We sat in the hired chair on the way back, wobbling and weaving through the crowds of Land Street, heading for the Palace. I was folding away my spiced kerchief. The Doctor smiled sadly. She had been in a thoughtful, even morose mood all the way back (we had left the same way we had arrived, via the private dock). “Still worried about ill humours, Oelph?”
“It is how I was raised, mistress, and it seems like a sensible precaution.”
She sighed heavily and looked out at the people. “Ill humours,” she said, and seemed to be talking more to herself than to me.
“Those ill humours you talked about from insects, mistress…” I began, recalling something that my master had communicated to me.
“Hmm?—”
“Can they be extracted from the insects and used? I mean, might some assassin, say, be able to have made a concentrate of such insects and administer the potion to a victim?” I tried to look innocent.
The Doctor had a look about her I thought I recognised. Usually it meant that she was about to launch into some extremely long and involved explanation concerning how some aspect of medicine worked, and how all the assumptions that I might have held about the subject were completely wrong. On this occasion, though, she seemed to fall back from the brink of such a lecture, and looked away and just said, “No.”
There was silence between us for a while. During that time I listened to the braided canes of the chair as they creaked and cracked around us.
“What was wrong with the lady Tunch’s arm, mistress?” I asked eventually.
The Doctor sighed. “It had been broken, I think, and then set badly,” she said.
“But any saw-smith can set a bone, mistress!”
“It was probably a radial fracture. Those are always more difficult.” She looked out at the milling people all walking, bargaining, arguing and yelling on the street. “But yes, a rich man’s wife… especially one with a doctor in the family…” She looked round slowly at me. “You would think such a person would receive the best of attention, wouldn’t you? Instead of, it would seem, none.”
“But…” I began, then started to understand. “Ah.”
“Ah, indeed,” the Doctor said.
We both watched the people for a while, as our quartet of hired men carried the chair through them, uphill towards the Palace. The Doctor sighed after a while and said, “Her jaw had been broken not long ago, too. It hadn’t been treated, either.” Then she took the purse mistress Tunch had given her out of her coat and said something that wasn’t really like her at all. “Look, here’s a drinking house. Let’s go for a drink.” She looked at me closely. “Do you drink, Oelph?”
“I don’t, that is, I’m not really, well, I have but not—”
She held a hand up out of the side of the chair. One of the rear men shouted to those in front and we drew to an orderly halt right outside the door of the inn.
“Come on,” she said, slapping me on the knee, “I’ll teach you.”
6. THE BODYGUARD
The concubine lady Perrund, attended at a discreet distance by a eunuch of the harem guard, took her daily constitutional as usual a little after breakfast. Her route that day took her to one of the higher towers on the east wing where she knew she could gain access to the roof. It was a fine, clear day and the view could be particularly fine, looking out over the palace grounds to the spires and domes of the city of Crough, the plains beyond, and the hills in the deep distance.
“Why, DeWar!”
The chief bodyguard DeWar sat in a large, sheet-covered chair that was one of twenty or so pieces of furniture which had been stored in the tower room. His eyes were closed, his chin was resting on his chest. His head jerked up, he looked around and blinked. The concubine Perrund sat in a seat beside him, her red gown bright against the dark blue of the sheet. The white-clad eunuch guard stood by the door.
DeWar cleared his throat. “Ah, Perrund,” he said. He drew himself up in the chair and straightened his black tunic. “How are you?”
“Pleased to see you, DeWar, though surprised,” she told him, smiling. “You looked as though you were slumbering. I thought of all people the Protector’s chief bodyguard would be the least likely to need sleep during the day.”
DeWar glanced round at the eunuch guard. “The Protector has given me the Xamis-morning off,” he said. “There’s a formal breakfast for the Xinkspar delegation. There are guards everywhere. He thinks I am surplus.”
“You think otherwise.”
“He is surrounded by men with weapons. Just because they’re our guards doesn’t mean there isn’t a threat. Naturally I think I ought to be there but he will not be told.” DeWar rubbed his eyes.
“So you became unconscious out of pique?”
“Did I look asleep?” DeWar asked innocently. “I was only thinking.”
“And very fast a-thought you looked. What did you conclude?”
“That I must not answer so many questions.”
“A fine decision. People do pry so.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I rarely think. There are so many people who think — or think they think — better than I. It would be presumptuous.”
“I meant what brings you here? Is this your morning walk?”
“Yes. I like to take the air from the roof.”
“I must remember not to position myself here next time I want to think.”
“I vary my route, DeWar. There is no certain escape in any public part of the palace. The only safe place might be within your own chambers.”
“I shall try to remember.”
“Good. I trust you are happy now?”
“Happy? Why would that be?”
“There has been an attempt on the Protector’s life. I understood you were there.”
“Ah, that.”
“Aye, that.”
“Yes. I was there.”
“So, are you happy now? The last time we talked you expressed dismay that there had been so few assassins recently, taking this as incontrovertible proof that we must be entirely surrounded by them.”
DeWar smiled ruefully. “Ah yes. Then, no, I am no happier, my lady.”
“I thought not.” The lady Perrund rose to go. DeWar stood as she did. “I understand the Protector visits us in the harem later today,” she said. “Will you be joining us then?”
“I imagine so.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to your thinking.” The lady Perrund smiled, then made for the door which led to the roof, followed by the eunuch guard.
DeWar watched her and the guard go, then stretched and yawned.
The palace concubine Yalde was a favourite of General YetAmidous and was often called to his home in the palace grounds. The girl could not speak, though she appeared to have a tongue and everything else required for speech, and understood imperial well enough and the local language of Tassaseni a very little. She had been a slave. Perhaps there was something that had happened to her during that time which had addled whatever part of her brains would normally have granted her the power of speech. Still, she could whimper and moan and shout when she was being pleasured, as the General never tired of telling his friends.
Yalde sat on the same vast couch as the General, in the principal receiving room of his house, feeding him finger fruits from a crystal bowl while he played with her long black hair, twisting and untwisting it in one large hand. It was night, a bell or so after a small banquet YetAmidous had thrown. The men still wore their dining robes. Present with YetAmidous were RuLeuin, UrLeyn’s brother, BreDelle, the Protector’s physician, Guard Commander ZeSpiole, the Generals Duke Simalg and Duke Ralboute and a few aides and court juniors.