City of Bones (33 page)

The gate vigils stared curiously but let them in without trouble, and no one tried to stop them on the way to Arad’s quarters. Servants did peer at them from windows and doorways, and scholars and students tended to stop and talk behind their hands. News apparently traveled swiftly in the closed community of the Academia.

Sagai was waiting for them on the square in front of Arad’s quarters. Khat was surprised at how his partner looked. Surely Sagai hadn’t been this gray and tired, or this old, yesterday.

For his part, Sagai knew better than to ask a lot of questions. “Well?” he said softly.

Khat started to shrug and thought better of it. “Nothing permanent.”

They went up the steps into the house, and the two vigils still on guard there watched them suspiciously.
Only two
, Khat thought, surprised by the lack of caution on Elen’s part, if not Ecazar’s, then saw the other pair standing inside the hall.

“I feel the need to apologize again, Elen,” Sagai was saying.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she answered. “I’m still not sure you were wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” Khat asked.

Sagai smiled, a little ruefully. “Not having anything else constructive to do last night, I blamed Elen for all our troubles. We shouted at each other quite loudly, and shocked Arad. It was disgraceful.”

Elen shook her head. “It was nothing.”

In the main chamber Gandin was waiting with Arad-edelk, another wise precaution. Khat glanced up and saw that there were some vigils on the roof, peering down through the louvers at them.

Arad greeted him like a long-lost son, leading him over to where he had the Survivor text spread out on the floor amid a welter of scribbled notes. “Sagai has been showing me a different translation method, one used by the scholars in Kenniliar, and together we’ve made some progress,” the scholar said eagerly. “But I wanted your opinion on—”

Gandin came to his feet suddenly, giving Khat’s already strained nerves a jolt, and said, “Riathen’s here.”

Dismayed, Arad looked up at the doorway. Khat heard the voices from the outer hall, but he supposed Gandin had been warned by some other sense. Elen was watching the doorway too, looking a little unnerved herself. He wondered just what she had said to Riathen last night. Arad’s gaze went back to the text.

“Just fold it up,” Khat said, low-voiced and starting that process already. “And don’t mention it.”

The scholar’s expression was grim. “Will that do any good?”

“It might.” Khat met his eyes. “It’s a dangerous thing to own. You saw that last night. Even if Constans thought it was Riathen’s copy, they might come back, just to make sure.”

“And that is a safe thing to own?” Arad asked, jerking his head toward the mural, but carefully folding the text’s pages anyway. “Worth so many thousands of coins, with so many people in the city desperate and starving? All relics are dangerous. With this one”—he slid the book back into its cover—“the danger is just of a more obvious nature.”

He was right, Khat decided, and there wasn’t much else to say.

Then Sonet Riathen was striding into the room, and there was no time for anything else.

He hadn’t changed much from the last time Khat had seen him, except that he wore plain Warder’s robes and no gold. There were lictors with him, armed and wary, and at least two other Warders, anonymous under their veils. Master Scholar Ecazar followed them in, probably here to watch Arad and defend the Academia’s interests.

The Master Warder looked around at all of them, then turned benign eyes on Elen.

Khat decided to stay where he was on the floor; getting up seemed a difficult process at the moment. Riathen hadn’t remarked on Sagai’s presence, at least not that Khat could tell, and he didn’t know whether Elen had told him about his partner’s involvement or not. Sagai was standing back against the wall, quiet and scholarly, and except for the lack of a veil might easily be taken for another member of the Academia. Arad was a noted scholar, and his robes were almost as threadbare as theirs.

Elen was holding out the winged relic, and Riathen took it, examining it carefully in a shaft of sunlight from the louvers overhead. The
mythenin
gleamed, and Khat felt a qualm; all that effort to find the thing, and he had hardly had a chance for a close look at it.

Ecazar gasped when he recognized the relic, and turned a harsh glare on Khat. Riathen noticed, and caught the Master Scholar’s eyes, one brow raised inquiringly and somehow managing to convey that any comment at this point would not be well received. Ecazar fumed, but said nothing.

