Voyager of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “It is a reasonable fine,” she lied. It was the same amount the chief nakat had demanded, and Ransom had behaved as if it was extremely unreasonable, so she now knew three things: the godozi had spoken to the nakat, the nakat had been open about what they were willing to pay, and the godozi was a greedy man who’d want to squeeze every drop of blood from her stones. But the fines were not negotiable, unlike the “administrative costs” she’d have to pay next, so she handed over the gem with a straight face.

  The godozi set it on the desk in front of him. It was a lovely square-cut emerald Zara wished she could wear as a ring. “It is acceptable,” he said. “But there are costs. Processing the prisoner. Food. A cell to himself—we cannot expect Karitian prisoners to share a cell with a foreigner. Other expenses.”

  Zara waited. Don’t speak unless you’re addressed,” Blackwood had said. They’ll increase the amount of the bribe if you break with tradition in any way. Be patient. Remember, they want your money more than they want De Witt.

  “Many expenses,” the godozi said. “One hundred meshet.”

  Zara barely twitched. “Too much,” she said. “That could house five prisoners.”

  “You question me?”

  “I demonstrate my respect for your country by being familiar with your laws.” Another memorized line. The bribe has to be the right amount, Blackwood had said. He’ll test you by asking for too much. If you accept his first demand, he’ll know you’re desperate and will deny your request—possibly for days. “I know you are civilized enough not to spend more on prisoners than you have to.”

  Tap, tap, tap. “Fifty meshet,” the godozi said. “For our trouble.”

  “Naturally,” Zara said, counting out a couple of diamonds and setting them down next to the emerald.

  “It is enough.” The godozi pushed one diamond to line up more precisely with the other gems. “Come back in two weeks and he will be released.”

  Zara’s heart beat faster. “His family wants him returned now.”

  “That is not our problem. Two weeks is what it takes to process a prisoner’s release.”

  “I see.” Zara stirred the hidden contents of her palm with her index finger and watched the godozi’s eyes follow the movement. “More administrative costs.”

  “Yes.”

  “We are willing to pay to expedite that process.”

  “It is expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “Eighty meshet.”

  Now, was this fee negotiable, or not? “And how soon will he be released with the help of eighty meshet?”

  The godozi smiled. “This afternoon.”

  “Agreed.” Three more gems joined the line.

  “He must be valuable, to spend so much.” The smile broadened.

  “His family cares about him. And, of course, he is in an important line of work.”

  The smile disappeared. “What work?”

  Warning bells went off inside Zara’s head. Karitians didn’t have a problem with inherent magic, and healers were respected everywhere. Wouldn’t he have at least tried to mitigate his imprisonment by telling them he was a healer and a doctor? Too late now. “He’s a doctor,” she said.

  The godozi tapped his fingers more rapidly on the table top. The gems quivered with the vibrations. “A doctor. And a healer?”

  Zara briefly considered lying to the man. “Yes.”

  “Of course,” the godozi said. “Very important to Tremontanans.”

  “We just care about him as a person.” That sounded incredibly stupid. Zara mentally kicked herself.

  “Then let us see. Twenty meshet for the fine. Fifty for administrative costs. Eighty for expediting the release. Have I forgotten any?”

  “No. You’ve been most generous.”

  “Yes.” He unfolded his legs and stood, swept the gems into his palm, then hesitated with his hand still outstretched. “No. I have forgotten. One thousand meshet. For the removal of a valuable magical resource from Dineh-Karit. A healer is a valuable resource indeed.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I don’t see how he can be a healer in Dineh-Karit if he’s in prison,” Zara said.

  “He will be permitted to work off his fine by the department of the falrek,” the godozi said, and held out the emerald. “One year, and his term will be complete.”

  Zara took the emerald and held it concealed in her hand with the rest of the gems. “That’s unacceptable. One year for a twenty meshet fine—”

  “Do you disrespect our laws?” The godozi looked as if he very much hoped she did.

