Rexi and Talon

By Onyx Tao

---

19. Talon

The clothes Master Spool had delivered were light pastels of the dark blues, greens and grays that Master Zackton preferred, and meant to harmonize both with Master Zackton's clothes, Master Zackton's admittedly green skin, and his own pale skin - a challenge that the dressmaker and tailor had met with aplomb, even if Master Zackton had looked dubious at first. Once they were dressed, Master Zackton had nodded his approval, and none too soon for their hurried trip.

"In here," Master Zackton said to Talon, dismounting from the hackney in front of a goldsmith. He tossed a sail to the driver, and paused. "If you're out here in a quarter-candle or so, I'll pay you twice that to return us to the estate."

"Yes, sir," the driver.

Talon looked around. It seemed ... it wasn't part of the city he knew well. "Master?" he said.

"In here," repeated the half-orc, heading for the goldsmith.

The interior of the shop was small; very small. The fanciful shapes of the heavy iron bars embedded in the walls and ceiling did nothing to disguise their nature; they were a heavy protective cage for the goldsmith and his wares, and the goldsmith - or the old man Talon took for the goldsmith - was behind another heavy set of bars. There were drawings, carefully and expertly colored and neatly executed, of various necklaces and bracelets and pendants - but not one hint of actual gold, or silver, or jewels.

"Master Silvercane," an old man said with a nod. "I got your message ..." and then he looked at Talon sharply. "For him?"

"Yes."

The old man shook his head. "Master Silvercane, gold will not flatter his skin."

"You suggest platinum?"

"I was going to suggest silver," he said, "but platinum would ... perhaps be even better."

"Fine. How will it look with tiny rubies set in it?"

"It would be lovely, Master Zackton, but, ah, not on him. May I suggest ... emeralds? It would make what color he does have stand out."

Zackton looked at Talon, and then back at the goldsmith. "No. It has to - somehow - be symbolic of blood."

"Oh," said the goldsmith blankly. "Then why not go with emeralds?"

"Blood," said Master Zackton. "It has to stand for blood."

"Ah ..." said the goldsmith, sounding confused. "Forgive me, Master Silvercane, but ... isn't your blood green?"

There was a sudden and deep silence as Master Zackton stared at the goldsmith, who began to fidget somewhat, even behind his protective bars. "Yes," Zackton said after a long, long silence. "Yes it is. You're quite right. Emeralds will do perfectly." He looked at Talon, and then at the goldsmith. "Talon, Master Vintner, I trust this conversation will not be repeated to anyone. Ever."

"Of course not, Master Silvercane," the goldsmith said hurriedly. "I apologize ..."

"Why?" said Master Zackton. "I was being an idiot." He paused. "It doesn't happen all that often, but ... it does happen. Emeralds will be fine."

"You'll be very pleased, Master Silvercane, I assure you ... did you want it fitted to the ..."

Zackton grunted. "Loosely, yes. Once it's ensorcelled it will adjust itself to the wearer, within limits."

"I've heard that," the goldsmith admitted. "It's true?"

"Within limits," the half-orc repeated. "Things sized for a human will ... fit human-sized things. Try to cram it onto a giant, or a slip, and ... it might not. That's part of what the wizard enchanting it will do; make it fit generally rather than specifically."

"I see," said Vintner slowly. He peered at Talon. "I'd still like to take some measurements ..."

The half-orc nodded.

At least, Talon thought as Master Vintner fiddled with cords and measurements of his neck, it didn't hurt.

Talon had thought that perhaps Master Zackton had overdressed him for the salon, and if so, he'd certainly overdressed himself, but when Maestro Crandolous had arrived, Talon realized that this wasn't the event he thought it was.

Master Zackton wore his usual colors - pale green and gray, but he'd added a rich necklace of sapphires that appeared to be caught in a twisted mass of deep black threads that were really tiny beads. It wasn't Chelish, by any means, and the Maestro looked at it oddly.

The Maestro himself was wearing black robes trimmed in scarlet embroidered with small pentacles of gold thread, and he wore a heavy silver pentacle on a chain with black pearls at the vertices, and white pearls at the intersections. Talon himself wore the pale blue trousers and pale sea-green tunic with white leather bracers that matched the collar on his neck ... and the leash that Master Zackton held. White leather sandals - or something like sandals, they were all surface and straps and buckles - closed around his feet, and Master Zackton had - rather humiliatingly - carried him out to the carriage, saying he didn't want to soil Talon's footwear.

