“She used to control the distribution of the manifest. Now we do.”
It was only one of many illegal parts of the family business and every port city had an enterprise just like it. Someone always had the harbormaster in their pocket, and they’d sell copies of the weekly manifest for coin. Somehow, Henrik had been lucky enough to seize hold of the trade when Holland lost her place of power. It was probably the reason Ezra knew what was in that ship’s inventory.
“You’ll pick up payment and deliver the manifest, that’s all,” Henrik said. “She can handle it,” he added, glancing at Ezra.
Something unspoken passed between them, but beside me, Murrow was silent.
“Bryn?” Henrik looked to me. “What do you say?”
Ezra’s gaze left a burning trail on my skin as it raked over me. I’d dealt with men like him my entire life. He wasn’t going to accept me unless I played their game, and I couldn’t do what I’d come to do if he was against me. “I can do it,” I said.
Henrik’s smile lifted the corners of his mouth, making the wrinkles around his eyes come to life. “Of course you can.”
Ezra let out a deep, controlled breath as his eyes dropped down and I was sure he was going to argue. But just when I expected him to open his mouth, he stood, straightening his vest and buttoning his dark gray jacket.
He pushed out of the room a moment later and Henrik and Murrow said nothing, finishing their breakfast in silence. Once Henrik’s cup was empty, he, too, was standing. “Do put on something a little more presentable, Bryn. Yes?”
My eyes flickered up. “What?”
“The watchmaker,” he said. “First impressions are important.”
My lips parted with an unspoken argument, but I snapped them shut before I could utter a word.
Temper, Bryn.
My great-aunt’s perpetual rebuke was so loud in my head that it was as if she were standing in the room.
I gritted my teeth, glancing down at my frock. I may have escaped Sariah’s narrow attention, but apparently being out from under her watch wasn’t going to afford me the luxury of choosing my own clothes.
Murrow slid back in his seat as soon as Henrik was gone, relaxing.
“He doesn’t like me,” I said, shooting an irritated look to Ezra’s empty chair.
Murrow half laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t take it personally. Ezra doesn’t like anyone.” There was an ease about Murrow that I found calming, but I wondered what lay beneath it. He was all charm and quick-witted tongue, but he was the first to straighten under our uncle’s gaze.
“Best to listen to Henrik, though. He likes for things to run on a strict schedule and he won’t tolerate disorder.”
“I didn’t know about breakfast,” I muttered.
“If I were you, I’d start assuming there are rules where maybe there weren’t any before. Starting with those boots.”
I scowled at him. “What’s wrong with my boots?”
“They’ve got mud on them.”
I lifted my skirt slightly to get a look at them. A stripe of dirt was dried along the sole from the walk through the city the day before.
“Put them outside your room at night. They’ll be cleaned and waiting for you in the morning.”
I dropped my skirt and tucked my foot under the table, a little embarrassed. “Anything else I should know?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “You need to start talking.”
“Talking?”
“Speak up or they won’t respect you. Being so quiet is going to make them wonder what you’re thinking. And you don’t want that.” He looked down at me, the humor gone now. It was a real warning. But I didn’t like the feeling it gave me, as if I was being watched more carefully than I’d realized.
“Thank you,” I said, setting the silver back down and abandoning the cheese. My stomach was in knots.
“You’re welcome.” He tossed his napkin on his plate and stood with a sigh. “Now, let’s go.”
“Where?”
He smiled, giving me a wink. “To get you a watch.”
“All right. Just let me get my coin.”
Murrow laughed. “You’re a Roth, Bryn. We have everything you need.”
FIVE
There were things about the world of the guilds that were true everywhere. Hallmarks of the way they lived.
The grimy streets of Lower Vale bled away as I followed Murrow up the hill, toward the Merchant’s District. I wouldn’t have needed a guide to find it. As soon as we reached the freshly painted buildings with new roof shingles, we were among the city’s deepest pockets.
