The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

“Who knew so many damn places in this city have a forty-five on them?” Griff said with a laugh. Griff and Serv had been helping them search, although even with their knowledge of the city, they all remained baffled.

  “She was Sahaaran,” Cecily said. “Maybe I heard her wrong.”

  “If I had a better feel for what I was looking for, I might be more helpful,” Merrick said. “The city is so dense; without a starting point, I can’t tell if I’m seeing a trail that’s relevant.”

  They’d been all through the market district and along the warehouses in southern Halthas. The day before had been spent in the north side of the city, checking streets and buildings, but they hadn’t found anything.

  “For all we know, the forty-fifth might be a number that we won’t see, something that isn’t on a building,” Serv said. “It could be the forty-fifth tavern from the docks or some other code.”

  Cecily sighed. She knew Serv was right, and her hope of finding any sign of the Arcstone was quickly fading. “I should go talk to Callum again and see if he’s heard anything from his network of whisperers. Surely something like this couldn’t stay completely hidden. Someone has to know where it is, and people always talk, especially when they think no one important will hear.”

  As the smell of the river thickened, she realized they were drawing close to Griff and Serv’s warehouse. She sighed again, resigning herself to another evening spent wondering if she was chasing nothing but shadows. Daro would likely be back from Thaya soon, and she’d desperately hoped to have the Arcstone safely found before he returned.

  She glanced over her shoulder, realizing her companions had stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  Serv stood in the middle of the street, his eyes on a building on the other side. “Does that say what I think?” he asked.

  Cecily looked and saw faded letters painted on the door. They were cracked and chipped, but when she looked closer she could see the distinct outline of two numbers above a line of faded writing.

  “Forty-five,” she said. “What is this building?”

  “A supply annex for the king’s army,” Griff said. “They opened this here long before our time, since most of the weapon makers are here in the southern city. I think it’s mostly storage, so it’s usually fairly quiet, but it was full of men a few days before you came, Cecily. They were sending out a shipment of supplies, I suppose.”

  Cecily crossed her arms and regarded the building. It was nondescript, a sturdy warehouse just like the rest near the southern banks of the river. “What do you think, Merrick?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’d need to get inside.”

  “It will be guarded,” Serv said.

  “I can probably get us in,” Cecily said.

  Griff snorted. “And how are you going to break into a guarded armory?”

  She turned and gave him a sly smile. “We don’t have to break in. We’ll just walk in the front door.”

  ***

  Cecily took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock. She’d briefed her friends on her plan to gain access to the armory, going over it to make sure everyone knew their role. It wasn’t a complicated plan, working on a simple premise she’d learned when she worked for Hadran: if a person behaves as if they belong somewhere, people won’t generally question them. Especially servants, and soldiers.

  She rapped her knuckles on the door and waited. A young man in a crisp uniform answered, his brows drawn down with confusion. “Can I help you?”

  “It’s about time,” she said, allowing a hint of frustration into her voice. “Come on, men, let’s check the facilities.”

  She moved to walk in, but the soldier kept his hand on the door as if he might close it on her, and stood in her way. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Cecily Imaran,” she said. Sometimes the best lies were buried in truth, and she felt a bit of satisfaction at the widening of his eyes. He recognized her name. “I have very specific instructions to inspect this building. I’ve arranged for a new shipment to be sent to this location, but I have to ensure that everything is adequate.”

  The soldier opened and closed his mouth a few times and Cecily raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. “I … I wasn’t made aware of anyone coming today,” he said.

  She sighed. “I suppose that’s not surprising. You should see the chaos up at the palace. King Rogan is utterly buried.” She leaned in toward the soldier, lowering her voice as if about to share a profound secret. “I assume you are of sufficient rank to be aware of the Attalonian problem?”

  His mouth dropped open and he blinked a few times.

  “Of course you are,” she said. “We haven’t faced such a serious threat since King Rogan took the throne.” She figured a not-so-subtle reminder of her reputation, and another mention of the king by name, should help. “This isn’t normally something I would see to personally, but Captain Hamish was desperate. Time simply cannot be wasted with endless messages sent back and forth, so of course I told him I would see to the facility’s readiness straight away.”

  Without waiting for express permission to enter, Cecily walked forward and the soldier moved aside. Griff, Serv, and Merrick followed her in, and the soldier closed the door behind them.

  Inside was a cavernous warehouse, mostly empty save for a few stacks of crates along one wall. The ground was strewn with clumps of dirt and strands of hay, and a ceiling with open rafters soared above their heads. A few more soldiers wandered in, one emerging from a room in the back. Cecily smiled to herself as she saw their young faces. Someone of higher rank, and greater experience, would have been more difficult to handle.

  “Griff, can you please be sure this location is adequate?” she said. “We really can’t have any more delays.”

  Griff stepped forward and began a stream of chatter, asking about measurements and rainfall and whether they ought to go up to the roof and check for leaks.

  As Griff and Serv led two of the soldiers away, Cecily leaned in toward Merrick. “What do you think?” she said under her breath.

