Sukman’s temple was on a corner where two smaller streets off the plaza met. It sat far from the road’s edge, as if it had been caught in the act of sidling away from an accident. Its walls were painted a brilliant white, but they were walls of wood instead of stone. Large glass windows pieced together from random colors adorned each side of the building, surmounted by silver spirals that were the god’s symbol. It was said that if you looked long enough at Sukman’s windows, a pattern would emerge, but it would be a pattern only madmen could see.
Zerafine said, “You two wait here and I’ll see if I can talk to the thelos. Maybe we can get this whole thing straightened out before lunchtime.” She went up the steps into the sanctuary.
The colored windows let in light that cast crazy shadows over the unvarnished wooden floor. Despite this, the room was dim, and Zerafine had to pause to let her eyes adjust. Other than a travertine basin on a wooden pillar carved with indistinct figures, the room was empty. Two doors and a hallway led off the main room. Zerafine crossed to the basin, making the floorboards creak in an unmusical tune, and touched the rim: bone dry. The carved figures turned out to be grotesques of human faces, melting from one expression, one face, to another. Zerafine felt profoundly uncomfortable looking at them. She turned and went into the hallway.
She found a comfortable, if shabby, sitting room furnished with uncushioned chairs of some dark wood, a desk, and a cold fireplace. A man in a frayed shirt and ancient trousers looked up from the desk when she entered. She saw him register the red robe and cowl and swallow whatever he had been about to say. “Thelis,” he said instead, rising. “You must be the emissary from Atenar. I thought the forbiddance we laid on the building was active. Please, come in.”
He gestured to one of the seats next to the fireplace and took a seat across from her. “Why would you place a forbiddance on a temple?” she asked. She hadn’t even noticed it. That might say something about the power of Sukman in this city.
The man rubbed a hand across his receding hairline. “We’ve been overrun,” he said. “It’s the only way to get some peace in the mornings. We take it down around ten o’clock so the people can come for Sukman’s protection. It’s been madness here for the last three weeks—no irony intended. I’m Rovalt.”
“Zerafine of Dardagne,” she said. “I would like to talk to your tokthelos, if possible.”
“Genedirou’s up Kerynnos hill banishing another one of these apparitions,” said Rovalt. “But he’ll no doubt go elsewhere before he returns here for the noonday ceremony. The god only knows where the madness will strike next.”
Zerafine leaned forward slightly. “Rovalt, what are these things?”
He shrugged. “They appear with no warning and they seem to interact with things and even places that aren’t there. Some of them vanish within moments, but others wander around until Genedirou banishes them. Genedirou says Sukman is punishing the city, but then he would say that—” Rovalt shook his head. “It’s a question of whether they’re real or simply a mass hallucination. We’ve used up a bale of ceratis trying to learn Sukman’s mind on this, but either he’s madder than usual or he’s just not talking. For all we know, he is punishing the city, but for what?” He rubbed his scalp again.
“But Genedirou is able to banish them?”
“He’s devised a ceremony in which he propitiates Sukman for his intervention. Or something. Genedirou says it’s too complicated for any but the tokthelos to understand. He’s probably right. It makes no sense to me.”
“Do you think he’d be willing to talk to me about it? If it’s too sacred—”
“Maybe, but you never know. It’s worth your asking, I suppose.”
“The Council also told me that the apparitions seem to concentrate in certain spots. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
Rovalt shrugged. “I know we get a lot of complaints from down by the temple of Hanu and Kanu, near the docks. People there are always sending runners, but...Genedirou doesn’t have time to answer every call...” which was code for Genedirou doesn’t want to waste his time on low-class people with no money. Zerafine wondered if the ritual was really as complicated as Rovalt believed, or if Genedirou was just trying to keep all the power and prestige for himself.
Rovalt stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to prepare for the first ceremony now. If you come back around one o’clock, Genedirou will be able to spare you some time.”
“Thank you, Rovalt,” Zerafine said, rising and saluting him. “I’ll see you again soon.”
Rovalt saluted. “I’ll make sure Genedirou knows you’re coming.”
Zerafine returned to the street to find both Gerrard and Nacalia waiting for her. Both had mulish looks on their faces. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t let me buy a seed cake with my own money,” Nacalia said, with a jab of her thumb toward Gerrard.
“I told her not to wander off,” Gerrard growled. “She’s making it sound like I’m a monster.”
