“Mm.” She narrowed her eyes very slightly. “We had a party. A big one. We had planned it for some time. Many come to our celebrations. Some wish to, others feel they must. Some of them were colleagues of yours, as you no doubt know.”
“How many came?”
She waved her hand at the engraver. His eyes shivered, and he quickly said, “Out of a list of one hundred forty-six invited, we had one hundred twelve attend.”
“Can you provide me with a list of all the attendees?” I asked.
“Certainly,” said Fayazi. “But not now. I am not going to fill my day listening to two engravers recite memories. But I will make sure you receive the appropriate information, in full.” I noticed she seemed a great deal less breathy and innocent now. “It was a rare event, you know. We used to open our halls many times a year—once a month, or more. But contagion has put an end to that. So much is brought in from the Plains of the Path, why, I almost hesitate to breathe the air in Talagray proper.”
“What is the purpose of these events, ma’am?”
“What is the purpose of any celebration?”
“Usually to celebrate something, ma’am. A betrothal. A birth. A sacred day.”
“Oh, no. Those things—the birth of famous folk, or the dates of their deaths—those are merely excuses to celebrate. People celebrate because they are desperate to reaffirm fellowship and remember what it is to be alive. It is at my halls that any officer in Talagray can come and hear the singers tell tales of the first Khanum coming to the Valley of the Titans. Or of the Sublimes Prificto, the first whose minds were altered. Or of the Third Emperor, Ejelgi Daavir, and his march along the Titan’s Path.” Her eyes shone bright with a queer energy, one I did not find wholesome. “My great-great-grandfather was there, you know. He was among the Legions that slaughtered the beasts and first cleared the path to the sea, and was awarded our first fief. That was before the cantons. Before the building of the third-ring walls.”
An uncomfortable beat.
“Very impressive, ma’am,” I said. “Can you tell me of your father’s movements? During the party?”
A glimmer of resentment in her eyes. Then she waved her hand again, bored. “He moved as one does during such a thing.”
“Can you describe that, though?”
“He entered on a palanquin carried by six men,” she said, “and waved to the attendees from its window before being taken to his antechamber.” She described such grandiose ostentation like I’d asked what size sandals he wore.
“I…see. Did he interact with many of your guests?”
“Not many. His time is precious—or…or was, I should say. He was very old, and frail. He spent his time carefully and spoke only to the most important folk. Commanders and the like. One or two from the Apoths…but none from the Engineers. Not that day.”
“And the Legion? Or the Iudex?”
A cold smile. “We rarely see their kind. And when they visit, it is short, and perfunctory. They consider themselves above such entreaties. They govern the world—but it is the Apothetikals and the Engineers who make it.”
My eyes fluttered. A voice swam up in my memories: Princeps Topirak, bruised, weeping in the healing tub, and whispering—The Engineers make the world. Everyone else just lives in it.
“You just remembered something,” said Fayazi’s axiom.
It was the first time she’d spoken, and her voice was soft and husky. I found it startling. “Beg pardon?” I asked.
The axiom was watching me carefully now. “You just had a memory—yes? What was it?”
I chose to ignore her question, and instead turned to Fayazi. “Tell me what your father did after his arrival, please, ma’am,” I said. “Did he encounter any steam or hot water during the party?”
If my rudeness offended the axiom, I noted, I could not see it in her face.
“Not during,” said Fayazi. “But after. He took his steam bath, directly after the party ended in the middle of the afternoon. It’s important for his joints.”
“Had anyone tampered with his bath?”
“The porters and attendants, surely. But they would have mentioned it if they had seen anything.”
“Then what?”
“He went to bed. As I said, he is very old and frail.”
I asked her more questions then, about the party and the grounds and the defenses at the gates （“We employed tarsa plants and clothseed vines at the entry,” her engraver said, “which should have alerted us to any contagion present, be it of the fumic or verdant variety”）; about the comings and goings of the attendees （“We had three hundred ewers of mulled sotwine at the start of the event,” Fayazi said wryly, “and only sixteen at the end, so things got rather muddled, yes”）， and on and on. When I was satisfied, I asked her if anything suspicious had happened at all during the event.