The man crumpled the sheet and stuffed it in his pocket. The rest he set on the desk. He pulled a small flask from inside his pocket and poured it on the pages. Even from where Alec stood, he could smell the kerosene.
“Don’t—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish.
The man tipped the lantern on its side. Flames begin licking the pages, racing across the surface, and working down the desk. Within moments, the entirety of the desk was engulfed in flames and thick smoke.
Alec spun and raced for the door.
He heard the first bolt whiz past him, sinking into the doorframe, but pulled the door open and ran, not waiting for another.
In the street, rain pelted him. The sky was a black and purple bruise, and thunder rolled. Most of the time when it rained like this, he hated it, but with the fire in the shop, he couldn’t help but feel relief. Even if the shop went completely up in flames, the damage would be limited by the rain.
That wouldn’t restore everything his father had harvested over the years. All those leaves, berries, grasses, and even the oils. Everything would burn.
He hurried to an overhang across the street and ducked around the corner.
Once hidden, Alec peeked his head out long enough to see the huge man come racing from inside the shop. Flames followed, hissing from the rain. Plumes of bitter smoke, scented by the different leaves and herbs his father had within the shop, came with it.
Another man joined the first, almost as large.
What had Sam gotten him into?
He crouched, afraid to move, forced to watch as the shop began to burn. The apothecary was far enough away from other buildings that it didn’t risk them coming down unless the flames leaped out of control. With the rain, there should be no way that would happen.
A loud explosion thundered from within the shop.
Flames exploded outward, first catching on the front of the shop, then climbing to the roof, quickly engulfing the building. The rain seemed to have no effect, sizzling away and leaving a thick blanket of steam hanging like fog over the street. The heat from the fire pushed him back, making it hard for him to even breath.
Alec couldn’t move.
His father’s shop was a complete loss. The brick walls managed to stay standing, but he was certain nothing was salvageable. The fire seemed to weaken. It didn’t happen gradually, but all of a sudden, and with a massive gust of heated air, like some angry god sucking in the heat and flame and swallowing it.
Alec could do nothing but stare. Sweat mixed with rain and possibly tears, all of it running down his face.
Where would he go now?
What would his father do?
What would he do?
12
The Value of Paper
When Sam awoke, her head throbbed. It was a pulsing sort of pain that ran from her scalp, almost through the ends of her dark hair, and went in waves down her body before stopping at her toes.
She sat up in her bed and stared at the window for long moments, trying to focus her mind on where she was and what had happened to her. Bright light streamed through her window, and she wondered how she’d managed to sleep at all with as bright as it was. Normally, she needed the dark, but she’d obviously forgotten to throw the blanket over the window like she normally did.
How long had she slept?
Long enough that she began to think what she’d experienced had been some sort of dream. Maybe not a dream. A nightmare.
But had it been a dream, would she remember the pain she knew now? Would she remember the searing heat from the crossbow shooting through her shoulder, or the way the glass had punctured her side, leaving her almost gasping for air? Would she remember the brutes chasing her, and her feeling helpless, unable to do anything to get away, feeling like she’d get caught by another bolt in the back, or have one sink through her chest as she turned down the wrong street.
Her shoulder throbbed, but less than her head. Her stomach ached, as well, but it was a hunger-type pain, nothing more. That didn’t seem right.
Sam reached for the bandage on her right shoulder, and unraveled it slowly. When Alec had shown her the wound the first time, she’d almost gagged. Not only had the wound looked angry and possibly infected, and not only had the strange blackening to her flesh made her nervous, but there was an odor to it, almost like her flesh had already started to rot.
When she unrolled the cloth, she looked at her shoulder. The long cut appeared healed beneath the stitches. The blackness that had consumed her shoulder wasn’t there anymore.
Either she’d been asleep much longer than she realized, or Alec’s healing was incredible.
She pulled up her shirt and looked at her stomach. The cut there had healed, the skin smooth and pink, but otherwise much better than before. She touched the stitches, and they crumbled, falling free from her skin as if they weren’t meant to be there.
What in the world?
Sam took a tentative breath.
What had pained her before was now gone. All she felt now was the soft ache where the wounds had been.
Her stomach rumbled again.
She must have been asleep longer than she knew. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be this hungry. Before leaving Bastan, she’d convinced Kevin to serve her a heaping bowl of stew along with two hunks of bread. There was no way she should still be this hungry unless she’d been out for a few days.
If that were the case, why had she slept so long?
Sam stood. The wobble to her legs was gone, as was the need to cling to the staff. She stood in front of the window and pulled it open, taking a deep breath of air. It had a crispness to it, and she sighed, letting it fill her lungs.
Whatever had healed her—either time or the concoction Alec used—she would take advantage of it.
Dressing quickly, she threw her cloak back over her shoulders and stuffed the staff into one of the interior pockets. To this, she added the folded-up page of paper she’d taken from Bastan. Maybe she’d try to see if it would work for her later. There were other things she had to worry about first. Like Tray.