“You’ve done well,” Riathen told Elen. He looked down at Khat. “And you also, of course. I hope your experience with the Trade Inspectors was not too difficult.”

“Oh, no,” Khat said. “Happens all the time.” At any other moment he would have paid good coin to see Ecazar squelched so firmly, but he still couldn’t muster any charitable feelings towards Riathen.

“I don’t suppose you would care to tell me how they failed to find this during the time they held you.”

“It’s a trick of the trade.”

Riathen waited until he could see that was all the answer he was going to get, then turned back to Elen. “And the other piece is … ?”

Elen cleared her throat, and indicated Arad, who was standing nearby. “This is Scholar Arad-edelk. He had obtained the piece for his studies, and had no knowledge of the fact that it was stolen until we told him last night.”

Riathen nodded to Arad. “You will be compensated for your expense, of course, Scholar.”

“No compensation is necessary,” Arad said, stiffly. Turning to the panel that closed the hidden room and pressing the catch, he spared a moment to glare defiantly at Ecazar. “I kept it in here, for safety.”

Rigid with indignation, Ecazar turned away.

The panel lifted, and Riathen ordered two of his lictors to drag out the block. When it had been pulled out into the better light the old man knelt by it and ran a hand over the carvings, marveling at the texture.

It was the first time Khat had seen the Master Warder react to a relic as other collectors, scholars, or dealers did; the first time he had shown any kind of emotion in response to one. Khat asked, “What are you going to do with them?”

Riathen looked at him sharply. Elen shifted a little uneasily, and he could sense Sagai holding his breath.
Yes
, Khat thought,
I remember what Elen told me. That’s her theory. I want to hear it from him
. “You don’t have enough there to build an arcane engine,” he elaborated. “If you want them to be studied, isn’t that best done here?”

Both Ecazar and Arad were watching intently. Riathen said, “I wish to pursue my own studies. I will be sure to apprise the Academia of my results.”

And looking into those guarded eyes, Khat felt a faint chill, as if a ghost had drifted somewhere nearby. Riathen stood, and gestured to one of the other Warders, who drew a bulging leather coin purse out of his robes. “In light of your efforts on my behalf, I’ve added significantly to the fee we agreed on.”

For an instant it was in Khat’s mind to refuse the tokens, to refuse to have anything more to do with any Warders or upper-tier plots, but he knew Sagai would feel a completely justifiable desire to strangle him, and he was in no condition to defend himself. He said nothing.

The other Warder put the purse on the floor, and Riathen turned away. There was a moment of bustle as the lictors wrapped the block in heavy cotton batting and prepared to wrestle it onto a sledge hauled in for the purpose. Ecazar and Arad both forgot their enmity long enough to move to defend the mural against any careless feet, and Riathen and the other Warders went back down the entrance hall. Only Gandin stayed to help the lictors, and Elen, who stood in the middle of the room looking as if she didn’t know quite what to do with herself.

Khat called her name softly, and she glanced at him, startled, and flushed self-consciously.

Riathen might think it was over, but there were too many unanswered questions, and Khat had paid too dearly for those relics. But the one thing that had been niggling at him all morning had finally become clear, and when she came near enough he said, “Elen, you said that Riathen got the first relic, the one you took out to the Remnant, from a High Justice of the Trade Inspectors.”

She nodded, surprised. “Yes, and we speculated that the Justice had received the relic as a bribe, from the original thieves, and—”

“And Caster told me there was a High Justice after Radu. Was that the same High Justice who questioned me?”

Elen froze, mouth open. A variety of expressions crossed her face. She whispered, “I’ll find out.”

On the way back to the Sixth Tier, Khat had to stop and rest. It was getting on toward late afternoon, the heat in the streets was at its worst, and he was feeling it as he never had before.

Sagai watched him with worried eyes as they stopped again in a shaded alley near the entrance to their court. He said, “You look as if you have heat sickness.”

“I can’t get heat sickness.” Khat supported himself against the mud-brick wall. He was light-headed and sick, and his skin was oddly sensitive. Even his clothes hurt.

