by Martha Wells
"Good. It will leave myself and the others free to try to find the source of that painrod the pirates had. I suppose it could've come from a cache in another city, but still. . . Constans must have supplied it to them somehow, and he must be prevented from obtaining more."
Elen agreed. She was lucky Riathen had replaced her lost painrod and not made her go without one as punishment. If the number of Warders hadn't been lower than usual this decade, there would have been none to replace it with at all. Her old rod had had no sentimental value; before her it had belonged to a student of the old Warder who had been Riathen's master, but it annoyed her no end that she had been so careless as to lose it. If Khat hadn't taken it, it must still be somewhere in the Waste. She supposed the pirates had found it by now.
Riathen's expression was serious. "Seul suggested that it was not Constants who arranged the pirate attack, but our relic dealer. Do you believe that possible?"
Elen snorted. "Hardly. They tried to kill him just as hard as they tried to kill me. And he could have taken the relic at any time and left me stranded there." He took care of me, and I certainly gave him no reason to, she wanted to add, and found herself holding back. Seul was watching her so intently.
Riathen nodded, satisfied. "Then I want you to find out everything you can about him. When he came to Charisat, and why. As much as you can."
She frowned. "What does that have to do with recovering the relics?"
"Are you sure it's wise to send Elen?" Seul countered. "She was alone with that creature for almost two days, and we're only lucky nothing . . . that nothing happened. Sending her down there might be ... dangerous for her."
Elen didn't look at him, didn't allow herself to react to the note of possessive disapproval in his voice. She suspected her cheeks were reddening with embarrassment and anger, and she hated herself for it. She said, "I'm perfectly safe. He doesn't find me attractive. And I have good reason to know."
Seul almost spilled his tea. Riathen pretended the interruption had not occurred. "It has nothing to do with recovering the relics," he answered Elen, his expression grave. "But I've looked forward, and the results have not been as clear as I would like. Of course, they never are. I need more information."
Elen nodded. "I understand." She didn't understand. She merely wanted out. "I had better go now."
Riathen nodded permission, and she made for the door, not bothering to take leave of Seul.
Halfway down the main stair she realized she hadn't changed her clothing yet; the plain kaftan, cap, and an old battered pair of sandals that she needed to meld into a lower-tier crowd were waiting for her on her bed cushions. What am I doing, she asked herself, bolting out of the house like an angry child? She went through the arch into the garden court, intent on taking the back way to her rooms. She shouldn't let Seul shake her confidence like that. Elen knew herself to be a skilled infighter, especially for someone her size, and that her knowledge of the Elector's court and the emissaries sent there from the other Fringe Cities, as well as the dangers they represented, could not be faulted. She had even acted as bodyguard for foreign ladies on high state visits, and spied on them when necessary, missions that would have been difficult if not impossible for a male Warder. It was only her power that failed her.
That oh-so-dangerous and unnatural Ancient magic that fled her grasp like shadows under the noon sun.
The garden court was small, filled with delicate green plants brought from the shores of the Last Sea, screened from much of the sun's harshness by a netting of fine white gauze stretching high overhead, and quiet except for the soft music of water running in the stone basins. Someone called her name as she sped down the path, and she stopped, startled, and looked back.
It was Kythen Seul.
She considered continuing on down the path and ignoring his summons, but he was too close already, and she refused to run away.
He caught up with her and said, "Elen, take care."
She faced him, her mouth grim. "Seul, I told you, I-"
He held up his hands, asking for a truce. "I'm sorry."
Elen sighed. There were a number of things about him she found frustrating. He had come to them from the household of another elder Warder, and Riathen had embraced him like a son. Everyone believed he would be the Master Warder's successor, and it was clear what Seul thought the relationship between himself and the woman Warder who had been raised as Riathen's daughter should be. "Really, there isn't anything for you to worry about."
"I know," Seul said, looking down at her uneasily. "But take care, anyway."
