Pyrebound - 4.4
Author: theredsheep

Chapter 4.4 – Pyrebound

Ram had seen plenty of death already; the carnage on the table was no worse than the aftermath of the resh attack, or the battle with the shabti, to say nothing of their bloody night in the rookery. He was able to keep from vomiting, though it was a near thing, and only because he made himself look away from the carcass. Whatever they’d been doing here, it had been going on for some time, and they’d been organized about it. There were piles of folded cloths in one corner—tied to hold over noses and mouths—several small pots, and palm-frond flyswatters. All very efficient.

But what was he supposed to do about it? All his glib posturing to Ushna aside, he didn’t know Dul Karagi’s laws very well. He had no idea what statute, if any, was being broken here, beyond possession of bazu artifacts. The fact that this place hadn’t been better hidden, or even locked, suggested there was no relevant charge that would stick to a man like Lashantu.

Get out, he decided. Get out, and say nothing of it until he was out of the house. And then? He didn’t know. He somehow doubted that the girl on the table had died of natural causes—but he was certain that he could join her, if he wasn’t careful. He was already on his way out of the room before he made up his mind; he went up the stairs and back down the passage at the fastest walk he could manage without running, and nearly ran into a bondsman pouring out wine in the pantry.

“What are you doing here … sir?” he asked, belatedly spotting the sun badge on Ram’s chest. He was about forty or forty-five blooms, slender and below average height, and dressed in Lashantu’s colors, purple and gold. Not trusting his voice, Ram only held up the warrant he still clenched in his left hand. The man peered at it carefully—of course Lashantu would have literate bondservants—and said, “I see. Please come with me, sir. I am Tessheru, the third steward,” he added as he set down the wine and beckoned Ram out into the stairwell. Ram couldn’t bring himself to do more than nod back, and the man’s back was turned anyway.

The little man led him up the stairs and down a long carpeted hallway to a great circular chamber with a high ceiling. A narrow window at the top of the opposite wall gave a fine view of the Temple fire. Most of the floor space was taken up by a horsehoe-shaped table; five of the fifteen seats along the outer edge were occupied by well-dressed older men, while a pair of servers danced along its inner face topping off glasses and picking up plates.

The man in the center—he had a full salt-and-pepper beard, and a nose like a hawk’s beak—turned to look as they entered. His eyes darted to Ram’s badge, then the warrant in his hand, and he clapped his hands twice. The other four men, and both servants, left the room at once. Tessheru ducked discreetly back through the door to wait in the hall.

“What is this about, now?” the man said, in a more reasonable tone than Ram would have expected. “Let me see that paper, young man.” He took rather longer looking it over than his servant had—Ram looked at the magnificent side of beef on the table, and wished he hadn’t just seen a mutilated corpse—and finished by setting it aside with a genteel frown. “I think perhaps there has been a misunderstanding,” he said.

“Y-you’re Master Lashantu, aren’t you, sir?”

“Indeed. And you are only doing your duty, so do relax. Wine?” Ram shook his head. “Very well. I see that this concerns my great-nephew Zisapa. The charges, it saddens me to say, are wholly credible. Zisapa has a long history of ungentlemanly conduct; after his latest mad escapade, I clearly told him that he was no longer welcome under my roof. Nor was he to make use of our kinship in his dealings. That was eight months ago, and I have not seen him since.”

Lashantu looked up at Ram with solemn brown eyes. For all that he had a bit of a belly, he was an impressive figure, and Ram would have been inclined to like him if he hadn’t just been in his basement. As it was, Ram felt somewhat queasy, looking into that noble face.

“The—the goods are—he’s not—where is he? Zisapa. Your nephew, Zisapa. He’s not here?”

Lashantu gave him an odd look, but said, “Certainly not. Every soul in my family and my service is familiar with the situation; I find it hard to believe that any would be so foolish as to give him asylum at all, least of all after such a stupid prank as this. You are welcome to search the house for yourself; you will find nothing of concern.” He said it so earnestly that for an absurd moment Ram wondered if he had somehow imagined the scene below.