“Are you sure?” Sagai put the back of his hand against Khat’s forehead. “You’re far too hot.”

He shook off the light touch. “I’ve just had a hard day.”

When they entered their court it was empty, quiet under a fine coating of dust. Most of their neighbors would be at work in the markets or dozing in their houses in the afternoon heat. But Miram flung the door open as soon as they drew near, and said, “There was a man here, asking questions. What happened?”

Sagai ushered Khat in past her. “What sort of questions?”

The house was relatively calm. Netta and her daughter would be at the market at this time of day, probably with Sagai’s oldest daughter. Khat could hear the two younger girls upstairs, engaged either in an argument or a loud game. Netta’s youngest was asleep in the corner, and the baby was playing under the table.

“He wanted to know about any relics you bought recently,” Miram answered.

They both stopped and stared at her, momentarily paralyzed. She smiled faintly. “I said, of course, that you had bought nothing, not having the proper licenses to handle coins.”

Khat sank down onto the narrow stone bench, too relieved to comment. Sagai caught Miram’s shoulders and kissed her, saying, “Clever wife. I think I’ll keep you.”

Miram wouldn’t be distracted. “I also told him the things you had traded for were small trinkets of
mythenin
, and there seemed few relics on the market, and so on.” She frowned down at Khat. “You look terrible. When Sagai sent word that you were both to be working at the Academia all night, I thought it was good fortune.” She eyed her husband suspiciously. “Tell me what really happened.”

While Sagai broke the news, Khat eased down to sit on the floor, pulling the pouch of tokens Riathen had given him out of his robe. He upended it on the table, then stared down at the contents, unable to believe his eyes. The baby crawled into his lap, bumping his head against Khat’s chin, and he remembered to breathe. “Sagai,” he said, “these are all hundred-day tokens.”

“No.” Sagai stared, then knelt to run a hand through the glittering little pile. “Not all, surely. A few, but…”

Khat turned the last ones up so the numbers were visible, each a heavy little oval of bronze-coated lead, all with the Academia’s spiral and a hundred-day marker. The baby selected one carefully and tried to eat it, grimacing at the taste, and Khat took it away from him, dropping it back into the pile. It was enough to buy Arad-edelk’s Ancient mural. It was more than enough.

Miram leaned over Sagai’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen that much … I’ve never even seen a hundred-day token. What does this mean?”

Sagai was biting his lip, his stunned expression turning to worry. “Academia tokens, not First Tier …”

Khat closed his eyes, and felt the room shift around him, an effect of the fever. He said, “More ‘convenient’ for us. And no one can trace them back to him.”

“Does he think we’re fools, or is he one?” Sagai growled.

Miram thumped Sagai on the back, startling him. “What does it mean?” she demanded again.

“The Master Warder didn’t promise to pay anywhere near this much.” Sagai’s mouth twisted in distaste. “He is buying us off.”

She was still confused. Khat edged more of the tokens out of the determined baby’s reach, and explained, “It implies that he needs to buy our silence.”

Sagai rested his head in his hands, looking his age. “And why should he buy our silence when all he has to do is send the Trade Inspectors? We disappear beneath the High Trade Authority, as you almost did, and he’s rid of us forever.”

Miram sat next to her husband; she understood now, and it frightened her. “He wouldn’t just be … grateful?”

They both looked at her, and she sighed. “Sorry.”

Sagai lifted one of the tokens, watching it glint in the late afternoon light. “There is no guarantee the Trade Inspectors or our friend Constans will leave us alone, or that Riathen will protect us, even if we do keep silent about these events.”

“He won’t trust us to keep silent. He could, but he won’t.” Khat knew Sagai was watching him steadily, and he met his partner’s eyes.

“There is only one thing to do,” Sagai said softly.

“I know.”

“Leave the city.”

Miram’s jaw dropped. “Back to Kenniliar? All of us?”

“All of us.” Sagai stirred the pile of tokens. “There’s more than enough here to buy a house in the quarter where my uncle lives, to buy two places in the Scholars’ Guild.”

