The smoke dissipated as he waited tensely. The room wrapped him in stillness, its thick walls deadened the night-sounds of the city outside. Stars shone down through the ocular and twinkled silently.
A white owl flew through the hole in the dome, circled the room thrice, and flew back out. Its wingbeats were strong, purposeful, and silent, a feathered ghost in the night. Kirin remembered the story of Uboe, Mother Umana’s owl who had led the Hero Gordin through the desert. Was that the Seraph’s answer?
But what does it mean?
He waited while the night candle burned down a full notch, but no other answer came. Eventually he went home.
CHAPTER 27: TERRELL AND CHISAAD
“How much did you say?” Terrell demanded incredulously, leaning forward over his desk to stare at the ledger. The number remained obstinately unchanged. “I see it, but I’m having trouble believing it.” Behind him Pen stirred, then quieted; even he had been shocked.
“One million, two hundred and fifty-eight thousand, five hundred and twenty pounds of sulfur,” Lord Treasurer Snowdon repeated, curling his blond moustache with pale ink-stained fingers. “That’s my conservative estimate of the total amount missing from the royal inventory over the last fourteen years.”
Osrick will have someone’s head on a pike for this, Terrell thought, appalled. If his rage doesn’t go even further. A little head-chopping seemed more than appropriate right now, but he throttled his own anger. Recovering as much of the money as possible is more important.
“The thefts appear to have begun two to three years before my lord Ap Marn was appointed Governor,” Snowdon explained. “The sheer brazen nerve of the thieves apparently carried them through his term.” The new Treasurer glanced sideways at the former Governor.
Ap Marn sent back a smoldering look at his fellow Gwythlo before he ground out, “I began to suspect early this year, when my own reeve noticed the same discrepancy that I brought to Lord Snowdon’s attention. This time the drop in sulfur production from the Sulmona mines was sharper than ever before.”
“But it must have been dropping for years!” Terrell stared very hard at Ap Marn. “Yet you didn’t notice until now?”
The ex-Governor’s face flushed brick-red and his jaw tightened. “I had a dozen years’ records of steady production until now; why would anybody have looked further?”
“It’s true, Your Highness;” Snowdon coughed apologetically. “The official production reports really have held comparatively steady over that time, with occasional small dips and rises that add up to a very slow overall decline of perhaps one part in a hundred. Apparently the Sulmona mines’ production has in fact climbed substantially, but all the increase has been stolen.”
“Until this year, when they got greedy and stole even more, whoever they are,” Ap Marn growled. “Your Highness, Gwynned took over as the mine Intendant fourteen years ago, right before the stealing began. I went to investigate personally only a few tendays before your arrival and he put on a very convincing show of being short of labor. I realize now how he must have been deceiving me. He has to be involved in these thefts right up to his eyeballs.”
“Lord Gwynned, or someone he trusts.” Terrell’s gaze focused on Snowdon. “How confident are you in these figures?”
“I’m very confident that matters are even worse than this ledger indicates, Your Highness.” Snowdon explained his investigation and reasoning. “I strongly suspect, based on reported levels of sulfur usage in various parts of the Empire, that the real production is a fifth higher than my numbers. And all of that is being stolen.”
Terrell added it up and silently cursed. Over three million pounds stolen. That’s a quarter of the Kingdom’s total revenue last year! He took a deep breath, then another as he fought for equanimity. “Fourteen years. I suppose we must assume most of that is beyond hope of recapture. What can be done now?”
“Immediately seize the Sulmona mines, Your Highness,” Snowdon replied. “Imprison Gwynned and everyone who works for the Intendant’s Office, right down to the pit supervisors. Have the Hierarch’s Truthtellers question them all to find the start of the lies and unravel the web from there until you find the thief. It might be Gwynned, it might be someone in his entourage, but it has to be someone who can consistently falsify the reports, so it can’t be someone outside the immediate operation.”
“That investigation would take three or four tendays,” Terrell immediately pointed out. “Simply to get there would take half a tenday! I can’t spend that much time in Sulmona. I have far too much to do here.”
