Hoard

Just beyond the market area was a semicircular plaza kept clear of stalls, though it was lined by storefronts; streets branched off it in three directions, and its purpose was made obvious by the presence of vehicles, many waiting patiently for use. Several wagons were being unloaded or loaded by porters carrying goods into the market, but most seemed to be small, roofless carriages.

Horse-drawn carts—actually more like chariots, being on two wheels, with an elevated seat in the front for the driver and a single horse to pull. For some reason they were all black, which Kaln assumed must be a cultural thing as there didn’t seem any practical reason for it. In terms of practicality, he was mostly taken aback by the startling inefficiency of this. In Rhivkabat the same role was filled by rickshaws, pulled by their owners, in person. What about Boisverd made horses the preferred option? Rickshaw operators had much less overhead to worry about, and also their business model didn’t add unnecessary livestock to traffic, nor dung to the street.

Kaln could already see—and smell—that the streets of Boisverd were not swept as often as those of Rhivkabat, despite clearly needing it more.

Izayaroa led him without hesitation to a carriage which she seemed to have selected on the basis that it looked nicer than most of the others, with a burgundy canvas awning over its passenger seats and gold embellishments on its side panels. Slightly flaking gold-colored paint, but that was more than most of them had.

“And a fine afternoon to you, my lady, my lord,” the bearded coachman called as Izayaroa stepped right into his vehicle without pausing. “Where’ll it be?”

“Do you know the Renaissance, good sir?” she asked, extending a hand to help Kaln up after her. He of course hardly needed it, but sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. The unfamiliarity of the gesture actually made him hesitate slightly before he accepted it; the idea of Haktria doing such a thing was painfully laughable.

“But of course, of course!” their driver replied cheerfully, flicking the reins. His horse obediently plodded out into the road. “A fine choice—and it’s not your first visit to our fair city, I gather.”

“I have found occasion to pass through from time to time,” she said, wearing a relaxed, catlike smile which only Kaln could see, since the driver was facing forward.

“Splendid! Then welcome back; Boisverd is surely a bit lovelier for hosting such a pair of pretty faces. I’ll tell you, though, if you’re interested in stretching your wings a bit, I know an even more charming establishment which would be delighted to host you.”

“Thank you, but I always stay at the Renaissance.”

“Lady’s choice, of course! I’ll take you wherever you care to go, my noble friends, no fear of that. But should you take a notion to stay a night at the Red Lily, just the mention that Forcherot recommended you will guarantee treatment befitting royalty! Why, after just a night of the regal treatment, I wager you’d find yourself with a new favorite—”

“The Renaissance, if you please.” It was amazing; she did not raise her voice nor even alter her tone in a way Kaln could have described, but suddenly there was steel under the velvet.

“And so it shall be, my lady,” Forcherot said smoothly. “I’ll have you there in not half a jiffy.”

Izayaroa seemingly did not consider that worthy of a response, simply shifting on the seat to cuddle up against Kaln, resting her head on his shoulder. It was incredible how warm and comforting he found the gesture, chaste as it was.

He leaned his own head against hers, murmuring, “That was…odd. I’ve never heard of a taxi man arguing with his patrons about where they wanted to go.”

“Industries at home are more closely regulated than here, husband,” she answered, not troubling to lower her voice. It was debatable how audible she was to the coachman over the surrounding traffic, but this was certainly not…discreet. “You can expect to encounter all manner of little kickback schemes that would be discouraged in Rhivkabat. Doubtless he gets a finder’s fee from the Red Lily for bringing them customers—and just as doubtless, it is an inferior establishment. Lodgings up to my standards are more exclusive about their clientele. Do keep a wary eye out, my love. Some drivers and the like will attempt to rob or abduct passengers who seem not otherwise profitable. Fortunately, the local constabulary are usually aware who engages in such trade, and thus there is often little fuss raised when they are found disemboweled in an alley.”

Kaln glanced at Forcherot’s back, which revealed nothing, then back down at Izayaroa. Her lips had curled up in a mischievous expression he could not help finding infectious.

“Now, my darling, you know I would do anything for you, but I must insist we abstain from any disembowelment on this trip. These are my nice clothes.”

“I know beheading is faster, beloved, but you know how major arteries tend to spray. It gets positively everywhere.”

