Fic: At the Hands of the Wicked, part one
Jan. 1st, 2007 04:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quasar273Fandom: Sarah Monette's Melusine books
Title: At the Hands of the Wicked
Author: Quasar
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Felix/Gideon, Felix/Mildmay
Length: ~15000 wds
Summary: After his rescue from the Bastion, Mildmay is troubled by a ghost.
Author's Note: I wrote this for the Yuletide Treasure rare fandom secret Santa project. I had never encountered the books before, but they looked more interesting than the fandom I said I would write a story for, so I read these instead. This story is set after the second book, 'The Virtu,' and may or may not be completely jossed when the third book comes out in August 2007.
Mildmay
First time I seen her was around the end of the first decad of Messidor. I didn't even notice the date until later. Last indiction, I flat out missed it. It had to've come around sometime, probably about when we were leaving Troia. But what with foreign talk all around us, and Felix trying to get me to talk flash whenever we had a minute to speak Marathine together, I lost track of the old calendar and didn't notice until we were in Klepsydra and it was already late Messidor, or Dúroc, whatever you care to call it.
By the time we got back to Mélusine, what with all the septad and six putrid things that happened on the way and after we got here -- and a little good stuff too, like Mehitabel -- I wasn't hardly thinking about Ginevra anymore. Every few days, I'd remember, and it still felt like a hole'd been punched through my chest when I thought of her lying throat-cut in the Dead Gallery. So pale and peaceful she looked, but I know there wasn't no way it could've been peaceful for her at all, at the end. But I wasn't thinking of her every minute these days, because I had bigger bugs biting me.
I didn't feel guilty about it, not really. I mean, I wouldn't want to forget her completely, but it didn't make no difference to Ginevra if I beat my head on the bricks because she was gone. It did make a difference to me, and I liked not being wretched all the time, so it was okay by me if the memory of her stood back a little into the distance.
Of course, the things that were keeping my mind off her weren't exactly fun, either. Specially Strych. I still didn't remember what all he'd done to me, but I had some dire dreams about it.
We'd been back in the Mirador a few decads, and Felix was all wrapped up in court stuff getting himself accepted again, and him and Gideon seemed happy enough with each other, and I hadn't thought about Ginevra in the better part of a septad, when one day I looked up and there she was.
At first I thought it was one of the parlor maids that just happened to look like Ginevra. Those stuffy high-necked dresses she used to wear for working in that Carnelian Road jewelry shop weren't so different from what the maids wore in the Mirador. But this wasn't no maid, because she looked straight at me, and she smiled, and then she disappeared. Not with a flash or all at once -- she just sort of faded out.
And me standing in the corridor staring like a gap-wit.
There was other folk about. Maids, like I thought she was at first, and others going about their duties. I was using the servant halls for a short-cut, because no one hassled me there. Mostly they were too busy to stop and talk. But they didn't specially appreciate having an idiot stopping up their hallway for them when they was trying to get work done, so I got jostled some before I pulled my wits back about me and started walking again.
I told myself it was just my imagination. But then later that night I remembered what date it was, and my heart just about stopped in my chest. What did it mean? I never seen a ghost before, even though I can feel when they're about. But I saw her, all right, plain and solid-looking as any person you can touch.
I thought her appearing must have been something to do with the anniversary, because I didn't see her again after that. At least, not until the fever came on me.
Felix
I was ashamed that it took me so long to notice that my brother was sick. Ashamed, but not particularly surprised; I'd warned him more than a year ago that I wasn't a nice person and there would be times when being ignored would be the best he could expect from me. But that was before the obligation d'âme, before I had a thread linking him to me so that I could sense him every hour of every day. Before I truly understood how much I loved and desired him, and before I drove him into the hands of Malkar Gennadion in hopes of saving my own pitiful neck. I should have learned to pay better attention, but apparently I hadn't.
The winter rains came early and hard, as they had two years before -- or so I was told, for I couldn't remember that time at all clearly. The previous winter, by contrast, had been mild and relatively dry. That was fortunate for us, as we were on the road then, traveling in caravans and an elderly durance, sleeping in inns or sometimes open fields, vulnerable to the weather.
I had been busy with one court function after another, trying to rehabilitate my reputation. I wasn't expecting to be reinstated as a member of the Curia, and in fact I didn't entirely want reinstatement; the power and the prestige appealed, to be sure, but not the additional rules and obligations that would hem me around if I took up my old position again. Instead, I discussed thaumaturgical theory with anyone who would speak to me. With Vida and Giancarlo I stuck to more innocuous subjects such as the Sybilline, Troian divination, and architectural thaumaturgy. With Gideon I could speak of things that were technically heresy by Cabaline rules: Troian healing, labyrinths, necromancy both benign and otherwise. Thaddeus spoke to me rarely, but I exerted myself to be pleasant on such occasions. Stephen and the other Teverii I avoided, but treated with respect when we were forced into conversation.
I was also trying to guess what Robert of Hermione might be planning next. I was certain he had something in mind, just from the gleam in his eye and the curl of his lip whenever he looked in my direction. There might be nothing I could do to throw his schemes off course, but at least I wanted to be properly warned. If he was still trying to undermine my reputation -- as he had when he told the court I was a whore, and again when he tried to convince Giancarlo I was still "unstable" -- I might be able to limit the damage. Or perhaps I could even strike back; two could play at the scandal game.
I thought to ask my brother to tease out whatever rumors he could, either concerning Robert's plans or any useful skeletons from his past. Mildmay didn't like to share his methods with me, but I suspected some combination of stealthy observation and gossiping with servants. Neither technique was possible for me, as I was too well-known to every inhabitant of the Mirador. Mildmay should have been equally conspicuous, with his hair even brighter red than mine and the salacious rumors circulating about our relationship, but somehow he managed to be invisible when he wished it. It was not a trick I had ever mastered.
I dragged myself out of bed one morning earlier than was my wont, hoping to catch Mildmay before he went off on his own mysterious errands. I opened the door to the small side-room off my own suite, saying, "Mildmay, I need your --" and froze.
He was still abed, huddled on his side under blankets mounded so high I thought for a moment he must have someone in there with him. But only his face appeared, red-nosed and puffy-eyed, when he pushed the blankets down to look at me.
"You look terrible," I said, and he did. His face was pale, save for the red on the tip of his nose and feverish flags above his cheekbones. His eyelashes were clumped with mucus, and he shivered despite the stuffy heat of the room. As he started to sit up, a wet cough took hold of him, and he curled in on himself, making that dreadful rattling sound with every breath.
"Feel putrid," he gasped out at last.
"Stay in bed," I told him. "I'll get Gideon." Since he had sworn no oaths as a Cabaline wizard, it was not technically heresy for Gideon to perform healing magic, although it might add to the scandal that dogged me, if anyone found out. I didn't care about my reputation just then; in fact, I wished I knew some healing spells of my own. I watched anxiously as Gideon drew sigils about the bed and laid his hands on Mildmay's chest and throat. He made no incantation, of course, but I could just sense a distant mutter flowing through his mind in words I didn't understand.
Mehitabel appeared with a posset and a foul-smelling plaster for Mildmay's chest. I didn't ask how she had learned that he was sick, or how she had gotten through the Mirador's gates. I just waited and let the others fuss until Mildmay demanded irritably to be left alone. When Gideon and Mehitabel were gone, I stepped to my brother's bedside.
"Would you like me to ward your dreams?" I asked.
Something odd passed across his face, which was always so still and unreadable. I would almost have said it was some combination of relief and sadness, or even grief, but that made no sense. I had merely guessed that he might be having unpleasant dreams about his captivity in the Bastion; why would he grieve to have such dreams removed for a while?
"Yeah, that'd be good," he muttered. He did sound a little better, I told myself.
I touched his hot forehead and whispered the words to keep him safe, for a while, in his sleep.
Mildmay
Since I was thinking about the old calendar, I noticed when next Neuvième came around. Felix forgot to order me to stay clear of the Lower Town after that time he sent me on a fool's errand to Dassament. I didn't see no need to remind him of it. Couldn't hurt for me to spend an afternoon down at Fishmarket, anyway, and I knew well enough how to get around without being marked by them that hated me.
My fever was gone, and the cough too, mostly. I still wasn't sleeping right, but I felt okay to be walking around. It was a bitter cold day, but at least it wasn't raining. I figured a heavy coat, hat and gloves would do well enough to keep me warm on top of making me less noticeable.
I only had to wait a bit before Cardenio got off duty, and the surprise on his face when I stepped in his path was something to see. We walked into Richard's Park and he kept stealing little glances at me, up and down. "You look different," he said.
Even with the hat on, my hair showed about the edges. I tugged at it a little. "I don't dye it anymore," I said.
"No, that's not it. I always knew about your hair anyway," said Cardenio. "It's something in your eyes, and the way you move."