  “No, of course not. But he is a Tremontanan citizen and has obligations that will not wait a year.”

  “He should have considered that before coming here.” The godozi smiled pleasantly. His eyes glittered at her. “We must be compensated for our loss.”

  Zara breathed in slowly, deeply, then released it. This was just another part of the game. The question was, what part? “I understand,” she said, and the man’s smile broadened. “One thousand meshet instead of the fine and administrative costs.”

  “In addition to. It is a separate matter. And I have considered further. The price is two thousand meshet.”

  Big mistake, my friend. Zara had to hold back a smile of her own. The godozi thought he’d won because she couldn’t walk away from this. He was a petty, greedy little person and she would crush him like a bug. And enjoy it. “Very well,” she said, pouring the gems back into the pouch. “Let’s go.”

  He blinked, his smile fading slightly. “Go to where?”

  “To speak to whoever is responsible for prisoners working off their debts. The falrek, correct? You’ve convinced me of how reasonable your government is, and I’ll be happy to work with your superiors. Can we do this quickly?”

  “I will take the money to them,” the godozi said, holding out his hand.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. You said it was a separate matter, yes? So it must be a separate authority. It’s too much money for me not to deliver it personally. But I’ll be happy to tell the falrek how…eager…you were to help. Two thousand meshet, yes?”

  “That is not necessary.”

  “Of course it is! I’m sure they’ll want to know the name of the man who wanted to do their jobs for them. What was your name, again?”

  “I—” The man put his hands down on the desk and seemed surprised when the gems fell out. He quickly gathered them up and put them away somewhere in his robes. “I must send word to the prison,” he said, and fled.

  Zara breathed in deeply again and closed her eyes. He’d given her all the power in that negotiation; now to see if she’d pushed him too far. She kicked herself again for being so stupid as to give valuable information away. Never tell them more than you have to. The question now was, would he give Ransom’s secret away to the falrek and risk Zara coming into contact with them? If she had to go to that department, she’d tell them of the godozi’s attempt to extort money from her in their name, and he’d suffer for it, but suppose they made a similar demand on their own behalf? She didn’t think she had a thousand meshet in gems.

  Minutes passed, slow as syrup. She stayed where she was, only shifting her weight to ease her legs. Light from the round windows made spots on the wall that traveled with the sun, sliding gradually down until they disappeared. Noon. She’d been there for more than three hours. She stood on one leg, lifted the other and stretched it, then repeated the movements for the other leg. She ought to feel hungry, but her stomach was too tense. What was the godozi doing, anyway? She hadn’t misread him, she was certain of it, but she had no idea what the repercussions were of being caught in extortion, and if his fear of punishment was greater than his fear of her…

  The door opened. Zara pretended she hadn’t been fidgeting. The godozi entered, and said, “I have forgotten the fine. Twenty meshet.”

  “Oh, of course,” Zara said, her heart pounding. He’d given the emerald back to her. She felt around in the pouch until she
came up with it and handed it over.

  The man put it away in his robe and said, “You will be taken to the prison now. Do not speak to anyone. The prisoner will be released to you and you will both go immediately to your boat to return to Tammerek.”

  “But what about—” She couldn’t resist needling him.

  “Karitians will not endure the touch of a foreign savage, no matter his gift.” The godozi was looking at a spot on the wall behind her. “We need not involve the falrek.”

  “If you’re sure…” Zara hung the pouch around her neck again and dropped it inside her shirt. “Thank you for your patience.”

  The godozi continued to ignore her. The door behind her opened, and the ha-ha man entered. “With me,” he said, and Zara followed him.

  They went out by a different door into the heat of the noonday sun, but Zara didn’t care that sweat sprang up under her hair and her arms immediately. You’re not safe yet, she reminded herself, her heart pounding more rapidly than the heat would account for.

