The Great Rift

by Edward W. Robertson

  The story didn't take long to tell. By the end, a strange smile had worked its way across Lolligan's face.

  "This is funny to you?" Dante finished.

  Lolligan's eyebrows jumped. "In a way that's wry and sad. Over the years, there's been more than one attempt to dislodge Jocubs from his perch atop the swappole. Nothing ever changed. It's like corking up a tea kettle—and now the pot has burst."

  "So this is real? They actually want Jocubs dead?"

  "I'm positive all kinds of people want that old son of a bitch dead. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone were finally willing to do something drastic. I'll ask around tomorrow."

  Lira's mouth had been half open all the while. She glanced around the padded benches where they sat. "Are you seriously considering this? Murdering him?"

  "I don't think we have another option," Dante said.

  "Yes you do. The option to not murder him."

  "I'm going to choose to not choose that," Blays said.

  She set down her tea and stared at Blays. "You, too?"

  "Don't look at me like that. I won't enjoy it. Unless we make him slip in a puddle or something."

  "You can't just kill a man for disagreeing with you."

  "Really?" Blays said. "Isn't that what all killing is about? Who's going to stop us?"

  Her lips contracted to a tight line. "You should. You should know better. Warriors don't stab each other in their beds. The same is true if you're fighting in the field or in a council hall."

  "This is simple calculus," Dante said. "If we kill him, one man dies. If we leave him be, thousands of norren will be killed and enslaved."

  "You don't know that." She stood from her bench, pacing the snug room. "None of us knows the future. The only certainty is death. That's why we must always act in life in a way that will make us proud in death."

  Blays slurped the last of his tea. "I'd be pretty proud if we cut this fight off at the roots."

  "This has worked for us before," Dante said. He gazed at his hands. "It isn't pretty. But sometimes it's necessary."

  "Decisions like these are what define you." Lira crossed her arms and turned to the door. "I don't think I want to be part of this."

  "Then it's time for you to make a choice," Dante said. "This is who we are. When we need to, this is what we do. If that's not you, you can leave at any time. Nothing's keeping you here."

  "Except my honor." With her back to them, she turned her head over one shoulder. "But I suppose you'd only laugh at that."

  "Of course not," Blays said. "Not while you're standing right there."

  Mourn cleared his throat with a thunderous rumble. "I don't think anyone will judge you for going your own way."

  The room was silent. Lira nodded twice, as if to herself, and retook her seat. "I may yet. But if Jocubs has in fact betrayed us, then it is our right to take revenge."

  Dante lifted his eyebrows reached for his loon. "Guess I'd better raise Cally."

  "Why in the world would you do that?" Blays said.

  "Because he's in charge of this whole thing?"

  "Do you think we're making the right decision?"

  "Not really, no, but I figure we haven't destabilized a region's governing body recently, so we better go ahead with it anyway."

  Blays rolled his eyes. "Well, what's Cally going to say? Either 'Yes, go ahead and do that thing you were already planning to do,' or 'No, that's so dumb that if it were a person it would forget what food is for—and if you do it after I've told you not to, I'll wear your skin for socks.' Would that actually stop us? What's the point?"

  "When you put it like that? I guess there isn't one." Dante turned to Lolligan. "Find out if this is real, then. And ready the black flag."

  * * *

  Dante's attempts to sleep through the morning were thwarted by a steady clamor of boatsmen hollering their approach, knocks on the front door, and storms of laughter drifting from the rooms below. It sounded as if half the merchants of greater Gallador had spontaneously decided to pay Lolligan a visit. Dante didn't need to be told the truth: that they'd been invited over so Lolligan could determine whether they were serious about wanting to murder the leader of their order.

