Kaavl Conspiracy (21 page)

Her gaze followed the line of his misshapen finger. “2 d. mt.” The signature was indecipherable.

“Maybe it was someone from lunch duty,” she suggested. “We’ve eaten dried meat and grain discs every day for months.”

“No. That’s all accounted for. Matron Olgith is the only one who signs out supplies for breakfast and lunch.”

Methusal hadn’t known Matron Olgith was in charge of lunch, too—maybe that explained the lack of imagination in both meals.

Old Sims sighed and put away the well-handled list. “Nothing else seems to be missing. I’m not sure what else to do.”

“I wish we could put a lock on the door.” Unfortunately, Rolban only had a few built-in metal locks, and they were used for sealing off the passageways with safety hazards and the ore mine hallway, and also the front gate. Metal workers had made several dozen detachable locks before the Great War, but most had fallen prey to rust, and never repaired.

Although her words made Sims frown, he rose shakily to his feet. “We can. And maybe we should. Until this stealing thing is straightened out, at least.” He bent to rummage through a bin. An angry mutter reached Methusal’s ears. “Next time Verdnt comes around, I’ll have something to tell him ’bout improving Rolban!”

At last he emerged, triumphantly brandishing a huge, old fashioned lock. A long, spiked key was tied across the face.

“Sims! Where did you get that?”

He fingered it lovingly. “My grandfather gave this to me, and his grandfather before him. Came from the time when metal ore was there for the taking. Used to be great metal smiths in those days. Even in Quasr, where I’m from.”

Methusal had learned in her history class that long ago, before the Great War, the inhabitants of Rolban had been the greatest metal workers of all. They had fashioned huge, wonderful things out of the ore, as well as instruments of war. Little wonder, since most of the continent’s ore deposits resided in their own mountain. The metal gates downstairs were a standing relic from those days, and still worked perfectly, despite the long passage of time.

The ore ran out during the Great War—or so the story said, although clearly that was not true—and with it went metal working. The Great War Peace Plan had ordered that all of the weapons of war be refashioned into planting tools, and hunting and kitchen supplies. It forbade further metal working, except to mend broken tools. The ore deposits were closed.

In any case, intricate metal working was now a forgotten art, and written about only in dusty history texts. Rolban had learned to live without new metal objects. Wood or clay served every day purposes just as well.

The round, silvery object looked heavy in Sims’ palm. “Let’s try it out.” He freed the key and practiced snapping the circular lock open and closed a few times. Pride gleamed in his eyes. “Works good as new. Wish I had one for downstairs, too. But we don’t have much in there at this time of the year. We could move it all up here, I guess. I’ll think on that.” He glanced around the room. “Guess we can leave now. Lunch will be ready soon.”

In the hall, Methusal watched Sims deftly thread the lock through matching holes in the door and door jamb. Smoothly, it clicked shut. No one could get in now—unless they broke down the door. That would attract a lot of attention.

“I’ll report the missing supplies to Petr.” Sims slipped the key into his pocket and smiled at Methusal. “Thank you for your help, my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Delicious smells drifted from the dining hall. Methusal
hurried to join the long line of people stretched out the dining
room door.

Fresh stew, complete with vegetables and thickened with ground grain, was the main course. Fresh loaves of bread cooled on the counter. Maybe Matron Olgith had taken a day off from lunch duty. Alone at her table, Methusal tucked in.

The bread was delicious. Disappointingly, the stew didn’t taste as good as it smelled. The wild beast meat was tough and stringy, and the flavorless broth was clogged with lumps of grain too quickly added to the pot. But it was nourishing, so she choked it down.

She definitely needed to talk to Sims soon about variety in the meals.

“Hello, Methusal.” Her mother slipped onto the bench. Hanuh Maahr caught sight of her husband, and her face blossomed into a radiant smile. “Erl, dear! How is your day going?”

He kissed her with affection, and sat beside her. “Fine, thank you. What about you, Thusa? Has Old Sims been working your fingers to the bone?”

