There was nothing more to see there. The ship wouldn’t be attacked in the middle of the storm. All I could do was hope that Borund’s confidence in Mathew as a shipmaster wasn’t misplaced.
I sank back into myself and opened my eyes to the throne room with a gasp. A harsh tremor of weakness sank into my arms, my legs, holding me tight for a breath, for two, and then it began to fade.
“How was the weakness this time?” Marielle asked. Marielle was waiting a few paces away with a blanket, Keven and his guardsmen arranged around the throne. He refused to wait outside. He’d become overly protective of me since Erick had left.
“Worse than the last time, but it’s passed now.” I stepped down from the throne and Marielle enfolded me in the blanket.
“You’re shivering,” she said in a scolding tone.
“The ship’s headed into a storm,” I said, teeth chattering. The blanket felt warm and dry. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was soaked to the skin, as Erick had been. “The rain was bitter cold. I don’t think we have to worry about them encountering an attack any time soon.”
Marielle simply nodded. I’d been checking up on Erick, Laurren, and the ship on a regular basis over the last few days and she’d grown accustomed to odd reactions, such as me feeling bitterly cold or wet . . . or nauseous. I didn’t react well to the movements of the deck. Marielle had started bringing blankets and hot tea to the throne room.
And then there was the weakness. The longer I Reached, and the longer I stayed out, the more my body reacted when I returned. At first, it hadn’t been anything more than a sense of fatigue, as if I hadn’t slept in days. But the farther Erick and Laurren traveled from Amenkor, the more exhausted I’d felt, until now when I returned my limbs trembled, as if my muscles had been abused, as if I’d just spent the last few hours working with Westen instead of sitting on the throne.
Marielle handed me a steaming cup and I sipped, letting the warm, soothing liquid and hot steam take away the chills as I recovered, ignoring the tremors in my hands.
“How far south are they?” Keven asked. He was broader of shoulder than Erick, heftier, and held himself more relaxed than most of the guardsmen of higher ranking in the palace. He didn’t exude the same sense of dangerous calm that enveloped Erick, since he hadn’t been trained as a Seeker, but like Erick he felt solid, immovable, and always alert.
“Somewhere near Urral.”
Keven grunted. “That’s a third of the way to Venitte. They’re entering the prime target area now. Most of the ships that have vanished have done so there.”
Which meant I’d have to keep a closer eye on the ship from now on. I sighed. Using the throne in this manner was exhausting.
No longer feeling so cold and wet, I handed the cup of tea back to Marielle and nodded to Keven and his men.
“Avrell, Nathem, and the rest of the merchants are meeting in the upper city shortly to begin the inventory of the warehouses. Get an escort ready.”
Keven bowed, then motioned to one of his men, who immediately headed toward the throne room doors.
Marielle came to retrieve the blanket.
We met another five guardsmen at the gates to the middle ward, effectively doubling my guard, then headed on foot toward the merchants’ guild hall. As we passed through the middle ward, the people on the street stepped out of our way, most with a short bow of respect or a quick tracing of the Skewed Throne across their chest. I watched them all closely, saw the signs of the rationing in their faces, a look of haggardness. But most of these people had their own stores put back and were living off of that. They had no need of what was stored in the warehouses or came from the kitchens yet.
When we reached the merchants’ guild, Keven led Marielle and me through an arched entryway into the back courtyard, then into the hall itself through a back entrance. I couldn’t help thinking that this was how I’d entered the guild hall the first time, as Borund’s personal bodyguard. Borund had just discovered that the merchant Charls was the one attempting to kill him. He’d wanted Charls to know he knew, had brought me along for protection . . . and as a warning. It hadn’t worked.
We entered the main hall and I almost gasped.
When I came as a bodyguard to Borund, the hall had been crowded with merchants and ship captains chatting, trading, doing business. It had bustled with activity, the roar of conversation loud, almost overwhelming.
Now, the hall was almost empty. The huge support pillars and tall ceilings only made the emptiness more pronounced. Light streamed down through thin windows, revealing a marble floor, scattered rugs, and a few chairs on the edges of the room for more private and relaxed conversations. Tapestries and banners hung from the walls or in between the support pillars, limp and forlorn. The entire room smelled musty with disuse.
On the far side of the room, near a set of stairs leading up to a second level, Avrell and Nathem were gathered together with Borund, Regin, Yvan, and a few lesser merchants. Their conversation echoed in the open hall, the sounds strangely intrusive.
“—rather simple, Yvan,” Avrell was saying as we approached, his voice tight. “Some of the stores have gone missing. We want to know why and who’s been taking them. In order to do that, we need to know about everything that’s missing. So the Mistress has ordered that an inventory be done of all of the warehouses. All of the warehouses. To be inventoried today. Is that understood?”
Yvan snatched the master list that Avrell was holding out toward him, almost ripping the paper in the process. His eyes shot daggers. “Yes. Perfectly.”
“Good. I want a comprehensive list of everything that’s missing by this evening.”
