The Theft of Sunlight

by Intisar Khanani

  Because everything I’ve done and learned so far hasn’t uncovered anything but a possible conspiracy the royals dare not touch. That may be a great deal to have learned, but it does the snatched children and their families little good.

  I sit for a long time, stewing over the conversation between the royals and thinking about the archer whose journal I stole from the Black Scholar. The archer who betrayed her liege in order to save her people.

  This is different, of course. It’s not the king whose sacrifice is needed because he did some great wrong in the past. It’s the Circle, and the wrong they have done is ongoing. Betraying them would potentially destroy the king and leave at least a faction of the mages still in power, if not all of them. It would put the people even more at their mercy, without the king there to buffer their decisions. Though he cannot know what they are doing. Can he?

  No. If he knew, then Kestrin would surely have known, and my words this afternoon would not have shocked him. Nor would he have aided Alyrra in finding someone to help investigate the snatchers if he already knew of a possible connection.

  I take a deep breath, exhale slowly. I am not giving up on the snatchers. I cannot bring back Seri, or undo Ani’s grief, but I can fight with all I have to stop the snatchers themselves.

  The fact that the mages are lending their aid to protect the snatchers means they must also be gaining something from the arrangement. If I can figure out that piece—especially if it is something more significant than gold or coin—I might be able to discover who is delivering it to them. And then I would have a better idea who the snatchers themselves are.

  I look at Ani’s letter, and know that I have an ally in almost anyone who has lost a family member to the snatchers. I might not know how to track the movement of resources, or what wealth the Circle is accumulating, but I know someone I can ask.

  I leave my room, taking the back stairs down with just a cursory nod to Captain Matsin, who watches me pass through the guard room with lifted brows. By the time I reach the far side of the palace complex, my foot has begun to ache from keeping up such a brisk pace over the tiled floors.

  I reach the bench-lined path across from the administrative buildings just as a group of workers step out.

  Taking in the richness of my clothing, one of them says, “Apologies, veria. I’m afraid we’re closed.”

  “I’m looking for Kelari Kirrana,” I say, glancing past him in hopes of spotting her.

  “Oh, Kirrana already left, veria,” one of the girls says. “She’s going home to stay with her parents for the festivities—we all have tomorrow off. But she might still be packing up. You could check the women’s residence.”

  I ask directions, and a moment later set off for the residence, moving as fast as I can, hoping I don’t end up with more blisters. The building lies on the other side of the tax office, a two-story structure of adobe and plaster, just like home, if a great deal bigger. Its humble appearance is hidden behind the other buildings, making it invisible from the palace proper.

  An elderly woman sits on a cushion in the large welcoming room, spindle in hand. She glances toward me inquiringly as I enter. “Can I help you, kelari?”

  “I’m looking for Kirrana.”

  “I believe she’s still upstairs. Follow the hall back, take the stairs up—you’ll be all right on those? Good then; hers is the third door on the left.”

  I thank her and hurry on, reaching the top of the stairs just as Kirrana steps out of her room, a satchel over her shoulder.

  She looks at me in surprise. “Rae! Are you coming to see me?”

  “Yes. Is there somewhere we could chat for a few minutes?”

  “Of course. Come in,” she says, and ushers me into her room.

  It’s a small space, and clearly shared. Her side has only two cushions set out, a stack of blankets, a midsized trunk for belongings, and a wardrobe. No doubt her sleeping mat is rolled up within it, along with the rest of her belongings. The other side of the room is its opposite in every way, the sleeping mat out and only barely visible beneath a tangle of blankets, clothes spewing from the open wardrobe, and the floor littered with bottles and containers of what can only be makeup.

  Kirrana offers me a cushion. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Hidden away in the women’s residence with the door closed, I feel as safe talking to Kirrana as I did in the princess’s rooms, warded from listening ears. “Do you remember our conversation about the snatchers?”

  She stills, focusing on me. “Yes.”

  “Can you swear to me you won’t speak of this to anyone?”

  “I swear it.”

  “All right. I’ve found out that the children who are snatched are transported by boat downriver. It’s possible they’re also taken by other routes, but of a half dozen children who were snatched, five reported boats.”

  “You think these children are being taken out of the country, or just taken downriver?” Kirrana asks. “I assume out, but . . .”

  “Out of the country,” I agree. “Too many have been lost for them to all be here. My contact in the city thinks so as well.” It’s so little, without the connection to the Circle. I don’t dare mention that to Kirrana, not after promising Alyrra my discretion. This one detail of how the boys were transported hardly seems enough to launch an investigation from. It is hope alone that has brought me here.

  Kirrana nods slowly. “That means the snatchers are leaving through Lirelei . . . and probably coming back in that way as well. In any transaction, something is always received for something given. They’ll be bringing whatever it is they are trading for the children as they come in.”

  “Can that—would that be reflected in their taxes?”

  Kirrana twists her mouth to the side, thinking, and then says, “I doubt there’s a trail through any tax filings. We’re talking about the black market. For that, you have to look for anomalies. Things coming into the country that we’re not sending out exports to equal.”

