The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “Impressive. You’re hired, Mr. Jamis. Epalli, after you dispose of this, um, grand mess, will you show our friend to a guest room?” Riveran asked.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Jamis asked.

  “You’re hired,” Riveran repeated. “Get some rest and clear your head. You look like you could use both.”

  “You want to hire me,” he repeated dumbly. It wasn’t a question. Jamis couldn’t process the information. “You just watched me stab my last boss through the neck.”

  “I did.” Riveran didn’t offer any further explanation. “Do you not want a job?”

  “I… I don’t know.” He needed a job. He didn’t think he was ready to be beholden to anyone, but what else was he going to do? He didn’t have any money, no possessions to speak of at all besides the clothes on his back.

  And those had blood smeared all over them.

  “Okay,” Riveran said. “What would you do instead?”

  Jamis thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “I need to find a man, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “To kill him.”

  “Revenge,” Riveran said, eyes glinting. “That sounds like fun. Still, I could use your help, if you’re willing. You don’t have to decide right now. Spend the night, get your thoughts in order, and we can talk in the morning. If you decide to stay, I’ll see what I can do to help you find whoever it is you are looking for.”

  Jamis thought for a moment. He looked at the blood on his hands. It was already beginning to dry, his hands feeling stiff and strange. He looked from Grand to Riveran and back.

  He nodded.

  Alia

  Alia jerked to a stop as a two-horse cart thundered past, missing her by a breath. Her heart thundered in her chest and she nearly collapsed back into the little alley she had just stepped out of. It was late and there was—fortunately—no one else on the road. She hadn’t even thought to stop and look for fast-moving traffic. Stupid girl, she berated herself. She was in a hurry—Galt and Toran would be waiting for her, waiting for Feramos’ latest instructions. They were members of one of the labor guilds working for Reverate Shepherd this season. The meeting with Imilla—a seamstress here in the lower city—would be later tonight, then Milani tomorrow, Jeth, Coria, Zabdee, Presh—

  There was no shortage of people who were anxiously awaiting the instructions she was going to fetch tonight. Getting run over would be counterproductive. Of course, getting herself trampled would also benefit more than a few people—some of whom Alia happened to care a great deal for. Her family, for starters. Not to mention Josen, who was still lying injured in bed, recovering from the most recent attempt by the CRA to sabotage the ceral growing effort here in the Basin. The thought made Alia sick to her stomach. That the breaking of the canal wall hadn’t been done at her explicit instruction didn’t make it any better.

  Alia shook those thoughts from her head and stepped back to the mouth of the alley, still catching her breath. She had a job that needed doing tonight. She could worry about personal problems another time.

  She stood for a long time at the edge of the roadway, listening and looking in both directions. The narrow, windy streets of the Lower City were notorious for reckless carts and carriages and their tendency to drive too fast, with no regard for damage to person or property. This was not the first time she had seen it, but it was the closest he had ever come to such an accident. She was nervous and preoccupied and—

  And she needed to stop it. She needed to focus. Feramos’ plans were coming to a head, and Alia couldn’t afford to be distracted, certainly not by thoughts of Josen Oak, no matter how charming he was, no matter how safe he made her feel, or—

  Stop it!

  Alia took a breath and looked both ways. When she was sure nothing else would be barreling around the corner, she took a deep breath and ran. Nothing tried to kill her this time.

  She slipped into another narrow, makeshift alley very much like the one she had just left. She counted the shacks—they all looked about the same from the back—until she came to the one she wanted. She tried to act natural as she leaned next to corner-post of one of the many pop-up shops that filled the streets of Lower Basin City. This particular shack belonged to a man named Jerutal, an apothecary and sympathizer of the Chessian Revolutionary Army.

  Alia’s hands found the loose board on the side of the shack with a practiced ease. She pried it outward just enough for the fingers of her other hand to slip inside the crack, feeling for the waxed envelope that would contain her newest set of instructions—

  There. She opened the envelope and read quickly, though the dim evening light made it difficult. The letter was coded, of course, but translating it was easy by now. Second nature. She read the instructions and read them again. There was nothing elaborate in the letter. Feramos was happy with their efforts but wanted more focus on attacking the Oak estate. He felt that the Oaks were the weakest of the Stewardships, most susceptible to collapse. Once one Josen and his family had been toppled, it would only make the others more vulnerable.

  He was right. The sick feeling in Alia’s chest swelled and threatened to swallow her. Could she do that? Could she give the orders that would topple Josen and his family? It would destroy any chance of her using her position in the Oak house to help her family recover. She didn’t know.

  Alia burned the letter there in the alleyway and made her way quickly to the pastry stall where Galt and Toran would meet her. It was less than a five-minute walk from Jerutal’s apothecary and didn’t give her much time to think. The two men were waiting for her, doing their best to act nonchalant as they licked the sticky remains of the honey-glazed rolls the stand sold. They were Alia’s favorite. She stepped up to the stand and bought one herself before turning to the men.

  “Hello, cousin,” Toran said. “I hope you’re well this evening?”

  “I am,” Alia said, picking idly at her roll, finding she wasn’t actually very hungry.

