A heartbeat's pause, in which Ajan looked deeply pained.
"Stay," I said firmly. "Your place is at the side of your masuredi... and this, this is for me to do."
He did not argue, and I knew who the love gift had been from. Who else? "Go carefully, osulkedi."
"I will return," I promised him, and hastened in pursuit of the lord of Qenain.
Reck this: Once there was an aridkedi, a country merchant whose pots were of such astonishing quality that she alone would serve for her small town; they would have no one else. Among one of her many virtues was her promise to mend any pot that cracked, for so great was her skill that her pots did not often break and when they did, if they could not be fixed, she offered a replacement.
One day, an Ai-Naidari came to her with a broken pot and requested that she mend it. The aridkedi took it in her hands and examined it carefully, then said, 'If I mend this pot, it will break again, for the break is in a bad place. Allow me to replace this pot for you instead.'
But her patron would not hear of it. 'I am fond of this pot and want no other,' he said. 'Please, mend this one.'
'I can mend this pot," the aridkedi said. 'But it will never bear weight again.'
'Then I will make sure it is never subjected to any stresses that might break it,' the other said. 'For I love this pot, and I will not replace it.'
So it came to pass that the aridkedi mended the pot, and the Ai-Naidari took it away with him and set it on a shelf, and never again used it to bear weight, and indeed he cherished it and looked upon it every day.
He also returned several days later and bought a pot that could bear weight.
This is the tale of the broken pot. Reck it well.
It was perhaps not my best idea, admittedly... to go rushing off thus with neither pack nor plan. All I was certain of was that to lose the lord now to this covert errand was to lose the thread of the mystery of Qenain, and worse, to lose the chance at addressing the taint. Thirukedi had in His wisdom sent two of us to the House of Flowers to do His work, and if I had to leave behind the broken pot to which I'd been assigned, I consoled myself that it was only to uncover the hammer that had finally shattered him.
Had I been more experienced in subterfuge I might have worried that my pursuit lacked subtlety; that I cared little to conceal myself or soften the sounds of my footsteps. Perhaps in that way Ajan would have been the wiser choice. But I could not send the Guardian to do an osulkedi's task and I could not tear a servant from his master's side in his master's need, and so beneath starlit branch and night-blooming vine, I hurried on in the lord's wake, with little concern that he would notice me. And in truth, it would hardly have mattered if he had, for he was so far in front of me that once I reached the back gate out of Qenain's property, I ran. And if there is anything more ridiculous than a middle-aged artist with his robes rucked up above his knees, dashing after a man above the Wall of Birth like some kind of errant child, I really cannot imagine it.
But run I did, for the lord had the lead and he was opening it. Like me, he was spurred by the urgency of his task. And I should have known that it was drawing him... to the Gate.
Yes, aunera. I see many of you have guessed already the ultimate destination of the lord of Qenain, and it was an inevitability, wasn't it? The Gate created this situation, and as I ran down the street toward its great presence I knew that I would be drawn through it. I might avoid it tonight, but before the end of our mission to Qenain... I would touch foot to alien soil.
But gods hear me... not tonight.
It was my goal to reach the lord before the lord reached the Gate, and I truly thought I could. But as I turned the corner onto the broad lane leading through the jambs and felt that cool wind against my neck and brow, I saw him vanish.
And, ancestors preserve...! I pursued him all the way to the uncanny film that separated one world from the next. There, the guards stopped me. Or rather, I stopped myself at the sight of them.
They had ojun—rifles. I had never seen one, but I knew them by their filirij, red silk sleeves worn over the barrel as warning and concealment from Ai-Naidari eyes, as a visceral reminder to the Guardians using them that they were proscribed for anything but non-persons and that even they may not look upon them casually. Just one glance at those bright scarlet lengths and I back-pedaled, almost stepping on my own tail.
"Do you purpose to pass through?" one of Guardians asked, approaching me where I stood paralyzed. There was no menace in his voice, but he did not need it with that bright mark over his shoulder. I could just see the starlight glint off the metallic pout of its muzzle and stilled my shudder with difficulty.
"Duinikedi?" the guard said, more concerned now. "If you wish to pass, you need only show your permit."
"I... have no permit," I managed. "It was not my intent to cross."
"Did you come to look then?" he asked, more kindly. "It is an impressive sight. And I am glad you came past the guard post to do so. Since the attempt on the Gate there has been less tolerance for people walking its length without permission."
"Of course," I said. "And... the permit..."
"You may obtain one from any of the trading houses in the Gate-complex, if you are here on business," he said. "Once you have one, and you become familiar to us, you will no longer need to show it to pass on."
—no doubt how the lord had managed it. "I see," I said. "And I thank you." On a whim, I finished, "I am staying at Qenain for the duration."
"Qenain!" the guard said. "Yes, they do a great deal of business across the Gate. You may find yourself on the other side sooner than you think!"
"Perhaps," I said, "Perhaps. Good night."
"Good night," he said, and withdrew. When he turned his back I saw the full length of the rifle, limned in blood-carmine, as if someone had spilled paint on a diagonal across the guard's back. Nauseated, I trudged away.
So the lord of Qenain had risen. When? It was conceivable that the lady had kept it hidden from the household; such lies of pacification are expected of those above the Wall of Birth, and indeed there are books of rules and precedents they must read to educate themselves on when ojer nashaen are suggested or required. Truth may illuminate, but it can also create panic. The physician thought his patient was still a patient, however, so at very least the lord was abed the last time he was examined.
Perhaps the lady did not know herself, then. If he had woken and then immediately escaped, it was in fact likely that she did not know. I sighed as I returned to the Gate-house through the shadowed streets. The Gate-wind brushed the hair off the nape of my neck and then caressed me intimately on that place reserved only to one's master. I rearranged my stole to protect it and thought it appropriate. Only the armor of civilization could possibly save us from the usurpation of privilege that this alien influence attempted.
I would have to tell the lady, and offer my aid. Perhaps she would issue me the permit that would allow me to go find the lord... gods help me. But if Thirukedi had sent two to the work, and only one remained, then that one would have to serve.
I returned to Qenain then, and if the Servant admitting me did so with an askance look I did not look to see it. I was intent on the office of the lady, and it was there I went without delay. At her door I requested admittance, and was told by a Servant that the lady had retired.
"Wake her, please," I said, with as gentle a form of the Implacable as I could use while making it clear that I could brook no argument. "This cannot wait."
Resigned, the Servant left me at the door to the office, there to wait for the lady's arrival or summons, whichever she preferred. I almost paced in my agitation, but slid my arms into my sleeves and clasped them, and twined my tail around one ankle to keep from fidgeting. It would not do to present the appearance of distress and so give cause for doubt. It is easier to believe the word of someone composed, especially when that word is hard to credit. I would need all the aid I could marshal to win the lady's trust on a matter this delicate.
The Servant returned, looking careworn. "If you will come with me, osulkedi."
