The Floodgate

Chapter Eleven

Dawn was still hours away as Tzigone walked carefully through a hallway in Procopio Septus's villa, trying not to slop the contents of a brimming chamber pot upon the gleaming marble floor. One pace behind her trudged Sinestra Belajoon, similarly armed. The beautiful wizard was clad in a servant's smock and kerchief, but her expression-a blend of distaste and disbelief-was hardly that of an experienced chambermaid. Fortunately, the few people they passed quickly caught their breath, averted their eyes, and hurried past.

"Why are there no wards? No magical guardians?" hissed Sinestra.

"There are." Magic filled the air, thicker and fouler than the stench rising from the pot Tzigone carried. It skittered over her until her skin crawled. "It took me days to find a way through them. There might still be thought-thieving spells wandering around. Remember that we're servants, duly hired, performing our duties. Keep your mind on that, and we may just get out of here with our skins still attached. And stop wrinkling your nose! Anyone would think you never touched a chamber pot before."

Sinestra grumbled and then subsided. They traversed several back corridors, then tossed their chamber pots down a laundry chute and slipped through a paneled door. This led into an antechamber of the wizard's library, a room off the luxurious study. Tzigone pulled down several books before she found what she needed.

"Here it is-notes on all of Procopio's jordaini counselors." She paged through quickly, and let out a long, low whistle. "He's had more than his share of them. Wonder why."

"Forget the others. We came about this Zephyr," reminded Sinestra. She shifted uneasily, her eyes darting nervously from door to door.

"Here it is." Tzigone slid her finger down the page, scanning the neat runes. "Zephyr once worked for Queen Fiordella. Very impressive."

"What does that mean?"

Tzigone shrugged. "Damned if I know. Write this down: After Fiordella died, Zephyr went to Cyclominia the necromancer, and from there to Rondati Denister, and finally to Procopio."

The wizard scribbled furiously on a scrap of parchment "Any before the queen?"

Tzigone read the names of his patrons, which Sinestra transcribed. "That goes back nearly two hundred years, but he was a very old elf. This doesn't say what he did before." She sighed in frustration and closed the book. "Let's check his room."

Sinestra looked dubious, but she handed the parchment to Tzigone and followed as the young thief paced the library, tapping softly on the bookshelves and wall panels.

"Here is it," she said at last. She leaned against one of the shelves, which turned as easily as a weather vane in a stiff breeze. Small lamps flickered on to reveal a long, narrow hall.

Sinestra peered in. "Magical lighting. No dust. Not my idea of a hidden passage."

"If you want cobwebs and ghosts, there are more interesting tunnels in the lower levels," Tzigone told her, only half in jest. She prodded the woman into motion. Sinestra moaned but started down the passage.

They hurried to the end of the corridor and up a narrow spiral staircase. "Wizard-lords don't like to be kept waiting," Tzigone explained, "and they like to keep secrets. After you've gone through a few villas, you see a pattern: back corridors for the servants, private entrances for the counselors and mistresses. I'll bet you coins against crumbs that this leads to his chief counselor's room."

Tzigone was almost right-the passage led to a richly appointed bedchamber. Two servant girls were busily stripping the crumpled silk covering from the wide bed. They looked up, startled, at the new arrivals.

"Take off your scarf," Tzigone whispered.

Sinestra complied. Her hair fell in long, gleaming dark waves about her face.

"Start undressing."

The wizard's lips curved as she caught Tzigone's ploy. She began to peel off the servant's smock to reveal the daring gown beneath.

Tzigone turned to the servants. "Is there a bath prepared?"

The girls exchanged glances. "No," one of them ventured.

"Well, go to the kitchens and fetch heated water! See that you steep it well with jasmine and hyssop. Lord Procopio specifically asked for a sunrise tryst so there is little time to waste!"

The servants bustled from the room to tend this apparently routine task. Sinestra chuckled and tied her scarf back into place. "Quick thinking! We return to the library and try again?"

"Unless you'd rather await Procopio here."

They tried twice more before they found their way to Zephyr's chamber. The room was sparse and somber: a cot, a table with an inkpot and a candle, a small hanging mirror, and three narrow windows. A few jordaini garments in pristine white linen still hung on the wall pegs.

Still, Tzigone checked the room methodically. She found a small empty cupboard hidden behind the mirror, a trapdoor in the floor, but nothing more.

"Nothing here links Zephyr to Kiva," she said at last. "I was sure he'd leave at least one small thread. People generally do."

"Maybe he was careful."

