The Cat's Eye, Book I, Part VIII

The Cat's Eye

Book I, Part VIII

For Amiel, the second night of Carnivale meant the relative freedom to roam about the parts of the city her father had approved. Of course, this freedom came with stipulations, the heaviest walking beside her in the form of Haegeth SoFraem, resplendent in great grey furs--wolves he had hunted down himself, she shouldn’t wonder--and attended by a broadly built manservant. Though not handsome, the man carried himself well and would likely have been the center of a crowd had he not been born just high enough to qualify for noble servitude. Amiel couldn’t help but feel some pity for him, especially knowing he believed himself fortunate.

Query whether she actually cared that much for the impact of aristocracy on the soul, or if these observations had their roots elsewhere.

Not that it mattered, as introspection would do nothing to change when and what was reported to her; she had learned that well enough the night before. For the time being, there were other games demanding her attention, and neither Etarezia nor Genori on hand to make them more bearable.

“My humblest apologies, Lord SoFraem, but if you might repeat yourself? I can scarce hear a thing over the din,” she said.

“Quite all right,” the margrave said. “I was wondering if you could tell me where this . . . Carnivale . . . has its roots.” He pulled a face as he made a spirited effort to mimic the proper inflection and accent.  

“Is there no such thing in Ochail?” Amiel asked, arching a brow.

“There is not. To tell you the truth, Ochail is a rather somber city. Though it is a larger city with many more people living there, I think it has not half the liveliness of your Scembre. Though I should say that the countryside beyond Ochail’s walls is a rare beauty.”

The romantic flourish was, admittedly, unexpected, but Amiel had already known that Ochail was mostly known as the dourest of the six Great Cities. She’d heard--rather to her horror--that the whole of the city was served by only two theatres, that music in the streets was outlawed, and that the ruling council of the city wore black from head to toe. Still, the surest way to flatter a man was not to praise him, but to give him opportunity to feel knowledgeable and patient.

“Might I take that as affection for our city?”

“Yes. At first, I found so much of it strange, but through the aid of my host it has grown on me, and with the past two days, further still.” He gave an indulgent smile, an obvious enough signal that he would defer to her.

“Well, the tradition is that Carnivale began with the Lorian Empire, and that it was originally eleven days long, to honor the eleven central gods of their pantheon as the harvest season wore on. The Lorians hoped to curry favor with them through burnt offerings, songs and plays in their honor, so that the winter would be gentle.”

“It worked well enough for them, I would say, given the empire survived four-hundred years,” SoFraem said. That many of the grandest buildings they’d passed by were of Lorian make was not lost on him. Amiel was amused at the sense of pride she felt at that, as though she had designed them herself.

“Quite so, my lord, but as you know, internal strife caused the empire to dissolve. The people continued to celebrate Carnivale, but with fewer days as certain gods fell out of favor and people had less and less to give. When the Duchy of Scembre was founded, Carnivale had shrunk to the seven days it is now. It’s said that some of the founders wanted to abolish it, but ultimately it was kept and turned into a celebration of Scembrese heritage.”

“In Ochail, this surely would have been outlawed, but that is because my people are very serious-minded, by and large. But it matches quite well the impression I have of the Scembrese. Now that I have seen it, it is hard to imagine any of them would object.”

“You know how these stories come about, my lord. There must always be someone opposed to make what survived the years seem more righteous. I doubt very much that anyone decided to make Carnivale anything; more likely the people simply stopped caring about the gods, and this is what was left.”

SoFraem regarded her curiously, while his manservant fidgeted. Ah yes, she thought, the big fellow has probably seen his master work the art of conversation over on many young ladies in his time. I suppose I am not quite to your liking? She lamented how well he’d been tamed, and he ceased to exist in her mind.

“I flatter myself that--” SoFraem began.

Amiel groaned internally. A phrase so rarely used with any sincerity, in the hands of a typical noble youth, had only its accuracy to commend it.

“--I have made decent observation of those ladies of good birth whom I’ve had opportunity to meet since arriving here. I hope you will understand I mean only to praise when I say that you are . . . a curiosity.”