“And the … goods?” Ram said, a little more coherently.

“They don’t seem to be specified by the warrant,” Lashantu said coolly, “so naturally I can’t speak to the presence or absence of any articles matching their description. But you are welcome to look into my household expenses as well, if there is any question. I am a lawful man, and my stewards keep detailed receipts. Tessheru?” The bondsman stepped forward and bowed.

What was Ram to do? If he searched the house, he could hardly avoid stumbling across the scene in the basement. Even if he didn’t, he really had no idea what kind of junk Ushna had lost. It was entirely possible that Lashantu really had gotten his horrible bazu treasures elsewhere; if the Damadzus did as much of that business as Imbri claimed, the rich part of the pyre had to be flooded with the stuff.

He had just decided to start a very leisurely search of the premises, just to buy time, when he heard footsteps in the hall, and Ushna strode into the room, looking perfectly at ease. “Master Lashantu, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I only wish it could be under more felicitous circumstances. I’m sure you’ve heard that we have something of a difficulty.”

“Good evening, Ushnarema,” Lashantu replied, nodding regally. “As I have just explained to this young man, there appears to have been some mistake. I have had no contact with my nephew in some time, nor do I have any knowledge or responsibility for his actions. It seems you were misinformed.”

“Only as to his present location. I dealt with the man in person, and can confirm that Zisapa was malfeasant. And purportedly acting on your behalf, sir.”

Lashantu closed his eyes and grimaced. “When will I be rid of the fool?”

“I would be happy to assist you to that end, Master Lashantu, if I only knew where to look.”

“In return, I assume, for”—he looked at the warrant—“five gold, four silver, and two copper?”

“It needn’t be quite so much. I believe my clients would be more than happy to settle for half that amount, in return for assurance that the problem has been settled promptly and permanently. It’s a question of reputation, you see.”

“Of course. Of course.” Lashantu ran a hand through his beard. “I have given Zisapa more than ample warning. I have limited knowledge as to his present whereabouts, but he is far from circumspect. Would a month suffice? That is a conservative estimate, of course; I could have his location within a pair of tetrads, if he continues to behave in this fashion.”

“Provided your position on the matter is made clear, I believe that would be perfectly adequate,” Ushna said, helping himself to a cup of wine off the table. “They may require a deposit for surety, and perhaps a written statement.”

“I will gladly submit ten gold on security, if it will rid me of Zisapa.” He paused, then glanced at Ram, who had been standing quietly aside trying and failing to put the conversation in an innocent light. “I assume,” Lashantu said slowly, “that your young associate was chosen for his discretion?”

“Rammash is my cousin, and we have worked together in the past, to my perfect satisfaction,” Ushna said, tossing the empty cup back on the table.

“Very good. But that does not exactly answer my question. Is he discreet? Are you discreet, sir?”

Ram was afraid to speak, but nodded vigorously. Not talking at all could be counted as “discreet,” by some standards. At least, he hoped so.

“At the very least, my cousin has a well-developed sense of self-preservation, and a resolve to honor his commitments.”

“Both also good. But he has been acting queerly, and I don’t care for it.” He still hadn’t moved from his place at the table, or even turned his head very much, but he raised his voice to say, “Tessheru! Did you meet this young officer at the door?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see him until he had already had some time to wander the grounds unsupervised. I met him coming back from the south hall connecting to the parlor pantry.”

“I see,” Lashantu said, sounding untroubled. “Young … I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Rammash,” he choked out.

“Rammash, then. I am a man of business, Rammash. I own a share in two of the city’s banks, several large trading companies, and numerous smaller concerns. All of which has accustomed me to the regular, fair, and open provision of pertinent information. I think you had better tell me what exactly has you so bothered.”

Well, playing dumb wouldn’t do any good. “I saw … a body in the basement,” he managed to say.

“With bazu artifacts—which, of course, would be entirely relevant to your work here. I imagine those were the goods concerned, given your involvement, Ushna? Yes? Well, Rammash, you can set your mind at ease. I acquired all of them from Ushna himself, at intervals, the most recent being somewhat less than a bloom ago. All were fairly paid for, and have no bearing on your warrant.”

