Kaavl Conspiracy (23 page)

* * * * *

After lunch, Methusal entered the supply room.

“Methusal!” Sims always seemed happy to see her. “Are you ready for something different? The seeds can wait for now.”

Her first real smile of the day emerged, and she crossed her arms. “What now?” she asked with a mock sigh.

Sims smiled, and pointed to a stout stick in the corner. Lynnte weeds were tied securely to one end. “Spring cleaning. You’ll sweep the floors and I’ll clean off the ledges. How about that?”

It sounded like a lot more fun than sorting seeds. With vigor, she swept the open floor space. Then the supplies covering the remaining floor needed to be moved so she could sweep beneath them, too. The two worked in companionable silence.

Humming softly, she swept up after Sims, who dusted the shelves with a soft piece of old leather. A folded parchment leaf fell to the ground, but Sims didn’t notice. Methusal picked it up. The writing consisted of tall letters, with sharp, angular points.

1 plate

2 skins

3 knives

2 skins

1 plate

2 pots

1/2 bag of dried meat

1
Ø
forks

6 spoons

She frowned. What a strange list. It reminded her of something, but since she couldn’t think what it was right then, she tucked it in her pocket. She would ask Sims about it later.

Soon the stone floor shone a dull gray, and Methusal moved everything back to its proper location. Then they tackled the store room downstairs. Because of the thefts, Sims decided to move all of the supplies upstairs, where they could be protected by lock and key. In the end, her arms and back ached.

“Go on to supper, Methusal,” Sims said. “We’ve done more today than I thought we would. Whatever did I do before you came along?”

“You had another apprentice?” Methusal meant it to be a joke, but her own smile faltered and Sims’ wrinkled face drooped.

“Yes. He was a good helper, too—always working hard, making lists of what should be stored, and so on.” Sims sighed as he shakily lowered himself to his stool.

Lists. Methusal pulled the folded parchment from her pocket and showed it to him. “Do you recognize this? It fell from a ledge.”

“Let me see.” Sims peered at it. “Aah. It looks like one of young Renn’s lists. Yes, that’s what it is.” He handed it back. “Doesn’t mean much, I don’t suppose. Only he knew what half of them were for.”

“Thank you, Sims. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I guess you will, young lady.”

Methusal stared at the paper for a second. Renn’s list. Something about it bothered her. Like there was something she was supposed to notice. With a frown, she tucked it into her pocket and hoped the answer would jog to the surface soon.

Dehre

Hendra had no more excuses.
She had to speak to Mentàll today about what she’d seen in the hills. And she had to question him about his conversation with Ludst last night.

She’d do it soon. After she’d helped with the orphans.

Dread built in her heart as the morning crawled by. Over and over again, she rehearsed what she would say to her cousin. As the time drew closer, fear licked like a whip through her. Mentàll would not be pleased. If that was the worst of it, she would be lucky.

After lunch, Hendra gathered her courage and approached his tent. The bleached leather rippled in the warm, gentle breeze. It felt calm and serene outdoors. Nothing like the storm she would unleash inside.

With a trembling hand, Hendra rapped on the wooden knocker beside the entry flap.

“Come.”

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hendra lifted the flap and entered the dim interior. Mentàll had company, she saw at once. His chief scribe.

A snarl contorted Mentàll’s lips. “Copy it
exactly,
as I told you.”

The bony man with the thinning hair scowled. He was at least twice her cousin’s age, and probably didn’t like being reprimanded by one younger than himself. “I thought a change in wording would make it read more smoothly…” His voice was high and nasally.

“I employ you to follow orders.”

“Of course.” The man offered a brief, obsequious bow and headed for the exit. His dark eyes flashed as he passed Hendra, and his jaw was clenched.

The coldness of Mentàll’s gaze impaled Hendra, and then softened slightly. “Hendra. What do you need?”

She licked her lips. Now wasn’t the best time to accuse him of underhanded activities. Clearly, he was not in the best mood. “I’m glad you returned safely. And we’re all glad that Rolban and Tarst signed the Alliance.”

Her cousin relaxed a little. “Rolban has accepted the invitation to our Kaavl Games.”

“They have? That’s wonderful.”

“Behran won the Tri-level. He will come.”

Hendra’s heart leaped. “He will?” Behran was an old friend. Long ago, he’d helped her begin to learn kaavl. Of course, he’d quickly advanced far beyond her. But his quiet patience and friendship had meant the world to her. And now he would return.

