Resenting the Hero (27 page)

“Of course you do,” he said, slowly sinking onto the bed.

“How's your leg, really?”

He eased closer to the wall so he could lean his back against it. “I really don't want to have to go anywhere tonight.” He massaged his knee and sighed. “I'm so sorry it took us so long to get here, Dunleavy. I know you would have gotten here much faster on your own.”

That was true, but there was no point in hanging on to the irritation. I'd been overreacting, anyway. It wasn't as though Karish could have been lingering on the edge of death for the past week. It would have happened already. He was all right, and it would be better to undertake looking for him in a rational and thorough matter, rather than rushing around and possibly scaring his captor into doing something fatal. “We're here now, and I'm glad to have your company. I'm going to need your help.”

He looked up at me then, and he smiled. A strangely pure, almost delighted smile that made me uncomfortable. I almost asked him what it was about but decided I didn't want to know.

I went back to my room, where I unpacked and freshened up. I joined Aiden and Ryan in the kitchen for a meal that was rather rough but tasted good enough. And I heard Ryan's story.

“You won't believe it,” he warned me. “It's too fantastic. And it's been kept quiet. Most people would have expected to have heard about it.”

And so saying, he practically guaranteed my belief.

“Paren is my Source,” Ryan said. “A fairly talented one. And a nice fellow. A good one. Always helps you out, good with a story, fun at a party. Always has lots of friends wherever he goes. People always like him.”

“We were on a circuit, and we would visit a lot of sites in a year. We almost never made it back to Shidonee's Gap, because we were good. People often asked for us in particular. But after a while, we kind of settled into a routine. We were still a circuit Pair, but from one year to the next we were likely to be in the same place during the same season.

“I liked it. Liked going to different places. Saw some amazing sights, met some great people, did some good work.

“Anyway, things were fine for a while. Paren and I got on well. Did our jobs and had a beer afterwards. But we weren't best pals. Whenever we moved somewhere he'd go his way and I'd go mine. Not that we didn't get along. Just had different interests and different friends. So it took me a while to really notice what kind of friends he was making.”

“Undesirables, were they?” I asked.

“Not hardly. When I did take the trouble to notice, I was amazed at how many dukes, earls, councilors, and wealthy merchants he called friend. Every site, it seemed, he called on someone. Long dinners, sometimes spending the night.” I tried not to look at him as though I was wondering why he was so intimately aware of his Source's every move. Because I was wondering. He blushed anyway. “Started thinking something was up,” he said gruffly. “Started following him around. Got chased from some mighty fine houses. Asked him about it. He claimed they were all family acquaintances. Only his file never mentioned such lofty connections, eh?”

“What did you think was going on?” Because obviously something was.

He shook his head and shrugged. “Didn't really think anything. Didn't have any real suspicions. As I said, he's a nice fellow. Thought maybe he was some kind of pet to the aristocrats. Some of them get a kick out of having a Source wait on them. Giving them advice. Giving them other things. Maybe it started with one of them and they spread the word. That sort's all related, eh? And if that was what was going on, and Paren was willing—he never seemed reluctant to go—it was no real harm and none of my business. Course, the trial really opened my eyes.”

That last, being tacked on so nonchalantly, took a moment to sink in. Then my breathing suffered a little hitch. “Trial? For what?”

“Crimes against the Crown.” I frowned. He was right. I should have heard about something like that. Shouldn't I? “I told you they kept it quiet. Can't have the regulars knowing what Pairs might get up to, can we? And it was six years ago.” Six years earlier I probably would have had little interest in that sort of thing. “So I'm in a tavern in White Horse with some friends, playing cards and having a good time, and these Runners come in. They ask to speak to me, real polite. I'm not worried, I haven't done anything. And anyway, I'm a Shield. So I go outside with them. Once we're outside they ask me to go to their Headquarters, because they've been having some trouble with the Pairs, and they want to ask me some questions. I think they must mean White Horse's permanent Pairs and they want to know what Pairs can do, from an outside, objective source, so I say sure.” Suddenly he exhaled, looking very tired, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I lived in a tiny room, a cell really, for nine days. That's what I was told, after. Don't quite remember it, myself. Lost track of the time. They sat me in a chair and wouldn't let me out of it. And they asked me questions.” He smiled at me wearily. “They didn't do anything else to me, you know. Just asked me questions. Have I ever met the Head Trader of Red Deer? The Countess of Sea Scape? The Minister of Roads and Canals? Did I know about the Shidonee's Gap property pool? The proposed wheat tax?” He laughed. “What the hell do I know about any kind of tax? I don't pay taxes. I don't know any aristocrats or ministers, either. But those were the kinds of questions they kept asking, over and over and over again.” He picked up his wineglass but didn't take a sip, just stared into the contents. “Exhausting it is, listening to questions you can't answer. At least, not to their satisfaction. You get so thirsty. You get a headache. You get nauseous. Each bone in your body gets to weighing a hundred pounds, and your head fills with sand, and then with stone, and it gets that you can't even understand the questions anymore. Hell, once they asked me my name and I couldn't answer them. But still, they kept asking.” He shook himself, shaking away the memories. “They never touched me, but I felt like I'd been through some kind of nightmare.”

