You remind me of an old cat I once had. Whenever he killed a mouse he would bring it into the drawing-room and lay it affectionately at my feet. I would reject the corpse with horror and turn him out, but back he would come with his loathsome gift. I simply couldn't make him understand that he was not doing me a kindness. He thought highly of his mouse and it was beyond him to realize that I did not want it. -- P. G. Wodehouse, Something Fresh

After the stress and drama of the last few months, Kilan found the sudden peace and quiet unsettling. All right, so perhaps "peace and quiet" wasn't the right description. A royal tour would never be very quiet, and there certainly wasn't much peace to be found when cameras were flashing and crowds were staring everywhere one went. But the fate of his empire was not -- at present -- hanging in the balance, so this was peaceful in comparison.

Two days into the royal tour, nothing had happened but the typical routine of visiting places and meeting people -- though not the places or people Dilves had hoped. Kilan had made his thoughts on that very clear, and the tour was given a new itinerary before it was formally announced. And now he and Qihadal were in the city of Sunuwenlyo, visiting an old museum. Tomorrow they would travel to another city in a different province to officially open a new hospital.

It should have been tiring to have to face so many people and smile for so many cameras. And Kilan had to admit that he was glad when evening came and he and Qihadal could go back to their hotel. But compared to what his life had been like recently, he found this was infinitely easier to cope with.

He kept telling himself this as he sat through an interminable dinner at a duchess's house. It didn't help much.

At first glance one would have thought boredom was impossible in such a setting. The table was covered with a brilliant silver tablecloth embroidered with jewels. Candlesticks were placed at intervals among dishes filled with delicacies from all parts of the empire. Kilan didn't recognise half of them. And among the guests were every aristocrat and politician in the province, all dressed in their best clothes and wearing enough jewellery to fill a decent-sized treasury. Kilan had rarely seen a more headache-inducing sight that the lights reflecting off so many diamonds all at once.

Seated next to him was a bore of a baronet who was quite overwhelmed at being so close to the emperor. He showed how overwhelmed he was by babbling an endless stream of nonsense. One minute the man spoke of fishing in some lake, the next about the price of tea. Kilan listened only enough to know when he was expected to make some reply.

He found quickly that he only needed to say "Indeed" or "Yes" to satisfy the baronet. Some part of him that derived fiendish amusement from seeing this idiot make a fool of himself turned it into a game: how many times could he say the same thing without his neighbour realising it? The answer so far was "frequently".

Qihadal seemed to be fairing much better. She sat opposite Kilan, beside their hostess, and appeared to be deep in conversation with the duchess. From the few words he overheard of their discussion, they were talking about the history of the duchess's family. Well, that would certainly be more interesting than the baronet's rambling on about windmills.

A sudden chill in the air warned him of Death's arrival a minute before she appeared. As she so often did, she materialised behind him, where he couldn't see her unless he obviously turned around. Doing that would have prompted questions from puzzled dinner guests, so Kilan settled for trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the plate metal decanter in front of him.

"What a splendid collection of bores!" she exclaimed after a long moment in which she appeared to be listening to the conversations around her.

Kilan had to agree. Even if he didn't, he was hardly going to say so here, when everyone would want to know who he was talking to.

"And worse," Death continued, "they're all hypocrites of the highest order. Your friend here, who's so interested in poachers getting their just desserts--" For this was the subject the baronet was now holding forth on, "--is paying some of his gamekeepers to poach on his neighbour's land. Because of a dispute between their families, of course."

Hardly surprising. Disputes between families caused most of the trouble in Carann. The only thing worse was disputes within families. They were even more likely to come with a body count.

Death leaned over the back of Kilan's chair. Beside him the baronet stopped in the middle of a sentence and shuddered. He muttered something about a window being open somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Kilan saw Death grin at this.

If only that idiot knew what was right beside him, Kilan thought. The image of the baronet fleeing in terror was almost amusing enough to make up for how boring he was. This thought was followed by, If only I could say something to Death!

No one who has never experienced it can understand how infuriating it is to long to speak to someone, yet be unable to. Kilan certainly understood it now. There were many things he wanted to tell Death. He wanted to tell her about his argument with Dilves, and how he had overruled her in the end. He wanted to say how the tour had gone so far, and how he hoped everything would go smoothly tomorrow. He wanted to ask about the news from Malish. But how could he say a word, when everyone would think he'd gone mad?

"That politician over there," Death pointed to an overweight, oily man who was now talking to Qihadal, "is only hoping to gain people's votes by letting it be known that he spoke to the Empress about the state of his constituency. Inwardly he despises Qihadal. He's laughing at her accent, and sneering at her foreign appearance, even as he pretends to be so polite and deferential."