As Zackton walked through the hall, he said, so quietly that Talon would have thought the half-orc had whispered, except that he could hear the deep voice clearly. "These straps and chains are protections, in this kind of party. Do not speak; if you are asked a question, mime that you are forbidden speech. If you need me - if you are frightened - call for me. I may appear to be very angry at you, but what I will do is protect you in the guise of punishment. Do not eat, or drink - I doubt the food will be poisoned, but it may be drugged."

Drugged? Poisoned? Something of Talon's alarm must have communicated itself to the half-orc, who simply gave him a brief kiss on the top of his head. "Yes. By presenting you as a lap-toy, you will be treated as one. The socialites of Coryntyn take aim at each other, and those who wish to enter their gatherings. Me, although ..." and the half-orc paused. "I will never be truly accepted; I will be tolerated. For a time. You will, I think, be ignored, except as a weapon to needle me."

"But if ..."

"Hush," the half-orc said. "That's what I want. Once they start reacting to me as they would to one of their own, they will continue to do so, at least at first. These salons are a sort of dance, a game, where one-upsmanship is everything. They connive and plot for small advantages, to lord it over the other fish in their pitiful little pond." There was a brief chuckle. "Never noticing that their water is turning sulfurous around them, or dancing even harder if they do, because they don't know anything else."

Oh. Talon thought about that, as Zackton lifted him - effortlessly, it seemed - into the waiting carriage with the equally elaborately garbed human. The human looked at him for a moment, and then said nothing, waiting for the half-orc to settle onto the front seat. "We can go," shouted the Maestro, and the carriage took off at a slow trot.

"You said you would have a selection of music you thought suited to my voice," the half-orc said.

"Yes," and the Maestro handed him a folio.

After a moment, Master Zackton sighed. "These are popular?"

"Yes."

"Are any of them your composition?"

"No," and the Maestro sounded offended. "I do not work with ... such things."

"Glass Shards and Teardrops is the only one with any merit," said Zackton. "And it is disgusting." There was a pause. "I should dearly like to play them the music they ape."

"What?"

"Never mind," said Master Zackton. "I've done worse things. I believe you said you would bring a selection."

"So I have."

"I assumed I would be doing the selection," clarified the half-orc. "You have heard me once, Maestro. I cannot imagine you know my full range from that."

"You told me your range and limits," Crandolous shot back. "This is the music that meets them, that is popular. Or do you want to sing something _un_fashionable?"

"I prefer to set the fashion," Zackton said calmly.

"Sure of yourself," the human said.

"Yes," said Zackton.

"Well, maybe. You're ..." and his face tightened. "You have a great gift."

Zackton took a breath. "Skill, practice, and attainment," and then he smiled. Talon thought the smile might even be read. "And I have a surprising amount of lung power; it's a mild advantage over the purely human."

"Yes ..." said Crandolous. "About that. It might be better if you played ... a more expected part."

Zackton shook his head. "No. Let them wonder. It won't be long before there are rumors. I'm in disguise. I'm fleeing a curse. I'm looking to lift a curse, and seeking Hell's assistance to overcome mortal magic. I'm a lost heir of a Taldan Dukedom. A prince of Jandalay. One of the Eleven Chosen of the Bantholague."

"The Bantholague?" asked Crandolous.

"I made that last one up," admitted Zackton with a smile. "Don't worry so much."

The man shook his head. "I'm beginning to be very afraid. I'm ..."

"Oh, pish," said Zackton. "If I do poorly, you can play it off as your artistic eccentricity and daring."

The Maestro looked at Zackton. "True. But that ..."

"Yes, you are risking a little, and I appreciate that," Zackton said. "But really, you're worrying too much. You can't have it both ways, and you've made your decision. Accept it. Move forward. Surrender this illusion that the other choice still exists. It doesn't. It's just a matter of how the evening plays out."

"I didn't know General Murdoth was coming," admitted the Maestro. "You don't know him ..."

"I know of him," Zackton said.

