“There was a great Torovan painter, a man named Yonaglese…”
“I know Yonaglese,” said Aisha.
“Perhaps a century and a half ago, he painted the ceiling of a big temple in Songel. Serrin who visited at the time said it was a masterpiece. But within ten years, the plaster had begun to crack, and soon, despite efforts to preserve it, the plaster had crumbled entirely and the painting was lost.” They paused at an intersection of alleys and listened. Aisha peered one way and then the other. “Rhillian has masterful strokes, Aisha. But she paints on poor plaster. She has superb detail, yet her broader scope is missing.”
“I understood the analogy the first time,” said Aisha, with a faintly reproachful look. She smiled mischievously. Not an uncommon expression for Aisha. “I think you're just worried for your little dark-eyed beauty.”
“I don't really care what you think,” said Errollyn.
Aisha grinned. “You should. I'm half human, I see the things my serrin siblings miss.”
“Would you stop chattering and move?”
Tall, ugly buildings bordered the base of the Sharptooth cliff. Rock had been cut away to make space for the buildings, and then bricked up to prevent the sandstone collapsing. Down a narrow, bad-smelling alley they crept, until at a sharp zigzag, they paused.
Rhillian emerged from the shadow of a wall overgrown with tall, thorny redberries, then Kiel. “Hello, Aisha,” said Rhillian, seeming both pleased and surprised to see her. And a little annoyed. “Errollyn said he needed to fetch something on the way here. I'd no idea he meant you.”
“He does know how to make a girl feel wanted, doesn't he?” Aisha said brightly.
“Four people may be too many for the patachi, Errollyn,” said Kiel.
“Too many diverse opinions is never too many, Kiel,” said Errollyn. Kiel gazed at him with unblinking grey eyes. Perhaps Rhillian thought herself the impartial middle to Kiel and Errollyn's two extremes. But to Errollyn's mind, there was nothing impartial about Rhillian's mood lately. She stood more and more with Kiel, and less and less with him. He trusted Aisha's impartiality far more. As serrin and human both, Aisha saw both sides.
Kiel knocked softly at a rusted metal gate amidst the thorny vines, while the others stood guard. A plate moved aside and whispers exchanged. The gate opened, but it did not squeal-the ancient, rusted appearance was for disguise, Errollyn knew, and the hinges were well maintained.
Kiel led them into a narrow passage cut in the rock, then a man with a lamp led them up some stairs, past a guardroom and into the depth of Sharptooth. The climb was long-the most elaborate back entrance that Errollyn knew of in Petrodor-and old. Surely it had cost House Maerler a lot of money and time to chisel it from the rock, but then sandstone was not difficult to tunnel, and House Maerler lacked neither money nor time.
After a very long climb, from almost sea-level to near the top of the Petrodor incline, they finally arrived at a trapdoor, which opened to reveal a grand cellar, stocked with barrels. Some stairs led up to the great Maerler Mansion above, but the guardsman took them instead to another door in the wall and through another corridor. After a short flight of stairs, the guardsman knocked on a door and it was opened from the far side.
They emerged into a square, ornate room with a high ceiling. Grand cabinets full of expensive ornaments lined walls hung with intricate tapestries and paintings. From the centre of the floor sprouted a multi-levelled fountain, above which hung a huge, glittering chandelier, alive with at least fifty candles. The room had no windows, but was designed to impress and awe its visitors with ostentatious wealth. And it was designed to be visited directly from the tunnel, without any chance of observation from nosy house servants, or nosy neighbouring houses.
One guard stayed by the door, while another left to alert the house of the arrivals. Errollyn, Kiel and Aisha spread themselves about the room, leaving Rhillian alone in the centre before the fountain. There was only one other doorway at the far end. Only a fool would assault four talmaad through one doorway. Or two doorways, counting the one behind.
They waited, not speaking. Perhaps the patachi was in bed, Errollyn thought. Or perhaps the patachi had other, more pressing business. Finally the door opened and the second-most powerful man in Petrodor walked into the room.
Alron Maerler was young for a patachi, at thirty-nine summers. He was tall and slim, with dark curly hair, a trimmed curly beard and blue eyes. His boots were tall, and his clothes cut to suit his lean figure. He moved with an air of sophistication and elegance that was lacking amongst Family Steiner and their allies on the northern slope. Those were merchants, nearest the trading North Pier, and their manner was that of merchants-brusque and blunt, always ready to haggle, to strike a deal, to shake your hand or cut your throat.
Here on Petrodor's southern slope, Maerler headed the other half of Petrodor's power elite-the half that fancied itself more sophisticated, and more well bred, than their northern cousins. Errollyn did not know from where they took that particular pretension-the oldest money in Petrodor was barely two centuries old. But Maerler claimed lineage to old lords, and even to an old king, back in the ancient days when Torovan had had a king. Rhillian thought Alron Maerler more trustworthy than Marlen Steiner, perhaps for that reason, perhaps for others. Errollyn was as suspect of such a judgement as he was of anything.
“Patachi Maerler,” said Rhillian, with a bow.
Maerler inclined his head. “Lady Rhillian.” Two house guards remained by the door at his back. Otherwise, he was alone and unprotected, save the ornamental sword at his hip. Doubtless he could use it, like most Torovan nobility. And equally doubtless, as a realist in the game of power, he knew himself severely outmatched by even a serrin woman, to say nothing of four talmaad all at once.
Errollyn gazed at the man, eyes faintly narrowed. Patachis were always well-protected, yet Maerler made a statement with this defencelessness. Trust, he said. I trust you. And Errollyn recalled what a talmaad veteran had advised him upon his first arrival in Petrodor two years ago: “When they smile at you, and call you brother, and use words like trust, and bond, and family, that's when you look for the knife in the hidden hand.”
“My good lady,” said Maerler then, having surveyed the room. He walked to her and extended his hand. Rhillian gave hers, and the patachi kissed it, like a true gentleman should. “I do look forward to our little visits together. A beauty such as yours is quite a thrill in such proximity.”
“The patachi is too kind,” said Rhillian with a flashing smile. Oh, she was so good at this. Errollyn had known many women in Saalshen who would have simply stared in puzzlement at such odd human customs. But Rhillian knew just what to do. “I would have come alone, but the streets of Petrodor are so dangerous these days.”
Maerler smiled, genuinely amused at the outrageous flirt. Or at least, his amusement seemed genuine. Errollyn had yet to figure the young patachi out. Either he was simply a very good actor, or he truly did enjoy these fun and games. Neither possibility made him at all trustworthy.
“But not at all,” he insisted, glancing about at the other serrin. His gaze settled on Aisha. “In fact, I do not believe I have been introduced to all of your party.” Rhillian gestured to Aisha. Aisha came, and bowed somewhat lower than Rhillian had. Human customs gave her no difficulty either.