Her cousin watched her, his expression cool and distant. “Do you require something else? I have work to do.”

Hendra swallowed. She clenched her fingers and struggled to remain calm. “A few days ago I took the children for a walk in the hills.”

Although her cousin regarded her without any noticeable shift in expression, a barely detectible hostility prickled. As if he guessed what she meant to say before she said it.

Struggling for courage, she said, “We found the fire pits. Remember, I asked you about them?”

“I asked you to leave it.” Mentàll had never used that low, freezing tone with her before. “It is none of your concern.”

Fear dripped icy rivulets through her heart. “Yes, but…we found them anyway.” She moistened her lips. “And a hammer, too. It’s used for metal working. And it was large, so it had to be used…”

“Leave it!” he snarled, and in one fluid, predatory movement, uncoiled to his great height.

Hendra involuntarily stepped backward. Her heart battered i
nside her ribs like a flying beast trying to beat its way out. But she had to finish.

“I only looked because I was worried about you,” she whispered. “I don’t want… I don’t want you to die. If you’re planning…what I think you might be.”

He came no closer, but rage stiffened his features, and fury contracted every sinew in his body. Never before had he seemed so large, overpowering…and frightening. For the first time, Hendra saw why no one dared to oppose him any longer. She already knew no one dared to challenge him. Not after defeating all competitors at the Primary level at age eighteen. Not after becoming Chief at twenty-four. Both unheard of. Both extraordinary.

And not after making examples of every man who had proven himself disloyal. He’d exiled them from Dehre forever. Under threat of death, they could never return. Those had been warnings to each and every Dehrien, including herself, that he was not a man to cross.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but Hendra refused to cry. Instead, she matched her cousin’s freezing stare with an unwavering one of her own. He could not know how she quailed inside…how she longed to flee and forget all about the fires, and all they meant. And yet she could not let it rest.

Boldly, she said, “You’re not planning to attack Rolban—are you?”

Fury flashed, cracking through the familiar, icy mask. He hated Rolban. That was clear, and he was planning something.
He was.
But what was it?

“Rolban deserves the fate they have willingly embraced. Do not worry, little cousin. I have everything under control.”

Hendra felt sick inside. Did he plan start a new war? If so, it made no sense. What about the Alliance?

“But what about the innocents?” she whispered. “What about the children?”

Mentàll looked away. And in that second, Hendra knew that a little of her dear, familiar cousin still lived inside this glacier of a man. He was still—at least a little—the man who had rescued and helped heal a helpless flying beast when he was sixteen… Hendra flinched at the memory of her father, and the end of that flying beast.

Mentàll did not speak for several long, excruciating moments. She suspected he was struggling to bind his emotions under that icy control he always possessed.

“Hendra.” At last the cold, harsh word came. “Who is Chief?”

“You. But…”

“Do you trust me?”

She scanned his features. Familiar, and yet foreign. The protector she’d known since childhood had turned into this cold, distant man. A little warmth did still live in him—but only deep down inside. And perhaps that would not survive much longer, for fury and hatred must be killing it. Both were unexplained, unless rooted in the terror of their childhood home. But he’d left at sixteen—twelve long years ago. It could not be so simple. It must have something to do with Rolban, but how, and why?

“I…I want to.” Her voice trembled, and she swallowed, willing it to stop. Gripping her courage, she dared to say, “Mentàll, rage lives in you. Has it eaten up the man I used to know?”

The tension unexpectedly eased from his body. “I am still the man you have always known, Hendra.”

She wanted to believe that. Desperately. “Then you’re not…”

“You must trust me. My intent is only to do what is best for Dehre.”

Hendra believed him. Her cousin did want what was best for Dehre. But deeper waters stirred beneath his opaque words. What wasn’t he saying?

Perhaps she could get him to tell her if she pushed a little harder. “The Alliance was a good idea. Soon it will help us. Oil should be sent today. Logne leaves should arrive soon.”

He turned to pour a cup of water. Tension again stiffened his shoulders. Unease unfurled within her, although her statement appeared harmless enough on the surface. Without expression, he said, “It is not enough.”

Dread inched higher. So he
would
tell her. Maybe.

Questioning her own boldness, she pressed, “Why not? We already have new garments from Tarst…”

“It is not enough!” he snapped. “We need food, not garments.”

