Kaavl Conspiracy (20 page)

“Listen to good advice.”

“I’ll try.”

Hanuh headed for the door and blew out the light. “Your father and I are playing whaal tonight. Would you like to join us?”

They stepped into the hall. The passageway seemed dimmer than it should be. A torch must have burnt dry.

Methusal drew the door shut, but a movement down the hall, glimpsed over her mother’s shoulder, caught her eye. She caught the impression of height and broad shoulders before the person vanished around the darkened corner, heading for the stairway up to the plateau.

The door to the supply room was ajar.

Had someone gone inside? The evening meal had finished,
so who would have a reason to enter the room now? Unless Old Sims had come by to check on something…

Methusal stared down the hall.

“Well?” Her mother waited.

“Umm…no, thank you. I’m tired.”

“Goodnight, then.” Hanuh’s mind already seemed far away, and a faint frown pulled at her brows.

“Goodnight, Mama. See you tomorrow.” She tried to dismiss her uneasy feeling about the supply room. It was nothing. Just Sims. Sims was tall.

But he was also stoop shouldered and thin. The man she’d seen wasn’t.

On impulse, as Hanuh disappeared down the hall toward the gathering chamber, Methusal swung open the supply room door. Faint light from the hall lamp shone into the dark room. Shadowed humps of grain bags lay on the stone floor. Although the darkness of the room prevented her from counting the individual bags of grain, everything looked pretty much as it had earlier today.

With a frown, Methusal closed the door. Who had been in the room? If it wasn’t Sims… Surely she hadn’t seen the thief—or Renn’s murderer. Had she?

Her heart beat a little faster. Why would anyone want to go up to the plateau in the middle of the night?

It did seem suspicious. She glanced down the hall, and wondered if she should follow him. But if he was the murderer, he could be dangerous. What if he tried to push her off the cliff, too?

On the other hand, if she didn’t find the real killer, she could be executed for murder.

Methusal slipped down the hall and stopped at the roughhewn steps. She looked up. The trapdoor was open. Someone had definitely gone outside. Her palms broke out in a light sweat.

She crept up the stone steps, and reached the trapdoor all too quickly. A chilly breeze kicked across the plateau, reminding her of the late hour, and her thin tunic.

Gathering her courage, she peered outside. Her eyes darted right, to the east. Nothing. Just the rows of mounded earth that Barak and his helpers had tilled, preparing to plant half of the summer grain. Beyond that field, she heard the rush of the Rolban River, which hugged the towering Rolban Mountains. To her left, the bluffs ended in nothingness. That was where Renn had fallen to his death.

Methusal crept up the stairs into the dark, starlit night. Ryon wasn’t up yet, although its faint green glow illuminated the tops of the eastern, Rolban Mountains.

Nothing. She saw no one. Though she did smell a foul, rotting odor.

A shadow moved to the east. It grew larger. He was coming
closer!

Retreat inside, or hide and investigate further?

The person would be able to see her soon. Methusal ducked down and hurried to hide behind the wooden trap door she’d just come out. She rounded the corner…and stepped into nothingness.

Methusal gasped,
and clutched at the earth sliding by. She landed on her knees in a soft, squishy mess. Too late, she remembered the pit of rotting, stinky compost Barak had pointed out a week ago, when he’d given her a tour of the farmland. Decomposing vegetables, plants, and leaves now slimed her arms to her elbows, and coated most of her legs. The smell made her gag.

A thump caught her attention. The trapdoor had closed. She’d missed her opportunity to identify the man.

She climbed out, dripping sludge. Great. How would she explain her filthy clothes to her mother? And her new moccasins! Slime squished between her toes. Had she ruined them? Methusal wanted to cry. She’d waited three years for a new pair, and now this!

She bit her lip, but her throat ached with frustration. Well, too late now. She’d clean them up as best she could. But first, she’d scout out the area where the man had come from.

Walking more carefully this time, Methusal attempted to retrace the man’s steps. In this area the bluff curved, and on the northern side a sheer ravine cut into part of the farmland. Boulders had been mortared into a waist high wall in this location to prevent people from falling over the edge. Methusal was glad for it. One accident tonight was enough.

She was sure the man had come from this direction. But why would he stand at the chasm? It was too dark to see down into it. Methusal scouted the area further, but saw nothing to explain why the man had come over here. Unless he’d dropped something into the ravine. Stolen goods? Ore? But why? Who would pick them up?

Tomorrow she’d return in the daylight and investigate the ravine more carefully.

But for now, she needed to go in and deal with her filthy, stinky clothes. First, though, she grabbed handfuls of wild grass and wiped the worst of the slimy sludge off. Once inside, she would grab a change of clothes and head for the wash room. And she’d launder her own clothes, even though it wasn’t her family’s wash day. The wash room should be empty now.

* * * * *

Clean again, and thankful that she hadn’t encountered anyone in the wash room, since the other Rolbanis were either at home or playing whaal, Methusal hurried to her family’s compartment carrying her clean, dripping clothes and scrubbed moccasins. She passed the garment and supply room hallway—all quiet now—and continued on, hoping to avoid family and friends, and also uncomfortable questions about her soggy clothes.

