We were never certain that the forvalaka which killed Tom-Tom was the forvalaka that paid the price. Because in those days the Taken Soulcatcher worked closely with another Taken called Shapeshifter and there was evidence to suggest Shifter might have been in Beryl that night. And using the forvalaka shape to assure the destruction of the ruling family so the empire could take over on the cheap.
If One-Eye had not avenged Tom-Tom on the right creature it was far too late for tears. Shifter was another of the victims of the Battle at Charm.
"I'm thinking about Limper," I admitted. "I killed him at that inn, One-Eye. I killed him good. And if he hadn't turned up again, I'd never have doubted that he was gone."
"And no doubts about these?"
"Some."
"You want to sneak out after dark and dig one of them up?"
"What's the point? There'll be somebody in the grave, and no way to prove it isn't who it's supposed to be."
"They were killed by other Taken and by members of the Circle. That's a little different than getting worked on by a no-talent like you."
He meant no talent for sorcery. "I know. That's what keeps me from getting obsessed with the whole mess. Knowing that those who supposedly killed them really had the power to do them in."
One-Eye stared at the ground where once a cross stood with the forvalaka nailed upon it. After a while he shivered and came back to now. "Well, it doesn't matter now. It was long ago, if not very far away. And far away is where we'll be if we ever get out of here." He pulled his floppy black hat forward to keep the sun out of his eyes, looked up at the Tower. We were being watched.
"Why does she want to go with us? That's the one I keep coming back to. What's in this for her?"
One-Eye looked at me with the oddest expression. He pushed his hat back, put his hands on his hips, cocked his head a moment, then shook it slowly. "Croaker. Sometimes you're too much to be believed. Why are you hanging around here waiting for her instead of heading out, putting miles behind?"
It was a good question and one I shied off anytime I tried to examine it. "Well, I guess I kind of like her and think she deserves a shot at some kind of regular life. She's all right. Really."
I caught a transient smirk as he turned to the unmarked grave. "Life wouldn't be half fun without you in it, Croaker. Watching you bumble through is an education in itself. How soon can we get moving? I don't like this place."
"I don't know. A few more days. There're things she has to wrap up first."
"That's what you said—"
I am afraid I got snappish. "I'll let you know when."
When seemed never to come. Days passed. Lady remained ensnared in the web of the administrative spider.
Then the messages began pouring in from the provinces, in response to edicts from the Tower. Each one demanded immediate attention.
We had been closed up in that dread place for two weeks.
"Get us the hell out of here, Croaker," One-Eye demanded. "My nerves can't take this place anymore."
"Look, there's stuff she's got to do."
"There's stuff we've got to do, according to you. Who says what we got to do has to wait on what she's got to do?"
And Goblin jumped on me. With both feet. "We put up with your infatuation for about twenty years, Croaker," he exaggerated. "Because it was amusing. Something to ride you about when times got boring. But it ain't nothing I mean to get killed over, I absodamnlutely guarantee. Even if she makes us all field marshals."
I warded a flash of anger. It was hard, but Goblin was right. I had no business hanging around there, keeping everyone at maximum risk. The longer we waited, the more certain it was that something would go sour. We were having enough trouble getting along with the Tower Guards, who resented our being so close to their mistress after haying fought against her for so many years.
"We ride out in the morning," I said. "My apologies. I was elected to lead the Company, not just Croaker. Forgive me for losing sight of that."
Crafty old Croaker. One-Eye and Goblin looked properly abashed. I grinned. "So go get packed. We're gone with the morning sun."
She wakened me in the night. For a moment I thought...
I saw her face. She had heard.
She begged me to stay just one more day. Or two, at the most. She did not want to be here any more than we did, surrounded and taunted by all that she had lost. She wanted to go away, to go with us, to remain with me, the only friend she'd ever had—
She broke my heart.
It sounds sappy when you write it down in words, but a man has to do what a man has to do. In a way I was proud of me. I did not give an inch.
"There is no end to it," I told her. "There'll always be just one more thing that has to be done. Khatovar gets no closer while I wait. Death does. I value you, too. I don't want to leave... Death lurks in every shadow in this place. It writhes in the heart of every man who resents my influence." It was that kind of empire too, and in the past few days a lot of old imperials were given cause to resent me deeply.
"You promised me dinner at the Gardens in Opal."
I promised you a lot more than that, my heart said. Aloud, I replied, "So I did. And the offer still stands. But I have to get my men out of here."
I turned reflective while she turned uncharacteristically nervous. I saw the fires of schemes flickering behind her eyes, being rejected. There were ways she could manipulate me. We both knew that. But she never used the personal to gain political ends. Not with me, anyway.
I guess each of us, at some time, finds one person with whom we are compelled toward absolute honesty, one person whose good opinion of us becomes a substitute for the broader opinion of the world. And that opinion becomes more important than all our sneaky, sleazy schemes of greed, lust, self-aggrandizement, whatever we are up to while lying the world into believing we are just plain nice folks. I was her truth object, and she was mine.
There was only one thing we hid from one another, and that was because we were afraid that if it came into the open it would reshape everything else and maybe shatter that broader honesty.
Are lovers ever honest?
"I figure it'll take us three weeks to reach Opal. It'll take another week to find a trustworthy shipmaster and to work One-Eye up to crossing the Sea of Torments. So twenty-five days from today I'll go to the Gardens. I'll have the Camelia Grotto reserved for the evening." I patted the lump next to my heart. That lump was a beautifully tooled leather wallet containing papers commissioning me a general in the imperial armed forces and naming me a diplomatic legate answerable only to the Lady herself.
Precious, precious. And one good reason some longtime imperials had a big hate on for me.
I am not sure just how that came about. Some banter during one of those rare hours when she was not issuing decrees or signing proclamations. Next thing I knew I had been brought to bay by a pack of tailors. They fitted me out with a complete imperial wardrobe. Never will I unravel the significance of all the piping, badges, buttons, medals, doodads, and gewgaws. I felt silly wearing all that clutter.
I didn't need much time to see some possibilities, though, in what at first I interpreted as an elaborate practical joke.
She does have that kind of sense of humor, not always taking this great dreadfully humorless empire of hers seriously.
I am sure she saw the possibilities long before I did.
Anyway, we were talking the Gardens in Opal, and the Camelia Grotto there, the acme of that city's society see-and-be-seen. "I'll take my evening meal there," I told her. "You're welcome to join me."
Hints of hidden things tugged at her face. She said, "All right. If I'm in town."
It was one of those moments in which I become very uncomfortable. One of those times when nothing you say can be right, and almost anything you do say is wrong. I could see no answer but the classic Croaker approach.