The wails of the bereaved bondservants followed Ram all the way back to the pyre, long after they had passed out of physical hearing. The old woman in particular, the matriarch of the clan; had the dead woman been her daughter, her granddaughter, her son’s wife? Either way, hers was a kind of grief he’d not seen since the resh attack that took Father’s arm. The kind of misery people felt when they’d always thought they had little to lose, on the day the world finally proved them wrong.
Except the resh attack had been an accident. The Urapans had had nobody to blame but the mindless reshki, and their own negligence.
Darun said little at first, and when she did he ignored her; even she had to know this was no time for snide remarks, and that was the only language she spoke. He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d dashed for the house to save her own skin, without a word of warning to the men and women who’d given them food. But she made little unhappy noises as she trailed behind him, all the same.
Dul Karagi’s citizens had their own way of celebrating the end of white day, one Ram remembered well; every reasonably well-off family made a habit of going visiting on this night, each neighborhood’s bourgeois taking it in turns to host each other. This was the accepted time for contracts, weddings, engagements, and trysts. The streets were full of happy people—but they all made way for a blood-spattered young man in the tattered remains of a shirt, stomping about with a naked sword in his hand.
They approached the Palace from the rear, the most direct route. The rear door was locked, naturally; whoever was minding the militia these days had long since finished up the day’s work. Ram briefly contemplated knocking, or shouting, perhaps roaring a challenge until someone came to let him in. But Beshi was already swinging down as he thought it, without his orders or permission, and the lock lay in several smoldering pieces. Purely from spleen he took another swipe at the hinges, and knocked the teetering door down with a blow from the iron mask he still clenched in his left hand.
Down the little hall they went, to the room where he’d given his oath of service. He’d kept that oath; they hadn’t. Ram could have walked around the table to get to the door at the far side—it wasn’t very large—but that would have felt intolerably accommodating, so he cut it in half instead. The two pieces smoked at their edges as they crashed to the floor. Darun yelped, and said something he couldn’t be troubled to listen to over the noise of the table dying.
He kicked the wreckage out of the way, strode through the doorway, and took a deep breath. “JUSHUR! SHOW YOURSELF! NOW!”
Darun caught him by the arm. “Ram, what in the hell are you doing?”
“Justice,” Ram said, yanking his arm free, “or the start of it. JUSHUR!”
He didn’t know where Jushur was, nor his son, but the building was only so big. He would search it top to bottom, find them, and disembowel them. It wasn’t much—two lives for four—but it would have to do. It was plain now that they would never accept a free en or ensi; if his leniency had cost those wretched drudges their lives, Ram would offer them the Lugal’s head for restitution.
His anger swept him through the halls, cutting down doors before trying their handles. None of the dozens of haranuu in the Palace were moving in his direction; several were scurrying away. Ram didn’t think he’d want to meet himself right now, either. If they stayed out of his way, they wouldn’t get hurt.
“Ram, what’s going on?”
He spun around, and saw Imbri tapping her way down the hallway. He’d been planning to throw the mask down and watch Piridur’s reaction; having to stop and explain it for Imbri forced him to pause and put it in words. “Moonchildren, six or eight of them, on brutes. They hit us without warning. Four bondservants dead, and they nearly got me too.”
“I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” she said, “after the meeting. What did you expect to happen?”
“Is that all you’re going to say? Those two bastards—“
“Were publicly humiliated,” Imbri said, “but how do you know they were responsible? There were five people at that meeting besides us. All five had the money to hire Moonchildren for dirty work, or knew people who did.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Darun griped, “but he was too busy smashing stuff to listen.”
“Jushur had to be involved somehow,” Ram insisted. “Where is he? We’ll get the story out of him, one way or another.”
“You won’t be talking to Jushur, or his son, until you calm down, Ram. This job’s worth a lot to us; we can’t take the chance that you’ll do something else crazy.”
Ram snorted. “Like you’re going to stop me?”
“I’m not, no.” She snapped her fingers. “Naptime, Bal.” Before he even thought of turning around, a muscular arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight.
