Chapter 9

A year before the Cleansing, the Litarch summoned it upstairs. It arrived in the parlour in sweaty training clothes, and stood there watching Silinie and the Dirarch argued. Silinie wanted to visit with the younger members of other Houses. Her father insisted she have an older relative or guards as an escort. Silinie said either one would ruin her fun and threatened to sneak out by herself. The Dirarch swore he to lock her in her room if she tried.

The Litarch waited until they’d fallen into angry glaring to say they had a perfectly good servant that could both protect Silinie and be unobtrusive. The idea appalled Silinie, who protested that a Death was an even worse escort than guards. The old woman said it only looked like a Death because it was dressed as one. It could pass for anyone Silinie liked—a younger cousin, for example—if she clothed and trained it properly.

Silinie’s eyes lit up like a child getting a new pet. She declared that she would turn it into a young lady, grabbed its wrist, and led it upstairs to begin its transformation. She spent two weeks teaching it to dress, walk, and talk. Then Silinie took it to a party and introduced it as Metilia, her shy cousin from the country, and everyone believed her.

Silinie was overjoyed. She plied “Metilia” with wine and stayed out past her curfew. That night, very late and halfway across the river, the skies opened and rain poured. They wielded their hats as buckets to keep their hired boat from swamping and arrived home soaking wet, laughing like idiots. Silinie marched into the house and announced that she was at fault. “Metilia,” she declared, only followed her orders.

Her father ordered Silinie to stay in the manor grounds for a week for breaking curfew and sent her to her room. She accepted that as fair and promised not to do it again. The Dirarch waited until she’d gone to bed, then dragged downstairs, made it strip, and beat it with a belt until it passed out.

The Master of Death woke it with a bucket of cold water on its stinging flesh. Anything that happened to Silinie, its master said, was its responsibility. Whether Silinie was late for curfew or struck by lightning, it would be punished for failing to protect her. Then, to drive the lesson home, he made it train for three days without sleep.

It never told Silinie, of course.

For eleven months it became her companion. It still lived in the training room, slept on its rug and killed at the Dirarch’s order. But two nights a week Silinie transformed it into her cute, skinny cousin Metilia and took it to all her friends parties.

It never allowed itself to be drunk again, but it did learn how to dance, sing, and talk with the other young house members. It even learned to turn away suitors without causing hurt feelings. Silinie bossed it about the entire time, of course, but was never mean and sometimes even forgot that “Metilia” wasn’t her cousin until they arrived home.

She was planning another outing when the House was Cleansed.

It reaches the clothing store, looks over the ragged garments on the tables in front, and shows the owner a sinet. The woman takes its coin and leads it to the back room. There, among much better-quality cast-offs, it finds what it needs.

First comes a long slip, with special pockets over the chest and small pads create the illusion of breasts. Next comes a white shirt of good but not expensive quality, and an ankle-length green skirt. Its sandals will pass, so it doesn’t buy others. It finds a sleeveless jacket in a similar shade that hangs to its hips and hides its daggers, and a matching hat to cover its short hair. Then it hires a boat to the right bank.

It keeps on the main roads when it arrives and walks like a young lady who knows where she’s going. A few men whistle, and one follows it. Using one of Silinie’s tricks, it stops at a group of older women and tells them. They descend on the man and send him on his way with sharp words and sharper slaps.

Closer to the University, drinking houses, smoke-houses, bath-houses and food-stalls line the streets. A whiff of grilled fish reminds it how long it has been since it ate a proper meal. It spends two pils on flatbread stuffed with fish and vegetables, and eats it as it walks.

The university buildings sprawl around a cathedral—the God’s church was the first to educate men and women in the city. To limit the church’s influence, the Prince—and after his death, the great Houses—built their own Learning Houses. It became a contest to create the best architecture and have the most impressive teaching staff. Now the Learning Houses ranged from large multi-building complexes to tall towers to a strange, round building that resembled nothing more than an oversized cock-fighting pit. The church Learning Houses had eschewed architectural magnificence in favour of simplicity, functionality and a common style. Each was square with four dome-capped towers, few exterior windows, and an iron gate leading to inside courtyard.

It takes a few questions to find Learning House Martyr Pelinol. Once there, it does a quick search for the closest drinking house. It goes in, orders a plate of bread and dipping oil and a pot of tea, and waits.

In late afternoon, the students enter the drinking house in a wave of noise. They call for cheap beer and pipes and food. The servers in their plain kilts and dark shirts work and smile and pretend to find the students amusing as the young men and women drink and smoke and eat.

It drinks its tea and listens to the students’ conversations. Some complain about classes and assignments. At one table a lively debate on city politics begins. Another group argues on the Church’s policy on pre- and extra-marital relationships. Fortunately, they are all still sober enough to argue passionately but not grow aggressive.

It hears someone say “demonology” and focuses on a group of students grumping about their last examination, save one who’s gloating how well he did.

It uses another of Silinie’s tricks to get their attention: keep your eyes on the ones you want to talk to and they (or their friends) will notice. It takes time, but one of them glances its way and sees it watching them. He tells his fellows, and more of them peer at it. It returns their gaze and puts on a small smile. A quick discussion among the six at the table—four men, two women—results in a game of odds and evens until one loses and stands.

He’s young man, a bit soft around his middle and his face, wearing new-looking clothes. He has bright brown eyes and long black hair held back in a braided tail. His light brown skin is clean and unblemished, and does nothing to hide the blush on his face. He opens his mouth twice, but no words come. On the third time, he blurts, “Are you here by yourself?”

“I was supposed to meet my cousin here,” it says, trying to sound embarrassed. He has long eyelashes, too. It could imagine Silinie raving about them. “She hasn’t arrived and I’m feeling very awkward by myself.”

“Well, you can feel awkward with us, then,” the young man says. When it doesn’t laugh his blush turns deep red. “Sorry, that was a joke.”

It puts on an earnest expression. “Maybe tell me your name before the next one?”

“My apologies.” He gives a quick bow. “I’m Micka, student of Learning House Martyr Pelinol. Why don’t you join us and you can introduce yourself to us all at once?”

It hesitates for a five-count before saying. “Thank you, I will.”

At their table, it sits between the two women, like Silinie always did when meeting new people. Safety in numbers, she used to say. They are all from Learning House Martyr Pelinol, it learns. The women are Desinia and Kelti, and the other men are Partonin, Letvino, and Duft.

“And your name?” asks Letvino, whose eyes and skin are both a shade darker that Micka’s. He’s handsome in an angular way but his pupils are dialated with clohaolc.

“Metilia of House Silinie,” it says. “Are you all studying to be priests?”

“No,” says Duft, who is dark-skinned and built wide and solid. “We’re the younger sibling squad, sent to school to learn to assist our families in their businesses.”

“Oh,” it tries looking crestfallen, then raises its head with what it hopes is a nervous expression, and blurts out, “Do you know anything about demons?”

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