“He is a regular customer,” Ushna confirmed. “Some soulseeds, two different inductors and the first Eye of Nidriz I ever got, as I recall.”

“Correct,” said Lashantu, smiling. “Your memory is excellent. As for the girl, she is nobody of any consequence—hearthless, I believe. I purchased her off the moonchildren earlier this month, and they do not molest pyres, nor even hearths if they can help it. Not when there is so much wild stock to work with. I have the receipt for her as well, if you like; she is no Karagene, of that I am certain.” He glanced at Ram’s face, and his smile disappeared. “And yet … whatever is the matter?”

He seemed genuinely bewildered. Ram had no idea what to say. Ushna stepped forward once more. “Pardon me, sir, but I don’t believe my cousin is familiar with this particular project of yours.”

Lashantu blinked, then laughed, a jolly bass laugh. “Of course. I’ve been at it so very long! Oh, my. Rammash, you should know that, when a man has benefited as greatly as myself from our pyre’s bounty, he feels a certain obligation to give some of it back. What you saw in the basement is the most recent of many, many attempts to change the balance of power in both Ki and Kur, and give final victory to the human race.”

This was such a bizarre claim that Ram could not help asking, “What? How?”

“You have been on campaign, haven’t you? Your coat says so. Very good; I like to see another public-spirited citizen. Then you know what obnoxious limitations we operate under. We have exclusive access to the energies of the pyre, yes, but the bazuu seem to tap into a much deeper and more versatile well of magical power. I aim to change that.

“Many other leading Karagenes purchase bazu treasures, but only to play at blasphemy, or as curiosities, or for idle tinkering. Attempts at divination are endlessly popular, though as far as I can tell nobody has ever managed to reliably predict or discover anything. To my knowledge, only I have ever attempted in any systematic way to discover how the things work!”

He chuckled. “A strange oversight, but I did not think of it myself until I had been dabbling at the same silly games for more than a bloom. It is clear enough that bazu craft works directly on the soul or awareness—it has been described as ideative engineering, or reification. The imposition of imagination on reality. The power is potentially limitless, if it were only freed from the demented and restricting clutches of the bazuu themselves. Can you picture it? We could push the vermin back, extend the Dominion of Man over the entire world!”

Ram struggled to follow. “So, you got a hearthless kid, and did … what?”

Lashantu gave him a kindly paternal smile. Ram’s actual father would have knocked his teeth down his throat, even one-armed; Ram was tempted himself. “The details, as you have probably gathered from the aftermath, are not pleasant to contemplate. The child below is only the latest of, oh, the better part of a hundred, I should think. Of all ages, both sexes. I find the younger ones marginally more responsive, due to the more unformed psyche. All the literature I have been able to gather indicates that younger wills, in an emotionally volatile state, are the most productive. I have attempted it with several infants, but they simply aren’t resilient enough to bear the strain.”

He sighed. “And recent attempts have been discouraging. At one point, we could reliably induce a potent and partially controlled response, but … no more. I can’t imagine what has gone wrong.” He shook his head, slowly.

“But no matter,” he went on, brightening. “I may be getting on, but I imagine I have a kindling or two in me yet, and not all my family are as feckless as my wretched great-nephew. Certainly the wilderness is not running short on suitable test subjects, and it’s not as though they are accomplishing anything of use where they are. It may take generations, but given enough time, we cannot fail to succeed. So you see—damn it, what is the matter with you, boy?”

Wrapped up in the story, Ram had not even thought to try and keep the revulsion off his face. He wasn’t sure he could have succeeded if he had. A hundred people, mostly children or even infants, had died on that table. And Lashantu didn’t cover it up any better because he saw no real shame in it. His whole household had to know about this, along with any number of visitors who’d stumbled across it over the blooms. It would be an open secret. Probably all his fellow aristocrats knew about it; if they disapproved at all, it would be a harmless eccentricity, old Lashantu off on his mad hobby again.

Because, after all, they were only hearthless.