  “So how do I search for that?” I ask, hope making my words come a little too fast. Anomalies has the sound of something that can be traced.

  Kirrana grins. “First, I’m sending a page to my family to tell them I’m coming tomorrow. Then I’m collaring a friend who works in the administrative archives who can lend me her key. And then I’ll show you how to search the reports from the port wardens in Lirelei, and we’ll look for anomalies.”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” I ask as she hops to her feet. “If anyone discovers what you’re actually researching, it will put you at risk.”

  “I know. But it still needs to be done, and I’m not sending you off to muddle through this on your own. I’ll be right back.”

  Kirrana, as it turns out, makes a habit of doing people good turns, and so the particular friend in question only asks her to be sure to put back whatever she’s researching when she’s done and lock up behind herself.

  We make our way to the administrative archives, a building I didn’t know existed till this moment. It is lit by luminae lamps, which is stunning until you consider that the building is filled with paper and would go up like a bonfire if real lamps were used and a stray spark fell in the wrong place.

  We pass room after room of shelves, and then tour a number of additional rooms, Kirrana murmuring softly to herself as she inspects the ledgers and bound stacks of papers carefully stored on the shelves.

  “Here,” she says finally, at a door with a plaque that reads, quite helpfully, “Lirelei, Five-Year Port Records.”

  I turn slowly, considering the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with records, from incident reports to ledgers containing logs of every ship that docked or weighed anchor there. “That’s . . . a lot of information.”

  Kirrana grins. “We’ll start with the incident reports. You take this year’s, I’ll take last’s. We’re looking for something showing up that shouldn’t have—something valuable. Here.”

  She hands me a stack of papers b
ound together between two thin boards—a precursor to the actual bound set of papers with a proper cover that she lifts down for herself. We settle ourselves at a table in the larger central workspace, and start reading.

  There are incidents of cargo being accidentally destroyed, a ship piloted by a drunken captain that rammed into one of the docks, and various other occurrences. A great deal of damaged property, but not much else.

  “What would constitute an anomaly?” I ask as I turn another page to find a report of a ship that accidentally ran aground a league up the coast and required a rescue ship to unload its cargo before its hull could be repaired.

  “We’re looking for an import that was unexpectedly found and should have been declared. Something the snatchers were conveying to pay for the children. Or, failing that, perhaps a boat that was transporting children as part of their cargo.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard about that?”

  “You’re right. An error that egregious would have been covered up very quickly. So yes, something smaller than that.”

  “Right,” I say, but the current report about a herd of goats wreaking havoc on the docks and butting sailors into the waters makes me wonder if even that is a realistic goal.

  An hour later, I’ve found nothing. Kirrana is still working on her file, and sends me to the room to return my papers, bound back up again in order, and pull the reports for two years ago.

  Around midnight, I lay my head on the table beside my file. “I had no idea so many things could go wrong at a port.”

  Kirrana laughs and turns a page. She’s now five years back, and we’re reaching the end of what’s stored here. Older files get moved to a storage facility somewhere off site, and I don’t think anyone would lend us that key, no questions asked.

  “Amraeya.”

  “Mmm?” I tilt my head slightly, my cheek still pressed against the tabletop.

  “Look at this.”

  I straighten and go to her side to see the report she’s holding. It details a shipment that had been processed, and how the port warden stepped into the captain’s room at the end and noticed a slight gap in the planks composing the back wall of the room. Upon investigating, he located a small compartment containing a box with two large gemstones. The captain claimed they were not meant for import, and were being held in trust. The warden confiscated them for processing and filed the report.

  “Gemstones,” I whisper. I can hear Kestrin saying quietly, grant him a pair of amulets. Small gems are easily come by, but large gemstones? Those are prized by the Circle. They would give a great deal for a steady supply of amulets, especially given that an amulet, once drained, cannot be reused. Arguably, they need those gemstones in order to maintain their power.

  “I get the feeling this makes a lot of sense to you,” Kirrana says. “Something you’re not telling me?”

  I nod. “Yes. I can’t tell you everything, but the gemstones would make particularly good sense.”

  “All right,” Kirrana says. She whips out a set of wax tablets she had brought with her from her room, opens them up, and carves the date of the report into the wax with her stylus, alongside the captain’s name and the ship’s name. I’ve used wax tablets before as well—they are much more economical—it’s just jarring to see them here, alongside the veritable mountain of papers.

  “Now, if you were a snatcher and your payment was intercepted, what would you do?”

  I shrug. “Make sure it didn’t happen again?”

  “Right. I’m just about at the end of this file. Did you read any reports in the next one with any of these names? The warden, perhaps? Or the captain?”

  I shake my head.

  Kirrana considers this. “Nothing violent happened on the job, then. Well, let’s pull the wage reports and see how long the warden stayed on.”

  We tromp back to the same room and this time, Kirrana hands me another stack of bound papers: monthly reports on wages paid to all the port wardens of Lirelei.