"He hates orcs," the Maestro said glumly.

Zackton's face dropped into that odd expressionless nothing that Talon was starting to suspect was his true expression. "So do I," and then a hint of a smile. "We'll have something in common."

* * *

The salon ... when Master Zackton had first mentioned a salon, Talon had thought of maybe a small townhouse, a room, maybe two, stuffed full of people - ten, twenty at least, all in fine clothes, and perhaps a pianoforte, or water-organ.

Not both.

And not a small chamber orchestra, either.

And not a house that would have made Master Zackton's Blossom Garden look small even if the industrious slips had the whole thing opened and polished and up-to-date ... well, maybe not quite up to date. In Cheliax, up to date meant spiky red and black looming architecture; impressive, intimidating, and more than a little diabolic. It was not, Talon thought, very very privately, a good look, and certainly not a good look for an old, historic home to have cornices and spires and turrets more or less pasted on at not-quite-square angles.

But it was now the look of House Allamere, home of the Paraduchess Lennial Allamere, and she had opened not merely her home, but her perfectly manicured gardens as well, to at least a hundred, and maybe twice that, number of guests. A sizable number of halflings scurried about in livery, hoisting trays of drinks and canapes up for the crowd of humans. They kept a wary distance from Master Zackton, Talon noticed.

"I thought we were going to start at a small salon," Zackton said, almost without moving his lips, to the Maestro.

"Timing," the Maestro said back, as if that explained anything - and maybe it did, to Master Zackton. It meant nothing to Talon, though, and Master Zackton didn't seem interested in explaining it. For a moment Talon wondered if Master even knew he'd need it explained - and then he realized he probably did. He just was focused - elsewhere.

On the people swirling around him - giving him a wide berth, and one that he seemingly ignored. Seemingly. He pulled on Talon's leash from time to time - subtly moving the half-elf to force someone else to walk around, or to walk into the half-orc where Zackton ... talked to him. Or her. Each time ... there was a slow shift from help, get me out of here! to grudging interest and then ... usually, an almost enthusiastic engagement. Master Zackton couldn't get past grudging interest with a couple of them, but ... it didn't seem to bother him.

Nothing seemed to bother him, not even the older human in a perfectly pressed white-and-crimson army uniform who was almost belligerently not where Master Zackton was, along with a small group of equally stubborn, if less obvious, detractors. Maestro Crandolous whispered something in Master Zackton's ear - and gestured towards the knot of unhappy lordlings - but Master Zackton didn't even turn to look, and whatever he said in return clearly alarmed the Maestro. There was nothing Crandolous could do about it, though, any more than there was anything Talon could do.

Instead, Master Zackton picked him up, and Talon could hear him half-murmur, half-sing the magic to bring the leather bindings back to their original white purity, and went inside the house, with the Maestro trailing in his wake. "Did you arrange the singing, or should I do that when I introduce myself to the, ah, Paraduchess?"

"I ... mentioned it ..."

"I do not know her by sight," Master Zackton said, very quietly. "Identify her for me, and I'll deal with it."

"No," the Maestro said, sounding shocked. "Let me."

"Very well," said Zackton. "But after the priming I've done, it has to be very soon, or it will all be do do over again."

"I ... right. You're right," Crandolous answered. "I'll go find her ..."

"Talk to whom, darling?" said a tall woman who'd walked up to us with a knowing smile in a fine billow of red and black silks. "Are you suggesting that, after getting my guests in a lather about this ..." she paused, and gave Master Zackton an appraising look, "so-daring artiste, you want to introduce him to me? Finally?"

"Your Grace," said the Maestro quickly. "You are correct. Might I have the pleasure of introducing Zackton Silvercane. He has the most amazing voice ..."

"Thank you," said Master Zackton, cutting into the conversation. "Paraduchess Utharre, I presume?"

The woman made a faint bow that made the red silk's subtle embroidery shimmer with the movement, although Talon couldn't quite make out what the embroidery was of. The silk was so light that it drifted in even the soft currents of air inside. "How charming that you've brought a pet," she said ... actually sounding charmed. "Adorable, too ... and I love the contrast." She shot Master Zackton a look that made Talon cringe. "Half-elf and ... well." She smiled again.

"Yes," was all Master Zackton said. "It's rather an amusing story ..."

