He found her with some difficulty, since the majority of the female prisoners were Adali (as were a disproportionate number of the men), and none of them were eager to own their identities. Eventually, a middle-aged woman separated herself from the others and moved toward the bars, albeit reluctantly. She regarded Kody suspiciously through occluded eyes. She would be blind soon, he guessed, opaque masses overtaking her amber pupils like ice thickening over a lake.
She stopped a few paces back from the bars, as though she feared Kody might reach through and try to grab her. “What do you want?” she demanded, her voice croaking from disuse.
“I need to ask you a few questions.” Kody held up his sketch. “Do you know this man?”
She gave it a cursory glance. “Nope.”
“Come on,” Kody scoffed. “He’s a member of your clan.”
Marani shrugged. “So? I don’t know him.”
“Let me help you. His name is Raiyen.”
She frowned, peering more closely at the sketch. “Ha! So it is. Didn’t recognize him. He was just a boy last time I saw him.”
“A boy?” Kody was taken aback. “How long has it been since you lived with the clan?”
“Going on fifteen years now.” She said it as though it were something to be proud of.
“And how long have you been in here?”
“Five years, or thereabouts. Got you hounds to thank for that, don’t I?”
Damn. So much for that line of questioning. Marani had been in prison the entire time Raiyen had been in the city. She couldn’t possibly help Kody track down his last known associates. I should have thought of that. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask about her sentence. All right, time for plan B. “In that case, maybe you can help me with a little research I’m doing.”
“Research?” She scowled suspiciously.
“That’s right. About the Adali. About some of your . . . cultural practices.”
She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Our ‘cultural practices,’ is it? And what in the Dark Flame is that supposed to mean? What are you bothering me for, hound? Who sent you?”
“I’m sure you remember Sergeant Izar?” She should—he was the officer who put her here.
“That traitor?” Marani spat emphatically on the ground. “To the below with him! No true Adal, that one—turning his back on his own kind!”
Kody had expected this reaction, but it still brought heat to his cheeks. “You’ll speak with respect! Izar is a fine officer.”
“Bah! Zaid clan—liars and bullies, the lot.” She looked meaningfully over her shoulder at her fellow prisoners, as though daring anyone to disagree.
“Maybe,” said Kody coolly, “but they’re a lot more respected than the Asis clan, aren’t they?”
A cold smile stole over Marani’s face, but she made no reply.
“I hear your clan has had a bad bit of luck.”
“What would you know of it? Not a hound in the Metropolitan Police knows a thing about the Adali. None but that mutt Izar.”
“Maybe so, but I’m a quick learner. You’d be surprised how much a determined hound can pick up. For example, I know that the Asis clan used to be known for its witchdoctors.”
Marani’s expression darkened. “I don’t belong with them anymore.” She backed away from the bars a little. “Whatever they did, it’s nothing to do with me.”
“I know that. They banished you, didn’t they? Izar didn’t tell me what for. Come to think of it, he didn’t tell me what you’re doing in here.”
“Murder,” someone called from the back of the cell. Marani shot a scathing look behind her, but with her poor eyesight she couldn’t tell who had made the remark. She settled for another volley of spittle.
To Kody, she said mockingly, “I’m innocent.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Then what do you want?” she shrieked, lunging suddenly at the bars. “Why are you here, hound?”
Kody was momentarily taken aback by the outburst, his hand straying reflexively to the sword at his hip. Marani stared at him, wild-eyed, her shoulders heaving. The woman was half-mad, he realized. If he wanted to get anywhere with her, he’d have to be more direct. “I want to know what kind of khekra your kin are meddling with, and why.”
Marani backed away again, her fear unmistakable. A strange silence descended on the cell. The mention of khekra was like a pistol shot in the air, stunning everyone.
“What do you know about khekra?” Marani whispered.
“I know it exists. I know it uses human blood and suchlike to make medicine.”
Marani barked out a tense laugh. “That ought to be the least of your worries, hound.”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere! Kody was careful to keep his voice neutral. “What else should I be worried about?”
“Marani,” one of the women called warningly, “this is Adali business.”
Marani ignored her. “Whatever bits they take for medicine, it’s only a small amount. A few drops of blood, or a bit of hair. No one gets hurt, not for medicine. But khekra can do other things besides healing.”
“Like curses.” Kody tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice, but he obviously failed, because Marani sneered at him.
“Don’t believe in curses, hound? Why get me to tell you about khekra, then?”
“Because it doesn’t matter what I believe. Whoever is kidnapping children obviously believes, and that’s what counts.”
“Kidnapping, is it?” Marani grunted thoughtfully. “And what makes you think it’s got something to do with khekra?”
Kody left that alone. “Are there curses that involve using children?”
She made a rude hand gesture. “Bah! How should I know? I’m no witchdoctor.”