  “Something very odd was here,” he said. “I want to check that back room.”

  She nodded and put on a smile as the third soldier approached.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. He scarcely looked old enough to grow facial hair.

  “Cecily Imaran,” she said and walked past him toward the back room.

  He turned and fell in step with her. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

  There was a quavering to his voice that almost made Cecily feel bad. He would be even more pliable than the soldier at the door had been. “We won’t take much of your time, but there have been some inconsistencies in the logbooks. Captain Hamish wants to make sure the proper supplies are being routed to the men.”

  “Inconsistencies?” he asked, the quavering more noticeable.

  “Indeed. This isn’t something I would normally see to, but with the Attalonian threat….” she trailed off as they entered the small room.

  Even with her Awareness, she didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, just a mostly empty building. The room had a desk stacked with papers and a few leather bound logbooks.

  “What do you think?” she asked, turning to Merrick.

  “Although I can’t be sure what to look for, I can tell you that something was here, something that isn’t normal. It’s bright,” Merrick said, “and multicolored. I’m not sure how else to describe it. Most objects aren’t this way. This was unnatural.”

  The soldier looked at them with his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Cecily ignored him. “Where? Is it still here?”

  “No, it’s been gone for a few days, but it was there,” Merrick said, pointing to a stack of crates in the corner.

  “What was there before the last shipment went out?” Cecily asked the soldier.

  The soldier flipped through a book and ran his finger down the list of entries. “I’m not sure. There were crates of supplies, a
nd we sent arrows, spears, and shields. It was a normal supply run.”

  Cecily looked up at Merrick. “Did it leave with the supplies? Can you tell?”

  “It’s likely,” Merrick said with a nod. “The signature is strongest here. I would say it spent a few days in this room, then was taken out again.”

  Cecily glanced at the soldier. His mouth was half open. “How long have you been posted here?” she asked.

  “About three months,” he said.

  “Were you here the day the last shipment was taken out?” she asked. He nodded. “Were things from this room loaded into the carts?” He nodded again. “Where was the shipment bound?”

  His eyes darted back to the logbook. “The Sahaaran Chasm. A portion of the King’s Army is already marching south and we sent the supplies behind them.”

  Cecily blew out a breath. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said to the soldier and turned to leave. She walked out to find Griff and Serv nearing the outer door. “Everything checks out, soldiers. Thank you.”

  She led her friends back into the street; they left the soldiers behind, picking up their pace and ignoring the shouted questions behind them.

  “That’s going to come back to you,” Griff said, as they turned the corner to his warehouse. “They’ll report what just happened, and they know your name.”

  “I know,” she said. “It was a calculated risk. I can handle any inquiries from their superiors. It’s the advantage of knowing the king.”

  “True,” Griff said. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “It was there, but it looks like it went out with the last supply shipment,” she said.

  “Bound for?” Griff asked.

  “The Sahaaran Chasm,” Cecily answered. “It left a week ago, so I don’t have much chance of catching up with it.”

  “What are you going to do?” Merrick asked.

  Cecily gave him a sidelong glance. “I guess I need to find an excuse to go search through military supplies at a secured border fortress.”

  29. LOOK FOR THE MONEY

  Callum rested his hands on the edges of the table as he leaned over and looked at the map of the city, chewing his lip. He’d torn scraps of paper and scrawled notes on them about each strange death he’d tracked down, then placed them over the locations where they’d occurred. They ranged all over the city, from noble manors in the north to merchant villas and tradesmen’s homes in the south. Callum had put out his feelers, listening for news of any unexpected deaths that might have something in common with the ones Alastair had reported. His search had turned up more than he expected. Although he knew some were likely coincidence, looking at the number of paper scraps held down with small pebbles, there was either an unknown illness striking healthy men and women, or someone was killing people. Callum wasn’t generally one for gambling, but in this case, he’d have put his money on a killer.

  Blowing his hair out of his eyes, he stared, willing the map to tell him how the deaths were connected. Or if they were. He still half-wondered if Alastair had set him to chasing ghosts.

  “I’m thinking about this all wrong,” Callum said aloud. “I’m looking for a pattern, but what I need to look for is the money.”

  Nothing happened without money. He picked up his gold coin and flipped it along the backs of his knuckles. What he needed to know was who was paying the killers. Finding the man with the proverbial knife in his hand was one thing, but finding out who’d paid him would be better. There wasn’t much chance of that, however, considering none of the usual suspects for this type of work seemed to be involved, and Callum was still staring at a damned map.

  But money was still moving this scheme. Assuming they were all connected, there were a lot of deaths in a relatively short period of time. That might require paying more than just a killer or three.

  Callum looked back over the notes. He’d written the names and occupations of the victims, as well as the dates they were found dead. Blinking hard, he looked over them again. “Well, isn’t that an interesting coincidence,” he said.

  “You don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Callum jumped at Wraith’s voice, clutching his hand to his chest. “Don’t do that to me. Warn a man before you sneak up on him.”

  Wraith stood a few paces behind, his head tilted as he looked at Callum’s map.

