Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 7
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Chapter 7
Sergeant Jabari took another sip of tea. She knew she shouldn’t, that it would just make her bladder hurt even more, but her mouth was so dry she figured it was worth it.
The shack they were hiding in was old and dusty; the slightest movement would raise a cloud to make them cough and their eyes water. They sat there, as still as they could, just watching the Wall and talking sporadically in low voices.
The sky was lightening a little already. Dawn was still an hour off, she guessed, but shortly it would be light enough that residents would begin stirring, and she could go catch a nap. One of the others would take over.
“No luck this time, I guess,” she said.
Larima grunted. She was tired, too, even though she’d come out at midnight to change with one of the other constables. She’d stay here for another four hours until someone replaced her, while Jabari was gone.
Mistress de la Corda was a very dead end so far, and their best hope of getting to the bottom of it was to catch someone going into that building.
Shortly, Rasha entered from the rear, and squatted down next to her, looking out at the Wall through one of the cracks in the shack wall.
“Go get some sleep, Sarge. Me and Larima’ll take it for awhile.”
“Thanks. Gotta pee anyway,” she said, and covered her nose and mouth with a cloth as she rose, surrounded by clouds of dust. “Larima, you’re in charge.”
Outside, she took a deep breath of air, slapped some of the dust off her clothes, and stretched.
The public bath had a toilet, and she headed there first… the bath would be closed this early in the morning, but not the toilet. And then home for some winks.
Around noon she awoke, still a bit fuzzy from lack of sleep but good enough. She headed to the Constabulary barracks to talk to Ragnarsson.
The Captain had stayed by the Skala Eresou gate the first night, hoping for word of a visitor, but only that once. He had other responsibilities, too, and couldn’t spend all his time drinking tea and waiting for her to call.
Either they’d been spotted, or there simply weren’t any visitors.
The Captain was in his office shuffling paper as he was so frequently these days.
“Sergeant Ng’s men have been asking around,” said the Captain, “and it seems that this de la Corda had a boyfriend. They were seen several times down in the Lofts.”
The Lofts, originally named after the haylofts that once stood there before Celephaïs expanded to its present size, was the entertainment district, with an ever-changing collection of theaters, bars, gambling halls, and of course brothels.
“Does this boyfriend have a name?”
“Cuk’y’marek, originally of Chaldaea. For what it’s worth. He’s either left Celephaïs, or he’s the one who died with de la Corda. Nobody’s seen him since then.”
“Anyone know where he was staying?”
“Just a flophouse in The Lofts. We already checked, but there’s nothing there at all.”
“So, another dead end?”
“Other than they were seen together for about a year, zip.”
“Well, shit…”
“Yeah. More tea?”
“Thanks.”
“Nothing at your end?”
Jabari sipped the tea, feeling more awake already.
“Actually,” she said, “ there’s something I wanted to ask you about. It’s… delicate”
“Delicate? As in, nobles?”
“Yeah. Twice in the last week a servant from High City has come to Skala Eresou, for no particular reason that we could see. They wandered around near the bath…”
“Boreas Bath?” the captain interrupted.
“Yessir, the same one. They didn’t actually go to de la Corda’s shop, but they walked past it a few times.”
The Captain nodded, listening.
“The second woman asked the bathhouse what had happened, pointing at the wreckage. The bathhouse didn’t know anything, of course, and just said there’d been a fire and de la Corda and some unknown man had been found dead.”
“Whose servants?”
“Poietes Liang Caihong.”
“Damn. A Poietes and a noble!”
“Yessir. He’s out of my reach, I’m afraid.”
Ragnarsson lifted his cup to drink, found it empty, and put it back down with a scowl.
“I asked some people who would know down at the seadocks, Jabari, and there are no reports of any gnorri in the area. Zero. The agreement with them is holding as far as anyone knows, but since they don’t have any cities around here nobody’s even seen one in these parts for years. It’s still not impossible, but a gnorri swimming that sewer pipe seems pretty unlikely.”
“No boat, no swimmer… you sure about entry from the upstream end?”
“If Artificer Marcus is sure, I’m sure. He takes his work very seriously.”
“So now what?”
“Keep digging, Jabari, keep digging,” said Ragnarsson. “And I’ll talk to a few people in High City.”
“Yessir.”
After Jabari left, Ragnarsson called in his second, a woman named Wang Ai. She was quiet, capable, and had left fingernail furrows across his back once, long ago.
“Wang, you know anything about Poietes Liang Caihong?”
She shook her head.
“Not really… He’s up in High City and I never go that way if I can avoid it… everyone’s too prancy for me. Yourself excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed dryly. “His name has turned up in this Skala Eresou murder.”
