Chapter twelve

Ortia

 

Aurelian had been grumpy for several weeks, and no-one was really surprised. He had taken to waking up very late and then working on deep into the night. He still fulfilled his duties punctiliously – organising training, patrols and strategic planning – but his heart wasn’t in it. Everyone knew exactly where his heart really was, of course, it was about two-hundred-and-fifty miles north across some rather high mountains.

Gaius, his aide-de-camp, had scarcely spoken to him since Marthian had left, generally just leaving him little notes and receiving curt scribbles in reply.  However, today he had an important message to pass on and he had to make sure that it was delivered verbally. He dreaded the conversation.

He waited until midday as he knew by then that the general would be up and in his office. He’d also left him a note warning that he’d have to talk to him at that time.

He knocked twice and prepared to wait for however long was necessary. Eventually he heard a noise from inside. 

‘Who is it?’ bellowed Aurelian, through the door.

‘It is I, sir – Lieutenant Gaius. May I enter?’

Aurelian pulled back the door violently. Gaius was half expecting him to be unshaven and bleary, but, no, he seemed just as before except for his eyes: they looked dull and empty.

‘What do you want?’ asked Aurelian, reluctantly gesturing for him to come in.

Gaius shuffled in with the minimum of fuss.

‘The proconsul has asked me to set up an appointment for you, with him, for later this afternoon’

Aurelian grimaced.

‘Why didn’t he just send me a note, like he usually does?’

‘Because he is concerned that sometimes you fail to get the note, sir, apparently… so he sent me to make sure that you knew that you would be meeting at three…’

Aurelian rolled his eyes.

‘Can’t you give him an excuse? He’s the last person that I want to speak to’

‘Nonetheless, sir…’ Gaius said, frowning.

Gaius hesitated – he knew that this was a pointless conversation and, in any case, it wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about.

Aurelian continued to scowl.

‘Was that it, lieutenant? Was there anything else…?’

‘Actually, sir…’ said Gaius, screwing up all of his courage.

Aurelian looked exasperated.

‘Permission to speak freely, sir’ Gaius asked, as firmly as he could manage. This was a very difficult thing for him to do.

Aurelian nodded warily.

‘Why didn’t you go with her?’

Aurelian looked extremely angry for a moment and then his mood broke. He smiled, a little crookedly.

‘I don’t know Lieutenant – someone had to stay… we can’t all abandon our poor old wounded city ’

 ‘The proconsul didn’t abandon anything, sir – she was forced out…’

‘Yes, I know. But in the end she went willingly and she commanded me to stay…’

Gaius swallowed hard. None of this was any of his business.

‘Commanded you, sir? Surely not! She was no longer proconsul…’

Aurelian’s eyes flashed the most withering look in the world at his poor aide. Gaius realised with a jolt how stupid he’d been. There was more power in the world than just the political, and more commands than those given by superiors. Everyone who had ever been in love knew this.

‘Maybe she will change her mind…’ said Gaius, feebly

‘And maybe I won’t’ responded Aurelian.

He gestured to the door. This was one conversation he had no intention of continuing.  Gaius reversed out, chastened. At least he’d tried.

 

***

‘Have you come to tender your resignation again, general?’ asked Antonius, looking up from Marthian’s faded leather chair. 

‘No, sir’ said Aurelian, stiffly, ‘you made it clear that that would never be accepted…’

‘Absolutely’ said the proconsul, ‘you’re invaluable’

‘Thank you, sir’ whispered Aurelian.

Antonius looked down at a list in front of him on the desk.

‘How can I be of assistance, sir?’ asked Aurelian, very formally

‘Well – everything seems to be in order, but I do have two vexing minor problems, which I thought you might be able to help me with…’

Aurelian waited. A naturally fairly taciturn man, he found that brevity was a useful weapon against this loquacious upstart. 

‘My first problem is - the High Priestess is refusing to meet me…’

‘Why is that, sir?’

The proconsul looked up again for a moment.

‘She won’t tell me…’ he murmured, ‘that’s why I need you to go and see her and find out what is wrong with her’

Aurelian couldn’t disguise his shrug. 

‘Why do you think that she will be willing to see me, sir?’

The proconsul scribbled something on his list. He forced himself to look up again.

‘I don’t, general, but you’re the most senior city representative that I have, and I know that you have had dealings with her before’

This was not true at all, not with this high priestess, but Aurelian didn’t feel inclined to point that out.

‘Very well, sir’ he said, his reluctance well hidden.  He waited once again.  Antonius stared down at a heavily ringed item on his list.

‘As for the second problem’ he sighed, ‘what do you suggest I do about Prince Erik?’

‘He’s still here, then? ’ said Aurelian, with grim satisfaction.

