Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [103]
One of the women among the delegates—Denise Fleurais—cleared her throat. "Ambassador de Penfars' knowledge," she said with a certain delicacy, "is confined to the upper strata of Menekhetan society."
"Hellenes," someone murmured further down the table. "She means Hellenes."
There ensued a discussion about the merits of Hellene civilization versus the native component. I listened with half an ear, watching the hovering Menekhetan servants, jugs of barley beer at the ready, waiting with well-concealed impatient for the D'Angeline guests to take to their beds. "Surely," I ventured, thinking about the polite brown masks ofour servants' faces, "Ambassador de Penfars has contacts among the native Iskandrians as well."
A brief silence answered me.
"Not many," the Lady Denise said at length. She had auburn hair the color of new mahogany, and a shrewdness to her face which I liked. "There is the clerk, Rekhmire, or so we gather. But Ambassador de Penfars does not speak the argot of the land."
" What?" The word came out with more force than I intended, but in truth, it shocked me. Raife Laniol had been two years and more stationed in Iskandria; time and more, I reckoned, to learn the language. And yet... I saw from the delegates' faces that few of them shared my astonishment.
"Phèdre." It was Joscelin's voice, calm and thoughtful. "If you are right, then there is an avenue of questioning unpursued. Surely Chouma's household must share his fears. Who would be a client too dangerous to be named?" I looked at him and he shrugged. "No one asked them that, I'll warrant. But. . ." he plucked the cup from my hand, peering into the dregs of barley beer, "we're not like to get further with it tonight."
"Fairly said." I placed both hands on the table and pushed myself upright, tiredness dragging at me. "My lords, my ladies ... let us adjourn."
No one gave argument, for which I was grateful. With a solicitous hand beneath my elbow, Joscelin escorted me back to our pleasant rooms, where windows were open onto the night breeze with its citrus scent. Once we were there, he leaned against a wall, watching me with faint amusement as I reclined on the comfortable mattress, my mind filled with thoughts that dispelled sleep.
"Well?" he said at length.
I sighed, propping myself on my elbows. "What would you have me say? That I am clinging to faint hope? That it is a crime that the Menekhetan ambassador does not speak the native tongue?"
He raised his eyebrows. "It's a start."
"Hyacinthe's plight comes first." I made my voice firm, trying not to think on the promise I had made Melisande. "We will see those arrangements made. Then . . . mayhap we will see what there is to be learned in Iskandria that lies beyond the Hellene stratum of Menekhetan society."
Joscelin smiled. "I thought you would say as much."
THIRTY-ONE
IN THE morning, we reconvened over breakfast, which consisted of pungent bean-cakes, fried in oil and served with a sweet condiment of jellied figs, a strange but pleasing combination of flavors. Amaury Trente had already sent word to Ambassador de Penfars to arrange for an appointment. He was more optimistic than he had been last night; if nothing else, at least my suggestions had given him purpose.
Joscelin and I would explore Iskandria . . . and no matter what promises I had made to Melisande, I did intend to settle the matter of a guide to Jebe-Barkal first and foremost. Once the arrangements were made, I could dedicate my energies to aiding Amaury in the search for Imriel's mysterious purchaser with a clear mind.
True to his word, the boy Nesmut appeared while we were still eating, bright-eyed and cheerful. "You have work for me, yes?" he asked with a winning smile. "Gracious lord and lady need a guide to see the city? I show the best places!"
I took the scrap of vellum Melisande had given me from the purse at my girdle and showed it to him. "I am looking for a man named Radi Arumi, who resides at this address