She realized she’d been misinterpreting the margrave; his vice was not a dearth of earnestness, but too much in proportion to his eloquence. If her maids had been present, she imagined Etarezia would have winced, and Genori struck him across the face. As far as Amiel herself was concerned, it made her actually take interest in Haegeth’s person for the first time.

“Clarify your premise, my lord,” she said, hoping he detected the note of challenge. His momentarily widened eyes satisfied her, though he rallied quickly enough.

“My previous experiences had led me to believe that the chief virtues expected in a Scembrese lady of means were wealth and deference. If your father has represented truthfully to me, then you possess the former, but . . .”

“You think I lack deference, my lord?”

“You tease me,” SoFraem muttered. His manservant tensed visibly, waiting for the command to storm off in the most dignified manner possible. “That is rather what I mean. I am neither clever nor subtle, but neither am I so ignorant as to not notice that you are. You play at deference, but I believe you have invited me to speak so that you can delight in my errors.”

Well, she thought, this game drew to a close with disappointing haste.

“If I have offended my lord, I am truly sorry.” She looked to the ground, properly penitent. At least the awkwardly polite silence that always followed would give her time to think of other things.

“You’ve given no offense, Lady Amiel. To tell you the truth, I am intrigued.” The young man touched his servant’s shoulder gently as he spoke, the impressive figure seeming to deflate in an instant, and then create a distance of paces between himself and his two betters. “As you waited to see that we were not in focus last night, I have sent my man ahead because I wish to speak to you frankly.”

The margrave was full of surprises, Amiel noted. She gave him a slight nod to let him know he had her attention.

“I have few ambitions. I’ve no actual desire to be known for a warmaker, though I am aware it is expected. Nor do I much care to expand my family’s holdings; we can scarce manage the Mark as it is. I have not the mind to pursue scholarship or arts, and the first son entering the clergy would be an outrage, even if I wished it.”

“It seems that your options are limited, then, my lord.”

“Just so, but I believe our positions may complement one another. Tell me, Lady Amiel, what do you intend to apply that keen mind to?”

There it was: the question Amiel most needed to answer, and was least prepared to. Had Margrave SoFrame been aware they were still playing the game, she’d have been obliged to cede him a point.

“Would you believe I’ve never been asked that question except by my maids?” She said with a laugh. “I suppose I had hoped to marry someone not utterly objectionable and spend my time and as much of his money as I could get attending to matters which interest me. I had assumed it would be mostly small and surreptitious. Though, I have rarely entertained notions of running away and living by wits alone.”

“I’ve no doubt you could.”

“Perhaps, but it is not fully to my liking. Why do you ask, my lord?”

“I ask because I believe that, were I to marry a woman of guile, that with my resources, she might help me achieve the few things I truly wish for. In turn, such a woman would be at liberty to freely pursue whatever causes she wished.”

“Truly? And what sort of achievements might these be?”

The margrave smiled--a real smile, not a polite one--and shook his head.

“Even a man such as myself knows well enough to preserve a measure of mystery.”

“You are not so lacking in guile as you claim,” Amiel said.

Haegeth seemed satisfied by this conclusion, and they continued their wanderings in a significantly more pleasant silence than Amiel had expected. Already, her mind turned towards what could be done with the full extent of a margrave’s power and wealth. Such power would be enough to make a real mark on relations with Oza, or to initiate serious exploration efforts in the East. She would even be placed to directly influence those dukes and councilors who ruled the Great Cities.

Before her speculation ran far afield, she noticed a familiar face through the crowd. Aanitsuru leaned back against a nearby wall, watching her intently, clearly hoping to be seen.

“My lord, I just remembered that there is a stall usually set up not far from here which I would very much like to visit. Please, go on ahead to the market hall, I shall rejoin you soon.”

“I did promise your father that I would not leave you unattended,” SoFraem said.

“I will only be just a moment, I promise. If it comes to it, I have my wits to protect me, do I not?”

The margrave took the hint well enough, and went ahead to retrieve his manservant as Amiel slipped her way through the raucous crowd towards Aanitsuru.

“I confess, I was expecting you would appear in my room again to have another try at scaring me.” Amiel continued walking past her, into a nearby alleyway and out of Haegeth’s sight. The Oza woman followed close behind; it was a safe feeling, the knowledge she was in capable company.

