Read Online Path of the Eclipse by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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report to the Secretary for the Co-Ordination of the Regional Militias. If it turns out that you have in any way misrepresented yourself—”
“The Secretary may send soldiers to the Mao-T’ou stronghold,” Saint-Germain finished for the Magistrate. “I am certain that Warlord T’en will welcome them.”
A sudden gust of wind curvetted through the dressing room, and a few muffled voices were heard. Steps approached, and a moment later a man in the official dress of a tribunal scribe entered the hallway and gave Hao Sai-Chu formal greeting. The Magistrate scowled, but stepped back to hear the whispered words of the scribe. Saint-German did not move; he watched the two men through the half-open door.
At last Magistrate Hao turned to him with a penetrating look. “Your clothes are being brought,” he said shortly.
“And my safe-conduct?” Saint-Germain inquired politely.
“It is in order!” With this irritated announcement, Magistrate Hao swung away from the door and stamped off down the hallway.
Some little time later, Rogerio opened the dressing-room door and stepped inside. He carried a stack of carefully folded garments. He himself was already dressed in his usual somber manner.
“Did they trouble you?” Saint-Germain asked as his manservant held out the black sheng go.
“A few questions and a great many threats,” he answered calmly.
“Were you harmed?”
Rogerio paused an instant. “No.”
Saint-Germain knew the man too well to accept this. “What happened?”
“You know that we are losing three of the outriders?” He did not wait for Saint-Germain to answer. “They’ve also intimated they might confiscate the wagons.”
“When?” Saint-Germain had picked up the quilted woolen dalmatica, but paused in the act of pulling it over his head.
“When did they intimate that? When they had us in the dressing rooms.” Distaste tightened Rogerio’s mouth.
“Then you need not worry yourself,” Saint-Germain told him sadly. “That has been resolved.”
“Resolved.” Though Rogerio did not inquire further, Saint-Germain relented.
“It appears that the Worthy Magistrate has a taste for Western art. He has permitted me to give him my Byzantine mosaics.” Now he did not conceal the bitterness he felt, and he saw an answering ire in Rogerio’s features. “So you see.” He opened one hand fatalistically.
Silently Rogerio handed Saint-Germain his Persian-style leggings.
As Saint-Germain bent forward he felt oiled paper press against his chest. He straightened up and reached into the unfastened collar of his sheng go. “Ah.” He pulled out a tightly folded packet. “The safe-conduct, I assume.”
Rogerio offered Saint-Germain a pair of thick-soled slippers. “I watched the scribe read it and seal it, and I myself replaced it.”
Some of the reserve faded from Saint-Germain’s dark eyes. “That was well done of you.”
“I also took time to be certain that nothing was added to the documents,” Rogerio added after a short silence.
Saint-Germain stepped into his slippers. “This is much better,” he said abstractedly. “Yes,” he went on as he secured his wide belt, “you’ve been very wise. Hao Sai-Chu has cost me too much already. I have sacrificed my mosaics to his greed. It would be unpardonable to become victims of his stupidity. I assume that there was another document?”
“The scribe told me it was an accident and that the two papers had stuck together,” Rogerio said quietly.
“And the second letter was an order for imprisonment or execution.” His compelling gaze rested on his servant’s face. “Execution,” he said softly. “I will work the forge tonight. Tell the other three that we leave at first light.” He went to the door of the dressing room. “The rain is stopping. That’s in our favor.”
Rogerio bent quickly, and when he stood again he had a thin Egyptian dagger in his hand. “You may have need of this, I think,” he said as he offered
“The Secretary may send soldiers to the Mao-T’ou stronghold,” Saint-Germain finished for the Magistrate. “I am certain that Warlord T’en will welcome them.”
A sudden gust of wind curvetted through the dressing room, and a few muffled voices were heard. Steps approached, and a moment later a man in the official dress of a tribunal scribe entered the hallway and gave Hao Sai-Chu formal greeting. The Magistrate scowled, but stepped back to hear the whispered words of the scribe. Saint-German did not move; he watched the two men through the half-open door.
At last Magistrate Hao turned to him with a penetrating look. “Your clothes are being brought,” he said shortly.
“And my safe-conduct?” Saint-Germain inquired politely.
“It is in order!” With this irritated announcement, Magistrate Hao swung away from the door and stamped off down the hallway.
Some little time later, Rogerio opened the dressing-room door and stepped inside. He carried a stack of carefully folded garments. He himself was already dressed in his usual somber manner.
“Did they trouble you?” Saint-Germain asked as his manservant held out the black sheng go.
“A few questions and a great many threats,” he answered calmly.
“Were you harmed?”
Rogerio paused an instant. “No.”
Saint-Germain knew the man too well to accept this. “What happened?”
“You know that we are losing three of the outriders?” He did not wait for Saint-Germain to answer. “They’ve also intimated they might confiscate the wagons.”
“When?” Saint-Germain had picked up the quilted woolen dalmatica, but paused in the act of pulling it over his head.
“When did they intimate that? When they had us in the dressing rooms.” Distaste tightened Rogerio’s mouth.
“Then you need not worry yourself,” Saint-Germain told him sadly. “That has been resolved.”
“Resolved.” Though Rogerio did not inquire further, Saint-Germain relented.
“It appears that the Worthy Magistrate has a taste for Western art. He has permitted me to give him my Byzantine mosaics.” Now he did not conceal the bitterness he felt, and he saw an answering ire in Rogerio’s features. “So you see.” He opened one hand fatalistically.
Silently Rogerio handed Saint-Germain his Persian-style leggings.
As Saint-Germain bent forward he felt oiled paper press against his chest. He straightened up and reached into the unfastened collar of his sheng go. “Ah.” He pulled out a tightly folded packet. “The safe-conduct, I assume.”
Rogerio offered Saint-Germain a pair of thick-soled slippers. “I watched the scribe read it and seal it, and I myself replaced it.”
Some of the reserve faded from Saint-Germain’s dark eyes. “That was well done of you.”
“I also took time to be certain that nothing was added to the documents,” Rogerio added after a short silence.
Saint-Germain stepped into his slippers. “This is much better,” he said abstractedly. “Yes,” he went on as he secured his wide belt, “you’ve been very wise. Hao Sai-Chu has cost me too much already. I have sacrificed my mosaics to his greed. It would be unpardonable to become victims of his stupidity. I assume that there was another document?”
“The scribe told me it was an accident and that the two papers had stuck together,” Rogerio said quietly.
“And the second letter was an order for imprisonment or execution.” His compelling gaze rested on his servant’s face. “Execution,” he said softly. “I will work the forge tonight. Tell the other three that we leave at first light.” He went to the door of the dressing room. “The rain is stopping. That’s in our favor.”
Rogerio bent quickly, and when he stood again he had a thin Egyptian dagger in his hand. “You may have need of this, I think,” he said as he offered
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