by T L Greylock
Unable to bear the Shame, Isoula Barca, Wife to that Madman, has fled the City, taking with her stolen Objects and abandoning her children to their Fate. Witnesses say she vowed Vengeance and spat Curses as she boarded a Ship with black sails. One Witness claims the ship disappeared into thin Air before sailing clear of the Harbor, but this Honest bulletin does not put Stock in Foolish notions.
Chapter Five
“We make them immortal.”
“So Manon Barca is a Carrier.”
Eska nodded, her eyes on the black smoke dissipating behind the Argonex. Somewhere in her peripheral vision, she saw a woman fall, tumbling into the sea. Beside her, Firenzia Company’s dig master gaped.
“Should we help, my lady?”
Eska scanned the water, watched as a man dove in after Manon Barca. The patrol ships converged, shouted orders and threats carrying over the waves.
“She could have killed everyone aboard this ship, Cedric,” Eska said softly. “Not to mention my mother, had her aim been any worse. I will not weep if they do not fish her out. Besides, she may well be dead already. Carrier substances are notoriously toxic.” As she finished speaking, a head emerged from beneath the waves, and then a second, this one limp and lolling, the man’s strong arm around Manon Barca’s chest. At that distance, as the Argonex pushed deeper into the harbor, there was no telling if she was alive or dead.
“So you knew?” Cedric Antilles asked.
“That she was capable of such things? I heard a rumor once, more than a few years ago now. But I never saw any evidence of it and you know as well as I that Carriers often keep their secret close. I’d have taken precautions if I’d known.” Eska frowned and turned her attention to the ship ahead of her own, seeking the Ambassador-Superior’s figure at the stern, then raising a hand to indicate to her mother that all was well. “What it doesn’t explain is why she’d make such a ridiculous decision. Attack a ducal delegation in plain sight of the Vismarch’s officers? That’s tantamount to suicide. What could she possibly have been thinking?” Eska turned and motioned for the Argonex’s captain, whose countenance was entirely free of any suggestion that his ship had nearly been blown up, to toss her his spyglass. She caught it with one hand and extended it as she brought it up to her eye. Scanning the Barca ship, Eska murmured, “Do relax, Cedric. No one is mourning her just yet.” The woman did look very pale, though, and very still. A man, quite young, his fair hair askew as he knelt at the woman’s side, clutched her hand. The brother, Eska was nearly certain, the younger one, though she could only remember seeing Perrin Barca once at a distance. Harbor officers swarmed over the rail of the Barca ship. No resistance was offered as every last sailor was taken into custody. Eska glanced to her right, smiling at the older man. “I doubt she’d appreciate your gentlemanly concern, but it is very touching.” Cedric’s droopy mustache did nothing to conceal the blush rising to his cheeks. Eska returned the looking glass to the captain. “At least we’re rid of the Barca problem now. She’s done us a great favor.”
The remaining distance to one of the wide piers of Toridium passed without incident, and Eska climbed over the rail and dropped down to the pier before the Argonex had finished docking. A brief flash of her ducal badge got her past the pier master and his underlings, and she quickly joined her mother’s entourage as it made its way off the pier and onto the Toridium wharf.
“What on earth was that, Eska?” Sorina de Caraval’s question was voiced quietly but firmly. “Tell me you weren’t expecting to nearly be blown out of the water by a Carrier?” The last words caused a shiver in the Ambassador-Superior’s voice, a shiver Eska did not like to hear. Sorina absently touched her collarbone, below the high neck of her cloak, the place where the scars began. Eska looked away, knowing her mother would not want her to see the gesture.
“Expecting? Certainly not. I would never have knowingly placed you in danger, Mama.”
Sorina straightened as the procession began to walk away from the waterfront. As was tradition among the Seven Cities of Bellara, the Ambassador-Superior would traverse the city on foot until meeting with the Vismarch, forgoing all loftier forms of transport. “Of course not, but you are related to your uncle and he has been known to neglect to think everything through. I take it you needed to arrive in Toridium before that ship—did you not think there could be consequences?”