  The streets were practically empty, and Zara remembered what Blackwood had said about everyone staying indoors through the hottest part of the day. It certainly seemed reasonable right now, with the sun radiating off the pavers and filling the air with the acrid smell of hot concrete. It might also help her with Jeffrey’s mission, assuming she could get Ransom out in time. You’re not safe yet.

  The ha-ha man kept up a smart pace, and Zara had trouble keeping up with him, but didn’t dare ask him to slow. They went west, judging by the sun, and the river became gradually louder until they came to a bridge nearly as wide as the plaza-street arching over it.

  It was cooler on the bridge, though not much so, and sweat was running down her back and had saturated the band of her brassiere by the time they reached the far side and entered a warren of narrow streets and tiny buildings, each surrounded by identical verandahs and capped by red roofs. Zara tried not to shrink in on herself, but some of the streets were narrow enough that she and the ha-ha man had to walk single file, and she couldn’t help feeling like she might brush up against the houses if she weren’t careful. Karitian uniformity might be catching.

  It took about fifteen minutes for them to reach a low, square building made of blocks of the same concrete as the pavers. It had no verandah, no windows, and no front door, just a black rectangular hole that sucked in all the light that tried to enter it. Inside, the air was stiflingly hot, and Zara’s eyes burned with trying to see anything beyond the bright light of the street outside.

  Gradually, shapes swam into view: two backless stone benches beneath a row of five iron rings embedded in the bare wall; another of those odd table and chair combinations, these of battered pale wood; a file cabinet so familiar in shape Zara experienced a moment’s dizziness, as if a piece of Tremontane had burst into appearance before her; and a door, banded and studded with iron. The lock was rusted and big enough for Zara to fit her index finger through. A tiny square window, heavily barred, showed nothing but darkness beyond.

  A woman dressed like the godozi stood up from the desk and straightened her robe. The ha-ha man said something in Karitian, holding out a sheet of paper. The woman took it and read it, slowly, glancing at Zara on occasion. Zara did her best to look humble but assertive, which was probably impossible, but the alternative was hurling herself at the woman, shrieking, and tearing her apart until she found the key.

  Finally, the woman folded the paper, took an iron-banded stick from beside the prison door, and banged on the bars of the window. After a few seconds, a grouchy voice said something, and the woman responded briefly and handed the paper through the bars. Light flared, as of someone striking a match, then bloomed into a brighter glow. Zara had to remind herself to breathe normally, but it was all taking so long and the urge to scream was growing harder to ignore.

  The paper poked back through the bars, and the light receded until there was nothing but darkness again. The woman smoothed out the paper and put it away in the file cabinet. “Thank you for your generosity,” Zara said. The woman sneered at her, but in a way that told Zara she didn’t speak Tremontanese. She tried again in Eskandelic and got a better reaction. “The prisoner’s family is very grateful to Dineh-Karit for its understanding.”

  “Foreigners are nothing but trouble,” the woman said.

  “We understand and are happy to pay for your trouble. One hundred fifty meshet is a generous price.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “One hundred fifty?”

  “Yes. Twenty meshet for the fine, one hundred thirty for administrative costs. But the offense was grave.”

  “Indeed.” The woman went back to the cabinet and removed the sheet of paper, looking closely at the bottom, where the signature was. “That is a steep price.”

  “The godozi thought it fair.” Zara smiled. “He was very clear on the amount.”

  The woman put the paper away again. “I imagine he was.”

  Zara made an astonished face. “I am so sorry, I forgot,” she said, and withdrew one very small gem. “The godozi did not mention it, but I am sure there is a processing fee here as well. Thank you for your patience.”

  Now it was the woman who looked astonished. ”Of course,” she said, rallying. “You are well-mannered for a northern savage.”

  Zara wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but it didn’t matter. The godozi was going to be in a lot of trouble for the size of the bribe he’d extorted from her, and if there was any justice in the world, he’d end up taking Ransom’s place in prison. Anyone who tried to crush Zara North was due for a world of suffering.

