House of Illusions by Pauline Gedge Page A

encased in white gloves. Nowhere could I see any exposed skin, and as I fought to control my shock, I was devoutly glad. Whatever horror lay under all those swathings, I did not want to see it. Yet though I could see nothing of his face, the Seer’s eyes were on me. He had not missed my quick scrutiny, for he chuckled—a dry, harsh sound.
    “Does my humble workplace meet with your approval, Officer Kamen?” he asked mockingly. “With your expectations also? I doubt it. The young who consult me appear to be disappointed. They want dimness and mystery, flickering lamps and a haze of incense smoke, spells and whispers. I must confess that I take an altogether unworthy delight in their disappointment.” I wanted to clear my throat but forbade the nervous impulse.
    “I had no such expectations, Master,” I replied, amazed at the steadiness of my own voice. “Your gift of Seeing allies you to the gods. What do the trappings matter?” He sat back, his spotless wrappings rustling gently.
    “Well said, Officer Kamen,” he said. “Bright and conscientious, my brother Paiis called you, and you are cautious and tactful also. Oh? You did not know that Paiis was my brother? But of course you didn’t. You are an honest young man and a good officer, trained to ask no questions of your superiors and to kill without reflection. Can you kill without reflection, young Kamen? How old are you?” I felt his eyes. I knew his attention had not wavered from me for a moment and my scalp prickled. Once again I had to repress a strong urge, this time to put a hand to the back of my neck.
    “I am sixteen,” I answered. “I do not know if I can kill, for the necessity has not yet arisen. I do my best to be a good soldier.” I did not like his patronizing tone and something in my voice or stance must have betrayed me. He folded his arms.
    “All the same, there is a tiny seed of mutiny in you, waiting for the water of insult or injustice to sprout,” he remarked. “I sense it. You are not the man you think you are, Kamen. Not at all. You interest me, standing there all earnestness and hidden affront. Light will penetrate the Underworld before you retreat an inch, though you give an impression of polite pliancy. Paiis said I would find you entertaining. What do you want of me?”
    “How did the General know I was coming to consult you, Master?” I asked. There was a small movement under the mask. He was smiling.
    “I told him, of course. He dines here often and we talk of many things. When there are no more engrossing subjects, we discuss our own lives. I thought he would like to be told that one of the officers of his guard was coming to see me.” He stirred. “Would you like to see me, Kamen?” A pang of fear shot through me.
    “You are playing with me,” I said. “If you choose to reveal yourself, I would be honoured. If not, I am content.” Now he laughed aloud, the sound choked off by his mask.
    “You deserve to be a courtier,” he declared. “And you are right. I am playing with you. I apologize. Now I repeat. What do you want of me? You may sit.” One white-gloved hand indicated the chair in front of the desk. I bowed again and lowered myself into it, placing the ebony box on the desk. Now that the moment had come I was at a loss for the right words.
    “I am an orphan,” I began haltingly. “My parents adopted me when I was only a few months old …” He set an elbow on the desk and held up his palm.
    “Let us not waste time. Your father is Men. Like you, he is an honest man who has amassed a considerable fortune through his sense of adventure and an astute nose for business. He is my most reliable source for rare herbs and physics. Your mother is Shesira, a good Egyptian wife who requires nothing more than a peaceful household. You have an older sister, Mutemheb, and a younger, Tamit. There is nothing extraordinary about your family. Now why are you in distress?” The rules of polite conversation obviously