After a moment, she managed to say, "Thank you."
He nodded and walked away.
***
Khat slept on the roof until the predawn light woke him. It took long moments of staring at the glowing horizon and the gradually fading stars to remember what had happened, why he was so sore and stiff. Then he remembered what he had agreed to do and whom he had obligated himself to, and winced at the depth of his own greed and stupidity.
He stretched carefully and came to the reluctant conclusion that he was going to live, then sat up on one elbow. The court below was still quiet, and the city's never-ending thunder was only a dull background roar of handcart wheels creaking, voices calling, the distant puffing of the rail wagon, the ceaseless movement of goods up and down the ramps connecting the tiers. Simply rolling over and going back to sleep was impossible, at least up here. This section of the Sixth Tier was fully exposed to the merciless rise of the morning sun.
The Inhabitants of the West, Khat thought, remembering the Survivor text. There were no living cities further west than Charisat, so if the Inhabitants of the West had lived in one it lay buried under Waste rock. If they had even been real at all, and not a symbol for some forgotten philosophical ideal.
Khat went down the ladder into the crowded house, making it out into the empty court without waking anyone, and headed for the nearest bathhouse.
When he came back an hour or so later Elen was sitting on the edge of the fountain basin, watching the old keeper counting his tally sticks. She wore a plain undyed kaftan, a cap decorated by cheap beads, and sandals of lacquered wicker. It's started already, he thought. The Warders could have at least allowed him a day or so to regroup.
Khat went to Sagai first, who was leaning in their house's doorway and smoking a clay pipe, thoughtfully watching the young Warder. As Khat joined him Sagai asked, "Is that your Elen?"
"That's her. How long has she been here?"
"A little after full light."
"That long? We are anxious, aren't we?"
Sagai gave him a worried look and said, "Go carefully."
Khat walked over to lean against the wall near the fountain. The sewer stink had faded, and the morning air was almost fresh. The smell of grain boiling somewhere nearby couldn't disguise the rare promise of one of the infrequent rains that fell this time of year. A few of their neighbors were already out, gossiping over tea or readying bundles to carry to the markets. No one looked at Elen with anything more than mild curiosity. Dressed as she was, she wouldn't get a second look anywhere on the Sixth Tier, a thought Khat was none too comfortable with.
He glared at the fountain keeper until the old man got the message, gathered his sticks, and retired in huffy silence to the other end of the court.
Without looking up at Khat, Elen said, "Riathen is worried. You left rather abruptly."
"I didn't think I needed his permission," Khat said, and thought, First they try to hire you, then they try to own you.
"You don't." Elen shifted uneasily on the rough stone of the basin's rim. "It was just a little disconcerting. He wants to speak to you again. I think he just wants to make sure that you will try to find the relics."
Curious to see how she would react, Khat made no comment. As if needing to make conversation, Elen looked up at Sagai, still watching from the doorway, and asked, "What did you tell your partner?"
"Everything." She finally met his eye
s then, worried, and he said, "If you think I can do this without his help, you're wrong."
Elen hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "I can understand that." She looked at Khat more carefully and added, "You look awful."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that what you came down here to tell me?" He knew he didn't look that bad. The swelling had gone down, leaving the livid bruise on his jaw the most visible damage.
"No." She took a deep breath. "Riathen wants me to work with you."
Wants you to spy on me, Khat thought. "I can't do this with a Warder hanging around my neck."
The stubborn line between her brows appeared. "He wanted to send Seul, or one of the others. I convinced him I would be a better choice."
"Then maybe he should find someone else to run his errands. I may have to talk to some dealers on the Silent Market. I'm not going to do that in front of a Warder."
Her voice rose. "You think I'll report them? I don't care what the Silent Market does. I'm not a Trade Inspector. I don't even like Trade Inspectors. Can't you get that through your thick head?"
It was a treat to make Elen lose her temper. He said, "No."