I looked down. "Leg got messed up in a shipwreck last year," I said. And that hurt enough to think about; I didn't want to hear no more about other ways I'd changed. "I'm sorry I ain't been down to see you, Cardenio. Felix --" I couldn't just say he wouldn't let me come, even though it was true. And saying I was too busy would be a different kind of insult.
But Cardenio said, "I know. I met your brother a while back."
I stopped in my tracks and stared.
"Had to take a message to him from the Kalliphorne," said Cardenio, looking sort of shy about it, but a little smug too. "About you being taken out of the city. I'm glad you're back safe, Mildmay."
"Me too," I said, but I was still working on what he'd told me. "You went up to the Mirador?"
"Well, I couldn't exactly send the message with someone else, could I? I had to call in favors from one person and another. That nice lady, that Miss Parr, she helped me get word to your brother with nobody else hearing of it."
I hadn't bothered to ask Felix how he found me. I thought he just figured it out from those dreams Strych -- Malkar, Felix calls him -- was sending him. Seems I had more people fighting to get me back than I guessed. "Well, uh, thanks," I said, and coughed.
"Oh, Cade, I forgot about you and your winter chills," said Cardenio. "Come on, let's get out of this wind and you can tell me all your adventures over dinner."
The corner table in the Wheat-Dancer was private enough, but even so I didn't tell him everything. Not that Cardenio would be surprised to hear I done things illegal, immoral, and sort of heretical. But I couldn't really explain all the weird hocus stuff Felix had done or why he had to do it, since I didn't get half the reasons myself. And I sure as shit didn't want to talk about the obligation d'âme. The story was plenty long even without those bits and took up the best part of the meal. Finally we got past all the catching-up we had to do, and I could ask him what I came for.
"Cardenio, what do you -- what do cade-skiffs know about ghosts?"
He blinked. "Wouldn't you be better asking them hocuses up at the Mirador about that?"
I shook my head. "Cabaline wizards don't believe in ghosts. Claim they don't exist."
He looked like I'd hit him upside the head with a bargepole. "Of course they exist!"
"Ever seen one?" I asked quick and sharp.
"No . . ." He frowned a little, as if he had to give it thought. "I've felt 'em, though. You can tell when they're near, if you pay attention."
"I know," I sighed. "I been in the Boneprince at septad-night. You don't have to tell me."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because I never seen one either," I told him. "Until now."
His eyes went round.
"You saw her," I said. "I mean, when she died. She was brought in by cade-skiffs."
"Your lady-friend?"
"Anybody mention a new ghost around the Dead Gallery? Or near St. Kirban's?"
He shook his head. "Not that I've heard of."
"Shit." I had to look away. "Why's she haunting me, then? Why not the place where she died, or them that killed her?"
Cardenio scratched his head. "Well . . . in the stories, ghosts always want something. Give 'em what they want and you lay 'em to rest."
"But what about when they won't tell you what they want?" I exploded.
Cardenio just shook his head. "Mildmay, why are you asking me this?"
I shrugged. "Thought you might know. You or the other cade-skiffs. You work with the dead, I thought you'd know about ghosts."
"I know stories, same as you. Why don't you ask your brother?"
I jerked. "I told you, Cabalines don't believe in ghosts."
"From what I've heard of Felix Harrowgate, he's not exactly one to follow the rules." And how the hells did Cardenio come to know so much about my brother?
"I don't want --" I couldn't finish. Didn't want to be beholden; didn't want to lean on Felix for everything; didn't want to be swallowed up by him completely and stop being my own person.
"If I had a problem with a ghost, and I knew a smart, powerful hocus I could trust, I know who I'd be asking," Cardenio said.
I stood up and threw a coin on the table. "Thanks, Cardenio. Nice seeing you again."
Felix
I am not by nature a patient man, but after the Bastion I learned to wait. I waited for Mildmay to be ready to speak again, or ready to speak to me, in specific. I waited for him to tell me whatever it was he thought I should know.
After Gideon treated Mildmay's illness, there were long days of tension and tiresome court brangling. Robert had tried to create trouble over Gideon's use of magic on Mildmay, but I had managed to head him off by initiating a debate with Stephen over the occasional merits of certain healing practices -- though of course, they would never do for a Cabaline wizard, oh no. With Stephen's bemused assent heard by all, Robert couldn't make an issue out of what was, in any light, a very minor transgression.
I didn't trouble Mildmay with the tale of this petty intrigue, nor did he share his own worries with me. But quite abruptly one evening he came to the desk where I was working on my correspondence, and said, "You see ghosts."
I blinked. "No, but I can sense them sometimes."
Mildmay frowned. "You used to."
"Ah." I sat back and considered the scattered memories of the time I had spent under Malkar's assorted curses. "Yes, that's true. I saw them and heard them, when I was . . . insane."
Mildmay's breath whooshed out. "You think I'm mad?"
"No, I do not!" I said harshly, making him step back a little. I was about to follow up with the explanation that he was still recovering from Malkar's influence, and naturally that would take some time. But something in his manner made me pause and trace back the conversation. "Have you been seeing ghosts?" I asked at last.
He shrugged a shoulder. "One."
"And because of that, you fear you're insane?"
Another shrug. "Dunno."
I pushed back a few hairs that had escaped from my queue and tried to consider the matter dispassionately. "I don't think you're mad. It's possible some of the magic you've been . . . subjected to may have given you an enhanced sensitivity to such things. I'll research the matter for you, if you wish. But ghosts are nearly always harmless. Most of them simply re-enact whatever experience was most important in their lives, and they take no heed of the living."
Mildmay and licked his lips thoughtfully. "She sees me, too."
That was certainly unusual. "You're certain of that?"
"Smiles at me. Sometimes she . . . I think she wants me to follow her."
"Did you know this person, when she was alive?"
He nodded and swallowed hard. "Ginevra."
I'd heard the name before: a lover whose death, before we met, troubled Mildmay greatly. But from the little I knew of her it was unlikely in the extreme that she'd ever been to the Mirador.
"Does she speak to you?" I asked.
He shooked his head. "First I thought it was the day," he said obscurely. "Then the fever. But she still comes to me, awake and asleep."
The whole thing sounded wrong to me. Ghosts normally appeared in places significant to them; a place where they lived, or died, or were buried. I had never heard of a ghost haunting a specific person. "I'll do some research," I promised. "Give me a few days. Tell me if you see her again, or dream of her, but do nothing yet, do you hear me?"
He nodded, still frowning, and drifted away.
~*~
I walked the paths of the garden, breathing the warm air rich with the scent of the perseïdes. Thamuris awaited me, as I knew he would, near the Omphalos.
"Something strange is going on," I told him after we had exchanged greetings. "Mildmay is seeing a ghost."
There were ghosts in the Khloïdanikos; not tormented souls, but echoes of the oneiromancers who had created this imaginary dream-garden. Thamuris and I no longer even bothered to dodge them as we strolled the quiet paths. One day, perhaps, my own ghostly echo would walk here in my absence -- if anyone else discovered the secrets of this garden in the future to witness it.
Thamuris tilted his head. "Have you considered that your brother might not be entirely annemer?"
That was unexpected. "Wizardry must be taught at a young age," I parroted my unlamented teacher. "Otherwise --"
"Certainly, he's too old to learn the craft," said Thamuris. "And whatever latent power he might have must be small, or it would have awakened long before. But he might be developing a sensitivity to magic."
It was nearly the same thing I had said to Mildmay myself, but viewed in a different light. I had cast the obligation d'âme on Mildmay and had drawn on his strength when I mended the Virtu. Malkar had very likely cast spells on Mildmay in addition to the dream-sendings I had witnessed. Then there were the healings and curse-removals that had been performed by the Troians themselves. Might all of these together have brought Mildmay to some new awareness of his own magical potential?
I shook my head. "Most wizards don't actually see ghosts unless they use a spell," I objected. Or go insane, I forbore to add.
We had been walking while we spoke, and while I thought. Now we came to a short, decorative wall with a stunted perseïd tree hunched against it. The tree had been dead, or nearly so, during the time that Mildmay was imprisoned by Malkar in the Bastion. Since Mildmay's rescue, some of the branches had budded into leaf, and one into bloom. Even the crumbling wall seemed to be repairing itself.
We were not sure what it meant, but I suspected that the tree somehow represented Mildmay, or perhaps the relationship between myself and Mildmay. Or possibly -- I had not suggested this to Thamuris -- the state of my own blackened soul. All those things had been strained nearly to breaking but had begun to recover slowly since we rescued Mildmay.
Both tree and wall were beginning to look moderately robust by now, despite a few withered branches and a misplaced stone or two. As Thamuris and I approached, we saw that the tree was draped in some sort of cobwebby stuff as if in a shroud. The leaves and flowers were still visible beneath the film, but were beginning to droop a bit.
"Now, what can this signify?" Thamuris asked in bewilderment.
I felt a trace of true alarm begin to thread through my veins. "I think it means that Mildmay is in more danger than I guessed."
