The Cumerian Unraveling Trilogy (Scars of Ambition, Vendetta Clause, Cycles of Power)

by Jason Letts

  Tris crossed her arms in front of her and fought off a queasy feeling. She needed to sit down. None of the other people in the room seemed to be paying any attention, but it made her feel naked, defenseless.

  “Here’s what I can tell you,” Lowell said, his hand on Legacy sheathed at his side. “He won’t be doing anything to Tris, and he won’t succeed at isolating the city of Madora from those who can help raise it up.”

  “You sound like someone with a plan in mind,” Dedrick translated. Tris swallowed. The Mind already knew, but it didn’t need to show any satisfaction in its knowledge. Knowing what this was about beforehand was always a foregone conclusion. The only question was if it wanted to assist them. Lowell steadied himself. It was coming now, the great idea that Lowell had bet everyone’s lives on.

  “With Cumeria in complete disarray and economic collapse, the premier families are searching for an opportunity to stabilize their profits and establish dominance. Velo Wozniak, the head of the Wozniak Conglomerate of steel miners, refineries, and manufacturers in the OrePlains, and Portia Illiam of the agricultural center in the FarmFields, are drowning in their own goods because of a sudden drop in demand.

  “What we need to do is manufacture that opportunity by positioning Madora as an emerging power center, all under the control of the extremely rich and extremely needy Virtuoso. Think about it—nobody in Cumeria knows a damn thing about Madora, certainly not that the Virtuoso is a made-up title with no power or wealth. If we leak stories into the Cumerian media that the Virtuoso has half-built palaces and starving worshippers, the premier families will be tripping over themselves to fill those needs. All the raw metal and all of the food this city could ever need would be shipped right here.”

  What Lowell left out in his explanation to the Mind were some of the dangers inherent in the arrangement. Although Cumeria was in a state of collapse, with a government regime struggling against rogue states, all of that might change if the plan went through. It’d be impossible to ship any serious volume of goods across the Still Sea without involving Cumerian Chancellor Aggart, the shipping magnate. Pushing the Wozniaks and the Illiams into bed with the chancellor could solidify Cumeria in a way that would be extremely hostile to the Brackens and the ClawLands.

  But the Mind raised its voice loud enough to make other people in the room stop what they were doing and look. Its black eyes were piercing when imbued with even a flicker of hostility.

  “Enough with the pretense that you’ve developed this plan for the sake of Madora. What you’re plotting is revenge, plain and simple. The Wozniaks and the Illiams invaded your home and sent you into exile, and now you want to trick them into investing heavily into Madora so you can lead a new empire built on their foolish mistakes and retake your home. Cumerian law may be founded on the Vendetta Clause and the thirst for revenge, but Madora is not in Cumeria and will not be a pawn in your game,” Dedrick translated.

  Lowell scratched his neck and took a moment to think. Tris eyed him warily, surprised to find herself hoping he’d find a way to convince the Mind.

  “I won’t deny that their downfall is one of my primary objectives, but this is going to have real, long-lasting benefits for Madora. Imagine not just a market but a manufacturing center with solid wages for thousands of the city’s poorest producing goods that are then sold all over the world. The only person in this city qualified to lead such an enterprise is me, and I’ll make sure Madora remains a firm foundation for the new company,” he said, squeezing his fist as he made the pitch.

  Dedrick translated Lowell’s words until an argument broke out between the boy and the Mind. Tris’s blood pressure shot up as they exchanged sharp words in a language she couldn’t understand.

  “I’ll do right by Madora,” Lowell interjected, but there was no telling if anything got through to Dedrick, who appeared peeved by whatever had happened. They put so much pressure on the gifted boy with these heavy words, and now it seemed like he would break right when they needed him most. He’d finally started opening up about what had happened to his parents, who, it turned out, had not died in a horrible accident. They had simply abandoned him before climbing on a ship. Tris had seen his wariness of other people diminish, but he certainly wasn’t like part of the family, and being the mouthpiece of the Bracken family was only driving him further away.