  “Have you heard from uncle recently?” asked Galt.

  Alia nodded. “He’s worried we’re working too hard,” she said, not realizing she had made a decision until the words were out of her mouth.

  Galt and Toran both started visibly at the words. “He… He said what?” Toran asked.

  Galt glanced around nervously, then stepped in close. “What are you talking about? Feramos can’t possibly want us to stop—”

  “Do not use his name,” Alia said. “Not in public. Uncle’s instructions were clear. Stand down until you hear otherwise.”

  Galt looked like he would object further, but Toran placed a hand on his shoulder and the two men left without another word.

  Alia should have felt relieved as she fled back toward her apartment on the Oak estate in the Upper Basin City. But she didn’t.

  Vale

  “Why am I here?” Vale asked.

  Lady Stonelowe watched her for a long moment before answering, long enough that Vale nearly walked out of the wretched woman’s office.

  “For a reminder,” Lady Stonelowe said finally.

  “I remember our deal very well, thank you,” Vale said. “I also remember saying ‘stop whining and just get it done.’ So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to trying to implement your fantastic advice.”

  “I mind,” said Lady Stonelowe. “Come.” She tucked her pistol into her belt as she stood up from behind her desk and walked out of her office without further explanation. Vale was forced to follow. “I didn’t send for you to remind you of our deal,” Lady Stonelowe continued as they walked toward a bank of the Finger’s lower cells. “I’m reminding you of the consequences.”

  Lady Stonelowe unlocked one of the cells and opened the door, casting light onto more than a dozen huddled forms. As one, the prisoners flinched back from the First Prefect as she strode into the room. None of them even glanced at the open cell door. God’s tears, what did the woman do to these prisoners?

  Vale hesitated, then followed, feeling sick. S
he trailed after Lady Stonelowe as she made her way to the corner of the cell, where one prisoner sat alone, body shaking in the damp chill. The prisoner turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps, then flinched away as he caught sight of Lady Stonelowe.

  And Vale’s heart froze. It was Kalen.

  “Kalen!” Vale cried, and he turned toward her, a look of terror and disbelief on his face. She rushed for him, then pulled up short as Lady Stonelowe pressed her pistol to the side of Kalen’s head.

  “What are you doing?” Vale screamed, unable to control herself. “What the hells is this?”

  “I’m reminding you. Of the stakes.”

  “What did he do?” Vale asked, body shaking with tears. “What was it this time?”

  “He didn’t do anything. Kind of like yourself.”

  “You can’t do this. You wouldn’t hurt him.”

  Lady Stonelowe moved her gun from Kalen’s head and fired. A man toppled dead behind Vale, a red hole in his throat. Vale stared at the body, her mind unwilling to process the sudden, inexplicable violence.

  Lady Stonelowe reloaded her gun with quick, efficient movements, and pressed it again to Kalen’s skull. Kalen watched Vale with empty, nearly lifeless eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I love you.”

  Vale’s heart broke. She took a stumbling step toward him, sobs wracking her body.

  “No,” Lady Stonelowe said, bringing Vale up short. “No more speaking. Leave. You have work to do.”

  “Please,” Vale said through her sobs. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Leave,” Lady Stonelowe said, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into Kalen’s head.

  Kalen nodded and mouthed the words it’s okay.

  Vale turned with a sob and fled.

  Part 4: Holding the Pass

  Chapter 28

  “I’m sorry, Vale. That’s a big number,” Josen said, “and my everything still hurts a lot.”

  “You’re actually healing remarkably well,” Doctor Rotue said. “Rotate your arm for me. Like this,” he said, demonstrating. Josen sighed, grimacing as he followed the doctor’s instructions. “Very good,” Rotue said, genuinely pleased.

  “It doesn’t feel good,” Josen said.

  “You shouldn’t be able to move your arm like that at all, considering you all but tore it from your shoulder two days ago. Still, we’ll keep it in a sling for the time being. Try not to move it too much. In fact, try to take it easy in general for the next few days. And keep up your regimen of the medicines we discussed.” Rotue handed Josen a paper bag filled with the little malted ceral candies.

  Josen scowled at him. “I wouldn’t mind something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mind. And I’m not kidding. I expect the whole bag to be gone when I see you next, and not because you gave them away.”

  “Fine,” Josen sighed as Rotue stood to leave. He put a pair of candies in his mouth and started sucking on them. “Vale, please just tell me where we stand. If you can do it without using any numbers, that would be preferable.”

  “We lost around three quarters of the livestock we purchased to send to the drylands,” Vale said, her tone flat. She kept her eyes on the paper in front of her and didn’t look up. “That number may even be worse. It’s hard to say yet how many more injuries have escaped our initial survey.” She looked bad—like she hadn’t slept for days. The situation must be worse even than Josen realized.

  He glanced around the silent room at the faces of his friends and advisors—Vale and Sam, Akelle, and even Alia, who was ostensibly present as a proxy for Lady Oak, who was currently vacationing on an island near Kendai. Josen had invited her personally. Montiel was still recovering from his ordeal two nights ago, but Barret was there in his place. Each of them refused to meet Josen’s gaze.