“Nonsense, you just have to be careful to aim the blaggard away from your vestments before…popping the cork. Doubtless some oaf will try to rob us at some point; I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Mmm, I do so enjoy watching you work.”

As macabre joking went, this honestly wasn’t even as dark as some of what he and his fellow scribes had gotten up to at the tavern after a particularly long day’s work. It added a slight damper to his mood that in Izayaroa’s case, this knowledge was probably not theoretical.

Not just him, either, to judge by the way the driver was now hunching in his seat.

It was a pretty quiet ride from there.

At least Forcherot was professional enough to bid farewell with his previous good cheer upon dropping them off and getting paid. They disembarked from the coach in front of a structure which, at least externally, didn’t seem to stand out from its surroundings aside from its size. Like most Verdi buildings, its second floor overhung enough to leave part of the street in shadow; on the ground floor the stonework was ornately carved, with its windows secured behind iron bars which themselves had been cast in fancifully decorative shapes. A guard stood outside the door, which didn’t even have a sign or anything else to indicate the purpose of what lay within. Apparently Izayaroa had not been kidding about the exclusivity of this place.

The woman standing by the door had a rapier and dagger belted at her waist and carried a spear, which seemed excessive to Kaln, and wore embossed leather armor over some sort of servant’s livery. She did not salute, bow, or otherwise acknowledge them, standing at attention and staring ahead with discipline that seemed superior to what the actual city guards had shown, but upon their approach thumped the butt of her spear sharply against the stone step.

Immediately the door opened, revealing a servant who pulled it wide for them and stepped aside, holding the door and bowing deeply. His outfit seemed strange to Kaln, being mostly black with a snug coat that had long tails in the back and a knotted ornament around his neck, but obviously it was cultural. Naturally the Verdi would have different customs; there was very little contact between them and Rhivaak.

He watched Izayaroa sidelong, taking his cues from her, which in this case consisted of gliding past the guard and servant without acknowledging them. Kaln played along, suppressing his unease. By the standards of behavior which she herself had instituted in Rhivaak, such rudeness to underlings was a major social faux pas—not to mention somewhat offensive to Rhiva moral sensibilities.

Then again, all the Empire’s high-minded rhetoric about justice and compassion and equality hadn’t stopped his own superiors and intimates from shoving him in a cell for the crime of being politically inconvenient.

They strolled through the entry foyer into an atrium which featured a desk against the wall opposite the entrance and wide arched doorways leading in both other directions. The place’s décor made it seem dim despite the abundant lamps; there were no exterior windows, and the overall coloring was dark. Stone walls were covered except for their support pillars in polished walnut paneling, and the carpet was a deep wine red. The doors were decorated with inset panels of stained glass which so closely reminded Kaln of the Timeglass back at the lair that he suspected the design had been inspired directly by a similar Timekeeper ruin.

“Lady Roa!” The elderly but clearly spry man standing behind the counter smiled and greeted her with a kind of understated effusiveness unlike anything Kaln had ever seen, somehow encapsulating the excitement of a friendly puppy and the diffident poise of a servant. “What an unexpected delight! It has been far too long since you graced our establishment.”

“I agree,” she replied, smiling warmly as the two of them stepped up to the desk. “May I introduce my husband, Ar-Kaln. It is my intention to spoil him incorrigibly during our visit to Boisverd, a plan which perforce includes staying at the Renaissance.”

“It is an honor and a pleasure, Lord Ar-Kaln,” the concierge replied, bowing graciously to him.

“And both are mine,” Kaln said gallantly. This fellow spoke highly formal Filvallin more reminiscent of the books from which he’d learned; it was easier for him to follow than the speech of farmers, coachmen, and city guards. “My lady wife’s endorsement is as good as a command, so far as I am concerned; her taste in all things is more than impeccable.”

“So I have observed! That you should return to our hospitality is the highest praise we could receive, Lady Roa.”

She smiled, and while it was clearly a social expression, Kaln thought he discerned real amusement. “Nothing but the finest for my love. Dare I hope that my usual suite is available?”

The concierge’s answering expression was at once poised and tragic; really, he could have made a living on the stage. “Alas, it grieves me to inform you that the Saffron Suite is presently occupied, and also committed immediately following the present guests’ departure. To have disappointed you brings shame upon our house, my lady.”