‘Yes – the King doesn’t seem to want him back. All I get are letters thanking me for looking after him. I really don’t want to have to look after him, you know…’

Aurelian smiled mock-sympathetically.

‘I’m not in a position to help, sir, unless you would like me to get some of my troops to take him back forcibly to Breggen. It could be easily arranged…’

Antonius looked extraordinarily shocked.

‘No’ he spluttered, ‘please don’t ever say that again’

Aurelian pretended to look puzzled.

‘Formor is no match for the new grand Imperial army, sir, surely? Isn’t that what really matters?’

‘That’s not the point… We really don’t want to provoke anyone…I must say that you easterners seem rather a hasty, bloodthirsty lot…’

Antonius wagged his finger at his general.

‘So, leave those political decisions to me’

‘So’ said Aurelian, trying a different, equally enjoyable, tack, ‘would you like me to take him away and lock him up in the dungeons here, then, sir? If he’s getting in the way’

Antonius shook his head so violently that Aurelian was sure that he heard his neck creak.  

‘No, just leave him there – he’s not really doing any harm’

‘If you insist, sir…’

Antonius titled his head. His look was archetypally patrician.

‘I must say I am rather disappointed in your response. I was looking for something more subtly political… Perhaps I have somewhat overestimated the…umm… range of your abilities…’

Aurelian’s face remained completely impassive. This was a point that he was happy to concede.

 ‘Undoubtedly you have, sir’

 ‘Oh well’ said Antonius, his interest in the conversation clearly waning, ‘Carry on, general…’

‘Certainly, sir’

Aurelian bowed, turned back towards the exit and smiled a grim smile – keeping Erik safely in Marthian’s garden was the only sure way that he knew of to keep it from being destroyed. The present incumbent was eyeing it up to create a ‘more useful’ space. Almost certainly that would require statues. Westerners seemed to really like statues, while Marthian liked flowers and birds and insects.  The general felt a lump in his throat – it seemed to happen all the time these days – he was finding it extremely wearisome to be so sad all of the time.

The Proconsul returned to his list. 

 

***

Aurelian only went to the temple complex on holy days – once a year for the summer celebration and once a year for the winter dirge. Since he had been commander-in-chief he had often found ways to get out of even those, semi-obligatory attendances, as there were always field campaigns to undertake, which could be made to coincide with compulsory temple-going.

When Julia had been high priestess he had spoken to her fairly often out and about in the city, but since her death he had only seen the new high priestess twice, once at her inaugural blessing, when the city had celebrated her new position, and once at the winter prayers. He had also heard a lot about her from Marthian, but the old proconsul had clearly not known what to make of her.

The general went and sat close to where he knew Marthian used to wait for the high priestess. He knew, like her, that he couldn’t just walk up to the entrance to the complex and knock. One had to be more subtle that that. Sadly, Aurelian didn’t feel very subtle, however, and was happy to sit for a while and then report to Antonius that he had at least tried.

He had been sitting for less than a minute, uncomfortable, in the play of light and water that had entranced Marthian so much, when Aquilegia appeared, as if from nowhere. She also seemed to be made of nothing except light and air. 

‘General Aurelian’ she said, ‘I am pleased to see you’

Aurelian struggled up, awkwardly. He bowed, very formally.

‘High priestess’ he said, ‘I am honoured by your presence’

Aquilegia smiled; she seemed almost embarrassed by his fulsomeness. She gestured for him to sit back down on the bench. She sat beside him, far enough away that she could turn to talk to him comfortably.

‘I am glad that you have come’ she said

Aurelian looked at her intently.

‘Why is that, high priestess?’

‘Because the Lady is displeased…’

‘I am very sorry to hear that…’

‘The Emperor has made a dreadful mistake and it must be rectified immediately’

 ‘In what way do you mean?’

‘He has forced the proconsul to go away…’ said Aquilegia, with a vehement look in her eyes. Aurelian was shocked at their intensity. He chose his next words very carefully.

‘Marthian is no longer the proconsul’ he explained, ‘the Emperor exercised his Imperial right to remove her from her post and replace her with another’

Aquilegia shook her head and breathed in sharply.

‘His is only a temporal right; he has no spiritual say in the dominion of Ortia’

Aurelian had never heard this line of reasoning before and he had no idea what it really meant. However, he knew what it implied – that the Lady still believed that Marthian was proconsul of Ortia.

‘I see’ was all that he could bring himself to say.

‘The Lady expressly forbids Marthian’s removal’

‘Good’ murmured Aurelian, completely without thinking.

Aquilegia rose and placed her hand on the top of the general’s head. A charge, like a sudden warm breeze, spread through him. Briefly, he felt very much better.

‘You must tell the Emperor’s representative here – Senator Antonius – that Marthian must be reinstated. Without her the city may well fall…’

Aurelian started.