When he knew himself again, he was lying on the ground with Bal straddling him, his legs pinning Ram’s arms to his sides. Both of the giant’s hands held naked blades—one pointed at Ram’s throat, the other pricking at his rib cage at just the right angle to slide in and hit his heart. He looked Bal in the eyes; the giant met his gaze calmly. He hadn’t killed since the mines of Dul Misishi; that, Ram, supposed, was some comfort.
“We renegotiated with Piridur while you were gone,” said Imbri’s voice from behind his head. “I think he’s right: that thing inside you is taking over, this close to the fire. That’s good and bad. Good, because it means you might act a bit saner once we’re clear. Bad, because it makes you impossible to trust now.”
“He’s going to screw us all over,” Ram snarled. “He’s done it to me, he’ll do it to you.”
“I spent a month trapped with the man, Ram. I know him better than you do, and I’ve got plenty of reasons to dislike him. But I’m siding with him now. What does that tell you?”
“As for ‘screwing over,’” Shazru’s voice added before Ram could answer, “his behavior so far has been reasonable enough, as I see it.” Neither of them was in his view; all he could see was Bal and his knives.
“How do you know he didn’t hire the Moonchildren?” he demanded.
“We don’t know for sure. But it’s not likely. We were with him, and his father, for a lot of the time you and Darun were gone. No messengers, and they didn’t step aside for long. Darun, who knew where you were going tonight?”
“Nobody. Not even Ram.”
“But it was outside the walls, right? Ram said they attacked on brutes.”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t see her, either; her voice was farther away than the others’. The eternal runaway, distancing herself from the situation.
“Who’d have expected that?” Imbri said. “I wouldn’t, and I’ve known you for blooms. Somebody followed you, and made the decision to hire a gang on the spur of the moment. There wouldn’t have been time for them to send messages all the way here and back. At worst, the Lugal gave a general order to punish you, Ram; he can’t have planned this specifically.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“He’s our client. Fifty gold. Seventy-five, actually. He upped our fee in exchange for our promise to keep you in line, after that crazy stunt this afternoon. The one that damn near got our countenance canceled. The one you didn’t have the courtesy to let us know about in advance. The Lugal has shown us consideration lately. You haven’t.”
“And you think he didn’t plan all this? Like somebody just had Moonchildren sitting around?”
“That part’s not really that unbelievable. There are always a few Moonchildren hanging around a pyre, looking to do jobs like this for pay. They don’t care who hires them, or who they kill. We’re like vermin to them.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” When Imbri didn’t take the bait, he added, “You’re half-Moonchild, you’re a blackband, and now you’re acting like an assassin, so …”
“Rammash,” Shazru said, “Moonchildren are not used as assassins. They are more properly considered a tool for sending a strong message. Supposing one pyre offends another, what is the injured party to do? Direct reprisals would lead to escalation. A Moonchild raid, on the other hand, could be ascribed to mere bad luck. It saves appearances.”
“Which is what happened tonight,” Imbri said. “You shamed the Karagene aristocracy, Ram. You made the Lugal look weak. Piridur told you there’d be repercussions. This is what he meant.”
“So you admit he planned this.”
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“No! Idiot! He’s lived with these people for kindlings, and he knew how they’d react to some hearth-bred shitheel dictating terms to their master. It could have been any of the other people at the meeting who hired those men, Ram, or anyone they told about it after. You can bet it’d be hot news, and no, you’re never going to find out who it was. Even Jushur and Piridur together couldn’t. Anonymity’s the whole point of hiring Moonchildren. If you’re looking for someone to blame for this, you’re going to have to settle for blaming yourself.”
“The hell I do.” But he said it reflexively, and the words sounded weak.
“I’ve only dealt with them a few blooms, but I half-expected this. Darun would have too, if she ever bothered to think two seconds ahead about anything. Piridur gave you a warning, not a threat. Which was generous, considering you’d just spat in his face.”
