Oberon's Dreams (9 page)

“But you are the druids. You should understand me more than anyone—forced to the edges, forgotten by the world, powerless and…and hated for your knowledge.”

Silence settled over the room. Jeff and Aemilia exchanged worried glances.

“What is so strange?” Corin asked.

“We’re not powerless and hated,” Jeff said. “We’re somewhat secret, but we’re not outcasts. We’re Oberon’s favored people.”

“Ah.” Corin shrugged. “I’m sorry. That will not last.”

Another grave silence fell. At last Jeff said quietly, “This is serious, Emily.”

She sighed. She looked very tired. “I know.”

Corin took half a step toward her. “Then you will help me?”

“No.”

Corin caught her eye. “Then who? In all this strange world, who?”

“Dana!” Jeff cried, eyes wide. “I mean, Delaen.”

“Delaen?” Aemilia shouted. “Are you mad?”

“It was your suggestion,” Jeff said. “Quantum temporal theory and sociological development are her core qualifiers! How’s that for time travel and politics?”

Aemilia stopped herself short of arguing. She shut her mouth and brushed past both men to stand looking out the window on the bustling city. Corin watched her draw a heavy breath. Without turning, she asked, “What do you know of Gesoelig, stranger?”

Corin licked his lips. Honesty served him here. “Even the name is nearly forgotten. I know only what I could find in ancient books. Hints and rumors.”

Jeff looked sick. “Emily—”

“I know.” She caught another slow breath then nodded. “I’ll take him to Delaen.”

“I can,” Jeff volunteered, but Aemilia shook her head.

“No. You’ve broken too many things already, Jeff. And I care about Delaen.”

“Who is Delaen?” Corin asked. “Will she speak with me?”

“More than speak,” Jeff said, eyes bright. “She’ll understand. She specializes in things like this.”

“Careful, Jeff,” Aemilia said. “There’s no such thing as ‘things like this.’ That’s the definition of an anomaly.”

He frowned at her back. “You’re taking this too seriously.”

“You’re not taking it seriously enough,” she said. “I swear to you, if you say another word about it—ever—I’m handing you over to Oberon personally.”

Jeff took a step back as though she’d hit him. “Emily—”

“Aemilia,” she said. “Remember that. And you’d better start calling yourself Geoffrey, or you’re going to get sent back anyway.”

He swallowed hard. “You really think so?”

“This is not a game,” she repeated.

Corin could not guess what “sent back” might mean, but it held some promise for his future. Feeling lighter, he took a step toward her. “Have some compassion. Please. He only wanted to help me.”

“He could have ruined everything,” she said. She finally turned back from the window, and there were tears in her eyes. “You could have ruined everything. Or even me. I should have left you in the street for Ephitel’s goons.”

“My only desire is to go home,” Corin said.

Aemilia smiled, though the bitterness in her eyes ran deep. “Funny. Mine’s the opposite.”

* * *

She chased Jeff back to his shop, slinging admonishments all the way to the outer door lest he mention this to anyone. Then she summoned a courier and sent him off with two messages, but still she would not take Corin to see this Delaen. She encouraged him to rest his injured foot while she attended to important business, and he could hardly object to that. He gave her an hour, and just as he stirred himself to protest, she came bustling back. She brought a change of clothes for Corin—long pants and a cotton shirt and a leather coat that barely reached down to his belt. He refused the coat, insisting on the same black cloak he’d worn since leaving Aepoli, and she relented soon enough. That one had a cowl deep enough to hide his face, and she tugged it into place before she let him leave the shop.

She locked the door tight behind her, and despite her commanding manner, she swept her gaze up and down the street like an amateur cutpurse. She kept one hand almost possessively on Corin’s sleeve, dragging him through the crowd, but she moved down the city streets in frantic little bursts, like a mouse crossing a scullery floor.

In one of these strange pauses, while Aemilia scanned the face of every elegant local on the bustling thoroughfare, Corin stifled a yawn. “What can you tell me about books?”

She shook her head.

“I only ask because the Jezeeli I found—”

“No!” she snapped. “Tell me nothing of Jezeeli. Tell me nothing! Save it for Delaen.”

“Why are you so afraid?”

“You do not belong here!’

Corin smiled. “You don’t have to tell me. But I have no intention of harming you.”

“Your intention matters little. Your
existence
here could ruin everything I’ve spent my life on. And, agh, even saying that runs counter to the strictures.”

“The strictures?” Corin asked. “Oberon’s law? Is he so terrible as that?”

Her lips pressed to a thin line. After a moment she said, “No. He is not terrible. And I will say no more.”

“But—”

“No. You, too, will say no more. Hold your tongue until I deliver you to Delaen, or I will hand you to Ephitel’s guards.”

She nodded across the busy street to a small knot of soldiers swaggering easily through the milling crowds. Everyone made way for them, careful not to catch the soldiers’ eyes or brush too close to their apparent path.

The Vestossis had guards like that, on the streets of Aerome and Meloen and Aepoli. They earned that careful respect through the frequent application of casual and unanswerable violence. The Vestossis’ guards had taught Corin some of his earliest lessons in villainy.