‘Fall…?’ he said, ‘are we under threat again?’

Aquilegia looked back over her shoulder towards the complex. She shivered slightly in the warm May air.

‘Always’ she said, ‘there is always grave danger from the east…’

Aurelian swallowed hard.

‘I will tell him’ he said, ‘but I am sure that he will not listen’

Aquilegia shook her head. It was clear that the high priestess was preparing to leave.

‘Then there will be serious consequences’ she said, ‘the Lady will not allow this to go unchallenged’

‘I will tell Antonius that, too…’ he said, knowing that that would be an easy message to pass on.

The high priestess faltered a little, and her voice was more hushed.

‘She is a fine proconsul, general’ she said, ‘and I can understand why you love her so…’

Aurelian had no time to answer this, before she had gone again, but part of him was pleased that that she had left so quickly. What on earth could he have said in response?     

Chapter thirteen

Gorodnikov

 

Kath read the letter back in a clear voice, as if performing a piece of oratory at a school assembly.

 

Greetings Captain Viola, I am very pleased to hear from you. I hope that you are enjoying your new position and that Gorodnikov is a pleasant place within which to live. I have never been there but I have heard that it is an active and interesting city.

I am honoured that you felt able to share the contents of your dream with me and somewhat embarrassed that you are asking for my advice. I do not have much in response that is of obvious use, but here is what I have gleaned.  

Your dream is fascinating, but somewhat obscure. The snakes are presumably symbolic, as is, it seems, most of the dream.  The different trees were a particularly interesting touch. My initial thought on them is that, and I am sure that this has already occurred to you, is that most names for ancient settlements were rendered as tree names in Archaic Elven, by the original elven settlers. It is possible, therefore, that the trees refer to the names of places, but this is, of course, simply unsubstantiated speculation. However, a reasonably deep study of some old maps might yield a clue or two.

My only other substantial suggestion is that what you have seen in the dream might have been nagas – guardian serpents. One of our councillors encountered one in Kinspit recently. I will try to get more details from her.

 I would be very happy to consider all of this further if you remember any other elements of the dream or if you have any other relevant dreams. This supposes, of course, that you still think that my counsel would be helpful.

I can only speculate on the reason for the many dreams that you have had that seem in some way to emanate from Quiena. My best guess is that this is due to some connection that you formed in Melloreis, perhaps because you were, at the time of that first dream, the highest ranking elf in the party. To be honest with you, I have no clear idea what the connection is or why it has been established; but I think it is problem that you ought, perhaps, to pursue diligently. 

I must admit that I found your request that I should not reveal the contents of your letter to anyone else, not even my master, a little difficult. However, after some thought, I have decided to honour it. What you wrote is either of enormous importance and must not fall into the wrong hands, or it is nothing more than fantasy. Either way I can see no particular reason to reveal its details to Mr Ismay, who is not only a busy man but also an occasionally indiscreet one.

Please remember me to any of the others that you still see from the expedition to Melloreis. I often think of Dr Eccles’s fate and wish that we could somehow have averted it.

Yours, as ever,

Laurence Hardacre

Kath dropped the letter on to the table in front of Viola.

‘He’s not the warmest man in the world, is he?’ muttered Kath.

‘If anything he gets colder,’ Viola agreed.

Kath pulled a piece of paper out of her bag. This was a copy (there were now several secreted about the place) of the map that Viola had drawn the afternoon before. She put it face up on the desk.

‘He is useful, though, bless him’ she said.

‘Yes, he really is’ agreed Viola, ‘now we just need to find an old map with ancient names’

She strode to the door and opened it.

‘Dominic’ she commanded, ‘can you come in here and give us a hand?’

There as a short pause and then the sound of Dom squeezing past his desk in his cubby hole. A few seconds later he appeared, smiling. He always liked to have something to do.  In addition, Viola had begun to realise that he could be useful, after all.

‘How can I help?’ he asked

Kath suddenly realised that she still had Viola’s sketch map on the desk. She scooped it up heavy handily, but not before Dom had seen it quite clearly.

‘What’s that?’ he asked

‘Nothing’ murmured Kath, folding the map rapidly and slipping it into her bag.  

 ‘It looked like a map…’ he said, looking puzzled. He turned towards Viola.

 ‘Was it something important?’

She made a split-second decision.  Given what they were about to ask him, they had to give him something.

‘It’s a map of old imperial localities that the Emperor wants investigated. He’s very keen on the idea of expanding the Empire further…’

Dom considered this: he had no idea whether this was true or not, but, either way, his interest was awoken.

‘Really?’ he said, ‘where are those places?’

