She sent word that she would see him at her official residence, in the hour before dawn.
When she came downstairs in the morning Husathirn Mueri had already arrived and was pacing restlessly in the grand vestibule. The day was cool and overcast, with a light drizzle falling. He looked dapper and trim despite the rain. His thick black fur was impeccably groomed, and the white stripes that ran through it, so poignantly reminiscent of his mother Torlyri, stood out brilliantly.
He bowed elaborately as she entered, and made the sign of Dawinno at her, and for good measure wished her joy of Nakhaba’s favor. That was bothersome, all that piety coming from him. It was no secret to her how little faith he had in any of the gods, be they Beng or Koshmar.
Impatiently she said, not troubling to make holy signs at him in return, “Well, what is it, Husathirn Mueri?”
“Shall we talk here? In the vestibule?”
“It’s as good a place as any.”
“I had hoped — someplace a little more secluded—”
Taniane cursed silently. “Come with me, then. Hresh has a little study just off this hallway.”
A nervous look. “Will Hresh be there?”
“He gets up in the middle of the night and goes off to the House of Knowledge to play with his toys. Is this something Hresh isn’t supposed to know?”
“I’ll leave that to you to decide, lady,” Husathirn Mueri said. “My sole interest is in sharing it with you, but if you think the chronicler should be informed, well—”
“All right,” said Taniane. “Come.” She was growing more annoyed by the moment. All this bowing and shuffling, and this making of signs to honor gods he didn’t believe in, and these oily circumlocutions—
She led the way to the study and closed the door behind them. The place was a clutter of Hresh’s pamphlets and manuscripts. Through the narrow window she saw that the drizzle was turning now to heavy rain. The Festival would be ruined. She could see herself standing up there in the chieftain’s seat at the stadium, soaking wet, tossing down the smoldering sputtering torch that was supposed to inaugurate the races.
“So,” she said. “Here we are. A secluded place.”
“I have two things to report,” said Husathirn Mueri. “The first comes to me from the guards of the justiciary, who have been keeping watch on the hjjk ambassador at my orders.”
“You said this was about Nialli Apuilana.”
“So it is. But I also said it concerns a danger to the city also. I’d prefer to tell you that part of it first, if I may.”
“Well, go on, then.”
“The ambassador, you know, wanders freely around the city every day. We were keeping him under house arrest, but at Nialli Apuilana’s request it was lifted. And now he is corrupting the children, lady.”
She stared at him. “Corrupting?”
“Spreading hjjk beliefs among them. He teaches them such concepts as Nest-truth, Queen-love, Nest-bond, Egg-plan. You know those terms?”
“I’ve heard them, yes. Everyone has. I don’t really know what they mean.”
“If you’d like to know, you could ask any child in the city. Especially the very young ones. Kundalimon preaches to them daily. Daily he fills their heads with this evil nonsense.”
Taniane took a deep breath. “Are you sure of this?”
“He is very closely watched, lady.”
“And the children — do they listen to him?”
“Lady, they listen and believe! Their whole attitude toward the hjjks is changing. They don’t think of them the way the rest of us do, any longer. They don’t see them as repulsive. They don’t see them as evil. Talk to one of the children, lady, almost any child at all. You’ll find out. Kundalimon’s got them believing that the hjjks are deep and wise. Godlike, almost. Or at least creatures of some special high nature. He tells them how ancient the hjjks are, how important they were during the Great World days. You know how fascinated all children are by fables and tales of the Great World. And here he is, letting them know that people of one of the six Great World races still exist in our own time, and live in some fantastic underground castle far away, and want nothing more than to spread their loving wisdom among us—”
“Yes,” Taniane said crisply. “I see the danger. But what does he mean to do? Lead all of our little ones out of the city like a piper playing a merry tune, and dance them across the hills and valleys to the Nest?”
“He might have that in mind, for all I know.”
“And you say that Nialli Apuilana’s involved in this? How?”
Husathirn Mueri leaned forward until his face was thrust practically into hers.
“Lady, she and the ambassador Kundalimon are lovers.”
“Lovers?”
“You know that she goes to his room every day, lady. To bring him his food, to teach him our language.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Lady, sometimes she spends the entire night with him. My guards have heard sounds coming from the room that — forgive me, lady, forgive me! — can only be the sounds of coupling.”
“Well, what of it?” Taniane flicked her hand through the air in an irritated gesture. “Coupling’s a healthy thing. She’s never been much interested in it. It’s high time she developed a liking for it, and then some.”
Husathirn Mueri’s expression turned stark, as though Taniane had begun lopping off his fingers one by one.
“Lady—” he began feebly.
“Nialli’s a grown woman. She can couple with anybody she pleases. Even the hjjk ambassador.”
“Lady, they are twining also.”
“What?” Taniane cried, caught by surprise. Twining was an altogether different matter. The thought of their souls fusing, of Kundalimon pouring feverish hjjk-fantasies into her daughter’s mind, unstable as it was already from her experiences in captivity, stunned her. For a moment she felt herself swaying, as though her legs would give out beneath her and send her toppling to the pink marble floor. She fought to regain control of herself. “How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“I have no proof, lady,” said Husathirn Mueri huskily. “You understand that I have compunctions about spying on them. But the amount of time they spend together — the degree of intimacy — the fact that they have a common history of captivity among the hjjks — and also that they are unquestionably lovers already, and are of twining age—”
“You’re only guessing, then.”
“But guessing accurately, I think.”
“Yes. Yes, I see what you mean.”
Taniane glanced out the window. The rain was slackening again after the sudden severe downpour, and the sky was growing bright.
“Do you have instructions for me, lady?”
“Yes. Yes.” Her throat was dry, her head was throbbing. Time to be on her way, time to appear at the Beng temple and perform the rite that would send Nakhaba off to the Creator’s abode. The image of Nialli and Kundalimon twining blazed in her mind. She tried to push it away, and it would not go. Tautly she said, “Keep an eye on her, the way you’ve been doing. If you can find out what’s actually going on between her and Kundalimon, I want to know about it. But make sure she doesn’t suspect she’s being watched.”
“Of course. And how should we handle the other part, the teaching of hjjk doctrines to small children?”
The chieftain turned to face him. “That has to be brought to a stop right away. We can’t have him subverting the young. You understand what I’m saying? Brought to a stop.”
“Yes, lady. I understand. I understand completely.”
The drizzly dawn of the day of the Festival of Dawinno found Hresh at the House of Knowledge, making notes on his visit to the caviandis. Later in the day he would have to show himself at the Festival, take his seat beside Taniane in the place of honor, watch the city’s young athletes go through their paces. To skip the games would be scandalous, and impious besides. The Festival had been his own invention, after all, many years ago, in homage to the clever and unpredictable god who was his special patron, and the city’s. But he still had a few hours for getting some work done.