agreement—and at the eager glow on his cheeks.
“Damizella.” Egerik nodded stiffly. “Merchant Fabroni. Do not be late.”
With no more than this curt acknowledgment, the ambassador left the room through the door in the wall panel.
“Your needles, Monette.” Papa’s reminder caught me before I could get to my feet. My unbandaged hand gathered them onto the square of white linen. Shaking and awkward, I bundled them with the towel. Blood yet stained the pale wood. More blood than needle sticks should produce. The Lady’s work.
“May I assist you to the door?” Cei had appeared at our side.
“I can walk,” said Papa. “But we need our sample case brought.”
“A servant will fetch it.” Cei held open the bronze door while Papa walked slowly across the room.
Mella was waiting beyond the door. “This way.”
I set out before the words were out of her mouth.
“Slow down, Monette,” said Papa. “My gout.”
I tried but my feet would not slow. I needed to be out of there. I was suffocating.
The journey through the house seemed endless. I had to stop at every turning to let Papa and Mistress Mella catch up, so that by the time we reached our porters, Papa near collapsed into the sedan chair and I was about to burst. We had to wait even more until a servant brought our case and the written invitation that would get us through the Quartiere di Fiori gates the next day.
I fidgeted as the case was settled on Papa’s lap and the porters lifted his chair. I needed to talk to Papa about the morning—and the visit to come. My hands shook with a mix of terror and excitement. Surely the Lady had shown the ambassador some plausible truth through my hands. My dreams of service and glory were awakening, but at the pleasure of such a man …
When the Quartiere di Fiori gates were just in sight at the end of the lane, two rough-looking men burst out of an alley and headed straight for us. Papa’s eyes were squeezed shut.
“Papa! Attention! Ruffians!”
Papa glanced up, his face creased in pain. “Fortune’s dam. I was hoping you two were close. Get this cursed box off me.”
His hands were crushed underneath, trying to hold up its weight.
I slipped around to the side opposite the approaching men.
“Sorry for the delay. We didn’t want to be seen,” said the blockish older man in a quiet rumble. “Resident family guards patrol every crack and knothole hereabouts.”
He mumbled something to the lead porter, who signaled a halt.
The younger of the two men lifted the sample case from Papa’s lap. “You look terrible, swordmaster.”
“Papa, who are these men?” They did seem familiar. We’d seen them on the way in.
The graying older man peered across the kieyu at me. “Gods’ hammer!”
Dark curls framed the slim younger man’s astonishment. “Demonscat, I didn’t recognize her. Never seen her looking so … I mean I knew she was decent looking, but I never believed what I heard about her these years. She was just my—What’s happened to her hand? Is that blood?”