Behind his back Kath was shaking her head vigorously. Too late thought Viola, I’m sorry…

‘That we don’t yet know’ she said, as blandly as she could manage, ‘which is why we need your help’ 

‘What sort of help?’ asked Dom, quite clearly intrigued, ‘I’m sure that I don’t know anything very useful’

‘We need an ancient map – one which has Archaic Elven names…’ explained Kath, ‘…could we find one like that somewhere in Gorodnikov?’

Dom considered this. Then his face lit up.

‘Yes, I think you could…’ he said

 

***

Dom was able to tell them exactly where to go – to the Maritime Map Archive at the far end of the harbour, on beyond Psephos. Dom volunteered to go with them but Viola managed to persuade him that this was a ‘classified’ mission and that he didn’t have security clearance. She knew that this was the best way to make sure that he reported all of what had happened back to the Governor, but she just hoped that it didn’t really amount to a proper hint to what they were actually doing.

Kath and Viola left immediately, somehow managing to avoid Potentilla. They took a cab on past Psephos to the very edge of the town to where the Archive building sat.   On the way they bickered politely about Dom: neither of them had a clear idea of how they should deal with him now that he had seen the map.  Eventually they agreed that it was a major problem, but neither of them had a solution to it.

The Maritime Archive building was several hundred yards further on down the harbour than any other substantial establishments; it was isolated and rather ugly. It was a squat two-storey building constructed in artless Visneorian fashion: it had arches and pillars but nothing resembling an architectural spark.  Its only interesting feature was a huge colourful banner over the entrance on which was splurged ‘The MMA: the Imperial Navy’s Maps.’.  Viola and Kath scarcely noticed any of this as they rushed on through to the reception desk.  

The Archive was split into two sections – a rather boring public museum at the front and the map collection itself further back. It was clearly the latter part that they needed to gain access to. At first Viola tried to pull rank, but the receptionist didn’t seem at all impressed by Viola’s insistence that she was the Deputy-Governor: she’d never heard of such a thing.  But deep in her bag Kath still had her ECU library pass, and a quick flourish of that was enough to give them access to the reference maps area.

They rushed on into the silent reference room, which was empty except for an old elf at a far table. She was poring over a huge number of nautical maps that he had spread out on across a large table.  She looked up and nodded at them as they entered, apparently unconcerned by the noise they were making. They nodded back, slightly embarrassed to have blundered in so oafishly.  They had no idea whether the elf was a librarian or just another member of the general public.   

Kath took charge. She was used to looking for things in rooms like this and very soon she had found the drawers containing the oldest and most obscure maps.  Eventually she found exactly the map that they were looking for. She carried it carefully from the drawer to an empty table. 

They rolled out the map and examined it. It showed the north eastern part of western Skiophos, but they could only tell that from the shape of the coastline. They had to find a more modern map to compare the geographical features and settlement names in order to make sense of it.

Only two of the crosses were on the old map: one to the north and one to the south. The northerly one was the closest and was labelled clearly on the ancient map – it was the only named place for miles around. Its name was Klethropolis. This was easily translated by Viola – it was the ‘city of alders’. 

‘There you are then’ said Kath, ‘it all adds up…’

Viola nodded, but she had already moved on. She was staring at where the southerly cross should be, deep into East Visneorian territory.

‘Where’s that, then?’ she asked, brushing her hand across the old map.

There were two settlements close to each other, and they both knew immediately where they were.

Kath felt a chill creep over her.

‘Oh no – you don’t think it’s Melloreis, do you?’

They scrambled to read the two names. Neither of them was entirely fluent in Archaic Elven and it took them a little while to make out the symbols.

‘That’s Melloreis, the southern city, I’m fairly sure’ Viola said pointing to the very far south of the map, ‘it’s labelled Kynorodon…’

‘What does that name mean?’ whispered Kath

The elf thought for a second.

‘Dog something…’ she said, ‘oh yes… dog… rose….’

Kath sighed with relief. 

‘Thanks the gods for that – I never want to go back there again’

Viola’s eyes had never moved from the map. If the cross wasn’t on Melloreis then it was on somewhere even more familiar.

‘Karuodendron’ she said softly and slowly, ‘that was apparently Ortia’s name back then’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Kath, expectantly

‘Walnut tree’ answered Viola

Kath laughed a tiny laugh.

‘Ah, so we didn’t have to travel so far, after all’ she said

Viola looked startled, as if something had just jumped out at her.

‘In Ortia, really? What is it? Where is it?’

Kath shrugged.

‘I have no idea. But, it’s fascinating, though, isn’t it’ she said, her eyes bright with wonder, ‘completely fascinating’

‘No, it’s not’ murmured Viola, a shiver running through her, ‘it’s terrifying, absolutely terrifying’

Kath had already moved on beyond Ortia in her mind; they could only do one thing at a time.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we can go and poke around in Ortia at the moment’

Viola nodded, happy to avoid that problem for a while.