Mildmay
Felix didn't use the binding when he told me not to follow Ginevra's ghost. I suppose he reckoned there wasn't no need to. I ain't stupid, and I ain't got the least desire to know where a ghost might lead me.
But it looked like his research wasn't helping much, because Felix didn't talk about it. There was books piled everywhere, but he would just grab one, flip through the pages and then toss it aside. He had Gideon checking too, but Gideon looked just as frustrated even if he didn't go throwing books around.
After a couple nights, Felix came to my room and said he wanted to teach me how to control my dreams. "Lucid" dreaming he called it, and that sounded like a word that Zephyr would've liked. Not such a long flash word as some of his favorites, but pretty, full of moonlight and clear water.
Or maybe I was getting fanciful myself on account of missing too much sleep. I kept feeling weird and disconnected, like the fever hadn't completely let go its hold of me. It was getting worse, too, like a fog hanging between me and everything else, getting a little thicker every day. I hardly heard Felix's voice in my dreams anymore. It was always her, smiling at me and calling my name, turning away and looking back to see if I was following.
Anyway, Felix told me about this lucid thing of his. It wasn't magic, he said; anyone could do it. It just required mental discipline. When I said that didn't sound much like me, he said it just took concentration and focus. I can concentrate, sure enough, when I got something worth paying attention to. So I listened to what Felix told me.
"Imagine you're looking down at Mélusine from the top of the Mirador," he said. "The whole city is laid out before you."
"Like a map?" I asked. I liked maps, but I never seen a map of Mélusine. Never needed one, neither; I knew how to get where I was going.
"A map, yes," he said. "You can see the walls of the city and each of the gates. The Corundum Gate in the north, the Gate of Horn, Carnelian, Chalcedony, Ivory --"
"You skipped Septad-Gate," I said.
Felix frowned. "That one doesn't matter. You don't need a gate in the south."
I figured he didn't like to think about Septad-Gate because of how he hated the Sim. I could understand that, but it made the imaginary map he was telling me to focus on seem wrong and off balance. Specially when he said there wasn't no gate in the northwest, neither.
"Each gate represents a different kind of dream," said Felix. "You decide which gate you want to go out, and that --"
"Why would I want to go out?" I asked.
"What?"
"What if I don't want to leave the city?"
I been out of Mélusine all right. I seen the big wide world beyond the walls and traveled to places most of my old friends couldn't even imagine. But with all I seen, Mélusine is still home. I wouldn't want to leave it without a damn good reason.
"You're not actually leaving the city," Felix explained not too patiently. "This is just a construct so you can control your dreams. Some people might picture an atrium with doors going in each direction, or a map with a compass rose."
That sounded more along my line, but I didn't say so. "Look, maybe I'm just too stupid to learn this stuff --"
"You're not stupid," Felix said right away. "Who told you that?"
I shrugged.
"Did your Keeper say you were stupid?"
"You ain't tried teaching me to read and write," I pointed out.
"No, but I'm sure if you wanted to learn it, you would," he said. "Look how quickly you pick up new languages, or the way you read maps -- the way you can remember a path through a maze after going through it just once, for pity's sake! Mildmay, you're not stupid!"
I had to duck my head so he wouldn't see my face glowing. "Well, but I don't know if I can learn this dream stuff."
"It takes more than one lesson," said Felix. "It's not enough for me to describe the procedure to you; you have to practice it. Each night before you sleep, imagine the city laid out in front of you."
Or the compass rose, I thought to myself. But I nodded.
"You can't control every aspect of your dreams, but you can choose the direction they'll go in," Felix said seriously.
"Doesn't sound like dreaming at all," I said. "Not very restful, is it, if you have to be in control all the time?"
He sighed. "That's why you don't use this for every dream. Just when there's something important you need to find out. Or a nightmare you want to get through so it won't come again, for example."
"Why not just get you to ward my dreams for me?"
"Has that been working?"
I shrugged.
"The warding doesn't last forever, and it doesn't work for all dreams," Felix said. "From what you've said of this ghost, that may be one of the things I can't block. But if you choose the Horn Gate -- the path of true dreaming, you might be able to learn what she really wants from you."
"So it's like a kind of divination?" I asked. "Why not just use those cards you got from Mavortian, then?"
He frowned. "Perhaps I will try that. But the Sybilline is more specific when the caster is also the subject of the reading."
"So maybe I should learn the cards."
Felix shook his head. "That would be too complicated, and it won't work as well without magic. Lucid dreaming is much simpler, and anyone can do it."
"All right," I said. "I'll try it."
Felix smiled at me -- one of his real, kinda lopsided smiles instead of the dazzler he used to light up a room and get everybody wanting to fuck him.
When Felix was gone I got ready for sleep and thought about a map of Mélusine. But just like I expected, it was hard to focus on the gates. They just weren't that interesting. Now, the cathedrals, those made good landmarks. You could find your way anywhere in the city just by looking for the nearest dome or spire -- not counting the Mirador itself, of course; you could see that from just about any spot in Mélusine. I tried to think how Min-Terris and Phi-Kethetin and Ver-Istenna would map out with the compass directions, and I imagined each cathedral as a petal on a rose, and then the wind came up and the rose petals all went whirling away, and when I tried to look for them, there she was.
"Mildmay," Ginevra said, like she was a little unhappy with me, but not really. It was the sort of mood where I just needed to buy her something pretty and she'd perk right up.
"What do you want?" I asked her, because I sort of remembered that was an important thing to know.
"Where have you been? I was waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you, silly-Gilly!" She used to call me that in front of her friends, when I used the alias Gilroi. Hearing her say that and laugh took me right back to the summer days we spent together, and the evenings out on the town, and the nights in my room in Pennycup.
"I been right here," I told her.
"I know that! When are you going to come along?" she demanded, and stamped her foot. We must be late for some show she wanted to see.
"Where?" I asked.
"Come on, I'll show you."
So I climbed out of bed and followed her.
Felix
I cleared enough books from one of the tables in the sitting room that I could lay out the cards of the Sybilline in the spiral pattern that Mavortian had favored the most. First I turned over the center card, which should, if I had cast them correctly, represent Mildmay.
The Cat. Though it was often shown as a friendly pet, in Mavortian's deck this had been rendered as a leopard drowsing in the sun. The Cat could represent stealth, adaptability, or cleverness. It was a card I had drawn for Mildmay before, which probably meant that I had captured at least some of the significance of our current situation in this casting.
Next I started from the outside and worked my way in, turning one card at a time. They should become more relevant to the problem as the spiral moved in toward Mildmay's card.
The Deuce of Grails signified love between two people. That would be Mildmay's lost lover, Ginevra. It must mean that his feelings for her were still important to the current problem. The card wasn't necessarily about romantic love, though; it could possibly signify the feelings between me and Mildmay. I thought the first interpretation more likely, however.
The Maid of Pentacles. Then again, perhaps this one was Ginevra. The only other likely person it could signify would be Mehitabel, but I had never seen her represented with pentacles before.
The Hound. This could be either loyalty or betrayal, depending on context and perspective. No doubt it referred to Mildmay's loyalty to me, and my consistently poor treatment of him. I was trying to do better, but sometimes it seemed about as successful as trying to change the color of my eyes by wishing it.
The River. Not one of my favorite cards, but in the Sybilline it usually meant progress, inevitability, or sometimes the flow of time. We might not be able to avoid what was coming.
The Dead Tree. Classically, it meant missed opportunities and failure. More personally, could it mean the obligation d'âme? Or my own twisted soul?
The Snake. Usually this signified medicine or obscure knowledge. I was unsure how it applied here. Could it be Gideon's magical healing on Mildmay's fever? Or the research we were attempting to do now?
The Drowned Man. My hand shook as I turned this one up. It meant loss, separation, isolation -- but all I could think of was the basements of the Paladin warehouse and the smell of the Sim everywhere.
The Four of Swords. This was an odd card to find in the middle of a such a dire reading; it meant rest or refuge, a place to recover. That was three cards in a row I could not interpret easily.
The Apprentice. Could this mean me? I was long past my apprenticeship and my teacher was fortunately dead, but I had recently been in the position of a student to Mavortian and even to Thamuris. Or was some other apprentice signified? And of what master? It was frustrating to find the reading so clouded as we got to the inner portions of the spiral and the cards that should show the most important or unavoidable events.
The Ten of Staves. This one was simple enough: conflict without resolution. Stalemate. Together with the River, it suggested that we could not truly escape whatever danger threatened Mildmay, but we might be able to turn it to some other target or hold it at bay, with sufficient effort.
And lastly, the card most immediately relevant to Mildmay: Death. I knew it was not a literal death, but instead signified some difficult change or painful growth. But the sigil of Cade-Cholera upon the card seemed to glow malevolently, promising death in its most permanent and irrevocable form.
Gideon was curled in a chair near the fire, watching me ponder the cards. One of the useless tomes I had drawn from the Mirador's many libraries lay open and unregarded upon his lap. :Could there be a curse on Mildmay?: he asked at last.