“Let’s all go have a seed cake,” said Zerafine, rolling her eyes, “and then we’re going to see if we can find a ghost. Not a real ghost. Damn. Now I’m doing it.”
“You don’t want to go back to the house and go through those notes?”
Zerafine waved the folder in his direction. “Would you want to?”
“Good point.”
She shepherded her companions to a nearby food stall, where they bought deliciously sticky cakes drenched in scented honey. Then they had to stop at the fountain to wash their hands and faces. The black-veined marble fountain rose ten feet in the air and the spray of water jetting from its top added three feet to its height. Men and women carrying pottery jugs stopped in the act of filling them to stare at the newcomers, though it was not obvious who attracted more attention, Zerafine or Gerrard. The red robe drew nervous glances, but Gerrard, well over six feet tall, broad as an ox and white-blond from the summer sun, got his share of attention as well; in the case of some of the women and a couple of men, it was appreciative attention. Gerrard wiped droplets of water from his beard—another thing that set him off from the mostly clean-shaven and dark-haired Portenan men—and acted as if he didn’t notice the stares. Possibly, Zerafine thought, after living ten years in the South, he didn’t.
“Where to now?” Gerrard asked.
“We’re going to find the temple of Hanu and Kanu,” Zerafine replied.
Nacalia sucked in a breath. “That’s not the best part of town, thelis.”
“We’ll have to depend on Gerrard to protect us,” Zerafine said. Gerrard snorted in amusement. Nacalia stared up and further up at the sentare as if weighing their chances.
“I guess he’ll do all right,” she said. “But I bet you’re the more frightening one.”
Gerrard winked at her. “You figured it out. I follow her around so she can protect me.”
“You’re not as dumb as you look,” Nacalia retorted, then danced away as Gerrard sputtered in mock rage and amusement.
“You’re sure we need the whelp?” Gerrard asked Zerafine, who was trying not to laugh.
“Fairly sure, yes. I think she has a crush on you.”
“Me? No, it’s you she wants to hero-worship. I’m the inconvenient lunk hiding behind your robes who trips over his own feet and probably eats too much.”
“You may be reading too much into her attitude. Anyway, you do eat a lot.”
“I need to regain my strength from tripping over my feet all the time.”
Nacalia led them through the vast central plaza and past the temple of Kalindi, queen of the gods, with its bright golden roof and pillars of rose-colored marble. It was the only building in the plaza that hadn’t been damaged in the fires. At least one hundred steps led up the side of a manmade hill to the temple portico, but a steady procession of worshippers made the journey nonetheless. Other temples clustered around: the pillared block of Endelion, the ornately carved and painted pavilion of Marenda, Sintha’s unadorned but elegant temple, its spire challenging the heavens, surrounded by offertory boxes of coins mixed with luck tokens. Another wide street led south from the plaza, and Nacalia went that way.
They passed the grand amphitheater famed for its races and wrestling matches and soon found themselves in a much less grand part of town. The road continued to be well maintained, but the buildings showed signs of age and wear. Five- and six-story apartment buildings leaned into one another for support, as though their weathered wood and mortared stone weren’t enough to hold them up. Women called to each other from open balconies, shaking out laundry or preparing food. Zerafine saw someone dump a chamber pot out of a third-story window. “I thought Portena had indoor plumbing,” she said.
“Most places, yes, but they ha’nt got around to everywhere, and it’s the poorest places get things last of all,” Nacalia said. “We got ours last Sukmor and mam’s so grateful she could cry, if she ever done cry over things.”
The temple to Hanu and Kanu stood in a cleared-out space within sight of the dock gates. Its stone façade gleamed with newness; Zerafine estimated its age at no more than forty years, more post-plague construction. The relief carving over the doorway picked out in bright colors depicted the twin gods wrestling, neither winning, neither relenting.
“You want to go in?” asked Gerrard.
Zerafine shook her head. “The thelos of Sukman said this was one of the loci for so-called ghost appearances. I want to see more of them--with luck, one that lasts for more than a minute.”
“We’re just going to stand here and stare at people?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“You there!” a strident voice exclaimed. “You need to move on!” A skinny, gray-haired man dressed in the blue and brown robes of a thelos of Hanu, or possibly Kanu, was waving at them from the doorway to the temple. Zerafine asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Is something—Young lady, we can’t have theloi of the god of Death hovering near the entrance to this temple like...like gore-crows, or the like. Take your walking mountain and the imp and be about your business.”