Kath returned to examining the northern cross – the one that they hoped to visit first. She wrote down the approximate co-ordinates of that cross from the modern map. Whatever the point labelled ‘Klethropolis’ had been in the past now there was nothing except a few scattered villages on the high wooded plateau that rose almost immediately up from the sea to the east.  There was however a clear road that ran up from a port labelled ‘Tamarix’. This port was indicated on the modern map too (as Tamaranti), but with the ominous addition of ‘(ruin)’ and the road was also marked, as an ‘ancient track way’.  There were no other roads leading to there from the rest of Oket, just apparently impenetrable forest.  

‘Do you know exactly where that is?’ asked Viola

 ‘Close enough’ said Kath, ‘but it looks like we will have to find someone with a boat…’

Chapter fourteen

Amansk

 

‘Do I have to go?’ asked Princess Lily, pouting as she scowled down from half way up the stairs.

Her mother assumed a look of infinite patience. This was not the first of these kinds of conversations that they had had. 

‘This is our guest, Lily Sophia, and she has had a very difficult time’

‘I know exactly who it is, Mummy…I met her long before you ever did…’

As soon as she said the words, she regretted them.  This was alluding to ‘that recklessness’; a period in Lily’s life that her mother would never refer to. During that time Lily had been kidnapped, rescued by her governess, ran away with a prince of Formor (although only incidentally) and helped a group of witches save a crusading army. In Lady Natasha’s mind this amounted to several lifetimes’ worth of misadventure. All that was required now was a quiet life and the acceptance of a good marriage, which would be Lily’s own choice, provided that she selected within the limited Oketian and Ethian noble families that met Lady N’s seal of approval. This would maintain that important pillar of aristocratic human self-deception: that they married for love.

Lily knew immediately that she had lost, so now she was determined to make the most of it.

‘I will talk about politics, you know’ she said, ‘and I will wear my bright red dress.’

Natasha’s look softened.

‘You look lovely in that, darling’ she said, happy to concede almost anything after such an unexpected victory.

Lily strode back up the stairs. She was smiling; the truth was, she’d always intended to go. 

 

***

Half-an-hour later they were sitting with their guest. Marthian was dressed in her usual Visneorian clothing, a white blouse and comfortable well-tailored trousers; essentially her old Proconsul’s ‘uniform’ but without a jacket. Natasha and Lily were both in slightly unseasonal, beautifully cut, cotton dresses, one in a demure blue and the other in sensationally bright red.  Both dresses were long and unwieldy and had to be constantly shifted as they sat, causing sudden shimmers of texture and hue. They were the most impractical things that Marthian had ever seen, and she absolutely adored them.

Natasha leant forward and smiled at Marthian.

‘So, lady proconsul – we’re delighted that you could join us for tea’

Marthian was mildly startled: she’d never been called that before. She really didn’t want to be called it again.

‘Oh – please call me Marthian – I’m really just an ordinary imperial citizen here…’

‘Marthian!’ said Lily, ‘that’s a nice name!’

Natasha glared at her; Marthian smiled – she really didn’t mind.

‘Thank you’ she said, softly.

Natasha relaxed slightly.

‘Please call me Natasha, then, Marthian. It would certainly help if we are to be friends…’

Marthian’s heart lurched very slightly. She’d never really thought about it, but beyond Viola and Aurelian, had she really ever had any proper friends? Offers of friendship had been as rare as Babalian snow.

‘That would be very welcome, I must say’ she said, in a flatter voice than she had really intended.

They all smiled, in a strange mixture of relief and awkwardness. Even Lily picked up the mood, sensing that, for once, she ought perhaps not to say anything.  Marthian knew, however, that it now fell to her to break the silence.

‘This is the first time I have ever had afternoon tea’ she said, ‘I am greatly looking forward to it’

‘You don’t have tea in the Empire?’ asked Lily, almost shocked

Marthian shook her head.

‘Coffee and wine…’

Natasha and Lily looked at each other.  A frisson of gentle concern seemed to reverberate between them.

‘Really?’ asked Lily, ‘isn’t coffee very bad for you? Mummy says that it keeps you awake’

Marthian smiled graciously.

‘Sometimes, in my previous job, I really needed to keep awake…’

 Natasha clearly thought that this was somehow dangerous ground. She stood up, her dress unfolding like a fan.  Marthian was envious – perhaps she could get a dress like that while she was in Amansk? Just for formal occasions, of course, just in order to fit in.

 ‘I’ll go and see if Sally has prepared the tea’

Natasha walked elegantly out of the room. As soon as she had left Lily jumped up.

‘Is it true that the emperor has sacked you?’

Marthian was taken aback by both the directness of Lily’s approach and the strange Ethian word that she had used in the middle of her sentence. All she could do was nod vaguely. ‘Sacked’ could only really mean one thing.

