Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3)

At the end of the street, which intersected a canal, a lone figure stood, clad in loose black robes, illuminated in the slanting afternoon sunlight. The sunlight glinted oddly upon his head, though I could not make out why; either his skull was shaved and oiled, or he wore some manner of curious cap. He paused, glancing this way and that, before proceeding, picking his way with a long steel-shod staff topped with an obsidian ball.

Nesmut sighed and relaxed as the figure moved out of sight, low ering his arm.

"Skotophagotis?" I said quizzically, even as Joscelin straightened and sheathed his daggers. It was Hellene, but no word I knew. "Eater-of-darkness?"

"Gracious lady." Nesmut shuddered all over. "Do not ask me. These things are known. Do not look on the Queen's portrait, lest the stone crack for envy. Do not cross the shadow of a Skotophagotis, lest you die before sunrise. Come, I will take you to Kyria Maharet's."

It must be, I thought, some priest of Serapis, the god of the dead. They are much obsessed with death, the Menekhetans, and spend a good deal of their lives in preparation for it. It was a cleverness of the Ptolemaic Dynasty to unite this worship with that of Dis, the Hellene deity. Now, I daresay, not even the ruling descendants of Hellas knew where one began and the other ended. They have become more Menekhetan than they reckoned, the Ptolemies. How not, in a thousand and a half years? But I, I had endured the mysteries of the Temenos on the isle of Kriti, and I knew some little bit about the living worship of its eldest scions.

Well and so; mayhap Serapis was like unto my lord Kushiel, who once maintained the brazen portals of hell for the One God of the Yeshuites. If it was so, I thought guiltily, I owed him a prayer. Only I was still wroth with Kushiel, the pattern of whose justice I had yet to decipher. If there was a greater purpose at work, I could not discern it.

With such thoughts did I occupy my mind until we returned to the Street of Oranges, and Nesmut remanded us unto the hospitality of the lady Maharet, or Metriche, as she would have it. He left us with prom ises to return in the morning, and with that I had to be content, won dering if my lord Delaunay had felt the same misgivings when I departed, full of cheer, to some violent assignation.

I'd have felt the same with Hyacinthe, if I'd known where the Lungo Drom, the Long Road of the Tsingani, would lead him. But I had been younger then, and more ignorant.

"You know who he reminds me of?" Joscelin asked as Nesmut took his leave, his quick grin flashing in the gathering twilight.

"Yes," I said softly. "I know."

"Well." He regarded me. "We need to talk to Amaury Trente."

At the dinner-table that evening, we found Lord Amaury full of his conversation with Ambassador de Penfars. There were, it seemed, numerous candidates for Pharaoh's most dangerous enemy, but Raife Laniol's favored contestant was one General Hermodorus; a cousin, it transpired, through the Ptolemaic bloodlines, and eligible for the throne should it suddenly become vacant.

"Comte Raife suggests," Amaury informed me, "that you and messire Joscelin might call upon the General, my lady. We cannot, without giving offense to Pharaoh, but you might. If it is remarked upon by the aristocracy, they will suppose that you are rivals to our mission, come to court Pharaoh's opponents."

"We will send a letter of introduction on the morrow, my lord," I said. "My lord Trente, I have heard another theory proposed today, from a Menekhetan source."

"Oh?" he inquired.

I saw the Lady Denise Fleurais, who had spoken of the divide between Menekhetan and Hellene society, take notice. And I saw too that the Menekhetan servant who hovered with a tray of fish was the same who'd attended us last night, lingering with the beer-jug. We had been speaking, in company, in D'Angeline. I continued in the same tongue without altering my tone. "My lord," I said, "there is a serpent in the corner."

A full half the company heard and startled, turning to stare; Joscelin was on his feet in an instant, a dagger in his hand, reversed for the throw. I kept my eyes on the Menekhetan and saw that he did not react to my words but looked instead at the reactions of our party, slow and perplexed, before glancing around.

It paid to be cautious.

"What serpent?" Amaury Trente asked, half-risen from his seat and irritable. "Which corner?"

"Forgive, my lord," I said. "I thought I saw somewhat in the shad ows, and ..." I nodded imperceptibly toward the Menekhetan, "... I needed to be sure."

Amaury sat, comprehension dawning. Melisande was right; he was not a subtle man. Then again, it is an eternal failing of those born to the peerage, forgetting that those who attend them hand and foot have eyes and ears and minds that think. Joscelin shook his head, sheathing his daggers and returning. I waited until the rest of our company was seated.

"It is believed among the folk of the city," I said in a low voice, "that Pharaoh has taken the boy for his own and plays a game of concealment."

It hadn't occurred to them; I saw it in their faces. I couldn't fault them for it. It hadn't occurred to me, either. If Amaury Trente was not subtle, he was no fool, either. He grasped the ramifications quickly enough, his expression somber.