Grumbling, most of the merchants took their lists and began to filter out, the majority giving orders to apprentices as they left. Yvan passed his list to his apprentice without looking at it, then began a slow, awkward walk to the exit, his heavy form lumbering along. He was breathing hard before he made it halfway across the room.
Regin stayed behind. “Some of us have more than one warehouse under our control,” he said, “as well as our personal estates.”
“I know.” Avrell handed him a list. “Nathem is going to oversee the Priem warehouse while you handle the Duncet warehouse and your own estates. I’ll be taking care of Yvan’s second warehouse.”
“And the warehouse on Lirion Street?”
“Borund is handling that, as well as the warehouse on the Dredge.”
Regin nodded. “Very well. I’ll have the list ready by this evening.” He followed Yvan, moving swiftly.
Avrell sighed heavily as he left, then caught sight of me. He visibly gathered himself together, but his face looked weary. “Mistress. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I thought perhaps I could help,” I said, as the escort came to a halt.
Avrell relaxed slightly. “Of course. In fact, I can have you deal with Borund’s warehouse on the Dredge, while he handles the one on Lirion Street, if that’s all right with him?”
Borund grunted. “Be my guest. I’ve got enough to do at Lirion.”
Avrell handed over the appropriate list, then asked quietly, “The ship?”
“Heading into a storm.” I couldn’t keep a note of worry from my voice.
Borund nodded. “Mathew knows what he’s doing. They’ll be fine.”
The group broke, Avrell and Nathem setting off for the lower city, Borund turning toward Lirion Street in the middle ward. I headed toward the Dredge, Keven, Marielle, and the escort in tow.
When we reached the warehouse, it was bustling with activity. I paused to watch the flow of workers, then caught the arm of one of them as he passed.
“Who’s in charge here now?”
The man looked annoyed until he noticed the escort and realized who I was. He immediately knelt and bowed down, almost reverentially. “William, Mistress.” He pointed toward the l
eft side of the warehouse without looking up.
My heart sank, and I suddenly regretted offering to help. I should have stayed up in the palace, working on mathematics or something.
As I hesitated, I caught Marielle’s eye. She glared at me, then motioned toward the kneeling man with her head.
“Oh!” I said. Then I frowned, reaching down to touch the man’s head awkwardly. “Thank you.”
The man ducked his head, then backed away in a half crouch before turning and fleeing back into the warehouse with a stunned look of awe.
I shook my head, glanced down at the sheet of paper in my hand, then sighed. Gathering myself together, I went in search of William.
He was working in the back section of the building, ordering workers around while consulting a list of his own. His hair was as wild as I remembered it from the first time I’d seen him on the dock, but he’d changed. He stood straight, shoulders back, head high, gestured with his arms as he spoke. He seemed taller somehow, more visible. Before, he’d always been a part of Borund’s shadow, but here, in the warehouse, without Borund around . . .
“No, no, no!” he said, waving his arms to catch the worker’s attention and stop him. “I said put that in the second section, not the third. It should be stacked with the dried peas.”
The worker had stopped, but he wasn’t paying any attention to William. He was gawking at me and my entourage.
“Well?” William said, frowning in exasperation. “Why aren’t you moving?”
The worker nodded in my direction.
William turned, then froze, a look of terrified shock passing across his face before he composed it into a blank expression. He fumbled briefly with his papers, then forced his hands to stop moving, and drew in a deep breath. “Mistress, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to take inventory.”
“Ah,” William said, then paused. A look of confusion crossed his face. “I thought Borund was going to do that?”
“He was. I volunteered to help, and they gave me this warehouse.”
“Ah,” William said again.
Another pause, this one long enough to become awkward.
I glanced around the warehouse, at the stacked crates and barrels. “Shouldn’t we get started?”
William jumped as if I’d pinched him, then nervously turned around. “Of course, of course. Let me just . . .” He spotted the worker, who still stood gawking. “Harold! Take that to section two!”
The worker jerked, mumbled something indistinct, then vanished behind a stack of crates.
William turned again. “Let me just . . . get rid of these papers. Yes. And then we can get started.” He started to put the papers back into some type of order, but they became even more disorganized. Finally, he gave up, shoved them into a heap, and said, “Follow me.”
He led us back to the front of the warehouse where he had a table set up with extra paper, ink, and a chair set up like a desk. He put the loose papers down on the desk, then turned. He seemed to have composed himself on the way to the desk.
“How do you want to proceed?” he asked.
I shrugged. “However you want. You’re in charge of the warehouse.”
He hesitated again, looked at me as if he thought I was trying to trick him somehow, then he straightened. “First, we’ll have to keep everyone not doing inventory out of the warehouse.”
“Very well.”
William called all of the workers to the front of the building, then sent the majority of them away on other tasks on the Dredge, or transferred them to the communal ovens or the docks. Those that remained were men and women who could count and a few who could read. He broke these up into teams and dispatched them to various places in the building to count crates. Only two of those present could write. These he kept near the front of the warehouse to record the amounts and types of food and supplies each team had counted.
