The Fall of Ventaris (34 page)

She turned to face him. “Preceptor.”

“The errant mote.” Tall and lanky, Amabilis regarded her with deep-set eyes. “I did not expect to see you again.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t. But I had a question. Regarding sin. And who better to ask than a preceptor?”

He smiled faintly. “It’s been my privilege to instruct many on the ways of the Faith. What is this question?”

She cocked her head and treated him to one of her father’s searching gazes, letting silence spin out just long enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know of the fate of House Kell, I’m sure: destroyed more than eight years ago, the family dead, scattered or lost. Some said it was the gods’ judgement.” Amabilis’ slight smile vanished, replaced by a furrow in his brow. “The War of the Quills started when the guildsmen demanded representation on the Imperial Council, and it ended when Marcus Kell persuaded the Red to unleash the Deeps gangs upon the city. I’m sure you’ve heard this story.”
 

“As have many,” Amabilis said, his voice frosty. “But what is your question?”

She tried not to show the sadness she felt at the mention of her family’s fall. “What would the gods do to a man who did the same? Someone who, knowing what happened eight years ago, armed Deeps gangs to further his own ambition?”

Amabilis said nothing for a long moment. “Some would say that the gods punished Lord Kell’s folly through mortal agency. To the Father of All, even down-hill thugs have their uses.”

“A lesson you appear to have taken to heart,” Duchess replied. “You were more circumspect than Marcus Kell, certainly.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve been told some tall tales, my little mote. In Rodaas, stories run up and down the hill like rats, and are worth even less.”
 

“Not all stories are worthless, preceptor. Often their value can be found in who we choose to tell them to.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She smiled gently, almost feeling sorry for the man. “Antony? If you’d join us please?” One of the worshipers at the Glass, the one in the cloak, stepped forward, pulling back his hood to reveal a scarred face and a red cap. The preceptor paled and sweat sprang out on his forehead. She knew that particular fear well.

“You were careful, I will admit,” she said as Antony approached. He was taking his time, his footsteps echoing across the hall. “In a way, it still makes little sense to me. Everything I had heard and seen of you showed you as a careful man. But to send Adam Whitehall down the hill to deal with the likes of the Throttlers? To arm them in steel to fight not only each other, but the Red?” She shook her head. “It did not seem like you. I’m sure you thought that by giving Eusbius’ stolen dagger to Morel you’d strengthen his sect and weaken First Keeper Jadis in a single stroke, but was it worth the risk?”

“You dare not take me from this holy place,” the preceptor stammered through waxy lips. “You dare not. Not here. Not ever.”

“Not here,” Antony rumbled, as he reached them. “Not now.”

“But ever?” asked Duchess. She watched Amabilis a moment, his back still straight despite his obvious fear. “Will you remain in the Halls forever, then? Never step beyond the confines of your lord’s wheel? For if you did, you never know what might find you. Look what happened to Adam Whitehall on a walk through the Shallows.”

He used a sleeve to wipe his brow, his eyes on Antony. “The Uncle wouldn’t dare. He knows the way the world works as well as any. I’ll call the color!”

And there it was — his final tile. She’d half expected it, really. Minette had told her that intersections between the Grey and the Red must be handled carefully. Such a call could lead to something as bad as the Color War all those years ago. A fire in the house, and not in the hearth, as she might put it.

“Are you sure it would work? No one wants another conflict between the Red and the Grey, and once I
frune
the tale of what you’ve been up to in the Deeps, you won’t have a friend left on the Highway.”

Amabilis stiffened. “You have not a shred of proof.”

“Since when does the Grey need proof? I can sow enough doubt so that serious questions will be raised. You’ve worn the cloak longer than I, but I’m betting someone knows something that will connect you to Finn and the weapons he was carrying. And the entire city knows you were connected to Adam Whitehall.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe you can convince the Grey I’m wrong, but the idea of Deeps gangs armed with steel would frighten anyone. Play this wrong, preceptor, and you’ll be hunted by both colors.”

Amabilis’ gaze darted around — at her, Antony, the acolytes — until finally he turned back to Duchess with a resigned expression. “And this is the part where you tell me what I can give you in exchange for your silence,” he stated flatly.

