House of Shadows by Neumeier Rachel Page A

glamorous anywhere. But, see, my lord, if a man wants more than elegant companionship from a keiso, he must handfast her as a flower wife, a keimiso. Then he must buy her a house of her own, and maybe a shop or restaurant if she wishes such a thing, and he must acknowledge any left-hand children she might bear him and set the boys up in a trade—the girls usually follow their mother’s path and become keiso, of course.”
    “I can see,” Taudde told her, “that you will need to teach me more of your Lonne customs, if I do entertain guests. But first we shall see how this dinner of Lord Miennes’s goes. It is to be a formal occasion, I believe. Have I anything suitable to wear?”
    Nala pursed her lips consideringly. “There are very good tailors in the Paliante, my lord. Benne can guide you.”
    “A man of multitudinous talents,” Taudde murmured.
    “Lord?”
    “Never mind.” Taudde went to find the big man.
    Lonne, as befit the most refined city of sophisticated Lirionne, possessed many elegant treasures. Perhaps the queen among thesewas the Paliante, which lay immediately below the King’s District. Farther back, the Laodd climbed the rugged cliffs. Immediately south of this fortress, the Nijiadde River flung itself over the cliffs and fell a thousand feet to shatter into diamond spume where it struck the stone below. Together, fortress and waterfall formed, as though by design, an imposing backdrop to the graceful Paliante.
    Homes in the Paliante were faced with carved stone or expensive pale gold brick; the intricate wrought-iron work that guarded their spacious courtyards and windows was twisted into fanciful dragons or dolphins or eagles. Shops in the Paliante sold the work of the best perfumers and jewelers and woodcrafters to an exclusive clientele that, after dark, drifted across the Niarre to the theaters, aika establishments, fine restaurants, and keiso Houses of the candlelight district.
    Far to the south of the Paliante, sprawling mercantile yards received overland trade from across the mountains—less trade than usual, in these tense times. Near the great tradeyards lay manufacturing districts where the dyers and coppersmiths, the woodworkers and stone masons had their establishments. And besides all this, street vendors held busy and crowded open-air markets down by the docks where they sold many odd and interesting objects.
    This was where Taudde found himself an hour after dawn, in a morning that promised at least beauty if not clarity or confidence. The Paliante would be the place to purchase formal clothing for the evening, but it was the sea itself that drew Taudde. Slate gray where it washed up on the shale beaches, the sea turned brilliant sapphire farther out. The rhythm of its waves coming up against the shale formed a harmony with the clamor of the streets, the rattle of wheels across cobbles and the singing calls of vendors advertising their wares.
    A fine three-masted ship had made its way out past the crowd at dock and was heading out toward the sapphire horizon. Taudde wished, suddenly and intensely, that he was aboard her—heading for Erhlianne perhaps, away from duty and peril and the hope or threatof vengeance. What would it be like to stand on the deck of a moving ship, surrounded by measureless blue fathoms? The music of the sea would not be a thin trace barely audible behind the clamor of the city, but all-enveloping. He half closed his eyes, listening for that music.
    And heard an echo of it, captured and transmuted to a more familiar form.
    The vendor was clearly an old sailor stranded ashore by age and infirmity. He had a thin bony face, deep-set eyes, and hands crippled by years of hard use. His booth was set low, tucked nearly out of sight under a dock, where the sea broke across the slate. It was a small booth and held very little, mostly rough objects made out of driftwood. But Taudde had been caught by the sound of a flute the man played.
    The old sailor played with his