Dangerous Gifts (42 page)

Bergast flicked a glance at Mokraine, then looked away, as though afraid it would burn him to look longer. There was hot colour in his cheeks, and a sulky set to his mouth. He looked like a boy about to be scolded for breaking a window.

“Guilt,” Mokraine said. He moved closer to Bergast; a horrible eagerness beginning to dawn in his eyes. “Resentment.” He reached out one thin hand, and traced a line across Bergast’s flushed cheek with one cold white finger. Bergast flinched and shuddered. “I could see more... and I could take all this fear and shame and anger, and make it gone... at least for a little while.”

“Mokraine...” I said, and he shot me a murderous glare. I shut up.

“I could,” he said, looking into Bergast’s wide brown eyes, cupping his face with his clawlike hand. “I could...”

“It would be helpful if we could question him afterwards,” Fain said calmly. “Time, after all, is short.”

Mokraine turned away, and I caught, for the briefest moment, the brute effort of that denial written on his face. Then he looked at me, calm and smiling. “Resentment, shame, and books. Piles of books. That’s all, Babylon.” He walked away and stood with his back to us; I saw him rest his hand against the cold plaster.

“Books?” I said. “Wait a minute. On the boat. You were studying... You looked embarrassed. I remember I couldn’t work out why. I thought you might... Never mind. What have you been studying, Scholar Bergast? What are you up to? If you’re dabbling in something you shouldn’t be...”

“All
right!
” he shouted. “The first stage of the exams. I was... There was so much, and I was
tired,
and I’ve always been good, I knew I could make it up, and plenty of people do it. So what?”

“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I said, grabbing the front of his robe, “or suffer the consequences.”

“The exams. I had a bit of help.”

“The
what?
You
what?
”

“It’s not cheating,” Bergast protested, somewhat breathlessly. “I just got someone to help me with the sections on detecting hidden magic. They needed the money. I was helping
them.
”

“Oh for the love of the All,” I said, dropping him. He fell back against the door. “And I was wasting time on you.”

“Am I right,” Fain said, “in understanding that you cheated on your exams?”

“It wasn’t...”

“Scholar,” Fain said quietly. “Language is a precise instrument. As a magician, this is something of which you should be particularly aware. Cheating is precisely what it was. For such behaviour there are consequences. Because you cheated, you were considered adequate for this mission, which you were not. If it were not for the fact that we had a much more able practitioner turn up, your incompetence could have resulted in thousands, perhaps millions, of deaths. You understand?”

White-faced, Bergast nodded.

“On our way back to Scalentine, you are going to go over with me, in minute detail, the process by which you achieved this post. Who was your supervisor, who dealt with your paperwork, everything you can remember. And strive to be precise, and clear, and honest...” – he paused, and Bergast’s pallor disappeared under an ugly flush – “and you
may
avoid the most extreme consequences of your behaviour. In the meantime, you will strive to make up for your idiocy.”

“Yes!” Bergast nodded, eagerly. “I was going to tell you! I realised. The whole thing about the sacrifice maiden, it’s a mistranslation!” He nodded at his notebook.

I opened it, and peered. “I can’t make head or tail of this.”

“Look.” He pointed with his chin. “Oh, look,
please
untie me, I’m sorry, but this is really important.”

“Fain?” I said.

“Yes, untie him. I am sure we would all find it enlightening and entertaining should he try and run away.”

“What do you mean about a mistranslation?” I said.

“
Itni
,” Bergast said. “It’s still used by the Gudain for ‘girl,’ or ‘little girl.’ But in Old Andretic,
acliss
means ‘sacrifice.’ I think as the language changed, when Ikinchli talked about the maiden who calms the world, what the Gudain
heard
was ‘the maiden who is sacrificed.’ See?”

“And why did you think this was sufficiently important that you spent time on it instead of on the job you were hired to do?” Fain said.

“I...” Bergast shrugged. “Well, I thought if people
knew,
they’d stop, you know, believing it. That would be good, wouldn’t it? I mean, for the Ikinchli.”

“I am charmed by your belief in the healing power of etymology,” Fain said. “Or would be, if I believed it. I suspect you hoped this discovery would bring you academic honours, and the respect of your peers. A not unreasonable aim, and at least in
this
case you would have earned it. However, it is not what you were appointed for.”