She smiled. “I’m glad we’re finally connecting, Preceptor. I’m not interested in causing trouble. All I want from you is the answer to a simple question. One answer, and I’ll never
frune
a word of this. Antony here has generously agreed to make sure the Red doesn’t take any action against you” — Antony nodded — “provided of course that the flow of weapons down the hill does not resume. You’ll find that Finn is no longer available to deliver them in any case, and I believe you’ve already dealt with Adam Whitehall.”

“One answer?” Amabilis asked. “And we’re done? A better bargain than I would have gotten from many. Very well. What is this question?”

“You employed Julius to send the Brutes against me and my business partner. Why?”

Amabilis’ colorless eyes went wide with amusement. “I myself had no reason. Indeed, I’d met you only once, and I wouldn’t have known your Domae weaver if I’d fallen over her.” He smiled sparsely. “However, there are others in this city who know more than I, and it was on their behalf that I acted. So instead of one answer I shall give you three. I was approached by the sisters Atropi.”

“The dressmakers?” she asked, incredulous. Why would they strike at her? Lysander had speculated that the Brutes’ real target had not been Duchess herself but Jana, but she had been too arrogant to see it. Jana’s admission to the guild had upset tradition, and the guild, or at least three of its members, had struck back. If Jana’s business failed, blame would redound to Gloria Tremaine, the Atropi’s worst enemy, for admitting her to the guild in the first place. Minette would have seen that earlier, she scolded herself.

“I see that name ill suits you,” Amabilis murmured, obviously relishing her discomfiture. “The ear at the eave does not always enjoy what it hears.” He glanced at Antony and straightened his robes. “Now, may I get back to my duties, or was there something else you wished to blackmail out of me?”

“There is one more thing,” she said. “Why did you do all this? Getting involved with someone like Whitehall, arming the Deeps...I’ve taken some risks, but that’s just mad. You’re a high-ranked priest and a member of the Grey, yet you risked everything on this scheme. Why?”
 

Amabilis frowned. “It is...difficult to explain.”

“Try,” muttered Antony, and she tried not to smile.

Amabilis was silent for a long moment. “I take it you know the circumstances under which Lord Whitehall sent his son to us, yes?” She nodded. “As preceptor, his salvation, and the expiation of his sins, was my responsibility. Before a sin can be forgiven it must be confessed.”

“You already knew his crimes. Everyone did.”

“But not the reasons behind them. Understanding is another part of forgiveness.” He gave her a look. “Whitehall was not a madman, at least not at first. He told me what led him to do such things — first curiosity, then wonder. He’d begun with animals, in some misguided attempt to understand life and its mechanics. But then, he said, he’d begun to
see
things in the creatures he had killed.”

“See?” muttered Antony.

Amabilis nodded, seeming to warm to the tale — one, she was certain, he’d not been able to share with another soul. “Visions, truths in the twisting of their viscera, augurs in the coils of their entrails. When he cut open a chicken, he was able to predict the next day’s weather. In the innards of a dog he foresaw a drought in the Territories. The higher the animal, the more significant the vision he received, until he decided...” The preceptor smiled mirthlessly, Antony rubbed his chin with one massive hand, but Duchess felt cold. The boys, a whole chain of boys, with Manly Pete at the end. “He searched for writings about what he was becoming and found mention of the
haruspex
— those that, even now amongst the Nerrish, practice the same divinations.”

“But not on
humans
,” Duchess spat back.

“No. Not on humans. And yet it was those visions that most caught my interest. Ventaris had given me many truths in my life, but none so clear, so specific as those Adam Whitehall whispered to me in his confessions.”

“So he convinced you he had real power,” she said numbly, “and you decided to let him continue. Instead of helping him repent his sins, you enabled them.”

“A small price to pay for the things he saw. I daresay the boys he used served more in dying then they ever did by living.”
 

Antony snorted and shook his head, but Duchess felt like stabbing Amabilis. She felt like weeping. Instead, she asked, “What
did
he see?”

“Many things that I put to good use, but the vision that will most interest you, I think, was of a flower in the Deeps. An ebony bloom, half-withered and dying, but one that might be saved. He saw gardeners, cloaked in blood and armed in steel, which might protect it.”

