The Orphans' Promise (8 page)

“We could also leave here and go talk to the collectors,” he threatened. “The Crown has no problem with us.”

Bellec stared the young man down in disdain. This was a low blow.

“Come on, now,” the actor continued cautiously. “We’re only passing through.”

Bellec didn’t answer, instead shooting Raji a reproachful stare. He was left with no choice.

“Where are your men?” Grigán inquired, as they made their way up the stairwell.

“Who?”

“Werb and Micaeir,” Raji specified, just as curious.

“The Guild offered them a job in a little hamlet on the coast,” Bellec answered, directing his speech to his accomplice. “Rumor has it they’re dead. I hope it’s true. They picked up and left me without blinking an eye.”

Rey and Grigán exchanged a knowing look, and then followed the smugglers up the stairs toward Lorelia.

Bowbaq had finally fallen asleep. He and Léti had covered many topics, and the young woman had felt, yet again, her beliefs shaken.

She leaned over the giant, listened to his breathing, and found it peaceful, measured. Right then she decided that she could use a walk outside. Corenn and Yan had been gone for a while, and after what she had just heard, she had no desire to be left alone.

Outside she was still ill at ease. Even a few paces in the sunshine wasn’t enough to make her forget her fears, or even push them away temporarily into the future or the past.

She met up with Yan and Corenn as they were returning to the stable. Her friend had an odd look on his face, the one he always had when he was passionate about a new discipline. He couldn’t hide these kinds of things from her, she knew him too well.

The Kaulien gave her a smile as soon as he saw her. She felt a pang in her gut. Again, she mourned that Yan hadn’t asked for her Promise.

She tried to drown this thought. Yan didn’t love her, and that was that. It was only another worry among many.

As soon as they were within earshot, Corenn asked, “How is Bowbaq?”

“Good. He had trouble falling asleep, but he’s snoring now.”

“Is he in pain?”

“He grimaces when he moves, that’s all. He isn’t complaining, though.”

The three Kauliens faced each other, looking for a new topic of conversation.

“You took a long walk,” Léti commented.

Yan looked down and was suddenly very interested in giving his shoes an extended examination.

“Yes,” Corenn answered. “The forest is very beautiful, over there. Well! I am going to go look and see if we can’t find something to make dinner from master Raji’s stores. After all, at five terces per day, he can at least offer us some meals!”

They returned to the warehouse. Léti had the unpleasant feeling that they were hiding something from her. Her aunt only acted this way when she wanted to shelter her from bad news.

Léti had meant to speak with her about Bowbaq’s valley of demons. Now, she no longer had the heart.

Rey spent his first half deciday back in Lorelia watching the entryway of Bellec’s inn, the Rominian Pig, with Grigán as his lone and silent companion. The fact that the warrior didn’t trust the trader as far as he could throw him was easy to understand. Rey shared the same opinion. But to force him to hang around for a half deciday under the apogee sun, sweating like a pig in his heavy clothing, that was more than he could put up with.

After one last attempt to reason with the Ramgrith, Rey decided to go it alone and marched off with a determined step toward the old neighborhoods. Grigán caught up with him before he reached the street corner.

“You’re being too impatient,” the warrior started to lecture. “You don’t think before you act. You won’t live to be old.”

The actor retaliated with a mocking smile, “I prefer to live young, anyhow.”

He turned off into an alleyway, which better deserved to be called a hallway, crossed a square whose cobblestones were several centuries old, and then made his way up an avenue, obstructed by carts and mule drivers, hollering to be let by. Grigán doubled his efforts to not lose sight of Rey, all the while observing his surroundings. For the excessively cautious warrior, it was an incredibly taxing situation.

Only one thing played to their advantage: Lorelia was one of the last places in the world where the Züu might expect them. This slight advantage would be lost the moment they came across the assassins, though, and Grigán still had a hard time believing he had ever agreed to meet with the red killers for a chat. Corenn, however, seemed determined to see it through.

She was counting on him to assure their safety. Of course he would do his best, but if the meeting turned sour, only luck could save them…

Rey started down another alleyway, continuing until he came to an intersection, where he waited for the warrior.

“The Kercyan house is two streets over in that direction,” he said, pointing toward an arch that overhung a side street.

Grigán anticipated his next words, preparing himself for a ferocious argument in which he would forbid the actor from putting them all in danger for a petty whim. But Rey continued walking without adding anything more. There was no need to explain the situation to him. In any case, the actor had never really liked the shack, a genuine land of exile for his family. Now it was probably just making a homeless gang happy. He had no desire to see it again, much less to go inside.

The warrior doubled his vigilance in these neighborhoods that were once Rey’s stomping ground. The actor, taking notice of Grigán’s unwavering stare and sluggish pace, quickly showed signs of impatience. In the end, their walk, punctuated by meaningless quarrels, brought them to their destination.