  Tris thought it’d be better if the Mind told them no and showed them the door. Then Randall and Taylor could come home, Sierra would return, the tough choices wouldn’t need to be made, and they could find some quiet way to live together without the weight of the world on their shoulders. But looking at Lowell, Tris could tell he would never abandon his place among the world’s elite.

  Finally Dedrick turned back to them with a message from the Mind.

  “We will help you peddle your ruse to the premier families of Cumeria. If you can get me the pictures, I have connections in Cumeria that will get them in front of the right people. I’ll even give you the camera to use. But know that your enemies are not in Cumeria alone. If the Unseen Man learns of this operation, he will attempt to end it. Once you have the pictures, give the camera to someone you trust in a crowded room, have everyone leave at once in different directions, and have the carrier give it to my man wearing a turban and a snake at the end of the bazaar.”

  “We can do that,” Lowell agreed. Tris was still torn over whether this would actually be good, but now it had been decided.

  “That is far from your only concern. Your market has gotten the attention of Madora’s Commerce Titans, a group of eight that control the economy of this city. They will not give up their power easily, especially not to what they see as a member of the pretentious Cumerian oppressors. Like the Unseen Man, they’ve already marked you as a threat and are looking to undermine you. Guard your assets at all times, because there’s no telling when they’ll decide to strike and what they’ll choose to take,” Dedrick translated.

  “We’ve heard of them from the Defender. They’re the ones who destroyed our market, or at least that’s what we were told,” Tris said.

  “That’s a complication,” Lowell said to Tris, gesturing for Dedrick not to translate. “We won’t be able to build with Wozniak supplies unless they’re neutralized.”

  “If you want to view your enemy, you can find them at the old auction house, where they serve as judges each nightfall. But be careful. You have the look and the mannerisms of foreigners, and if they spot you they might auction your life on the spot to whoever wants to kill a rich Cumerian the most.”

  The Mind typed something on the keyboard, and a moment later one of its assistants appeared with the camera, a black box the size of a melon. The assistant waved for them to follow, but Lowell stopped to ask one more question.

  “If you’re so smart and know so much, why don’t you speak in Cumerian?” he asked. The Mind tutted, and Dedrick translated.

  “Typical Cumerian, expecting the world to bend to your convenience. If Madora is to become a great city, the Madoran language must be used to say great things.”

  With their newly acquired camera, Tris and Lowell went about searching for the perfect shot to display how ripe the opportunity was for the Cumerian premier families to invest in Madora. About half of the day remained, a mere fifty hours, in which they needed to find a half-finished palace that would draw the right kind of attention.

  “What about this one?” Tris asked Lowell, the two of them regarding an abandoned temple of cracking domes, broken pillars, and overgrown scrub brush. It hadn’t been hard to find structures like this that must’ve once been glorious, but although some were truly little more than wreckage and rubble, none seemed convincing.

  “This isn’t going to work.” Lowell grimaced, turning on the spot and starting back down the road. Tris hustled to catch up. “These people are builders, and there’s no way they won’t be able to tell the difference between something going up and something falling down.”

  “Then what are we going
to do?” Tris asked.

  “I don’t know. Find something else. We don’t have much money left, but maybe someone could actually build something. Maybe the Mind could put up a loan.”

  Even if she was still ambivalent about the whole thing, getting stuck so close to the beginning proved irksome. She glanced back at the dilapidated structure one last time before looking ahead at the nearby shacks and clay huts. She jerked her head at the sound of a child’s laughter, spotting a young girl in scratchy burlap fabric playing with a rudimentary doll and house made out of sticks and stones.

  “I’ve got it!” Tris shouted, a smile bursting on her face. She grabbed Lowell’s sleeve and yanked it, hopping forward.

  “What is it?” he asked, catching her enthusiasm.