She fumed silently. They were still drawing no undue attention from the neighbors. A man and a woman arguing, especially this early in the morning, wouldn't produce a flicker of interest unless someone drew a weapon. Finally Elen said, "You could take me as your apprentice."
Khat hadn't been prepared for this line of attack. "My what?"
"Dealers take apprentices too, don't they? That way anything I saw would be a secret between master and student, and I'd be breaking the trade law if I repeated it to anyone."
"Since when does trade law apply to the upper tiers?"
Elen jumped to her feet. "You either trust me or you don't. Should I go and tell Riathen to look for someone else?" She threw up her hands, exasperated. "I know you don't believe these relics will be what Riathen thinks they are, but you said they were rare. Don't you want to find them just on that count?"
It was Khat's turn to look away. Yesterday, surrounded by hostile Warders, the decision had been easy. Valuable relics were thin on the ground, and that Sonet Riathen had special knowledge of their location and was willing to pay tokens to see them found was a powerful motivation. But the fact remained that dealing with Warders was dangerous. The Elector's patronage gave them authority even over the Trade Inspectors, and the situation today was really no different from yesterday. He glanced back toward the doorway where Sagai still waited, and raised his voice to ask him, "Well, should I take an apprentice?"
Sagai came forward to eye Elen critically. "She's a little small. I suppose she isn't afraid of hard work?"
"No," Elen said firmly. "And I want to learn."
"Good." Sagai nodded to Khat. "I accept her. I hope she is as wealthy as you think."
"What?" Elen asked, startled.
"Relic dealing is a trade, and you know that trade apprentices have to support their masters during the time of their teaching," Khat reminded her.
Elen eyed them both warily. "No, I didn't know that."
"Support to the best of their ability, of course," Sagai explained. "If you were a potter's daughter, we would not expect you to contribute much. But you are not a potter's daughter, and our household has many children."
***
Walking with his new apprentice down the winding narrow streets of the Sixth Tier, Khat rubbed his face tiredly. "Why is Riathen so sure those relics are in Charisat?" Sagai had gone on to the Arcade to keep up business and make a few inquiries of his own. Too many absences from their regular trading spot would cause excitement among the other relic dealers, all of whom would decide that it meant that Khat and Sagai were on the track of some important deal. They could find themselves badgered constantly. But Khat had often pursued other business while Sagai kept up their usual trading; holding to that system as much as possible would keep the other dealers from nosing around.
"He found the crystal-inlaid plaque here in Charisat. And he's seen one of the others," Elen replied. She was none too happy with the financial burden her apprenticeship represented, and not satisfied by Khat's answer that it was her own fault for being so rich. "The small one, with the winged figure carved into it. He saw it last year, in the house of a Patrician on the Second Tier. He loaned Riathen the Survivor book, and said there was much there to interest the Master Warder. He'd studied the book himself, and traveled everywhere in search of the kinds of relics mentioned in it."
Habitually cautious, Khat scanned the street, the narrow alleys that led into back courts, the balconies, and the edges of rooftops even as he was turning over Elen's story. Now he knew why Riathen was so sure the relics pictured in the text existed; the original owner had done all the footwork. "Did he say where the text came from?"
"No. And Riathen didn't ask, of course, since he didn't know then what it was. The Patrician showed Riathen the relic with the winged figure on it, and the drawing of it in the book. Then a day or so later he died, and thieves entered the house and stole most of his collection. Fortunately, Riathen still had the book." She looked down at her feet, already darkened by the black dust of the roadway. "The old man was probably poisoned, but we never discovered who was responsible. Riathen searched for the relics that were in his collection, and he finally found the crystal plaque in the home of a man ... Well, he was a High Justice of the Trade Inspectors."
Khat looked at her sharply.