The Royal Commerce Commissioner’s Winter Palace, more commonly known as the Small Palace, took up the entire west side of the impressive Riders’ Square. Every seventh day of the dékade, the square was host to the largest open market in Lorelia. At the same time that the usual market was open, the Small Palace was open as a bargaining site for deals, by and large illegal in nature, accessible to anyone the guards allowed in and who could pay the right of entry.

“We haven’t talked about this yet,” Rey said as they approached the building, “but it’s really very expensive to enter.”

“Just tell me how much,” Grigán grumbled.

“Five hundred terces per person, no less. With or without a deal.”

Grigán’s expression grew even darker. This affair was going to burn quite the hole in their purse. Twenty golden terces per
person? To talk with the Züu? He sighed loudly, shaking his head, and then resigned himself to examining the place.

Collectively, the warrior must have spent more than ten dékades in the merchant city. Without a doubt, he had walked through the square and along the edge of the Small Palace at least fifty times. But today the structure took on an entirely new importance to him, and he began to intensely study and itemize its features in his mind.

The person who had renamed it was gifted with a certain sense of humor. If this palace was supposed to be small, it could only be so in comparison to the royal residence. The Small Palace reached a height of five floors, whereas few Lorelien residences had even four. And no less than eleven large windows could be counted on each level. The entire building could have easily housed twenty families.

The architecture was representative of Lorelia’s grand buildings: pilasters, cornices, windows as high as they were narrow, little balconies. All built of solid stone from Cyr’s quarries. The Small Palace was more than six hundred years old, but looked like it was completed no more than ten years ago.

The Royal Commerce Commissioner was no longer housed there, although the apartments remained. For two centuries, the greater part of the building had been home to the study halls of the kingdom’s clerks: all the regular administrators, archivists, bureaucrats, scribes, managers, registrars, and others who were indispensable to the stability and prosperity of the merchant nation.

Entry into the palace was free, and every day hundreds of traders went inside to carry out certain obligatory declarations and procedures. The seventh day of the dékade was the exception. On that day, only the clerks were permitted to enter, and those wishing to take part in the indoor market.

Grigán slowly followed Rey up the fifteen steps leading to the excessively decadent porch. A lone guard, who may have been sleeping, was supposedly monitoring the comings and goings between the entrance hall and the outside.

“During the market,” Rey whispered in the warrior’s ear, “the hall is guarded by six jelenis, the royal rank of dog masters. They always choose their most vicious dogs. No one could ever hope to enter or leave by force.”

The narrow entrance hall led to a sumptuous receiving room, built entirely of embossed marble. At the entryway, they passed the desk of a drudge clerk, who paid them no attention.

“This is where you will pay the right of entry and surrender your arms,” Rey explained, pointing toward the desk.

“Excuse me?”

“I can pretty well imagine how hard that will be for you,” chuckled the actor. “Just remember that the Züu will have to endure the same punishment.”

Two spiral staircases led to the upper floors. Rey dragged the warrior up the first one. They passed through a splendid arch and found themselves standing under a portico encircling a huge interior courtyard.

The courtyard most closely resembled a garden or a small park, full of lush flowerbeds and green fields. The illusion of wilderness had been pared back inside the courtyard, though, as none of the trees, flowers, bushes, grass, or ivy that grew there were truly wild. Everything was straight, trimmed, and “disciplined” according to mankind’s aesthetic needs.

A walkway snaked its way through this domesticated patch of wilderness, leading from one marble bench to another, as if the pedestrians would need to stop for a break every fifteen feet. Thick, judiciously arranged séda hedges acted as walls. Some of
them served as partitions, too, creating small open-air lounges with tables, benches, and fountains.

“Here it is. This is where it all happens. The traders are free to walk around and sit where they like. Auctions and displays aren’t allowed, but I don’t think we’ll need that, will we?”

“I was under the impression you had never taken part. You seem to know your fair share about it.”

“Don’t forget that this is my hometown, Grigán. It’s only natural that I should know its ins and outs.”

The warrior nodded, observing the surroundings. “Anyone can come in here with a concealed weapon,” he commented. “We won’t be safe.”

“Of course, they expect this possibility. Archers patrol along the balcony above the portico. They’re under strict order to shoot anyone who brandishes a weapon. I think it’s happened twice over the past three centuries… anyway, technically I don’t think we’re supposed to be here. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked us out already!”

The warrior took one last good look at the place, taking note of the layout and distances in the space. There were only two possible exits: one via each staircase. The heirs would be in relative safety… assuming the Züu weren’t prepared to sacrifice themselves just to get to them, which he doubted they were.

“I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here before we’re noticed. A few more things to check out in the neighborhood, and then let’s head back.”