Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (30 page)

Rivva leaned back in the chair. Her hands and face felt clammy. The smuggling was both financing the war and perpetuating it.

In the hallway, voices grew louder as footsteps approached.

Rivva gathered the books quickly and shoved them into the desk drawer, then shut it as quickly and quietly as she could. She hurried to the window just as the door opened.

Quirza entered, stopping short when she saw Rivva. Rivva turned with a smile. “Good morning, Quirza. I need a minute of your time. Are you free now?”

“Yes, what can I do for you, Your Highness?” Quirza asked. Her graying brown hair, coiffed to perfection as usual, swung as she crossed to her desk.

“I found a gold coin under the stair,” Rivva said. “A foreign coin, from the looks of it. I wonder if you know anything about it.”

Quirza plastered a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing. Perhaps one of your guards did some bartering with a merchant from Noossmor.”

One of my guards
, Rivva thought with a simper. “I’ve asked them all, and they knew nothing. I thought surely you would know, seeing as you’re an expert in all matters related to money.” She smiled sweetly.

The older woman held out her hand. “Let me have a look.”

Rivva hesitated, unsure she should give the woman a chance to steal the proof under the claim of having lost it. Quirza’s mouth curved into a smirk as if she suspected Rivva had no such coin, but that smirking mouth fell into a frown when Rivva removed the coin from her pocket and dropped it into the treasurer’s palm.

Quirza shot her a barely perceptible glare before turning her gaze to the gold coin. She turned it over to examine both sides. “It’s definitely not Noossmori or Loworian. I don’t believe it’s Barader, either.”

“Ah, well. I’ll take it to a friend whose mother’s a banker,” Rivva said, the lie wafting from her lips like a silken scarf fluttering in a breeze. “I’m sure she’ll be able to identify it for me.”

Quirza stiffened. “Would you mind if I kept it for a few days? I’ll ask my vice-ministers if they recognize it.”

“Oh, very well. Thank you, Quirza.” Rivva said. Though she would probably never see the coin again, the fact that she knew about it and could describe it was proof enough. She left the office without waiting for the treasurer to curtsey.

Jora paced in her room after the princess left, wringing her hands and grinding her teeth, something she hadn’t done since she was a young girl first learning about her Mindstreaming powers. The whole situation made her restless. Could the king truly not know what was going on under his nose? He’d have been a fool to ask Jora to investigate if he were involved, and Jora didn’t think him a fool. That meant Quirza must have been funneling the smuggling money into the king’s finances without his knowledge.

And Rivva was determined to confront her. Was she in danger? Quirza wouldn’t dare move against the king’s heir, would she? Jora tried to consider the possible outcomes. Quirza might explain what she was doing and why. In fact, if she had a good reason, who was to say Rivva or the king wouldn’t agree with it? What then?

The war would go on and on. More brothers would die. Fathers. Husbands. Sons. They would continue to die senseless deaths, not even aware that their own country was stabbing them in the back while the enemy gutted them from the front.

Disrupt the flow of money. The idea came to her like a gust of wind in her mind. What if the coins never made it to the palace? What if the wagon was robbed and the money stolen? Or someone along the route never reached his destination.

It would be easy enough for Po Teng to sleep the barbers involved, but she would need Arc’s help to move them to his fake shop so they wouldn’t be discovered. It was Martis Day, the day the money would be dropped off.
I
’
d better hurry.

With her street clothes and boots under her robe and the hat tucked into the robe’s front, she opened the door, startled to find Korlan in the hallway, talking to Adriel. This wasn’t something she could do with him following her about. She closed the door quietly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her there.

How was she going to slip away without him knowing? An idea came to her. Jora opened the Mindstream and played, “
Open way betwixt,
” on her flute, her breath soft as a whisper.

“Jora?” Korlan asked as he knocked on the door. “Are you in there?”

Rather than summon Po Teng to statuize Korlan, she stepped into the ’twixt and out of sight.
Sorry, Kor
, she thought.
I can
’
t let you get into trouble for this.

He opened the door and peeked inside, leaving just enough room for her to duck past him. Though she brushed his arm with her shoulder, neither of them felt it.

He followed her down the stairs, oblivious to her presence, but his pace was quicker than hers. She stepped aside to let him pass. Once he was out of sight, she opened the dormitory door and dodged her peers as she made her way to the side gate. When no one was looking, she opened the gate and stepped through. Doors and gates opening and closing of their own volition would only arouse suspicion, and she didn’t want some nosy elder to enter the ’twixt and see her.

As she walked through the streets, dodging and ducking people who didn’t know she was there, she pulled the hat over her bald head and took off the red robe. Dressed as a regular person, she left the ’twixt and walked more comfortably out in the open.

When she reached the jeweler’s shop, breathing hard from her brisk walk, the door was locked. She pounded on it with her fist. A sea-green eye peered at her through the shutters, then the lock rattled and the door opened.

“Miss Jora,” Arc said with a smile. “A lovely surprise. I did nie expect to see thee again anon. The hat is fine fashion upon thy pate.”

She went in and draped the now-purple robe over the back of a chair. “I need your help.”

“How might I aid thee?”

