The Seer - eARC (46 page)

He said something to her in Perripin, something quiet.

“Indeed,” she said in response. “How—unexpected. You, of all people. Well. This woman is under my protection. You understand me?”

“I understand,” he said. Then, to Amarta, in a tone and accent that she now clearly recognized: “I am told by those in various establishments in Kelerre that you are looking for me tonight.”

Amarta swallowed. For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Yes.”

“Why?”

At his look, she felt sick, her stomach turning. She sucked in breath, one deep inhale after another, as if she were drowning.

“I am done running. I want to contract with the Lord Commander.”

“Ah. This is good. We are now aligned in purpose.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“I understand that, Seer. But these are dangerous times. I can offer you my protection en route to the palace and the Lord Commander.”

Amarta exhaled a laugh of disbelief. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

“Why should we trust you?” Maris asked.

“What cause have you to mistrust?” His voice took on the strange mix of accents again. “I’m no less Enlon than I am the one the Seer has been fleeing. Remember the sudden storm off the islands when we fought waves fifteen feet high? You trusted me then. With your life. Why trust me less now?”

Maris shook her head, clearly annoyed. “You are contracted with Innel. You take on disguises to deceive.”

He laughed a little. “Did you not also serve the Lord Commander, Maris? Where is your mage’s black?”

“It is not the same thing.”

“As you say.”

Others only want your head.

“Yes,” Amarta said to him, breaking in. “I will take your protection.”

They both looked at her, Maris surprised. “Amarta, are you certain?”

If she did not run from him, he could not chase her. Was it not better to have him close, where she could see him, than following behind?

Best to keep enemies as close as possible.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

The price of not being hunted, it seemed, was facing these eyes.

“I am,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-five

“I have found what you’ve been looking for, Lord Commander,” Keyretura said as he stepped into the office.

For a short-lived moment, Innel thought that the mage had somehow found the seer. But no—three green-and-cream-clad servants trailed him into the office, carrying the stacks of ledgers Innel had given him to look over. He motioned them to his desk, where they set the stacks, then he dismissed them. They left quickly.

The mage looked at Srel and Nalas and gestured to the door. More disturbing than seeing Keyretura dismiss Nalas and Srel was how quickly they obeyed him.

The mage sat and tapped one of the heavy tomes in front of Innel with a long nail. “Page seventy-two. Note the name of the clerk signing. His accountings are accurate to the quarter-nals and without error. The problem begins here.”

“Perhaps he is simply good at his work?”

“No. The only clerks who make no mistakes are those with something to hide. Search his quarters.”

“I shall,” Innel said, noticing how much like an order that had sounded.

“Next is this: adjustments in accounts—the inconsistencies your ministers are so fond of excusing—are nearly always used to account for too little in places where there should be more. However, across all these books you have the opposite set of corrections.”

“The opposite set of—”

“You have too much coin to account for. This is a recent change, perhaps the last handful of years, and not at all a common problem in your empire. It certainly wasn’t the case when I audited these same accounts some thirty years ago.”

“Too
much
?”

“Yes. A number of clerks have been taking extra—some ministers as well—but more importantly, someone is putting unaccounted-for funds into your treasury. This is why, with all the extra being taken out, your clerks are both befuddled and yet able to make the numbers come out even.”

Innel sat back, stunned. “Who would do that, and why?”

“A good question. Perhaps it is time for another talk with your ministers.”

Innel considered this and the mage sitting in front of him. “Would you, High One, be able to help me assess the veracity of their words?”

“I assume Marisel told you that mages don’t read thoughts.”

“She did, indeed.”

“That is so. However, I do read bodies, and your kind lies both poorly and predictably. More importantly, those who believe I can detect deception are likely to reveal it without my needing to do much at all.”

At this Innel found he was smiling. “You seem to know a good deal about how people work. Mine in particular.”

“Yes, I do.”

It occurred to him that the mage might well have had a similar conversation with someone else the last time he audited these books, long ago. Just how old was Keyretura? He stared at the mage a moment and wondered why he had taken this contract. “What does my body tell you, High One?”

“That you are tired and need sleep. That you eat too little. That you sit too much.”

Innel snorted. “True enough.” He kept meaning to find time to take Nalas into the garrison and practice with him until they were both dripping with sweat, but there never seemed to be time. He looked at the ledgers and then at the mage. “I am fortunate to have you advising me, High One.”

“Yes, you are.”

“But it’s midwinter and very cold outside,” Nalas said. Then, catching Innel’s look, added slowly, “Which is a fine thing, because there’s little I enjoy more than fencing when there’s frost on the ground, ser.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Innel said. These days he seemed to always find a good reason not to. That stopped today.

