Burkut was waiting for me when I got to the records room. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it; he just blinked at me sleepily and lay down on his pallet after I nodded hello.
I thought I’d better spend some time with the records before I took Burkut out to talk to Uljas, so I continued to work on sorting, keeping my eyes open for the other piece of the puzzle I’d handed Solon—records of the harvests and where, exactly, they’d been sold. I found all sorts of records, but for different years, or different crops, or some other piece of the finances. I’m glad it isn’t really my job to untangle all of this. Especially on no sleep.
Toward midmorning, I found a page from a letter tucked inside a ledger and flipped it open to read it.
—shipment in hand; please update regarding shipment of rice. According to our records, you promised us the following:
Numbers followed; as far as I could tell, Lycurgus was selling someone apples and then using the money to buy rice, which was shipped to the farm and then to parts east. I started to leave the letter on the top of the pile, then hesitated; Lycurgus would no doubt take it if he saw it. Solon was working at his desk, so I handed him the letter. “Found this,” I said. “It looks like it might be important.”
Solon frowned at it, then looked up sharply. “Where did you find it?”
“In a ledger—”
“I’d like that ledger, please.”
I fetched it for him and he tucked the letter back inside. “I’m going to put this somewhere safe,” he said, and strode out.
Well, it was a good time to go find Uljas. I woke Burkut and he got up and stretched, then shambled after me out to the field. It was a crisp, sunny day again; it would be perfect for travel, if we could just resolve this situation and get moving again. Out to the cabbage field we went. If Burkut was curious about our destination, his face gave no hint of that. He looked as bored and apathetic as ever until Uljas stepped out from behind a bush.
He might not have recognized me, but . . . “Uljas,” Burkut whispered. “You are here. What are you doing here, with her?”
“I’m here for you,” Uljas said.
There was a long pause as the two men looked at each other. Then Uljas looked at me and said, “Would you go away for a few minutes? Please?”
I shook my head. “Burkut’s supposed to be with me. If someone sees me without him they might wonder where I left him. This is risky enough already.”
Uljas fumed silently for a moment, then turned back to Burkut. “She had some sort of message from the gods that she’s supposed to free slaves now instead of hunting them down. She got me away from the sorceress who owned me, and now we’re here to free you as well, to take you to the steppe. Why did you tell her no?”
Burkut’s eyes filled with tears. “Why didn’t you come earlier?”
Uljas shook his head. “I couldn’t. What difference does it make?”
“I’ve been sick, so sick . . .”
“The steppes will heal you.”
“You don’t understand. I’m always weak, my stomach hurts, I’m hungry and yet I can hardly eat—at least here I have regular food. They let me rest when I’m feeling ill. They take care of me. But I’m still sick half the time. What would happen to me on the steppe when I got sick? Who would take care of me?”
“I would take care of you,” Uljas said.
“What if something happens to you?”
“Do you think the Alashi would just leave you to die? Surely they get sick sometimes, too.” Uljas glanced at me, a little uncertainly.
“The stories about Alashi cruelty are mostly lies,” I said. “They would take care of you when you were sick.”
“But just to get there,” Burkut whispered.
“We have horses,” Uljas said.
“I would have to ride for . . . how long?”
Uljas looked at me again. I cleared my throat. “Probably three weeks,” I said. “You would have to ride with the Alashi as well, but not for long hours every day, not right now, anyway.” I wondered if they would really send Burkut out with a sword brotherhood. Probably.
“I can’t do it,” Burkut whispered.
“Yes, you can,” Uljas said fiercely. “Burkut, when you saw your opportunity for freedom once, you struck out on foot, with nothing. You could have done it then and you can do it now.”
“I was a fool,” Burkut said. “I would have died in the desert before I ever saw the Alashi.”
“No. You’d have made it. And you can do this. Say yes, Burkut,” Uljas pleaded. “Come with us. Come with me. Don’t think of the trip, don’t think about the hardships; you can endure those as they come. Think about living in freedom. Together.”
“I need to think about it,” Burkut said.
I was afraid that if he thought about it again, he would back out again, just as he had before; Uljas clearly had the same fear, but didn’t know what else to say. He glared at me for a long moment, then reached out and clasped Burkut’s hand between his own, pressing it tightly like something treasured. “Think for a day,” he said. “Come here tomorrow and give me your answer then.”
Burkut followed me back to the records room. Solon was out somewhere. Burkut settled himself back on his pallet and closed his eyes. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to urge him to come with us or quietly encourage him to stay. On one hand, I was quite certain I could get him out. On the other hand, shepherding a sick, melancholy, reluctant man to the steppe and leaving him to the mercy of the Alashi was not a prospect I relished. I settled for poring over the books some more.
Toward midday I found a page from another letter. No, I thought as I looked it over. It’s the first page from the letter I found earlier.
Lycurgus—My younger sisters greatly appreciate all your past support and assistance. According to my information, there is a shortage of rice currently in the Persian provinces. We need your apple harvest as quickly as possible in order to make the trades that will be most beneficial to both of us. I can promise you an excellent price, far better than our older sisters would be able to give you. I would prefer not to give specifics in this letter, but has my generosity failed you in the past? Think it over. We will remit payment immediately once we have your
Once we have your shipment in hand, I thought, remembering the other page that Solon had taken with such interest. According to our records, you promised us the following . . . I studied the page I held for a few moments longer.