Outside the room, she hurried down the hall and reached the outside. There was a bustle of people in the street, enough for her to know it was late in the day. Maybe she’d only slept all night, waking in the middle of the day. That would explain why her stomach rumbled as it did.
She needed to get to Tray, but Bastan claimed he was trying to help. She wasn’t convinced that he was, which made her feel the need to discover on her own whether he really was helping, and whether what he’d told her was true.
There was only one person she knew she could go to for that kind of information, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to trust Marin again, especially after she’d misled her when it came to the gems before.
Sam moved quickly through the streets, weaving around others, the pain in her side fading to nothing the farther she went. As she walked, even the throbbing in her head started to fade. Other than the hunger, she felt refreshed.
The buildings in the Caster section were nothing like those in other sections. Most thought Caster one of the oldest sections of the city. It was certainly the most run down. Stone crumbled from the faces of many of them, and boards were often used to prevent additional deterioration, but left the fronts of the buildings looking even worse. Had they only been painted, it might be better, but they were left raw. It was unfortunate. Most of these buildings, while old, had been well made once. Now they were dirty and broken, like the people of Caster.
In some places, the buildings had fallen, leaving piles of stone. Eventually, someone cleared the rubble and rebuilt, often squeezing two buildings into the same space, but it made it look worse.
When she reached Marin’s building—one of the better kept buildings in this section of the city—she paused outside, staring up at the window. The woman wouldn’t likely be there. She was never in when Sam stopped by. Most of the time, Marin found her rather than the other way around.
Sam decided to try anyway.
She went through the main door and up the hall before she reached Marin’s rooms, pausing to give a respectful knock. There was no answer.
Figures.
Sam tried again, giving her another minute to answer, but none came.
She slipped her lock-pick set out of a cloak pocket and wiggled it in the door until the lock sprung open. As it did, she let out a soft cry of success, cutting it off as she worried she’d been too loud. Tray always warned her about that.
The inside of Marin’s home was dark. Sam stood in the doorway until her eyes adjusted, and then closed the door behind her. There was an herbal scent to the room that reminded her in some ways of how Alec’s shop had smelled. A narrow bed was shoved against one wall, and there was a table and chair next to it, much like what she’d seen in Bastan’s room. They were more alike than either of them would ever admit, not that she’d tell them that. Neither would appreciate the comparison.
A stack of papers on the desk drew her attention.
Sam stepped over and thumbed through it. She found a few diagrams much like the one she’d been given for the home she’d invaded. Were these other places that Marin intended to break into? What else would she find in these homes? Nothing valuable. Maybe only more paper.
Sam put the papers back down, ensuring they were the way she’d found them. A row of ink reminded her of Bastan again, as did the quill resting in front of it. All she needed was to find a drawer full of paper she couldn’t write on and she’d feel like she was in Bastan’s office.
There was a small chest resting along the wall and Sam flipped it open. She found another cloak like the one she wore along with a coil of rope. That might be useful for her.
Sam left the table and went to the window, peeking out from behind the curtain to peer at the street.
Marin headed toward her home.
Kyza!
She needed to be more careful. If Marin caught her here, it’d be almost as bad as Bastan finding her in his office alone, and she never risked breaking into his office.
Sam hurried toward the door and ducked behind it just as she heard steps along the floorboards. There wasn’t any way she could get out, not without Marin knowing she’d been here.
Kyza!
She took a quick survey of the room, but there was no place for her to hide here, either.
Sam twisted the lock, thankful that it fell into place quietly, and hurried to the window. Ducking behind the curtain, she pulled open the window and climbed out. It reminded her of what she’d had to do with the highborn house.
Hanging from the ledge, she reached with one hand and pulled the window almost completely closed, and dangled where she was. From here, the drop was too high for her to survive. She started uncoiling the rope, readying to climb down, when she heard the distinctive note of the woman’s voice.
“She wasn’t supposed to get caught,” Marin said. “There shouldn’t have been anyone there. We had word she was in the—”
“Does it matter? She escaped.” This came from another, deeper voice in a coarse whisper.
“And nearly died, from what I hear.”
“But she didn’t.”
“She’s far too valuable alive for us to risk her.”
Sam didn’t understand what she had overheard. Why would she be valuable to Marin? And did Marin know more about what happened to her?
Her arms began to ache, and she had started to slide down the rope, not wanting to get caught, when Marin appeared at the window and grabbed Sam’s arm before she could move.
Sam was tossed into the room and came to her feet scanning for the other voice. There was no sign of the other person who had been with Marin. Flowers were situated around the room, almost strategically, that she hadn’t noticed when she’d first entered. Marin didn’t seem the type for such frivolity. The scents of herbs filled her nose again, and the air had a charge to it, an energy, that Sam couldn’t fully understand.