Where the passageway forked she turned right, down a narrow wing which led to her family’s living quarters. She slipped inside the door, and closed it again softly behind her. Thankfully, no one was home except for Chup Chup.

She chirruped to him and patted his head before she slipped onto the ledge balcony and into the soft green night. She hung her clothes over the clothes line, and put her moccasins in a protected corner of the ledge. They’d be stiff in the morning. Maybe stained, too.

She glanced up the steep cliff. The plateau she’d just come from lay up there. Somewhere nearby was the mysterious ravine. Tomorrow she’d try to explore the plain below it. If Petr let her.

* * * * *

Fourthday

The next morning,
Methusal awoke early. She hoped no one had seen her clothes out on the ledge yet, because she’d rather not answer a bunch of difficult questions. If possible, she’d bring them into her room now so they could finish drying.

Unfortunately, her mother sat in the living room holding her morning mug of tea cupped in her hands. Her delicate brow rose.

“Methusal. Why are your clothes hanging on the line? Your new moccasins are damp, too.”

Methusal sighed and hurried to inspect her new footwear. “Are they okay?” She still felt sick about sliming her new moccasins. And within the first hour she’d owned them, too.

“I brushed them out. They’ll be fine.” But Hanuh gave her a sharp look. “Care to tell me where you were last night?”

Hanuh wouldn’t approve of her sneaking out to the plateau
to follow a potential killer. “I fell into a mess. I cleaned them up as best I could.”

“They’ll stink for a while. Barak’s compost heap is a little ripe.”

Methusal lowered her eyes. “Yes.” Her clothes were still damp, so she left them on the line. She pulled the damp moccasins onto her feet. They should dry in a few hours.

Hanuh said, “You won’t say what you were doing, will you?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing to tell. I’m trying to clear my name, but I keep running into dead ends.” She glanced down at her moccasins. “Or slime pits.”

A smile touched her mouth. “I’m sorry, Thusa. Something will turn around soon. I’m praying for that.”

“Thank you.” Methusal was glad her mother had chosen not to press further, and that she wouldn’t reprimand her for going out on the plateau against Petr’s orders, either.

“You’re an adult now. But please be careful. Petr could make life very uncomfortable for you.”

“I know. Believe me.”

Her mother viewed her as an adult now. It was a new, strangely liberating feeling. She smiled and stood a little straighter. “I’m off to breakfast. Could I bring you something?”

Hanuh shook her head. “Just be careful. Please.”

* * * * *

“
He?
” Deccia asked. “How do you know it was a he?”

“I saw a big man leave the supply room last night. I followed
him to the plateau.” Methusal told about her adventure, complete with falling into Barak’s slimy compost pit. A smile tugged at Deccia’s lips. “Don’t tell anyone,” she warned.

“I won’t. Except Aali, if that’s okay. She’s probably going stir crazy right about now.”

Petr had banished Aali to her room for the entire day. Apparently, he’d forbidden Deccia to bring her any food, either. Methusal would not let her mind go to the place where she’d like to assign Petr.

“Of course you can tell Aali. Will Petr let you see her?”

“Only to bring water at lunch and dinner.” Deccia frowned, but returned her attention to Methusal’s dilemma. “I want to help. What can I do?”

“I don’t know. Timaeus gave me a list of the people who have access to the ore. It’s well over thirty people. I don’t know how to narrow it down.” She shook her head. “Aali has the best idea. We need to catch the thief in the act. But that means more guards, and Petr won’t post them. I have to think of something soon, though, before Liem finds more ‘evidence.’ It always seems to point straight to me.”

“You’re being framed,” Deccia agreed. “The question is, why you?”

Methusal wished she knew.

* * * * *

When Methusal reported to the supply room for work, she found Old Sims wandering the large cave, muttering to himself.

“Er uld i’be?”

“What’s the matter, Sims?”

He stared at her. A heavy frown creased his leathery, wrinkled face. “I can’t find it!”

“Find what?”

“One of the bags of seed grain is missing. Barak needs one and a half bags right now. I was going to pour half into another bag, but…” his empty palms gestured toward the back of the cave. “It’s gone. And Barak will be here soon to pick them up.”

Methusal glanced at the back of the cave, where the three bags had been. Only two remained. A closer inspection revealed no clues. The sack of grain had disappeared without a trace. Worse, it appeared to be the bag she’d already sifted.

“Maybe Barak took it already,” she suggested, although a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her he hadn’t. The man she’d seen last night must have done it. She hoped she was wrong. Before telling Sims, however, she decided it would be best to do a thorough search for the bag. She didn’t want to upset him further, if there was no reason to do so.

Doubt wrinkled Sims’ brow. “I only left the room once this morning. I don’t think he came in then.”

“Do you think the grain was gone before you arrived here this morning?”

“I just don’t know. I didn’t pay attention.” The elderly man shuffled over to inspect the list posted near the door. Everything taken from the supply room had to be signed out, as that was the only way Sims could keep his inventory list current.

