“Like the Raksura,” Karsis said.
Moon leaned back against the cushion and took a drink of wine, just in case he didn’t have his expression as under control as he thought. If the Raksura had had anything but a distant kinship with the Fell, the leviathan’s inhabitants would have long since found out about it.
“Not at all.” Ardan turned to her, his expression serious. “The Fell are thieves, predators, parasites. They build nothing, make nothing, grow nothing, have no art, no written language. They loot their victims’ habitations for everything they need. You saw the artwork in the Raksuran hive. Creatures who could create such as that have no need to steal.”
Karsis sat back, thwarted from starting an argument. Negal said, wryly, “Then it’s a pity your men destroyed some of the images, removing the inlay.”
“Not many.” Ardan eyed him. “And they were punished.”
Karsis took a sharp breath, Esom and Negal looked grim. Orlis set the pastry he had been nibbling down on his plate, as if the memory had taken away his appetite.
Moon took it that the punishment had been extreme and effective. He was surprised the hunters hadn’t found more bodies. But at least they were back on the right subject. “I take it you weren’t interested in the gems and metal.” He glanced around, pointedly indicating the room and the wealth it represented.
“No, you’re quite correct, I already have more of that than I need.” Ardan lifted his goblet and studied the purple-tinted glass pensively. “I am the youngest magister in the city. I took my father’s place when he died, several turns ago. The competition between myself and the others, as well as our duty to see to the city’s survival, drove me to seek knowledge and avenues to greater power.”
Yes. Moon held his breath. If Ardan would elaborate, mention the seed, if Moon could ask to see it…
Then Ardan set his goblet aside and glanced up as Bialin approached the table. “Ah, I believe my other guests have arrived.”
The other guests turned out to be a large group of wealthy local groundlings and their servants and hangers-on. The big chamber rapidly became well-occupied.
They seemed to be in a contest to outdo each other with the richness of their clothes. There were silks in every color, sheer gauzes, black and gold brocades. There were also some traders, all looking much more prosperous than the ones who had come to sell trinkets today. There was apparently nothing else to do in this city in the evening except go to parties in the big towers or drug yourself unconscious in the wine and smoke bars.
Servants put out more food and drink, but people didn’t sit to eat. Instead, they walked around to mingle and talk. Moon was able to fade into the background as the crowd grew, watching and being watched in turn.
There didn’t seem to be much to discover. The conversations Ardan had were all brief, all apparently casual. The point of all this seemed to be showing his wealth off to the other groundlings. At the moment Ardan stood with a richly dressed old man, surrounded by a small audience of lower-ranking groundlings. Ardan was at ease, as usual, but the old man simmered with anger.
“Trader Niran.”
Moon glanced around even before he remembered that was supposed to be him, which was why he had taken the name of someone he knew. It was Bialin, who motioned urgently for him to follow. “The Magister would like to speak with you.”
“Who’s that with him?” Moon asked.
Bialin pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction at Moon’s lack of instant obedience, but answered, “Lethen, another magister.”
Moon followed Bialin over to the group. Unlike Ardan, Lethen was ruinously old. The pearly surface of his skull was dulled and worn, disturbingly like raw bone. Deep lines were etched around his mouth and eyes, and his blue skin had an unhealthy, pale tinge. He was dressed in blue and gold brocade, and leaned on an ornate ivory cane. He had blue gems somehow mounted in the age-yellowed base of his skull cap. Judging by his pinched expression, the process had been painful.
As Moon and Bialin arrived, Ardan said to Lethen, “Trader Niran has brought me word of another site of interest.” He nodded to Moon. “Show him the bracelet, if you would.”
Moon pulled the cuff of his shirt up and held out his arm. The red gold gleamed on the entwined serpentine forms.
Lethen leaned in to look and his hands tightened on his cane. His nails were like gray horn against his lined blue skin. He said, tightly, “I see.”
There was an undercurrent here, a strong one. Lethen wants Raksuran treasure? Or he knows about the seeds and wants one? Moon wondered, and watched Lethen regard Ardan with a bitterness bordering on hate. Ardan definitely had some hold over him. Just to stir the pot a little, Moon said, “Do you want me to tell him what I found in the ruin?”
Ardan flicked him a look, part surprise and part amusement. “Not necessary.” He gave Moon an ironic nod. “You may go.”
Tugging his sleeve down, Moon wandered away, circled the nearest statue-pillar, and stopped just within earshot. He was mildly surprised to find Karsis already there, eavesdropping. She glared at him, not very pleased to be caught.
Sounding as if it was a wonderful joke, Ardan was saying to Lethen, “So, will you mount your own expedition to the coast?”
Lethen snapped, “I want you to allow another trading clan access to our harbor.”
“Your wants are immaterial.” Ardan was clearly bored with the change of subject. “There’s no need.”
“There is need. My artisans can’t produce anything when they can’t get raw materials.”
The boredom was turning into annoyance. “I’ll consider it.”
“There’s no need to keep this stranglehold—” Ardan was already walking away, stubbornly pursued by Lethen.
Karsis let out a frustrated breath. “Well, that was pointless.” She flicked a grim glance at Moon. “Eavesdropping makes me feel like I’m at least trying to do something.”
“Ardan controls the traders?” Enad had said something about trade rights, that things would be better if the magisters gave them to more traders.
“Most of them. He controls their ability to find the island,” Karsis corrected, and stepped out to watch Ardan move away. Moon thought she was being far too obvious about it. She must not do much hunting on her people’s isolated plateau. “The leviathan moves at random. The traders all have magical tokens that allow them to find it again. They have a monopoly, and can charge whatever they like for their goods and foodstuffs.”
“What about the other magisters?” Moon followed her. Ardan headed toward the far end of the room, past the pool and the fountain, where a set of stairs went up to a gallery along the back wall. There was an archway up there, surrounded by elaborate scrollwork carving, an entrance to another grand hall. Guards were posted, but Moon had assumed they were there to keep Ardan’s involuntary guests from slipping away.
“Several of them have died off from old age, from what we’ve heard. Ardan is the most powerful.” Karsis sounded bitter about it. “He seems to be instrumental in keeping the beast from sinking, or shaking the city off.”
“But he can’t put it to sleep again, or send it back to the coast of Emriat-terrene.”
Karsis made a faint derisive noise. “Why would he bother? He has everything here just as he likes.”
Ardan climbed the stairs to the gallery and vanished through the archway. “What’s up there?”