“Pardon me!” called a voice from the hall. It was a man’s voice, reedy and anxious. “Pardon me, my goodness, please.”
Bedler pivoted to allow an older man into the room. He was about fifty and had perhaps been handsome in his youth, but his face had gone pouchy and his expression was anxious. His white robes, the proper color for nobles on Mourning Day, were brand new but not especially fine. It seemed the family clothing budget was being spent on the Phillien daughter. “Culzatik, my boy! It’s so good to… Essatreska, what are you up to now? Culzatik, I’m mortified that we were not at the service today, honestly. It was impossible to make anything happen at home this morning. I swear, their mother was able to corral my girls, but without her I’m helpless—”
Culzatik clasped the man’s hand. “Ponnalas, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too, my boy. I heard about the commotion at the service. For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. If only people weren’t so panicky… But still, all life is sacred, yes?”
“Absolutely,” Culzatik said with every semblance of sincerity.
Ponnalas gestured at their funeral clothes. “This must be terrible for you, even after nearly eight years.”
“Every time I think I’ve put it behind me, I discover I haven’t.”
“The uncertainty must be most difficult. When my wife passed, I was right beside her. I knew my world had changed forever in that moment. But for you to wait so long without knowing for sure. I confess I still hope that he will return again, alive, with an amazing story to tell.”
“In quiet moments,” Culzatik said, “so do I. Then I could return to him his position in the family and all the other aspects of this life that are rightfully his, and I could return to those that are rightfully mine.”
“Your library, yes? And perhaps a position in Suloh’s Tower, studying the history of Lost Selsarim?” Culzatik nodded, and Ponnalas laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, my boy, so very sorry about today. We owed it to your family to be there, and I have come to apologize in person. Your parents are in seclusion, but I’m glad I can say this to you, at least.”
“Accepted. You are always welcome, Ponnalas. Is Caflinna with you?”
“She would not leave her rooms. She and her sister…” He glanced back and saw that Essatreska had already left. “Lately, they can barely look at each other. I can’t decide which is more troublesome.”
“When you return home, please tell her that I acquired that copy of the final volume of The Kings of Koh-Benjatso and Their Wars, and I’m sure she would like to read it.”
“Thank you. That really is most kind. Most kind. Now I should go.”
“I’ll show you out.” Culzatik turned to Onderishta. “Just a moment.” He left.
A welcome silence settled onto the veranda, broken only by Ulfender carefully turning pages. Onderishta went to the balcony rail.
The day was hot and the sun bright, but a cool breeze blew up the hill from the water. The air was clear and fresh in a way that air inside the city could never be, even when the winds were strong, and Onderishta studied the sensation so she would remember it. The veranda was positioned to face almost due south. Very little of Koh-Salash itself could be seen, and as much as Onderishta loved her city, so much green and blue was soothing.
Vu-Timmer lay far below, bustling with small, sail-less craft. The great body of water beyond, the Semprestian Sea, was full of merchant trading vessels, some sailing northward into the strait, where the Salashi people would collect their due, or else outward to other lands, having already paid the Steward-General’s toll.
By the fallen gods, it all looked peaceful from up here. Was there anything more deceptive than Salashi lands from a distance?
Culzatik returned. “I’m sorry to delay you here, Onderishta, child of Intermala, but I wanted to show you directly what I’m facing.”
“Your betrothed hates you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Culzatik said with a rueful grin. “She thinks I’m beneath her. She thought Kyrionik was a husband worthy of her, but she thinks a marriage to me is demeaning. Her problem is that we have already paid her family a substantial bride price, and Ponnalas admir-Phillien cannot afford to pay it back.”
“So, she intends to cause a scandal so she can cancel the marriage contract and keep the bride price already paid.”
“Plus whatever additional wealth and influence her family can acquire when my mother is hung for treason and our properties dispersed.”
Onderishta nodded. It was a vicious plan, but she was an investigator. She’d seen cruelty beyond imagining. She didn’t have it in her to be shocked anymore.
“Thanks to the dossier you prepared,” the young man continued, “I have spies in the Phillien compound. According to reports, Essatreska believes she’s about to locate the Lost Ward.”
This again. Onderishta stoicism failed her. “There have been rumors of a Lost Ward since I was an apprentice. Those rumors have never panned out.”
Culzatik shrugged. “The Phillien sail is not large, but there’s money in it. According to my reports, two of her stitches paid for cosmetic surgery, getting their skin grafts on the black market. Essatreska believes the Lost Ward is real. Frankly, I think she’s right.”
“Your virtue, the Lost Ward is a child’s fable. There have always been rumors of black-market healing magic. It’s just wish fulfillment.”
“What if it arrived only recently, within the last few years? Decades of unproven rumor would mean the bureaucracy would not take the rumors seriously, and black-market trade could continue in secret.”
Onderishta turned back to the sea and sky. Anything was possible, but this wasn’t the first time she’d heard this particular conspiracy, and it had always turned out to be a waste of time. Perhaps one of the reasons Culzatik kept his suspicions about the package a secret was because Onderishta would have brushed the job off to her second and spent the evening at home with her much-neglected wife.