Marin watched her intently. Was it amusement or annoyance in her glare? “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough,” Sam said.
Marin tipped her head, and a hint of a smile played along her lips. “Your mother would have been proud.”
That was the last thing Sam had expected to hear. “My mother? What does she have to do with anything?”
Marin sighed deeply and motioned toward her door. “She has to do with everything. Sit down. We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to sit down. I want to help Tray. I want answers.”
Marin stood by her window. “We’ll see what we can do about the first, and I’ll do what I can to provide the second.”
“I need your help with Tray,” Sam said, pushing out the words in a hurry. She needed to get Marin on her side as quickly as possible, and if nothing else, the woman had an affection for her brother.
“Others are working on it,” Marin said.
“Others? Like Bastan? He said he had a man inside the prison but that he didn’t want to use him unless he had to. I don’t think he really wants to do anything to help him, but I know you at least care for him. Or you seem to. I’ll do whatever you need, Marin. I’ll work for you. Take whatever job you require. Just help me get my brother back.”
Marin turned away from the window and met Sam’s eyes. “I want your brother back as much as you do.”
Sam doubted that, but she wasn’t about to argue with Marin, especially not when she needed her help. “Bastan won’t be able to help. He’ll want to, but Bastan is only out for himself.”
“How is that any different from the rest of us?” Marin asked.
“I’ve not been only out for myself. I’ve wanted to do anything I could to help Tray. That’s why I’ve done what I have. I want to keep him safe.”
“For you. You wanted to keep your family safe, not that anyone would ever blame you. But that was as much for you as it was for Tray, don’t you think?”
Sam stood uncertain how to answer. She never felt like she’d done anything for herself. Hadn’t she always done what she had to help Tray for his sake? With their family gone, who else would look after him? Who else but Sam cared about him the way that she did?
“Will you help him?” she asked. What else was there to say?
Marin studied her for a moment. “I’ll do what I can.”
Sam clasped her hands together nervously. “Thank you.” When Marin said nothing more, Sam went on. “Why did you say my mother would have been proud of me?”
Marin’s expression changed. Was it sadness or something else that caused her eyes to glitter softly? “Because she would have been. Your mother wanted you to know where you came from, but it wasn’t safe to share.”
“And you know?”
“I know better than anyone.”
“Why?”
Marin watched her for a moment before turning to one of the shelves and pulling a tall book from it, opening it in her palms and holding it out to Sam. “Do you recognize this?”
Sam studied the page. There was nothing on it other than a single symbol in the bottom corner. The page reminded her of the one she’d stolen from the book in the highborn house, the one that she’d stuffed in her boot and left behind when Alec had healed her.
Did Marin have more of those pages?
Could the paper really have been what she’d sought?
Sam hadn’t thought that likely, but when Bastan had discussed ways the paper could be used, she realized there might be more to it than she’d considered. Certainly, Bastan had seen plenty of ways for the paper to be useful, why wouldn’t Marin be the same?
“From your expression and lack of response, I take it that you’ve seen this before.”
“It’s the same as what you sent me into the highborn house after,” Sam accused.
“Yes. The same type of paper, only this is different. This has been written on, unlike what you were to acquire.”
“You knew it was paper in the highborn house
? Why didn’t you tell me!”
“Would you have gone after it if you had thought it was paper? Would you have taken the same risk?”
“Of course not. For paper? What’s the point of going after paper? I know Bastan thinks there’s value in it—”
“Because Bastan recognizes the uses, even if he’s not sure why he recognizes them.”
“You expect me to believe that this paper is worth more than the palace gems?”
Marin leaned toward her, fixing her with an intense stare. “Why do you think the palace has the gems?”
“To control the wealth. They have the lowborns mine them, and then they hoard them, controlling the wealth we have available to us.”
Marin smiled. “You sound as if you’ve been listening to Bastan.”
Sam didn’t answer. She might have heard him say something similar once before. “If not to control the lowborns, then why would they hoard it?”
“For something far more valuable.”
Marin looked at the paper, and Sam frowned. “You can’t really believe they use them to buy this paper.”
“There are other reasons, but the simple answer is that they’re connected far more than most realize. And yes, this paper is much more valuable than the gems.” Marin closed the book and tapped the page. “How much do you think a single page costs?”
“In gems?”
Marin nodded.
“I suppose you could probably get quite a few pages for one of the gems.” It was nice paper, but there was no way it was worth anything more than that, was there?
Marin held up her hand, palm facing upward.
“What is that?” Sam asked.
“This size of gem,” Marin said.
“What, your hand?”
“That’s the size required to purchase a single sheet of paper, and that’s if you can find the source.”
Sam’s breath caught. “But I grabbed”—she paused to think about how many pages she’d taken from the highborn house—“probably two dozen sheets!”
Wasting: The Book of Maladies Page 11