“Your Highness must send someone trustworthy who can spend the time,” Ap Marn suggested. “It would help if that appointee had unimpeachable authority and your unquestioned trust.” He looked over Terrell’s shoulder.
Terrell turned and followed the ex-Governor’s gaze to Pen, who looked torn. “Pen?”
“My Lord.” Pen bowed his head quickly, scratched his chin while his brow furrowed. “I’m no reeve. I won’t know if the numbers are lies.”
“I have a whole staff of reeves, including the three who put together this compilation for me,” Snowdon observed. “I can easily send two of those with you. They can do the actual searching, as long as they have someone unshakable supporting them.”
Pen said, “I’ll need some troops.”
“Take a full company from the Silbari Brigade,” Terrell told him. “I’ll ask the Hierarch for a couple of her Truthtellers to go with you and remind her that unraveling this theft-scheme will put both of us in a good light with my brother the soon-to-be-Emperor.”
The last four words sent a pang through his heart. The latest report on Father’s health brought nothing good, and Mother the same. It would not be long.
Pen nodded assent. “How soon should I leave?”
“That will depend upon the Hierarch, so I’ll send her a message immediately.” Terrell rang a bell for his secretary and the old man appeared with pen and paper. “While we’re about it, your badge should be ready.”
He summoned two other servants and gave orders, then dictated a letter to the Hierarch. “Fill in the flourishes and put it on the finest paper, have it delivered with all ceremony as soon as you can get it written. That ought to please her.” The secretary bowed and hurried out as one of the other servants came back with a gleaming wooden box.
“Perfect.” Terrell opened the box and drew out a silver badge mounted on a square of heavy cloth. The backing had been dyed the same royal purple as his family banner flying above the Palace. The badge had the shape of a right hand, held palm forward with the fingers together and pointing up. It gleamed with a magically-enhanced shine.
“I declare you, Baron Sir Penghar DuVerhys DiLione, to be my Hand in all matters touching on the Kings’ Law and Silbar,” Terrell intoned formally as he fastened the badge to Pen’s tunic with a long silver pin. “With the right of the Three Justices, High, Middle, and Low, and the authority to speak for me when I am not present.”
Pen’s lips twitched up into a grin. “That’ll do for the ‘unshakable authority’ part. I’ll ask General DiCervi to pick the troops for me.” The grin faded as he added, “When I find the guilty ones, what do you want me to do with them?”
“Haul them back here in chains,” Terrell growled, his own smile vanishing. “Osrick will want them made into an example to discourage any other clever thieves—and so do I.”
Ap Marn didn’t quite succeed in suppressing his twitch. Terrell noticed; he and Snowdon exchanged glances.
Yes, my former Governor, Terrell thought. Eventually I’ll get around to you too. After you’ve finished throwing all your collaborators to my wolves.
Chisaad arrived at that moment with three secretaries, each laden with scrolls. He glanced from Terrell to Ap Marn to Snowdon and said, “I apologize if I am interrupting something, Your Highness, but Mage Blue’s formal petition is here. You had indicated you would wish to see it immediately.” He pointed to the huge scroll carried by the
first secretary; it glowed with spell-affirmations and eight dangling wax seals the colors of the rainbow. “The Hierarch’s counter petition has also arrived.” He indicated the slightly smaller scroll in the second secretary’s arms; that one had a single golden seal dangling from it and looked even heavier. The third secretary, in the livery of the Law Court, produced a fan of additional parchments at Chisaad’s gesture. “And Judge Riccon has sent over orders for your affirmation; perhaps you’d like to get those out of the way first?”
Terrell sighed, dismissed Ap Marn and Snowdon, and beckoned the secretaries forward. Four soldiers appeared on their heels, brought by the second messenger. “Yes. Pen, I’ll have General DiCervi’s men here replace you while you prepare. I dare hope the Hierarch’s Truthtellers will arrive soon, so you had best go pack. It appears I will be spending the rest of the day reading.”
He quickly glanced over the Law Court orders while Pen left. Terrell signed most of them but stopped at the acrobat’s case. He stared at the sentence.
