Children of Earth and Sky Read Free Page A

thought Faleri, said by many—including their last ambassador—to perhaps be going mad. It was possible. Faleri might spend two years of his life destroying his back and knees, burdening his heart and other parts of his anatomy at the court of a lunatic. There
was
madness in the imperial bloodline. All that intermarriage. It might have arrived again.
    For one thing, Orso Faleri had never met the emperor before.
    Our pleasure to see you again
 . . . ?
    Was this a damaged mind, lost to alchemy and philosophies, or was it the empty pleasantry of a ruler not paying attention to what he said? Faleri might consider that an insult. On behalf of Seressa, of course. On the other hand, their gift had elicited approval. That was good, wasn’t it?
    There came a chiming sound.
    Everyone regarded the clock.
    A warrior of Jad, armoured in silver with a sun disk on his chest and bearing a golden mace, came forth on a curved track from doors on the left side of the apparatus. An Osmanli soldier, clad as one of the elite djanni infantry, bearded, wielding a curved sword, emerged similarly from the right. They met in the middle, in front of the clock face. Both stopped. The chiming continued. The Jaddite commenced to strike the Asharite upon his head with the mace. He did so three times. That was the hour. The chiming stopped. The warriors withdrew into the body of the clock, left side, right side. The doors closed, concealing them. There was ticking.
    Jad’s Holy Emperor laughed aloud.
    â€”
    LATER T HAT AFTERNOON, as a cold rain fell, the chancellor of the Holy Jaddite Empire, a man greatly burdened by the demandsof his office, closeted himself with two of his advisers in a fire-lit room.
    The emperor was, at this moment, on a higher level of the palace—in a tower, in fact—where the latest attempt to alter the state of being of lead was underway under the auspices of a small, belligerent, untidy person from Ferrieres. There had been rumours of dramatic progress.
    In this room the discussion was more prosaic. It concerned the Seressini ambassador. There was a vigorous dispute taking place. Chancellor Savko’s tall secretary and the young man named Vitruvius, who held no significant official position but spent most nights in the chancellor’s bed, were both of the opinion that the newest envoy from Seressa was a fool.
    The chancellor pointed out that the Seressinis had not become the power they were by employing fools in important offices. He differed with their assessment. Indeed, he went further and chastised both—causing the younger one to flush (appealingly)—for being so hasty in formulating any opinion at all.
    â€œNothing about this,” he said, lifting a necessary cup of warmed, spiced wine, “requires or is assisted by speed.”
    He drank slowly, as if to make a point. He set his cup down and looked out the streaked, barred window. Rain and mist. Red-roofed houses barely visible below, towards the grey river. “We have no
need
to form views about him yet,” he said. “He can be observed at leisure.”
    â€œHe asked about women,” his secretary said. “Where the most desirable courtesans might be found. It could be a weakness?”
    The chancellor made a note. “That is better,” he said. “Bring me information, not judgments.”
    â€œWhat did you think of him?” his secretary asked.
    â€œI think he is Seressini,” Savko replied. “I think Seressa is always dangerous, always to be watched, and they sent this man to us. Did he say anything else?”
    â€œLittle,” the secretary said. His name was Hanns. “A remark about pirates, the shared need to deal with them.”
    â€œAh,” said the chancellor. He had expected this. He made another note. “That will be about Senjan. He won’t wait long before making a submission concerning them.”
    â€œWhat will we say?” his lover asked.