Book 3 - Water Sleeps Read Online Free PDF

though they irritated her frequently.
    The right-hand desk belonged to the Inspector-General of the
Records, Chandra Gokhale. His was a deceptive title. He was no
glorified clerk. He controlled finances and most public works. He
was ancient, hairless, lean as a snake and twice as mean. He owed
his appointment to the Radisha’s father. Until the latter
days of the Shadowmaster wars, his office had been a minor one. The
wars caused that office’s influence and power to expand. And
Chandra Gokhale was never shy about snatching at any strand of
bureaucratic power that came within reach. He was a staunch
supporter of the Radisha and a steadfast enemy of the Black
Company. He was also the sort of weasel who would change all that
in an instant if he saw sufficient advantage in so doing.
    The man behind the desk on the left was more sinister. Arjana
Drupada was a priest of Rhavi-Lemna’s cult but there was not
one ounce of brotherly love in the man. His official title was
Purohita, which meant, more or less, that he was the Royal
Chaplain. In actuality, he was the true voice of the priesthoods at
court. They had forced him upon the Radisha at a time she was
making desperate concessions in order to gain support. Like
Gokhale, Drupada was more interested in control than he was in
doing what was best for Taglios. But he was not an entirely cynical
manipulator. His frequent moral bulls got up the Protector’s
nose more often even than the constant, quibbling financial caveats
of the Inspector-General. Physically, Drupada was known for his
shock of wild white hair. That clung to his head like a mad
haystack, the good offices of a comb being completely
unfamiliar.
    Only Gokhale and Drupada seemed unaware that their days had to
be numbered. The Protector of All the Taglias was not enamored of
them at all.
    The final member of the Council was absent. Which was not
unusual. The Great General, Mogaba, preferred to be in the field,
harrying those designated as his enemies. He viewed the infighting
in the Palace with revulsion.
    None of which mattered at the moment. There had been Incidents.
There were Witnesses to be Brought Forward. The Protector was not
pleased.
    Willow Swan rose. He beckoned a Grey sergeant out of the gloom
behind the two old men. “Ghopal Singh.” Nobody remarked
on the unusual name. Possibly he was a convert. Stranger things
were happening. “Singh’s patrol watches an area
immediately outside the Palace, on the north side. This afternoon
one of his patrolmen discovered a prayer wheel mounted on one of
the memorial posts in front of the north entrance. Twelve copies of
this sutra were attached to the arms of the wheel.”
    Swan made a show of turning a small paper card so the light
would fall upon the writing there. The lettering appeared to be in
the ecclesiastical style. Swan failed to appreciate his own
ignorance of Taglian letters, though. He was holding the card
inverted. He did not, however, make any mistakes when he reported
what the prayer card had to say.
    “
Rajadharma
. The Duty of Kings. Know you: Kingship is a
trust. The King is the most exalted and conscientious servant of
the people.”
    Swan did not recognize the verse. It was so ancient that some
scholars attributed it to one or another of the Lords of Light in
the time when the gods still handed down laws to the fathers of
men. But the Radisha Drah knew it. The Purohita knew it. Someone
outside the Palace had leveled a chiding finger.
    Soulcatcher understood it, too. Its object, she said,
“Only a Bhodi monk would presume to chastise this house. And
they are very few.” That pacifistic, moralistic cult was
young and still very small. And it had suffered during the war
years almost as terribly as had the followers of Kina. The Bhodi
refused to defend themselves. “I want the man who did
this.” The voice she used was that of a quarrelsome old
man.
    “Uh . . . ” Swan said. It was
not wise to argue with the Protector but that was an