Discrete inquiries were made. No one had seen any of the Vatorins since the day of the fateful gunshot. In a moment of supreme daring, Liris sent its troops directly to the Vatoris apartments. They were empty.
At this point, rumors of a great stench rising from Vatoris itself reached Odess's ears. “I was sitting in our showroom,” he said. “I remember it like it was yesterday. One of the scions of a minor nation entered and told me that his people were walking up and down along the border with Vatoris, sniffing the air and exchanging rumors. The smell was the smell of death."
Odess returned home that night to warn his people. “But it was too late. As I lay down to sleep that evening, I heard it—we all did.” A hissing sound filled the chambers of Liris. It was faint, but for someone like Odess, who had lived behind these walls his whole life, it had the effect of a siren.
"I stood, tried to run to the door. I fell down.” The others related similar experiences, of sudden paralysis, landings behind desks or next to wavering doors. “We lay there helpless, all of us, unable to even focus our eyes. And we listened."
What they heard, after an hour or so, was a single set of footsteps. They moved smoothly from room to room, up stairs and down, not as if seeking anything, but as though whoever walked were taking inventory—committing every passage and chamber of Liris to memory. Eventually, they came to a stop. Silence returned.
The paralysis faded near dawn. Odess rose, retched miserably for a few minutes, and then—trembling—crept in the direction those footsteps had taken. As he went he saw others emerging from their rooms, or rising from where they had fallen in mid walk. They converged on the place where the footsteps had halted: in the cherry tree courtyard.
"And there she sat,” said Odess, “exactly as she sits these days, with the same damned smile and the same damned air of superiority. The botanist. Our conqueror."
"And no one has challenged her?” Venera barked a laugh of disbelief. “You fear reprisals, is that it?"
Odess shrugged. “She ended the war, and under her leadership, the cherries bloom. Who else are we going to have lead us?"
Venera scowled at her cards. A pulse of pain shot up her jaw. “I thought you were a meritocracy."
"And so we are. And she is the best botanist we have ever had."
"What happened to the one she replaced?"
They exchanged glances. “We don't know,” confessed Eilen. “He disappeared the day Margit came."
Venera discarded one card and took another from the deck. The others did the same, then she fanned out her hand. “I win."
Odess grimaced and began to shuffle.
"She came to me last night,” said Venera. She had decided that she needed information more than discretion at this point. “Margit was pleased with the work I did.” Odess snorted; Venera ignored him and continued. “She had a proposal."
She told them about Margit's idea of an extended trade expedition into the principalities. As she did, Venera watched all movement around the table stop. Even Odess's practiced hand ceased its fanning of the cards. They were all staring at her.
"What?” She glanced around defensively. “Does this violate some ancient taboo?—I'm sure, everything else does. Or is it something you've been trying to get done for years, and now you're mad that the newcomer has achieved it?"
Eilen looked down. “It's been tried before,” she said in a quiet voice.
"You must understand,” said Odess; then he fell silent. Knitting his brows, he started furiously shuffling.
"What?” Now Venera was seriously alarmed. “What's wrong?"
"To travel outside Spyre… is not done,” said Odess reluctantly. “Not without safeguards to guarantee one's return. Hostages, if one is married… but you're not."
Venera was disgusted. “The pillboxes, the guns and razor wire—they really aren't to keep people out, are they? They're to keep them in."
"Yes, but you see, if Margit is willing to send you out despite you having no ties here, no hostages or anything she could hold over you… Then she's obviously willing to try it again,” said Odess. He slammed the deck down on the table, kicked his chair back, and walked away. Venera watched him go in startled amazement.
The soldiers were standing too, not making eye contact with anyone.
Venera pinned Eilen with her gaze. “Try what?"
The woman sighed deeply. “Margit is a master of chemistry and biology,” she said. “That's why she is the botanist. Three years ago she conceived the idea of sending an expedition like the one you're describing. She chose a man who was competent, intelligent, and brave, but one whom she didn't completely trust. To guarantee that he would return, she… injected him. With a slow poison that was not supposed to begin to act for ten days. If he returned within those ten days, she would give him the antidote, and he would be fine."
Venera eyed the splayed cards. “What happened?"
"The return flight was delayed by a storm. He made it back on the eleventh day."
Venera hesitated—but she already knew the answer when she asked, “Who was it that Margit sent?"
"Moss,” said Eilen with a shudder. “She sent Moss."
6
"I have to admit I was expecting this,” said Margit. Venera stood in the doorway to her apartment; she was dressed down in close-fitting black leathers. Two soldiers hulked behind her, their meaty hands resting heavy on her shoulders.
"In retrospect,” Venera said ruefully, “I should have anticipated the trip wires.” The inside walls of the courtyard were just too enticing a surface; freed of her metal clothing, Venera weighed only twenty pounds or so and she could easily clamber hand-over-hand up the drainpipe that ran next to Odess's little window. “There's no other way in or out of the building but up that wall. Naturally, you'd have alarms."
"…I just wasn't anticipating it so soon,” said Margit. She twitched a housecoat over her lavender nightgown and lit another candle off the one she was holding. Even in the dimness of midnight Venera could see that her apartment was sumptuous, with several rooms, high ceilings, and tiled mosaics on the floor beneath numerous tapestries.
Of course Margit wouldn't live like the people she ruled. Venera wouldn't have, either. She understood Margit enough by now that staying here in Liris had not been an option. So after bidding her coworkers good night, she had retired to her closet and waited. When the building was silent and dark, Venera had crept out and jimmied open a window that led onto the courtyard.
Admittedly, she hadn't been thinking clearly. The revelation about Moss had shaken her and she had acted rashly. If she didn't regain control of this situation she would be in real trouble.
"Come in, sit down. We need to talk,” said Margit. “You may leave us,” she said to the soldiers. They lifted their hands off Venera's shoulders and retreated past the heavy oak door. They would have a long walk down the winding steps that led down to Liris's ground floor. Good, thought Venera.
She sat down on a decadent-looking divan, but she kept her feet braced against the floor, ready to leap up instantly if that was required.
The first step to taking control of the situation was taking control of the conversation. Margit opened her mouth, but Venera spoke first: “What is an heir of Sacrus doing running a minor nation like Liris?"
Margit narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn't I be asking the questions? Besides, what's your interest?” she asked as she gracefully sat opposite Venera. “Professional curiosity, perhaps? You are a noble daughter yourself, are you not? A nation like Liris would be an interesting playground for someone learning how to use power. Are you interested in rulership?"