“No, Papa.” Methusal smiled. She felt reluctant to tell him about the grain theft. Both of her parents had seemed troubled lately, and she was afraid her news would disturb them even more. All the same, they would learn about it soon enough.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked with a gentle frown.

“A bag of seed grain is missing.” At her parents’ deepening frowns, she told the story of the missing grain, and that Sims had put a lock on the door.

Grooves of tension now replaced Hanuh’s happy smile. Her knuckles whitened around her spoon. “What will we eat this winter, Erl?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned and blew on a spoonful of hot soup. “You say Sims is reporting this to Petr?”

At Methusal’s nod, he muttered, “Things are getting worse. People thought the Alliance would stop the thefts.”

Methusal said slowly, “It is strange. The Alliance is supposed to bring our communities peace. But the thefts are creating suspicion and distrust.”

Erl’s frown deepened. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way. It does seems like someone might want to stir up trouble between our communities.”

“But why?” Hanuh wanted to know. “The Dehriens clearly want peace. So do the Tarst.”

Erl shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know. But what worries me more is the missing grain. It has to be here somewhere. No one from Dehre or any other community has been here since yesterday afternoon.” He would know. As the chief messenger, Erl was in charge of coordinating the incoming and outgoing messages to the other communities.

So he was right. The grain must still be in Rolban, somewhere.

Methusal said, “I might have seen the thief last night.” Before her parents could react, she quickly explained what she had seen.

“So that’s why you fell in Barak’s compost heap,” Hanuh said.

Erl frowned again. “That was a foolish thing to do, Thusa. What if he had caught you? He might have killed you, too!”

“I know, Papa. But I was careful.”

A little while later her parents bid her farewell, and Methusal sat alone at the table, thinking more about the man she’d seen last night on the plateau. If he
had
been thief, he must have hidden the grain on the plateau last night, because when he’d climbed back down into Rolban, he had not been carrying a bag of seed grain. Where had he left the grain, then? Not anywhere obvious, or Barak would have found it.

Again, she remembered that the man had returned from the direction of the ravine. Had he dropped the grain
into
the ravine? Would someone come collect it later? Was it still there now?

Excitement grew. Maybe it was still there! She could go look.

Methusal cast a quick look at the Storst table, and noted that Petr was still eating lunch with his cronies. She didn’t see Deccia. Maybe she was bringing Aali her nourishing cup of water.

Now was the perfect opportunity to check out that ravine on the crop plateau. Better yet, she could sneak out the front gate, circle around to the back of the Rolban, and check it out at ground level.

Methusal headed for the Grand Staircase. If a guard was at the gate... Well, she’d find a way around him.

* * * * *

“Hold up!” Liem’s hard, belligerent shout slowed Methusal’s steps halfway down the Grand Staircase.

She ignored him, and continued her downward flight. Renn’s father was becoming an annoying, dangerous thorn in her side.

“Methusal!”

Reluctantly, she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited, arms crossed. “What?” she said shortly.

Liem’s silver hair looked greasy, and his clothes wrinkled and creased, as if he’d worn the same clothes for days. Bags underscored his dark eyes, and weariness and a flush of anger mottled his skin tone. It was clear from his livid expression that he wanted to call her every name under the sun, but he controlled himself with visible effort.

He snapped, “I saw your clothes flapping in the breeze. It’s not your family’s wash day.”

Methusal felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“I spoke to your mother,” Liem pressed. “She admitted you fell in the slime pit last night.”

Methusal didn’t know what to say. She was sick to death
of this man watching her, accusing her, and generally making
her life a living misery.

“Explain yourself!” Liem shouted.

Her own temper flared. “Why? You clearly have all the answers.”

“
Why
were you outside against orders?”

Although it surely did not help her cause, she said nothing. The man clearly could not hear reason. Why waste her breath?

“You deserve to be locked up!” Liem roared.

Footsteps scuffled down the staircase. Petr appeared. “What is going on? We can hear you in the dining hall, Liem.”

