A Knock at the Door (36)
Mother seemed to decide to let me keep my secrets, turning her attention to the quiet conversation happening nearby in Agalin.
Go back to the INDEX.
We walked the wide main streets of the Mill Precinct making polite small talk. The chill soon abated. When we reached the gate to the Cellar Precinct, Godiar stepped forward to handle the guards.
Mother studied me. “You’ve been glum all morning. What’s troubling you?”
I shrugged. “Memories.” I didn’t want to tell her about Shegla, or what my reaction signified.
Mother seemed to decide to let me keep my secrets, turning her attention to the quiet conversation happening nearby in Agalin. Godiar was all smiles and congeniality.
As I watched, her expression changed from vague interest to consternation. Some aspect of the chatter with the guards had triggered something in her mind. Did she understand more Agalin than I realized?
Mother saw me watching her and gave me a pointed look; she wouldn’t be able to explain until some time later.
I pretended boredom and disinterest in all the proceedings, while listening intently. The words remained opaque. The mood seemed relaxed and friendly. Too relaxed? Too friendly?
Presently, the three of us were allowed to pass through the gate.
The houses of the Cellar Precinct were made of the same grey stone but had an opulence completely lacking in the Mill Precinct, except, perhaps, those villas I’d seen, high on the ridge. Here, each house had a sense of weight, of inexorable gravity. Some high walls enclosed extravagant gardens, with only treetops visible. Others had no gardens at all and towered right next to the street. Different fashions for different ages, I surmised.
I took out our map of Cellar Precinct, and stopped to glance at it, now and then. A number of places caught my attention, the magick of my old Trace on Father peculiarly overlaid onto the pattern of streets I had transcribed. A few places were clustered together in the northern part of the map, but also at all the Precinct’s gates to neighbouring areas. Not far from the northern cluster lay the gate to the Citadel Precinct, and I could see the towering plateau between the buildings already. The really fascinating point of focus, though, was along the northern boundary between Citadel and Cellar. The map showed no gate, but it seemed that Aranon had nevertheless been able to cross the Boundary there without triggering an arrest. A secret way up to the Citadel?
Mother and Godiar came to a halt outside one particular mansion, with no garden but several balconies on the upper levels. This was it. I’d never seen it from the outside, but this was the house where Father had been murdered. And it was the part of the northern cluster with the largest magical focus.
Despite my awareness of the map, I could sense no Trace of Father. The street was almost completely deserted right now, but in the last 13 months, countless feet had trod these stones, and nothing at all remained of Aranon.
Mother spoke up. “Could we perhaps gain entry to the house? I’m sure Mister Oana would be willing to let us have a look around.”
A cloud passed over Godiar’s face, for just an instant, before his features returned to sunshine. “An excellent idea, Ollyna.”
Godiar stepped forward, and we followed him up the several wide steps. He reached for a felt-covered stick, like that for some kind of booming drum, and beat it once against a patch of wall beside the door, covered by a piece of taut fabric or membrane. I expected the sound of a drum, but we heard no noise at all from it. However, some hidden mechanism reverberated inside the house.
In a short time, a harried young lady pulled the door open and bowed to us deeply.
Godiar addressed her with the utmost respect, even though I was certain she was just a servant girl.
Mother followed the conversation closely and gasped partway through. She interrupted. “Have her ask the NEW owner if we could —”
Godiar’s waving hand made Mother subside.
It seemed he was obeying, because Mother nodded, suddenly, perhaps without realizing. A moment later, she deflated, and the young servant bowed again before closing the door on us.
Mother and Godiar turned to me, but neither said a word.
“What? What new owner? We can’t go in?”
Mother said, “No.”
Godiar was more specific. “It seems that the previous owner, Mister Oana, has relinquished his interest in this property, since the incident here, and returned to his homeland. We would need permission from the new owner to take a look at the premises.” Godiar shrugged, as if this were beyond his powers to achieve.
“How do we gain permission?” I asked, at once.
“I’m afraid the servant did not know the name of the new owner,” Godiar said.
“But Madame Caska is the one we should ask,” Mother said.
“She is ...?”
“The new tenant,” said Godiar. He seemed a little put out to have to say it. This would all have been so much easier if I had understood Agalin, of course. I would have been able to follow along without asking obtuse questions.
“How do we gain an introduction?” It sounded to me like there were certain social protocols in place, ones that we needed to follow, and I had no idea what they were. But Godiar did.
“I--” began Mother, but then she stopped herself. Perhaps she realized Godiar was about to speak and chose to defer to what he had to say, but I thought there was a beat too long between Mother shutting up and Godiar beginning to speak.
Godiar said, “That presents some difficulties. I don’t know Madame Caska, and I rarely mingle with such well-connected people. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do about it.”
“Excellent,” said Mother, in a way that made me feel she was not pleased in the least.
I realized Mother had something in mind, and she didn’t want Godiar to know about it.