He filled her in on the latest details.
“Would you have better luck looking into his connection that I would?”
She thought for a moment.
“Maybe. I don’t know if he maintains any sort of connection with the local Chinese community or not, but if he does I can get find out what anyone outside High City knows, I think. You’d have better luck digging around up there, though.”
Ragnarsson made a grimace. “Yeah, but I don’t look forward to it. They always smile, but the knives are right there waiting for you to make a slip.”
“That’s what they pay you for, right?” She grinned. “How soon do you need this?”
“We’re getting nowhere in Skala Eresou, and the trail’s getting cold. Soon.”
“I’m on it, Cap. I’ll go look up a few friends now, if that’s OK?”
“Yeah, go. And thanks.”
“Sir,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment, and slipped out.
* * *
That evening as he was getting ready to walk back to his home in High City, Wang walked back in. She shrugged out of her harness, hanging it up on the wall, and sat down at his desk with a thump.
“You look tired, Wang.”
“Tired, sir. Had to convince a few people to let me talk to a few other people. It can get complicated.”
Ragnarsson laughed. “Tell me about it! I ran into the same problem down on the seadocks the other day.”
“But you were in one of those two-tough-guys-face-each-other-down situations; I had to convince a few men they really shouldn’t try to give a girl a hard time.”
“Life’s a bitch at times,” he said, handing her a glass of wine and pouring another for himself. “See if this helps ease the pain.”
She took it with a nod of thanks, and drank a slug.
“So this Liang guy is apparently pretty well known in certain circles. It seems he’s been selling something very expensive to a very select clientele. He never shows himself, but his servants always seem to be involved in the transaction one way or another.
“Word on the street is he’s pushing honeydrops.”
Ragnarsson sighed.
“So that’s it, then… this is all connected.”
“Looks that way, Captain.”
“Did anyone have any ideas about where he’s getting the stuff?”
“Nope, and that’s pretty strange in itself. Not a whisper. But he seems to have a lot of it.”
“You have a list of customers?”
“Yeah, a few known customers and a few more that show the signs,” she said, handing over a sheet of paper.
The Honey of the Goddess, usually found in small beads that looked like pearls, iridescent and highly reflective, could delay aging. It wasn’t physically habit-forming, but its effect gradually lessened, requiring the user to consume more and more honeydrops to hold back the tide of aging until they finally died—usually of a horrible, accelerated death.
Using honeydrops meant sure death, but to many that was a small price to pay for extra years of youth and vitality instead of dying of old age.
He glanced over the list, recognizing most of the names as wealthy—and old—residents of the city. This was way, way over his paygrade.
He’d have to take it to the Pinnacle.
* * *
The Street of Pillars was the only road that ran straight through all three walls, from the sea direct to the Pinnacle, where it ended in the Pinnacle Gate. From there the paved road switch-backed up the steep flanks of the brownish-black talon of bedrock that was the Pinnacle, passing various buildings and parks scattered across its flanks like cherry blossom petals, their pink marble glowing in the sunlight, before finally reaching the wide, open top where the Palace of the Seventy Delights stood.
Resplendent in their uniform of polished leather and crimson cloth, the constables at the gate saluted him crisply, and bowed when has handed them his sword. Even as an officer of the Constabulary, he had to leave his sword at the gate to the Pinnacle. He could keep his dagger, of course—everyone had a dagger or two.
“You may pass, Captain Ragnarsson.”
He nodded his thanks and stepped onto the paved slope, trudging up.
He’d sent a messenger earlier requesting audience on a matter of pressing urgency, and wondered who would be waiting for him.
He wasn’t going to the Palace, of course, only one of the several small buildings on the way intended for this very purpose.
The meeting place was a simple dome of greenish marble streaked with gold, on columns of white. Surrounded by flowers and a few small shrubs, it offered a stunning view of the city below, with the seadocks stretching out into the waters of the Celephaïs Strait. It was also isolated, ensuring that anything said here would remain secret.
Chuang, the King’s advisor, was waiting, smoking on a long-stemmed pipe. A small pot of tea and two cups sat nearby.
“Captain Ragnarsson, on time as ever I see,” he said. “At ease, please. Sit.”
“Thank you, Master Chuang. I apologize for taking time from your busy schedule, but I believe the matter is urgent… and delicate.”
“Ah. So the matter of the Honey of the Goddess has ascended to High City, then?”
“You are aware of the honeydrops!?” Ragnarsson was astonished. “I thought we had been keeping that fairly quiet…”
“You have. I have very good ears.”
Ragnarsson grimaced.