  Once they returned home, Tris gathered her artisans together. With Dedrick’s help, she instructed them to put together a tiny model palace that they could use to simulate the kind of half-built structure they needed. Most of them had been languishing with nothing to do since the market collapse, which had driven away customers for good, and were happy to help. Some scavenged for materials, others molded clay around tiny protruding metal wires, and others painted the model white and a sunset background against the exterior of a clay hut.

  It took the better part of a cycle for it all to get done, and even then Lowell was skeptical of whether it would work. They positioned the model in front of the background, made some quick lighting adjustments to the paint, and snapped a few pictures. It proved to be an anti-climactic finish, but they had to trust that the device would do its job.

  Tris and Lowell took a few more pictures of some of Madora’s less fortunate, particularly around the temple of Stram, where the statues and the cobblestone floor made everyone seem poetic. Then the time came to send the camera back to the Mind.

  “Dedrick, can you get everyone together inside?” Tris asked, looking over her shoulder to the bench the boy had been on just a few moments before. “Dedrick?”

  The boy was nowhere to be found, and Tris grimaced at what an inopportune time it was for him to run off again. It took a little more work, but Tris and Lowell managed to get everyone inside the hut and, using a lot of gestures, conveyed exactly where the camera needed to go. Lowell handed the camera over to Agjam, who wrapped it in dark cloth and left along with the rest of the group.

  It was out of their hands now, leaving them alone in their small home for the first time since Lowell and the kids had arrived. It was getting late in the cycle, and all the activity had left Tris drained. She pulled the blinds to keep the sun out and took a seat on the bench next to Lowell, who had his hands clasped under his chin. He appeared anxious and released a deep sigh.

  “You know, I’m actually feeling a lot better,” he said. “We’re moving forward now. Progress—it feels good. I think we’re going to get there.”

  Tris didn’t want to think about what getting there meant and instead took some satisfaction in his contentment. Lowell loosened his collar and put his hand on the back of Tris’s neck, rubbing her in a way that always put her at ease. Come to think of it, they hadn’t been alone like this for more than a few minutes since they had kids.

  Lowell peeled the straps of her blouse down her shoulders. Tris’s heart rate picked up.

  “Don’t you think you’re pushing your luck?” she asked, getting a devilishly handsome look of skepticism in return. For a moment Tris let herself pretend it was back before they had kids, when it was just the two of them lodging in a beach hut on the coast away from Lowell’s overbearing father, Gorman. Tris had said she’d never make him leave.

  Lowell called her bluff, and with kisses that felt like cool fire he continued to tug down her blouse until her breasts were exposed. By the time they got his suit off she could hardly wait any longer. Taking deep breaths, she found it so easy to be happy once she let go of everything that was wrong.

  The next cycle was the last one of the day, and Tris and Lowell spent it all waiting for Dedrick to come back and accompany them to the old auction house, where they’d be able to see the eight Commerce Titans against the twilight and the new darkness.

  “He’s never been gone this long before,” Tris noted, remembering how Dedrick could be counted on to return as soon as he got hungry. But it’d been an entire cycle, the light growing dim, and the time to go was upon them.

  “We can’t wait any more,” Lowell said, getting up. They’d borrowed rags, brown cloaks, and hoods that covered all but their eyes in the hopes of remaining discreet. The auctions were quite a raucous affair, from what they’d heard, but as long as they stood in the back and didn’t do anything stupid, their identities would remain hidden. Tris wondered how big of a risk they were taking, what would happen if they got caught. The Commerce Titans had destroyed her market, relocated their stores, and withdrawn their guards, letting the entire north section of town devolve back into a slum.

  The old auction house was close to the center of the city, where a sinkhole had formed a pit that swallowed up all of the building except three walls and a roof. A rarity in Madora, concrete covered the far end of the sinkhole where people gathered, while the small remaining bit of flooring upheld a judges’ bench for the Titans. In between, a wooden platform extended across the bottom of the sinkhole, where a few dark gaps in the sand hinted that there was not much firm ground beneath them.