“Won’t say I’ve not thought on it, but I’m thinking what I have to say will trouble ye enough.” Aanitsuru said without a trace of humor.

Amiel frowned and did her best to brace for the worst.

“I followed yer boy from the early morn. He popped out of the tent and went straight for the old market hall in the lower city, got himself some food, when who should show but one of them soldiers,” Aanitsuru said.

Even though she was ready for it, hearing that still left a cold feeling in Amiel’s stomach.

“Which one?”

“The robed one.”

“The Priest?”

“Aye, him.”

That came as some relief; at least it wasn’t that imposing monster of a man who was so obsessed with Traleau. Still, she couldn’t imagine that Aanitsuru’s account would end well, especially not if she’d shown herself so early in the night. Hesitantly, she bade the woman continue.

“They spoke for a time, ‘bout what I’ve no idea, weren’t close enough to hear, but the Priest led him off. I lingered a spell, since they weren’t in too much hurry, and some law type came ‘round asking questions and causing a right stir. I kept one eye on that lot when I went after yer boy; they were looking for him.”

“What, a magistrate? You’re certain they were after Traleau?”

“Sure as I’m standing here. Not that yer type would know it, but that fat Iacosi’s got more pull in some parts of the lower city than ye, and he’s not the worst of his kind.”

“You think he’s responsible for setting the magistrate after Traleau. I know Ducal authority is far from absolute, but for some petty criminal to . . . that’s a matter for another time. Please continue with your report.”

“Right, then. The law dog were sniffing his way around the market real slow, and near as I could tell he never caught much scent off yer boy, least I didn’t see him again. That Priest though, I think he’d been expecting that much, he got yer boy a mask and led him to a tavern with some rooms. They stayed up in there ‘til night came round and started running on the roofs north out the city. I followed, but that Priest knew I was there and came after me while yer boy went ahead.”

“It doesn’t sound as though Traleau was being forced into anything,” Amiel said cautiously, unsure whether to be relieved or disturbed. “What happened then?”

“He made a fight of it, wanted me to rat on you. I didn’t, for what that’s worth.” Aanitsuru shrugged and stretched her neck, clearly frustrated. “We had a few words before I had to beat a retreat. Can’t say as I know why, but I think that Priest’d see yer boy far away from the soldiering band. He were trying to help him escape.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He raised a right fuss every step of the way last night, and he was the one walking yer boy home. And if he knew the lad was joining his band, they’d have no need for hiding. Even on the streets people know them soldiers are favorites of yer Duke. Yer boy joins up with them, Iacosi’s friends will want nothing to do with him.”

“I see. Even so, please check on the mercen--”

“I’d already planned to. I’m not one to take pay for a job half-done. Just thought ye’d want to know what I do.”

“Yes, thank you, Aanitsuru. We will speak again tomorrow?”

“Aye.”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me . . . ”

“Just one more thing, m’lady,” Aanitsuru said, folding her arms over her chest.

“And that would be?”

“I’m just wondering what yer fixing to do if the lad takes up with the rough lot.”

Amiel couldn’t help but let a sad smile show clear on her face.

“I . . . do not know. I’ve not yet thought past hoping he doesn’t.”

“Well, whatever the Priest was thinking and yer hoping, if ye be wanting my advice, start  thinking about it. Yer boy is a natural fit for wet work. That’s all.”

Amiel didn’t wait to watch Aanitsuru walk away; silently she turned round and re-entered the crowd. She could see Haegeth and his manservant through the crowd, but was in no hurry to reach him--there was too much thinking to do. Traleau’s position was troubling indeed, but if Iacosi truly had the influence to move magistrates so long as he didn’t rouse the Duke’s ire--the crowd seemed tighter. Of course it was irrational; that knowledge did not suddenly make her a target, nor did it change the character of the people around her.

No, it was worse than all that. She began to wonder how many of the revelers all around her could simply be erased at the whim of someone like Iacosi, or someone worse, as Aanitsuru had mentioned? What would be their offenses? She was at least aware enough of that sort of low fearmonger to expect a certain pettiness. The stall owner hocking damasked fabrics might miss some seasonal payment due the man who ‘owned’ that street corner. The young woman just to her right, vital and laughing and charming all her friends so effortlessly could commit some accidental insult. Such small things, Amiel thought, could make them vanish as easily as Traleau’s offense. She was still deep in thought when she found she’d rejoined Haegeth and his man.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the margrave asked.

