Chapter 14- The Ordinatorii

(If you prefer Wattpad to read, you can find the novel here : https://www.wattpad.com/story/78722854-the-songs-of-loss-book-one-armanth )

 

Things weren’t at all going according to plan.

Jawaad scratched his chin, seemingly unperturbed, staring at the man who had just introduced himself. Neatly groomed, with a straight back and a confident, haughty bearing, the pale-skinned Athémaïs, with short, curly hair barely out of boyhood, wore a long black chasuble edged in white over a plain tunic of the same color, reaching below the knee and embroidered with chamarré highlights. His shoulders were girded with a broad stole, also black with gold edging, marked with the white circle symbolizing the Council. Around his neck hung the same silver circle, symbolizing the dreaded Church of which he was a priest.

Beside him, two Ordinatorii sported the same tones, black edged with white, in martial finery. Clad in dark, linotorci-reinforced leather cuirass, they wore scarlet-red shirts with puffed sleeves, falling in long strips over their wide black pants. Finally, their faces were concealed by a Greek helmet with a blood-colored horsehair plume. They stood watch over the Church envoy, long spears in hand, swords at their sides; imperturbable in their absolute devotion to their sacred service, they looked like two menacing statues.

There was no mistaking the rank and nature of the man in front of Jawaad, flanked by his bodyguards. He was well aware that others were lurking around the square in plainclothes, hidden in the crowds and alleyways surrounding the square, waiting for a single sign to swoop in like a cloud to defend their master.

The master merchant frowned in displeasure and doubt, glancing briefly at Azur, who, rightly frightened by the Ordinatori and his guards, remained hidden behind his shoulder, but he didn’t seek confirmation. He was already perfectly sure: it wasn’t Franello. Things were taking a particularly unexpected turn…

 

***

“The message got through, Jawaad. I thought Narwin would have an apoplexy before we were done.”

Damas leaned against the doorframe, watching Jawaad busying himself at his desk amidst a number of papers. The couriers had delivered numerous missives and letters, many of which the master merchant had crumpled up and disdainfully discarded; it was reasonable to wonder if he had even read them. The latter looked up, abandoning his sorting to stare at his boatswain.

“And?”

“Campo Annuciante, at the end of the day. Not exactly the best place for a public meeting…”

Jawaad nodded, straightening to turn his head toward his balcony, staring at the sky for a moment in thought:

“Not the worst either. Have you made any arrangements?”

“Six men who know how to be discreet, two with pulse pistols, a third who knows how to throw a dagger; but there’ll be a crowd at this hour. It’s an ideal trap if he wants to end it cleanly and without a trace.”

“Abba will watch over my back and I’ll take Azur.”

Damas nodded in turn, but his gaze on the master merchant didn’t hide his doubts.

“I am not Abba. I don’t fear these people or their gods and beliefs. They’re just men; but Abba’s right about one thing: this really is a dangerous game, even in Armanth. If it ever goes wrong, if we ever touch an Ordinatori, I wouldn’t put much stock in our skins after that…”

« We’ll have a chat. Jawaad turned his dark gaze on the Jemmaï: and what’s true in their sense is true in ours; no one touches a Guild master-merchant with impunity and Franello knows full well what he incurs if he tries. We’ll be on an equal footing. » Jawaad added a faint smile to his words, to back them up: « and I’m not bringing Abba, my psyke and you here for nothing. »

Damas sighed and stared at Jawaad. He wasn’t convinced, and made no secret of it. The Ordinatorii had one thing in common with his proud friend and boss: they considered themselves above laws and codes, wherever they might be, and rightly so, since the Church placed it as dogma that the word of any Ordinatori supersedes that of any other authority, whether it emanates from the most insignificant barracks orderly or an emperor. Even within the city walls of the Merchants’ Guild, which for the last thirty years had forced the Church to recognize and submit to the laws of the Elegio and the Council of Peers, each of its priests still thought with this dogma in mind, reinforced by the influence of their word on the aristocracy and the people. The weight of the Church extended to world of Loss wherever it went. Its authority was the law over more than half of the great city-states of the Seas of Separation, and the legions in its service represented tens of thousands of men, if not more. The only organization that could modestly compare with such power was the Merchants’ Guild, which controlled the seas, trade and islands of the entire South, but the Council and its banner were the Law and the divine word, which no one could ignore and which inspired legitimate fear in even the most atheistic of lossyans. An Ordinatori was undoubtedly as untouchable as a Master Merchant, and far more dangerous.