Two years in the sulfur mines? Riccon thinks he’s being lenient, but something isn’t right here. Now that I think about it, I realize Darnaud wasn’t actually upset by the murder of his man, he was pleased. But trying to hide it. I don’t want to undermine Riccon by changing his sentence, but mercy is my prerogative and no judge can resent that. If I pardon this acrobat, Darnaud may be annoyed enough to let something slip. I’ll have my redheaded cousin watched.
He wrote in his own judgement below Riccon’s, commuting the man’s sentence to a single night in jail. He handed them to the Law Court secretary before picking up the bigger scroll. “Chisaad, return in the morning and I should have my preliminary questions ready.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Chisaad bowed himself out with the secretaries.
Terrell opened the Council scroll and, alone in his office but for four bodyguards and a dozen guardian spells, began to read.
* * *
Chisaad followed the Law Court secretary around four bends in the Palace labyrinth. When the hallway held only the two of them, the wizard struck. A prepared spell, a quick swap, and the secretary continued on his way. Unaware that he’d lost a minute of his consciousness and now carried a different document than the one that had been entrusted to his care.
The wizard hurried on home after that, the purloined pardon hidden in his robes. Once safe in his personal sanctum, he thoroughly destroyed it. Then he sent a message construct to Darnaud and settled back to wait.
All depends now on whether I’ve read Kirin correctly, he thought, forbidding his fingers to drum nervously on the table. He glanced at his prepared golem and the waiting decagram. I roll Ifni’s dice, and on the outcome hangs my life. Or his. Or both.
CHAPTER 28: KIRIN AND TERRELL
“Ten years!” Grandmother recoiled in shock at Grandfather’s report. Most of the DiUmbras were packed into their little dining room in the Sulfur Serpent Inn to hear the news. “Oh, my son, my son!”
“Nobody survives ten years in the sulfur mines,” Uncle Ger said in a hushed voice.
“My poor brother,” Sevan the Elder lamented as he and Carmella hugged each other and wept.
“But why would the Prince do this?” Kirin asked, horrified.
“The Duke probably asked him to. The bastard!” Sevan cursed.
“Those Gwythlos are all bastards!” Grandfather railed. “They stick together! We can’t trust any of them.”
“Oh, Uncle Pieter!” wailed Carlai, hugging her husband and her baby, who began to cry.
“Can we get him free somehow?” demanded Attir, staring wildly around.
Sevan’s eyes settled on Kirin. “Can you?”
Kirin’s stomach clenched as tight as his fists. How could his talent for breaking spells be used against a guarded caravan of men in chains? He didn’t even know how to use a sword, other than the pretend wooden ones the family used in the show. A real soldier would laugh at his swordsmanship—one had once, when he performed in the Bazaar.
“I . . . I don’t know,” he answered, ashamed of the tremble in his voice.
Grandfather looked at him with contempt and turned away.
Baby Grigor wailed and Maia jiggled him, offered him her breast. She stared at Kirin and in a quiet voice said, “What are you going to do?”
“Get help,” he said thickly, and ran out of the Sulfur Serpent Inn.
* * *
Kirin didn’t remember running up Sulfur Street to Oldgate. He found himself at the edge of the Bazaar’s ring-road. A mass of people blocked the way, none of them moving. Impatient, he scrambled up on the pedestal of one of the massive sculptures that flanked Oldgate, a bas-relief of an ancient battle. From this unsteady perch he grabbed the marble wrist of a dying soldier, leaned out and peered over the heads of the crowd.
Gwythlo troops marched along the ring road toward the Processional that led to the harbor. The crowd murmured in protest, but the soldiers carried shields and unsheathed blades. In their midst walked men wearing chains, linked together into a long coffle.
One of them was Pieter.
He still wore the clothes he’d worn to the ill-fated exhibition at Duke Darnaud’s town house, now wrinkled and stained. Kirin saw with shock that Pieter’s scalp lock had been cut off and his silver hair-rings taken. Despite that, his father held his head high.
