Story #45 - Mother's Way

Mother's Way

Magister Venn hurriedly collected the documents on his desk and darted into the hallway. The Imperial audience chamber was a fifteen minute walk from his office through the palace grounds, and thanks to a matter of some importance that had arisen in the morning he found himself with only five minutes to make the journey, something that gave his feet a swiftness his portly girth was simply unaccustomed to.

Those he passed in the hall stared without reservation at his fat form flying by, their normally reserved court decorum abandoned in the face of the thundering, brown-clad Venn bearing down upon them, chest heaving and breath coming in labored gasps. He didn't have time to explain, didn't have time to stop and mutter pleasantries to women he hardly knew and men who simply wanted his favor. He was senior adviser to the Emperor in matters of infrastructure, hereditary owner of the lands north of the Betal river and no stranger to the intrigue of court – some whose good graces were highly sought after.

He was also late, or very nearly, for an audience with the Emperor.

More accurately, he was nearly late for an audience with the Emperor and his mother, a thought which provided him no small amount of distress.

Stepping around a particularly slow-moving gaggle of nattering socialites, Venn didn't even bother with the usual apologies. Others could forgive him, could forget his transgressions or never mention them because he held a higher rank. The Mother, Sun hold her, forgot nothing and was well known for dismissing even titled officials with the barest provocation.

Venn had heard the rumors – though he was loathe to believe them – that her dismissals periodically came at the end of the headsman's axe. Of course, that had to be simple fear mongering by the Houses, a way to play independents in the court against each other and keep Houses in a position of power. Didn't it?

He'd find out soon enough.

The first bell of midday tolled and he drove his feet to slap more quickly onto the colored paving stones that marked the entrance to the Imperial quarter. He was almost there. At three strokes, he rounded the corner to the Imperial walkway and by nine he had come to the first guard of the Gate.

At twelve strokes precisely, the guardsman-herald announced his name across the open hall to the two figures inside. The weather had turned recently, prompting the Emperor to begin receiving guests in the outer audience chamber, a fully-enclosed space save for the large open roof area, one that was constantly monitored by at least seven Black Hands at any given moment. Venn didn't bother looking for them; he'd only seen a member of their sect face-to-face once, in the early days of the Emperor's reign and that had been quite enough for him. Their hands actually were black, the result of a process Venn couldn't guess at and they moved more like music than men, swirling about and never seeming to pause, never to hover on one note for too long.

“Magister Venn.” The Emperor’s voice was deep and strong, a complement to the finely sculpted form that bore the throne. Expect in times of coldest winter the young ruler always went bare-chested, much to the envy of larger men such as Venn himself and much to the appreciation of the younger women at court – and the older ones, come to think of it. “You may approach.”

Venn was careful – he hadn't taken a single step into the chamber without permission, but did so now quickly, following the small stone path that led to the raised dais on which all visitors were required to stand. Hands had to be out of pockets and sleeves and eyes must remain facing straight ahead. Looking at the ruler himself was forbidden without his permission and no concealing or quick movements would be tolerated. Venn was sure each of the Black Hands above would be able to kill him with a single arrow or thrown knife, and so maintained a rigid posture, hands held splayed in front of him. He represented no threat.

“Tell us of your project, Magister. What is the delay?” It was the voice of the Mother. Hard-edged and with a demand for an instant response, this was a voice that brooked no arguments, that required only absolute obedience to be satisfied. This, Venn could provide.

“It is the catacombs, Mistress. We were unaware of them before beginning our work and they now delay us as we clear them out. The sewer system is coming, but I am afraid it will take more time.” He pulled hard on himself to rein in his fear, but his voice showed his efforts to have been only partially successful.

“Afraid?” The Mother's voice was light, mocking. “As well you should be. We have demanded this thing be done and you will do it. No more delays. You will go around these catacombs and leave them be. How long until you are finished?”

Venn blinked in surprise. Go around? That would mean redirecting, re-plotting, a great many plans would have to be changed. He thought quickly. “Three weeks, Mistress. At best.”

She sniffed delicately. “Not so. You have two.”

He let out a quick half-sigh of relief before catching himself. Three had been high, but he had been betting on a reduction and hoping it wasn't going to be one week. Two weeks would be possible.

“And leave the catacombs untouched,” she continued, “disturb them and I will have you killed.” It was a simple statement of fact, and Venn stumbled backward half a step at the calm savagery of her words.

“Leave,” she said quietly, “now.”

Turning, Venn sped back along the path toward the door, mind spinning. The Mother was even more powerful than he had imagined, even more forceful in life than in story. The Emperor, surprisingly, had been almost invisible.

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder as the door drew near. Shaded by the overhang of the large entryway, the Black Hands had no chance to see him sneak a quick look at the Mother handing her son a charcoal stick and bright white sheet of parchment.

Carrying softly across the audience chamber came a young man's high-pitched squeal of joy. “Oh goody!” said the Emperor, master of all men and arbiter of the Fates, “coloring is fun!”

Venn rarely had opportunity to see true power wielded well; today he had been in the presence of greatness. Shuffling into the hallway, he made haste back to his own chambers. What they had found in the catacombs was now of greater importance than ever; the work must continue before the Mother found out.

-D