"Oh?"

"I'm here for a short time," Master Zackton said with a smile. "A few matters to tend to, this and that ... the house I rented wasn't anything like what I expected - in tatters, really, and I went down to get a proper staff ... and he just happened to catch my eye."

"How fortunate," she breathed, and then stepped back. "Cranny here mentioned he was bringing a find ... someone new, that would be a surprise ... and judging from the reactions, you're quite that! I do hope you live up to his billing!"

"As do I," said Master Zackton with a smile. "I would be delighted to see if I could entertain your guests."

"My other guests," she said, archly. "Yes. I would be delighted to see that, too." She gestured to a door along the hall. "The ballroom opens to the garden, and it has a small water-organ ... you play?"

"No," said Master Zackton, apologetically. "I can accompany myself on a harp, but ..." he held a hand up. "I've had issues with keyboards. Size isn't everything, you know."

"It's quite a bit," the Paraduchess shot back, starting to walk towards the ballroom. "I believe everything should be appreciated ... for what it is, you know."

"How enlightened," said Zackton.

"I can't believe you actually went to get staff yourself," she said, with a sniff. "That area is ... hardly a nice one."

"Hardly," said Zackton. "But seeing as how I'd just replaced my steward, I had nobody else to send."

"Replaced? Darling, why?"

"I think I mentioned the house was in poor condition?"

"You did, you did ... was it that bad? Where is it?"

"Do you know of the old Blossom Garden estate?"

"That area?" she said with a surprised gasp. "Well, of course you sacked him. The family has the misfortune to own a few houses down there - it was nice area, before Blossom Garden went downhill. New money, you know. The nastiest merchants lived there, one after another ... and after that, it was abandoned. The houses around there ... well, the better sort simply moved out, and then ... well. Well. I hope at least it was cheap!" She paused. "Now that you're here you can find something much nicer."

"Perhaps," said Master Zackton. "But since the Estate's been purchased, there's a lot of cleanup and repair happening in the last week or so. The plan is to restore it, more or less, and then open the house again."

"Wonderful," the Paraduchess pronounced. "My grandmother had the most pleasant stories about the place. Lovely gardens, she said, simply lovely."

"The gardens are an overgrown thicket," Master Zackton said. "And the house itself wasn't closed up well. Quite a lot to do. I rather imagine the gardens will take longer to fix up than the house itself..." he paused. "Unless..." he said to himself.

"I feel for the new owner ... I do hope she knew what she was getting," and she paused. "Whoever bought it?"

"I couldn't say," said Master Zackton with a smile. "But my arrangements are through the Abadarians."

"At least the taxes will be paid. That should improve the entire area," she sniffed. "The city should have done something about that much earlier, but ... especially if ..." she paused. "How close to the Estate do you live?"

"Ah ..." said Zackton after a moment. "Your Grace, I'm living at the estate, and overseeing its repair myself. I didn't intend ..."

"Ooohhh, you naughty boy, to lead me on like that," the Paraduchess said. "You bought it! Really!"

"Technically, Your Grace, I've leased it from the Church of Abadar," Zackton demurred.

"But then why are you fixing the place up?"

"I am living there," Zackton said. "And I'm afraid your earlier comments were entirely correct - Blossom Garden was in deplorable condition. I'd be simply ashamed to invite Your Grace to the house as it is today." The half-orc paused, and looked around. "Especially after seeing Your Grace's salon. I am in despair, Your Grace, when I look at your gardens. They are everything I had hoped Blossom Gardens might be, and, ah, aren't."

"Such a sweet thing to say," the Paraduchess cooed. "But whoever talked you into that house?"

"Ah ..." said Zackton, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I had an old description of the place, from, ah, before its troubles. I fell in love with the rose gazebo, just from the poetry of the description alone."

"You are an artist, aren't you?"

"I ... try, Your Grace," Zackton said shyly. "But ... when I discovered I had business up here - I must apologize, Your Grace, for being one of those nasty merchants - and that Blossom Gardens was available for lease ... I may have acted a tad impulsively."

"Yes," said the Paraduchess. "I think you could say so."

"And yet," said Zackton, a bit expansively, "what of that? The garden is there, the gazebo - or its remains - are still there, the roses are alive, if in need of a severe pruning ... time and effort will put everything to right again."