“Your virtue, I think it’s time to start this story at the beginning.”
“Fine. Six months ago, I received a message from a pawnbroker down in Low Market that she had a book to sell me. It’s a disreputable place, but it’s the only shop willing to fence stolen books, largely because they can sell them to me.”
“If we shut down that fence, your virtue, thieves would have nowhere to sell books and would stop stealing them.”
“Experienced thieves would stop, but amateurs would not. Book thieves are usually students about to flunk out of Suloh’s Tower or disgruntled servants, and if they discover too late there’s no way to turn them into coin, they burn the evidence of their crime. My way, the books are preserved and I return them to their proper owner, after I’ve made a copy for myself.”
Regretting her interruption, Onderishta said, “A sensible plan, your virtue.”
“Aziatil and I dressed in nondescript clothing and hurried through the city. As we came into view of the shop, we saw Bedler of Koh-Alzij walk out. We were some distance away and he did not notice us in our common clothing, but he was unmistakable. After conducting our usual business, I pressured the broker to tell me why Bedler had come to see her. It took some doing, but she finally admitted that he was trying to arrange medical treatment outside of a hospital. She said she turned him away, and we believed her.
“Since then, he’s been visiting the decks of the city, trying to get in contact directly with Harl Sota List Im, but without much luck.”
“He’s lucky he’s not dead.”
“He can fight,” Culzatik said with a shrug. “The tournament proved that. For whatever that’s worth. Anyway, Essatreska has done her best to recruit her servants and stitches into the search, but it was only recently that they heard Harl was entrusting one of his lieutenants to set up their own black-market medical operation.”
“But your virtue, a black-market hospital? It doesn’t seem possible.”
He spr
ead his palms. “Now you see why I was reluctant to share my suspicions. But let’s assume that Essatreska’s source, which I haven’t been able to identify, is correct and the gangs of Koh-Salash think they can get away with it.”
“They would need glitterkind flesh. That was the exchange I was supposed to break up.”
“It was. I’m sure Bedler was there and he intended to steal the package for Essatreska.”
Onderishta suddenly realized she’d seen Bedler there, outside Sailsday’s Regret. Not his face, but that figure stood out in a crowd. “Maybe he did, your virtue. My people have been trailing heavies all over the city, but if we’d known, we would have collared that asshole immediately.”
“He doesn’t have it,” Culzatik answered. “Essatreska and I have been betrothed since our parents realized that Kyrionik wasn’t going to return, because the union of our families makes business sense. However, the contract couldn’t be legally transferred until the Mourning Day Service after he disappeared, more than seven years ago. Tomorrow it becomes official, and she just asked me to delay payment of the final installment of the bride price.”
“She’s still stalling.”
“Otherwise, her play would have hit us yesterday, the morning after the package was acquired.”
“If the package was a portion of glitterkind, your virtue,” Onderishta said.
Culzatik nodded, conceding the point. “If. It’s possible that it was white tar or the deed to a copper mine, and Bedler is the pickpocket, and your second is chasing a figment of my imagination.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I don’t.”
“The real question is, where do they get their information? Harl doesn’t just kill gangsters who sell him out. He skins them.”
Culzatik shrugged. “So far, my spies haven’t heard Bedler name his source, but getting this information isn’t as difficult as it sounds. For us, anyway. Heavies on the street would never talk to the eye or the cosh, but a noble family’s flunky with some money to spend? That’s different.”
Hmf. Onderishta wasn’t pleased to hear that, but she filed the information away for future reference. “So, you want me to collar Bedler with glitterkind flesh in his pocket?”
“No. Please, no. Remember when I told you that iron will burn glitterkind flesh? Well, every ward in Koh-Salash has been branded with a special mark that identifies the family charged with its care. I believe Bedler of Koh-Alzij carries a tiny iron brand with him. If he were to get his hand on a piece of glitterkind flesh, even for a moment, he could lay the brand onto it. Arrest him then—”
“And this Lost Ward would appear to be Safroy property.”
“Precisely. That’s not a scandal. That’s treason. Among all the terrible things that would happen to the Safroy family, my mother would get the pitch and flame just like a common murderer. All of Koh-Salash would turn up to watch. That’s why I need you to find this Lost Ward first and get it somewhere Bedler can never reach it.”
Onderishta nodded. It made sense. The idea that there really was a Lost Ward still made her skeptical, but she would have to look into this carefully.
“You need more people,” Culzatik said, “but I’m afraid it’s not going to be the specially trained soldiers you’ve been asking for.” He removed a token from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “On my authority, take these two apprentices under your guidance. Don’t make that expression.”
“I have no expression, your virtue.”
“The expression is inside your mind. I can see it there. These two are smart and will work hard. They can also run and scout for you.”
Onderishta thought back to the two young woman who were supposed to be working undercover. “I need trained, experienced operatives, your virtue, who can fight when necessary.”
“Yes, I’ve read your reports—”
He was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. That same white-robed servant padded into the room. “Your virtue, your noble father requests your presence.”