“I am not so rash as my uncle, Mama,” Eska said, struggling to keep her voice low. “But I can hardly be faulted for not foreseeing that Manon Barca would be so desperate as to act like an utter fool.”
Sorina’s eyes narrowed. “Manon Barca? I thought the Barcas were destitute, run out of business the moment Julian Barca went to prison.”
“Four years ago, Mama. A great many things can change in four years.” Eska had not intended to mention the name of Barca—she certainly did not intend for her mother to know that Manon Barca herself was the Carrier who had nearly killed them.
Sorina placed her hand on Eska’s wrist, lightly, the touch barely felt through Eska’s sleeve, but there was no mistaking the authority in that touch. “This delegation is important, Eska. I have allowed you to bring the company along, but these negotiations must be your priority. I will not tolerate interruption.”
Eska tried to read between her mother’s words—negotiations among the Seven Cities were always important and the Ambassador-Superior never took her duties lightly—but there was nothing to see behind Sorina’s rigid exterior. “I understand, Ambassador-Superior.”
***
“Are you sure it’s the right place, my lady?”
Eska surveyed the land before her, one hand shielding her eyes from the morning sun, still close to the eastern horizon and burning through the thick fog that lay below Toridium’s walls. The slice of land she had won the rights to at the Court Beneath the Sun was an unremarkable place, dry ground nestled between the lazy waters of the Alencio and the gentle hills that rose up south-east of the city. Behind Eska, Toridium was strangely quiet, the city’s morning bustle swallowed by the fog.
She had risen early, both out of eagerness to begin the work and out of necessity. Much of her day would be spent observing formalities before the Vismarch officially welcomed her mother to the city that night. These moments of fog and chirping birds would be all she could spend at the site that day. But Firenzia Company didn’t require her presence to function. Cedric was already at work sectioning off the site, measuring it into quadrants that would later be divided into smaller parcels.
“It may not look like much, Bastien,” Eska said, “but I believe this was once home to perhaps the largest seasonal gathering place of the Onandya clans. Imagine a vast herd of ponies, shaggy and sure-footed, drinking from the river, just there.” Eska pointed across the site. “The chiefs would have vied for prime location, upriver from the ponies, close to the water, measuring their strength by the number of wolf tails they had strung to their staffs. They might have fought, if the hierarchy was in doubt and if the elders allowed it, but most of all this was a time of peace for the clans, when feuds were set aside as the chiefs came to honor the elders and the gods that granted the food they had spent the warm months hunting and gathering. This was the last place they would meet before retreating to their winter lands in the hills to the east and south, the last place of sun and dance and music before they faced the cold winds and deep snows of winter.”
Eska smiled as she watched Bastien’s gaze roam over the land, knowing he was imagining what she described.
“I wish I could have seen it with my own eyes,” the young man said.
“That is why we do what we do, Bastien. Finding pieces of their lives, learning their stories, that is as close as we can come to living the life of another, transcending time, preserving history and knowledge and things otherwise lost.” Eska met Bastien’s gaze. “We make them immortal.”
The words filled Eska’s heart, as she knew they did Bastien’s, banishing any lingering trace of her uncle’s philosophy of fam
e and fortune. Here, at least, she had a crew who shared her dedication, who worked without thought of treasure or monetary gain—helped, naturally, by generous wages and contracts. Eska was not naïve. But though they all worked under the banner of the Firenzia Company, there was a vast difference between her uncle’s favored crew and the one working diligently in the fog along the bank of the Alencio.
“Come,” Eska said, “let us see what our fine engineer has to say.”
With Bastien at her heels, Eska traversed the site to the river, where a man and his apprentice were contemplating the ground.
“Well, Master Gabriel?”
The engineer brushed curly hair from his eyes as he looked up at Eska’s approach. “Can’t say I’m terribly pleased, my lady. It’s not unsafe, not at the moment, but this soil will be full of holes and hollow bits, and with the river so close, there’s no way to predict how things could shift when we start digging.”
Eska nodded. “Your recommendation?”