“That girl,” he pointed, “is a murdering, thieving criminal!
She won’t follow orders. She deserves to be locked up. Now!”

Petr’s heavy frown turned on Methusal. “What have you done now?”

“I saw the thief last night. Well, the back of him. I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“What?” Both men fell satisfactorily silent.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I saw the real thief climb to the crop plateau last night. I followed him.”

“You mean you helped him steal the grain!” Liem shouted.

Methusal didn’t dignify that accusation with a response, and addressed her next statement to Petr. “I think he threw the grain into the ravine. Maybe it’s still there. I want to go check.”

Petr’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “I
told
you to quit investigating!”

“Right. So I should roll over and play dead while someone frames me for murder? I don’t think so. I’m going to investigate until the real murderer is caught.” Finally, she addressed Liem. “For the last time, I did
not
kill your son. But I won’t rest until I find out who did.”

“Go to your compartment.” Petr’s voice shook with fury. “Go
now.
”

Petr’s anger took her aback. It seemed out of proportion to the circumstances. However, she held her ground. “Who’s going to check the ravine, then? If we don’t find that grain, we’ll go hungry this winter.”

“You’re grasping for the wind,” Petr growled. “Go to your compartment!”

Methusal turned to Liem. “Will you go?”

His complexion didn’t look any less mottled or furious, but he nodded. “I’ll check. And I’ll see if it proves you a liar…again.”

“Liem…” But Petr’s voice trailed away when Renn’s father strode for the cave entrance. He scowled at Methusal. “You have your orders.”

Without a word, she retreated up the stairs. She did go to her compartment, and she paced the floor for a long time. She wasn’t sure how long she was banished to her room, but a few hours seemed like a good guess. After all, she didn’t want to provoke her uncle further and end up in jail.

But Petr could not cage her thoughts, and she struggled to make sense of everything she’d learned so far. First of all, she couldn’t help but think the theft could have been prevented. If Petr had posted a guard last night, like they’d requested, the grain would still safely be in the supply room.

As for the scene in the Great Hall—why had Petr been so upset when he’d learned that she’d followed the thief last night? And it seemed like he didn't want anyone to investigate the ravine. Even more suspicious, why did it seem like Liem was doing more investigating on this case than Petr? Even if all the evidence pointed to her, clearly Liem was trying to find answers. Was Petr?

* * * * *

Honorable Presidente,

Your brilliant plans are bearing fruit. The extra letter of agreement has been accepted, and payment made. Even better, the fool thinks the whole plan was his idea. Convincing him was easy, for kaavl is a sacred word here. It conveys power, and every Chief wants more. I continue to be amazed by the trusting stupidity of the Rolbanis. They are fools to allow immigrants within their borders. But I should not be surprised. They are weak, and have grown soft in their comfortable, safe dwelling. Our ally was pleased to find this true for himself, and a plan is set for the final harvest. I need only find the
2
^nd
Book of Kaavl
before judgment is executed upon Rolban. It cannot come too soon. Methusal Maahr and Liem are both threats. I will take all steps necessary to prevent them from uncovering the truth. No one suspects me, and your deepest spy remains undetected as well, although he has upset matters, too. You can be proud of him. Peace will soon end with the sword. I cannot wait to secure Rolban’s treasures for Zindedi.

* * * * *

Dehre

Mentàll had returned
from Tarst with the signed Alliance that evening. Dehriens had lined the dirt lanes and cheered.

Maybe now they could trade vats of wild beast oil for food from Rolban and Tarst, Hendra thought as she lay awake in bed later that night. Surely, she had been wrong about the Alliance, and her suspicions about Mentàll, too. Surely, everything would be all right.

Night crept by. Still, she couldn’t sleep. But her body did urge a visit to the relief chamber outside. It was late, and the few people who might be up would be drunken men and hunters. Hendra sped across the Chief’s compound to the relief hut. Ryon’s green rays shone down, lighting the empty walkways. No one was out. But she did notice a lamp burning in Mentàll’s tent. Voices murmured. Curiosity and suspicion reared their ugly heads again.