"No," I snapped.
:Are you certain?: His mental voice was gentle, almost tentative. :You don't perceive curses the way you did when . . . when you first met him, do you?:
I remembered, vaguely, the red-tinged wall of thorns that had closed Mildmay about, the legacy of his murder of Cerberus Cresset. I had a more uncertain memory of those thorns closing in, ripping at Mildmay and trying to strangle him, but I didn't remember what I -- or Gideon or Mavortian -- had done to stop them.
"I don't have to see curses to know there aren't any on him," I said shortly. "The obligation d'âme makes it impossible. There are no spells on Mildmay except the one I cast."
:So it's not possible that Strych could have cursed him through you?: Gideon pressed.
That was more unsettling. Malkar had done things I had never believed possible, using his hold on me to circumvent the wards of the Mirador and break the Virtu. Could he have done something, perhaps in those sendings that invaded my dreams, and removed my memory of it? "I would know," I insisted, but less certainly. "In any case, a curse from Malkar should have ended with his death."
Unless it was one of a half-dozen classes of spell which did not require the caster's continued existence. Gideon knew the possibilities as well as I, and didn't bother to reply; he merely raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Fine." I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. "We'll go check for a curse right now. My methods, and then yours, just to be sure." We wouldn't even have to wake Mildmay, since Gideon's incantations were all silent these days. I opened the door to the small side room where Mildmay slept.
He wasn't there.
I stood frozen in the doorway, just staring at the bedcovers thrown aside, until Gideon came up behind me. :Can you sense him?:
I had to close my eyes a moment to concentrate, but there it was, as soon as I thought about it: a slender thread linking me to my brother. My esclavin.
"This way!" I snapped and charged out of the suite.
It was a long and twisted journey we took, down and around and through and along the Mirador's labyrinthine corridors. Mildmay couldn't be far ahead of us and probably wasn't moving fast, but whatever time we saved by running was lost when we missed a crucial turning or doorway. I tried to force myself to move more cautiously, but all my instincts were crying at me to hurry.
The River. The Drowned Man. Death.
As the trail led us downward into unused pathways, I began to fear that we would end up in the water-garden maze that lay directly beneath the Hall of the Chimeras. The water of the Sim diverted into that maze wasn't even ankle-deep, but that was before the winter rains deluged the city. How deep and swift would that water-maze run now?
Gideon seemed to have the same thought. :Perhaps he thinks the labyrinth will lay this ghost to rest.:
"Perhaps he's not thinking at all," I snarled. "I told him not to follow her!"
These halls were long unused, and the doors we passed through had rusted hinges. Fortunately, this meant we could see Mildmay's tracks clearly in the dust. It also helped that he had not re-locked any of the doors behind him, even when we saw knee-prints to show that he had paused to pick a lock.
:Only one set of footprints,: Gideon pointed out. :This is not the path to the water garden, then.: Unfairly, he didn't have to catch his breath to speak.
He was right. The footprints from our journey here some months ago -- and cane prints, in Mavortian's case -- would not have faded yet. These corridors must be some new maze we had not followed before. I only hoped that Mildmay's unerring sense for labyrinths would help him avoid whatever pitfall the ghost might be leading him toward.
At least the footprints we folllowed showed us that Mildmay had shoes on, of the soft-soled type he favored for stealth. He couldn't be wearing much aside from a nightshirt and perhaps a hastily-snatched robe, though. Gideon and I were still dressed, but he was barefoot and I had on the slippers I often wore in the evening. The corridors grew colder as we headed onward and downward, and Gideon was beginning to shiver.
We came to a heavy metal door flaking with rust, and the multiple knee-prints before it showed that Mildmay must have taken some time to get through the lock. Beyond that was a cramped tunnel where I had to duck to get through, and after a short distance another matching door.
:Was that the wall of the Mirador we just passed?: Gideon asked.
"Yes. We're in the Arcane now."
:But that door was unguarded!:
I shrugged. I had felt the wards as we passed through; those would be enough to protect against any common intrusion. Ignorance was an even stronger protection. The network of tunnels and streets and crypts that lay everywhere beneath Mélusine formed a maze of its own, which had never been properly mapped. It was probable that no one even knew these tunnels and those doors existed.
No one except Mildmay's lover's ghost, it seemed.
We crept through a frigid catacomb bricked with skulls, and then another passage lined with femurs and smaller bones stacked atop. The city of Mélusine stood upon the bones of the unnamed dead, founded upon a history no one remembered.
The air was getting damp. :What is that smell?: Gideon had a look as if he recognized it but could not quite put a name to it.
I knew it only too well. "The Sim." Under my determination to find Mildmay there began to run an undercurrent of gibbering horror. "Hurry!"
We came out of the catacombs into a broader arching tunnel full of the murmur of water. I sent my green witchlights swirling ahead and up; they revealed a channel through which the river, or a part of the river, ran between tiered quays. The topmost of these tiers was barely above the level water, and there was only enough room to walk single-file with our shoulders bumping the curve of the tunnel.
Gideon's orange witchlights followed mine and drew more color over the impermeable black surface of the river. The water was brown, muddier than usual because of the heavy rains, and the current was swift and deadly.
"Wait." I held out a hand and doused all my lights except one, which I sent to hover behind my head. Gideon followed my example and dimmed his lights as well.
Ahead, just around a curve of the tunnel, a faint warm light touched the bricks.
"Mildmay!" I hurried along the quay in a lopsided gait, ducking sideways to avoid contact with the slimy bricks yet fearing to step any closer to the dark water. I charged around the curve only to stop short in alarm, Gideon bumping into me from behind.
Mildmay, with only a candle in hand, was calmly descending the stairs that led from one quay to the next level. Already he was knee-deep in the water, not hesitating.
"Mildmay!" I bellowed, or tried to. It came out as more of a croak.
He turned calmly to look at me. "Felix? What are you doing here?"
"What am I --" I choked. "What are you doing?"
He glanced about at the tunnel, the candle, the water swirling about the hem of his nightshirt, as if he'd never seen them before. "Ginevra needs me to see something," he said in a puzzled tone. He took another step, and now the water was at his hips.
"Stop!" I hissed, and finally it occurred to me to use the binding between us, to force him to stop.
He came to a halt, but he still looked confused. "But she needs me." The hand not holding the candle gestured out toward the swift-running current.
I couldn't see any ghost, and I was too upset to try to sense one. I didn't care what the ghost wanted or needed in any case. "Come back here at once," I said, and tugged hard at the binding.
Mildmay's expression went flat, which was at least preferable to the horrible smile he'd produced last time I'd used the obligation d'âme against him. He turned obediently to walk up the stairs, but on the second step his weak leg gave way. The candle went tumbling into the river. Gideon's lights swept forward to fill the darkness, since I was too horrified to react myself.
Mildmay caught himself before he went under, but now he was half kneeling on the steps with the water up to his ribs. He looked down with that pin-scratch frown between his eyebrows. "Ginevra?" he asked. "Is that you? Let me go."
"Mildmay, get out of there!" I yelled, even as I saw a hand rise from the water, long-fingered and black as a half-rotted corpse, to snatch at the fabric of his nightshirt.
He had time only for a surprised "Oh!" and then he was gone.
Black horror consumed my mind, filling the edges of my vision. I started forward, tried to go after him, but as soon as the water touched the toes of my slippers I froze rigid. My knees locked and I couldn't move, no matter how my mind howled at me to help him.
Gideon pushed me aside and plunged into the water himself. After a moment I heard his mind-voice, but only dimly -- not because water or distance blocked it, but because my mind was full of the remembered cries of terrified children and the roar of water in my ears.
:Nothing,: he said, still beneath the surface. :He's not here.: Gideon came up a short way downstream, his gasps for breath loud in the enclosed tunnel, but still not enough to drown out my memories. Then he went under again.
:I can't find him. Felix, where is he? Felix! Tell me where to look for him!:
I remained still and mute as Gideon passed beyond the reach of my witchlights, and his mind-voice faded away, and still I was frozen in place. Long minutes later, when he staggered back along the quay, dripping and shaking with cold, I hadn't moved.
:Felix, what's wrong? Can you sense him? Felix? Where is he?:
I shook my head. "Gone," was all I could say. "He's gone." I had felt the bond between us go out, not recoiling like a snapped line, but doused like a flame under water.
I fell to my knees then, the water lapping at my trews. "He's gone." I wept uselessly, just as I had when Keeper drowned Belinda, and Ursy, and Rhais. And my tears did as little good now as they had then.
I would go in after you, Mildmay had promised once when I confided my terror of the river to him. Done it before.
And he had; he'd found and saved me in a labyrinth much like this one, beneath Klepsydra, where the Sim makes its final rush to the sea. He'd found me in total darkness and lifted me above the water even when I clawed at him in my desperation.
When it was Mildmay who needed my help, I had not found the courage to step more than an inch into the river. Losing him was surely what I deserved for my cowardice. But what had Mildmay ever done to merit such a fate?