Younger sisters. Older sisters. The words of the djinn came back to me, about restive apprentices. There was a split in the Sisterhood. A rival faction. Before, their differences were easily smoothed over, but now there was a shortage of karenite. Now they were all desperate to lay hands on what power was left to grab. The lines are being drawn, and people are taking sides. People like Lycurgus, and no doubt Kyros as well. This letter was from a year ago; a year ago I had come here to spy on Lycurgus, and shortly after that, Solon came to take over. Was Kyros on the side of the Weavers? Or their ‘younger sisters’? Or was he making sure he had good friends on both sides of the line, so that whoever won, he’d have a pleasant position when the dust settled? That certainly sounds like Kyros.
Solon clearly knew about this, in detail, even if I hadn’t. He knew that the first letter was a big clue. This letter would be the other piece he needed. And why not make sure he got it? If the sorceresses fight among themselves, so much the better for the Alashi. And I liked Solon. If I could give him a parting gift at no cost to myself . . .
Was he back yet? I poked my head out the door of the records room and found myself face-to-face with Lycurgus.
The letter was still in my hand; I thrust it blindly into the stack of ledgers just to the right of the door. I’ll find it again later. I started toward Lycurgus. “Steward, I can’t believe you dragged yourself out of your bed when you’re this ill. Your devotion to your duty should start with keeping yourself healthy! Come, take my arm and I’ll help you ba
ck to bed.”
Lycurgus pulled back from me, staring into my face with his watery bloodshot eyes. “I know you,” he said, and my heart sank. “You’re Kyros’s spy, here to snoop through my papers. Kyros’s spy!” He raised his voice to a bellow and advanced on me. “Does Solon know that or are you spying on him as well, you filthy, sneaking rat?”
My hands went hot and cold. I heard Burkut stir behind me and sit up, though he made no particular effort to come to my rescue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my mouth so dry I could barely speak. “My name is Xanthe, I don’t know a Kyros, I came from Daphnia and I’m not spying on anyone.”
“Spy!” he shouted again; I could smell the reek of his breath, sour with far too much cider and other indulgences.
I thought I could hear someone’s foot on the stairs below, so I dodged past Lycurgus and skidded into Solon’s chair with a crash, screaming piercingly as Lycurgus swung around to stare at me. “Help!” I shouted. “Lycurgus, don’t hurt me!”
Solon burst into the room a moment later, having come up the rest of the stairs at a run. “Thank Athena,” I said, and shrank back into the corner, away from Lycurgus, letting my breath catch in a sob for good measure. “Lycurgus tried to attack me.”
“Attack you?” Solon stared at Lycurgus’s red face, and then at mine. “Why?”
“He wanted the letter.”
“She’s a spy!” Lycurgus shouted.
“He kept saying that,” I whimpered.
“No, listen to me, Solon,” Lycurgus said.
“No, you listen to me!” Solon shouted, turning on him. “You may not attack my staff. I made the decision to hire Xanthe, and while she’s here she is under my protection.”
“But she—”
“If you have a problem, you can take it up with me. At a later time.” Solon slammed his hand down on the bell he used to summon a servant; someone must have been paying attention, because rather than house slaves, the bell was answered by two of the guards. “Assist the steward back to his room and bring him his lunch there. I will be with him shortly.”
“You’ll be sorry!” Lycurgus said. “You should listen to me, Solon. Don’t trust her, she’s a spy . . .” His shouts faded as the servants “helped” him away.
Solon turned to me as soon as he was gone. “Letter?” he said.
“Let me get it,” I said, and started for my room. Even as I was moving, though, someone else came pounding up the stairs—not Lycurgus, as I’d expected, but Demetrios.
“The kitchen is on fire!” he shouted.
“Zeus’s bloody eyeballs,” Solon said in his calm, measured voice.
“We’re already bringing buckets,” Demetrios said, already running back down the stairs.
Solon turned to me. “Get Burkut and come help carry water; we need everyone available. Even you, Burkut,” he said, raising his voice to be heard in the next room. “I know you’re sick, but get up anyway—we need you.”
Burkut shuffled down the stairs after me; Solon was running toward the kitchen, toward the group of slaves and guards hauling buckets of water from the well. “Form a line,” he was shouting. “Pass the buckets along.” There weren’t enough people to form a proper line but they began to sort themselves out under Solon’s guidance.
“This would be a great time to get out of here,” I said to Burkut.
He looked at me in horror. “My friends work in the kitchen. What if someone’s trapped in there?”
So we took our spots in the line, Burkut at my side, swinging the heavy pails of water. We fell quickly into the rhythm: two steps to the right to hand off the bucket, two steps to the left to grab the next one. A few people were running with empty buckets back to the well, since those could be carried easily. Burkut rallied, despite his misery, and kept up the pace. Down the line, I could see Demetrios; once the line was working smoothly, I saw Solon running buckets back to the well, too.