“So I see. But no matter… it will make our discussion easier.”
“Please, tell me what you have discovered. My sources are good, but you hold many of the strings.”
He told the entire story to Chuang, ending with the suggestion that Poietes Liang Caihong was involved, and possibly the key to the whole affair.
Chuang sipped his tea.
“Poietes Liang is a master athlete, famed for his abilities in the sports and martial arts, and a key supporter of the Games. He is also famous for his beauty, and his sexual conquests of both men and women. I would not be surprised to hear that his youth and beauty were failing, and he turned to honey.”
“We have no proof of anything, Master Chuang.”
“But you believe the facts point that way, do you not?”
“Yes. There is little I can do in High City, though, although my home is there.”
“Yes, I agree this is a matter for the King. Or an Agent,” murmured Chuang, obviously deep in thought. He picked a small bell up from the table and rang it once.
Ragnarsson heard boots running toward them and started to leap up, only to be waved back down by Chuang.
An officer appeared, sword sheathed, and stood at attention.
“Yes, Master Chuang?”
“Take horses, and bring the Chief Artificer here immediately. Instruct him to bring recent plans related to the proposed cistern repair. Take several men with you and provide him with every assistance. And ask Commander Britomartis if she would join us for a moment.”
The man bowed and raced off down the road toward the gate.
Chuang turned to the captain again.
“How familiar are you with the Honey of the Goddess, Captain?”
“Not at all, Master Chuang. I have seen honeydrops, of course, but nothing more.”
“They are found only in Khor, a village on the Zuro River between Hlanith and Lhosk. Have you ever been there?”
“No, Master Chuang. I’ve visited Lhosk, but no other places across the Celephaïs Strait.”
“It’s a tiny village, built on top of a rock overlooking the Zuro. The villagers are known as pearl-fishers, and it is generally thought that the honeydrops are harvested from their pearl beds, either in the river delta or the sea itself.”
Ragnarsson nodded.
“I fear that someone—possibly Poietes Liang—has a source of the Honey here in Celephaïs. And if that is the case, Captain Ragnarsson, the matter is most urgent. And most dangerous.”
The Captain wanted to ask more about the Honey and the mentioned danger, but it was obvious that Chuang wasn’t going to explain himself. They watched a three-master set to sea, sails snapping into billows with the wind, exposing the bright red shantak on the mainsail. A ship of Inganok, then.
“…and make sure he gets that ballista fixed. Today, Drust!”
It was a woman’s voice, coming from the inclined Pinnacle road.
Quick footsteps approached, and a stunningly beautiful woman stepped around the corner to join them. She had flawless, pale skin and red-tinged cheeks, framed by short brown curls, and was clearly a warrior: a rough tunic, mostly hidden behind a leather vest and skirt sewn with bronze plates of armor, a harness crossing her with a dagger, and two scimitars on her back, their worn hilts protruding up behind her shoulders on either side.
“Master Chuang, your messenger just caught me. Having some trouble with one of the crews at the Palace.”
He waved her over.
“Commander Britomartis, this is Captain Ragnarsson of the city Constabulary. I believe you’ve met already?”
The captain, who had hurriedly stood up as she entered, now saluted.
“Yes, Master Chuang, we meet often. Commander, I am at your service.”
“At ease, Captain. We’re here to work, not strut.”
She unceremoniously sat down on an empty bench and started to reach for the tea, then noticed there were only two cups, both being used.
“Mater Chuang? May I?”
“Yes, please,” he nodded.
She rang the bell and another guard appeared. She told him to fetch more tea and cups, and Chuang mentioned that another person would be joining them shortly. The guard quickly scurried off.
“Who else is coming?” Britomartis asked.
“The Chief Artificer,” said Chuang.
She raised one eyebrow, waiting.
“It seems we have a problem involving High City, the waterworks, and the Honey of the Goddess,” said Chuang quietly. “Marcus will join us shortly, and perhaps we can wait until then to discuss the details.”
“Of course, Master Chuang. May I ask how High City fits into this?”
“We aren’t sure yet, but it looks like Poietes Liang is involved.”
“Poietes Liang… that’s awkward,” she said, then turned toward the roadway, where the guard had just arrived. “Come!”
The guard brought in a tray with a large teapot and six cups, plus a small basket of sweet rolls. He placed it on the table, clearing away the first teapot and cups, bowed, all without saying a word.
“Thank you, Garius,” said Britomartis. “When the Chief Artificer arrives he is to be shown in at once.”
“Yes, Commander.”
He saluted and left.
She turned back to the other two.
“So. Liang. I’m interested to hear your tale, Captain.”
