The Eyes of Bel Nishani

Chapter 3

Chapter One

The Good Wife

In the still mid-morning, the time between the rush hours for those who worked in the Imperial City and those who merely wished to go there to shop, a single non-descript female figure made her way through the streets of Amensay. She walked with purpose between the rows of plain terraced housing, brown brick walls and wooden doors, then turned toward a better-class area with clean pale stonework and carved lintels … gardens with flowers, patterned fencing, and gateways charmed to admit only select individuals.

A group of parasol-waving chatterers dawdled in the same direction. She glimpsed a glittering array of headdresses such as the Empress Ishiquel had made fashionable, but thankfully saw no one she knew.

As she neared the portal that led to the Imperial City, her pulse raced. Was it excitement she felt, or dread? The appointment she had made was of the utmost secrecy – afterward she would have to forget the outcome as if it had never occurred. The last thing she wanted was to meet anyone who knew her, or worse still, wanted to talk, so when she heard a familiar voice call her name, it was all she could do not to run.

“Leahät Gok?” Leahät! Wait!

She sighed and slowed her pace. The dainty trip, trip, trip of stylishly clad feet drew closer.

“So, is it true?” Rina Gok clasped her hands together in excitement, and Leahät couldn’t help noticing the sparkle of painted fingernails.

“Is what true?” Leahät glanced downward. Her own shoes were plain and worn, her fingernails clean but ragged. There was no sparkle there.

“They’ll be back next week?” Rina asked brightly.

“I suppose so,” she answered.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Excited?” Leahät made a pained expression, but the petite blonde seemed hardly to notice. Leahät shook her head and walked on. She had an appointment to keep.

“Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf,” Rina said.

“He told me he had a surprise for me,” Leahät admitted. “Breath knows what he meant by that. At least when he gets here I’ll be able to pay some bills, so long as can I get to his wages before the Faythans do. But with my luck they’ll be waiting right there in the Imperial Bays as the navigator chimes in.”

Rina paused. Leahät thought she was probably in shock. But the dainty feet soon hurried to catch up, as bubbly as if the comment about their financial situation had never been made.

“I just couldn’t bear it if Garshät was away for such a long time,” she said. “I’d be lonely.”

“Well, I’m not.” Leahät scowled.

“How can you say that?” Rina said. “He’s your husband! Don’t you love him at all?”

“No … although he wasn’t so bad when we were first married … and I thought, perhaps, he cared for me. Huh!” She snorted. “That soon changed.”

They walked on in silence. Leahät remembered Duvät Gok as he had been: an archangel of modest power, plain and a little pedantic, but her first look into his heart had revealed the dreamer inside. Now, the dreamer had become a schemer and the gambling bug had claimed him for its own. Slowly, with each new defeat he’d become more bad tempered, vindictive and petty, and ever more obsessed with coin. Even her own inheritance had been traded to buy him out of trouble and keep his disgrace from the Guild so that at least his job would remain secure; and she had continued to hold her head up as if all was well.

“My coin ran out,” Leahät said. “Since then I’ve meant nothing to him.”

“Surely not.”

“If I find work, I’m ‘shaming’ him,” Leahät said caustically, “but I’m just a ‘liability’ when he’s got no coin. I thought I was getting a husband with prospects, a life of adventure, an explorer with the Guild. How naïve I was! But not any more, Rina. Not any more.”

They halted before a portal paved with yellow tiles and covered with a sturdy stone roof. The ring of pillars was carved with characters rendered in the Tiamäti style; a series of hints in case the portal keeper wasn’t there to assist.

“Look how the years have blurred the words,” Leahät said sadly. “That’s how I feel sometimes, as if I’m faded beyond recognition and no longer know myself.”

Rina looked at her and Leahät wondered what she saw.

“Please don’t be sad,” Rina said. “I’m sure Duvät Gok will be pleased to see you, and maybe his surprise will be something wonderful, something to brighten your day … a sign that El will bless you at last.”

Leahät blinked back unexpected tears. El’s Blessing? She had given up hope, and if today’s meeting achieved its goal …

“Well, maybe so,” she conceded, but the words sounded thin as the veneer they were. She tried for a more uplifting tone. “And I’m off to the city today to organize my own surprise for him.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rina smiled. “What part of the city are you going to? Maybe I could join you?”

The portal keeper waved. “I’ll step you through if you wish, Ladies Gok.”

Leahät nodded, then said to Rina, “I have some business to attend to first, but perhaps you and Garshät Gok would like to come for a meal some time soon? No doubt Duvät will have many entertaining stories to tell.”

“Thank you! That would be lovely,” Rina said.

Leahät smiled, hoping her expression looked genuine enough to mask the darkness in her heart. Part of her wanted to grasp Rina’s head and show her exactly what she’d had to endure over the past few years – the horrible things her husband had done, first to helpless creatures and then to his team-mate, Lind. He’d known she’d see them too, be forced to share the experience through their marriage bond. It had taken all her strength and the help of a Shamkarun to narrow their connection to the shallowest possible, and her dearest wish now was to sever it for good. No surprise present from Duvät Gok could ever be enough to clean the away the stain, but if things went well today, her gift to him would mean freedom at last.

There was warmth in the crowded streets of the Imperial City, and Leahät quickly removed her cloak.

“Be careful if you’re heading for the charm-singers,” Rina said. “Half-breeds rioted there just last week, hadn’t you heard?”