Link to Part Two
Title: At the Hands of the Wicked
Author: Quasar
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Felix/Gideon, Felix/Mildmay
Length: ~15000 wds
Summary: After his rescue from the Bastion, Mildmay is troubled by a ghost.
Author's Note: I wrote this for the Yuletide Treasure rare fandom secret Santa project. I had never encountered the books before, but they looked more interesting than the fandom I said I would write a story for, so I read these instead. This story is set after the second book, 'The Virtu,' and may or may not be completely jossed when the third book comes out in August 2007.
At the Hands of the Wicked
First time I seen her was around the end of the first decad of Messidor. I didn't even notice the date until later. Last indiction, I flat out missed it. It had to've come around sometime, probably about when we were leaving Troia. But what with foreign talk all around us, and Felix trying to get me to talk flash whenever we had a minute to speak Marathine together, I lost track of the old calendar and didn't notice until we were in Klepsydra and it was already late Messidor, or Dúroc, whatever you care to call it.
By the time we got back to Mélusine, what with all the septad and six putrid things that happened on the way and after we got here -- and a little good stuff too, like Mehitabel -- I wasn't hardly thinking about Ginevra anymore. Every few days, I'd remember, and it still felt like a hole'd been punched through my chest when I thought of her lying throat-cut in the Dead Gallery. So pale and peaceful she looked, but I know there wasn't no way it could've been peaceful for her at all, at the end. But I wasn't thinking of her every minute these days, because I had bigger bugs biting me.
I didn't feel guilty about it, not really. I mean, I wouldn't want to forget her completely, but it didn't make no difference to Ginevra if I beat my head on the bricks because she was gone. It did make a difference to me, and I liked not being wretched all the time, so it was okay by me if the memory of her stood back a little into the distance.
Of course, the things that were keeping my mind off her weren't exactly fun, either. Specially Strych. I still didn't remember what all he'd done to me, but I had some dire dreams about it.
We'd been back in the Mirador a few decads, and Felix was all wrapped up in court stuff getting himself accepted again, and him and Gideon seemed happy enough with each other, and I hadn't thought about Ginevra in the better part of a septad, when one day I looked up and there she was.
At first I thought it was one of the parlor maids that just happened to look like Ginevra. Those stuffy high-necked dresses she used to wear for working in that Carnelian Road jewelry shop weren't so different from what the maids wore in the Mirador. But this wasn't no maid, because she looked straight at me, and she smiled, and then she disappeared. Not with a flash or all at once -- she just sort of faded out.
And me standing in the corridor staring like a gap-wit.
There was other folk about. Maids, like I thought she was at first, and others going about their duties. I was using the servant halls for a short-cut, because no one hassled me there. Mostly they were too busy to stop and talk. But they didn't specially appreciate having an idiot stopping up their hallway for them when they was trying to get work done, so I got jostled some before I pulled my wits back about me and started walking again.
I told myself it was just my imagination. But then later that night I remembered what date it was, and my heart just about stopped in my chest. What did it mean? I never seen a ghost before, even though I can feel when they're about. But I saw her, all right, plain and solid-looking as any person you can touch.
I thought her appearing must have been something to do with the anniversary, because I didn't see her again after that. At least, not until the fever came on me.
I was ashamed that it took me so long to notice that my brother was sick. Ashamed, but not particularly surprised; I'd warned him more than a year ago that I wasn't a nice person and there would be times when being ignored would be the best he could expect from me. But that was before the obligation d'âme, before I had a thread linking him to me so that I could sense him every hour of every day. Before I truly understood how much I loved and desired him, and before I drove him into the hands of Malkar Gennadion in hopes of saving my own pitiful neck. I should have learned to pay better attention, but apparently I hadn't.
The winter rains came early and hard, as they had two years before -- or so I was told, for I couldn't remember that time at all clearly. The previous winter, by contrast, had been mild and relatively dry. That was fortunate for us, as we were on the road then, traveling in caravans and an elderly durance, sleeping in inns or sometimes open fields, vulnerable to the weather.
I had been busy with one court function after another, trying to rehabilitate my reputation. I wasn't expecting to be reinstated as a member of the Curia, and in fact I didn't entirely want reinstatement; the power and the prestige appealed, to be sure, but not the additional rules and obligations that would hem me around if I took up my old position again. Instead, I discussed thaumaturgical theory with anyone who would speak to me. With Vida and Giancarlo I stuck to more innocuous subjects such as the Sybilline, Troian divination, and architectural thaumaturgy. With Gideon I could speak of things that were technically heresy by Cabaline rules: Troian healing, labyrinths, necromancy both benign and otherwise. Thaddeus spoke to me rarely, but I exerted myself to be pleasant on such occasions. Stephen and the other Teverii I avoided, but treated with respect when we were forced into conversation.
I was also trying to guess what Robert of Hermione might be planning next. I was certain he had something in mind, just from the gleam in his eye and the curl of his lip whenever he looked in my direction. There might be nothing I could do to throw his schemes off course, but at least I wanted to be properly warned. If he was still trying to undermine my reputation -- as he had when he told the court I was a whore, and again when he tried to convince Giancarlo I was still "unstable" -- I might be able to limit the damage. Or perhaps I could even strike back; two could play at the scandal game.
I thought to ask my brother to tease out whatever rumors he could, either concerning Robert's plans or any useful skeletons from his past. Mildmay didn't like to share his methods with me, but I suspected some combination of stealthy observation and gossiping with servants. Neither technique was possible for me, as I was too well-known to every inhabitant of the Mirador. Mildmay should have been equally conspicuous, with his hair even brighter red than mine and the salacious rumors circulating about our relationship, but somehow he managed to be invisible when he wished it. It was not a trick I had ever mastered.
I dragged myself out of bed one morning earlier than was my wont, hoping to catch Mildmay before he went off on his own mysterious errands. I opened the door to the small side-room off my own suite, saying, "Mildmay, I need your --" and froze.
He was still abed, huddled on his side under blankets mounded so high I thought for a moment he must have someone in there with him. But only his face appeared, red-nosed and puffy-eyed, when he pushed the blankets down to look at me.
"You look terrible," I said, and he did. His face was pale, save for the red on the tip of his nose and feverish flags above his cheekbones. His eyelashes were clumped with mucus, and he shivered despite the stuffy heat of the room. As he started to sit up, a wet cough took hold of him, and he curled in on himself, making that dreadful rattling sound with every breath.
"Feel putrid," he gasped out at last.
"Stay in bed," I told him. "I'll get Gideon." Since he had sworn no oaths as a Cabaline wizard, it was not technically heresy for Gideon to perform healing magic, although it might add to the scandal that dogged me, if anyone found out. I didn't care about my reputation just then; in fact, I wished I knew some healing spells of my own. I watched anxiously as Gideon drew sigils about the bed and laid his hands on Mildmay's chest and throat. He made no incantation, of course, but I could just sense a distant mutter flowing through his mind in words I didn't understand.
Mehitabel appeared with a posset and a foul-smelling plaster for Mildmay's chest. I didn't ask how she had learned that he was sick, or how she had gotten through the Mirador's gates. I just waited and let the others fuss until Mildmay demanded irritably to be left alone. When Gideon and Mehitabel were gone, I stepped to my brother's bedside.
"Would you like me to ward your dreams?" I asked.
Something odd passed across his face, which was always so still and unreadable. I would almost have said it was some combination of relief and sadness, or even grief, but that made no sense. I had merely guessed that he might be having unpleasant dreams about his captivity in the Bastion; why would he grieve to have such dreams removed for a while?
"Yeah, that'd be good," he muttered. He did sound a little better, I told myself.
I touched his hot forehead and whispered the words to keep him safe, for a while, in his sleep.
Since I was thinking about the old calendar, I noticed when next Neuvième came around. Felix forgot to order me to stay clear of the Lower Town after that time he sent me on a fool's errand to Dassament. I didn't see no need to remind him of it. Couldn't hurt for me to spend an afternoon down at Fishmarket, anyway, and I knew well enough how to get around without being marked by them that hated me.
My fever was gone, and the cough too, mostly. I still wasn't sleeping right, but I felt okay to be walking around. It was a bitter cold day, but at least it wasn't raining. I figured a heavy coat, hat and gloves would do well enough to keep me warm on top of making me less noticeable.
I only had to wait a bit before Cardenio got off duty, and the surprise on his face when I stepped in his path was something to see. We walked into Richard's Park and he kept stealing little glances at me, up and down. "You look different," he said.
Even with the hat on, my hair showed about the edges. I tugged at it a little. "I don't dye it anymore," I said.
"No, that's not it. I always knew about your hair anyway," said Cardenio. "It's something in your eyes, and the way you move."
I looked down. "Leg got messed up in a shipwreck last year," I said. And that hurt enough to think about; I didn't want to hear no more about other ways I'd changed. "I'm sorry I ain't been down to see you, Cardenio. Felix --" I couldn't just say he wouldn't let me come, even though it was true. And saying I was too busy would be a different kind of insult.