  This being the case, Dante spent most of the day in his room, venturing out only to visit the kitchen or one of the bathrooms that emptied into the lake. Instead, he read passages from Lolligan's copy of The Cycle of Arawn, which was a more recent translation than the one they favored in Narashtovik, and a firsthand account of the Rafting Wars, an 800-year-old conflict fought between the long-ago tribes of Gallador's lakes. Contrary to the title, these back-and-forth raids had primarily featured canoes and outrigger sailboats—the few bamboo rafts employed by increasingly desperate warriors had proven difficult to control and easy to destroy. Yet rather than accepting repeated offers of peace, the three tribes who'd used the quick-to-build rafts had pushed on until the very end, provoking their rivals into a final counterstrike that had left every man, woman, and child of the three tribes dead. Dante finished just after sunset and wandered his room, contemplating another trip to the kitchen even though he wasn't hungry. As he considered whether there was any meaning to the extinct tribes' steadfast refusal to quit fighting, Lolligan knocked on the other side.

  "I couldn't exactly ask them outright," the merchnt said. "For the same reasons, they couldn't answer outright either. But the offer is legit."

  "How do you know?" Dante said.

  "Their anger. It felt genuine. Real enough to hold on to."

  "Got anything more concrete than that?"

  "Possibly." Lolligan touched the points of his mustache, swaying absently from foot to foot. "I saw my friend Ulwen today. She's a good woman. Harvests bamboo from the mountains. There's a lot you can do with bamboo. Chairs. Chicken coops. Interior doors, if you're not too picky. You can even eat it, if you cut off the right parts and boil it long enough. No one else bothers with it on a large scale, because they think bamboo is just for those too poor to afford stone or hardwood, but that's exactly what makes it worth Ulwen's while. Two decades of bamboo has earned her a small fortune. Her vision is just what the TAGVOG needs. But because her fortune's small, and her product isn't one they use or favor, the TAGVOG will never make Ulwen more than a peripheral member."

  "Everyone's frustrated with their position sometimes," Dante said. "Their solution usually isn't murder. Unless they're in the Assassins' Guild."

  "That isn't what tipped me off. That's the context behind the story she told me. A story everyone in Gallador already knows." Lolligan pointed to the history book on Dante's table. "Did you read that?"

  "It was fascinating. It's hard to imagine a time so long ago."

  "After that war, the tribes held a few more, and then discovered everyone else in the world seemed to want our tea, too. So instead of raiding each other's villages, we came together to raid the world's coffers. The city of Wending began to take shape. To keep order, it was decided to elect a tyrant every three years. One man who had to be obeyed no matter what your tribal or familial loyalties. This system had its snags, but it worked smoothly for several generations. Until the election of a man named Kayman.

  "Kayman was a teaman. Self-made. Worked for years as a sailor and bodyguard, then started his own farm, wound up one of the wealthiest men on the lake. Everyone loves a man like that. When he ran for tyrant, he was elected easily. At that time, the lakes and their cities all flew different flags. They all had their own tolls and taxes and regulations about what could come in and what could go out. To Kayman, this was terribly inefficient. Just as easily as he'd bought out the farms that made his fortune, he spent the next three years conquering, absorbing, and allying with every town, tribe, and county on the lakes. For the first time, Gallador was united.

  "He went unopposed in the next election. Not too surprising. Nor all that surprising when he announced his plans to annex the eastern plains. Some people thought it would be easy—just nomads thataways, they'll run right of
f—but others weren't so sure. Regardless, Kayman sent a legion over the mountains. Presumably, it was a disaster."

  "Presumably?"

  Lolligan nodded. "Gallador never heard from them again, but who knows. Maybe the soldiers all deserted and married five wives apiece and lived very happy lives. Again, regardless, Kayman assembled an even larger force. This time, his doubters outnumbered his supporters, but what could they do? He'd been elected. Still, the lakes had been weakened in the wars of unification. So far as they new, the first legion had been massacred to the last man, and Kayman's second wave was only three times as large. A few of the nobles feared another loss would leave us helpless against a counterattack. They held a meeting to decide whether to assassinate Kayman. After the meeting, they held a vote. Do you know what happened then?"

  Dante hunched his shoulders. "They killed the hell out of him?"