  “You’re right though, I don’t believe in coincidences,” Callum said as he turned back to his notes. “As a whole, these deaths don’t have a lot in common, other than being unexpected. Healthy people dying in their sleep. But there is one other thing.”

  “What’s that?” Wraith asked.

  “With a few exceptions on the north side of the river, everyone seems to die right around the time the City Watch gets paid,” Callum said.

  “How do you know when the Watch are paid?” Wraith said.

  Callum glanced over his shoulder. That was a lot of talking for Wraith. “That, my friend, is a useful thing for a man like me to know. If a person needs to slip the Watch a little extra money to perhaps turn left instead of right while they are on patrol, it’s easier to hide that when coin is already being passed around.”

  Wraith pulled up a stool and sat. “The Watch is being bribed?”

  “Not the entire Watch, certainly, but put some coins in the hands of the right people, and suddenly the patrols aren’t in a particular neighborhood on a particular night. It’s simple and effective if you’d like to do something you don’t want anyone to see. The trick is figuring out who is being paid, but I think I already did.”

  “How?”

  Callum’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “The map told me. Are you free this afternoon?”

  Wraith shook his head. “No, I have things to see to in the Sahaaran district.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be able to handle this on my own.” Callum traced a finger along the streets, connecting the space between his notes. “You want to kill people in my city? I’ll find you.”

  ***

  The back door to the City Watch garrison opened and a man in uniform poked his head out. Callum stood leaning against the wall across the narrow alley, flipping a coin off his thumb and catching it in his palm.

  “You got my message,” Callum said, looking at the watchman through the hair that hung in his eyes.

  “Who are you?” the watchman asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

  Callum pressed his lips in a small smile. Nervousness. Guilt. A good start.

  “Are you Captain Gerald?” Callum asked.

  The watchman’s eyebrows drew together and he gave a quick nod. “Yes. Who’s asking?”

  “I’m looking for someone, and I’m hoping you can help me find him,” Callum said.

  Gerald stepped through the door. “Who are you looking for?”

  “A friend. Have you been with the Watch long?” Callum asked.

  “Five years,” Gerald said.

  Eyes narrowed with slight confusion, but face relaxed. Relief. He’s telling the truth. “Good, then you’ll have experience with this sort of thing. Are you married, have a family?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Gerald said.

  Slight nod, he’s telling the truth, but shoulders tightened. Fear. There’s something going on with the family. “No, of course,” Callum said, “I was just wondering why a family man would be taking bribes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Brief step backward, small frown. Anxiety. No confidence in his own words. “Interestingly, you do know. Are you responsible for giving your Watch patrol orders for this district?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did you know there have been quite a few unexplained deaths over the last few months, some of which occurred in this very area?” Callum asked.

  “I—what? No,” Gerald said.

  Confusion, furrowed brow, arms held loose. No defensiveness. He doesn’t know. “It’s odd, because they seem to be ha
ppening right around the time money is already changing hands, when your men are paid. You wouldn’t happen to be paid a little extra on the side, to turn the patrols in a certain direction?”

  “No, of course not. I would never do such a thing,” Gerald said, crossing his arms.

  Eyes dart away, increased fear. “Ah, but you did. How do you receive the money? Is it delivered?” Face still, no reaction. “No? You pick it up at a secret location?” Mouth open, eyes wide. That’s it. Callum flipped his coin again and took a step forward. “So you pick it up at a secret location. That’s fairly standard. There must be instructions. After all, they are paying you for something.”

  Gerald started to speak, but Callum went on before he could get a word out.

  “Do the instructions come with the money?” Face still. No. “No? The instructions come separately then?” Head tilt. Resignation. That’s a yes. “I see. But you aren’t told why, just what to do. I really can’t blame you. Who among us doesn’t need a little extra, especially with mouths to feed?” Eyes widen. Anxiety.

  Callum cocked his head to the side and Projected a wisp of fear. He didn’t want to panic the man, and fear was always a risk. It made people unpredictable, but it also made them easy to distract, so long as he could keep their attention focused where he wanted it.

  Gerald’s face flushed and his breathing quickened. “What do you want from me?”

  “Just a few answers, my good man,” Callum said. “There’s no need to worry. I’m not with the authorities and I have no reason to turn you in. In fact, it would suit me just fine if you kept on doing your job, exactly as you have been.” He enunciated the last words very clearly and kept his eyes on Gerald’s. “Your family will be fine.”

  Slumping shoulders. Brief tightness around the eyes. Deep worry. They’re threatening his family if he doesn’t cooperate.

  Gerald uncrossed his arms and his left hand twitched near his belt. I bet he has the instructions on him. Callum stepped closer and looked down at the coin in his palm, leading Gerald’s attention to his hand, and shifted to the side so they were standing shoulder to shoulder. “As I said, no reason for concern,” Callum said as he put a light hand on Gerald’s shoulder, and the watchman looked down at it. “I simply needed a few answers.” He stepped around in front of Gerald, keeping close, and flipped the coin again, then held it out in his open palm. “Here, for your time. You’ve been more than helpful.”