“Father!” Kirin shouted, his eyes burning and throat hoarse. “Father!”
Pieter’s head turned. His eyes met Kirin’s and his step faltered. One of the guards prodded him and Pieter had to turn back. He tried once more to look over his shoulder at Kirin, but the moving line carried him out of sight. The mass of prisoners and soldiers continued toward the barge that would take them upriver to Amm Crossing and the hard road to Sulmona.
“Father,” whispered Kirin, tears on his face as he clung to the cold stone.
The crowd dispersed and left him alone in the emptied street, save for an old Duermu man leaning on a bent stick as he hobbled toward the Bazaar.
Tested with fear and loss, he thought numbly. This is the third time. Someone powerful will help me, and I think I know who.
* * *
“I am sorry for your loss.” The wizard shook his head sadly. “I had hoped the Prince would be different.”
“You warned me, Magister,” Kirin choked, smearing the back of one hand across the tears that still leaked from his eyes. “He’s a Gwythlo. A murdering bastard like Ap Marn!”
“Yes.” Chisaad stared at him with a penetrating look. “Tell me, Kirin; if you could change him . . . would you?”
“What?” Confused, Kirin gaped at the wizard. “Me? Change the Prince?”
“Exactly.” The wizard’s gaze grew more intense. “If you could change the Prince to no longer be cold and callous, but instead to become someone better—would you?”
“But I don’t have any magic like that.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Even a priestess can’t do that, or they’d change the blood-sorcerers instead of burning them. Dona Zella said so.”
“Yet people do change,” Chisaad said. “Your family accepts you as Silbari despite your ears and skin. Your neighbors do too, don’t they?”
“Well, most of them,” Kirin admitted, mystified. “But they’ve known me for years.”
“If the Prince had spent the last few tendays with your family, wouldn’t he have known that your father could not be a murderer?”
“He’d have to!” Kirin scowled as he struggled to parse the new thought. “If he ate with us, practiced with me and Sevan, met Grandmother and Aunt Carmella and Uncle Sevan—though Grandfather might not be so friendly . . .” He worried that one over for a moment. “But Grandmother would make him behave for the Prince. Especially if that could get Pieter released!” He brightened at the thought.
“If the Prince spent time with your family, you and they could teach him what a Silbari should be,” the wizard pressed his point. “He’s not stupid or cruel by nature, he’s simply ignorant, and
has been taught the wrong things. He never has a chance to meet people like you when he’s caged inside that Palace.”
“If he really knew us,” Kirin said, then balled his hands into fists in frustration. “But this is crazy, he’d never agree to live with a bunch of acrobats.”
“Nor would the Palace Staff help him to do so,” Chisaad agreed. “Not if they, or he, have a choice. It could only happen if somebody powerful overrode them to make it happen.” He paused for a moment before he quietly said, “Or two somebodies. Two powerful magical somebodies, with very different talents.”
Kirin stared at him. “You think that we—that you and me, can make this happen?”
“If we did.” The wizard held up a finger in warning. “If you brought home Prince Terrell, with his voice and appearance magically disguised as an ordinary man, would your family accept him into their home and teach him how to be Silbari?”
As Kirin hesitated, the wizard added, “It could be the only way to set your father free.”
Somebody powerful will help me, the fortune teller said. “They’ll do it,” Kirin declared, convincing himself. “I know they will. But how can I get the Prince to agree?”
“He must not be offered a choice. It must be arranged and done in secret, so that he simply awakes in a new place with new people.”
“But he’d only run back to the Palace,” Kirin protested.
“Not if a spell confined him to the top floors of your inn.” The wizard leaned forward and stared at Kirin eye to eye. “Not if you and your family share with him your lives, show him what it means to be an acrobat, teach him about your father.”
Kirin thought hard about that one. “That would mean that I couldn’t hate him.” He’d been hating the Prince a great deal for the last hour. Dona Zella said hate leaves no room for love, we must pick only one. He agonized over that, but in the contest between hating the Prince and loving his father, there could be only one winner. He raised his head, stared at Chisaad’s face. “Yes. What do I need to do?”
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