‘That’s awful!’

Marthian continued to nod when she should really have been scolding this forthright girl for her temerity. The truth was that she didn’t really have enough energy to care.

‘Things have been really strange here too, you know’ Lily continued, her own concerns now filling up her horizon.

‘I’m sorry to hear that’ said Marthian, warily, ‘what has happened?’

Lily’s words tumbled out in her eagerness.

 ‘It turned out that Miss Victoria was an Ethian spy!’

‘Really? That’s a surprise…’

‘Oh yes – she was from the Ethian secret service all along…’

‘Are you sure?’  

‘Oh yes. There was a big fuss and a huge discussion, and the some men came and she went away with them back to Eth.’

‘Is she safe and well?’ asked Marthian, concerned by the apparent sinister overtones of Lily’s story.

‘She’s fine – she writes to me all the time…’  Lily looked worried, ‘but please don’t tell mummy…’

Marthian shook her head.

‘Well, I can’t guarantee anything…’

Lily looked shocked and crestfallen.

‘You wouldn’t would you?’ she moaned, ‘that would spoil everything…’

Marthian saw no real point in telling tales, but on the other hand she was a guest and guests had certain obligations. She sighed.

‘I won’t tell’ she said, ‘you’re almost a grown women – it’s none of my business whom you correspond with’

Lily sat back in her chair with a glum expression.

‘Anyway, I miss her’ she said

‘I’m sure that you do. It seems that she was a very resourceful woman, whether spy or governess’

Lily smiled.

‘I’ll be able to see her soon though; in November, when I’m seventeen, I’ll be going to Eth City to the University…’

 ‘That’s wonderful – I’m sure that you’ll have a very productive time there’

‘Yes!’ said Lily, her eyes bright with expectation. 

‘What will you study?’

Lily grinned, almost slyly.

‘Oh – this and that. I have a special course being prepared for me…’

Marthian had heard about Lily’s abilities, through her contacts in Monurbis and through her links with the Hybitor. She could well imagine what the special course involved.

‘Do your parents know what you’re planning to study?’

‘What do you mean?’

Marthian gave her a very cold look, the kind that she normally reserved for temporary incompetence in close companions or for permanently recalcitrant functionaries.

‘Magic – you’re clearly going to Eth to study magic’

Lily’s face fell into shock. Her eyes were painfully wide.

‘John has organised it for me. He thinks I’ll make a very good witch…’

Marthian was worried to hear this revelation.

‘Mr Ismay has arranged all of this – is that what you’re saying?’

Lily had no time to reply. Natasha came back into the room with a tea tray complete with a large silver teapot, patterned china teacups, and neatly prepared salmon and cucumber sandwiches.  On balance Marthian decided that this interruption had been for the best: she really had no business interfering. However, this seemed to her to be another example of the strangeness of humans.  

Natasha placed her beautifully arranged tea tray on to the table. She then began to fuss about with the objects on the tray. At least at first, Marthian couldn’t make any sense of it, but then some pattern emerged.  

Marthian was pleased to be interrupted by this curious sight. To her this seemed to be an extraordinary, quintessentially Ethian, custom. Tea was fine, she supposed, but they drank it with milk and sugar, which appeared to completely smother the taste.  She was finding coping with human cultural challenging, but mostly because it seemed so ridiculous. Why, for example, did the sandwiches have to have their crusts cut off?  Wasn’t that something that you did for infants?

Natasha sat down and poured out the tea. Marthian refused sugar, and wondered if she might even risk refusing milk, but eventually decided against it. They sat sipping their tea.  Natasha passed round the sandwiches, and then some little cakes. They sat slurping and munching politely – it was all rather pleasant, in truth.

Natasha began to talk about her father, Arbutus, the Governor of Gorodnikov, and how much she had enjoyed her childhood in the port. Then she explained how she had grown to love her life in Amansk, too. At first Marthian didn’t understand why she had chosen this topic of conversation, but then she realised that she was talking about homesickness, and so she found herself drawn into recalling her own childhood in Ortia and how strange it had been to come to another city herself.  Marthian knew that this was Natasha’s idea of therapy, and she was exceptionally good at it, teasing out the fundamentals of her feelings, but she wasn’t entirely sure that it was really making her feel better. She felt sadness, which was always waiting to pounce, suddenly catch her. Tears pricked behind her eyes.   

Natasha caught the look in Marthian’s face and she responded as if in a mirror image of the elf’s expression.  The moment was uncanny – as if the human had felt exactly what Marthian had felt and had responded in the same way. She had never seen an elf do this: it was an extraordinary skill. 

Without warning Natasha came over and sat down right next to her. She took her hand.  For a moment she said nothing, staring into Marthian’s eyes as if gauging the right words to use.