The two sat at the table, though there was no wine or water to drink nor fruit to nibble upon. Arc leaned forward, resting his forearms across the table’s scratched and stained top. The table groaned and creaked in response.

“Do you remember when I told you about the godfruit and the Tree of the Fallen God?”

“Aye, o’course.”

“I’ve found out who receives the smuggling money. She’s the treasurer—the king’s Minister of Finance.” Jora explained how she traced the smuggling money to Jolver . “The money is delivered to a barbery every Martis Day.”

“You wantest to steal the money?” he asked.

“No, no. Well, yes. But not to keep for myself. I want to disrupt the smuggling. If the money doesn’t reach its destination, then they’ll have to scramble.”

Arc shook his head. “Nay, portwatcher. That is not how to handle this thing. Steal the money and draw thine enemy’s eye. Go instead to the king and tell him all that you didst tell me.”

“I’ve already told the princess. I must let her take the news to the king.”

Arc crossed his arms and studied her. “There is more to thy story.”

“There is, but it’s not relevant right now. We have little time before the money arrives in Jolver. What do you suggest I do?”

“To defeat thine enemy, thou mustest wit thine enemy as thou wost thyself. Dost thou understand thine enemy’s motivation? His reason for smuggling the godfruit?”

“Greed probably. I don’t know.”

“First, appraise thine enemy’s strength,” Arc explained, “find the weakness, then attack it.”

That would take too long
, she thought. “But the money delivery happens today.”

“Then I shall begin today.”

“Doing what?”

“You hast said I ought nip my hair, so I shall visit the barbery for to nip my hair.”

“You aren’t planning to confront the captain, are you?”

“Nie, only to see for myself who comes and who goes, and to assess the character of the barber.”

She nodded, thinking it was a good plan. They wouldn’t recognize him or have any reason to question his presence there. “All right, but say cut my hair, not nip my hair.”

“Cut my hair,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should like to cut my hair.”

She puffed out a hard breath, still not convinced she should let the week’s money be delivered. To defeat her enemy, she must know her enemy. If she understood
why
they were smuggling godfruit, she could form a plan.

“I see doubt in your face. ’Tis the king’s man who retrieveth money from the barbery, aye? I am scouting the area. You attackest nie the head wythout readying thy forces for battle, knowing what for to expect. Sometimes you learnest the best strategy is attacking the legs—the weak place that holdeth up the head.”

The legs.
That gave her an idea. “Be careful, Arc. I don’t want anyone to suspect you’re a five-hundred-year-old Colossus come to life.”

He winked at her. “I shall leave the voulge behind.”

Jora reminded him to leave the -eth and -est off his verbs and to say
you
instead of
thou
and
thee
.“ She winked at him.

“I will endeavor to speak as you do,” he said slowly, enunciating carefully as if he thought hard about each word before saying it.

She smiled and adjusted the hat on her head. “I’ll meet you here in a short while. Stay out of trouble.” After bidding Arc goodbye, she opened the Mindstream, and stepped into the ’twixt, hoping he knew how to be subtle. With his size, the last thing she expected was subtlety from him, but she needed his help and she needed a friend she could trust. As much as Korlan wanted to be that friend, he was compromised.

Out of sight, she went straight where she should have turned, and walked down as many side streets as possible to avoid the traffic. Horses that couldn’t see her could still trample her, and passers by could still jostle her as she walked without even knowing they’d done it, aside from their own body inexplicably jerking to the side.

She made her way to the Legion headquarters and stood by the door until someone left, then she slipped into the building before the door swung closed again. She retraced the sergeant’s footsteps past the fellow at the desk, upstairs, and into an open office.

Her quarry was sitting at his desk, hunched over some papers with a pen in hand.

Jora exited the ’twixt and closed the door, but before she closed the Mindstream, she called for Po Teng. He faded into view beside her. “Good afternoon, Captain Kyear. Do you know who I am?”

He flinched, shot to his feet, and reached for the thin-bladed sword that lay across his desk. “Gatekeeper.”

“That won’t do you any good,” she said, lifting her chin toward the weapon. “Please sit down. I’d like a word with you.”

Chapter 20

“What do you want?” Captain Kyear asked. His eyes flicked to the tree-like creature by her side.

“Answers,” Jora said. She sat in the chair facing his desk and tried to look at ease, though she was anything but. Her heart beat furiously, and her palms were so wet with sweat, they practically gleamed in the flickering light of the candles and lamps positioned about the room. There were no windows in this office, she realized. Did he not have enough power to command an office with a window, or did he prefer the dimness? Perhaps he was the sort of man who liked to have control over everything to the last detail.

Kyear sat back down, though he looked tense, ready to spring to action. “As do I. What do you know about the missing Colossus?”

“He’s not missing,” she said. “He’s enlivened.”

“What is your purpose for him?”

“Protection,” she said simply. “I’ve got enemies, you among them.”

“I don’t even know you. Why would you consider me your enemy?”

“You wanted me dead. Why?”

“That was before I knew—before any of us knew—you were the Gatekeeper. At the time, you were simply a girl who could spread rumors about things you didn’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You’re smuggling godfruit to our enemies—godfruit that was supposed to be the advantage we need to win the war and end it for good.”