“And the Moonchildren,” Shazru continued, “were themselves a warning. There is a consistent grammar and syntax to the bloody language of these messages. You were likely not meant to die—that might have been accomplished with less flamboyance—only to understand that you are mortal. Unless and until you depopulate all of Dul Karagi, there will always be a means at hand to make you suffer. That is the message. Are you too arrogant to listen, and understand?”
Ram stared into Bal’s eyes again. There was a little bit of human awareness in there. Not much, but some. Bal had agreed to be Ram’s messenger to Nusun earlier today; now he was prepared to kill Ram for it. It seemed strange to Ram, that he was considered the dangerous one here. “Would you let me live to learn, if I said yes?”
“We are not assassins, either,” Shazru said. “Only businessmen, and businesswomen. The sole purpose of all this unpleasantness is to make you understand that the way you have been behaving is not how business is done. If you are not a bondsman, neither are we. The impetuous behavior must stop. If it does not, we will be on hand, and we will act as we see fit.”
“Bastards,” Ram spat. “Darun, I did what I did to keep Piridur from holding a knife to your throat. Just like this. Are you going to let this go?”
“I … I’m not saying I like this, Ram. You’ve been good to me. But they’re right. The way you’ve been acting lately, it’s weird. Like at the play back home. I agreed to sleep with a man, not a monster.”
She’d been congratulating him on a prank well done a few hours ago. She’d sounded as sincere then as she did now.
“The knives are for our protection, not to threaten you,” Imbri said. “Supposing we let you up now, what are you going to do?”
Beshi had been moved—kicked, presumably—some distance down the corridor. But even if he hadn’t—“Nothing, for now.” Ram knew when he was beaten, in more ways than one. The haranu still growled for vengeance, but Ram was no longer sure he wanted to listen.
“We’ll take it,” Imbri said. “Bal?” The hulk stood, sheathed his knives, and offered Ram a hand. He ignored it, and got up by his own efforts. Half his body was asleep from the big man’s weight. “We can’t just take your word for it, though. Bal will be sleeping across your doorway tonight too, to make sure you stay put until morning.”
Forcing down a fresh burst of outrage from the spirit, Ram looked back to Bal. “It’s going to be an uncomfortable night. You getting paid extra for that?”
“Bal’s a lot like you, Ram. Not exactly, of course, but you’ve both got a little extra someone in your heads, who sometimes forgets who’s in charge. The difference is, we’ve got experience with Bal. We can tell when the stranger’s taking over, and how to keep it from happening, and we have ways of dealing with it. With you, we can’t be so sure.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “This is all me, talking to you.” It had felt very different when the haranu took over at the common hall in Dul Misishi—not that he was counting on that as an argument in his favor here.
“Indeed?” Shazru said. “Rammash, I have seen a large number of people face death during my kindlings with the Damadzus. Many of them in much the same way you did just now. Even the bravest of them showed fear; you reacted with something more akin to annoyance. I do not doubt your courage, but the human body has certain ways of responding to danger, and you exhibited none of them.”
“Uh-huh.” He could hear Beshi calling him, deeply indignant, but now didn’t seem the best time to pick up a sword. Ram was working hard enough at keeping his composure without his aggressive little friend in hand. “So, what now? Is Bal going to be dogging me for the next month?”
“That depends on how you act,” Imbri told him. “I assume the haranu will calm down and go to sleep once we’re clear of the pyre. Piridur and the acolytes think so, but they’re not totally sure, since Shimrun murdered all their experts before he left. We can’t tell how much of your behavior is just you under stress. They’re taking a big risk just leaving you alive.”
“Let me tell you, I’m so grateful for that. I’m sure they’re doing it out of pure kindness. There are, what, a thousand handmaidens at this pyre? Spending all their time here. Just as indwelt as I am. Is the Lugal worried about them, too?”
Imbri pursed her lips. “It’s not like that, and you know it. Nobody understands exactly how all this works, except maybe Haranduluz, and he’s not telling. But it’s obvious that the spirits do different things in different vessels. Whatever it’s doing to you, whatever it’s making you do, it’s doing because it thinks that’s how an indwelt man, specifically, ought to behave.”
“You know more about this than you’re letting on.”