“But surely soon…”

“Leave me.” The freezing mask had returned. “Do not question me again, cousin. Do you understand?” That pale blue gaze felt like shards of ice lacerating her soul.

“Please… Don’t take unnecessary risks.” Quickly, she exited.

Outside, the afternoon sunlight failed to warm her. She felt afraid. The Prophet was right. Mentàll was up to no good. Equally clear, her cousin had set his path, and he would walk it. The Prophet had not swayed him. She had been foolish to think he would listen to her.

What should she do?

Rolban

Methusal sat alone
at the dining table and dug into her meal, feeling too hungry to wait for the others to arrive. The last rays of shadowed sunlight touched the stone dining table, giving it a dull, opaque sheen. A movement sent her glance darting upward. Behran. He sat down and placed a steaming bowl before him. Blue eyes clashed with hers for a long moment, and then he lowered his gaze and fell silently to his meal.

Methusal chewed on a crust of bread, trying to ignore him. But somehow the food had lost its flavor. She hated the uncomfortable silence between them, but she didn’t know what to say.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.” Behran fell silent. Apparently, he wasn’t too thrilled to speak to her, either. Fine.

She pulled the list from her pocket and studied it.

“What’s that, Methusal?” Her mother slid in beside her. Her troubled frown—now a constant part of her expression—subsided briefly as she glanced at the smudged parchment.

“An old list of Renn’s.”

“Oh,” Hanuh did not appear to be very interested.

Methusal, however, continued to stare at the list, suddenly gripped by the peculiar feeling that something was about to come clear.

Then she saw the common thread.
Every item matched something stolen over the last few months!
Her heart thumped faster.

Why had Renn compiled a list of the stolen goods? Had he been investigating the robberies?

An unexpected shiver chilled her. Maybe the thief had found out, and killed him.

She’d run her new theory by Deccia. Maybe her intuitive twin would come up with more ideas.

* * * * *

Sixthday

Methusal wasn’t able to corner Deccia until breakfast the next day.

“Look.” She explained about the note and her hunch to her twin and Aalicaa.

“It
does
look like a list of the thefts,” Deccia agreed, eyeing it thoughtfully. “I wonder why he made it.”

“Maybe he was searching for the robber!” Aalicaa popped in enthusiastically. “Only the thief murdered Renn before he could reveal his identity!”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking.” Maybe Renn’s murder had nothing to do with her necklace at all. “But I wonder how the thief found out.”

“We’ll never know,” Deccia said. “But why steal in the first place? For example, why steal a pot? Does he want to cook his own food?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Methusal agreed. “We’ve figured out the thief must be giving the stolen goods to a runner, but who? And from where?”

“Dehre makes the most sense—for the grain, at least. They don’t need pots or pelts.”

“If they’re starving, they might trade the pots and pelts for food from a different community,” Methusal pointed out. “Let’s find out when the Dehrien runner will arrive. While he’s here, we should post guards in the garment room and kitchen.” Although where would they find guards? Earlier, Petr had refused to help.

“Good idea,” Deccia said. “But I think we’d better guard the rooms the day before the runner comes, and the next day, too. Remember, the grain disappeared
after
the runner left.” She shook her head. “But which Rolbani would steal grain and give it to Dehre?”

“A Rolbani would never steal and give to another community,” Aali said.

“Maybe not,” Deccia agreed. “But we do have a lot of immigrants. Mostly from Dehre and Tarst. And of course, Father is from Wyen.”

“How many immigrants do you think we have? Twenty? Thirty?”

“I could ask Father.”

“If we’re right about the thief being an immigrant, we can narrow down the suspect list.” Hope lifted Methusal’s spirits. “Remember, we figured out the thief must have authorized access to the ore mine. So we’ll need to find out which immigrants are guards for the ore, and which ones are on the Council.”

“That would probably cut down the list to about fifteen people,” Deccia said. “But I can’t believe any member of the Council would turn traitor. Or murder someone! To be on the Council means they’ve lived here for at least five years.”

“If we’re right, and stolen items are going to Dehre, then the traitor might be from Dehre. That would cut down the list even more,” Methusal said.

“
We can’t assume anything. Just because Dehre is hungry
doesn’t mean they’re thieves,” Deccia cautioned.

True. A wild idea flew to mind. “Do you think someone moved here with that plan? To infiltrate Rolban and commit treason?”