Bergast looked away.

“Let me see,” Mokraine said. He took the notebook from my hand. “Old Andretic. Of course, this is the right area...” He pored over the pages, his ancient eyes alight with interest. “I have not studied Ikinchli dialect. Interesting.
Itnun,
‘maiden,’ yes;
ack –
what is that word? Your handwriting is a disgrace, Scholar.”

“
Ack
is ‘whole,’or ‘both,’” Bergast said.

“The One who is Both,” I said. “I’ve heard her referred to that way, too.”

“And
li
is ‘to calm’ or ‘soothe,’ and
esh
is ‘the world,’” Mokraine went on.

“It’s a contraction,” Bergast said.

“Yes, Scholar, that is obvious even to my mean intelligence.”

Bergast swallowed.

“You think people will listen?” I said. “They’ve got other things than language on their minds right now.”

Fain was looking thoughtful. “The right words, at the right time, can be powerful even when people are terrified or starving. Perhaps especially then. But first, we must deal with Selinecree, and find out what she knows.”

“Oh, and Filchis,” I said.

“Oh, yes, Filchis. What a tedious little man he is.”

“I
WILL ASK
the Ten Families to consider exile,” Enthemmerlee said.

“Exile?” Selinecree’s face drained of all colour. “No! No, you can’t!”

“Aunt, the choice will be exile or execution.” Enthemmerlee closed her eyes for a moment, weariness dragging at her face. “Do you have
any
conception of what you did?”

“It didn’t work,” Selinecree said. “So I didn’t do
anything.
”

“If it had worked, you would be dead in about three days. So would almost everyone else in Incandress,” Laney said.

“It was only supposed to kill whoever was in the cave, close to it,” Selinecree said. “That was all.”

“Your own brother. The family guard, who we are sworn to,” Enthemmerlee said. “And who knows how many innocent Ikinchli. All to get me out of the way?”

“You’ve ruined everything, you stupid, stubborn child! And Enboryay is as bad, all he cares for is those wretched disti. Do you know, any of you, the trouble I’ve gone to, to maintain our position? And you don’t care, none of you care a bit. I did it all for Chitherlee, so she’d have a future, but you don’t even care about her!”

“Yes, I do,” Enthemmerlee said. “I care about all our futures.”

“You only care about the wretched scalys. They won’t thank you!”

“I don’t want their thanks,” Enthemmerlee said. “Selinecree...”

“What?”

“Who was it?”

“Who was what?”

“You know. Who sold you the spell?”

“No one
sold
it to me. I was sent a message saying a friend had heard of my troubles, and wanted to help. They told me where to collect it, and how it worked; that it would get rid of anyone standing close. That’s when I decided how to use it.”

“At the ceremony,” Enthemmerlee said.

“Well, of course. Not here, with Chitherlee here!”

“So you just accepted it? You didn’t question it?” Enthemmerlee said.

“Well, anyone in their right mind could understand my position!” Selinecree said. “I thought, perhaps, that one of the other families had arranged it. They’ve shown me a great deal of sympathy, you know.”

“I think you may find that is no longer the case,” Fain said. “Guards? Would you be kind enough to bring in Mr Filchis?”

Filchis had been given a plain Gudain gown to replace his Fenac uniform, which by the time we got him out of the hut was more than a little soiled. We hadn’t yet told him about the
Ipash Dok.

“Do you know this man?” Fain said.

“What? No,” Selinecree said. “Him? Wasn’t he at one of those ceremonies? He was talking to me about something, I don’t remember what.”

“I feared that was too easy,” Fain said. “Babylon?”

“You’re all going to regret this,” Filchis said. “And you,
Madam Steel,
you should be in jail!”

“And you should be upside down in a privy, you little scrote. Tell me, do you know the name Mokraine? First Adept Mokraine?”

“No,” Filchis said. “Why should I?”

“First,” Fain said, “a few questions. Mr Filchis? Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me. I came of my own will.”

“Indeed. Then who
suggested
you come?”

“A friend.”

“A friend. And yet, he sent you here to die.”

“What?”

“You see, it was planned that most of the population of Incandress would die, and you with them, Mr Filchis. You know who was behind it. You had to be got out of the way. Are you going to tell us who sent you?”