“The gangs, and the weapons their payment for leaving the cult alone. And so you sent Whitehall to the Narrows to complete the deal, and he made arrangements for the delivery.” Just as Finn had said. “But there was one thing more.”

Amabilis nodded. “The Key of Mayu, Adam said, would nourish the flower, such that one day it would bring forth a poison that even the First Keeper would not know.”

“And all this just to bring down the Jadis?”

Amabilis raised an eyebrow. “Does that surprise you? Jadis is a pestilence upon the city, a murderer who rose to primacy because of bloody hands and a fell appetite for death. I have waited a long time to move against him, but Adam told me I would know the time was right when I saw an errant mote, flitting about the wheel.” Duchess tried to hide her surprise. She had long wondered why the preceptor had taken such an interest in her that long-ago day, but in her wildest imaginings had never considered prophecy.

“And so you got hold of the dagger and had Adam make arrangements to get it to Morel in the Narrows. Since Adam was already funneling weapons to the same area, it would certainly be easy enough to add one dagger to the shipment. And during all of this, you remained comfortably in the shadows.” She shook her head. “But something went wrong — something made you stop. You were already finished when you had Whitehall killed.”

Amabilis frowned. “Adam received due punishment for his crimes, and those he harmed had justice. I should think that would please you.”

“I don’t believe for an instant that’s why you disposed of him.
We all have our uses,
you once told me
.
Why did you decide he was no longer of use to you?”

Amabilis gazed into the Delaying Glass. “A number of reasons. There was no evidence the cult was moving against Jadis, and it was therefore unprofitable, not to mention highly risky, to continue wasting good steel protecting them from the Deeps gangs. And in any case, Adam himself was proving...unreliable.”

“How?”

“The visions he was having sounded less like prophecy and more like the ravings of a madman.” The light from the Glass flickered across Amabilis’ face. “His final ritual produced nothing but babbling of a tattered figure dancing in the ruins, of the end of light and life, of self and sin, all of it eaten up by the mists.” He glanced at her and she knew he could not miss the fear that had crept into her eyes. “You seem discommoded,” the radiant said, eyes alight with detached interest.

“Did he say anything else?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Amabilis stared at her with his colorless eyes. “I sent him to his end, still proclaiming that we must, all of us, hide away. For the fog, he said, is rising.”

*
 
*
 
*

Outside the temple, out in the light, she felt she could breathe again. With Antony, she looked over the Godswalk. Ventaris’ worshippers would soon enough return, but for now the Walk was as quiet as it ever got.

“It was a good bluff,” Antony said after a moment. “The Uncle himself couldn’t have done better.”

She nodded and put on a smile. “Thank you for your help...and for not getting the Uncle involved.” Antony was a forbidding man, to be sure, but Uncle Cornelius was far worse. She hadn’t forgotten that story about the puppeteer and his monkey, and any man capable of engineering that horror was not one she wanted involved in her business.

The redcap shrugged. “The thing had already gotten out of hand; no sense taking it any further.” His craggy face was turned towards the wan Rodaasi sun. “Besides, it looks better for me if I’m the one who shuts down the flow of weapons to the Deeps.”

“And Finn?”

Antony turned to face her. “Once he’s in a red cap, that toad” — he jerked a thumb towards the Halls of Dawn — “won’t even think about coming after him. And I can always use a man who knows what’s what in the Deeps. He’ll do well enough.” He regarded her curiously. “I just don’t know why you’re bothering with someone like Finn.”

She was too tired to come up with a witty rejoinder. “Because he gave me what I needed without making me force it out of him,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “In this city, that’s enough.” Antony gave her a curious look but asked no more, and she let the matter rest.
 

But he was not quite done with her, and before she could take her leave he spoke once more. “Do you believe what Amabilis said in there?” Antony asked. “About the visions?”

Duchess looked back at the Halls of Dawn, thinking that every time she came to the Godswalk she became certain of less and less. “Amabilis is a believer. He
wants
to think that prophecies are true.” She shook her head, thinking of the Uncle. “I don’t believe a word of it, myself.”