‘I’m so sorry’ she said, eventually, ‘it must be so very hard to bear; to lose everything’

Marthian looked up at her with her cheeks streaked with tears. Natasha let go of her hand and passed her a handkerchief.   The elf blew her nose and pocketed the cloth.

‘But it must be borne’ said Marthian, in a tiny voice, ‘and so I will have to bear it…’

Lily gasped, as if finally feeling the shared pain. She rushed over to hug Marthian fervently. She was enveloped in a blanket of red chiffon.  

‘Poor old you, Marthian…’ Lily said, ‘you’re so brave!’

A sudden panic gripped the elf: she felt momentarily that if she gave into her feelings now that she might weep for ever, that she might labour even to take another step. She struggled free of Lily’s embrace and stood up. She was flustered and disorientated. She had no idea how to respond to this sudden community of feeling, this raw kindness. What she was cross or comforted? Was she happier or sadder? She had absolutely no idea.

‘Thank you for the tea’ she said, stiffly, ‘it was very pleasant…’  

The two humans stood, a look of horror forming in their eyes. They had meant to stick to protocol, they really had, but they couldn’t refuse comfort when it was so clearly needed.   

‘We’re so sorry…’ said Natasha, softly

Marthian shook her head.

‘No – it is fine. Forgive my reaction…’

Natasha smiled sadly.

‘I’m thinking that you might not accept our invitations to tea again, dear Marthian…’

Marthian thought about this for only a second.

‘Of course I will...’ she said, spending some time on each word, ‘...I will come again…’

She wondered at these women: they seemed lovely but very strange. Nonetheless, they were all she had in this barbarian town.  They waited for her words.  

‘For friendships’ sake ‘ she said, ‘that’s why I will come again’

Natasha and Lily smiled with relief.  Marthian found that, quite unexpectedly, she was feeling quite a bit better.

Chapter fifteen

Gorodnikov

 

Dom was both gratified and surprised that Arbutus seemed so pleased to see him. This was always the case, of course, as the Governor had very kindly taken him under his wing when he had been orphaned, and he was clearly fond of him. To Dom he was one of his two ‘uncles’, the other one being Arnon in Amansk, and he was indebted to both of them.

‘My boy!’ bellowed Arbutus when he saw him walking down the long corridor that led to the Governor’s offices, ‘greetings!’

Arbutus was a strong man with a big voice. He was now in early middle age but if anything the years had strengthened him. Never before had he had so much influence, now that the Emperor wanted to make his city not only the jewel in the empire’s naval crown, but also the end of a mighty trading route running across an entire continent – tact and politics would never allow him to say it, but Ortia’s and Amansk’s misfortunes were very much his lucky break. The full consequences of this for his family, however, he hadn’t yet fully assimilated. His mind was like a huge log rolling down a hill, powerful when it got going but not very subtle.  

Dom was swept up into the big man’s orbit. Arbutus had once been a fiery redhead but age had softened his colour so that he was now a sandy ginger, not too far removed from Dom’s own strawberry blond.  Arbutus squeezed Dom hard, in his usual manner; this man was a hugger on an epic scale.

After the prescribed period Dom pulled himself free, smiling wanly.

‘Aren’t I meant to be a spy?’ he murmured

The Governor laughed.

‘No’ he boomed, ‘you’re meant to be a nurse maid…’

They had agreed to have these meetings every three weeks, and Dom had assumed that at the meetings he would tell his patron everything about what Major Viola and her odd team had discussed.  Up to this point there had been nothing much to tell.

‘Well’ said Arbutus, ‘come in and tell me everything!’

The Governor bustled into the huge room from which the province was governed. Dom followed in his wake. It was a hive of flunkies, merchants and middle men, all writing, shuffling papers and talking. Most, but not all, of them were humans.  The noise was extraordinary and in the middle of the room was a vast, extravagantly upholstered chair in which the Governor sat and gave orders.  It was Dom’s idea of misery but it seemed to work.

Arbutus headed for one of a set of offices that made up one edge of the room. This was his ‘quiet room’, although this was only a relative term.

The room had a desk, four old chairs and a drinks cabinet. It also had a bookshelf full of Imperial statutes. Dom had looked at these before – the pages on most of them remained uncut, but those dealing with mercantile and maritime law were exceptionally well-thumbed.  Arbutus knew how to make money, and most of his citizens were very grateful for it.    

‘Sit down’ commanded the Governor, sinking into a chair, ‘tell me what you’ve been up to’

Dom looked over at the open door.

‘Shouldn’t you close the door?’ he asked

Arbutus looked puzzled and then laughed.

‘What’s that, lad?’

‘I have some news about the Ortians… They are behaving rather strangely – I think that they’re up to something’

Arbutus laughed again.

