“ ‘Down with sneaks and lurkers,’ your Majesty?”
“The Captain will know the message is from me. Then, when your ships arrive offshore of Mahahm, they should send a little boat ashore and tell the Shah’s man that payment is to be made directly to them, not returned by Prince Delganor in the airship. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” said the spokesman.
“Payment is to consist of the usual shipment of P’naki, twenty jars, well sealed, the Marshal and the Invigilator, alive and in good condition, and the dead body of Prince Delganor in any condition at all, so long as one can ascertain it is indeed the Prince. Your people are not to unload the food or other supplies they are carrying until payment is received. Now, pay attention. The substance in the jars is extremely condensed when you receive it. It gets prepared for use here in Havenor. Warn your people not to unseal it on the ship. Damp air destroys the efficacy, and none of us want to see more of our people dying of batfly fever.”
“We understand, Your Majesty.”
“Once they’re sure they have the Prince, they may dump his body overboard,” continued the Lord Paramount, “Suitably weighted. And as always, we do not talk about our arrangement.” He looked significantly at the Aresians on either side of the door, each with a hand on his weapon. “Do we? My cousin, the Duke of Frangia, would be most upset if he learned I had delayed his return to the provincial throne because of my gratitude to the Mariner’s Guild of Frangia.”
They replied in unison, “Silence is sworn, Your Majesty.”
“Thus Frangia continues in peace in the Whatever.” The Lord Paramount smiled. “As it has for some time now.”
“Peace and Whatever,” they intoned, bowing themselves out backwards.
Wiezal was summoned forward from the corner in which he’d placed himself.
“Have I forgotten anything?” asked the Lord Paramount.
“Not if it works,” said Wiezal. “You’ll have the Prince done for, you’ll have your shipment you want, and you’ll have the Marshal and Invigilator back.”
“It’s true that I’ve asked for the Marshal back,” said the Lord Paramount fretfully. “But I’m not at all sure I want him! The man is as thick as craylet bisque! Asked him once if his daughter was a good candidate for . . .” His voice faded, as though he had forgotten what he was saying. He nodded, then said jerkily, “Well, he didn’t follow me at all.”
He stared distractedly at Wiezal, who responded by looking puzzled. He was puzzled more and more lately, when it came to things the Lord Paramount ordered or said or claimed he had said. The man was getting . . .well, forgetful was the most tactful word Wiezal could think of.
The Lord Paramount came to himself with a start. “I’m rambling. Just rambling. He’ll be wiser now. I’m sure Rongor has put him in the picture. That’s an Invigilator’s job, right? Thick as craylet bisque. Amazing.” He sat back on his throne and reached for the top catalog on the pile.
Wisely, Wiezal went.
23: The Marae Morehu
Genevieve woke in the marae. For a long time she lay in the tall stone room with her eyes half closed, listening for Dovidi’s breathing, only slowly realizing that he wasn’t there. Her throat tightened as she tried to remember where she was, when she was: not on the ship, not in Mahahm-qum, not on the desert. Panic ebbed. She was at the marae, and three days had passed since she fled the city.
She opened her eyes to stare upward. Pallid light gathered once more around the high window through which the cool of the night had flowed, as into a well.
“With one frog in it,” she murmured.
“What frog?” asked a familiar voice from across the room.
She sat up, pushing her tangled hair away from her face. A woman occupied the chair across the room, hands lying in her lap, sandaled feet together beside a cloth bundle, face quiet. Genevieve had never seen her before.
“I was thinking the room is like a well,” confessed Genevieve. “It is full of night cool, and I am the frog in it.”