Jawaad was no more fooled by this observation than he was by the doubt that plagued Damascus. He threw his last handful of missives on the desk and glanced towards his room, where Lisa was locked up, on his way to silently close the door.

“Let’s go to that rendezvous; I’m counting on you.”

Damas followed in his friend’s footsteps. A brief moment later, with a few orders given without raising his voice, the master merchant summoned Azur and Abba to take the road to Campo Annuciante. The square lay at the foot of the terraces housing the fortress-palace of the Council of Peers and its outbuildings, the city archives, the Elegio palace and the temples. No one on the estate had been warned of the details of the forthcoming encounter, let alone of how dangerous it would be. The master merchant had simply left a few routine instructions for his accountant, and an order for his people not to leave the grounds of the villa until he returned; yet, as he set off for his appointment, accompanied by his small escort, an anxious silence hung over his household…

 

***

Lisa had stopped crying. Overcome by grief, she slept tucked away in a corner of the comfortable cage that had been assembled and installed in Jawaad’s bedroom, adjoining his office. Resting on a bed of soft carpets and cushions, wrapped in soft, light sheets, she shivered at times, caressed by the light, cool, damp wind carried by the fine rain falling over the city. Her mind, far away, swam in the dark waters of its own limbo. Haunted by the cries of her elder sister, who had joined the gloomy farandole of the ghosts of her distress, her crimes and her guilt, she wanted to sink too, but the same cry kept repeating: « I love you, little sister! I’ll be back for you! « . Abandonment refused with vicious cruelty; every time she thought she might disappear into her madness, the same call rang out until it covered everything… She couldn’t rest at all in her sleep, and moaned, sometimes shuddering.

Jawaad had the cage assembled as soon as he returned, supervising its installation himself. The blankets and sheets came directly from his bed, for obvious reasons, and he had ensured his new slave’s comfort, but also her isolation. The only person in the household who had been allowed to look after her directly was Azur, who had groomed her under orders not to speak to her under any circumstances, and never to rush her. From Lisa’s arrival until Jawaad’s departure, Jawaad had made sure he was always close by her side. Not surprisingly, he had observed her resigned distress and the state of catatonic passivity into which she had plunged.

He had given his final orders before his departure: Airain, his educator, was in charge of looking after his new acquisition and preventing any incident during his absence. The young woman therefore came silently to see how Lisa was doing, not without concealing a curiosity mingled with jealousy and a certain disdain for the captive’s dejection. She was astonished by this strange purchase, perplexed as to the reason behind her master’s latest whim. She didn’t appreciate the appearance of a new girl in the merchant’s harem, perceiving her as a rival, of course; but she saw here only a pitifully cowering slave whose slight whimpers she could hear.

At one point, she murmured plaintively, as if calling out in a language unknown to her. She approached quietly to hear more, her attention captivated by these words she didn’t understand.

 

***

Despite the light rain still sweeping the city, the Campo Annuciante was packed with people. The Campo was a central artery of Armanth, on the terrace of the Elegio palace, and was undoubtedly one of the city’s busiest squares, along with the Grand Market and the Cage Market. Here, there were no bidders and slavers, but bureaucrats and aristocrats orbiting the administrations, guild offices and temples, in a debauchery of garish outfits and overflowing riches, followed by their cohorts of paupers and beggars, hawkers, pickpockets and private guards.

Damas was invisible. Jawaad had a very good idea of what his boatswain was up to: he supervised the men hidden in the square and near the adjoining streets, and kept an eye on his boss. Everyone except the Elegio guards and the Ordinatorii was forbidden to carry a pulse rifle, but Jemmaï could hit the bull’s-eye at thirty meters with a pistol and must already have chosen an ideally located balcony or roof edge.

Jawaad was thus accompanied by Abba, whose mere presence created a minimal safety distance around him and his boss, with any casual observer yielding to the instinct to keep within respectful distance of the brute-looking black colossus; and Azur, who, unlike his usual confident drive, displayed a palpable nervousness about the meeting to come.