Zerafine felt her temper begin to rise and had to sit on it, hard. “Actually, you may be able to help me with my business,” she said as politely as her anger would allow. “I’m looking for one of the apparitions that have been plaguing Portena. Do you know where I might find one? Perhaps an area around here where they’re common?”
“Young lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen one of those delusions and I don’t care to. Ask at one of Sukman’s houses if you’re so interested.”
“The thelos of Sukman directed me to this district. If you haven’t heard anything, could you possibly direct me—”
“Young lady—”
“Thelos,” Zerafine said, her voice low and cut with ice, “if you call me that again I swear by my god I will call down a curse upon you the likes of which your gods have never dreamed. I have been polite and respectful to you and I demand the same respect in return. Now, one last time and I’ll remove my objectionable presence from your doorstep. I am looking for an apparition. You give a good impression of stupidity, but I doubt even you are so insulated from reality that you don’t know what I’m talking about. There is an area here where many of those presences have been seen. Tell me where it is, or who can give me that information, and I’ll be on my way.”
The thelos had turned as gray as his hair. “Thelis,” he said, “I apologize. I truly don’t know where you can find what you seek. But if you ask the dock master, I believe she will be able to help you.”
“Thank you. Atenas’s blessing be far from you,” Zerafine said, giving him the most cursory salute and turning away without waiting for his response. “Dock master?” she said to Nacalia, whose mouth was hanging open and eyes were wide as dinner plates. “Go on, we’re running short on time.” Nacalia nodded and trotted away, almost too fast for Zerafine and Gerrard to keep up.
“I think you scared the kid,” Gerrard said.
“Good. I don’t think she takes me seriously. I mean me as a thelis of Atenas. She needs to be clear on what it is I do.”
“Make threats you can’t deliver on? Or does Atenas now curse people for simple rudeness?”
“I know. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Or lied to him about the curse.” It had been a small lie, more of a threat than a lie, but it still tasted bitter in her mouth. She adjusted her hood. The seicorum lining made the outer wool layer even heavier, and the mid-morning sun promised to burn as hotly as ever. She was already beginning to sweat through her undershift and into her ankle-length sleeveless linen tunic.
The southern gate was wider even than the one they’d entered by the previous night. Its massive, brass-sheathed doors lay flush with the wall and were only closed in time of war; traffic passed through Portena’s harbor day and night. Near the gate, it was obvious that this was an area that catered to sailors and travelers. Even at this hour of the day, the taverns were bustling, and scantily clad women leaned out of upper windows, beckoning to all passersby, male and female. Gerrard waved at a busty, horse-faced redhead who whistled at him and then called to someone behind her to “take a look at the big one there.” Zerafine nudged him. “Stop encouraging them,” she said. The redhead called out something about Gerrard’s size that had nothing to do with his visible attributes. Zerafine thought his sunburn deepened for a moment and grinned at him. “Told you,” she said.
Outside the gate, warehouses lined the city walls, great flat-roofed buildings with doors broad enough to admit two oxcarts abreast. The dock master’s house, its boards painted a weather-beaten blue, lay directly opposite the gate at the edge of the docks. All the traffic that came through Portena’s harbor had to pass by it. Zerafine led the way up the steps to the door and knocked. After a moment, a plump woman threw open the door, said “I told you—” and then gasped. She made a quick sign of warding, and Zerafine heard Gerrard make a noise deep in his throat that was just this side of being a growl. Zerafine didn’t take offense at people’s superstitions, but Gerrard had never gotten used to having warding gestures flicked in their direction.
“Are you the dock master? I was told you might be able to help me,” Zerafine said. The woman recovered herself, blushed, and thrust her hands behind her back.
“I thought you were my husband,” she said. “Please come in, thelis. You must be the emissary. It’s good to know someone’s taking our problem seriously.”
They entered the warm, stuffy dimness of the house, and took seats in the tiny front room. The woman started to sit behind her desk, thought better of it, and came around to lean against it. Nacalia sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, next to Gerrard’s feet. She reminded Zerafine of a cat they’d had in the dormitories at Atenar—small, independent, but quick to seek shelter with the biggest person around.
“I’m Solina, madama thelis,” the woman said. “You’re here about Baz?”
“I don’t know a Baz,” Zerafine replied. “I’m looking for some of these apparitions and I was told I could find one here.”