“You don’t know that they would let me in,” Khat interrupted.

“I don’t know that they wouldn’t,” Sagai said firmly. “And it would be worth a try. Kenniliar is, in many ways, a kinder place than Charisat. Especially if one has money, and since the exchange rates are weighted in Charisat’s favor now, these would be worth even more there.”

Miram was rapidly adjusting to the idea and considering the practicalities. “The trade road is better patrolled now, isn’t it? And we could take a caravan with steamwagons.”

If Sagai had been keeping up with the exchange rates between Charisat’s trade tokens and Kenniliar’s state currency, then he had been seriously considering this option for longer than just today. Well, Khat had always known Sagai had come to Charisat only to make his fortune, that he would far rather raise his family in Kenniliar. And if Khat badly missed the brief involvement with the Academia that his association with Scholar Robelin had allowed him, he knew how Sagai must feel about the Scholars’ Guild.

“A nice house, near your uncle’s, maybe,” Miram was saying to herself. She looked up at Khat then, her dark eyes concerned, and apparently read his mind. “But you must come with us. It’s too dangerous here.”

Khat had already discounted the possibility that the Scholars’ Guild would allow him admission; it was simply too rare a chance to count on. His share of these tokens would be enough for a stake in Kenniliar’s far more expensive relic trade, but it would mean starting all over again, not knowing any of the other dealers, who was honest and legal and who sold for the Silent Market. His head ached, and it wasn’t something he could face now. “I’ll go, I’ll go,” he agreed. “But I can’t come right away. I’ve got something to do first. I’ll find you on the road.”

Sagai’s brows went up, and Khat knew he had given in too soon, but his partner only said, “It takes less than four days to reach Kenniliar now, by steamwagon.”

“I’ll be able to leave tomorrow night. If I don’t catch up, I’ll come to your uncle’s house in Kenniliar.”

Sagai wasn’t entirely convinced. He gestured to the glittering pile on the table. “Half of these tokens are yours,” he said mildly. “By rights, all should be yours. If you don’t come, you’ll make a thief out of me.”

Khat rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to look beaten and knowing he would have to be very convincing to fool Sagai. “I know I have to leave here. I don’t want anything else to do with crazy Warders and stalking ghosts.” He had forgotten to tell Elen about the reappearance of the ghost in Ecazar’s quarters, forgotten it almost until this moment. That was odd. He must be more ill than he thought. “I’m not saying I won’t ever come back here again, but I’ll come after you as soon as I can. If not on the trade road, then in Kenniliar.”

Sagai was frowning, reluctant to believe him and equally reluctant to call him a liar. But Miram firmly ended the discussion by declaring that Khat needed rest, and he obediently dragged himself up the steps to the upper room to collapse.

The roof would have been cooler, even at this time of day, but Khat was feeling the urge to be somewhere quiet, dark, and enclosed.

He slept for some time, and woke from a dream where he was telling Elen that something didn’t make sense. The dream thoughts faded rapidly, and he couldn’t recall what the something was. He lay there a while longer, dozing and listening to the muted sobbing from the rooms below.

From what he could hear, Netta had come back from the market, heard the decision, and gone into strong hysterics. Sagai and Miram had made no plans that hadn’t included her; Netta had all but given them her home, and had always been able to pull her own weight and take care of her children too, and they meant to take her with them wherever they went. They had set about persuading her, and he could hear their voices, sometimes taking turns at it, sometimes talking at the same time, with Netta weeping in the background and the voices of her daughter and the other children occasionally chiming in. It only made sense; she would have a home with Miram and Sagai as long as she wanted it, and, since there was no prejudice against widows or abandoned wives in Kenniliar as there was in Charisat, she would probably be able to marry again if she wanted. Netta was only balking at the idea of leaving the city she had been born in, and it was difficult for her to believe that Kenniliar would hold a better life for her. Or maybe, Khat decided, she was used to being left behind, and it was difficult for her to accept that this time she wasn’t.

He knew it was settled when Netta’s daughter came upstairs, humming happily under her breath, and started to pack the spare clothes, even though Netta herself still wept downstairs.