But Cardenio said, "I know. I met your brother a while back."
I stopped in my tracks and stared.
"Had to take a message to him from the Kalliphorne," said Cardenio, looking sort of shy about it, but a little smug too. "About you being taken out of the city. I'm glad you're back safe, Mildmay."
"Me too," I said, but I was still working on what he'd told me. "You went up to the Mirador?"
"Well, I couldn't exactly send the message with someone else, could I? I had to call in favors from one person and another. That nice lady, that Miss Parr, she helped me get word to your brother with nobody else hearing of it."
I hadn't bothered to ask Felix how he found me. I thought he just figured it out from those dreams Strych -- Malkar, Felix calls him -- was sending him. Seems I had more people fighting to get me back than I guessed. "Well, uh, thanks," I said, and coughed.
"Oh, Cade, I forgot about you and your winter chills," said Cardenio. "Come on, let's get out of this wind and you can tell me all your adventures over dinner."
The corner table in the Wheat-Dancer was private enough, but even so I didn't tell him everything. Not that Cardenio would be surprised to hear I done things illegal, immoral, and sort of heretical. But I couldn't really explain all the weird hocus stuff Felix had done or why he had to do it, since I didn't get half the reasons myself. And I sure as shit didn't want to talk about the obligation d'âme. The story was plenty long even without those bits and took up the best part of the meal. Finally we got past all the catching-up we had to do, and I could ask him what I came for.
"Cardenio, what do you -- what do cade-skiffs know about ghosts?"
He blinked. "Wouldn't you be better asking them hocuses up at the Mirador about that?"
I shook my head. "Cabaline wizards don't believe in ghosts. Claim they don't exist."
He looked like I'd hit him upside the head with a bargepole. "Of course they exist!"
"Ever seen one?" I asked quick and sharp.
"No . . ." He frowned a little, as if he had to give it thought. "I've felt 'em, though. You can tell when they're near, if you pay attention."
"I know," I sighed. "I been in the Boneprince at septad-night. You don't have to tell me."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because I never seen one either," I told him. "Until now."
His eyes went round.
"You saw her," I said. "I mean, when she died. She was brought in by cade-skiffs."
"Your lady-friend?"
"Anybody mention a new ghost around the Dead Gallery? Or near St. Kirban's?"
He shook his head. "Not that I've heard of."
"Shit." I had to look away. "Why's she haunting me, then? Why not the place where she died, or them that killed her?"
Cardenio scratched his head. "Well . . . in the stories, ghosts always want something. Give 'em what they want and you lay 'em to rest."
"But what about when they won't tell you what they want?" I exploded.
Cardenio just shook his head. "Mildmay, why are you asking me this?"
I shrugged. "Thought you might know. You or the other cade-skiffs. You work with the dead, I thought you'd know about ghosts."
"I know stories, same as you. Why don't you ask your brother?"
I jerked. "I told you, Cabalines don't believe in ghosts."
"From what I've heard of Felix Harrowgate, he's not exactly one to follow the rules." And how the hells did Cardenio come to know so much about my brother?
"I don't want --" I couldn't finish. Didn't want to be beholden; didn't want to lean on Felix for everything; didn't want to be swallowed up by him completely and stop being my own person.
"If I had a problem with a ghost, and I knew a smart, powerful hocus I could trust, I know who I'd be asking," Cardenio said.
I stood up and threw a coin on the table. "Thanks, Cardenio. Nice seeing you again."
I am not by nature a patient man, but after the Bastion I learned to wait. I waited for Mildmay to be ready to speak again, or ready to speak to me, in specific. I waited for him to tell me whatever it was he thought I should know.
After Gideon treated Mildmay's illness, there were long days of tension and tiresome court brangling. Robert had tried to create trouble over Gideon's use of magic on Mildmay, but I had managed to head him off by initiating a debate with Stephen over the occasional merits of certain healing practices -- though of course, they would never do for a Cabaline wizard, oh no. With Stephen's bemused assent heard by all, Robert couldn't make an issue out of what was, in any light, a very minor transgression.
I didn't trouble Mildmay with the tale of this petty intrigue, nor did he share his own worries with me. But quite abruptly one evening he came to the desk where I was working on my correspondence, and said, "You see ghosts."
I blinked. "No, but I can sense them sometimes."
Mildmay frowned. "You used to."
"Ah." I sat back and considered the scattered memories of the time I had spent under Malkar's assorted curses. "Yes, that's true. I saw them and heard them, when I was . . . insane."
Mildmay's breath whooshed out. "You think I'm mad?"
"No, I do not!" I said harshly, making him step back a little. I was about to follow up with the explanation that he was still recovering from Malkar's influence, and naturally that would take some time. But something in his manner made me pause and trace back the conversation. "Have you been seeing ghosts?" I asked at last.
He shrugged a shoulder. "One."
"And because of that, you fear you're insane?"
Another shrug. "Dunno."
I pushed back a few hairs that had escaped from my queue and tried to consider the matter dispassionately. "I don't think you're mad. It's possible some of the magic you've been . . . subjected to may have given you an enhanced sensitivity to such things. I'll research the matter for you, if you wish. But ghosts are nearly always harmless. Most of them simply re-enact whatever experience was most important in their lives, and they take no heed of the living."
Mildmay and licked his lips thoughtfully. "She sees me, too."
That was certainly unusual. "You're certain of that?"
"Smiles at me. Sometimes she . . . I think she wants me to follow her."
"Did you know this person, when she was alive?"
He nodded and swallowed hard. "Ginevra."
I'd heard the name before: a lover whose death, before we met, troubled Mildmay greatly. But from the little I knew of her it was unlikely in the extreme that she'd ever been to the Mirador.
"Does she speak to you?" I asked.
He shooked his head. "First I thought it was the day," he said obscurely. "Then the fever. But she still comes to me, awake and asleep."
The whole thing sounded wrong to me. Ghosts normally appeared in places significant to them; a place where they lived, or died, or were buried. I had never heard of a ghost haunting a specific person. "I'll do some research," I promised. "Give me a few days. Tell me if you see her again, or dream of her, but do nothing yet, do you hear me?"
He nodded, still frowning, and drifted away.
I walked the paths of the garden, breathing the warm air rich with the scent of the perseïdes. Thamuris awaited me, as I knew he would, near the Omphalos.
"Something strange is going on," I told him after we had exchanged greetings. "Mildmay is seeing a ghost."
There were ghosts in the Khloïdanikos; not tormented souls, but echoes of the oneiromancers who had created this imaginary dream-garden. Thamuris and I no longer even bothered to dodge them as we strolled the quiet paths. One day, perhaps, my own ghostly echo would walk here in my absence -- if anyone else discovered the secrets of this garden in the future to witness it.
Thamuris tilted his head. "Have you considered that your brother might not be entirely annemer?"
That was unexpected. "Wizardry must be taught at a young age," I parroted my unlamented teacher. "Otherwise --"
"Certainly, he's too old to learn the craft," said Thamuris. "And whatever latent power he might have must be small, or it would have awakened long before. But he might be developing a sensitivity to magic."
It was nearly the same thing I had said to Mildmay myself, but viewed in a different light. I had cast the obligation d'âme on Mildmay and had drawn on his strength when I mended the Virtu. Malkar had very likely cast spells on Mildmay in addition to the dream-sendings I had witnessed. Then there were the healings and curse-removals that had been performed by the Troians themselves. Might all of these together have brought Mildmay to some new awareness of his own magical potential?
I shook my head. "Most wizards don't actually see ghosts unless they use a spell," I objected. Or go insane, I forbore to add.
We had been walking while we spoke, and while I thought. Now we came to a short, decorative wall with a stunted perseïd tree hunched against it. The tree had been dead, or nearly so, during the time that Mildmay was imprisoned by Malkar in the Bastion. Since Mildmay's rescue, some of the branches had budded into leaf, and one into bloom. Even the crumbling wall seemed to be repairing itself.
We were not sure what it meant, but I suspected that the tree somehow represented Mildmay, or perhaps the relationship between myself and Mildmay. Or possibly -- I had not suggested this to Thamuris -- the state of my own blackened soul. All those things had been strained nearly to breaking but had begun to recover slowly since we rescued Mildmay.
Both tree and wall were beginning to look moderately robust by now, despite a few withered branches and a misplaced stone or two. As Thamuris and I approached, we saw that the tree was draped in some sort of cobwebby stuff as if in a shroud. The leaves and flowers were still visible beneath the film, but were beginning to droop a bit.
"Now, what can this signify?" Thamuris asked in bewilderment.
I felt a trace of true alarm begin to thread through my veins. "I think it means that Mildmay is in more danger than I guessed."
Felix didn't use the binding when he told me not to follow Ginevra's ghost. I suppose he reckoned there wasn't no need to. I ain't stupid, and I ain't got the least desire to know where a ghost might lead me.