“What about other kinds of magic?” Kody asked, trying a different angle. “Are there spells that can do the opposite of curses?”
Marani’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Looking for a favor, are we? Make you better looking, maybe, or smarter?” She cackled, pleased with herself.
Kody didn’t take the bait. “Let’s say I was looking for a favor. Could a witchdoctor help me?”
“If you made it worthwhile, maybe. But you wouldn’t get no favors from the Asis, not after everything they’ve been through on account of khekra. Not unless you had something real, real good to trade for it.”
“Money is always popular,” Kody said dryly.
Marani snorted. “For little favors, sure. Kidnapping is a pretty big favor. Even if you found someone willing, he’d be a fool to risk it. Get himself banished, or hanged, or worse. Like to bring down the whole clan while he was at it.”
She had a point. If an Adal were caught kidnapping Braelish children, Adali all over the Five Villages would pay the price. Lynch mobs would sprout up from Kennian to Brackensvale, and the Asis clan would be their first target. Their camp would be burned to the ground, the people driven off. And the Asis had nowhere else to go. If there was one thing Kody admired about the Adali, it was their loyalty to their kin; even if Raiyen wasn’t the benevolent soul his sister claimed, he wasn’t likely to risk those consequences lightly. Besides, the sister and her friend had said that Raiyen got himself exiled trying to help his people. He must have known that the elders were onto him, turning a blind eye to his medicine, but he drew their wrath anyway, trying to do something about the drought. For him to turn around and knowingly put his clan in danger . . . it didn’t fit, not without a major incentive.
There has to be something big on the table, Kody thought, something worth the risk. “What would it take to get you to do something like that, Marani?”
She gave a sneering smile. “Oh, that’s easy, hound. Get me out of here, and I’m all yours.”
Kody didn’t get anything useful out of her after that, and none of the other prisoners
would talk to him, not about khekra. The word itself was like a spell, a hex of silence. The interview had been fruitful, though. Kody felt sure he was narrowing in on a possible motive, and Lenoir always said that understanding the motive was the most important part of solving a crime. “Do not let yourself be distracted by the details,” Lenoir had told him, time and again. “They are important, but you must understand how they fit together, how they tell a story. Understand why the crime has been committed, and the rest is simply a question of how.”
Kody chewed on that as he made his way back to the kennel. Suppose the sister was right, and whatever Raiyen was up to was supposed to be for the benefit of the clan. Maybe he was even trying to earn himself a pardon, a way back into the elders’ good graces. So what could the clan possibly get out of all this? What is it they need?
An idea was forming in his head, but he needed to knock it around with someone. Fortunately, he knew just the right sparring partner.
“Izar!” he called as he stalked purposefully across the kennel.
Sergeant Izar was hunched over his desk, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. He looked awkward, his bowed posture and splayed knees making the desk seem like children’s furniture. Not for the first time, Kody marveled at the man’s height. Being well over six foot himself, Kody figured Izar had to be just under seven.
The Adal glanced up as Kody approached. “What is it? I have a lot to get done by the end of the day.”
Kody was not deterred by Izar’s abruptness; it was simply his way. “This won’t take long. I just have a couple of questions.”
With a reluctant grunt, Izar gestured for Kody to grab a chair. “Five minutes.”
Kody didn’t waste a single second. “Is it true that the Adali don’t use currency?”
Izar’s expression darkened immediately. Like most Adali, he was suspicious of any line of questioning linked to his race. “What’s this about, Kody?”
Kody spread his hands in a mollifying gesture. “Izar, you know I respect you. Just humor me, all right?”
Izar considered him for a moment, his amber eyes scanning Kody’s face for—what? Hostility? Disdain? Kody was a little hurt that Izar wasn’t prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Granted, his question was sensitive, but they’d known each other for years.
“The Adali use currency,” Izar said eventually. “Every culture uses currency, Kody. It’s what sets us apart from beasts.” Kody did not miss the subtle irony in Izar’s tone. There were plenty in the Five Villages who wouldn’t set the Adali apart from beasts.
“What I mean is, they don’t use gold or paper money, or anything like that,” Kody said.
“Not traditionally, no, although that is changing. In Adali culture, wealth is measured in cattle. To a lesser extent, in goats or sheep.”
“That’s what I thought. So the Asis clan—that group camped near Berryvine—they’re about as poor as it gets.”
Izar didn’t respond. He was waiting for Kody to explain where he was going with this.
“Here’s what I don’t understand. Wealth is power, right? Influence. But it seems to me that if a clan’s wealth is measured in cattle, there’s a certain degree of luck involved. If you have a bad year—boom! You’re at the bottom of the heap. And the reverse is also true, presumably.”
Izar smiled faintly. “And what would be wrong with that? Do you think that a society where status is based on an accident of birth makes more sense than a system where those who are most skilled at husbandry—or agriculture, or industry, or whatever—earn a privileged place?”
