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He grinned. “You interview them. See if they seem like sound candidates. See what they’re asking for in terms of pay. See if you can agree on terms.”
“And you can do all that?”
“Sure. Now, if you like.” He glanced around, as if looking for clues that she might be in the middle of some other occupation. “Unless you’re busy.”
“No, indeed, this is the most interesting activity I can imagine pursuing for the rest of the day! Just let me get a scarf and I’ll be right back.”
Reese had brought his own gridcar this morning. A sober contrast to Tivol’s, it was sturdy and unadorned, though the interior benches were so heavily padded they were actually comfortable to sit on. It was also twice the size of Tivol’s, big enough to hold six passengers.
“It’s my mother’s,” Reese said apologetically. “My own is being repaired.”
Madeleine squirmed happily on the seat. “I like it! I don’t feel like my bones will break as we go bouncing down the streets.”
Reese laughed and skillfully guided them out of the drive and onto the gridway. The sun was warm enough that Madeleine caught the faint metallic smell of the overhead wires. Today traffic was heavy in all directions. They clicked along behind a large chugger and four private vehicles of varying sizes, their pace so sedate it might almost be called agonizing. On the other side of the road, a similar parade of vehicles slowly cruised in the opposite direction.
The noise made conversation difficult, so Madeleine relaxed on the bench and idly watched the scenery go by. They started out in the northwestern district of the city, nicknamed Council Row because it was where the prominent politicians and wealthy families had their homes. Most of them were shaped much like Madeleine’s own—three- or four-story blocklike structures of white or gray or honey-tinted stones set on expansive lawns. They were generally plain on the outside, with occasional fountains or decorative ironwork fencing to soften their severe edges. It was only once visitors stepped past the imposing front doors that they would get any sense of the colors and styles inside. A great number of the houses were built around central atriums and featured giant supporting pillars that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. In most, the bottom stories would consist of public rooms in prim colors, while the upper stories where family members lived would be decked out in flagrantly joyous hues. But within those restrictions, Madeleine had always found the variety from house to house could be quite amazing. Some manors would be decorated with mosaiced tiles in intricate patterns; others would feature swaths of fabric; still others were painted with landscapes of astonishing detail.
But the view of the grand houses only lasted so long. Once Reese turned onto the main road that headed toward the Quatrefoil, the character of the buildings began to subtly change. For a while they remained in residential districts, but the houses were smaller, a little closer together; it was still impossible to tell from the outside what the personality might be on the inside, but it was clear the level of wealth was not as high. A bit farther east, and the buildings became long rows of connected lodgings. Some were quite fashionable and tended to be rented out to wealthy young socialites who were living on their own; some were a bit more rundown and seemed to be occupied by families that couldn’t afford nicer accommodations.
As soon as they crossed a double row of north-south boulevards, the main road bowed out to curve around the Quatrefoil. Here could be found virtually any destination worth seeking out—parks, theaters, restaurants, museums, and of course the vast complex of the Cordelan temple.
It sat at the very heart of the plaza, the heart of the city itself, a sprawling cluster of buildings all constructed of a dense white stone freckled with icy crystals. In the sunlight—even in the moonlight—the walls seemed to glitter with flecks of holy fire. The main feature was the temple itself, a large circular building topped with a stained-glass cupola. Around it were gathered buildings where the priests lived and worked and stored their centuries of records.
Harlo kept an expansive suite in the largest of these structures, and Madeleine had been there dozens of times for lavish dinner parties where most of the wealthiest families were in attendance. She had once heard Harlo laughingly apologize for not being the sort of priest who followed an abstemious path. Her father had replied, “It is not ascetics we need in the priesthood, but men of conviction.” It had seemed like an odd thing to say—which was why, she supposed, she remembered it all these years later.
Once they passed the temple, three parks, and a line of exclusive shops, they began to edge out of the central district. The minute they crossed another double boulevard, they were in the professional quarter, where forbidding rows of tall, narrow buildings held the offices of lawyers and businessmen. A few miles later, they were passing through a monotonous landscape of warehouses and factories, trying not to breathe in the fumes of oil, exhaust, and smoke.