This was a world I knew. And as we passed the decorated shop windows and I caught my reflection in them, I belonged in the picture I saw. Sariah had made it her intention to bring me up a proper young lady who would charm the likes of the guilds and build a bridge between the Roths and the merchants that had long been their enemies. One that would reflect well on her and the family. But now that I’d met the Roths, I also wondered if it was her attempt at some kind of redemption. Maybe she wanted to re-create them in a new image and erase the more unseemly deeds they were known for.
Murrow kept a quick pace as we walked, his eyes cutting up to the windows overhead every few steps. I recognized the habit. Sariah always did that, as if she thought that at any moment someone would come for her out of the shadows. It was a practice I’d unconsciously picked up, too, and it was rare that I didn’t feel as if there were eyes on me.
In this case, I wasn’t imagining it. Everyone we passed on the street was looking at us, some even taking second glances. I’d changed my frock as Henrik instructed, and I’d pulled up my hair, but in this part of the city, it was probably unusual to see unfamiliar faces. Murrow wasn’t a stranger here though, and I was sure that there were many among the guilds who didn’t like the idea of a Roth in the Merchant’s District. Their business with my family was like a game of Three Widows—the merchants liked to keep both in the shadows.
We passed shop after shop, their beveled glass windows filled with stands of freshly baked bread or shelves of wares and hand-stitched boots. The Merchant’s District was exactly what it sounded like, the corner of the city where anyone with a merchant’s ring lived and worked. Among them, the most elite were the masters of the guilds that made up the members of the Trade Council. There wasn’t any power in the Unnamed Sea to be had that they didn’t hold. Even the traders that braved the storms of the open water were at their mercy to secure permits to trade. But there was still leverage to be acquired in Bastian without a seat at the merchant’s table. The Roths were proof of that. Now, I needed to find my own.
Establishing a stake in the family was the best way of securing my place among them. I’d learned a lot from Sariah and the multifaceted schemes she ran on behalf of the Roths in Nimsmire. If I played my cards right, I could do the same here in Bastian.
“What is it you do for the family?” I asked, trying not to sound too inquisitive.
Murrow kept his pace, eyes on the street ahead. “I handle Henrik’s relationships with the crews that come in on their regular routes. Navigators vying for a position as a helmsman, strykers with need of a little extra coin … whoever’s willing to talk.”
His trade was information, and I could see why he would be good at it. Murrow was as amiable as he was handsome.
Of all the things I’d heard discussed at dinner, nothing sounded out of the ordinary. They were all the pieces of a well-thought-out plan and they’d worked for three generations. But if I was going to impress Henrik, I needed an idea. A good one.
“Already scheming?” Murrow arched an eyebrow at me.
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Maybe.”
“Good,” he answered. “Eden was like that. Smart.”
His mention of my mother caught me off guard. I hadn’t heard anyone speak about her yet. “Sariah said the tea house Eden was going to open was here in the Merchant’s District.”
�
�Still is.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“It’s still there. Been boarded up for years.”
“But why?”
Murrow shrugged. “Don’t ask me. My father has tried more than once to get Henrik to sell it, but he won’t. It’s just rotting at the end of Fig Alley.”
I watched his face, trying to uncover whatever he wasn’t saying. Sariah had told me about the tea house, but I’d assumed that when it didn’t open, it was sold. It wasn’t like the Roths to hold onto things that weren’t producing coin.
Murrow led me up a set of wide steps, to a stained wooden door that was carved with a wreath of laurels. The shop front was immaculate, with a sign that hung from a golden chain and a window without a single smudge. Behind it, I could see a row of glass cases and a marble floor as white as moonlight.
“Choose the most expensive one,” Murrow said, keeping his voice low.
“What?”
But he was already pulling the door open and moving aside for me to enter. I hesitated, the scent of balsam meeting me in a gust of warm air. Murrow jerked his chin, signaling for me to step inside, and I bit my tongue, obeying. Every time one of them opened their mouths, it was only to offer half-speak and riddles. I was tiring of trying to keep up, and it had only been a day.
