Burning Bright

Chauvelin smiled again, rather wryly this time. I don’t think I should count on that. The Remembrancer-Duke might be less pleased after all, though on balance it shouldn’t affect the ultimate outcome of the trials. He glanced at the chronometer display, gauging the time left until he would hear— not much longer now—and set both messages aside. One of Ransome’s story eggs was sitting on the desk beside him, the case a lacquer-red sphere that looked as though it had been powdered with gold dust. He picked it up idly, turned it over until he could look through the lens into its depths. Familiar shapes, Apollo and a satyr, shared images from his and Ransome’s shared culture, leaned together in a luminous forest, each with a lyre in his hands. The loop of images showed a brief conversation, a smile— Ransome’s familiar, knowing smile—and then a brief interlude of music, the sound sweetly distant, barely audible half a meter away. Apollo and Marsyas, Chauvelin thought, in the last good days before the contest. He had never noticed it before, but the Apollo had his own eyes, and his trick of the lifted eyebrow. Oh, very like you, I-Jay. But that’s not how it was. I did everything I could to save you. You died by your own misjudgment, not by mine.

“Sia?” That was je-Sou’tsian’s voice, sharp and startled in the speakers. “Sia, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” Chauvelin said.

“Yes, Sia.”

Chauvelin did not light the screens, allowed himself a smile, hearing the shock in the steward’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Sia,” je-Sou’tsian said again, “but it’s the Visiting Speaker. There’s been—the Lockwardens say he fell into one of the canals, he was drunk on Oblivion, and a barge hit him.”

“Is he alive?” Chauvelin demanded, and heard himself sharp and querulous.

“For now, Sia. But he’s not expected to live the night. They’ve taken him to the nearest hospital, Mercy Underface, they said.”

“So.” Chauvelin could not stop his smile from becoming a grin; it was an effort to keep his voice under control. “Do they know what happened?”

“Not for certain, Sia. They think he fell.”

“Or did he kill himself?” Chauvelin asked, and was pleased with the bitterness of his tone. If they can believe it’s suicide, that’s shameful enough on top of everything else that the Remembrancer-Duke will still gain everything he would have gained through the trial. He heard je-Sou’tsian’s sharp intake of breath, wished he dared light the screen to watch her gestures.

“It—the Lockwardens asked that also, Sia. It seems possible.”

“Such shame,” Chauvelin said, and knew that this time he did not sound sincere. “Send his house steward to stand by him, and one of us to stay with her. Express my condolences.”

“I’ll go myself, if you want, Sia,” je-Sou’tsian said.

Chauvelin nodded, then remembered the dark screen. “That would be a gracious gesture, Iameis. I’d be grateful.”

“Then I’ll do it,” je-Sou’tsian said.

“Keep me informed of his condition,” Chauvelin said, and closed the connection. It was good to have friends on the canals. He leaned back in his chair, reached out to touch the story egg again, but did not pick it up, ran his fingers instead over the warm metal of the case. I told the truth when I told Lioe I’d take care of the Visiting Speaker. It’s not my fault that she assumed I meant that I would let the law take its course. That was something Ransome would’ve appreciated, that double-edged conversation. And I think he would’ve appreciated my decision. He smiled again, and picked up the story egg, glanced again at the bright images. The loop, triggered by the movement, showed god and satyr leaning shoulder to shoulder, and then the faint clear strain of the music as the satyr played.

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Interlude

Game/varRebel.2.04/

subPsi. 1.22/ver22. 1/ses 7.25