A few minutes later, Reese turned the car to the right, and they were soon in another part of town altogether. Here, buildings were all low to the ground, built of brick or wood instead of stone, and clustered together like neighbors gathering to gossip. Interspersed with what might be houses and might be taverns were fruit stands and small vendors selling goods out of carts. Gridcars were scarcer and pedestrians more plentiful. Even the air felt warmer than it had in the northern districts. Madeleine looked around with interest.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been to this corner of the city,” she said. “It seems friendly, somehow.” The noise level had dropped so much she didn’t even have to shout.
“Homes and businesses of the workingmen,” Reese said. “I won’t say it’s as safe as your street, but there’s a strong sense of community.”
“All kinds of people, too,” she said. The Council families almost all had at least some Cordelano blood, although their dark coloring was sometimes diluted by the lighter skin tones of Chibani and Maratan ancestors. Anyone in that part of town who looked to be purebred Chibani or Maratan was usually a servant or a merchant making deliveries. But in just a few blocks, she’d seen people of every kind of heritage, including Zessin and even Oraki. It was so unfamiliar.
Reese pulled into a small lot where about a dozen other vehicles were already parked. “Closest place to the leave the car,” he explained as they climbed out. “It’s just a short walk.”
The intensifying heat made it a little unpleasant to stroll down the crowded street, past curious loiterers and an untidy parade of buildings. But they hadn’t gone far before they reached their destination. A large well-kept wooden building sat well back from the road, its open doors inviting passers-by to enter, but its real attraction was out front. A rope-and-pole fence enclosed about two acres of land trampled down to hard earth. Within that makeshift arena, about thirty fighters faced off against each other in various types of combat. Some handled swords or knives; others went at their opponents with their bare hands. All of them were on foot, though Madeleine saw a couple of horses tied up near the side of the building.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, because she had never seen anything like this—so much violent, physical, personal action at such close quarters.
“It can be overwhelming at first,” Reese said. “But stand here and watch for a few moments, and you’ll start to make sense of the contests.”
They moved closer to the flimsy fence, where ten or twelve other onlookers were already gathered. One or two of the spectators cast Madeleine an appraising glance, but none of the fighters even appeared to notice they had an audience. Madeleine took a deep breath, curled the fingers of her right hand around the highest strand of rope, and settled in to observe.
It was soon clear that the pairs of fighters all had different styles and motivations. Two men in the farthest corner were wielding swords with frightening energy, shouting and grunting and landing blows that were so hard she could hear them even above the other noise. Other sets of combatants appeared to be working together, showing off various moves, going through the same set of motions over and over. Knives flashed, mud flew, curses rang out, and fairly often someone started laughing. It was a tangled and chaotic and glorious and terrifying scene.
Madeleine had been watching, dumbstruck, for about fifteen minutes before she remembered that she was here for a purpose, and she began to scan the crowd for candidates who might be suitable. At first, she didn’t see any women among the fighters, but as she looked more closely, she began to pick them out. In the middle of the arena was a tall, muscular woman of Chibani heritage dueling with a man who was shorter but bulkier than she was. Madeleine knew nothing about sword fighting, but they appeared fairly well-matched to her; at any rate, neither of them took what seemed like a killing blow during the time she watched.
Two other women were engaged in a kind of wrestling match where one would grab the other and try to fling her to the ground. Their expressions were focused and serious, and they paused with some regularity to rehearse their motions again, so Madeleine guessed that one might be teaching the other some maneuver. They were both smaller than the sword fighter but bigger than Madeleine, and all three of them looked powerful enough to crush a skull between their hands.I’m sure that’s a valuable trait in a guard,she thought. It was still an unnerving notion.
Reese nudged her with his elbow. “See anyone who interests you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s so hard to judge.”
He nodded toward the right-hand side of the yard, the corner that was closest to the building. “She’s the one who caught my eye,” he said.
Madeleine couldn’t see around the heaving, shifting mass of fighters. “Let’s get closer,” she said, and they circled around the rope fence to get a better look.