"If it's so, we've lost the lad," he said grimly. "Ptolemy Dikaios could never own to it. And we've played our hand too close to the vest to threaten to renege on the deal over a mere slave-boy." He shook his head. "Ysandre was clear on that much. She doesn't want the boy's identity known. If we let slip his importance . . . Elua! He's a walking target, and she doesn't have the means to protect him. And if someone were to use him against her ..."

"I know, my lord," I said. "Believe me, I do. I am doing what I can to learn if the rumor is true."

"And if it is ... ?" It was the Lady Denise Fleurais who dared to ask it.

I looked squarely at her. "We will do whatever is needful. Naamah's Servants have always known that there are ways into any palace, and what was stolen, may be stolen back. If Pharaoh has not admitted the gain, he cannot acknowledge the loss."

"How would you—" Lord Amaury began to ask, then cut his words short. "No, never mind. We will speak of it later, if it comes to it."

"Thank you, my lord." I inclined my head to him.

Amaury sighed and fixed his brooding gaze upon Joscelin and I. "I'll speak to Raife Laniol again tomorrow and see if he thinks this rumor may have merit. Say what you will, Comtesse, but trouble seems to follow you like a lover, you and messire Cassiline here."

Neither of us disagreed.

It was not until we were in bed that night that Joscelin spoke of it.

"What if it comes to it, Phèdre?" he asked, leaning on one elbow and gazing down at me. "Would you accept an assignation if needs be to gain access to Pharaoh's seraglio? Is it worth so much to you to see Melisande's son safe?"

I played with a lock of his hair, avoiding his shadowed gaze. I had not told him, yet, that I had made her a promise. With all that lay between us, all of us, it was too hard to say. "There need not be an assignation made in truth. It may be only a matter of convincing Phar aoh's attendants one such exists. I'd try that route first."

"And if more is required?" he asked softly.

"I don't know." I met his gaze, then. I had to. "Joscelin, he's a child. You saw the ones we rescued in Amílcar. This will be worse, much worse. Does it matter whose son he is? Naamah lay down in the stews of Bhodistan with common men when Blessed Elua hungered.

Should I— " my voice broke, "—should I scruple at less?" He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "No." "It would fall to you to get him out whole and safe," I said. "By whatever means."

Joscelin smiled. "Do you doubt me?"

"No," I said fervently, wrapping both arms about his neck. I didn't, either. He had come for me on La Dolorosa, the prison-fortress no one could assail. Joscelin had done it, crawling beneath the underside of a bridge. If it came to it, freeing Imriel de la Courcel from Pharaoh's Palace was as naught to that. "Not for an instant."

"Then we are agreed." He lowered his head to kiss me. I held him hard, praying it was so.

THIRTY-THREE

NESMUT CAME in the morning and informed us that the word had been spread and his contacts were keeping a sharp lookout in the Palace of Pharaohs. A friend of his mother's—the laundress—had a daughter who was responsible for polishing silver and gilt fretwork lamps within the Palace, and thought she might be able to secure an assignment within the concubines' quarters. Nesmut was bubbling over with excitement, scarce able to contain himself.I cautioned him again in the strongest language I could muster, watching his eyes glaze even as he nodded obedience. Joscelin added his warnings to mine with a different emphasis, touching the hilts of his daggers and reminding Nesmut that we would know who to blame if our search was discovered. I daresay the lad took his words more se riously, looking warily at Joscelin.

It would have been amusing, had I not been so worried; like as not, Joscelin would sooner cut off his own hand than harm the lad, but Nesmut had no way of knowing it. And I must own, Joscelin could look quite dangerous when he had a mind to. Ten years as my consort hadn't dulled the edge of that implacable Cassiline discipline.

We sent Nesmut on his way with a bulging purse of coin; mostly coppers, and a few silver obols. He left at a trot, grinning broadly and fingering his jangling purse. I shook my head, feeling heavy-hearted, and went to pen a letter of introduction to General Hermodorus and his wife.

Afterward, since there was naught I could accomplish elsewhere, I accompanied the Lady Denise Fleurais on an excursion to the baths.

There are a good many bath-houses in Iskandria, and this one was recommended by our hostess Metriche as a suitable one, frequented by women of the middle aristocracy. It was built in the Tiberian style, with separate pools of water—cool, tepid and steaming hot.

'Twas a different world, there, from the one I had glimpsed with Nesmut yesterday. Here, there were no men save the attendants, quiet and unobtrusive. It was filled with women, young and old, chattering voices raised in a mixture of Hellene and the occasional word of Menekhetan. We bade the carriage-driver to wait and paid our fee, entering the bath-house. A bowing attendant handed us each a thick cotton towel and robes of fine-spun linen at the door to the changing-room.