A thought struck Corin and he turned to Aemilia. “Why was Ephitel in your shop?”

“I told you—”

“Not to speak of my world,” Corin said. “But you can tell me of yours, if only to pass the time on our journey.”

“We will not be long,” she said. Corin watched her eyes while she watched the knot of strolling guards. When at last Ephitel’s soldiers turned a corner and slipped from sight, she began to move again.

There was a clue to her erratic movements, but it was not the whole story. Twice more she stopped short to avoid crossing paths with the uniformed guards, but other times…

It took Corin longer than it should have to understand, but in time it was the memory of home that showed him. Back in Aepoli, the brutal city guards had not been the worst of the Vestossis’ agents. That honor belonged to the investigators.

Surely this golden city had not sunk so low? But even as he thought it, Corin caught Aemilia watching one. Just a face in the crowd. Not a uniformed soldier. Not a grand, imposing figure. Just a forgettable face, just plain clothes, just an easy gait. But his eyes were dark and sharp and always moving. Like a rat’s. Like a spy’s. What kind of lord chose to spy on his own people?

His Majesty Ippolito Vestossi, for one. And Lord Protector Ephitel. Corin shook his head. Nowhere in the world—nowhere in
time
—was far enough for him to escape those wretched tyrants.

“If you had told me you feared Ephitel’s investigators, I might have saved you some time,” Corin said. Before Aemilia could respond, he caught her wrist and dragged
her
into the flow of the crowd. Jeff’s druid magic served him well. Corin felt no pain in his injured ankle, though the boot turned strangely on the cobblestones.

“What are you doing?” she yelped behind him. “If you draw their notice—”

He shook his head without slowing. “I know these men. They have a knack for spotting nervous eyes. Be bold, and they’ll ignore you.”

“This is a risky ploy.”

Corin flashed her a smile. “It is the only ploy I know. Come. Show me the way.”

She went more quickly then, acting on his advice, and some of the tension began to ease from her posture. In time, she even answered Corin’s question. “Food.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“The lord protector wanted a writ of provender for excess rations.”

“Oh.” Corin went several paces, weighing that, then said, “That does not seem so strange.”

“The lord protector thought so, too. But I know more than he suspected. He asked the same writ of me last month, and two months ago, and five months before that.”

Corin frowned. “That still—”

“He never executed them,” she said. “I would know. And now he has asked them of other scribes as well. We do talk among ourselves. In the last month, he has collected more than a dozen of them, and he came to me for another.”

“Perhaps—”

“Every one has been an order for excess rations. If he has kept them all, he has enough to feed an army for years.”

“An army like the Guard?”

She shook her head, definite. “An army such as Gesoelig has never seen. We have our regiments, but Oberon does not maintain a standing force.”

Corin licked his lips. “You suspect he intends an uprising?”

“What? No. What would he have to gain from fighting Oberon? Oberon has laid low every pretender this corner of shadow can raise against him. Even Ephitel would not dare.”

“But in my time—”

She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Tell me nothing of your world, stranger. But Ephitel need not rise up against Oberon to betray him. And us.”

Corin frowned, considering everything he knew of the tyrant god. And what would that god do with a standing army? “You mean war? He intends to start a conflict?”

“Yes. Conquest. There are lands rich enough out there to make another kingdom. Another power.”

“There are other kings than Oberon?”

She frowned for a long moment. “No. Not yet. There are city-states and tribes. There are manling nations growing. There will be kings in time, but Delaen advised against establishing them outright.”

Corin frowned. “What? Who is this Delaen?”

“You will meet her soon enough. And…how many strictures am I breaking? You have a talent, stranger. You are a compelling listener.”

Corin grinned at her. “I’m compelling in more ways than you could imagine.”

She shook her head, irritated, but a blush touched her cheeks.

After a moment had passed, Corin said, “You suspect Ephitel intends to carve a nation from among the city-states?”

Aemilia frowned at him instead of answering. Her eyes darted again, searching the crowd for the blank-faced investigators. Corin was keeping careful track of the three in his field of view. None was close enough to overhear.

“I would expect him to choose a city somewhere near the center of the Meddgerad’s northern coast,” Corin said. “Those are the places we call—”

“No!” Aemilia shouted, pressing her palms hard over her ears and drawing far more attention from the investigators than Corin’s calm voice could have done. “You must tell me nothing of your world!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” Corin pulled her arms down and dragged her through the crowd, around a corner, and up another cross street just to escape the piercing eyes that had watched them.

He stopped on another busy street to let Aemilia catch her balance and her breath. He couldn’t quite suppress a chuckle. “You aren’t very careful, for a secret agent.”

“I am
not
a secret agent,” she said. “If anything, I am an auditor. The druids were not meant to hide in shadows, but Ephitel—” She stopped herself short and fixed Corin with a vicious glare. “Why can’t you hold your tongue?”

“You have my apologies,” Corin said shortly. “It will not be a problem again. Just lead me to this Delaen, and I will trouble you no more.”

Aemilia huffed once and rolled her eyes. Then she pushed away from the wall. “Very well. Come. It is not far now.”