"Maybe someone else got here before us," Tzigone countered. "Procopio probably wants to find that link between Zephyr and Kiva as badly as I do!"

"Surely Procopio Septus would have nothing to do with an elf rogue!" protested Sinestra.

"My point exactly. He'd want to get rid of anything that might appear to link them." Tzigone sighed and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension-knotted muscles. "I'm finished. Do you want to take something before we go?"

The wizard surveyed the austere room, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. "Not much here to take. A jordain's lot seems rather bleak."

"True, but there's always something." Tzigone went to work again, checking again for hidden compartments, patting down the garments for pockets. She found a tiny pocket sewn into the seam of a tunic. In it was a scrap of paper wrapped around fine, brown dust. She held it out to the wizard. "Does this look interesting?"

Sinestra licked the tip of one finger and dipped in, then touched it to her tongue. She made a face.

"Unspeakably nasty, which almost guarantees that it's an important spell component. I'll take it."

"Not all of it," Tzigone cautioned. "It's the greedy thieves who get caught. If you just take a pinch, Procopio isn't likely to come looking for you."

The wizard looked puzzled. "Why would he? I doubt he knows it's here. Wizards have well-warded rooms for their spell components."

"If they came under suspicion for any reason, the first place to be searched would be those well-warded rooms," Tzigone pointed out. "Besides, someone has been in here recently. The trapdoor was pried up with a knife-you can see the fresh scrapings on the wood and the marks from someone's fingers in the dust beside it. I'm betting on Procopio. His servants wouldn't venture in here."

"Why not? The wizard trusts his servants entirely too much. Look how easily we walk anywhere we please!"

Tzigone didn't try to explain. She had no idea why she sensed magic so keenly while remaining invisible to it. Magical wards protected nearly every doorway of this villa, every corridor. She had sensed them all, but not they her. Sinestra, walking always a half pace behind, stayed in her shadow. Tzigone had learned by hard experience the boundaries of her peculiar sphere of protection. She knew it, she used it-but she did not understand it.

"Let's go," she said shortly.

Sinestra's eyes were glowing with excitement, though her «treasure» was scant and of uncertain value. In her elation, she forgot to keep the half-pace distance to the young thief. Tzigone did not remind her. As they passed a large oval mirror, she glanced at their combined reflections. Tzigone appeared as she would in any other mirror. Sinestra did not.

The young thief darted a look up and down the hall to make sure they were alone. She seized the wizard's arm, yanked off her concealing scarf, and dragged her before the mirror.

Sinestra's reflected eyes widened with horror, then dulled with resignation-and with the passing of years hidden beneath her magical disguise.

The wizard's reflection was not just older but less comely. Her hair was still long and thick, but instead of a gleaming black, it was an ashy brown dulled by time and streaked with gray. She was still slender, but her curves were not as lush. Her face was pointed rather than heart-shaped, her mouth wider. A few lines gathered in the corners of her painted eyes. The smooth, dark honey silk of Sinestra's skin was replaced by a sallow complexion marked with sunspots. It was not the face of a pampered noblewoman, but a commoner who'd led a hard life-or perhaps a wizard who had lived for many years on the run.

"Look at us," Tzigone whispered, intently studying their reflections. "We could be kin."

Sinestra's unfamiliar mouth curved in a little smile. "Sisters, perhaps."

"Not likely. You're old enough to be my mother," Tzigone said bluntly.

"Ouch! Why not just stab me and be done with it?"

Tzigone ignored her and took a deep breath. "Are you?"

For a long moment Sinestra did not answer. Tzigone studied the reflected face for any signs of hope, guilt, regret, dishonesty. Anything!

After a while the wizard shrugged and looked away from their joined reflections. "I suppose it's possible."

"Possible?"

The sharp scent of camphor intruded. Tzigone whirled to see one of the wizard-lord's physicians approaching. His interested gaze traveled down Sinestra's ebony tresses and rounded curves. Tzigone quickly stepped between the wizard and her telltale reflection.

"Hello, pretty thing," the physician crooned to Sinestra as he closed in on the two women. "You're new here. Has anyone welcomed you properly yet?"

He reached for her. Sinestra shied away, but the man's fingers brushed her arm. Lord Belajoon's «gift» responded to the touch of another man, and Sinestra disappeared in mid curse.

The dumbfounded physician turned his gaze toward Tzigone. She smiled sweetly. "Lord Procopio is getting possessive, is he not? Imagine wasting so powerful a spell, just to ensure that none of the servants get into the cooking wine. So to speak."