"You don't have to glare at me like that. I don't socialize with the man. Anyway, he told Riathen that he bought the plaque legally, of course, but Riathen knew he must have gotten it from the thieves, or whoever they originally sold it to. The High Justice gave it to Riathen as a gift. Or, really, I suppose as a bribe, so Riathen wouldn't say a High Justice of the Trade Inspectors was a buyer of stolen relics." She looked up at him. "Will you go up to see Riathen with me sometime today?"
"Maybe." Khat was reluctant to put himself in the Master Warder's hands again, though he supposed if he were really going to go through with all this he would have to. But it would do Elen good to wait and wonder. "Does he know how many stolen relics leave the city every day?"
"He looked into the future through the burning bones and saw both the relics still in Charisat."
"Saw them where?" Hopefully Warder fortune-telling was more accurate than the common street variety. Sonet Riathen was undoubtedly wealthy enough to afford krismen bones, sold into the city by pirates who raided the kris Enclave. The practice wasn't smiled on by the First Tier, since there were agreements going back almost to the Survivor Time with the kris to keep the trade roads clear of pirates, but no one ever did anything to stop it.
"That isn't so easy. He saw that both relics will be in his possession, and that he will obtain them from somewhere in Charisat, but as to where they are now, and how they will get to him . . ." She shrugged.
For many, the day was well advanced, and people were everywhere, arguing with water keepers, baking bread in the small ovens outside the doors of their houses, hanging clothes out to air from the balconies and rooftops, and hurrying on errands. Everything taken into account, Khat hadn't found the Sixth Tier a bad place to live. If you learned to survive the smell, the crowding, and the low quality of the water, it was paradise. The Seventh Tier was between it and the Eighth, so for the others the fear of dropping a tier and being forced out was less, and the danger from the bonetakers who haunted the alleys and closed courts on the levels below was not quite so immediate. There was a comfortable mix of foreigners, many from outside the Fringe Cities, so few objected to Sagai and Miram for the minor crime of being from Kenniliar.
And even Khat was well accepted in the general area of their court. There were thieves who preyed even on houses as poor as these, and others who preyed on the people who lived in them, knowing the vigils seldom bothered to patrol here. Both these types of predators now tended to avoid the area after discovering that the resident kris slept lightly and often prow
led the surrounding courts at unpredictable times during the night.
Khat said, "If they're still in the city, stolen relics will be easier to find. I don't know about the block. If something that unusual hasn't turned up yet, it's not likely to."
"A stolen relic is easier to find?"
"Unless a relic is offered for sale, or is in the Academia, it sits on a shelf in someone's house and gathers dust, and no one ever sees it. If it's stolen, it's handled by a dozen people at least and goes on the Silent Market. Much easier to get word of it."
They turned a corner, and abruptly the narrow street opened into a broad square housing the Sixth Tier marketplace.
"We're going to hear of it in this place?" Elen asked in disbelief.
The market was noisy chaos to untrained eyes. Portable awnings of sun-faded colors sheltered tinsmiths, rope makers, basket weavers, coppersmiths, tailors, and cap makers, all vying for the crowd's attention, their barkers shrieking at the tops of their lungs. The poorest vendors squatted in the sun in the winding alleyways off the forum, their goods laid out on the dirty paving stones. But the alcoves carved into the alley walls were where the real business took place, where the wagonloads of coal and grain brought down the trade roads changed hands.
"This place," Khat said, and led Elen to a seat on a low wall between a group of women selling lengths of used cloth and braid and a rope maker's pavilion. She reluctantly settled next to him. The market lay in the open area where the inside edge of the Sixth Tier met the base of the Fifth. Laws enforced by Trade Inspectors kept peddlers from building stalls up against the tier wall itself, so the area just at the base was occupied only by someone's goat herd grazing on the garbage tossed down from above and the ungainly structure of a crane. It was a sheer leg tripod, towering above the black stone of the tier wall, lifting huge bales of goods up for the Fifth Tier markets by a complicated system of pulleys at the top, its heavy ropes drawn by a treadmill that was at least three times the height of the men who worked to turn it.