“I told you, Mom taught me some very basic magical theory. I picked up a little on my own too. But everything I know about your specific case is just guesswork, or from Piridur. Moonchildren don’t deal with haranuu.”
“No?” He thought it over. “All right, I’ve got a new deal for you. I’ll play along, and make your life easy. I promise I won’t touch the Lugal, or Piridur—if you help me figure out how all this works.”
“If understanding more will make you stop acting up, I’m all for it. But you might be disappointed. I don’t know all that much.”
“You still know more than me.” Now Beshi was being downright petulant; giving in, Ram walked over, picked him up, and buckled him back on. “Bal, Darun? Come on. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
In some ways, it made things easier to be indwelt. Shazru was right, he really hadn’t been scared. There were other things it couldn’t handle so well. It did nothing about guilt, or annoyance, and as for hurt pride, the haranu made it worse. He was swallowing rage all the way back to his room, and having Bal stalking him with his hands on his knives didn’t help. Darun trailed timidly at the rear, at just the right distance to thwart his plan to slam the bedroom door behind him.
He sat on the side of the bed and sulked while she fetched some blankets out of a closet and handed them out the door for his new jailer to sleep on. He remained there, sitting on top of the sheets, after she came back in. It was a petty satisfaction, to sit there like that and stare out the window while she wondered what to do with herself, but he enjoyed it all the same. If she felt awkward now, it was far less than she deserved.
After a lengthy pause, he felt the bed shift under him as she got on, and the sad remains of his shirt were pulled off his shoulders. He didn’t move a muscle to help, and she wound up tearing a lot of it, but she didn’t complain. Once the rags were on the floor, she set to work kneading his neck, then his back. “Tense, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got my reasons,” he grumbled. He wouldn’t have minded screaming at her, but his haranu wouldn’t have it. Aggression towards females, it seemed to say, was not acceptable. Especially not the sort of females who showed honor to their priestly consorts with back-rubs.
“That you do.” When she was done, she leaned forward, rested her chin on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. Her hair tickled his chest; she smelled like some kind of herb today. “You going to be okay?”
“How the hell should I know? Everything’s changing, too fast to keep track of.”
“I get that you’re pissed, I really do. But you’re not going to get anything else done tonight, and since it’s kind of my job now to keep you steady, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop making that job harder. I mean, shit, I haven’t even been paid yet.”
“Keep me steady? Is that what an official mistress does?” Or was that her job for the Damadzus?
“Eh. It’s what Tir did with Zasha, near as I could tell. She was the part of his life that wasn’t a big stressful pain in the ass. You go to your mistress’s place, and nobody knows you’re there, and they’d be embarrassed to come find you if they did, so they can’t tell you two miners killed each other and their crew think it’s witchcraft and the Lugal wants another damn meeting. This is the room you keep your woman in; you leave your problems outside the door, like a shoe that stepped in crap. You don’t track it inside for her to clean up. That’s just bad manners.”
He was preparing an irritable retort when it came to him, all of a sudden, that he was about sixteen—he’d lost track of the days till his birthday, it might have passed already—and his life was more than half over. He didn’t want to spend all his remaining days feeling angry with everyone he knew. And Darun, at present, was the only person around who liked him.
Mother had taught him to stay away from girls like this, but she’d also taught him to deal with the world as it was. And with people, as they were. Darun would be Darun, no matter what he did. He would never have expected her to stick her neck out for anyone. Why should he be angry at her now? She was being the best person she knew how to be, and whatever her reason for it, she was trying to cheer him up now.
“Darun. Do you think I killed those bondservants?”
“I mean, I didn’t see it, but unless you learned archery real—“
“I’m serious.” He twisted around, as best he could, to look her in the face. “Should I have known that would happen?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know. Probably not.” She didn’t actually ask why it mattered, but she plainly thought it. “I obviously didn’t, or I wouldn’t have brought you, right?”
“Right.” He turned back, and let her put her chin back on his shoulder. After a long, moody moment, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. “You’re good at your job.”
“Why, thank you, Rammash.”