Black smoke was pouring out the door of the kitchen; I wondered what had started the fire, and tried not to think about my pallet above the hearth. At least I hadn’t left my coat up there. Everything I needed was with me. All I needed was for Burkut to make a decision—and the opportunity to run for it. He can’t have until tomorrow. I need to get out before Lycurgus convinces Solon to sit down and listen to him.
Despite the buckets, the fire was getting larger. I could see flames now when I swung my bucket to the right. My body was beginning to ache, from my cramped fingers to my knees. Then we heard shouts—the slaves were arriving from the orchard. Solon arranged them into a second and third line, these lines more tightly spaced, and then told us to take a short break while he packed our line more tightly and added people. Burkut gasped for breath beside me, bending over to rub his hands together. “Are the kitchen servants safe?” I asked Solon as he passed.
He nodded. “Everyone got out. We’re hoping to save some of the building, and keep it from spreading. Pray for sudden rain.”
“Do you have a spell-chain?” I asked.
“Lycurgus does. He keeps it hidden in his room. I think this would be a bad time to try to get him to use it, unfortunately; he was feeling distinctly uncooperative, and the servants all have instructions to get him as drunk as possible when he’s like this.”
I hope they succeeded, or he’s probably already using it. I suppressed a groan and stood up with the rest of the line, ready to start passing buckets again. My arms and legs were trembling from exertion; I thought about the night I’d drawn water for the Alashi sisterhood, as we camped in the desert, and thrust the thought from my mind. I need to be Xanthe right now. Xanthe, but in a hurry to get out of here. I need to trust that I’ll have an opportunity, and hope that Burkut will have made a decision.
There was no sign of rain; the smoke boiled up into a clear blue sky. A gust of wind blew the smoke toward the well and everyone started coughing. I glanced at Burkut, but he recovered and continued to pass buckets. Now that he knew that his friends were safe, I wondered if his resolve might falter, but he seemed to have fallen into a rhythm.
Surely, I thought awhile later, surely the kitchen must be ashes by now. I could still see flames; had the fire moved on to the main dining hall? Were we going to just let it burn while pouring water on the surrounding buildings in the hope that the fire wouldn’t spread? In the crisp fall day, I could feel the fire’s heat, and shivered in my sweat at the thought of how hot it must be closer in.
Around me, someone exclaimed and pointed at the sky, even though this threw off the rhythm of the line. I looked up and caught a glimpse of scarlet: a sorceress’s palanquin, trailing a veil of red silk as it flew overhead. It came to a stop and slowly descended, the sorceress’s djinn lowering it to the earth like hands lowering a pitcher of thin glass. It tipped a little as it touched the ground, then steadied, and a moment later the sorceress stepped out, her hands already going to the chains looped around her wrists and neck.
We paused in our labors, watching the sorceress. Lycurgus must have summoned her. Probably to deal with me. But even so, surely she won’t let the fire rage. She was dressed in scarlet robes of pieced silk and velvet; a vivid ruby the color of wine held a black cape where it spilled around her shoulders. Even from a distance, I knew that the cold fever had her tightly in its grasp; it was as palpable around her as the cloak. The air shimmered around her briefly: the djinni. Aerika. Then the shimmer moved and was lost in the bright fall sun.
“Out of the way!” someone shouted, and everyone backed away from the well.
I craned my neck to see what was going on. Water was pouring upward into the sky, forming a shimmering, rippling column. Then the column lifted up and flattened out, and became a giant lake in the sky. The lake sailed over our heads like the palanquin and centered itself over the burning kitchen; everyone backed away from it.
As if from a punctured waterskin, water began to pour down in a narrow stream from the lake in the sky. The fire hissed and for a moment leapt even hig
her, then began to die. I craned my neck for a better view, then left the bucket line completely to watch. The kitchen was a charred mess, but the meal hall looked like it might be salvageable, thanks to the sorceress’s intervention. I clasped Burkut’s arm and began to back up, trying to move discreetly to the edge of the crowd.
The lake in the sky circled slightly to pour water down on every part of the kitchen and the meal hall. When every spark appeared to be truly out, the much-smaller lake went to hover over the well, and a single line of water came down again until it had drained completely back into the well. And Burkut and I are almost gone from here . . .
Someone seized me roughly from behind by the shoulders. “Spy,” shouted Lycurgus. “Melissa, this is her—Kyros’s spy!”
I let go of Burkut, jerked myself free, and turned to glare at Lycurgus. “What made you think Kyros sent me to spy on you?” I hissed furiously. “You’ve probably ruined everything. Oh, let’s just get up to your office; bad enough to have this conversation outside where everyone can hear.”
Lycurgus fell back a step, his grip loosening, and I stalked toward his rooms, letting both steward and sorceress follow in my wake. Arachne give me wit, I thought. And don’t let me get caught in my own web.
CHAPTER FIVE
I went to Lycurgus’s room. If he had an office somewhere that was better kept, I didn’t want our meeting there. I wanted the sorceress to see the disorder here; it would cast doubt on anything Lycurgus said in a way that no words of mine ever could. I strode into the middle of the room, then whirled to face the sorceress as she came in. “Do you know Kyros?” I asked her.
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