The master merchant chose the terrace of a tavern facing the square and the entrances to the Palace of the Council of Peers. The place would otherwise have deserved the letters of nobility of a luxury inn, but he disdained, as usual, to take advantage of the comfortable chairs and banquettes adorned with thick cushions and simply leaned against a pillar of the arbors that sheltered him from the light rain. In the crowd, the Ordinatorii were recognizable, and there were a few of them going about their business in a hurry, or chatting a little, as the sun sank to the horizon, before returning to their quarters; but the one who approached, flanked by two imposing guards, immediately caught his eye. Abba had caught sight of him too, and in an instant the tension increased, the powerful veins running down the colossus’ biceps suddenly thickening. Jawaad knew that his second-in-command feared the spiritual power of these men with superstitious respect.

There was a moment’s hesitation. It was so palpable that the slave who had just joined the man leaning against the tavern entrance stepped back, forgetting to ask for the order, when she saw the Council priest and his two guards stop in front of it. The surrounding customers, for those who had the opportunity, stood up and saluted the Ordinatori promptly and respectfully, deciding to go and see elsewhere if they were there; the others all felt compelled to lower their voices and focus only on what concerned them.

Jawaad broke the silence and stepped on a few conventions in the process, scaring the onlookers out of their wits and convincing them to mind their own business.

“You don’t look like the man Franello described to me.”

Abba almost choked on a blow, and struggled to hold back the shocked look he riveted on his boss. He managed to stand up straight and gaze, arms folded, at the priest’s two guards, whose impassivity was made even more menacing by the helmets that concealed their features. Nor did the young priest hide his unpleasant surprise at his interlocutor’s introduction.

“My respectful homage, Jawaad the master merchant. I’d heard a few things about you that you’ve just confirmed in one sentence; but you’re right, I’m not His Excellency Franello. You didn’t really think he’d come in person, did you?”

Jawaad’s only response was a brief smile, accentuated by his dark gaze, which he turned on the Ordinatori.

“I suppose so. He’s the one who owes me an explanation.”

“-That’s why I’m here. Allow me to introduce myself: Albinus Mercalor, secretary to His Excellency. He’s briefed me on the whole affair, so you can deal with me as if I were his voice and eyes.”

“What if I tell you I don’t want it?”

This time, the priest showed no surprise at the disarming answer. The detailed portrait of the merchant, drawn up by his master’s services, corresponded well to what he was observing at the moment.

“More accidents will happen, and sooner or later something will. His Excellency has plenty of time.”

Jawaad barely nodded, snapping his fingers at the waitress who had remained cautiously behind the scene. He raised his voice just enough to be heard by the frightened slave:

“A cup of tea and a glass of wine for my friend.”

He continued, for Albinus:

“If you are his eyes and ears, then you can answer this question: why does Franello want to kill me?”

“It’s not a question of killing you, there’s only been one unfortunate accident so far, hasn’t there?”

“Very well conceived, yes. I thought the Ordinatorii were more direct than that. Since when has the Church prided itself on subtlety?”

“Well, to answer your question, ever since a city dared to claim that it was not a vassal of our authority. We know how to adapt, and His Excellency is doing an excellent job of it.”

Jawaad stretched out a sinister smile, still gazing at the priest with a detachment that bordered on arrogance.

“Which means that your Franello and your Church have come to stoop to the vilest methods practiced by merchants to settle their accounts. Interesting to hear, but I don’t know this man, Albinus. Usually, those who want to kill me go to such lengths for a good reason…”

The young priest, as proud and calm as ever, gave a sort of knowing smile.

“Oh, there’s a very good reason. To tell the truth, His Excellency is spoilt for choice when it comes to reasons for taking an interest in you, but you see, you’re wrong about one thing: His Excellency didn’t expect you to die. To tell you the truth, he was sure you wouldn’t.”

Abba immediately twitched and Azur grabbed his master’s sleeve, tightening his fingers around his bicep, still tucked behind him. Jawaad knew what his slave’s gesture meant. She was beginning to read the priest’s face better and better, and could now make out the false pretenses and reality he was concealing; what she was reading alerted her. He showed nothing, still staring at Albinus.