Khat went to sleep again after that, sprawled facedown on a pile of matting, and didn’t wake until he sensed Miram leaning over him.

“I can’t understand why you feel so hot,” she was muttering, half to herself. “The cuts aren’t taking on badly.”

Khat sat up, running a hand through his hair and remembering in time not to lean back against the wall. It was night now; he could tell that from his inner sense of the sun’s passage, even though this room had no windows and light seldom made it down from the vents and roof traps in the room above. He felt better, or clear-headed at least, and his skin wasn’t so oddly sensitive. Miram was watching him thoughtfully, and he told her, “It’s nothing. Did you get Netta settled?”

“Finally, yes. It took her a little while to get used to the idea, but some of that crying was for joy.” She sighed. “We’re giving the house to Ris’s family. They can cut holes in the wall and combine it with theirs. Libra and Senace are going to stay and live with them.”

“You didn’t tell them where we’re going, did you?”

“Sagai told them we were going to Denatra, towards the coast. So if anyone asks they have an answer to give.” She frowned. “You are coming with us, aren’t you?”

“I told you I was.”

“Kenniliar really is a better city than this. We would never have left except that it takes so much money to live there, and to buy places in the guilds, and Sagai didn’t want to be a burden on his uncle.”

He looked away, consciously avoiding her eyes. “I’ve been there. It was all right.” Kenniliar didn’t have the high foreign population of Charisat, or the larger city’s limited experience with kris. He had drawn far too much attention there simply walking down the street.

“It will be better, having people there, and a home. A real house, I mean, with its own fountain.” Miram looked around at the familiar room, visible in the wan light from a single candle bowl. The wicker chests that were normally pushed back into a corner had been pulled out for packing, the piles of matting shoved aside, the children’s battered rag-and-bead dolls collected in a heap. “Sagai went down to the docks before dark and bought our passage on a caravan leaving in the morning.”

“He didn’t use his own name …”

“No, he is Athram-selwa, a trader in beads and dyestuffs, moving his wife and sister and children to Kenniliar.” Her eyes came back from faraway as she stopped thinking about the journey and concentrated on him. “Are you worried about Elen?”

Khat lifted one shoulder in a careful shrug. “A little. There’s some things I should have told her at the Academia, before she left.”

“She is a Warder,” Miram said, considering it carefully. “Even though she looks so young. She should be able to take care of herself.”

“I should be able to take care of myself, and you’re treating me like one of your babies.”

Miram smiled, getting to her feet, and slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Now I know you’re feeling better.”

Once they reached the First Tier, Riathen had the relics carried up to his chamber, then locked himself away without a word to anyone. At the moment, this suited Elen perfectly. She avoided Gandin’s questions by avoiding him, and slipped down to her rooms to change her dusty and sweat-soaked kaftan for a fresh one and to put on her white Warder’s mantle. Then she escaped the house.

On the way back she had asked Riathen about the High Justice from whom he had taken the crystal plaque, and, too preoccupied with his success to wonder at the question, he had told her the man’s name was Vien’ten Rasan.

Custom allowed High Justices of the Trade Inspectors to conceal their names as well as their faces when doing their duties on the lower tiers, but Elen was sure she would recognize the man she had encountered in the prison.
And if it is him, well then
, she thought. There were only twelve High Justices in Charisat, and she supposed coincidence was possible. But she was simply in no mood to believe in coincidence.

She knew this would be her last part in this. If their suspicions were correct and Riathen did want the relics to use as pieces of some arcane engine he was constructing, the rest would be a matter for Warders of power.
And perhaps that’s for the best
, Elen thought. She had stretched her power as she never had before in the past few days; she knew she couldn’t take much more.

Justice Rasan’s house was across the tier from Riathen’s and a long walk in the afternoon heat. Approaching it, she thought it quite in character for a Trade Inspector: the place was blocky and designed as if for defense, with thick limestone-faced walls concealing everything but the very top of a central dome, and narrow gates guarded by wary private vigils.