But it looked like his research wasn't helping much, because Felix didn't talk about it. There was books piled everywhere, but he would just grab one, flip through the pages and then toss it aside. He had Gideon checking too, but Gideon looked just as frustrated even if he didn't go throwing books around.
After a couple nights, Felix came to my room and said he wanted to teach me how to control my dreams. "Lucid" dreaming he called it, and that sounded like a word that Zephyr would've liked. Not such a long flash word as some of his favorites, but pretty, full of moonlight and clear water.
Or maybe I was getting fanciful myself on account of missing too much sleep. I kept feeling weird and disconnected, like the fever hadn't completely let go its hold of me. It was getting worse, too, like a fog hanging between me and everything else, getting a little thicker every day. I hardly heard Felix's voice in my dreams anymore. It was always her, smiling at me and calling my name, turning away and looking back to see if I was following.
Anyway, Felix told me about this lucid thing of his. It wasn't magic, he said; anyone could do it. It just required mental discipline. When I said that didn't sound much like me, he said it just took concentration and focus. I can concentrate, sure enough, when I got something worth paying attention to. So I listened to what Felix told me.
"Imagine you're looking down at Mélusine from the top of the Mirador," he said. "The whole city is laid out before you."
"Like a map?" I asked. I liked maps, but I never seen a map of Mélusine. Never needed one, neither; I knew how to get where I was going.
"A map, yes," he said. "You can see the walls of the city and each of the gates. The Corundum Gate in the north, the Gate of Horn, Carnelian, Chalcedony, Ivory --"
"You skipped Septad-Gate," I said.
Felix frowned. "That one doesn't matter. You don't need a gate in the south."
I figured he didn't like to think about Septad-Gate because of how he hated the Sim. I could understand that, but it made the imaginary map he was telling me to focus on seem wrong and off balance. Specially when he said there wasn't no gate in the northwest, neither.
"Each gate represents a different kind of dream," said Felix. "You decide which gate you want to go out, and that --"
"Why would I want to go out?" I asked.
"What?"
"What if I don't want to leave the city?"
I been out of Mélusine all right. I seen the big wide world beyond the walls and traveled to places most of my old friends couldn't even imagine. But with all I seen, Mélusine is still home. I wouldn't want to leave it without a damn good reason.
"You're not actually leaving the city," Felix explained not too patiently. "This is just a construct so you can control your dreams. Some people might picture an atrium with doors going in each direction, or a map with a compass rose."
That sounded more along my line, but I didn't say so. "Look, maybe I'm just too stupid to learn this stuff --"
"You're not stupid," Felix said right away. "Who told you that?"
I shrugged.
"Did your Keeper say you were stupid?"
"You ain't tried teaching me to read and write," I pointed out.
"No, but I'm sure if you wanted to learn it, you would," he said. "Look how quickly you pick up new languages, or the way you read maps -- the way you can remember a path through a maze after going through it just once, for pity's sake! Mildmay, you're not stupid!"
I had to duck my head so he wouldn't see my face glowing. "Well, but I don't know if I can learn this dream stuff."
"It takes more than one lesson," said Felix. "It's not enough for me to describe the procedure to you; you have to practice it. Each night before you sleep, imagine the city laid out in front of you."
Or the compass rose, I thought to myself. But I nodded.
"You can't control every aspect of your dreams, but you can choose the direction they'll go in," Felix said seriously.
"Doesn't sound like dreaming at all," I said. "Not very restful, is it, if you have to be in control all the time?"
He sighed. "That's why you don't use this for every dream. Just when there's something important you need to find out. Or a nightmare you want to get through so it won't come again, for example."
"Why not just get you to ward my dreams for me?"
"Has that been working?"
I shrugged.
"The warding doesn't last forever, and it doesn't work for all dreams," Felix said. "From what you've said of this ghost, that may be one of the things I can't block. But if you choose the Horn Gate -- the path of true dreaming, you might be able to learn what she really wants from you."
"So it's like a kind of divination?" I asked. "Why not just use those cards you got from Mavortian, then?"
He frowned. "Perhaps I will try that. But the Sybilline is more specific when the caster is also the subject of the reading."
"So maybe I should learn the cards."
Felix shook his head. "That would be too complicated, and it won't work as well without magic. Lucid dreaming is much simpler, and anyone can do it."
"All right," I said. "I'll try it."
Felix smiled at me -- one of his real, kinda lopsided smiles instead of the dazzler he used to light up a room and get everybody wanting to fuck him.
When Felix was gone I got ready for sleep and thought about a map of Mélusine. But just like I expected, it was hard to focus on the gates. They just weren't that interesting. Now, the cathedrals, those made good landmarks. You could find your way anywhere in the city just by looking for the nearest dome or spire -- not counting the Mirador itself, of course; you could see that from just about any spot in Mélusine. I tried to think how Min-Terris and Phi-Kethetin and Ver-Istenna would map out with the compass directions, and I imagined each cathedral as a petal on a rose, and then the wind came up and the rose petals all went whirling away, and when I tried to look for them, there she was.
"Mildmay," Ginevra said, like she was a little unhappy with me, but not really. It was the sort of mood where I just needed to buy her something pretty and she'd perk right up.
"What do you want?" I asked her, because I sort of remembered that was an important thing to know.
"Where have you been? I was waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you, silly-Gilly!" She used to call me that in front of her friends, when I used the alias Gilroi. Hearing her say that and laugh took me right back to the summer days we spent together, and the evenings out on the town, and the nights in my room in Pennycup.
"I been right here," I told her.
"I know that! When are you going to come along?" she demanded, and stamped her foot. We must be late for some show she wanted to see.
"Where?" I asked.
"Come on, I'll show you."
So I climbed out of bed and followed her.
I cleared enough books from one of the tables in the sitting room that I could lay out the cards of the Sybilline in the spiral pattern that Mavortian had favored the most. First I turned over the center card, which should, if I had cast them correctly, represent Mildmay.
The Cat. Though it was often shown as a friendly pet, in Mavortian's deck this had been rendered as a leopard drowsing in the sun. The Cat could represent stealth, adaptability, or cleverness. It was a card I had drawn for Mildmay before, which probably meant that I had captured at least some of the significance of our current situation in this casting.
Next I started from the outside and worked my way in, turning one card at a time. They should become more relevant to the problem as the spiral moved in toward Mildmay's card.
The Deuce of Grails signified love between two people. That would be Mildmay's lost lover, Ginevra. It must mean that his feelings for her were still important to the current problem. The card wasn't necessarily about romantic love, though; it could possibly signify the feelings between me and Mildmay. I thought the first interpretation more likely, however.
The Maid of Pentacles. Then again, perhaps this one was Ginevra. The only other likely person it could signify would be Mehitabel, but I had never seen her represented with pentacles before.
The Hound. This could be either loyalty or betrayal, depending on context and perspective. No doubt it referred to Mildmay's loyalty to me, and my consistently poor treatment of him. I was trying to do better, but sometimes it seemed about as successful as trying to change the color of my eyes by wishing it.
The River. Not one of my favorite cards, but in the Sybilline it usually meant progress, inevitability, or sometimes the flow of time. We might not be able to avoid what was coming.
The Dead Tree. Classically, it meant missed opportunities and failure. More personally, could it mean the obligation d'âme? Or my own twisted soul?
The Snake. Usually this signified medicine or obscure knowledge. I was unsure how it applied here. Could it be Gideon's magical healing on Mildmay's fever? Or the research we were attempting to do now?
The Drowned Man. My hand shook as I turned this one up. It meant loss, separation, isolation -- but all I could think of was the basements of the Paladin warehouse and the smell of the Sim everywhere.
The Four of Swords. This was an odd card to find in the middle of a such a dire reading; it meant rest or refuge, a place to recover. That was three cards in a row I could not interpret easily.
The Apprentice. Could this mean me? I was long past my apprenticeship and my teacher was fortunately dead, but I had recently been in the position of a student to Mavortian and even to Thamuris. Or was some other apprentice signified? And of what master? It was frustrating to find the reading so clouded as we got to the inner portions of the spiral and the cards that should show the most important or unavoidable events.
The Ten of Staves. This one was simple enough: conflict without resolution. Stalemate. Together with the River, it suggested that we could not truly escape whatever danger threatened Mildmay, but we might be able to turn it to some other target or hold it at bay, with sufficient effort.
And lastly, the card most immediately relevant to Mildmay: Death. I knew it was not a literal death, but instead signified some difficult change or painful growth. But the sigil of Cade-Cholera upon the card seemed to glow malevolently, promising death in its most permanent and irrevocable form.
Gideon was curled in a chair near the fire, watching me ponder the cards. One of the useless tomes I had drawn from the Mirador's many libraries lay open and unregarded upon his lap. :Could there be a curse on Mildmay?: he asked at last.
"No," I snapped.
