“This is our doge and he is dead.”
Quarina turned to the herald. “Let the trumpets sound.”
The scribes were already sitting cross-legged under the candles, producing clay and boards and styli.
It was finished. Oliva could leave. But when she turned to go, her path was blocked by scrawny Berlice Spirno-Cavotti wearing a strangely sly expression. Oliva and the Mutineer’s mother were definitely not on intimate terms and never had been, yet now the woman moved as if to embrace her. Oliva was too startled to dodge.
And even more startled by the whisper in her ear. “We bring wonderfully good news, my lady!”
Oliva recoiled. Good news? On this day, of all days?
“Oh, what is that stupid girl doing?” Spirno-Cavotti said loudly, gripping her arm and turning her. “Do go and speak to her, my dear.”
Her dear? Her servant was furtively heading for the columns and the rain-washed darkness beyond, still clutching her washing. Speaker Quarina was dictating something utterly incomprehensible to the scribes. The Werist was watching the proceedings. Berlice’s eyes were urging: Do as I say!
Too bewildered or battered to argue, Oliva said, “You, girl! Where are you going? Come here!” She strode toward the girl, who edged away from her instead of responding to the summons. Oliva caught up with her in the shadows near the columns and found herself looking at eyes full of tears, set in a face strangely familiar. Her long-dead sister Pina? No. Just a chance resemblance. It could not possibly be-
“Mama!” A whisper. Then brazen trumpets began to wail from the palace roof, strident screams in the night. Echoes rang back from the temples and mansions of Celebre. The air in the hall seemed to tremble as the city itself cried out its loss. Now the girl could speak louder. “I’m Fabia, Mama! The Witness is Dantio. Chies is safe. Benard is well, but chose to stay in Vigaelia. He’s a wonderful sculptor. And Orlad, I mean Orlando-he’s probably out there in the grounds, but he’s a Werist, so that ice devil mustn’t see him. I must go and warn them, er, him!”
Fabia? Chies? Benard?… Werist? Now Oliva recalled Piero’s strange rambling discourse on the night Marno Cavotti had broken into the palace: Remember we used to say Orlando was the fighter? he had said. And that Fabia had looked just like her. Had the gods been speaking through the dying doge? The Winner. He had said that much later. Their children had been returned to her, but not to him.
It seemed to Oliva then that the hiss of rain swelled to a roar and the floor tilted under her feet. The Witness sprinted across the hall and caught her before she fell. The candles faded for a moment, then came back. She stared in disbelief at the two young people holding her. The girl, so like her younger self. The boy had lifted his blindfold and was smiling, yet his eyes were bright with tears. She knew him now.
“Dantio! My son!”
“We’re back. We’re all well, all your children.”
Too late! she thought. Just a pot-boiling too late. No, half a year or more too late. Piero would not have known them had they come even in late summer. Their arrival now would do little good, but at least they were home, safe. The priest and the herald arrived to help. Dantio replaced his ritual blindfold. They carried her to the black-draped throne and sat her on it, ignoring her protests. The priest went back to mumbling prayers. Berlice smirked surreptitiously from the far side of the catafalque: what sort of double game was she playing? Trying to find the winning side? Quarina was still dictating her gibberish to the scribes, but she kept flicking amused glances toward the group around the throne. She must be in on the secret too; she had brought the Witness.
“Must go and warn Orlad,” Fabia whispered.
“No,” Dantio said. “They’re watching from the bushes. That Werist is suspicious. They won’t come in while he’s there. He’s worried, too. Why is the Werist so worried?”
“Stralg,” Oliva said. “He thinks Stralg is on his way.”
Dantio groaned. “Oh, is that who I keep seeing on the periphery?”
CHIES STRALGSON
would never have found the Eligio place by himself-not without going to cottage doors and asking directions, and he was very reluctant to do that with Aunt Saltaja at his side. She was too memorable, too unpredictable, too unscrupulous. There would be dogs, perhaps even the sort of violent men who would kill strangers to steal their chariot, and he certainly did not trust his chthonic powers to defend him. Not yet, at least.
As it turned out, Saltaja knew exactly where to go. “How do you do this?” he demanded. He had much to learn.
“I asked the Mother, of course. Sleep on the cold earth or near it, and pray Her to send you the right vision. Shed a little blood first, if it’s important. She will teach you. Turn left after the ford.”
It was dark when they arrived. He did not see the buildings until he almost drove into a rail fence. He reined in with a yelp of surprise. No dogs barked.
“You’re not trying,” the hag grumbled. “Chosen can see in the dark. Go and fetch the man. Control him and bring him.”
Chies squeaked, “I can’t do that! I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do. You’ll never learn until you try. I’ll hold the reins. Go!”
He peered down at where the ground must be but saw nothing. It was a murky night, with rain beating on trees overhead, black as tar under them. Chosen could see in the dark? Not this Chosen. He tried a quick prayer. Holy Mother Xaran, let your servant see in the dark. Still nothing. So that I may serve you? Please? Ah, that was better! He did not understand. No spooky goddess-light shone around him, yet he could now see the ruts and puddles and heaps of dung. He jumped down and headed for the house. Now he knew it was true. Sesto had not died in vain. His death had made Chies one of Her Chosen-able to prowl the night, control people, cast the evil eye. Also, liable to be buried alive. Better not to think about that bit.
Still no dogs. Sesto had said this Eligio man was a rebel agent, so he might not want dogs barking in the night to alert neighbors. Faint candlelight showed through grass cloth shutters. Chies began to raise a fist and was suddenly frozen by terror. Who would answer his knock? A gang of huge horrible hulking Werists? Cavotti himself could be lurking in there! Chies could imagine what would happen if he tried to put the evil eye on someone like the Mutineer. A giant like him would break his neck with one hand. He felt ill.
Yet a worse danger was waiting behind him, out there in the chariot. Maybe he should just run away from both of them? He could be home by morning. No, he did not think that would work. His aunt was not a very patient woman. He must do this!
Holy Mother give me courage… to serve You. Serve Her how? He had given Her Sesto. But that had been the admission fee. What else would She want? He drew a deep breath. Holy Xaran, tonight I really will take the woman. I will Control her myself, or them, if there’s more than one. I’ll get it up and bounce them, I swear. Let me control the men in here and I will rape the women, to your honor. I will be worthy of my father, mighty Stralg!
That thought gave him a great surge of excitement, and he rapped his knuckles hard against the planks. Evil comes calling.
The chink of light under the shutter disappeared. He heard a step, a rattle of chain. The door opened a crack. No light showed. He could see an eye looking at him, and suspected an extrinsic would not see even that. The homeowner spoke first.
“Is that you, Gievo?”
Eeee! Gievo? Who was Gievo? Gievo was a password, that’s what! And Chies didn’t know the other half of the code. Again he almost panicked. His knees trembled with an overpowering urge to run. How could he put the evil eye on someone he could not see? Oh, Mother! But probably the man could see him.