  “If it helps,” Sam said from the corner where he and Akelle sat, “my father told me to tell you that he had changed his mind. You must have really impressed him the other night. He said he’d be willing to consider just about anything you might propose.”

  “Well, there’s that at least. Thank you, Sam. Barret, do we have the funds to replace the animals we lost?” Josen asked.

  Barret licked his lips and didn’t answer for a long moment. “Technically… Maybe.”

  “What the starving hells does that mean?”

  “It means,” Vale said, a worried scowl on her face, “that we just spent the last three weeks purchasing nearly every plow animal in the Passbound cities. We single-handedly created shortage in the market. Any suitable animal still for sale will cost us double or triple what we paid three weeks ago. More even, maybe. It’s hard to say.

  “And even with all the coin in the world,” Barret said, “there just aren’t that many good plow animals left for us to buy.”

  “Then we buy all the mediocre plow animals, and maybe even a few barely serviceable ones,” Josen said. “We’ll have to buy more than we planned, but we can make it work. We already have the plows; we just need the something to pull them.”

  Barret grimaced and looked to Vale. In fact, everyone in the room was looking uncomfortably at Vale. Only Alia kept her gaze on Josen, looking on the verge of tears.

  “Josen, we’ve been talking,” Vale started. “I’ve spoken with mother; I’ve been over the numbers with Barret. I think… We all think maybe it’s time to consider an exit strategy.”

  “I’m sorry, Vale,” Josen said again, putting a hand to his aching head. “Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought, but I’m not sure what you mean by ‘exit strategy.’”

  Vale’s face became immediately stern, as if Josen was mocking her. “I don’t want to give up on the Stewardship any more than anyone else, but I’m not sure we have a choice.”

  “Wait, give up on the Stewardship? Who’s talking about giving up—”

  “Wake up, Josen!” Vale yelled, shocking Josen into silence. “Since the day you walked into that study, it’s been one catastrophe after another. Every problem we fix gives way to three more, twice as bad as the one we just got rid of. Maybe it’s your fault and maybe it’s not. It doesn’t even matter at this point, but we can’t keep going like this, pretending there’s anything left for us to fix. At the end of the season, we will lose the Reveratecy, be stripped of the Stewardship and the ceral estates. Unless you have a magic way to plow the drylands without horses or oxen, that is what’s going to happen. We might as well plan for it. If we’re lucky, we’ll keep our heads and a little bit of money in the process.”

  Josen sat in stunned silence for a long time. He looked around the room again, and again every eye in the room was glued to the floor. Except Vale’s. Her eyes were locked on Josen’s and brimming with tears. No one said a word.

  “So that’s it, then?” Josen asked. “Gather what we can and see if we can’t make a semi-graceful exit?”

  Vale wiped at a tear and nodded. “That’s it.”

  “No,” Josen said, surprising even himself at the speed and determination of his response. “No, that’s not it. I refuse to give up. Not now.”

  “Josen,” Vale began, “we can’t keep—”

  “All we need is some way to pull those plows,” Josen said, turning to the others. “Barret, I want you to look into every possible solution. I don’t care if we have to start hooking them up to wild buffalo, I want a solution. I want you to spend the next two days burning the Passbound Cities to the ground if you have to. Find me options.”

  Barret sat up and nodded, seeming to push back a bit of his dejection now that he had a solid goal in front of him.

  “Good. Sam, I want you to go with him. Any suggestions or insight from your father would be more than welcome as well.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s spending a few more days here in the Basin before returning home. I’ll make sure to ask.”

  “Thank you. Alia, did my mother give you access to the finances?”

  “She did.”

  “Good. I need a deta
iled account of the family finances. All of it. I need to know what our expense for the season will be and how much we can plan to make this season in a range of scenarios, from absolute disaster to unqualified miracle. I need to know how much money I can spend, down to the last copper lot if it means I can buy a piece of that miracle.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Josen,” Vale said, “even if you’re not willing to listen to reason and plan an exit strategy…” She paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to push back some thought or emotion she didn’t want to deal with at the moment. “Berden is going to call for another vote on a resolution allowing the Ladies of the Archon to patrol the Basin. I need you… You need to vote to let the resolution pass.”

  “What? Why?” Josen asked, confused at both the sudden turn in the conversation and Vale’s hesitant insistence.

  “It’s too early to tell for sure, but…” Vale swallowed, “but the engineers think the breach in the canal wall might not have been an accident. It looks like it may have been weakened intentionally.”

  Josen saw Alia go stiff, and Vale cringed slightly, aware of the insult in her unspoken accusation. If the canal wall had indeed been intentionally weakened, the CRA was the most obvious culprit. Josen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said finally.

  “Josen, that’s not good enough,” Vale said. “Forgetting even the other implications, Montiel almost died—you almost died. It’s a miracle no one else has anything worse than broken bones and blistered hands. The Ladies can—”

  “I said I’ll think about it,” Josen said. “But I want you to talk to Arch Protector Niram before I decide. See if he can’t spare some kind of extra patrols or something of the like.”

  “Even if he agrees, I don’t think—”

  “Vale, will you do it? I have too many other problems to play halfway games right now.”