The Floodgate

Matteo was silent for a long moment. His words, when he spoke, surprised him. "You find her beguiling?"

The older man sighed heavily. "It does not matter what I think. I am not the one who missed the purification ritual."

Matteo was unlikely to forget this particular disgrace, though he wasn't certain why Iago brought it up in the current context. "I will remember," he promised.

Iago was not yet finished. "We've all learned the tales of impossible quests and tragic passions. Only heroes can afford such things, Matteo. We are not heroes. We are counselors."

The young man shook his head in bewilderment. "I know what I am."

"I hope so, Matteo," he said softly, his black eyes fixed upon the rapidly approaching docks.

They did not speak again, except for a strained recitation of ritual parting words as they left the ship and went their own ways.

Night enfolded the city as Matteo worked his way through the teeming dock area and out onto the broad, tree-lined streets of Halarahh. Magical lanterns winked alight as he set a brisk pace toward the palace.

His thoughts turned to Queen Beatrix. He did not know the exact nature of the steward's concern, but he could think of several possibilities. He owed his position to the death of his predecessor. The queen's former counselor had been slain by one of her clockwork devices.

This had long puzzled Matteo. No one at the palace ever spoke of this accident. Nor had the jordain's death been discussed at the College. Matteo had still been a student at the time, and certainly would have heard the stories. Was it possible that a man's death could be held in such strict secrecy and without consequence to those at fault? Halruaa was a land of law. Surely even the queen was not above its rule!

Yet as far as Matteo could tell, no steps had been taken to curb the queen's strange and dangerous pastime.

Many things about his royal patron troubled him, not the least of which was the strange song he had overheard her sing at their last meeting. For a brief moment, the queen had reminded him of Tzigone.

Yet the voice was not the same, nor was there any physical resemblance between the queen and his friend. Surely he was seeing ghosts in a house not haunted! He had promised Tzigone to help her find her mother, and of course he would search for Tzigone's face in that of every woman he met. It didn't help matters that Tzigone, with her unca

He absently dodged a pair of giggling lovers who staggered out of an alehouse, supporting each other as they wove down the street. As Matteo passed the narrow alley that ran behind the tavern, a small figure stirred amid the shadows, and a very grubby face turned to watch him pass.

The jordain walked on, aware of the soft pad of footsteps behind him. He was not entirely surprised to sense a furtive touch on the hilt of his silver dagger.

Matteo reached back and seized the fragile wrist. He spun toward the thief, twisting the lad's arm and spi

The lad seemed to realize this. He went along quietly, no doubt hoping to escape once they were well away from prying eyes.

Matteo marched the boy behind a pile of crates. "You've nothing to fear from me," he said softly. "Thievery suggests great need. If this is so, speak plainly. I will keep your confidence, and do what I can to help you."

"Well, since you offered, there's an itch between my shoulder blades that I just can't seem to reach," suggested a familiar voice, a rich alto that bubbled with suppressed mirth.

A familiar jangle of emotion sang through Matteo-amusement, affection, exasperation, and the mingled chagrin and delight he'd felt as a lad when he fell victim to one of Andris's pranks.

"Tzigone," Matteo muttered. He released the "urchin," who whirled to face him.

Even now that he knew her, Matteo had difficulty seeing his friend under her disguise. She'd smeared dark ointment on her face for a sun-browned appearance, and one swollen cheek bore the yellowing remnant of a huge bruise. She spat out a small, wadded rag, and her face took on a more familiar shape.

Tzigone fisted both of her grubby hands in his hair and pulled him down to her level. She planted a resounding kiss on the bridge of his nose, then matter-of-factly wiped away a smudge of greasepaint she'd left behind.

Feeling strangely discomfited, Matteo stepped back and drew his jordaini dignity around himself like a cloak. "Is this how Basel Indoulur dresses his apprentices?"

"I dress myself, thanks," Tzigone retorted, her eyes dancing with glee. "Same goes for the undressing. Don't think that I don't get offers, though, glamorous wench that I am."

"No doubt," Matteo murmured. "So. How are your studies progressing?"

Her smile faded and reshaped itself into a lopsided grin. "I expect to be elevated to the Council of Elders within the tenday."

"Have you learned more of your mother?"

The light faded from her eyes. "I thought it would be easy to find a lost wizard once I was inside the tower, so to speak. Wizards hoard information like heirloom spell books. Since we're being blunt and serious, I might as well take a turn. What news of Kiva?"

"She has escaped." Matteo placed a hand over Tzigone's mouth to cut off her outburst, then promptly released her. "I gave my word to the Azuthan priests that I would keep this in confidence, subject only to previous vows. The pledge of friendship between us is one such vow. Since Kiva has been pursuing you your entire life. I felt that you must be forewarned."

"Thanks," Tzigone muttered absently. "So you've got the same problem I have-you have to find someone without letting anyone know you're looking. Is there anyone you can trust? What about that old elf who was nice to you when you both worked for Procopio Septus? Maybe his friends know something useful."

"I'm afraid that path ends against a solid wall. Zephyr died a traitor's death. All who knew him are scrambling for as much distance as they can get."

Tzigone regarded him appraisingly. "Cynical. That's a new color for you."

Matteo sighed. "Can we be serious for a moment?"

"One of us can, that's for damn sure," she murmured.

He ignored the good-natured insult. "As a jordain, I am pledged to serve the queen, my patron. As a friend, I have promised to help you learn what became of your mother. Both of these things are important, but Kiva must be found, and soon."

"Agreed," Tzigone said readily, "but why are you looking for Kiva in Halarahh?"

"I'm not. I was ordered back to the palace. I will continue my search as soon as I can obtain leave."

She considered this. "What happens to a jordain who just picks up and goes?"

"I don't know," he said in surprise. "As far as I know, it has never happened."

"Hmm." Tzigone sent him a sidelong glance from beneath lowered lashes, but did not press the matter.

They spoke for a few moments of other things, and in that time Matteo laughed more than he had under the light of the past two moons. After Tzigone slipped away, Matteo continued to the palace with a lighter heart.

He made his way directly to the queen's chambers. As he had expected, the workshop hummed with activity. He found the queen working at a table in a far corner of the chamber and drew near to pay his respects. He might as well have tried to discuss philosophy with a cat. She never once looked up from the half-finished device, oblivious to everything but the winged metal creature taking shape under her hands.