He smiled. “I’d rather hear yours, Commander… it is difficult to believe all the tales one hears in the alehouses, but your name pops up quite often from reliable people.”
“I’m sure it’s just exaggeration,” she replied. “A good story always makes the wine taste better.”
She sipped her tea.
“But perhaps we should just wait for the Chief Artificer,” she added, making it clear she was here on business. Ragnarsson took the hint.
Officially speaking, Britomartis was commander of the King’s Guard, and not in the chain of command for the city Constabulary, which in theory reported directly to the King. In that sense, he would be her equal, as they both took their orders and accepted their duties from the King.
In practice, though, there was no question that she was in charge. In emergencies, the Commander of the King’s Guard could function as an Agent of the King. In other words, she could speak for the King, and while she might be executed later by the King for abusing her authority, when she spoke, people jumped to obey.
And she was clearly deferring to Chuang here, who was (again, in theory) merely an advisor to the King.
Poor Ragnarsson was low man on the totem pole.
In another few minutes there was a clatter of hooves, and the Chief Artificer arrived, carrying a rolled-up plan under his arm.
“Master Chuang, Commander,” he greeted them, nodding, and another nod to Captain Ragnarsson. “I brought the latest cistern plan; I believe everything else is up to date.”
“Sit, Marcus,” gestured Chuang. “I will update the memory stick while you have some tea and listen to Captain Ragnarsson. I know you’ve heard some of this already, but the Commander has not, and you should hear the full story.”
Chuang took the rolled-up plan and spread it out on the paving stones near the table, placing rocks on the four corners to hold it flat. He pulled a small black case from his sleeve. Covered in black leather, it looked like it might hold a small pipe, for example. He opened it and pulled out a short rod of bone or ivory, covered with intricate carvings.
Ragnarsson wanted to watch when Chuang was doing but dragged his eyes back to Britomartis and Marcus, who were waiting.
He went through the entire story once again, pausing only to answer immediate questions for clarification.
After he finished the four of them sat silent for a moment.
“You think the damaged cistern and the Honey are related, then?” asked Britomartis.
Chuang nodded.
“The timing is very suspicious, but hopefully we can get a better idea from Chief Marcus’s plans.” He started to clear the table, and everyone else immediately jumped to move their own cups out of the way.
Chuang stood the ivory-colored rod on end in the center of the table, then placed a small cone of black incense into a cavity at the base. He lit it with his flint, and it immediately began to release a cloud of bluish-gray smoke, which was somehow sucked into the rod, and then released in thin streams of ghostly vapor across the tabletop, slowly forming into lines that wavered and quivered, but grew thicker and darker as they watched.
“A memory stick!” breathed Ragnarsson. “I’ve never seen one before!”
“This is a complete map of the city,” explained Chuang. “We can see any part of the city, including all of its aqueducts and tunnels. And more to the point, we can also see the shack you mentioned—here—and the sewage tunnel running under it,” he pointed to a ghostly line on the table, “and the damaged cistern.”
Britomartis reached out and tapped a small rectangle in High City.
“This is Liang’s estate.”
“Well, I’d say that’s pretty strong evidence, wouldn’t you?” asked Chuang.
Marcus nodded.
The sewage line ran from the shack in Skala Eresou to the damaged cistern. And half of the damaged underground cistern was on the estate of Poietes Liang Caihong.
“Chief Marcus, cut the water supply to that cistern immediately, if it isn’t already. And I think we’re going to need more people,” said Chuang. He picked up the bell again to summon the guard. “Bring Alchemist Ihejirika at once,” he ordered, then turned to Captain Ragnarsson.
“Captain Ragnarsson, we have almost certainly been invaded, and Poietes Liang is either a traitor or one of the invaders. We face a noble’s castle defended by his personal guard, and an unknown number of human and other defenders at the cistern. As Captain of the city Constabulary you will be in charge. Commander Britomartis of the King’s Guard and I will assist you.”
Ragnarsson was speechless.
“Invaded…? Commander Britomartis and you will…? I…”
“Thank you, Captain,” nodded Britomartis. “Master Chuang and I will deal with High City, and with your permission I will bring the Alchemist and his equipment, along with some raptors, and troops familiar with this enemy. Captain, you have a free hand in selecting your own force. I suggest two to three dozen should be sufficient. For weapons and armor the Armory is yours.”
“I… thank you, Commander, Master Chuang.” Captain Ragnarsson recovered, stood straight, and saluted. “But… what invasion, exactly? And why the Alchemist?”
Chuang rubbed his forehead.
“I mentioned the source of the Honey of the Goddess earlier, Captain. I think the time has come to explain in more detail.”
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Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 8