“Why don’t we sit down?” Lizanne suggested, nodding at an alcove towards the rear of the tomb.
The Blood Imperial gave a faint huff before making a slow progress to the alcove, Lizanne casting a cautious glance at the door as the brass tip of his cane drew an echo from the flagstones.
“Nobody’s coming, love.” The old man sighed as he sank onto the narrow bench set into the alcove. “You can be sure of that.”
Lizanne perched herself on the edge of the plinth supporting Empress-cum-Emperor Azireh’s sarcophagus, taking a moment to scan the tomb’s interior in greater detail. “So, have you ever found it?” she asked. “The great treasure revealed only by Nelphia’s light.”
“Years ago,” he said, rubbing his knee. “Wasn’t really treasure. It was a scroll hidden in the lintel. Some of the letters are carved to a different depth, only becomes obvious when Nelphia’s at the right elevation. Took me years to work out the correct sequence to press. When I did, a scroll popped out of a hidden compartment. Clever old cow, Azireh.”
“What was on it?”
“A list, all the people she’d killed over the years. Not the executions, you understand, because Azireh was renowned for her mercy. No, this was all the noble shit-eaters and trouble-makers she’d had poisoned or arranged to fall victim to an unfortunate accident. It was a long list. I suppose it was some sort of confessional, unburdening her soul before making the final journey into godhood. Would’ve transformed our understanding of her reign completely, if I hadn’t burned it.”
“Why do that?”
She saw his mouth twitch behind the grey veil. “You met our Divine Emperor tonight. Mad as a Blue-addled monkey, isn’t he?”
Lizanne maintained a neutral tone as she replied, “He had some interesting notions to impart.”
“Let me guess, you’re some sort of holy incarnation sent to help him defeat Sethamet’s demon horde.” The Blood Imperial shook his head. “Every time he slips into this state his delusions get a little more complex, but at least they’re consistent. His father always said we should’ve drowned the little fucker, and he wasn’t exactly the straightest arrow in the quiver, either. It’s how it is in this empire, love. The mad and the inept become gods. It’s an absurd and ancient pantomime, and it works, but only if everyone stays in character. Azireh, the only woman ever to sit the throne, was a wise and magnanimous ruler who founded a dynasty that would one day produce our current beloved Caranis, and that’s how she’ll stay.”
Lizanne noted that his hands had stopped twitching, making her wonder as to the true state of his infirmity.
“You killed a lot of my best people,” he said. “The Blood Cadre is a bit like a family, there being so few of us, comparatively speaking. They look on me as a father of sorts, and many of my children want justice for their murdered brothers and sisters.”
“Killing in war isn’t murder,” Lizanne replied. “And I lost plenty of good people in Carvenport, if you want to compare butcher’s bills.”
“Oh, don’t mistake me.” He shrugged and gave a dismissive wave of his stick. “Been many a year since I took any of this stuff personally. Just a word of caution, not all my kiddies can be counted on to help in our endeavour.”
“And what exactly is our endeavour?”
“The defeat of the White Drake and its terrible minions, of course. With the help of the Mad Artisan, or whoever it was set down that marvellous design I sent to Director Bloskin. How is the old bastard, by the way? Still smoking too much?”
“Considerably. Since you sent the design, I assume you can point me to its creator.”
“Wish it were that simple. Got it by a roundabout route, y’see. Passed through a dozen hands before one of my kiddies chanced upon it when she was doing a little job for me up north. It was in a box of documents the former owner no longer had a use for. An investigation of tedious length eventually tracked it back to a retired member of the Imperial Constabulary who, after some gentle persuasion, explained that the design had been amongst a number of keepsakes he’d helped himself to during his last posting.”
“And where might that be?”
The Blood Imperial smiled, revealing oddly white teeth for a man of his age. “Scorazin, love. You’ll find whoever drew it in Scorazin.”
She stared at him for a long moment, watching his smile fade and eyes narrow in expectation.
“You expect me to infiltrate the Emperor’s prison city,” she said.
“Indeed I do.”
“You have your own agents. Use them.”
“Already tried it. Sent my two best. The first one lasted three days, the second managed four. You may not have heard, but Scorazin isn’t a very nice place and getting product through the gates is practically impossible. But, if anyone can get in there and find the Artisan, it’s you. Why else d’you imagine I sent the design to Bloskin?”
“I’ll have the Emperor scour the place. He’ll do anything for Sethamet’s Bane, after all.”
“Won’t work, love. It’s fair odds he’ll have returned to sanity by the morning and won’t even remember meeting you. Even if he hasn’t, you must have realised by now that not everyone in this court shares my desire to preserve the current state of affairs. Countess Sefka’s been plotting my downfall ever since she took control of the Cadre, and she isn’t alone. Certain long-standing interests don’t like a gutter-born upstart like me having so much influence over the Emperor. Nor do they appreciate so much power resting in the hands of a Blood-blessed. They’d much prefer it if we went back to being the slaves of the elite, and that I won’t have. You might persuade Caranis to tear Scorazin apart in order to find the Artisan, but would he even be findable amidst so much chaos? Besides which, it’ll be a clear signal to Sefka and her cronies that something of great value to me resides in that city, intelligence I’ve so far managed to keep from her. No, my dear Miss Lethridge. You want the Artisan, you’ll have to go in there and get him.”
“And having done so, just hand him over to you, I assume?”
“Better in my hands than Sefka’s, believe me. She looks upon the drake threat as a minor inconvenience. You and I know better. You do have my firm assurance, however, that whatever useful information he provides will be shared with the Ironship Syndicate.”
He’s probably lying, Lizanne decided, but knew it didn’t really matter since she had no intention of taking the Artisan anywhere but Feros, assuming she could even find him. Everything she had heard of Scorazin told of a seething cesspool of degraded humanity forced to work in the mines beneath the city for scraps of food. However, her career had taken her to many terrible places and none had yet managed to kill her, or thwart her various missions.