"I see," the Paraduchess said, dubiously. "There is certainly possibility ... I would like to see the gardens. They were supposed to be glorious."

"I hope they will be so again," Zackton said. "The only issue I'm having is that one of the previous owners seemed to redecorate the veranda, gazebos, and ponds with entirely new cobbles and statuary. It's all very well, but it's not the original. I doubt I can find the original paving - but I do have hopes for the statues, if I can even identify them in all the, ah, junk, that the attics and basements are stuffed with."

"That's the way of old houses," the Paraduchess said. "Nothing is every thrown away. I'm sure they're there somewhere. It gives a sense of continuity, don't you think?"

"Your Grace, I find myself moving all too often," Zackton said. "I wouldn't know. A sense of continuity certainly sounds delightful, though, and if I can create one at Blossom Gardens ... perhaps you'll have to tell me if I've succeeded or not."

"Sweet boy," the Paraduchess crooned. "Flattery will, indeed, get you far ..." She swung a pair of double doors open, and strode into the huge ballroom as if the crowd there had been waiting for her. The brilliantly clad men and women went silent, as she led Master Zackton up to a large slanted keyboard surrounded by water-pipes by a huge set of windows looking out into the gardens. "You do play, of course?"

"No," Zackton shook his head sadly. "Fortunately, the Maestro does."

* * *

The water-organ was larger than it looked, just like the ballroom itself. It had steadily gotten larger, however, as Zackton carried Talon towards it. At first, it had just looked like the keyboard, with rows of keys, and a high wooden bench. Glass, silver, bronze, and even a set of wood tubes rose up from behind and around the keyboard, a massive installation that had been carefully designed to merge seamlessly into the ballroom's walls; there was even a perfectly varnished stepladder leading up to the bench, and the Maestro leaped up the stairs to settle on the seat.

It took Maestro Crandolous a few minutes to get the water running properly through the organ; and the clear sounds of his starting it up and setting the temper just right - whatever that was - drew even more fancifully dressed attendees from the rest of the house. At a gesture from the Paraduchess, two halflings in House Allamere livery pulled what Talon had thought were windows in, and they rolled, in almost invisible tracks set along the ceiling, out of the way, into some clever cabinetry at either side of the ballroom. It left the water-organ and its pipes sitting almost in the garden itself. Talon wasn't sure if the opening of the ballroom to the gardens drew yet more people, or whether the halflings had spread the word that Master Zackton's recital was starting, or maybe even just the sounds of the water-organ starting up.

Zackton set Talon down by the window, next to - another slave, Talon guessed, a human female, maybe sixteen, maybe a year or two older, wearing black leather, and a few strategic scraps of blue silk. Talon had time to be grateful that at least Master Zackton had permitted him a full set of clothing while the Maestro and Master Zackton prepared.

The half-orc smiled out at the gathered people while the Maestro pumped the pedals, set a few of the stops, and tapped some of the keys experimentally; Talon noted they were eyeing Master Zackton with far less pleasant expressions; their faces tight with controlled emotions, and a number were clearly ...

Odd, really, that he'd never heard Master Zackton sing before. Some part of his mind was thinking that, while the rich sound thundered through him. He wasn't even sure what the words were - but it didn't matter. Talon lost track of the audience, his attention riveted onto his Master as the music surged over him. The crowd was silent; utterly, utterly silent - there was just the vibrant sound of the water-organ, and the deep driving voice of Master Zackton.

He paused between songs; moving from what was clearly classical opera to other music that Talon wasn't so sure about, but it hardly mattered what he was singing; the crowd was silent, listening - in awe, Talon thought - as the half-orc segued from song to song.

It was over too soon, but Master Zackton was ...

He could have sung all night long, and into the morning, and it still would have been over too soon, Talon decided.

A few groups had been so spellbound that it took them several seconds to shake off the - Surprise? Enjoyment? Delight? - of Zackton's performance, and join in the ferocious applause. Zackton himself merely bowed, smiled, murmured his thanks, and indicated that Maestro Crandolous was every bit as important to the music as anything Zackton had done.

Even the military-looking fellow in white-and-crimson was waiting to speak with him.