Inside, stone walls encircled a small room where glass cases were lined up with a single aisle for customers to walk and browse. Behind one of them, a widely statured man looked up from his stool. His thick, gray beard covered his mouth beneath the gold-rimmed spectacles atop his round nose.
“Welcome.” He stood, setting down the small tool in his hand before he straightened his burgundy vest. “How may I help you?”
His nice suit and the sparkling watch chain that hung from his pocket told me he wasn’t an apprentice. He was the merchant of this shop.
Murrow’s eyes skimmed the cases. Inside, gold and silver watches were set onto small, velvet cushions with an array of chains and faces to choose from. I recognized the maker’s mark on the piece the man was working on. These watches were sold in Nimsmire, a favorite among the merchants’ circle there.
The watchmaker’s eyes squinted as he looked Murrow over. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Murrow Roth.” Murrow extended a hand a little too forcefully, his voice louder than necessary for the intimate size of the shop.
The man took it, shaking dutifully. “Ah. Henrik’s nephew.” There was the faintest trace of suspicion in his words. “I’m Simon.”
The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it until I remembered Henrik saying it the night before at dinner. This was the man whom Henrik wanted an invitation from. To what, I had no idea, but I understood now why he’d wanted me to change my frock.
Simon took off his gloves and set them on the counter, revealing the merchant’s ring on his finger. It was set with a polished tiger’s-eye stone, signifying his membership to the gem guild of the Unnamed Sea. It was a ring that many craftsmen would kill for.
When he finally looked at me, he smiled. “And you are?”
“I’m Bryn.” I gave him a respectful nod and Simon looked pleased. I knew how to make an impression, as Henrik had put it. If this was a test from my uncle, I was going to pass it.
“A friend of yours?” He asked the question to Murrow, but his eyes were on me.
I answered before Murrow could. “My cousin,” I said, pulling the reins of the conversation back into my own hands. “Bryn Roth.” I let the name hang in the air between us.
Simon’s eyebrows raised at that. It was exactly the kind of reaction Sariah would have loved. Anyone who spent a handful of minutes with my family would be able to see that they weren’t refined, but they were also too elegant to seamlessly fit in Lower Vale. They were a strange breed of something in between. Now that I was in Bastian, it would be my job to give the Roths a seat at the table in the Merchant’s District. That job began now. With the watchmaker.
“I see. I didn’t know Henrik had a niece,” Simon mused.
“I’ve just returned to Bastian from Nimsmire,” I said.
His smile widened knowingly. “Ah, Sariah.”
“You know my great-aunt?”
“Of course.” He laughed. “There aren’t many in this city who don’t, even if it’s been a long time since she made her escape.”
My eyes narrowed at his words. After her son died at sea, Sariah convinced her brother, Felix, to let her set up her own stake as a fail-safe for the Roths’ business in Nimsmire at a time when they had a lot of enemies in Bastian. It wasn’t until after he died that she actually made the preparations for the move, and at Henrik’s urging. According to Sariah, Henrik didn’t want her looking over his shoulder when he took charge of the family. I wasn’t part of the deal until my parents died and Henrik was left with a four-year-old orphan girl to raise.
“I’ve heard she’s made quite a place for herself up there in Nimsmire,” Simon said.
“She has.” It was true. Sariah was highly respected, and she had little competition because she’d never aspired to join the guild. She was an expert at mutually beneficial enterprise.
“I knew your mother, too.” The tone of his voice changed, making me look up. But as soon as I met his eyes, Simon set both hands on the case before him. He was careful to only touch the bronze frame and keep his fingers from the glass. “And what exactly are we looking for today?”
“My uncle says I need a watch and that there isn’t a finer piece in this city than the ones made in your workshop,” I answered.
Beside me, a smile twitched on Murrow’s lips.
