The elf behind the counter didn’t seem at all pleased to see him.
“No like your kind. You go way,” said the elf, waving his hand. Hugh raised his right hand, palm out, as if in greeting. “My companion is feeling faint. I want a cup of water. And we are lost, we need directions. In the name of the Kenkari, you cannot refuse.”
The elf regarded him in silence, cast a sharp and furtive glance at the door.
“You, monk. You no sit there. Bad for business,” he called to Iridal, loudly and irritably. “Come in. Come in.”
Hugh returned to assist Iridal to her feet, led her into the shop. The elf slammed shut the door. Turning to the Hand, he said in a low voice, “What do you need, Brother? Be, quick. We don’t have much time.”
“Directions on the fastest route to the Cathedral of the Albedo.”
“Where?” the elf asked, astonished.
Hugh repeated himself.
“Very well.” The elf was perplexed, but cooperative. “Go back to Swordsmith Street, turn onto Silversmith Row and follow it to the end. It will merge with a large highway known as King’s Way. It winds about some, but it will take you into the mountains. The mountain pass is heavily guarded, but you shouldn’t have any trouble. Those disguises—a clever idea. They won’t get you inside the Imperanon, though. I presume that’s your real destination.”
“We’re going to the cathedral. Where is it?”
The elf shook his head. “Take my advice, Brother. You don’t want to go there. The Kenkari will know you’re imposters. You don’t want to cross the Kenkari.” Hugh made no reply, waited patiently.
The elf shrugged. “It’s your soul, Brother. The Imperanon is built on the mountain side. The cathedral is in front, on a large, level plateau. The structure is a huge crystal dome standing in the center of a large round courtyard. You can see it for menka. Believe me, you won’t have any trouble finding it, though why you’d want to go there is beyond me. Still, that’s your business. Anything else I can do for you?”
“We heard a rumor that the Kenkari have stopped accepting souls. Is it true?” The elf raised his eyebrows. This question was certainly not one he’d expected. He glanced out the window, to the empty street, then at the door, to make sure it was shut, and still took the precaution of lowering his voice.
“It is true, Brother. The word is all over town. When you reach the cathedral, you’ll find the doors closed.”
“Thank you for the help, Brother,” said Hugh. “We’ll take our leave. We don’t want to cause you any trouble. The walls moved.”[65]
Iridal looked at Hugh, wondering what he meant. The elf seemed to know, however.
He nodded. “Of course. Don’t fret. The Unseen are not watching you so much as they are watching us, their own people. Who you talk to, where you stop.”
“I trust we haven’t brought trouble on you.”
“Who am I?” The elf shrugged. “Nobody. I take care to be nobody. If I were somebody—rich, powerful—yes, then you could bring trouble to me.” Hugh and Iridal prepared to go.
“Here, drink this.” The elf handed Iridal a cup of water. She accepted it thankfully. “You took as if you could use it. You’re certain I can’t do anything else for you, Brother? Poisons? I have some excellent snake venom in stock. Perfect for adding a little bite to your dagger’s tooth—”
“Thank you, no,” said Hugh.
“So be it,” the elf said cheerfully. He threw open the door. His expression altered to a scowl. “And stay out, you dog of a human! And you tell the Kenkari, they owe me a blessing!”
He shoved Hugh and Iridal roughly over the stoop, slammed the door shut after them. The two stood in the street, looking—Iridal trusted—as forlorn and weary and dispirited as she felt.
“We’ve come the wrong way apparently,” said Hugh, speaking human, for the benefit, Iridal presumed, of the Unseen.
So it was the elite elven guard who were following them. She stared around, saw nothing, nobody. She didn’t even see the walls move, wondered how Hugh knew.
“We must retrace our steps,” he told her.
Iridal accepted the arm Hugh offered for her support, leaned on him, thinking wearily of the long distance they had still to travel. “I had no idea your work was so strenuous,” she whispered.
He looked down at her with a smile, a rare thing for him. “It’s quite a distance into the mountains, I’m afraid. And we don’t dare stop again.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“You must be missing your magic, about now,” he said to her, patting her hand, still smiling at her.
“And you must be missing your pipe.” Her hand tightened over his. They walked for long moments in companionable silence.
“You were looking for that shop, weren’t you?”
“Not that one in particular,” Hugh responded. “One with a certain sign in the window.”
Iridal couldn’t at first recall a sign; the shop had been so poor and shabby. Nothing hung over the door. Then she remembered that there had been a sign propped up inside the window. Crudely painted, now that she thought of it—the image was of a hand.
The Brotherhood advertised openly in the streets, it seemed. Elf and human—strangers, mortal enemies—yet they risked their lives to help each other, bound by a bond of blood, of death. Evil, to be sure, but might this not offer a hope of good to come? Wasn’t this an indication that the two races were not natural enemies, as some on both sides claimed?
The chance for peace rests with us, Iridal thought. We must succeed. Yet, now that she was in this alien land, this alien culture, her hopes for finding her son and freeing him were growing dim.
“Hugh,” she said, “I know I’m not supposed to ask questions, but what the elf said is true. The Kenkari will know we are imposters. Still you talk as if you truly plan to go to them. I don’t understand. What will you say to them? How can you hope—”
“You’re right, Lady,” said Hugh, cutting her short. His smile had vanished. His tone was grim. “You’re not supposed to ask questions. Here, this is the right road.”
They entered onto a broad avenue, marked with the royal crest of the King of Paxaria. The two were once again surrounded by crowds, once again surrounded by silence.
In silence, they continued on.
30
The Keeper of the Door of the Cathedral of the Albedo had a new responsibility. Once he had waited for the weesham, bearing the souls of their charges for release in the Aviary. Now, he was forced to turn them away. Word spread rapidly among a shocked populace that the cathedral was closed, though just why the Kenkari had closed it was not revealed. The Kenkari were powerful, but even they did not dare openly accuse their emperor of murdering his own subjects. The Kenkari had been more than half expecting to be attacked or at least persecuted by the emperor’s troops, were considerably surprised (and relieved) when they were not.
But, to the Keeper’s dismay, the weesham continued to cross the courtyard. Some had not heard the news. Others, though informed that the cathedral was closed, still tried to get in.
“But surely the law doesn’t apply to me,” the weesham would argue. “To all the others, perhaps, but the soul I bear is the soul of a prince...” Or a duchess or a marquis or an earl.
It didn’t matter. All were turned away.
The weesham left, bewildered, completely at a loss, clutching the small boxes in trembling hands.
“I feel so terribly sorry for them,” said the Door to the Book. They stood conferring together in the chapel. “The weesham look lost. ‘Where do I go?’ they ask me. ‘What am I to do?’ It’s been their whole life. What can I say except “Return to your home. Wait.’ Wait for what?”