  "They left him be. They let him march into the east. His army was destroyed. The nomads, having enough, sent back a force of their own late in the summer. Gallador was theirs by winter. A hundred years later, Narashtovik conquered the nomads and Gallador too, and another hundred years after that, some upstart barbarians from the western woods destroyed Narashtovik and took Gallador for themselves. We've been owned by outsiders ever since." Lolligan rubbed his throat. "That's the story my friend Ulwen told me. The story every citizen of Gallador knows."

  "I suppose that's convincing enough," Dante said.

  "Also, after that, she told me she and some others had been setting aside a fund for years, and were ready to hire three hundred mercenaries from around the lakes as soon as the black flag flies."

  Dante didn't know whether to laugh or strangle him. "They've got a private army in the works? You left that until the end because why?"

  Lolligan smiled sharply, spreading his fingers wide. "Because that is how a salesman closes the deal. Are you buying?"

  "All the way," Dante said. "Run up the flag."

  * * *

  The flying of the flag wasn't half as dramatic as Blays would have liked. To conceal it from all eyes but the only pair that mattered, Lolligan waited until nightfall, then sent a servant to the roof, flag in hand. Dante and the others remained inside. Somewhat resentfully, the same servant returned to the roof fifteen minutes after midnight to take the flag back down.

  In the morning, Lolligan found a scrap of black fabric pinned to the front door. Following breakfast, most of the household squeezed into Lolligan's boat and headed for the city. Lolligan was off to hire a half dozen new servants—men whose arms would bulge under their sleeves. Fann headed toward the hills to make the rounds among his wealthy friends and gather any gossip concerning Jocubs, Cassinder, and whatever else was worth knowing. Blays and Mourn holed up in a dockside pub to watch the traffic from the lake for Jocubs or anyone close to him with the intent of following them into the city. And accompanied by Lira, Dante headed for the city's main library.

  His purpose was twofold. First, to brush up on any local poisons that might be surreptitiously introduced to Jocubs' food or water. And second, to find out whether the merchant-king had been foolish enough to register a copy of his manor's floorplan with the city archives. It wasn't out of the question. Though the notion was rarely spoken aloud, a rich man's manor was often thought of as a monument to himself, and gifting archives with records of that monument—its meaning, its history, its architecture, even its cost—was a way to gild its legacy in local lore.

  Not that it would be wise to ask about poisons in one breath and then the design for Jocubs' home in the next. Dante would see what he could do to find these things on his own before enlisting any help.

  He had expected the library to be a monastery or converted wing of a cathedral, but it was a thing all its own, a four-floor square that occupied its own block. A swooping roof shaded elegant stone pillars. Two massive statues of pike flanked the front walk, resting on their tails, long bodies curved into an S. The high doors stood wide open. Dante headed inside, frowning, ready to be ushered away by a blustering monk or officious servant. Instead, a black rope barred his passage. A man in a clean white uniform stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back.

  "Day's entry will be two-and-three, please."

  Dante stopped short. "Two silds and three pennies? Just to go inside?"

  "For the day, yes."

  "It would cost less than that to buy the book I need."

  The man tipped back his head, eyes downcast. "Yes, but the Library at Moor contains many thousands of books. In those terms, it is surely a bargain."

  Dante set his jaw and reached for his purse, counting out two silver and three iron. The steward glanced quickly at Lira.

  "That will be per person, sir."

  He sighed, paid, and walked from the foyer into a vast hall of shelved books. Old men milled through the stacks, taking down titles and thumbing cautiously through the yellow pages. A woman in white approached and offered her help finding Dante's title in exchange for three pennies more. Despite the prick to his sensibilities, he paid up. Under the pretense of having fallen in love with Jocubs' home, he asked for any and all materials related to its planning, construction, or history. In one sense, the woman in white earned her keep—she searched with him for three straight hours—but that did little to mitigate Dante's frustration when she turned up nothing. After so much talk of Jocubs, he could hardly ask about poisons now, and even after three hours navigating the dry and dusty shelves, he had no hope of finding anything about them on his own.