Once the teams were dispatched, he turned to me.
“How long do you expect this to take?” I asked.
William shrugged. “A couple of hours at most. We have quite a few teams.”
“I see.”
From the back of the warehouse, I could hear the teams beginning to call out numbers and foodstocks.
I frowned at William. “I can count, you know.”
He stared at me in incomprehension.
I sighed. “I came down here to help. Why don’t we form a team and start counting?”
Light dawned. “Of course! I didn’t think. . . .” He trailed off, then shook himself. “Of course. Follow me, we’ll start on the second floor.”
He headed toward the back of the warehouse again. Before following, I motioned to Keven. “Have the escort watch the warehouse. I don’t think I’ll need an entourage to help me count boxes.”
“I’ll stay with you,” he said, with a tone that suggested I’d better not argue. I gave him an irritated glare, but he only smiled.
As he sent the other guardsmen to patrol the warehouse, Marielle shifted closer, grinning hugely, her eyes sparkling.
“What?”
She leaned in close and whispered, “He likes you.”
“Who, Keven?”
“No,” Marielle said, rolling her eyes in disgust. “William.”
I shot her a dark frown, but deep inside something surged upward—hope and dread and a queasy excitement that warmed my blood and tightened my chest, making it harder to breathe.
Then I remembered William’s look in the tavern after I’d gutted the assassin that had tried to kill Borund. Horror and revulsion had contorted his face, obvious through the shock. He’d had the same look when he realized I was going to kill Alendor.
“No,” I said, trying to crush the roiling hope in my chest. “He despises me.”
Marielle seemed surprised at the harshness in my voice, taking a small step backward. But then the knowing grin returned, somewhat subdued.
“I don’t think so,” she said. Then she swept past me, following William.
I glanced toward Keven, who pretended he hadn’t heard. But the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
I snorted, then headed for the stairs.
We began at the southern corner of the floor. I clambered up to the top of the stacked crates, Marielle following, surprising both William and Keven. Then we began working our way northward, Marielle and I counting as we went, calling down numbers to William below. Keven dealt with the crates closer to the floor, William reading the labels. The tops of the stacks were dusty and filled with cobwebs, and both Marielle and I were covered and sneezing in fits by the time we reached the end of the first stack. Crouching and straddling the crates as we moved down the line was also hard work, and soon we were drenched in sweat. But it was the first time that either of us had done anything outside of attend meetings in the palace or train using the Sight in the gardens—or the dagger under Westen’s eye for me—in a long while. The sheer novelty of manual labor was exhilarating.
We climbed down from the first stack and burst out laughing as we saw each other in the full light. Both Keven and William were grinning as well. Dusting ourselves off, we moved to the second section.
The hours went by quickly. At one point, Marielle claimed exhaustion, and so William climbed up to the top as she took over recording the results. At first, having William that close, in such a confined area, felt uncomfortable. But as soon as we began counting, that awkwardness faded. For the first time since we’d known each other, I was not a bodyguard or assassin or the Mistress. I was simply Varis.
As we reached the end of the last stack, I shifted to the edge of the crates and sat, legs dangling. I was breathing heavily, my white shirt stained a drab gray, my breeches caked a uniform brown with the combined sweat and dust. William moved to sit down beside me, breathing hard as well. He had cobwebs caught in his hair, h
is face smeared with dust and grit and sweat. But his eyes were bright.
He turned toward me and the strange exhilaration I thought I had crushed came back, pounding in my chest.
He smiled and I grinned in return.
“You should come up to the palace more often,” I said, and instantly cursed myself.
His smile faltered, then steadied. “Perhaps I will from now on.”
Down below, Marielle shouted, “We’re all done down here. What are you two doing up there?”
We leaned over the edge, peering down at Marielle’s and Keven’s upturned faces. Marielle was smiling. A little twisted smile. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, and I replied with a heated glare.
Leaning back, I sighed. “I suppose we should climb back down, see how the rest of the teams are doing.” But I realized I didn’t want to go. Not yet. I wanted to stay there, with William, covered in dust and cobwebs, the taste of grit in my mouth, the scent of my own sweat and his sharp in my nostrils.
William grunted, hesitated a moment, then twisted and began climbing down.
I watched the top of his head for a moment, strangely disappointed, then followed.
All of the other teams were finished. William collected all of the lists and sat down at his desk to begin comparing them to the master list. My stomach growled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. The inventory had taken up most of the day. It was almost dusk. But looking around at all of the exhausted faces of the workers from the Dredge, all beginning to take on the edges of strict rationing, I found I didn’t mind. I’d gone days in the slums without eating, knew I would survive a little hunger now.
I turned back to William when he grunted. He leaned back from his lists, held them up to scan them again, then turned, surprised.
“Well?” I asked.
He shook his head in disbelief. “There’s nothing missing. Everything that’s supposed to be here . . . is here.”
The Throne of Amenkor Page 55