There is a great deal about this I don’t like, Kel thought. But Andreyen had a point. If Kel didn’t talk to the King, there was no way to find out if there was a greater danger Conor was in. If Beck wanted more than just money. Getting rid of Beck was as much in Conor’s interest, and thus Kel’s, as it was the Ragpicker King’s.
“All right,” said Kel. “I will speak with the King. But if I get murdered because of it, I swear to Aigon I will come back and haunt you from hell.”
“Excellent,” said the Ragpicker King. “I look forward to it.”
Once a week, the Maharam held receiving hours in the Shulamat. He sat in state, wearing his sillon, ceremonial robes thickly fringed at the cuffs and hem with dark-blue thread. Across his lap lay his almond-wood staff—a replica of the one Judah the Lion had carried with him into the desert after the destruction of Aram.
During these hours, the Maharam would answer questions regarding matters of Law, offer blessings on engagements or new babies, and moderate minor disputes that had sprung up in the Sault. Any accusation of a crime, or issue that involved the whole community, would be saved for the annual visit of the Sanhedrin. It was during one of these hours that Chana Dorin had brought Lin to the Maharam to demand that she be allowed to study medicine.
Lin had not come before him again since—until today. And she had not wanted to come before him today, either. But she had been desperate. The previous night she had gone to the House of Women to see Mariam, bringing with her not her physician’s satchel but the brooch she’d had made with Petrov’s stone in it.
She had tried everything she could think of to awaken the stone in Mariam’s presence. All she wanted was for it to flare up as it had at the Palace, but it lay cold and dead in her palm like a toad’s eye waiting to be dissected. Thinking words at it did nothing, concentrating did nothing, and praying, alas, did nothing. Eventually Mariam, sensing her distress, had begged her to go to sleep and worry about making the stone work as a healing object later. “After all,” Mariam had said, “you still know so little about it.”
Which, Lin had to admit, was true, and here was her chance to change all that. So she had waited this afternoon, very deliberately, loitering in the square outside the Shulamat, until everyone else who had come to see the Maharam was finished.
The diamond-paned windows of the Shulamat let in a pale gold light, in which dust motes hovered like wingless moths. The silence was eerie as Lin proceeded up the aisle, between the rows of benches, toward the Almenor, the raised central platform where the Maharam sat.
She approached and made the customary gesture of respect, folding her two hands over her heart. His silver hair and beard shone like pewter as he inclined his head, acknowledging her.
Lin heard a faint sound. It was Oren Kandel, she realized, sweeping a broom along the rows of empty pews. A sense of irritation prickled along her spine; she wished Oren was not there, and not so clearly eavesdropping.
Still. There was nothing to be done about it.
“I have come,” Lin said, “to petition for access to the Shulamat library.”
The Maharam frowned. “That is impossible. Access to the library is only for students of the holy texts.”
“As a physician,” Lin said carefully, “I am asking that an exception be made. A life is in danger—Mariam Duhary’s life. And is not the saving of a life a purpose holier than any other, even obedience to the Law?”
The Maharam templed his fingers beneath his chin. “You bring up an interesting question of Law,” he said. “I will deliberate upon it.”
“I . . .” Lin turned to glare at Oren, who was inching closer with his broom. “I hope that you will not need to deliberate long. Mariam needs my help—our help—soon.”
“You are passionate about your profession,” said the Maharam. “That is admirable. I will do my best to help you.” His teeth were yellow when he smiled. “Perhaps you could help me, in return. Your grandfather brought you to the Palace the other night, I understand?”
Lin had not been prepared for this. But of course the Maharam would know; Oren had been at the gate that night, and would have told him. “I had a patient there,” she said.
“There are many other fine physicians in the Sault,” said the Maharam. “Why bring you? It is not as if you and your grandfather are close. A shame, I have always thought. Did he perhaps wish to discuss with you the matter of who will succeed him as Counselor? Who he plans to recommend to the Palace? He is not a young man, after all, and must be tiring of his arduous duties.”
Oren had given up all pretense of sweeping and was staring openly.
“My grandfather does not confide in me, Maharam,” said Lin. “As you observed, we are not close.”
Disappointment flashed across the Maharam’s face, deepening the net of wrinkles around his eyes. “I see,” he said. “Well, it is a complicated matter you have brought before me. It may require the wisdom of the Sanhedrin.”
Lin caught her breath. “But—it could be months before they come to Castellane again,” she said, forgetting to be politic. “Mariam could die by then.”
The Maharam’s usually benevolent gaze hardened. “Mariam Duhary is dying of the same disease that killed her father—a disease the best physicians of the Sault could not cure. Yet you think you can do better? Why?”
“I think,” said Lin, trying to control her temper, “that for a religion that purports to worship a Goddess, who was once a powerful Queen, there are a great many men making decisions about what I, a woman, can read and do.”
His eyes darkened. “I advise you to tread carefully, Lin. You are a physician, not a scholar. Yes, we worship her, but it is from Makabi that we have our Laws, from which none of us are exempt.”
“Makabi was not a God,” said Lin. “He was a man. I do not believe it is the will of the Goddess that Mariam die so young. I do not believe the Goddess is so unkind.”
“It is not a matter of kindness. It is a matter of fate and purpose.” The Maharam sat back, as if weary. “You are young. You will understand in time.”
He closed his eyes as if in sleep. Lin understood this as a dismissal. She left, pausing only to kick the pile of dust Oren had swept carefully into a corner. She heard him yell as she hurried down the steps, and grinned. Let that be a lesson to him not to eavesdrop.
When Kel returned to the Palace, he found Conor lying on his bed, reading a book. This was not unusual: Conor tended to treat Kel’s bed as an extension of his own, and would often drape himself across it when feeling dramatic.
He sat up when Kel came in, and said, “Do you think you’ll be ready for practice again soon? Or do you intend to continue this business of wandering about the Palace like a lost soul?”
Kel shrugged off his jacket and went to join Conor on the bed. It had not occurred to him before, but his new habit of rambling about the grounds of Marivent provided a useful excuse for any absences. “I thought we could start up again tomorrow—”
“There’s a diplomatic dinner two nights hence,” Conor said. “I’ve been trapped with Mayesh all afternoon, practicing my Malgasi. You ought to come. Sena Anessa will be there, too, and she likes you. I believe she feels she’s watched you grow up.”