“I don’t know his name, he never told me.”

“Then,” Fain said, leaning close, “you will tell me what you do know.”

“You can’t force me to anything! I’m a citizen of Scalentine!”

“Something you are eager to claim for yourself and deny to others.”

I opened the door. Mokraine walked in. The familiar dragged itself after him as he walked, with painful slowness, towards the chair where Selinecree sat. She had twisted around to look at him.

“You can’t do anything,” she said. “I’ve told them everything. They know it all, so do your worst.”

“My worst...” he said thoughtfully. “You poor creature. You haven’t the faintest conception of my worst.”

“What is all this?” Filchis said. “What’s going on? I demand you tell me what’s going on!”

“Oh, do shut up, you vile little man,” Laney said. “Or I’ll turn you into even more of a toad than you are already.”

“You can’t talk to me like...”

She flicked her fingers at him. There was a slippery blue-pink tingle, and Filchis’ jaw shut with a snap.

“Be quiet,” Laney said, “or I’ll fill your mouth with worms.”

“Well?” Mokraine said.

Enthemmerlee looked from him to Selinecree, and nodded.

“I can’t promise I will find anything of use,” Mokraine said.

“And afterwards?” Enthemmerlee said.

“Afterwards... Peace. For a little.”

Enthemmerlee glanced to her left. Where Lobik had always stood. Then she looked at Mokraine. “Do it,” she said.

The familiar leaned against Selinecree’s gown. She made a disgusted face and tried to move her leg away; while she was looking down, Mokraine put his hand on her shoulder.

The change in him was immediate, shocking. It flowed into him like new wine, straightening his back, putting colour in his cheeks. Even the familiar’s loathsome hide gained a faint sheen.

“Oh, what a moiling,” Mokraine said. “What self-pity, what resentment! Even now she feels no guilt. See how everyone has sinned against her! And a spark, a little spark, of genuine affection for someone... the child... but even that, how thickly twined with what she wanted for herself. Oh, what a dark carnival you are, my dear.” He patted Selinecree, almost affectionately, on the head. “But nothing useful, I’m afraid,” Mokraine said. “She barely sees anyone who isn’t herself. Most people are nothing but shadows or mirrors to her.”

Selinecree’s face went utterly slack, as free of any personality or thought as a mound of dough.

“Mmmm!
MMMMM!
” Filchis was writhing, his jaw still locked.

“Oh,” Laney said, and snapped her fingers again.

“I’ll tell you,” Filchis said, staring at Selinecree. “Only don’t let him do that to me. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”

“Who sent you?” Fain said.

Filchis, sweating, said, “I don’t know his name, but he has offices on Little Copper Lane. I can show you. I followed him, after our meeting.”

“So, you didn’t trust him, either. Interesting,” Fain said.

“And the woman?” I said.

“What woman?”

“The blonde woman. The one you think he favours. Her name?”

Filchis sneered. “He always called her
opio.
My little
opio.
”

“Opio.” Scalentine pidgin for
key.
Well, that was little or no help.

“That will do,” Fain said. “At least for now. Tie him up. I’ll take him back to Scalentine with me. And the woman... Exile?”

“Exile,” Enthemmerlee said.

“No,” Selinecree said. “You
can’t.
”

Filchis gaped at her. “But you... but she...”

“Oh, were you under the impression the effect was permanent?” Mokraine said. “Really, what sort of creature do you think I am?”

Selinecree said,
“
Where will I go?”

“Anywhere but Scalentine,” Fain said. “I regret to say that you would
not
be welcome.”

“There are plenty of people who would welcome me! I met a number of perfectly
charming
people, even if they were barbarians. It seems they’d treat me better than my own family!”

“Really? Who were these people?” Fain said, studying his nails with a weary air.

“Oh, a merchant, he was quite charming, really, for a barbarian, and some sort of soldier fellow, I think, and well, it was weeksago, but I’m certain they’d offer me hospitality in a moment once they heard what I’ve been put through!”

“I don’t suppose you remember any names?” Fain said.

“Names? Oh, no, I can’t pronounce barbarian names,” Selinecree said. “Besides, they all knew mine.”

A small silence followed this.

“Are you
sure
you don’t want her dead?” Laney said. “Because I’ve only known her a day, and
I
do.”