Gabriel spread his hands, a frown etched on his face. “We can prepare some timbers in anticipation of having to shore up the bank. But I would suggest you only give orders to dig close to the river if absolutely necessary.”
“It’s the river, my lady,” the young apprentice spoke up. “It looks calm, but there’s a nasty current below the surface.”
Gabriel nodded. “Tia is right. Worst case scenario, the bank collapses and the river sweeps away half the site before we can blink an eye.”
“Half the site and anyone unlucky enough to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Eska murmured. She watched the smooth brown waters of the Alencio for a moment, then looked back at her engineer. “All right, make what preparations you can and if there’s anything you can do to prevent such an incident, do it. Meanwhile, I’ll have Cedric begin digging as far from here as we can. But I don’t need to tell you, Gabriel, there’s a strong chance the most valuable finds will come closer to the river. Water is life, just as much for the ancients as for us.”
Gabriel nodded. “I understand, my lady.”
Eska turned to Bastien. “We’ll set up the tents and crew quarters to the north, Bastien, closer to the walls. I trust you can oversee that?”
Bastien nodded, but then his gaze drifted over Eska’s shoulder, to the south. “A ship, my lady.”
Several small boats, merchants, fisher folk, and a few travelers, had passed the site that morning, plying the waters of the Alencio on their way to Toridium, but there was something in Bastien’s voice that told Eska this was no ordinary contribution to the river traffic. She turned.
Not just a ship, a beautiful work of art, a pleasure cruiser as unlike the utilitarian barges and wide-decked rigs common to the river as the Lordican was unlike a secondhand bookshop—as much as Eska liked a secondhand bookshop.
By then, others had gathered on the bank and voices murmured in admiration for the sleek craft headed north.
“Some sort of flag, my lady, at the stern. White and blue. Can’t make out the emblem,” Gabriel said.
“Three stars. Over crossed spears. Or so I imagine.” For Eska was quite certain she knew that ship, or knew, at least, who would possess such a beautiful work of art. Gabriel gave her a curious stare but Eska could not take her gaze from the invaders.
Not invaders truly. The man on board the ship had no interest in Eska’s site or whatever she might find in the dirt, of that she was certain. This was no Barca Company come to steal her prize. But nonetheless his impending presence had the feel of a hostile takeover, or at least a takeover of questionable intentions. Eska scowled at herself, trying to chase the apprehension from her stomach. Arch-Commander Alexandre de Minos was just a man, after all, and one she was well-practiced at handling.
Joined by the crew, all eyes watched in silence as the new arrival glided north before executing a graceful turn that brought her close to shore. The shallow-bottomed craft, built for river voyages, dropped anchor—and Alexandre de Minos made his entrance.
The figure standing on the railing, the hem of his long coat rippling in the wind, without so much as a rope or a helping hand, stepped off the ship rail as easily as one might step out of bed in the morning—at the same moment the river below him swirled and sent up a graceful arc of water that formed into a gleaming, liquid staircase. He took each step with infuriating poise and then, to the audible amazement of everyone around Eska, began to walk across the river, his boots showing nary a damp spot.
When he reached the shore, de Minos ascended the bank with ease and stopped, features utterly devoid of the smirking triumph any other breathing human wouldn’t have been able to resist. And Eska hated him for it.
She approached slowly, matching his dignity and pace, until she came to a halt just out of arm’s reach and equaled his steady, blue-eyed gaze.
“You’ve cut your hair,” she said.
He had. This was true. No longer was his head covered in blonde locks. It was shorn close to his scalp, making a faint golden halo in the bright sun. The effect, when paired with his cheekbones and blue eyes, was quite striking. But in light of his entrance it was certainly the least remarkable thing on which Eska could choose to comment. And it worked. She saw the slightest twitch on his left jawline, just below his ear.
“You wouldn’t really expect me to mention the obvious, would you?”
At last he spoke. “You never were one for the obvious.”
“Sascha,” she acknowledged, speaking the familiar youthful nickname for the first time in a very long time.
“Eska.” A slight dip of his head, but his eyes never left hers.