“Not in the least—she who blows in like the autumn leaves has no call to complain that those with the courtesy to make reservations receive the first pick of lodgings. It is I who must ask your pardon; unplanned circumstance brings us to Boisverd, else I would have assuredly made proper arrangements in advance. Worry not, husband, I assure you there are no less than excellent accommodations at the Renaissance.”

“The concern never crossed my mind,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice smooth and expression pleasant as she set down gold coins on the counter. The number and size of them… His salary at the Royal Archives would take more than a year to add up to that. “I cannot imagine being disappointed by any establishment you so readily endorse.”

“And the Renaissance shall take both pleasure and pride in meeting and surpassing your expectations, my lady, my lord.” The concierge had already made the coins vanish so adroitly it verged on legerdemain. “How long shall we have the honor of your company on this occasion?”

Izayaroa glanced at Kaln as if for confirmation before answering; playing along, he nodded back at her, though he realistically had nothing to contribute here.

“Will it be a problem if the duration is somewhat vague? We shall be at least one night, likely two. Depending on how our business proceeds, there is a chance we might need to extend our stay beyond that, but I consider it a small one.”

The concierge had already opened a book and begun leafing through it; he now nodded and picked up a pen. “It is no difficulty in the least, my lady. Under the circumstances… In the event that you decide to stay with us longer than a week, I fear it may become necessary to change your rooms after that point. I apologize most profusely for any inconvenience.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think it would take us that long. And if it does, we can bear such a trifling upset with ease.”

“Splendid! We do in fact have an available suite which I dare to presume will satisfy even your lofty standards. The Renaissance is honored to welcome you again.” Having finished jotting down something in his ledger, he closed and set it aside, then picked up a small hand bell and gave it a single ring, producing a surprisingly pleasing, clear tone. Instantly, from a curtained doorway behind him emerged another person in what Kaln presumed to be servants’ livery, though the uniform did not match that of the man answering the front door. “Show Lady Roa and Lord Ar-Kaln to the Garnet Suite and ensure they are comfortable.”

The man bowed to them. “At once! My lady, my lord, if you would follow me?”

Hand in hand, they followed him out one of the side doors to the reception area, then up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. Izayaroa simply glided along in perfect serenity as if fully in her element, but Kaln studied their surroundings as they passed. There was more of that glowingly polished wood paneling, stained glass, and rich carpet—the place all but radiated wealth, and also restrained taste. The aesthetic was very different from what the wealthy and powerful of Rhivkabat favored, of course, but some things were universal. Expensive was expensive.

And as it turned out, he hadn’t seen anything yet.

The servant made himself an almost invisibly discreet presence even as he brought them to a door, handed Izayaroa a key, showed them where the bell was that would summon service, and departed as ephemerally as a ghost, leaving them standing in an entry foyer which to Kaln’s eyes looked like it belonged at the front of a palace. The floor was polished white marble, the domed ceiling stained glass illuminated from behind by some artifice which made it resemble Timeglass, and the fluted marble columns were inset with some kind of deep, red lacquer carved into faceted shapes which clearly gave the suite its name. It couldn’t possibly be actual garnet, just from the quantity of it, but the resemblance was convincing. And this was just the entry.

“So,” he said to cover his gawking, “you’re not supposed to acknowledge servants in this culture?”

“It depends upon the servant,” Izayaroa replied, giving him a smile and pulling him by the hand through the arched doorway into their suite proper. “Private guards and domestic servants have a kind of…ethic of invisibility, a standard that if their tasks are performed well, their existence will not even be noticed by those they serve. To acknowledge them is to rebuke their performance, and if they have not actually erred, they will take offense. By contrast, cooks, waiters, and bartenders will be extremely sociable with their customers. Or rather, they are expected to and their conviviality is deemed as central a feature of their jobs as the quality of the food. You saw how assertive and…entrepreneurial drivers can be. For shopkeepers…it depends entirely on the category of shop. Merchants and moneylenders will also be talkative, but restrained and discreet. The different standards for different kinds of entertainers are truly byzantine.”

“That sounds…complicated. And rather arbitrary.”

The foyer opened into a parlor of some kind. Their inn room had a parlor, and somehow, doorways opening in two directions. One of those led to a small private dining room, the other presumably to the bedchamber; it was partially obscured on the other side by a decorative folding screen. This room had plush seating, velvet wall drapes, two of the largest landscape paintings Kaln had ever seen hung upon the patterned wallpaper. There were also a large free-standing harp and a keyboard instrument of some kind he didn’t recognize.