Leahät hadn’t heard, but she nodded as if she had. She watched her friend vanish among a tide of colorful parasols, then struck off for Crafters, the industrial quarter, charm-singer stalls and all. At least there her shabby clothing would be unlikely to stand out.

Down an alley of woodworkers and artisans she found a café with grubby wooden tables and just enough space between chairs for someone to squeeze through – just as her contact had described.

Sitting in a shadowy corner was a lean male, possibly Enna. He was busy with something in his hands; Leahät started when she noticed it was a knife. Sure this was the person she had come to see, she began to make her way through the clutter, but every time a chair squealed against the floor or banged against its neighbors, her cheeks flamed.

The knife-wielder did not look up.

“Wait, my lady, wait!” A floridly dressed Cantori appeared from the back room. “Please, sit down. Perhaps I can help you?”

“I …” She glanced in desperation at the Enna. “I’m here to see someone.”

“Yes, yes!” the Cantori said enthusiastically. “Of course! Why else would such a fine lady come to my miserable establishment?” He danced expertly between the chairs and was quickly at her side.

“Mirashael of Cantori at your service,” he said, then continued in quieter tones. “And you must be the esteemed lady, Leahät Gok?”

Leahät glanced again at the Enna still polishing his knife.

“A regular patron,” Mirashael said. “No one you need worry about, I’m sure. Would you like to sit?”

“Here?”

“Yes of course,” her host assured her. “Plain sight is often best when one wishes to go unnoticed.” The Cantori smiled engagingly. “Sometimes a memory can be disguised by its very ordinariness. Please?” He waved toward the back of the closest chair. “Or perhaps one would prefer to rest on a divan?”

She followed his gesture and noticed a cluster of grubby divans in one corner, strewn with motley cushions. “I think I’ll sit here,” she replied.

“Very good, very good. I will fetch refreshments and a range of our finest wooden handicrafts for you to peruse while we talk of life – and other things.”

Leahät nodded, realizing this was another wise ploy. It would be easy to shape her memories of their encounter around the purchase of something … a new set of wooden bowls, perhaps, or of carved hanta for guests to eat with – it didn’t matter what.

Mirashael returned with a tray of drinks balanced on one upraised palm, and a plate of bite-sized seafood parcels on the other. “The Realm’s finest omosa,” he said. “You’ll get none better!”

He set the food and drinks before her with great aplomb, then withdrew a clunking bag of wooden objects from Qalān and arranged the contents on the table. There was a set of finely turned wooden bowls, enameled around the lip with a pattern of bright, blood-red flowers; a larger stand-alone piece with grain that seemed to wave like a heavy green ocean; a set decorated with the rune of Tiamät around the borders; and another set that she actually liked – red-ochre rims with the inner bowl enameled in simple pale green. The shape felt comfortable in her hand. She looked up and met Mirashael’s gaze.

“Simple is best,” he said. “No fuss, no … difficult explanations. And this glaze, it seems almost … accidental, would one say?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Accidental is a style I like.”

He looked at her knowingly. “And would the lady like these hanta to match? So smooth and sharp – one could shred one’s food, piece by piece until it is no more. This is an extra charge, of course, but if one needs to truly relish …?”

She held up her hand to stop him. The thought of Duvät being tortured to death was not unpleasant, but would she want to share his pain?

“Tempting,” she said, “but I prefer to eat neatly.” She picked up an omosa, popped it into her mouth, chewed once and swallowed. “No mess and the food is just gone, never to be seen again.”

“Ah. A lady of discernment! Then it is done,” Mirashael said. “The accidental bowls, and for a bargain price, let’s say, one thousand gold imperials?”

Leahät nearly choked. “One thousand?” Leaden disappointment filled her stomach.

Mirashael frowned. “Surely you did not think such excellence would come cheaply? This accidental glaze, so smooth, the work almost undetectable …”

“Almost?” She shook her head. “I would think that for such a price the work should be entirely invisible!”

“Not too invisible.” Mirashael winked. “After all, we do want some effect.” He studied her. “Then, as a special favor, I will sell these bowls for half price, just for today, just for you, since I can see you are a lady of honor – and who knows, perhaps you or one of your friends might come back and buy from me again.”

Leahät picked up one of the bowls. They were a set of four. The work really was quite fine. “Perhaps if I took two of the bowls now, just to see what my husband thinks of them? If the reaction is to my satisfaction, I will collect the remaining bowls as soon as may be.”

“Ah! Half now and half when the task is complete. A gamble … but then, that is what your husband likes, is it not?”

“Sadly, yes it is.”

“Then I will take these bowls and wrap them for you, Lady Gok. The other two I will keep until you return.” He paused. His gaze hardened. “It would be a shame to … break the set.”

“I hope it won’t be broken, but that depends on my husband, now.”

Leahät’s heart hammered as she handed Mirashael of Cantori a purse. When he seemed about to take it with him into the back room she stopped him. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like you to count it where I can see.”

“You don’t trust me?” Mirashael smiled shrewdly. Coin clinked onto the table.

When the count was done, the Cantori left to wrap the bowls, leaving Leahät to look around. Several new guests had arrived, but the knife-wielding Enna had gone. It worried her that she had not sensed his departure.

“Your bowls, Leahät Gok.” Mirashael returned and presented her with a neatly wrapped parcel. He bowed. “Until we meet again?”

As she reached for her purchase, thoughts of Lind’s suffering and her husband’s betrayal steadied her hands. The lead in her stomach became steel in her spine. She tucked the package into Qalān and nodded coldly as she turned to leave. “Until we meet again.”