  When Tris and Lowell arrived, hobbling forward with eyes lowered in an attempt to be inconspicuous, they found a spot to stand on the edge of the concrete. If they’d been any shorter, the flailing hands and rabid bidders would’ve blocked their view of the stage and the judges’ bench.

  An auction was well underway, and a flurry of calls echoed around the crowd over a young Madoran woman standing on the stage. Tris groaned when it dawned on her what was going on. Prostitution. Lowell feigned raising a hand to bid until he noticed the icy look she was giving him.

  The bids dwindled until only a couple of parties remained, but before they were able to determine the outcome on price alone, a tanned man wearing a white wig banged a gavel on the judges’ bench. The entire crowd erupted, and a man on the stage waved down to the final two bidders, hulking men who would probably crush that poor girl. The two contestants immediately locked eyes with each other and climbed down onto the stage. No talking or pretense, the two men raced for each other, knocking each other to the ground and engaging in fighting so vicious it was hard for Tris to watch.

  Though Tris looked away, the sound of hard smacks made it to her ears, each one resulting in another eruption from the crowd. She glanced up to see that one of the men had torn off his shirt and was using it to choke the other, who was clawing wildly. The shirt tore before finishing its job. The victim broke free, turned to the platform steps, and snapped a board loose. He wielded it like a club, slamming it against the other’s raised arm, but then he had gained enough ground to push the other off of the stage and jump down on him, driving the thin, sharp tip of the stake into his stomach.

  Tris was aghast at how much blood there was. The victor climbed back on the stage, paid for his prize, and carried her back through the crowd. As it happened, they wove through to the very back and exited right near Tris and Lowell. It was a good thing Tris’s face was covered; otherwise he’d have seen her gaping mouth. The girl didn’t seem as displeased about her fate as she should’ve been.

  Tris was sure the other auctions couldn’t be as bad as that one, but many proved worse. More people seemed to be sold for various things, but without understanding Madoran Tris didn’t have a clue what. Still, what would one hire a man with a sword and a dart gun for other than some sort of assassination? The money piled up on the judges’ bench, and the light receded until large torches set around the auction house and the sinkhole were lit.

  The horrors of the auction had distracted Tris for quite a long time until she recalled what they’d come to do. She finally took a good look at the Commerce Titans behind the bench, six men and two women, a
ll of who wore white wigs. Most were of middle age, though one appeared extremely old and one probably no more than ten. The one in the center with the gavel kept speaking to the go-between on the stage. Tris was quite far away, but even from there she could see a deep scar in his cheek.

  Tris looked over at Lowell.

  “Have we seen everything we needed to see?” she asked. It’d be easy to simply walk away and vanish in the darkness.

  A loud voice from the grimy man on the stage announced the next auction, causing Tris and Lowell to look back. A decidedly muted reaction from the audience accompanied the arrival of a young boy whose hands were tied together. He was covered in sand from head to toe as if he were made of it. Tears were streaming from his eyes. There could be no mistake. It was Dedrick.

  Tris’s heart caught in her throat, and she opened her mouth to yell until Lowell caught her arm.

  “They have him. What’s going to happen?” she asked in as low a voice as she could.

  “I don’t know. Give me time to think,” Lowell said.

  But time was in short supply, and the gavel struck to start the bidding. Tris couldn’t imagine what they were selling him for, but whatever it was elicited no interest. Not a single bidder raised a hand for the poor boy stranded all alone on the stage.

  “We have to make a bid,” Tris said, but Lowell shook his head.

  “If we go down there, they’ll kill us. It’s a trap. We’ve seen half a dozen men slain already,” he said.

  Tris wrung her hands, her eyes welling up. The silence in the crowd persisted, which was strange, because even pairs of old shoes had gotten bidders. But no one wanted another mouth to feed.