‘I’m sure that they’re planning all kinds of things, but I suggest that we turn a blind eye, eh? We don’t want to get involved in high Imperial politics unless we have to. This whole new proconsul thing is best left to others, don’t you think? Personally I think Marthian did a rather splendid job, but these things happen,,,’

‘But, Governor, I’m not sure that it’s about that…’

Arbutus stopped laughing, but his expression of mild amusement remained.

‘My word, you are taking this seriously aren’t you?’

Dom felt a stab of hurt.

‘What do you mean?’ he said, ‘I assumed that the job had some point to it…’

Arbutus caught the look in Dom’s eyes and the smile died on his lips.

‘Well, of course’ he said, a few degrees more seriously, ‘it’s to help me to cosy up to those strange Ortian elves and make sure that they don’t cause any mischief, and by that I mean mostly to themselves. Just look after them…’

Dom couldn’t help himself – he shook his head, irritated.

‘Well, sir’ he said, stiffly, ‘that’s not much of a job, is it?’

Arbutus smiled kindly, and with an intensity that Dom would have thought a little bemusing, if he hadn’t been so used to it from his patron.

‘Dominic – it’s your first job’ he murmured, ‘and I’m sure that, in fact, that you are charming and helpful and gallant. It’s just that we all know that this is some of trick that the Emperor is playing on both parties, and that the intention is to keep the Major safe but far from home. This is just pointless busy work all round – but it won’t do you any harm to be around high ranking elves…’

Dom knew this was true, but now he mildly annoyed that the Governor wasn’t taking him seriously. In fact, it seemed like the Ortians really were planning something, and something unconnected with petty politics, but no-one seemed interested.

‘So, what have they been saying?’ asked Arbutus, slightly, it seemed, out of duty.

Dom’s stubbornness, always a strong, if generally hidden, feature of his personality, kicked in. He was damned if he’s tell now.  He shook his head.

‘Nothing important’ he said, ‘they don’t really do anything much…’

Arbutus was debating with himself whether to take this any further when there was a polite knock on the open door. A young female elf was smiling at them.

‘Iris!’ said Dom, rising to embrace her.

‘Dominic!’ responded the elf, ‘it’s so lovely to see you…’ She held him tightly.

Iris was the Chancellor of Gorodnikov, Arbutus’s second in command and his closest friend. She ran the shadow side of the city, the part that worked in lonely offices well into the night and made sure that all the books were balanced, the bills were paid and the ships were seaworthy.  Dom had always found her an excellent counterbalance to the governor, as although he found him hugely entertaining, he was much easier to deal with when she was around.

The only problem that he had with her, however, was that she was, if anything, even keener on hugging than Arbutus was.  He waited patiently until, eventually, she let him go. She took a few steps backwards so that she could inspect him.

‘My dear’ she said, ‘you’re so grown up…’

He stood smiling, enjoying the fact that he was now old enough to do adult things, but all too aware of how long he now had in which to do them.

As Iris inspected him, something unexpected and slightly disturbing happened – her eyes seemed to fill up with tears.

‘All grown up’ she repeated softly, turning to Arbutus who smiled gently and searched around for a cloth with which she could blow her nose. He couldn’t find anything immediately, so he offered her his sleeve. She shook her head, resignedly. Dom sensed that this wasn’t the first time that he had failed his friend at a critical moment.  She wiped her eyes with her hand and turned back to Dom. 

‘Hay fever season’ she said with a wave of her hand, ‘always a trial’

Dom was momentarily confused – it really had looked as if she’d been weeping – but his mind had already moved back to the Ortians. He wanted to find out what they were planning whether the Governor cared or not.

‘Have you tried Echinacea?’ he said politely, ’that seems to help everything’

Iris considered this.

‘No, I don’t think that I have’ she said, ‘perhaps it’s time to give it a go…’

The conversation died briefly, but then Arbutus’s irrepressible hunger for large scale gossip asserted itself. He wanted to know about Amansk, what he had learned about politics in Ortia, news from Formor, any shred of information, in fact, that Dom night have, however uncorroborated, about the political world around them. Dom was now happy to tell them everything that he had heard, but he mentioned nothing about ancient maps and imperial claims. This would be his proper job – a job done for no-one but himself – to find out what was going on.

At some point during this conversation Iris slipped away back to her silent office. Dom didn’t see her go, but, as always, he hoped that he would see her again soon. She was a lovely person and Arbutus really didn’t seem to appreciate her enough.  

Eventually, too, the Governor was called away, and Dom was left to make his way out of the chaos and back into the afternoon sunlight. No-one had offered him lunch, so he brought some seafood from a stall by the harbour and made his way slowly back to his workplace, deep in thought.  Not once, sadly, during his complex ruminations, did he work out the most salient fact that he might have taken from the meeting – that he’d just seen his parents.