Trailing a handful of guards, the two of them went to the practice yards outside the garrison and selected red-oak practice swords. By the time they were both good and sweaty, with a handful of bruises each, Innel ended the workout, handing his sword to one of the many guards watching and accepting a towel in return. As they walked back to the palace, they came upon a game of two-head between Kincel and Helata, with Tok watching from the sideline.

“I commend you for staying in good condition, Lord Commander,” called Tok.

“You should join us.”

“Na. Smarter than I am fast, as you may recall,” Tok said with a grin.

“Not saying much.”

As the Helata team slammed their blue and green ball into the goal, Kincel threaded theirs between the legs of Helata’s defenders, trailing a wake of curses and blows. The arbiter blasted a horn to indicate a goal on one side while Kincel’s gray and tawny ball went flying out of bounds.

“Good thing my mother finds me so charming, then.”

“I understand congratulations are in order—I hear she has named you Eparch-heir.”

Tok smiled wide.

“Speaking of which,” Innel said, “please tell her how very much the crown appreciates the good work Etallan has done with the tax collection warrants in Gotar.”

“I shall, ser. She will be quite interested to know if I have inside information into the timeline for the next Cohort. Do I?”

“You do not.”

“I thought I might not. And the other matter?”

Helata’s riverhouse mansion. Helata had been somewhat less than enthusiastic about the notion of selling their land and house to Etallan, at any price; their counteroffer to buy Etallan’s smithy included an extensively detailed accounting of the last ten years’ ocean-going freighter trade, with the portion that went to the crown underlined a number of times. Innel had put the discussion aside in the hopes that tempers might cool.

All because Etallan seemed to need to run their screaming grindstones and waterwheel-powered hammers all through the night.

“Out of my hands, Tok. Bring it to the queen,” Innel said, knowing the seneschal would never find time in the queen’s schedule for that particular matter.

Tok gave him a brief, assessing look, then turned back to the field, eyes flickering across the shouting, rushing players in House colors. “Who do you favor today?”

“I can hardly choose one House over another, Eparch-heir.”

A laugh. “It’s only a game, Lord Commander. Hardly anything at stake but reputation.”

“Then I suppose I can say both teams seem enthusiastic.”

“Truly? I think Helata looks worn.”

No reason not to give him something to gnaw on. “I admit I’m surprised to see them sticking with the diamond formation on defense.”

“But look—the woman on the left, doubled over and heaving? Their foremost. I don’t think she’ll make it to the end of the game.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Neither team a match for Etallan in any case. We lack for challenge among the Houses.”

Innel noticed Nalas talking to a just-arrived messenger. Nalas gave Innel a look and a nod. “Perhaps your house should try its skill against the down-city teams.” Aligned with the Houses, but only barely, wearing House colors and taking on matches that were more slum brawls than anything else. Still, better to have them in House colors, nominally answerable to someone, than wearing rags and answerable to no one.

“Pah. Anyone can win a game if they ignore the rules.”

“A good point.”

“Ser,” Nalas said, stepping close.

“Good day to you, Eparch-heir,” Innel said, leaving.

“Always a pleasure, Lord Commander.”

As they walked back to his office, Nalas said, softly: “The trade council. Another scout report from Varo. A bird from Sutarnan in Garaya. Another from Colonel Tierda in Sinetel. Also, the queen.”

“All this while we were hitting each other with sticks? Will I be happy with either of the letters?”

“You won’t like the one from Sinetel.”

“Ah.”

He thought of Tierda’s child and the implicit threat he’d made, wondering if she were worried about what he would do. In truth, he was too busy to do anything, let alone feed a child to pigs. Which would probably not, in any case, give him quite the reputation he was looking for.

Once in the office, Srel delivered a platter along with a flagon of something hot and steaming that smelled of fermented apple. The plate held herbed marrow bones, and small toasts with brie. And, of course, the ever-present bowls of dipping sauce. He ignored them all for the cider, taking a mug and downing it.

“The queen?” he asked, sitting.

“She’s in the kennels, ser.”

He stood. “What? Why didn’t you alert me?”

“She’s only watching, ser,” Nalas said. “Watching the dogs. We would tell you if it were a problem.”

“Watching? But why?”

The two of them exchanged a look.

“Perhaps,” Srel said, “you might ask her. You see a bit more of her than we do.” The smaller man winced at his words.

Innel waved it away. It was no secret that they spent as many nights apart as they did together. He had vetted the others who entertained her for their skill and sense, making sure she was solidly well-guarded. The most important thing was that she was pleased, and pleased to see him when she did.