"An accident. I tripped. I never intended to touch the wench," the man babbled. Tzigone patted him on the cheek and went her way, quite certain that he would not carry tales about a chambermaid's sudden disappearance.

Tzigone left the villa without further incident. An unfamiliar darkness clung to her spirit as she trudged away. In all the years she'd sought her mother, it had never once occurred to her that Keturah might not know or care what became of her child. Even if Sinestra and Keturah were not the same person, Sinestra's response raised disturbing questions.

Perhaps it was time to consider last resorts.

Within the hour Tzigone had exchanged her smock for a skimpy gown she found drying on a bush behind a brothel, smudged her eyes and lips with some of the face paint she'd borrowed from Sinestra's bag, and made her way to the palace. She waited by the gate Matteo usually took. He was an early riser, so she hadn't long to wait. She all but pounced on him, seizing his arm and dragging him away from the early morning bustle.

Matteo sent her a sidelong glance as they hurried away from the palace gate. "Anyone who sees us will click their tongues and complain that the city's doxies have become far too aggressive! If you've no thought for your own reputation, Tzigone, have you considered mine?"

"You're a jordain," she retorted. "Being seen with a courtesan could only improve matters. Never mind that right now. I need you to find someone for me."

"You found someone willing to speak of Keturah?"

"Well, sort of. I came straight out and asked Basel Indoulur if he knew anything about Keturah. He suggested someone who might be able to help me."

Matteo's eyes widened with alarm. "Did you tell him she was your mother?"

"How stupid do I look?" His eyes dropped briefly to her tawdry gown. "You know what I mean."

"Indeed. Tell me about this person you wish me to find."

"Dhamari Exchelsor. He's a generalist wizard, a potion stirrer. You'll find him in the green marble tower at the corner of Sylph Street and South Market Road."

Matteo regarded her thoughtfully. "No doubt I can manage that, but if you know so much already, what do you need me to do? Why not go yourself?"

"He was Keturah's husband."

"Ah. You want me to meet him under some pretense, take his measure," Matteo mused.

"He's very quick," Tzigone announced to no one in particular. Her tart expression melted, and she turned a look of appeal to Matteo. "This could be my best hope of finding the truth about my mother. Perhaps my only hope. I know you jordaini are sworn to truth," she added in a rush, "and I'm not exactly asking you to lie for me. Just sort of… fish around. You know-trim the bait into bite-sized bits but hide the hook…." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

Matteo considered her for a long moment. "You took a risk asking about Keturah so openly. Do you trust Basel Indoulur?"

"Sort of."

His smile was faint and devoid of humor. "A common sentiment these days. Very well, I will see this wizard and learn what I can."

Acting on impulse, Tzigone threw her arms around Matteo's neck. From the corner of her eye, she noted two white-clad men coming from the palace gate. Mischief seized her, and she let herself drop. Matteo's arms went instinctively around her to keep her from falling. After a moment she released him and stepped back, her eyes twinkling and her lips curved in a lazy, replete smile.

"Oh no, my lord," she protested breathlessly as she handed him back his own coin bag. "Who could put a price on such mastery?"

She heaved a deep sigh and smoothed her hair. Then, turning, she sauntered off with a doxie's undulating swish.

She glanced back and grinned when she noted the respectful stares the other jordaini sent Matteo. One of the men clapped him on the shoulder in comradely fashion as he passed.

Matteo glowered at her and closed the distance between them with a few quick strides. "You were worried about your reputation," Tzigone said innocently, backing up to keep her distance. "It seems to have risen a trifle."

His stern expression wavered, and his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. Quickly he reclaimed his scowl and snatched up a melon from a passing cart. He tossed a coin to the protesting merchant, and then hefted the melon and aimed it at Tzigone.

She fled with a startled squeal, scurrying into an alcove in the thick wall of the palace. When no missile hurtled by, she chanced a glimpse out.

Matteo stood a few paces away. He held out a neatly carved slice. "Breakfast?"

Tzigone took the offered fruit and patted the bench beside her. Matteo settled down. In companionable silence, the queen's counselor and the painted street waif shared the fruit and split the loaf that Tzigone produced from her bag. For once, Matteo didn't ask her how she'd come by it. Nor did he comment upon the strange looks that passersby sent the mismatched pair.

They did not speak of the differences that separated them or the troubles that bound them. Nonetheless, by the time the sun edged over the eastern wall of the city, the darkness had likewise lifted from Tzigone's heart.