Kilan looked at Qihadal and saw her barely-suppressed look of disgust. I think she already knows that as well as you do, he thought. It was a sad thought, that Qihadal had to pretend to be nice to people who hated her.

The baronet had returned to droning on about nonsense. Death moved to lean over Kilan's other shoulder to have a better look at the other guests. It was almost frightening, really, Kilan thought. What would they say if they knew someone was present who knew their deepest, darkest secrets, and who had no qualms about sharing those secrets?

Part of him wondered what sort of secrets Death could tell about him, if she felt like it. Another part, the part that couldn't help taking an interest in gossip about other people, was curious to hear what sins everyone else was guilty of.

"That earl there," Death pointed to the man she meant, "is sitting next to a man he cheated in a business deal. And sitting opposite that woman," she gestured to a woman wearing a truly mind-boggling number of jewels, "is the man she hopes to marry. She doesn't know that he's already married. There'll be a murder when she finds out."

Good grief, Kilan thought. Common sense briefly deserted him. "You should write for the papers. Your comments would be much more accurate than some of the things they write, and considerably more interesting."

The baronet, blissfully unaware of Death's presence, assumed the emperor was speaking to him. He stammered his incoherent thanks, and spent the rest of the evening with an even more inflated sense of his own importance. The emperor had said his comments were interesting and accurate!

Death laughed at the man's foolishness. Kilan grimaced and turned his attention to his barely-touched dessert. At least he hadn't looked like a lunatic. But still...

"You really must conquer that habit of talking to yourself," Death remarked. He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was grinning at him. "Why, just think of the wrong impressions you're giving!"

Kilan kept his mouth tightly shut. But he thought of a great deal he would like to say. Then you shouldn't talk to me in public! was the most important item on that list.

Qihadal had finally extricated herself from the politician's conversation. She glanced over at Kilan as a servant refilled her glass. He could tell the exact moment she saw Death. The boredom vanished from her face, to be replaced with a look of shock which rapidly turned to fury. The empress looked down and started aggressively cutting up her slice of seshi cake[1]. One did not need to be a genius to know trouble was ahead.

~~~~

The storm broke when Kilan and Qihadal returned to their hotel. They had been given separate but adjoining rooms, and no sooner had their respective servants left than Qihadal threw open the door connecting their rooms.

"Have you no shame?" she hissed.

Truth be told, Kilan didn't see what he should be ashamed of. He had the common sense not to admit this. Not while Qihadal was in such a bad temper, at least.

"I suppose you mean--" He stopped before saying Death's name. Someone might overhear. "--Our mutual acquaintance. Surely you know I can't tell her what to do. I never expected her to appear at the dinner."

Qihadal tried to set him on fire with the force of her glare. "You know perfectly well what I mean! You were talking to her, in front of all those people! It will be known all over the empire by now!"

Kilan shook his head. "She was talking to me. I didn't reply." The incident of the baronet's misunderstanding wasn't worth mentioning. "And you know she's invisible. You needn't worry about gossip."

Naturally, Death chose this moment to appear. One minute Kilan and Qihadal were alone in a decent-sized hotel room, and the next Death was sitting on the windowsill. Qihadal turned and glared at her. Kilan felt the strong urge to run away. Suddenly the room seemed much too small for safety.

"You!" Qihadal spat. "You, back again!"

Death stood up to sketch a mocking half-bow. "My regards to you, Empress, and my sympathies for the drivel your conversation partners said to you earlier." She turned to Kilan. "I had hoped to talk with you properly. But obviously your empress has something to say, so it can wait until tomorrow."

It was a blatant attempt to make Kilan choose between Qihadal and Death. Qihadal knew it as well as he did. She looked as if she would dearly love to murder Death.

"Say what you like," she growled through gritted teeth. "I will not stop you. But if I see you in public again--"

Death waved her hand dismissively. "Let me guess. You'll be very angry and you'll take it out on Kilan. Well, don't. I will do what I like and go where I please, and nothing you can say will affect me."

Qihadal stormed back into her room and slammed the door behind her. Kilan watched her go, then turned and glared at Death.

"Oh, don't you start now," Death said. "I want to talk to you, not argue with you."

"You shouldn't speak to her like that." Kilan couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice. "Why can't you just... ignore each other if you can't get along?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Kilan, don't talk about things you don't understand. No woman can ignore someone she sees as her rival. Especially when she knows she has no chance of defeating her. But enough about Qihadal. Tell me everything you wanted to say earlier."

They sat up long into the night, talking about events of the day and the possible events of tomorrow. Qihadal lay awake in the room next door, angry with the world in general and Death in particular.

Fate smiled and added another line to Her web.

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] seshi cake = A sort of fruit cake made from dried berries, soaked overnight in tea and covered with honey syrup.