  I page quickly through the year, noting the name of the warden in question in each month before moving on to the next month. There he is again, the month of the incident report. But he isn’t listed at all the following month. Instead, there’s a note that a junior warden had been elevated to take his place due to his unexpected passing. I stare at the page for a long moment, but there’s nothing else here. No mention of cause of death, or possible foul play, or anything.

  “He’s dead,” I say.

  Kirrana nods. “That would suggest that what happened could have been related to the snatchers.”

  “It could just be a coincidence,” I argue, not quite believing myself.

  “Right. But look here,” she says, and passes me the ledger recording incoming shipments. “The ship had a new captain the next time it came in.”

  A shiver runs through me as I stare at the ship name, and beside it, a new name. Beneath that is a seal stamped in black ink, followed by the name of the owners of the ship. “Berenworth Trading Company. Who are they?”

  Kirrana looks at me disbelievingly. “You haven’t heard of them? They’re huge in the import/export business.”

  “I think our town is too small for them.” All our imports are brought by wagon, and our exports are primarily horses.

  She nods. “Makes sense. My father’s a merchant. He doesn’t like to do business with them. Says once folks start, it’s hard to back out. That’s not completely unusual,” she adds, at my look. “But it fits, doesn’t it?”

  I rub my hands over my face. “How do we prove anything? Can we prove anything?”

  Kirrana sits a long moment, staring at the ledgers set out before us. “In taxes, one coincidence is just that: a coincidence. But when you start noticing a pattern of anomalies, of coincidences, that’s when you know something’s going on. Maybe this particular find of ours doesn’t have anything to do with the snatchers, but something surely happened. Now we have to investigate it.”

  “How? If it isn’t a coincidence, and Berenworth is involved with the snatchers, it could be dangerous.”

  Kirrana grins. “I’m a paper kind of girl. I won’t be asking anyone any questions. And I think we’ve done enough tonight. I’ll see what more I can learn about Berenworth tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? “But what about your family? Aren’t you supposed to visit them?”

  “I will—during the day. I’ll just come back in the evening and see what else I can find.”

  That’s right, she has the day off for the wedding. Which I decidedly don’t. “I don’t think I can come then.”

  “You do what you have to. I think we’ve found all the big breaks we’re going to. From now, it’s going to be slow work trying to uncover whatever other evidence there is.” Kirrana smiles, then yawns. “Starting with taxes,” she adds when she can speak again.

  “I thought taxes wouldn’t show us anything.”

  “They might not. But now that I have an idea of who to focus on, there might be some interesting details to consider. We should also go over all the records of their shipments. But not tonight.”

  “Definitely not tonight,” I agree. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open. “You’ll be safe? No one can know what you’re doing.”

  “Safe and careful,” she assures me. “Let’s put these away and both of us get to bed.”

  I can’t argue with that, and a few minutes later I am on my way back to the royal wing.

  My legs are tired, my turned foot aching, by the time I reach the top of the back stairway and find Captain Matsin leaning against the table, waiting. The remaining guards are arrayed about him in their usual activities—some sitting at the table, one at a bench polishing his sword. It’s Matsin’s face, hard and cold, that brings me up short.

  “Kelari.”

  “Captain,” I say, stepping through the threshold.

  “I’ll walk you,” he says, and falls into step with me, his hands clasped behind his back. It’s a conscious pose, one that says: I am n
ot reaching for you, do you see? But I am certainly coming with you.

  Out in the hallway, he says quietly, “I was ten minutes away from alerting the princess to your absence.”

  “What?”

  “You disappeared, kelari. Again.”

  My jaw tightens. How much does he know about the Black Scholar? The princess must have told him something. I’m not sure how else he would have known. Still: “I am not missing now, Captain.”

  “You left before dinner without a word to anyone, and don’t return until past midnight. How are we to know you’re safe?”

  “It’s not your concern.”

  He comes to a stop before the door to the attendants’ suite, and for a half breath I think he’s going to reach for it, hold it closed. But he just looks at it, then raises his gaze to me. “If you are going somewhere at night, please make sure at least another attendant knows. If you need to leave the palace, take someone with you.”

  It’s the sort of advice my mother would give me, which is just infuriating. Because it’s good advice. Further, I really don’t want to worry the princess. Refusing to be sensible will probably result in Matsin reporting my comments to the princess. I sigh. “I’ll be sure to inform someone in future.”

  He dips me a bow and steps back. “Thank you.”

  I nod, and head through the doorway. I really only want to go to sleep. But as I reach the common room, a figure straightens up on the couches. It’s a boy, a page. The same one who explained what a friend of a friend was to me a few nights ago.

  “Kelari,” he says, and shoves himself to his feet. He holds out an envelope. “I’m to carry back your answer.”

  “I’m sorry for your wait,” I say as I open the envelope. The boy grimaces but doesn’t respond. For all I know, he could have been waiting hours. I scan the note within quickly. It says nothing more than to meet an hour before dawn at a particular building out past the women’s residence. It is signed “Bren.”

  I stare at the signature long enough that the boy says, “Well?”