“Ah, yes, thank you for indulging me, my lord,” Amiel replied. “Shall we continue our little promenade?”

“I should like that very much, Lady Amiel.”

Despite the margrave’s best efforts, Amiel’s mind was turning over the Iacosi problem for the remainder of their evening out. Eventually, he escorted her home, exchanged a few brief pleasantries with her father, and was on his way. She promised her curious parents the details of her evening next morning and quickly retired to her room; the sight of her maids was an immediate relief.

“Welcome home, my lady,” Genori said, taking her place by the fireplace, brush in hand. “How was your evening?”

“The margrave is . . . perhaps better than I had first thought. But there were other things on my mind.”

“Those are the things we were hoping to hear about,” Etarezia said, stoking the fire.

“To my surprise, Aanitsuru made an appearance whilst I walked with Lord SoFraem. It seems that Iacosi, the man whom the mercenaries ran afoul of last night, has been wielding his influence to have a magistrate punish Traleau for the deaths of his men. I must admit, I had not thought such a thing possible.”

“Sadly, that is the state of things in much of the city,” Genori said. “Do not blame your parents for wishing to protect you from it.”

“I do not,” Amiel replied, furrowing her brow. “They mean well. But I suppose I’d given myself too much credit for being informed on my own, however. Is it true that there are others like him who are more powerful?”

“I’m afraid so, my lady. The Duke’s authority is above question, but only when he uses it. You recall that I grew up in the lower city before I began work as a maid?” Etarezia asked.

“I do.”

“It is common enough for merchants and even lesser nobles to take control of the businesses in an area and style themselves like proper lords, keeping small armies to frighten people. They need only money and gossip to undermine the Duke’s agents, and turn them into puppets,” the younger maid said, sighing. “I cannot speak to the current situation quite so well, but when I was a child, not long before you were born, the previous Duke’s great nephew was assassinated in his own palazzo at such a woman’s orders.”

“Was she punished?”

“Certainly, she hanged. It came as a great shock to the high families, but everyone in my neighborhood knew that this woman had been trafficking slaves through Scembre for years, and the Duke’s nephew was part of the business. He was killed for trying to claim a larger share of the profits, and the fact remains that this woman had the means to have such a thing done.”

Amiel sat silent as her maids finished readying her for sleep, weighing the consequences of all she’d heard that night. Traleau had a chance, but would most likely fall in with the mercenaries; her city was more rotten than she had realized, and the Duke could not be relied on to heal it.

She had never thought her family unassailable, by any means, but she had always taken it for granted that its fate hung by the strings of greater families. That some unscrupulous, shiftless thug could just as easily shed noble blood was more of a surprise than she wanted to admit. She sat down in her bed and drew the covers, staring up at the opulent ceiling of her room as her maids excused themselves.

“Wait,” she said firmly, catching them both at the door.

“Yes, my lady?” Genori asked.

“The past few years, I’ve been relying on your help to make changes in this family and learn of the wider world, but I’ve heard of something at my own doorstep that shocks me tonight. Have I been a fool?” Amiel asked.

“Hardly, my lady,” Etarezia was quick to say. “You cannot fault yourself for not seeing everything, when even the Duke cannot.”

“Indeed, my lady. But, if I may be so bold,” Genori said, “knowing you, this means you may wish to . . . take some action?”

“Possibly. However, we must tread carefully. I should like to be better informed of what truly goes on in the lower city, and whom of my peers has dipped their hands into the mud, if you could see to that, Etarezia.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Genori, there are a few things I should like to attend personally, tomorrow. Please wake me early that we might get a good start.” Amiel sighed--she tired at times of arrangements and observations, longed for direct action, but knew one could not rush when changing the inner workings of a great city. “That will be all.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Amiel shut her eyes as she heard the door closing behind her maids, sunk down into her mattress, and tried to occupy her mind drawing her ceiling against the backs of her eyelids.