“Shit. I’ll be along shortly,” Culzatik said. To Onderishta, he said, “For the moment, these are the best I can do. However, once this matter is settled, everything will be different for you. I have plans for you, Onderishta, child of Intermala.” He hurried to the door.
Onderishta was thunderstruck.
Plans? She was already where she wanted to be, doing the work she loved. What did this boy know about her life or her plans?
More importantly, what was he going to order her to do?
The servant gently cleared his throat. Of course. She left Ulfender reclining with his book and descended into the city once again.
* * *
Kyrioc knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He’d treated her like an addict or a pickpocket. Again. Why was it so fucking hard to show a little kindness?
He took a pair of silver whistles from his pocket and approached the counter. “Two carrots and a pair of those fig buns, plus the two carrots she took.”
The old man set the device he’d been working with on the counter. It was a series of interlocked wooden links. A simple puzzle. He made change. “She’s a good girl but she’s always out on the street, running around all alone like an orphan. Why don’t you spend more time with her? She deserves better.”
Kyrioc took the food and went into the street. Riliska was gone.
The complaint about the wax tablet had seemed like such a small thing. At worst, the constables would have scolded her and sent her home. Nothing important had been at stake. For her.
But that was his perspective. Riliska was a little girl. Those slaps and insults must have made her feel powerless. And in that moment, she’d turned to him for protection.
He returned to his building and went to the third floor. Riliska wasn’t there. In fact, the hall was empty but for three boys with dirt on their faces and challenge in their eyes. They were couriers used by the local gangsters, but Kyrioc couldn’t guess why they were there.
They hadn’t seen Riliska—or wouldn’t admit to it—so he ventured out into Woodgarden again. If the old shopkeeper was correct, the girl was often out in the neighborhood, but he had no idea where her favorite places were, or where he might find her friends.
…running around all alone.
Kyrioc had survived for years as a trapper and a hunter, but here, in this city, he’d never learned to track people by the signs they left. He wasn’t even sure it was possible with so many people tramping over the wooden decks.
All he could do was return to the last place he’d seen her and walk street to street, alley to alley. If she was hiding behind a barrel of trash or sitting on the landing of a stairwell, he would find her. If she’d gone indoors, he would not. Not until she emerged again.
Night fell before he saw her again. She had ducked down the same alley he’d used when he had walked away from the constables, and was sitting on a low wall outside the abandoned temple. Her sandaled feet kicked at the marred but intricate carvings of branch and vine along the rim.
Kyrioc made sure to scuff his steps when he approached so he would not surprise her. She glanced up, then turned resentfully away. Raised voices came from within the temple. It was the sound of boys at celebration, boasting in that sacred place to brace their fragile courage.
Moving close, Kyrioc held out the sack of carrots and stale buns. She took it, but she wouldn’t look at him.
He was right. He had hurt her badly. Possibly worse than he could really understand. “I’m sorr—”
“I embarrass you, don’t I?” The question startled him. “That’s okay. I’m used to it. The other kids in the neighborhood like to pretend I’m not here, and so does the tutor Mom hired for me. Once she realized Mom wasn’t going to stand over her every second, she started acting like I was a piece of furniture.”
Kyrioc kept silent so she could have her say.
“That stupid cow back there, with her stupid son, tried to tell me
I didn’t belong here. She wanted to throw me into Mudside, where no one would ever see me again. But what you did was worse. You can’t just treat a person like they’re real one day and then later act like they’re not. That’s too mean. You have to pick one and stick with it. Okay? If you don’t, it’s too hard for me to know what to do.
“Maybe I should go down into Mudside. Isn’t that where the thieves come from, and the little bloodkind, who sneak into the nursery and night and feed on babies? Maybe I could become like the bloodkind and come back for that kid in the dark. Maybe down there in the dark, I could… Mom says that we’re cursed. Not just us, the whole city. She says this is a cursed place and she thought we would all be dead by now.”
By the faint light of Suloh’s bones, shining through a gap in the decks above, Kyrioc could see tears on her cheeks.
“Sometimes, when Mom gets really drunk, she says we should die. She says that would be easier than living this life. Never let anyone near you. Better to be dead.”
A chorus of cheers erupted from the temple, followed by jeering. Riliska took a deep, shuddering breath.
“It’s okay, though. It’s okay. Even though I’m mad at you right now, I’m not going to hate you. I can’t. You’re nice to me sometimes. More than my mom is. If I let myself hate you, I wouldn’t even have that.”
Clutching the sack to her chest, Riliska leaped off the wall and ran through the refuse of the alley. Kyrioc watched her go, then he sat on the wall in the dim light. The teenage boys inside the temple continued to sing and boast, their voices slurred with drink, but for Kyrioc, they might have been a continent away. He could hear nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears. And he could feel nothing but the churn of shame and anger within him.
Hurting people seemed to be the only thing he was good for.
* * *
Riliska ran home and saw that her door was standing open very slightly. She slipped inside quietly in case the fuddled man had returned. A strange humming came from the back room. Riliska recognized her mother’s voice but not the tune. If it was a tune at all.
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