“Well, he’s correct. You’ve come to the right place.” He moved around the cases, stopping before the one filled with silver watches. Murrow had backed off, letting me take the lead, but I could acutely feel his attention on me. The most expensive one, he’d said.
They were exquisite pieces, but gold was much more valuable than the silver. Simon was either being polite or he was being presumptuous, assuming the Roths wouldn’t have the coin for a finer watch.
I didn’t follow him, staying put to study the items inside the case of gold pieces carefully. I was looking for the one with the most intricate clasp and chain. The truth was, I didn’t know anything about watches. They were usually carried by men and Sariah had never given me one. But I knew gems, and there was only one in the case set with the rarest shade of spinel—a pale purple hue.
“I’d like to see that one, please.” I set a finger on the glass, where it sat in the very center.
Simon looked at me approvingly as he took a key from his pocket and opened the case. He pulled out the one I had pointed to and placed it before me. “A very nice watch. The face is a polished mother-of-pearl from the reefs of Yuri’s Constellation. I personally chose the specimen from the trader’s haul.”
I picked it up, opening the watch with a click. The case sprung open and inside, the delicate hands ticked away over the dial. It was so beautiful, it seemed impossible that human hands had made it.
“It’s lovely,” I said, turning it so the light moved over the pearl surface like rippling water. The patterns were unique, the colors vibrant. A watch like this belonged in the pocket of a guild master. “I’ll take it.”
Simon took the spectacles from his nose. “And the chain?”
“I’d like you to choose.” I smiled. “No one knows better than the maker.”
He nodded. “And shall I engrave it for you?”
“Yes.” I set the watch back into his hands. “Please.”
He replaced his spectacles and pushed them up a little, taking a piece of parchment from the desk behind him. “Bryn, you said?”
“That’s right.”
I watched him write my initials, B.R. There were times when I had wished I could shed the Roth name like a skin. But through the years, I’d grown to believe, or hope, it was what gave me an anchor in the shifting seas. That maybe it was the only thing keeping me from sinking into the li
fe that the girls in Nimsmire were cursed to live. While they were marrying to give their families advantage, I would be building a destiny of my own making.
When he was finished, Simon wrapped a square of black satin around the watch and set it into a wooden box. “That’ll be three hundred and forty coppers. Fifty now. The rest delivered is fine.”
Murrow gave him a nod. “I’ll have it sent over this afternoon.” He reached into his jacket, producing a leather purse. He counted out fifty coppers with quick fingers before he closed it again and slid the purse across the glass.
Simon picked it up, not bothering to check the weight.
“Don’t want to count it?” Murrow smirked.
“I know where to find you if it’s short.” There was a flash in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A trace of something rough-edged. It reminded me of Henrik. “Should be done in a couple of days.”
“Thank you,” I said as Murrow tipped his hat and opened the door. The sunlight rushed back in, gleaming on the cases and reflecting off the rims of Simon’s spectacles.
I came down the steps, waiting for Murrow on the street. He was already grinning as he took off up the walk, not waiting for me. “You’re good at this.” His voice trailed back to meet me.
“Good at what?”
Murrow shot a glance in my direction. “The game.”
SIX
Henrik’s instructions had been simple enough.
Pier fourteen. Ask for Arthur. Tell him you’re there to pick up.
It was as much an excuse to leave the house alone as it was a way to show Ezra that I would fight for my place among the Roths. I had no interest in taking his job, but I wasn’t going to be pushed out, either. I knew how to stand my ground and that was exactly what I was going to do.
I walked the street that ran along the harbor, eyeing the numbers on the crowded buildings. Piers lined the water beyond the merchant’s house before scaling the steep hill in the distance. In Nimsmire, there had been only two rows of piers, but here, there were so many that they weren’t even set into rows. They twisted around each other along haphazard streets, some of which seemed to dead-end or disappear completely.
The Last Legacy Page 4