Innel had studied the histories of royal consorts and similar pairings and marriages. He knew the prevailing wisdom of making such unions last.

“The trade council?” he asked.

“They want you at this afternoon’s meeting,” Srel said. “Kelerre.”

The council was not happy with Kelerre’s reluctance to renegotiate contracts or the explanations that they hesitated because of violence along the Great Road. The recently levied import and export taxes on Yarpin goods were an additional insult. Cern’s rule was weak enough that Kelerre was pushing back.

It was Cern they should be asking to attend that meeting, not him.

“Sinetel,” he said heavily, holding his hand out for the letter, which Nalas put into his hand.

Nalas had been right: he was not happy.

Innel looked at the Minister of Accounts, Coin, and Treasury, who stood on the other side of his desk. He had not offered them chairs and indeed had made sure there were none in the room besides the one in which he sat and the one in which Keyretura sat.

The ministers’ eyes kept sliding sideways to the black-robed mage, seemingly hard-pressed to decide which of the two men they should be more concerned about.

“Minister?” Innel asked, looking at the Minister of Accounts.

“The clerk Dyrik, whom you named, ser. We searched his room and found souvers below the floorboards. You were quite right to be suspicious. But the man himself—alas. He is dead.” The minister’s mouth worked furiously, as if whatever he were sucking on were fighting back.

“How?”

“A flash flood in the mountains, where he was visiting his ailing mother.”

“Where is the body?”

At this the man looked startled, then confused. “Swept away, ser. In the flood.”

“Ah, I see.” To Nalas: “Send someone to question the ailing mother. Be sure she has enough wood to get her through this cold winter. Find out what else she has.”

“Yes, ser,” Nalas said.

“And the rest of this?” Innel asked, gesturing at the books Keyretura had audited, looking at each of the three of them in turn. “The extra funds that have been, it seems, coming
into
the treasury?”

“I do not know how that came to be.” The Minister of Accounts said quietly.

“Truth,” Keyretura said.

Eyes fluttering as if fighting a fainting spell, the Minister of Accounts spoke again. “Lord Commander, I have no need to lie; I have done nothing wrong.” He glanced quickly at Keyretura, who shrugged, almost imperceptibly.

Innel turned his attention to the Minister of Coin. “Minister?”

She dipped her chin in a bow. “We are taking in a great many souvers these days, Lord Commander, as we re-mint for the queen’s visage. We do count them all, every one of them”—she paused, looking at Keyretura, who nodded—“but some inconsistencies are unavoidable”—another hesitation, another nod from the mage—“as I have said before. I will look into it, ser, and audit our process.” Her eyes were wide, and she seemed to be breathing heavily.

Innel made a thoughtful noise. Finally he looked a question at the Minister of Treasury.

“The treasury is healthy, my Lord Commander,” said the Ministry of Treasury, looking at Keyretura, who nodded for him to continue. “If there is an issue, well, I have no choice but to conclude it must stand with Accounts.” With that he looked back at the Minister of Accounts and was joined in this by the Minister of Coin.

Well, at least it was clear who was being thrown to the pigs now.

“I have no authority over any of you,” Innel said when it was clear they were hanging on his every word, “but I suggest that you look more closely at your agencies. If you need help, Keyretura dua Mage has told me he would welcome any opportunity to assist.”

None of them looked happy at this suggestion.

“It is not ours, Lord Commander. We did not mint this.”

The Minister of Coin held the gold souver up at arm’s length, lips pursed, her eyes refocusing past it, on Innel, then back to the souver. She offered it to Innel, who took it, turning it over and over in his fingers.

It looked like a souver.

“Are you sure, Minister?”

“Quite sure. And now that we are looking for them, we are finding rather a lot of them.”

He rubbed the metal of one side, then the other. “Is it not gold?”

“Oh, it’s gold. Most assuredly. Weight, displacement, and slot tests bear that out. Which is why we didn’t notice before now.”

“Then how do you know it’s not one of ours?”

She brought out another gold souver and held it out for Innel to see. Glancing between the two coins, one in her hand, one in his, Innel said, “I still don’t see a difference, Minister.”

“Look at the horse’s teeth, ser. You can almost count them.”

“No, I can’t. I am holding the forgery?”

“You are.” She brought out another, held them up, side by side. “I see attempted forgeries all the time, ser, but none this good. Never. This side—the king’s face. Do you see His Royal Majesty’s eyes? Such detail. You can almost see him blink.”

Still Innel could not see a difference. “Improved engraving on the dies, perhaps?”

“No, Lord Commander.”

“Then how can you—?”

She held both coins edge for Innel to see. “Just a bit too thin. Do you see?”