“So you’re saying it wasn’t meant to kill me. Interesting. And what did he want to learn from this experience, since it seems he was already spoilt for choice as to why he should murder me?”

« You know very well, Jawaad. You survived, and your bodyguard… » – He stared at Abba for a moment, almost condescendingly, which made the colossus wince between sudden fear and dull anger – « …strong as he was, should have been crushed to death by a ton of wood. I’m tempted to believe in miracles, you’ll understand that goes with my position and rank; but here, we’re convinced it was something else entirely. Something to do with your heretical passion for the ancient artifacts and writings you collect. »

There was a second blank. The pressure of Azur’s hand on Jawaad’s sleeve was increasing and she had moved even closer to him. Something was threatening and she could read on the priest’s face that any moment now, something was going to happen. Abba knew Azur’s gestural codes too, and his hand slipped to his scimitar, staring at the crowded square. He was on the lookout for a possible assassin, but to reach his boss, the latter would have to draw a weapon and take aim: a gesture difficult to conceal. He could see two of Damas’ most trusted men a few yards away, among the onlookers. If the Jemmaï had taken all the precautions he was accustomed to, such an attempt would end in a well-placed bullet or a dagger driven between two vertebrae. Jawaad resumed, after a brief glance at Azur:

“Let’s just say I know what you’re talking about, so I know what your master thinks about me… But so what? If he’d ever had sufficient proof, the Elegio men themselves would already have arrested me at his request; and apart from your two guard dogs, I can’t see anyone coming to get me…”

The priest hid his smile of victory, the only one to read him clearly was Azur, and he resumed:

“That’s why I’ve come. The Church has nothing against you, and even if it did, your political weight would protect you from legitimate prosecution, even from us. It turns out that to accomplish our task in this depraved city, we have to be patient and stoop to certain methods which are merely a reflection of the prevailing decadence; but His Excellency had foreseen this moment and expected that, sooner or later, you would reveal your cards.”

The slave on duty returned carrying Jawaad’s order. The terrace was relatively empty now. There was another wavering moment and Jawaad felt a shiver on his chest. His pendant was beginning to vibrate, more and more, and he knew what it meant. He let out a short cry:

“Abba!”

The priest no longer concealed his victorious smile, taking a quick step to the side, his guards stepping aside in turn, revealing behind them a young woman with hair dyed black, a walnut stain tincture to hide its true color. Almost haggard, as if drugged, she wore a simple slave tunic, threadbare and filthy; no one would ever have suspected her. Spreading her arms slightly and closing her eyes, she began to sing.

There is only one known effective method of revealing a Loss Singer: put them in mortal danger and force them to use their power. Those who are unaware that they are tuned to Loss Singing then instinctively do so, to stay alive. Jawaad had taken his precautions and Damas had thought of everything except the insignificant occurrence of a slave in the crowd, let alone her being a Singer and unleashing her power on her boss. What saved the master merchant’s life was what he fairly assumed to be the only other means of detecting a Loss Singer, his pendant; it gave him the second he needed to react.

The slave’s voice filled the air, making it vibrate in a high-pitched crystal tone. The surrounding crowd froze; everything metallic emitted a faint blue glow. For a split second, the whole world seemed to freeze. Reality hiccupped. Abba was about to grab Jawaad, but the latter propelled Azur into his arms, pushing them away with all his might, taking shelter behind the beam he had been leaning against. Across the width of the terrace and ten meters down, everything that wasn’t firmly anchored to the ground began to levitate, customers and waitress included. One blink of an eyelid later, a brutal ripple, almost luminous because it was so palpable, propelled chairs, tables, planters, crockery and human beings like so much dust swept by a tornado wind, towards the wall of the tavern. The gravity wave swept away two customers and the waitress. The two lucky ones died instantly, shredded by the impact of the furniture in sprays of blood. The waitress hit the wall screaming in agony, crushed by the force of the wave.

Damas was already aiming his pistol at the singer, when he saw one of his men come up behind her. The move was swift and clean, a dagger thrust under the slave’s ribs to pierce her heart. She collapsed, killed instantly, and the assassin was already disappearing into the panic-stricken crowd, mingling with the people running to escape the carnage. Damas leapt from his perch and raced towards the terrace.

