The sensation of creeping cold grew worse. Why—why?—had Taudde not warned Miennes that he should play the pipes at once, the very night Taudde gave them to him, to ensure the heir would not have time to give the ivory set away? Taudde had not guessed he might do so; in Kalches, such a gift would never be re-gifted within the same year it had been given. But in Lonne, clearly this was not the custom. What would his grandfather say if he knew how extraordinarily careless his grandson had been? Actually—Taudde winced—it was altogether too possible to imagine precisely what that stern old man would say, and every word would be justified.
To whom had the pipes gone? Who had died because of Taudde’s carelessness? Koriadde? Another of the young men? Possibly worse, if there was such a thing as better or worse in this situation: could the prince have given his pipes to a true innocent—a favored servant? A woman?
Taudde had a sudden, horrible sense that he knew exactly to whom the prince had gifted those pipes. On that thought, and as he must wait on events in any case, he went to have his carriage made ready.
Though this interminable day had crept by on slow, clawed feet, it was well past noon. Yet the hour was still early for the candlelight district of the city. But Taudde could not bear to wait for the sun to sink low above the sea—and dared not wait, anyway, lest he find Ankennes taking some unanticipated action against him. He thought perhaps he should try to leave Lonne immediately. Yet… it was always better to act knowledgeably rather than blindly. And he thought he knew where he might get news about Miennes and Ankennes, about Prince Tepres and unusual activity in the Laodd, and most particularly about the little keiso to whom, he now suspected, the prince might have given those pipes.
Benne had the carriage waiting almost before Taudde could make ready for his visit to the keiso district. It was a silent drive: The thronging streets seemed, today, only to point up the depth of the silence that underlay their clamor.
Cloisonné House was indeed quiet at this hour of the afternoon. But, though the House might be quiet, it was not actually asleep. Voices were audible through open windows. Music drifted down from those windows as well: Most clear was a kinsana accompanied by girls’ voices chanting gaodd poems. Thankfully farther removed, an inexpertly played ekonne horn was also audible. Voices, blurred by distance and walls, mingled in conversation, and somewhere close at hand a rich alto voice laughed.
It all sounded very peaceful. Taudde, though he was listening carefully, heard no underlying dissonance of grief or distress beneath the cheerful sounds of the keiso House.
He was as much surprised by this as relieved. He had been so sure… but perhaps Prince Tepres had gifted his ivory pipes elsewhere, to someone Taudde had never met. This did not, of course, lessen his culpability in that person’s death, whoever it might have been. But Taudde found that he was nevertheless relieved that his unintended victim had evidently not after all been that lovely keiso child.
The peace emanating from Cloisonné House was immeasurably reassuring. Taudde descended from his carriage and went toward the house. As he passed into its shadow, Taudde thought that the edges of that shadow seemed a little less distinct than they should, and that the ivy that climbed the walls seemed to tremble very slightly in a breeze that did not blow from quite the same direction as the breeze that whisked through the street itself. He had nearly forgotten the strange echo that clung to this house, and now he paused, distracted anew, before he collected himself and touched the bellpull.
For all the relatively early hour, servants came quickly to welcome Taudde and show him to a small parlor. The Mother of the House herself came to greet him there and inquire with grave courtesy what small service Cloisonné House might have the pleasure of offering him.
Taudde said diffidently, “Indeed, I may hope for a kindness to a foreigner, perhaps.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose.
“If I may ask: That young keiso, I believe she is called Moonflower? A most charming girl. I wish to impress a business associate of my uncle’s and I had wondered whether she might be available for engagements?”
“Alas, Cloisonné is as yet strictly limiting Moonflower’s engagements. However, if you wish to engage another of our keiso, I believe several might be available…”
Taudde was so relieved that little Moonflower was evidently perfectly well that he nearly forgot to seem disappointed. “Of course I understand, a girl so young,” he said quickly, with a downcast look. “Naturally you would wish to guard her well-being. And her future, to be sure. She will be a lovely addition to the, ah, flowers in Cloisonné’s garden. I should not imagine there are two such girls even in Lonne. If you see fit, you might pass on to her my admiration.”