:Are you certain?: His mental voice was gentle, almost tentative. :You don't perceive curses the way you did when . . . when you first met him, do you?:
I remembered, vaguely, the red-tinged wall of thorns that had closed Mildmay about, the legacy of his murder of Cerberus Cresset. I had a more uncertain memory of those thorns closing in, ripping at Mildmay and trying to strangle him, but I didn't remember what I -- or Gideon or Mavortian -- had done to stop them.
"I don't have to see curses to know there aren't any on him," I said shortly. "The obligation d'âme makes it impossible. There are no spells on Mildmay except the one I cast."
:So it's not possible that Strych could have cursed him through you?: Gideon pressed.
That was more unsettling. Malkar had done things I had never believed possible, using his hold on me to circumvent the wards of the Mirador and break the Virtu. Could he have done something, perhaps in those sendings that invaded my dreams, and removed my memory of it? "I would know," I insisted, but less certainly. "In any case, a curse from Malkar should have ended with his death."
Unless it was one of a half-dozen classes of spell which did not require the caster's continued existence. Gideon knew the possibilities as well as I, and didn't bother to reply; he merely raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Fine." I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. "We'll go check for a curse right now. My methods, and then yours, just to be sure." We wouldn't even have to wake Mildmay, since Gideon's incantations were all silent these days. I opened the door to the small side room where Mildmay slept.
He wasn't there.
I stood frozen in the doorway, just staring at the bedcovers thrown aside, until Gideon came up behind me. :Can you sense him?:
I had to close my eyes a moment to concentrate, but there it was, as soon as I thought about it: a slender thread linking me to my brother. My esclavin.
"This way!" I snapped and charged out of the suite.
It was a long and twisted journey we took, down and around and through and along the Mirador's labyrinthine corridors. Mildmay couldn't be far ahead of us and probably wasn't moving fast, but whatever time we saved by running was lost when we missed a crucial turning or doorway. I tried to force myself to move more cautiously, but all my instincts were crying at me to hurry.
The River. The Drowned Man. Death.
As the trail led us downward into unused pathways, I began to fear that we would end up in the water-garden maze that lay directly beneath the Hall of the Chimeras. The water of the Sim diverted into that maze wasn't even ankle-deep, but that was before the winter rains deluged the city. How deep and swift would that water-maze run now?
Gideon seemed to have the same thought. :Perhaps he thinks the labyrinth will lay this ghost to rest.:
"Perhaps he's not thinking at all," I snarled. "I told him not to follow her!"
These halls were long unused, and the doors we passed through had rusted hinges. Fortunately, this meant we could see Mildmay's tracks clearly in the dust. It also helped that he had not re-locked any of the doors behind him, even when we saw knee-prints to show that he had paused to pick a lock.
:Only one set of footprints,: Gideon pointed out. :This is not the path to the water garden, then.: Unfairly, he didn't have to catch his breath to speak.
He was right. The footprints from our journey here some months ago -- and cane prints, in Mavortian's case -- would not have faded yet. These corridors must be some new maze we had not followed before. I only hoped that Mildmay's unerring sense for labyrinths would help him avoid whatever pitfall the ghost might be leading him toward.
At least the footprints we folllowed showed us that Mildmay had shoes on, of the soft-soled type he favored for stealth. He couldn't be wearing much aside from a nightshirt and perhaps a hastily-snatched robe, though. Gideon and I were still dressed, but he was barefoot and I had on the slippers I often wore in the evening. The corridors grew colder as we headed onward and downward, and Gideon was beginning to shiver.
We came to a heavy metal door flaking with rust, and the multiple knee-prints before it showed that Mildmay must have taken some time to get through the lock. Beyond that was a cramped tunnel where I had to duck to get through, and after a short distance another matching door.
:Was that the wall of the Mirador we just passed?: Gideon asked.
"Yes. We're in the Arcane now."
:But that door was unguarded!:
I shrugged. I had felt the wards as we passed through; those would be enough to protect against any common intrusion. Ignorance was an even stronger protection. The network of tunnels and streets and crypts that lay everywhere beneath Mélusine formed a maze of its own, which had never been properly mapped. It was probable that no one even knew these tunnels and those doors existed.
No one except Mildmay's lover's ghost, it seemed.
We crept through a frigid catacomb bricked with skulls, and then another passage lined with femurs and smaller bones stacked atop. The city of Mélusine stood upon the bones of the unnamed dead, founded upon a history no one remembered.
The air was getting damp. :What is that smell?: Gideon had a look as if he recognized it but could not quite put a name to it.
I knew it only too well. "The Sim." Under my determination to find Mildmay there began to run an undercurrent of gibbering horror. "Hurry!"
We came out of the catacombs into a broader arching tunnel full of the murmur of water. I sent my green witchlights swirling ahead and up; they revealed a channel through which the river, or a part of the river, ran between tiered quays. The topmost of these tiers was barely above the level water, and there was only enough room to walk single-file with our shoulders bumping the curve of the tunnel.
Gideon's orange witchlights followed mine and drew more color over the impermeable black surface of the river. The water was brown, muddier than usual because of the heavy rains, and the current was swift and deadly.
"Wait." I held out a hand and doused all my lights except one, which I sent to hover behind my head. Gideon followed my example and dimmed his lights as well.
Ahead, just around a curve of the tunnel, a faint warm light touched the bricks.
"Mildmay!" I hurried along the quay in a lopsided gait, ducking sideways to avoid contact with the slimy bricks yet fearing to step any closer to the dark water. I charged around the curve only to stop short in alarm, Gideon bumping into me from behind.
Mildmay, with only a candle in hand, was calmly descending the stairs that led from one quay to the next level. Already he was knee-deep in the water, not hesitating.
"Mildmay!" I bellowed, or tried to. It came out as more of a croak.
He turned calmly to look at me. "Felix? What are you doing here?"
"What am I --" I choked. "What are you doing?"
He glanced about at the tunnel, the candle, the water swirling about the hem of his nightshirt, as if he'd never seen them before. "Ginevra needs me to see something," he said in a puzzled tone. He took another step, and now the water was at his hips.
"Stop!" I hissed, and finally it occurred to me to use the binding between us, to force him to stop.
He came to a halt, but he still looked confused. "But she needs me." The hand not holding the candle gestured out toward the swift-running current.
I couldn't see any ghost, and I was too upset to try to sense one. I didn't care what the ghost wanted or needed in any case. "Come back here at once," I said, and tugged hard at the binding.
Mildmay's expression went flat, which was at least preferable to the horrible smile he'd produced last time I'd used the obligation d'âme against him. He turned obediently to walk up the stairs, but on the second step his weak leg gave way. The candle went tumbling into the river. Gideon's lights swept forward to fill the darkness, since I was too horrified to react myself.
Mildmay caught himself before he went under, but now he was half kneeling on the steps with the water up to his ribs. He looked down with that pin-scratch frown between his eyebrows. "Ginevra?" he asked. "Is that you? Let me go."
"Mildmay, get out of there!" I yelled, even as I saw a hand rise from the water, long-fingered and black as a half-rotted corpse, to snatch at the fabric of his nightshirt.
He had time only for a surprised "Oh!" and then he was gone.
Black horror consumed my mind, filling the edges of my vision. I started forward, tried to go after him, but as soon as the water touched the toes of my slippers I froze rigid. My knees locked and I couldn't move, no matter how my mind howled at me to help him.
Gideon pushed me aside and plunged into the water himself. After a moment I heard his mind-voice, but only dimly -- not because water or distance blocked it, but because my mind was full of the remembered cries of terrified children and the roar of water in my ears.
:Nothing,: he said, still beneath the surface. :He's not here.: Gideon came up a short way downstream, his gasps for breath loud in the enclosed tunnel, but still not enough to drown out my memories. Then he went under again.
:I can't find him. Felix, where is he? Felix! Tell me where to look for him!:
I remained still and mute as Gideon passed beyond the reach of my witchlights, and his mind-voice faded away, and still I was frozen in place. Long minutes later, when he staggered back along the quay, dripping and shaking with cold, I hadn't moved.
:Felix, what's wrong? Can you sense him? Felix? Where is he?:
I shook my head. "Gone," was all I could say. "He's gone." I had felt the bond between us go out, not recoiling like a snapped line, but doused like a flame under water.
I fell to my knees then, the water lapping at my trews. "He's gone." I wept uselessly, just as I had when Keeper drowned Belinda, and Ursy, and Rhais. And my tears did as little good now as they had then.
I would go in after you, Mildmay had promised once when I confided my terror of the river to him. Done it before.
And he had; he'd found and saved me in a labyrinth much like this one, beneath Klepsydra, where the Sim makes its final rush to the sea. He'd found me in total darkness and lifted me above the water even when I clawed at him in my desperation.
When it was Mildmay who needed my help, I had not found the courage to step more than an inch into the river. Losing him was surely what I deserved for my cowardice. But what had Mildmay ever done to merit such a fate?
Link to Part Two