  At that moment she realized the darkness beyond the square window was lessening, and her heart began hammering again, hard enough she could feel it in her ears. Then the key turned in the lock, and a man pushed the door open. He was short, with hair longer than any she’d seen on a Karitian man before, and that was all she had time for, because he stepped aside to let Ransom shuffle through the door.

  Zara found her fists were clenched so tight the nails were cutting into her palms. He was shackled, hand and foot, his head drooping as if a great weight were pulling it down, and even with the pace imposed on him by the leg irons, she could tell he was limping. It had only been a day, a single damn day, who could possibly have done this to him in so short a time?

  “Is this the kind of treatment you give prisoners?” she said coldly, then instantly regretted it as the woman turned around fast to give her a disdainful look. Ransom twitched at the sound of her voice, but didn’t look up.

  “We do not give kindness to prisoners. It is uncivilized,” the woman said in Eskandelic.

  She spoke rapidly to the short man in Karitian, and he produced a key from somewhere inside his filthy shirt—he wore shirt and trousers, not a robe, Zara noticed, though all her thoughts seemed to be coming from very far away, somewhere beyond the red haze filling her vision. He removed the shackles, draping them over his arm, and Ransom just stood there, his hands dangling at his side. “Thank you,” Zara said, hesitated, then went to Ransom and said, quietly, “Can you walk?”

  “Put your shoulder under my arm, and pretend you’re helping me,” he said in a remarkably strong whisper. She did as he asked, and one slow step at a time, they left the prison.

  Outside, two nakati waited, somewhat impatiently. “You will to come,” the man said, and the two began walking rapidly in the direction of the harbor. Time for part two of the day’s adventure.

  “Pretend you’re hurt worse than you are,” Zara whispered, then called out, “Wait. He can’t move that fast.”

  Both nakati came back. “You must to go now,” said the woman.

  Ransom let out a groan. “We have to go more slowly. He’s hurt,” Zara said.

  “To be go,” said the man, and began striding away again. The woman hesitated.

  “Please, just…give us time? We won’t talk to anyone. See, there’s not even anyone to talk to.” Zara gestured with the arm that wasn’t pretending
to hold Ransom up.

  The woman nakat called out to her companion, who replied at length and with some impatience. “We have duties,” the woman said to Zara.

  “We don’t want to keep you from them, but he’s hurt, he needs to rest.” Zara gave the woman her best expression of pleading worry. “Couldn’t you…leave us somewhere for a while? We know how to return to our boat. I swear we won’t cause any trouble. Just an hour, two hours, and we’ll be gone. And you can go tend to your duties now and not be late. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  The woman looked even more reluctant. Her companion came back and said something, but she cut him off and replied, gesturing at Zara and Ransom. Zara reached into the pouch, awkwardly thanks to her burden, and took out a couple of small stones. Too big a bribe, and they’d be suspicious. “Here,” she said. “To show you we’re honorable. You shouldn’t have to wait on foreigners like this. We’ll find a quiet place, out of the way, and rest for an hour or so. We’ll be gone before sunset, promise.”

  The gems shut them both up. The man said something, not taking his eyes off the sapphire he held. The woman looked at Zara again, then at Ransom, and her chin firmed. She spoke to her partner, in a tone of voice that clearly told Zara she knew what was right and she intended to do it. Then she said, “Come this way.”

  They followed her between the shops until they came to a street no wider than Zara’s outstretched arms, along which were houses about the size of the narrow buildings on the docks. Each had a single door and a curtained window—more of the famous Karitian individuality—and the street was still and empty. The nakat went to one of the houses, rapped on the door, then opened it. Her partner spoke, and she responded dismissively, waving at Zara and Ransom to enter. Zara “helped” Ransom limp through the door and sit down on a lumpy, narrow bed covered with a blue blanket of equally lumpy weave. There was a table and a chair and a chest, and that was all the room contained.