“That would be pretty cold-blooded.”

“Someone pushed Renn off the cliff. That’s cold-blooded.”

“Whoever he is, he’s a whip beast and deserves to be flayed!” Aali exclaimed.

“The sentence for treason is death,” Deccia said.

“Same for murder. As your father and Liem remind me every day.”

“Father would never convict you with only that one note for proof.”

“Liem thinks the knife ties me to the murder, too. Unless I find the real killer, I’m their number one suspect.” The mention of the note sparked another tantalizing memory, but it quickly slid away again.

“We can’t let Father murder Thusa, Deccia! We have to help her.”

“He
won’t.
”

“I’m going to help you. I don’t care what Deccia says.”

Deccia glared at her little sister. “We need to be careful. The thief could murder
us,
if he suspects what we’re doing.”

“I don’t care! I’m smarter than any dumb old thief.”

“I want to help Thusa too, but it’s not smart to rush in. We could stir up a lot of trouble.”

“Father would get mad,” Aalicaa scorned. “Bother that, Deccia. We have a mystery on our hands. It’s our
duty
to see justice done.”

Deccia frowned. “I’m not afraid of Father. I just want to be careful.”

Aali scowled.

“Who’s on the Council that we know, and who’s an immigrant, too?” Methusal couldn’t let that investigative lead go.

“Poli and Ben Amil are from Dehre, and Pogul’s parents are from Tarst. And what about Kitran and Barak—didn’t they move here from Quasr years ago? And Verdnt, of course, is from Dehre. Even Old Sims. I don’t remember where he’s from, but he moved here more than thirty years ago. And that’s probably only half,” Deccia said.

Methusal couldn’t imagine any of those people being a murderer. But she chewed over one interesting detail. “Pogul is a guard, too,” she said thoughtfully. “And Vogl, the guard at the ore mine door, is from Tarst. Timaeus said the water engineers have access to the mine, too. Both Behran and Goric are immigrants.”

And both had beaten her at the Tri-level. An interesting coincidence? Or maybe she was being overly suspicious. She definitely couldn’t imagine Behran murdering Renn.

“We’d better keep this to ourselves. We don’t want to create suspicion toward innocent people.”

“Or let the murderer know we’re searching for him,” Deccia agreed.

“And I’m pretty sure it’s a man. Remember how I saw the back of him the night the grain was stolen?”

“Do you think he’ll steal again?”

“We can watch and spy,” Aali supplied instantly. “I could do it. I’m good at it.”

“You certainly are,” Deccia said dryly. “Did you know, Thusa, that’s how she learned kaavl? Listening in on Kitran’s lessons to the Quatr-levelers.”

“I know.” Methusal smiled.

Deccia cast a censorious, but mostly humorous glance at her little sister. “Aali knows all kinds of ways to hide and sneak through this mountain.”

“If Father won’t post guards, then I’ll be a guard. No one will catch me.”

“Catch you doing what, little one?” Timaeus appeared with a grin. He looked weary, and his clothes were dusty from the plains, but his smile, now directed at Deccia, lit up the room.

Deccia’s cheeks pinkened. “You’re home.”

“And I have news. Behran is calling for Petr and the others. They’ll be here in a minute.”

Erl, Petr, Liem, and Behran soon joined them at the table. A frown knotted Petr’s brow. “What is going on? What’s your report?”

Timaeus said, “I just got back from Tarst, sir. While I was there, I saw two Rolbani pots on the serving tables.”

Erl frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Rolban’s triangular pattern was stamped under the top lip of each pot.”

An incredulous silence fell. Methusal knew from first-hand experience that each of Rolban’s pots was stamped with a distinctive triangular pattern. Timaeus had also served kitchen duty, so he knew it, too. And yet she couldn’t believe it. Her suspicions had centered upon the Dehriens. So why had Rolban’s pots turned up in Tarst?

Erl finally spoke. “There must be an explanation. I’ve known Pan for over forty years. He’s an honest man. He’d never steal from Rolban.”

“Maybe Tarst traded for those pots,” Deccia suggested. “What if Dehre stole them, and Tarst bought them?”