“That’s Baz,” Solina said. She sounded relieved. “We’ve seen other apparitions, but he’s the only one that’s come back again and again. I know what the theloi of Sukman say, but it’s not madness; Baz never hurt anyone, and we all know it’s his ghost.”
Zerafine bit back a sharp reply. Instead, she said, “Baz was a friend of yours?”
Solina laughed. “Not so much a friend as a lovable pain in my ass. He was a sailor off the Bouncing Biancha who spent his pay faster than he could earn it whenever he came into port. Hard worker, when he was sober, and treated the women nice. He fell overboard when the ship was at sea and drowned. We all knew about it, had a little service for him at the temple, and then four weeks ago people started seeing him around the docks. Figured it was just drunken foolery at first, but then I saw him on the first of Ailausor, right by warehouse twenty, acting like he was toting a load just like always. And I don’t drink, madama.” She poked the air in Zerafine’s direction for emphasis. “We’ve asked for tokthelos Genedirou to come, but he’s too busy to pay any mind to our part of the city. And tokthelos or no, madama, I’m not best thrilled at being told I’m suffering from a temporary madness. My wits are as good as the next man’s. What else could it be but some new kind of ghost?”
Zerafine was impressed by the woman’s emphatic speech even as she totted up the flaws in her argument. Ghosts couldn’t travel over water; if Baz had left a ghost, it would have appeared on the ship immediately, not waited until it had returned to port. And the plain fact was that there were no other kinds of ghosts. Ghosts were fragments of memory desperate to regain a body, not immaterial illusions of people. Was Genedirou telling people that the “ghosts” were a form of traveling madness?
“I’d like to see Baz, if possible,” she said.
Solina nodded. “He’s usually at pier 7 around this time of day. We might have to wait a while,” she warned.
They walked down the docks to pier 7, which was empty of ship and ghost alike. Zerafine pushed back her hood and let her hair fan across her back. In all directions, sailors scrambled up and down rigging, bare-chested men hauled loads into waiting carts, and drovers guided their wagons through warehouse doors or the gate to the city. The briny odor of seawater mixed with the bite of hot tar and the stink of animal waste. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, or if they were, they were unusually discreet about it. It was nice to feel anonymous for a few minutes.
Zerafine turned her attention out to sea and was startled to find a stranger had joined their party. He was bald, with a tremendous mustache drooping down both sides of his mouth, and wore ragged trousers and a stained linen shirt. He seemed not to notice them, but sat down on the edge of the pier and kicked his bare heels above the water.
Solina clutched Zerafine’s arm. Her earlier fear of the thelis had vanished. “That’s Baz,” she whispered. She sounded excited and terrified at the same time.
Zerafine exchanged glances with Gerrard, who gave a typical shrug. “He wasn’t there one second and he was the next,” he said in a low voice. “No fading in, no noise or flashing lights or...I don’t know what else you might expect. Just standing there.” Nacalia peered out from behind Gerrard, her eyes wide.
Zerafine knelt down beside the apparition. He seemed more solid than the woman they’d seen in the market, but there was still a translucency to him that made it clear he wasn’t human. She waved her hand in front of his face and got no reaction. She sat down beside him and said, “Hello, Baz.” The man ignored her. He pursed his lips and began to whistle soundlessly, his feet waving, his hands propped behind his back. Zerafine thought for a moment, then, before she could talk herself out of it, swung herself to sit on Baz’s lap.
She looked down and saw her own body overlaid with Baz’s suddenly more transparent one. Other than that, she felt nothing. Baz seemed nothing more than an image, but she couldn’t help feeling that if she could just—
--and Baz disappeared, and Zerafine inhabited her body alone. She felt no different, felt no lingering effects from Baz’s presence. She scrambled up to face Gerrard, his face crimson, who shouted, “What in Atenas’s name were you thinking? That thing could have killed you, or scrambled your brains, or worse!”
“I didn’t think of that,” she admitted. “It just occurred to me that if it were a ghost, I should be able to communicate with it. It’s not a ghost,” she added.
Solina’s face fell. “So what is it?”
“I don’t know. Not a ghost. Not some kind of madness. An illusion, maybe. And you’re not going crazy, Solina. Baz hasn’t hurt anyone, has he?” Solina shook her head. “Then I think you should just try to ignore him—yes, I know it’s going to be hard, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I can promise you, though, that I will figure it out.”