Jawaad was still alive and, against all odds, barely scratched. His baritone voice faded briefly after the Singer’s cruelly interrupted one. As if time were living in slow motion, the splinters of wood, stone, ceramic and glass ejected by the wave fell limply to the ground, almost devoid of the force of rebound. Around him and at his back, in a wake whose border was drawn by the debris littering the ground, a whole portion of the scenery had partially escaped the wave of destruction. Not far away, Abba, thrown to the ground by the gravity wave, was swearing in pain. Azur, half stunned, was slumped against him, still in his embrace, trying to realize what had just happened.

People screamed, others fled the devastation, crossing paths with those running to try and understand what had happened. Guards were arriving from all sides, while part of the arbour threatened to collapse with a sinister cracking sound. In the rush, Damas rushed to his boss’s aid, his pulse pistol pointed at the Ordinatorii.

“You’re fine?”

Jawaad was also stunned by the impact, his ears still ringing from the violent rush of air he had only been able to compensate for with his own Song. Behind him, the slave who should have brought him his tea had just stopped screaming, breathing his last.

“In one piece.”

He struggled to his feet, moving away from the ready-to-break arbour to advance towards the priest, who was immediately protected by his two guards when they saw the master-merchant’s threatening movement. Albinus, despite his own surprise at the damage caused by the Singer, seemed no less proud and perfectly satisfied. He raised his voice to make himself heard over the shouts and hubbub of the massing crowd, through which the Elegio guards was struggling to get to the cause of the panic.

“I think, Jawaad, the proof is in the pudding, don’t you? Who would survive the absolutely demented and suicidal assassination attempt of a Loss Singer, apart from another Singer? Look at you, she targeted you directly and you didn’t get a scratch! Well… almost.”

Putting his money where his mouth was, he pointed out the master-merchant to the Elegiatorii, who had finally managed to break through the crowd the priest had knowingly taken as his witness. At first, their reaction was the same as that of the spectators gathered around the scene of disaster: incredulous amazement at the carnage before their eyes; but, moved by the reflex of authority and uniform, they headed straight for the man pointed out to them, pointing their pulse rifles at him.

Abba tried to get to his feet, still swearing, but even with the help of Azur, who although shaken was unharmed, he couldn’t stand, his knee buckling. Damas, for his part, was covering Jawaad, but between the Ordinatorii and the city guards, the Jemmaï found his posture unfortunate. His eyes followed the difficult movements of his men in the crowd, always ready, on his orders, to kill the targets he would designate to them. Jawaad stopped the rising tension with a gesture towards Damas before turning to the priest, speaking louder to make sure he was heard.

“Above all, I’ve just escaped another attack, which hardly comes as a surprise to you. I’m counting on the Elegio guards to investigate the owner of the slave who tried to kill me.”

With his arm, he pointed to the body of the Singer lying a few yards away, turning to the guards.

“If you want to arrest me, I’ll follow you, but I hope you have good reasons.”

Abba bellowed at the guards, his voice made even more intimidating by the pain that was pissing him off.

“It’s Jawaad, the Master Merchant appointed to the Council of Peers, you’re threatening!”

The crowd’s hubbub intensified, some confirming, others questioning, upon hearing the famous name. The Elegiatorii found themselves in an unpleasant position, wondering who was to blame for the damage and the deaths, and ultimately caught between the authority of a master merchant, not least, and that of an Ordinatori. The latter made their task surprisingly easy, causing Jawaad himself to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“Clearly, Sir Jawaad has just escaped what should have been certain death. Some idiot will have forgotten the Principles laid down by the Most Holy Church on the application of High Art to Loss Singers, and here’s the dramatic result.”

But he continued further down, for Jawaad, knowing full well that he was being heard by nearby ears, and flashed a victorious smile, this time with a clearly menacing gaze.

“But here, in a city that professes the progress of science and man, no one will believe in a miracle; and who knows how many people saw you survive, and how, from what should have torn you apart like those poor things behind you? I wish you all the best, Sir Jawaad, and send you His Excellency’s regards and best wishes.”

As Albinus turned on his heels, the crowd pressed around him opening with respectful awe to let him and his guards pass, Jawaad hailed him.

“Tell your master that, from now on, I have as much for him!”