“I thought of that,” Timaeus agreed. “I asked Pan’s wife, who’s in charge of Tarst’s kitchen. Aenill said they haven’t traded with anyone recently—except for Dehre’s oil in exchange for Tarst’s trees. That’s it. She didn’t know when the pots arrived in Tarst, and she didn’t know the pots were Rolban’s. And she was very upset when she learned they were. She insisted on sending one back with me. Another runner—Dastn, or Kilum—will bring the other one home on their next trip.”

“At least we’ll get the pots back,” Liem’s frowning gaze rested upon Methusal.

Methusal turned to Petr. “Do you see now that I can’t be involved? I’ve never been to Tarst! How could I possibly be the thief?” She turned to Liem. “Or Renn’s murderer?”

“
Someone
in Rolban is the thief,” Petr thundered. “And that someone is secretly sending stolen goods to Tarst. Maybe Tarst is behind the thefts. Maybe not. It’s too soon to tell. But you, Methusal, are tied to both Renn’s death and the thefts. Your necklace was found on his body. An incriminating note was found in your room. You had access to the bloody kitchen knife, which was the murder weapon. And you also work in the supply room, where the seed grain was stored. What am I supposed to think right now?”

Methusal gasped. Now she was guilty of stealing the seed grain? “I didn’t steal the grain! For one, I could never lift it. But I saw who did.”

Petr flushed, and cleared his throat. “You
say
you saw him.”

Methusal’s temper soared. “I
did
see him—his back, anyway. And it was a man. A big one.”

“Why should I believe you? If you’re guilty, you’d lie about this, just like you’d lie about everything else.”

“Petr,” Erl warned.

Methusal jumped to her feet. “
Please
think logically! Yes, the thief must be a Rolbani. But it’s not me, and if you want to find out who it is, you’d better open up your mind and look at
all
of the facts!”

“Methusal,” Petr roared. “Sit down!”

Methusal ignored him, determined to have her say for once. “Runners from Dehre or Tarst must be carrying away the stolen goods. Papa, who are the main runners from those communities?”

“Ludst Lst, from Dehre. And Dastn and Kilum from Tarst.”

Methusal turned to Timaeus. “You know those runners. What are they like?”

“Ludst is a whip. Dastn is a great person.”

“And Kilum?” she pressed.

Timaeus hesitated. “He keeps to himself. Not real friendly. He’s always been decent to me, though.”

Methusal remembered her impression of Kilum the other day. “I’ve seen him, too. And maybe I shouldn’t say this, but there’s something about him I don’t trust. Pogul handed him something to take to Tarst. It was too small to be any of the stolen items, though.”

“Do you have a point to this…this insubordinate diatribe?”
Petr demanded, his face still flushed with anger.

“Yes. I think you’re forgetting the most important question here.
Why?
Why are these thefts happening? We just signed an Alliance. There is no need to steal. We can trade! Look at the bigger picture, please. The thefts will destroy the Alliance. I think that is the thief’s ultimate goal.”

Silence elapsed while the others thought through Methusal’s words.

Erl finally spoke. “You’ve made some good points, Thusa. But please speak with respect to your elders.”

“My elders,” she glared at Petr and Liem, “want to kill me. If I don’t stand up for myself, who will? If I don’t investigate, who will?”

“I’m investigating,” Liem growled. “And I’ve found no proof of your innocence.”

“Or my guilt.” She turned to Petr. “Are you investigating?”

“Thusa,” Erl said sharply.

“It’s a legitimate question, Papa. Liem has found several clues. So have I. Petr hasn’t. In fact, when Behran and I asked him to post extra guards on the supply room and kitchen, he refused. And that was the night the grain was stolen. Why didn’t he post any guards?”

Petr’s face was a frightening, bilious purple now. He slammed his hand on the table. “You are a belligerent, mouthy young woman. I have a good mind to throw you back in jail right now!”

“
Thusa!
” Deccia muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Methusal told Petr. “I truly am. But I’m scared! I don’t want to die. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I just want my life back. Don’t you understand?”

Petr didn’t answer. He looked away.

Methusal made one last attempt. “Papa, when will the next runner arrive?”

“Ludst is coming tomorrow. Dastn will come the next day.”

“I still think we need to post extra guards,” Methusal said, but no one commented.

Timaeus said, “I’ll run to Tarst tomorrow and come back with Dastn. On the trip, I’ll ask if he’s seen anything suspicious.”

“Thank you,” Methusal said quietly. She felt spent. She’d been insubordinate, belligerent—everything Petr had accused her of being. Her outburst had probably made things worse for herself.