“Please sit down, Master Ghan. I tire of standing myself.”
Ghan pursed his lips in undisguised frustration and then, with a slight nod, settled onto one of the felted pillows. He appeared uncomfortable, sitting without a desk in his lap, a book splayed open before him. Ghe smiled reassuringly, bent, and poured coffee from a silver urn into twin porcelain cups. He offered one to Ghan, who took it almost without seeming to notice. His attention was focused entirely on Ghe, as if he were trying to peer through his clothing to the lies they hid, through the scarf about his throat to the impossible scar.
“Tell me what danger,” Ghan demanded.
“From whom else? From the priesthood.”
“The priesthood?”
“It has come to the attention of the emperor that the priesthood plans an expedition to search for her.”
“Search for her? Why?”
“Who knows what purposes hide behind their robes and masks? But the emperor believes that it has to do with the Royal Blood.”
“Away from the River, she is no danger to them.”
“I know little of these matters, Master Ghan. I am only the son of a merchant, an engineer at best. What I do know is that what is true or false is of no consequence to the priesthood. Set in motion, they are like a stone falling. What remains beneath them is crushed. For whatever reason, we know they seek her. Furthermore, we believe that they know where she is.”
“They could not.”
“Couldn't they? They have been sending out spies for the better part of a year. They have been working their sorcery, watching the stars.”
“All of this the emperor told you.”
Ghe held out his hands. “I did not, of course, have an audience with the Chakunge himself. But his minister spoke to me, after I made my concerns known.”
“Your concerns?”
Ghe nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. The priests talk, and the careful ear ensnares their words. I have heard things.”
“Why were you researching the temple?”
“A false trail. I believed that they actually had her captive in their sanctum.”
“They do not.”
“You seem certain of that,” Ghe observed.
Ghan tightened his mouth, realizing that he had said too much.
Ghe leaned over the coffee urn and spoke intently. “The emperor knows, Master Ghan, that you helped his daughter escape the city. He has been watching you, hoping for some sign that you know her whereabouts.”
“And you were the spy?”
“One of them, Master. Please understand, it was from my concern for her.”
Ghan frowned sharply. “What is this all about? If you wish me to confess some crime, I will not. I have no patience for these courtly games.”
“This is no game, Master. In the morning, this barge swims upstream to search for the daughter of our emperor. Unlike the priesthood, we have no idea of where she is, save north and away. You can help us.”
“I do not know where she is.”
“You do. Assuredly, Master Ghan, you do.”
“Torture it from me, then.”
“The emperor won't do that. At least, he said he would not. He wants your cooperation and your loyalty. You are dear to Hezhi, and it is important that she believe in our good intentions when we do find her.”
“You aren't—” Ghan's face registered shock for the first time. His mouth actually dropped open. “You aren't really suggesting that I go with you on this mad search?”
“But that is precisely what I am saying.”
“Out of the question! The library—”
“The emperor has actually been considering sealing the library. It has been the center of much trouble, of late.”
“Sealing the library?”
Ghe sipped his coffee, let the implicit threat sink in. A mask of fury settled on Ghan's face and then quickly vanished.
“I see,” he clipped.
“Perhaps only temporarily, until you return.” He regarded his coffee cup once more. “There has also been talk of restoring certain names in the capital, of ending certain exiles.”
Ghan was nodding his head now. The sweetmeat and the rotten pear were both on the plate before him. Ghan's family was in exile and had been for decades; only his intense love of the library kept him in Nhol. The simultaneous threat to close the library and promise to reinstate his clan had to be a powerful combination.
“No purse is large enough to make me a whore,” the old man declared almost inaudibly, eyes nearly shuttered by his angry lids.
“Those were the emperor's words, his promises and threats,” Ghe whispered. “These are mine. I love Hezhi, Master Ghan, and I know you do, as well. You helped her once, at gravest risk to your own life and everything you hold close and dear. Help me help her. When we find her, I promise you—I swear to you—that whatever pleases her, we shall do. The emperor wants her back here, but I want what is best for her. And she must be warned, at the very least, about the determination of the priesthood. At the least.”
“You are mad. This entire city is mad, the nightmare of a brutish, sleeping god.”
“What does that mean? Do you mean to wish away the world as it is and replace it with one you imagine? If so, you must cease merely reading your books and do something. Come with me, Master Ghan.”
For the first time, Ghan raised his coffee to his lips, and in an instant—like the batting of an eye—Ghe sensed his fear and hesitation vanish. Replaced by … Ghe's new senses were like smell. Fear he had scented often enough to know it. This was something he did not know.
“I must have certain books. I must have maps.”
“You are free to return with the soldiers to the library. They will help you carry anything you need. You accept, then? I can relay that to the emperor?”
“You may tell him I will accompany you.”
“I will tell the captain, when he boards.”
“You are not the commander here?”
“As you say, Lord Ghan, one so lowly as I cannot command a royal expedition. A noble will be placed in command. But you and I will lead them, will we not?”
Ghan did not answer. Instead, he stood shakily. “I wish to gather my things now.”
“Very well. The emperor thanks you.”
“I'm sure.”
“And I thank you.” Ghe was surprised to find that his voice rang sincere, even in his own jaded ears.
SUNLIGHT sheathed the streets in molten copper, beat them bright and hot as Ghan trod across cobbles worn smooth by a hundred generations of feet. Last time he had walked this path, it had also been to board a boat, to arrange passage for Hezhi to his kindred in the Swamp Kingdoms and thence to far-off Lhe.
In hindsight, that had been a poor plan. Not only because it had not succeeded—the boat had been attacked by members of the same royal elite who now escorted him—but because in Lhe the priesthood would have found Hezhi easily, had they cared to look. In the Mang Wastes, finding anyone would be no easy task.
For weeks and then months he had awaited the writ of the executioner, sure that in the chaos of Hezhi's escape he had been found out. If the arrangements at the docks were known to the emperor, then surely the arranger was known, as well. But the writ had never come, and his old head remained where it had been for sixty-three earthly years, bobbing about on a neck that sometimes seemed too thin to support its weight. Now was such a time.
If he weren't in such terrible danger, he might be amused that the emperor and his servants could so deeply underestimate him. They believed that their courtly intrigues were so complex, so deeply cunning, that they could shift Human Beings about like the markers in a game of Na. Perhaps they shifted each other around so, but he was a scholar. He could see through their pitiful, dull machinations as if they were sheerest silk. Not every detail, perhaps, not yet, but he could see the shape of something beneath that thin skirt, and it was not the curved courtesan he was expected to see.