“If I ask you to leave, will you go?” There was no harm in asking.
“No.” Alexandre’s answer was firm, but wary, as though he sensed a predator ready to spring.
Eska decided to smile instead. “Then in that case, you’re going to need something to keep the sun off.”
Chapter Six
“That’s a very green sort of green.”
“I’m fairly certain Carriers most often present at an early age. Don’t tell me you’re some sort of anomaly.”
Eska took a sip of wine and settled as far back into her seat as the stiff, upright camp chair would allow. They had taken refuge from the growing heat—and the eyes and ears of the Firenzia crew—in the shade of a sprawling willow, a pair of chairs hastily set up, wine brought, glasses filled—and then silence.
Not that head-scratching, eyes-averted kind, but the kind of silence between two people who once knew each other’s measure and were assessing what, if anything, had changed.
Alexandre, his chair abandoned in favor of the ground and a cushion, his legs outstretched in an inconceivably elegant manner, had begun to relax. The Arch-Commander laughed. “His name is Oscar. At least, as far as I can tell it is. No tongue. He’s been with me for two campaigns in the south, first against Nystrom and then when the Vothians made their foolish foray over the isthmus at the beginning of spring. He has a way with water.” He took a drink. “You have to admit, it was far easier and swifter than lowering a boat.”
Eska made a face. “That may be, but it seems a waste of his skill.”
“Oh?” Alexandre’s eyes flashed as he grinned. “Sudden sympathy for a Carrier? That’s not like you.”
“You’ll find I can express sympathy for a great many things if it means a chance to chip away at your infinite sense of….” Eska trailed off, for once not sure of the word she was looking for.
“I believe the word you’re seeking is style.”
Eska couldn’t argue with that. Or, perhaps, given a different situation on a different day, she might have argued, but the man did have style. It was military style at its core, as befit his occupation and rank, crisp and clean, yet effortless and with just the right amount of flair, whether it was in the cut of his collar or the angle of the sash on his hips or the hint of color at his cuffs.
“Still vain, I see,” Eska said.
“Still unwilli
ng to concede a point.”
The words were said with laughter and good humor, but Eska was certain Alexandre felt them as deeply as she did, like a dull spoon prodding at old wounds and unwelcome truths.
Eska emptied her glass and stood to refill it, but he beat her to the bottle, getting to his feet with easy grace. He poured for them both and Eska wondered if he, too, took care not to touch her fingers when he returned her glass to her. Alexandre held her gaze for a moment before sitting once more, this time in profile as he leaned back against the willow’s ample trunk.
“What are you doing here, Sascha?” Eska asked at last.
“The truth? Or something easier?”
And Eska found she did not know what she wanted.
“As it happens, I am innocent of anything nefarious, if that’s what you’re wondering. I had no prior knowledge of Firenzia Company’s presence here. Imagine, to my surprise, the fog parting to show me none other than the Firenzia flag on a riverbank outside of Toridium. It seemed only polite to greet you.”
“Polite. Yes.” Alexandre’s words were simple enough, and Eska had no reason to doubt the chance of their meeting. And yet there was something he did not say. “Not just Firenzia. My mother has business in the city. You’ll hear of it soon enough, I’m sure.”
The Arch-Commander raised an eyebrow and took a sip of wine. “Trade negotiations? The usual sparring?”
“I haven’t actually been briefed yet myself. The trip was undertaken in a hurry and the circumstances of our arrival prevented much in the way of explanation.”
Now Alexandre’s curiosity was more than show. “Circumstances?”
Eska couldn’t suppress the edge that crept into her voice. “Carrier work. Nearly sunk the Argonex.”
“Very dramatic. I take it the culprit has been taken into custody?”
“Swiftly. The harbor patrol knows its business.” Eska weighed her words for a moment, but de Minos would likely know the full situation soon enough. As one of the highest-ranking military officers in the Seven Cities, such knowledge was his right the moment he passed through one of Toridium’s gates. “It was the Barcas. It seems Manon Barca has a talent for more than troublemaking. She tried to blow up my ship.”