“I had no idea you were such a philosopher,” Kody said dryly.
“You brought it up.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what it takes for a clan that’s going through a bad patch—the Asis clan, say—to get out of it. Sounds like it could be pretty easy, in principle. Couldn’t someone just buy them a bunch of cows?”
“That might work. The Kennian Ladies’ Society of Benefactors, maybe.”
Kody rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Seriously, would that be enough to change their fortunes for a while?”
“I doubt it. Cows are a currency, so their value comes when they’re traded—as tribute to the more powerful clans, or as a bride price, that sort of thing. A clan that had its cows given to them for a single season might be able to move a little ways up the social ladder, but without a way of sustaining the herd size, it would not last.”
It made sense; a one-off gift could never replace a steady income. “So how does one sustain the herd size?”
“Skill, but mostly access to water and plentiful grazing. And that is bitterly contested.”
“The clans fight over it?”
“Sometimes, though not as much as they used to. A couple of hundred years ago, just about every conflict the Adali fought was over grazing land. Fortunately, the elders eventually came up with a more civilized way of carving up the beast.”
“And that is?”
“Every spring, there is a conference of all the major clans in Kigiri. It’s called the Orom. The migration routes for the season are decided there.”
“The Orom,” Kody repeated thoughtfully. The apothecary had mentioned something about an annual meeting of the clans. “How does it work?”
“It’s sort of like an auction. Clans buy the right to pass through the prime grazing lands. They pay in cattle, of course.”
“Who do they buy the rights from?”
“Each other.”
Kody frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a different concept of land ownership than we have in Braeland. Land is a collective good, owned by the people. So it isn’t bought and sold, exactly. It’s more like leasing, with the rights going to the highest bidder. In theory, title is only held for a single season. But the richest and most powerful clans always buy the rights to the best migration routes, those with fertile land and plentiful water. The same clans tend to buy the same routes year after year, because no one can outbid them. Every so often, though, a lower-ranking clan has a really good year, and a route changes hands. It’s an investment, because access to good grazing land strengthens the herd.”
“But if everybody owns the land, then who gets paid? I mean, say I give a thousand cows for a tract of land. Who gets the cows?”
“The people,” Izar said, as though it were obvious. “The payment is put into a pool, and at the end of the auction, the pool is divided amongst the poorest clans. That’s how we make sure that no one is completely destitute. It doesn’t end up being much once it’s split between a handful of clans, but it is enough to prevent the people from starving.”
“So . . . the cows that are paid for access to grazing routes go to charity?”
Izar shrugged. “That’s one way of thinking about it.”
“Huh.” Not a bad system, Kody thought. “Imagine if the rich folks of Kennian had to pay into a pot for the poor every year. Life would sure be different.”
“The Adali take care of their own, Kody. The people are a herd, and a herd must stay together to survive.”
“Then what happened to the Asis clan?”
Izar winced. “Like I said, the payment they get from the Orom isn’t much, and sometimes it is not enough. Things are hard for Adali everywhere, especially with the droughts these last couple of years. Even the richer clans are losing animals, which means they have less to pay into the pot, so there is less to go around. I guess the Asis have decided that staying put, even where they are not welcome, is better than taking their chances heading north.”
“But if somebody were to give the Asis enough cattle, they could trade for a good route next season.”
“Maybe, but what then? If they had to trade away most of their herd to get access to the land, what good would the land be? They would just be in the same place all over again the next season.
It takes years to build up a herd.”
“Maybe the system isn’t so great after all,” Kody said sourly. “Seems to me that it all but guarantees that the powerful clans stay powerful, and the poor stay poor.”
Izar shrugged again. “I didn’t say it was fair. Besides, change does happen. There is always the chance that a clan has an especially good year. Plus, the poor clans sometimes broker alliances with the more powerful ones, through tribute and marriages. That earns them a measure of protection.”
Kody pondered that. It seemed to him that while some limited mobility might be possible, by and large the clans occupied the same rung in the social ladder year after year. Especially a clan like the Asis, who obviously had no means to buy the support of a more powerful clan. It was a vicious cycle: fewer cattle meant limited access to grazing lands, and that in turn meant weaker herds. A poor clan without alliances was easy prey, subject to cattle rustling, slave raids, and worse. In spite of what Izar had said about the people being a herd, the Adali were not immune to the baser instincts of human nature. “A clan like the Asis is past the point of no return,” he said, more to himself than to Izar.
“Definitely. I doubt they will ever go home. However tough it is for an Adal to make his way down here, it’s a lot better than putting your children and your herds at risk back home. Over time, the clan will probably just dissolve into the Five Villages. They would not be the first.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Kody tried to think of another question, but he couldn’t. He rapped the desk in frustration. He was so close, but there was something he just wasn’t seeing. “I guess my five minutes are up. Thanks, Izar.”
Izar’s amber gaze held him. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
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