The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter - Brent Hayward [80]
The visitor to Jesthe, who had been escorted in by officers, now said, “A way has been cleared.”
“Ah yes? Explain.”
“You’ve seen the results, over the rooftops of our beleaguered city?”
The chamberlain cleared his throat. “We were visited by benevolent Aspu, and her sister, Kingu.”
“Yet there is still much work to be done.”
“I’m not sure I follow you. The goddesses have sent us a clear sign.” Until recently, the man before him had been an unwelcome visitor to Jesthe, an irritant in the city, most likely insane, certainly dangerous. Now, in the light of recent events, the chamberlain was not so sure. “We will not sanction killing in any form,” he said. “Is this what you’re saying? We will not sanction violence without a proper trial or blessing from myself.”
Behind the chamberlain, seven officers of the palatinate stood, also in red robes, also with narrowed eyes and stern faces.
“I don’t know anything about killings. I’m here to tell you that there have been transgressions. These need to cease before the way becomes cleaner still.” The man rubbed at the stubble on his narrow chin.
“You presume to tell the palatinate this?”
“Am I to be detained?”
“No,” said the chamberlain. “You are being cautioned.”
“Just today,” the visitor continued, “there was a woman, sullied by activities in Hangman’s Alley. A red-blooded girl. A hemo. And a fight, on Hoffstater Avenue.”
“You refer, of course, to one kholic? The same kholic?”
“The darkest bile. I have seen him imbibing in public. He met my gaze.”
“There will be no more killing.”
“Killing? There has been no killing.”
“I believe there has.”
“We mark the unclean, make delineations. We prepare our city, chamberlain. Marking abodes, associates, haunts. We all need to prove that we are ready.”
“Again, I caution you.”
By the visitor’s side cowered chained cognosci; chains rattled.
“You are not cautious,” said the chamberlain, eyeing the disgusting beasts with disdain. “I tell you again, there will be no more killing.”
“I am bringing the gods back to Nowy Solum.”
“Insolence. Gods return of their own accord.” The chamberlain’s words echoed faintly in Jesthe’s cavernous Ward. Above the gathering—set high into the walls, near the vaulted ceiling—ancient stained glass windows let in no light. Greasy lanterns burned in alcoves. The chamberlain glared silently, pressing his fingers together.
“I mean no harm,” said the visitor, but his comment was interrupted by the sound of slippers on the stone floor.
Turning from his council, the chamberlain watched as the chatelaine ran into the Ward from the Lower Great Hall entrance, looking flushed as usual, her outrageous robes billowing. Her hair, perched atop her head, teetered like yet another nervous animal.
“I’m ready, Erricus,” she called loudly, her own words booming off the walls. She was clearly unable to locate him. “I’m here for our conference! Where—?” Then she noticed the palatinate and the bare-chested stranger with black pants and lash marks, cognosci huddled at his feet. She froze. “Who is this?”
“He was just leaving.” With a slight movement of his flinty eyes, the chamberlain had given an order: two officers of the palatinate moved forward to escort the man—who stared, blatantly, coldly at the chatelaine—across the vast floor of the Ward and toward the main doors.
Cognosci followed, half-dragged.
The chatelaine stepped aside to let man and beast pass.
Then, when the visitor had gone, the chatelaine made her way toward Erricus and the remainder of the gathered palatinate. “What’s going on? I don’t like the way that man looked at me. Don’t bring him in Jesthe any more.”
“He is a citizen. He is within his rights to seek counsel—”
“I’m bored with this already.”
“Chatelaine, your city has been godless for too long. These are important times.”
“What else is there to discuss?”
“What else? This day might be the single most important day in the history of—”
“What else?”
The chamberlain was silent. His left eye ticced. None of his officers moved. Finally he said, “There has been an accident at