  He left angry. The afternoon was warm and muggy. His clothes rasped against his skin. Beside him, Lira was placid and silent as ever.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

  She stepped over a greasy puddle. "I'm here to keep you safe."

  "From the high danger of a library. I could be papercut at any moment."

  "Belittle all you like, but you walked out in perfect health."

  Back at Lolligan's, the group compared notes. Blays and Mourn hadn't seen anything all day, but they seemed highly unconcerned about their lack of progress, probably because they were both half drunk on beer. Fann confirmed their lack of results—from what he'd gathered, Jocubs and Cassinder had practically fortified themselves on Jocubs' island, and weren't expected at any dinners, parties, quorums, or appearances for weeks. Lolligan at least had something to show for his efforts. He'd hired seven swordsmen, three of whom were already quartered in the servants' wing. He hadn't been the only one bringing on new arms. To hear him tell it, there had been more merchants and bureaucrats prowling the steelyards than mercenaries.

  Dante went to his room to stew. He was still stewing late that night when Lolligan came to his door, a clever smile matching his clever mustache. The woman in the blue mask had arrived.

  She didn't want to come inside. Instead, they gathered in the grass beneath a manicured tree, moonlight sifting between its spiky, gnarled branches. The scent of the lake was all around them. The woman was dressed in her midnight bodysuit, her eyes white behind its slits.

  "Your decision makes us happy," she said softly. "Now we decide how to proceed."

  "I assume kicking in the front door is out?" Blays said.

  She shook her head. "That strategy would not be effective."

  "Really? Because I think he'd wind up pretty dead. Pretty really dead."

  "This is the problem."

  "Oh, I see. You only want him half dead."

  She chopped both hands downward. "We want his death certain but its cause unclear. We want his followers to be confused, not suspicious. Obvious assassination provokes too much sympathy. It would provoke too much of the TAGVOG into crossing over to the king's side."

  "Poison his household's food," Dante said. "It'll look like they ate bad fish."

  "There must be thirty people in his household," Lira said. "Servants. His family. You'd kill them all, too?"

  Dante scowled over the water. On the city pier, a buoy tolle
d in the darkness, far off and forlorn. "It was just a suggestion."

  "A needlessly ruthless one."

  "You guys act like you've never thought about how to kill someone before," Blays said. "Set fire to his house and shoot anyone who runs outside. Pour a jug of poison down his ear as he sleeps. Hire a family of snakes to slither in through his window and give him a big fat kiss."

  "I like the poison one," the woman said. "It is simple and deniable. Also it does not require us to know the language of snakes."

  "We need to find a way to sneak into his house, then." Dante gestured across the calm waves to the dark blot of Jocubs' island. "It doesn't sound like he's leaving it any time soon."

  "So we need to go kick in his front door?" Blays said.

  Lolligan cracked his knobby knuckles. "Men like him always have other ways in and out of their castles. It makes them feel clever. I've got a few back doors myself."

  "I failed to find his floor plan today," Dante said. "Maybe we can ask him to draw us a map."

  Blays nodded. "Or save us a whole bundle of trouble and poison himself."

  "His weakness is vanity," said the woman in blue. "Attack his weakness."

  "Send over a stranger who'd like a tour of his island palace," Blays said. "A stranger with blood as blue as a drowned sapphire."

  The woman snapped her fingers. "We have someone we can use."

  "That's it, then." Dante knocked on the rough trunk of the tree. "Find us a way in, and we'll do the rest."

  It was a good plan. Simple, swift, and unsuspicious. And it failed before it began.

  The woman in blue came back the next night. She had sent a boat to Jocubs' island with a letter of introduction for a wealthy young traveler who yearned to see the house he'd heard so much about. The boatman hadn't been allowed to step foot on Jocubs' docks. One of the four guards standing watch explained that Jocubs and Cassinder were deeply engaged in critical plans, and please understand they could not be interrupted, no matter who came calling.

  Back beneath the tree and the moonlight, Dante sighed hard enough to rattle the branches. "Guess it's right through the front door after all."