“I have found the Verdi to be like every other culture: reasonable.” She gave him a warm smile, sauntering toward the bedroom with him trailing along behind. “That is, lenient toward obvious foreigners who flub the more arcane details of their etiquette. Most people in most places will recognize and appreciate a good faith attempt at respect.”

It was more of the same in the next room: opulent to an extent that seemed borderline absurd to Kaln’s perspective. The bed alone…well, he could tell it was a product of the same culture as the one he was using back in the lair, albeit piled with neatly folded silk brocade rather than furs. Everything else was along the same lines, and he ignored it to focus on Izayaroa, whom he found more interesting anyway.

“And… Lady Roa?”

At that, she turned, meeting his amused smirk with a wry little grimace of acknowledgment.

“Not one of my more sophisticated deceptions, I’ll admit. It is not without reason, though. The Verdi… Well, these northern cultures in general are steeped in secrecy and subterfuge; they consistently value perseverance, privacy, and discretion.”

The values of cultures shaped by the constant threat of death from above, Kaln did not say, simply listening to her explanation.

“I have found it best not to attempt to cross wits with them on their own ground. Not that I couldn’t, did I deem it worth the effort; the courts of Rhivkabat are as prone to intrigue as those of any nation. What is interesting about the north is how skullduggery that elsewhere would characterize the halls of power permeates society at every level. To meet them on their own terms would require a thorough grounding in the nuances of their culture which I have never troubled to acquire. Instead, I’ve found that they will recognize and respect simple…discretion. So long as I gently discourage inquiries into my personal business and make myself a source of profit and no trouble, those with whom I must deal, here, consistently take it upon themselves to protect my privacy.”

“I suppose,” he agreed, “it’s a harmless enough little concession. After all, it’s a couple of syllables that could pop up in all kinds of names.”

“And if they happen to coincide with a similar name, of a certain august personage from another nearby nation,” she continued, grinning mischievously, “well. What under the first and last heavens would she be doing here? Sometimes, husband, refuge in audacity is as impermeable as the strictest secrecy.”

She continued her exploration, opening one door to find a walk-in closet, then another, which opened onto a lavishly-appointed bathing chamber. Kaln followed her more slowly now, allowing the distance to stretch out between them. He found himself studying her anew, barely noticing the ornate marble bathroom.

“Ah, good, this matches the quality of the one in my usual suite. I fear the amenities back home have quite spoiled me. Truly, there is no sweeter decadence than a hot bath. Actually, this one makes bubbles, an experience which must be felt to be appreciated. I look forward to showing you many such things, husband.”

“Izayaroa.”

She went still, then straightened. Currently her back was to him, but he could see that she knew what he was about to say. It was strange, this certainty; he wasn’t invoking his powers to glimpse her mind, not that they even worked that way in the first place. Really, they hadn’t known one another long enough to have developed such a true intimacy. And yet, looking at her, he was certain. She knew.

“It’s…everywhere. In countless little details. It permeates this whole culture, I can see it everywhere despite barely having gotten my first glimpses of it. They are entirely shaped by fear, and danger. By…living under the threat of dragon attack.”

Izayaroa just stood there, her back to him, silent. Waiting for him to come to the point.

“I don’t really expect any different from the others, honestly. Emeralaphine and Tiavathyris, well… They don’t seem very interested in people. In mortals, that is. And the kids have grown up where they have, they can’t really be blamed for it. I get the impression they haven’t had the opportunity to actually know many mortals, if any. But… You’re different. You understand people. You care about people, I know you do.”

Her head shifted minutely. The volume of her curly hair made the motion somewhat inscrutable from the back; he thought it might have been a nod.

“I know how this sounds, but I’m genuinely not making any accusations. I am very much aware of the absurdity of someone with my limited perspective critiquing the actions of a being such as yourself. I just would like to understand, please. The damage you’ve caused this civilization—this entire group of civilizations, it’s…it’s not only catastrophic in intensity, but on an unimaginable scale. How do you… How does someone with your perspective…live with this?”

Finally, she half-turned, bringing her face into profile so she could look at him sidelong. Her expression was…resigned, and yet oddly serene. Stoic.

“Very well. I suppose I owe you that, at least.”