Now he shook his head. “No. Barak didn’t sign it out.” His troubled, confused gaze rested on Methusal. That grain was going to help provide food for all of next winter.

Why would someone take a bag of seed grain? No food rationing had been ordered—yet. Food was always available in the kitchen, so a theft from the supply room made no sense. But then again, none of the recent thefts in Rolban made sense.

Methusal thought quickly. “I could ask Barak about it, just to be sure.”

“Did I hear my name?” The large, heavily muscled man charged in. Although his hair was dark and wild, like his brother Kitran’s, there the resemblance ended. Whereas Kitran was quiet and well controlled, Barak was boisterous, given equally to fits of temper or shouts of laughter. One always knew where one stood with Barak, because he didn’t hold anything back.

A quick glance at the two of them made his eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong?” he boomed.

“One bag of grain is missing.”

Barak scowled and strode for the far corner. He counted with quick jabs of his finger. “Two.” He glared, as if they had intentionally hidden the bag from him. “Well? Where’s the third one?”

“We don’t know,” Methusal answered. “Did someone already carry it to the plateau?”

Barak grumbled and shook his shaggy head. “No. I didn’t order it.” Several seconds elapsed as he considered the facts. “I’ll ask my men,” he said finally. “I’ll let you know if it turns up.”

He tossed one of the bags over his shoulder and stalked out. A scowl knotted his thick brows. He didn’t take kindly to people usurping his authority, and Methusal pitied the person who’d feel the lash of his angry tongue.
If
someone had carried the grain to the plateau without authorization.

“I hope he finds it,” Sims fretted.

“I hope so, too.”

But the missing bag did not turn up on the crop plateau. One of the crop tenders came down to help Sims and Methusal look for it, although they had already thoroughly
searched both supply rooms and the kitchen. Apparently Barak
had questioned each of his workers, but no one had collected it.

Where
was
it, anyway? The sack was too huge to be misplaced for long. And if it had been stolen, it would be difficult to hide. Methusal’s mind returned to the man on the bluff last night. He must have stolen the grain. But what had he done with it? It clearly wasn’t on the crop plateau now. She had to tell Sims what she’d seen.

The loss of the seed grain displeased Barak exceedingly, and he soon returned to the supply room, his face flushed with temper.

“Give me a bag of regular grain, Sims. We’re short on seeds, so I’ll have to chance it. Either that, or we’ll starve to death this winter!” He strode over to the bags of uncured grain and tossed one bag onto his shoulder. He glowered at Methusal as he lumbered out again. “Probably rot in the soil!” The door slammed.

Now their grain supply for meals had just shrunk to a dangerously low level. Sims had previously estimated that they had enough to last until the first crops came in, but now they were one bag short. What would they do?

She mentioned her concern to Sims, and he shook his head. “I don’t know, my girl. We have to find that missing bag, or we’ll go hungry.”

Sims stiffly lowered himself onto the stool beside the inventory list. With a deep frown, he scanned it again. “I don’t understand what could have happened to it.”

It was time to tell Sims about what she’d seen last night.

Methusal kept her tone level, not wanting to upset Sims further, and explained what she had witnessed. She finished, “I couldn’t tell if he was carrying a bag of grain. And I don’t know what he could have done with it on the plateau. I was hoping I was wrong, but it seems like the grain has been stolen. And I’m worried about something else, too. I know we just did inventory, and everything seemed to be fine. But maybe the thief stole more than just seed grain last night.”

Sims, if possible, looked even more upset now. He peered at the list still grasped in his shaking hand. “I’m thinking we should do another inventory count. This time you’ll check the downstairs supply room. See if your count matches mine and Renn’s. Renn had a sharp eye, and he was always on top of the inventory. If something was stolen, your count will tell.”

* * * * *

Methusal struck a short piece of firestick against the rock wall and pushed open the heavy wooden door to the supply room. A touch of the stick to the lamp inside sprang the small room to shadowed life. It was sparsely filled, compared to the room upstairs. Sims was right. It wouldn’t take long to inventory.

She pulled the inventory list from the peg on the wall and slowly walked about the room comparing, item by item, the actual supplies with the list. The knowledge that Renn had been here, doing this very same job a few days ago crept into her mind. And gnawed at it.

Why
had he died? Because he’d found evidence pointing to the thief’s identity?

And now the thief had stolen a bag of seed grain. Why?

As she finished counting food in the supply room, Methusal realized again that the theft may mean Rolbanis would go hungry this coming winter. Had it been an act of sabotage? But by whom? Dehriens? Why would Mentàll sign a peace alliance with her community if he wanted to destroy them? Nothing made sense.

And nothing was missing from this storeroom. Methusal did a quick re-check to confirm, but her conclusion was the same. Blowing out the lamp, she trotted back upstairs, where she found Sims frowning over his list again.

“What’s the matter?” She peered around his thin shoulder.

“Hmph! Somebody signed out two sacks of dried meat two days ago, but I didn’t authorize it. And I can’t read the initials.”