Aiden put a reassuring hand on Ryan's arm. Ryan smiled at him. I suddenly felt intrusive, and I wondered why Ryan was telling me all this. I remembered Aiden once saying he wanted me to talk to Ryan, to describe to him what was good about being a Shield. How could I do that? Whatever was coming next in the story, it was big, and it was serious. Crimes against the Crown. And then I was supposed to give him my fairy tale? Look, Ryan Kelly. Look at my life. See how much better it is than yours?

Karish and I had been bonded for only a few months. It sounded like Paren had fooled Ryan for years. Maybe Karish was fooling me, too, or would be once he was on his feet for more than two moments in a row.

“They didn't tell me anything, though,” said Ryan. “I hadn't a notion until we were in court, me and my good-fellow Source, who I hadn't seen in all this time. Calm he was. Not a care. Told me not to worry. It would all be fine. And then it all came out.” Another long, deep breath. “Paren had been carrying information from site to site.”

“As in information he wasn't supposed to have?” I guessed.

“Aye. You know the sort of thing that goes on in those circles. The government wants to build a highway and a noble wants to sell some land and a merchant wants to sell some stone and steel. So certain information gets passed around before it should be, and money goes where it's not supposed to, and the highway gets built to certain people's advantage. I don't know why it's so illegal, really, but I guess I don't know much about that sort of thing. Though I heard more about it than I wanted during that damned trial.

“Anyway, it seems Paren was happy enough to play messenger, and so when the 'ristos came up with a new scheme his was the first name to come to mind.” Bored with swirling the wine in his glass, Ryan tossed it back with one swallow. “Do you know about the tax concessions made to the merchant class a while back?”

He was surprised when I nodded, but I belonged to a merchant family, after all. Tradition granted tax concessions to the aristocrats because they created their own policing forces, raised their own armies, ran their own courts, and often built their own roads and waterways. Merchants had been granted the same concessions decades after assuming similar responsibilities.

“And then they granted that trader a seat in the Imperial court. Did you hear about that?”

I nodded again.

“The aristocrats were getting hysterical, and apparently a few of them decided the Empress was giving away too much of their authority and privilege. They decided she'd gotten too weak, and we'd outgrown the monarchy. So they decided to get rid of her, or at least turn her into a figurehead. Rhetoric was being shipped around, and councilors were being bribed, but it really hadn't gotten off the ground when it was discovered, which is why we're not dead.” He grinned humorlessly. “And why no one else heard about it. Didn't want to be giving people ideas. It was a very small and secret trial. Some ministers and bureaucrats were fired, some titles were relieved of their responsibilities, and we got sent here.”

And there was the end of the traveling life Ryan loved. “Why did he do it?” That was the thing I couldn't understand. The only motive for such behavior that I could think of was money, but a Source had no use for money.

“He said he did it for fun,” Ryan said with disgust. “Apparently they treated him real well, especially after he'd carried a few messages and could blackmail his masters.”

“Blackmail, too?”

“Oh, he had everything going, he did. So they'd treat him real nice. Had servants jumping at his every word. Served him the best food and wine and ‘entertainments.' Offered up their sons and daughters. He bragged about it after the trial.”

Idiot. “Is he bragging about it now?”

A grim smile of satisfaction. “No.” There was a certain finality about that blunt answer that was just a little chilling, but I supposed Ryan had a right to it. He pulled in a deep breath, his expression clearing to something more calm, and began stacking dishes. “You know, though, I wouldn't want to leave now, even if I could. I guess I've grown to like it.”

I maintained a blank expression. Like it? Middle Reach? I felt some amazement at hearing those two concepts linked together.

He laughed a little sheepishly. “I know,” he said, and I realized my face wasn't so blank after all. “But no one looks down on me here. If I tried to work at another site, people would believe I was incompetent or criminal because I had once been stationed in Middle Reach. Other Pairs would have nothing to do with me. I know it. But everyone in Middle Reach has been marked in some way, so it's forgotten. We're all judged by our true merits here. I like that.”

I could understand that. He and Lynch had to hide in Middle Reach for the rest of their lives. Anywhere else, they would be treated with disgust and disdain. And it was so unfair, damn it. These people had done nothing wrong. Because of the actions of other adults over whom they had no control, their careers were as good as finished, and their freedom was sharply curtailed. It was wrong.

And it could happen to me. It could. How well did I know Karish? Not well at all. If he did something illegal, and it was all too easy to imagine Karish doing something illegal, I'd be punished with him. Just thinking about it started a slow burn in the pit of my stomach.

Lynch suddenly rattled down the stairs, and I wondered why she hadn't joined us for the meal. Moments later, I heard people at the front entrance. “Ho, there!” a man called, and then a young woman and a middle-aged man strode into the kitchen. They both wore white braids.

“Mallorough,” Lynch said. “This is Sandy Wyman.” She indicated the young woman, a petite blond creature. “And this is Jerrod Dakota.” He was the serious-looking middle-aged man.

Ryan took over the introductions. “You two remember my brother, Aiden, and this is his friend, Dunleavy Mallorough. They're here looking for her Source.”

Lynch didn't appear surprised, though I had told her earlier that Karish was merely on vacation. I envied her her control. Maybe when I was her age I would be able to appear so serene.

“What, has he done a runner?” asked Dakota, taking a seat at the table.

“A runner?” I said.

“Taken off because he happens to feel like it,” Dakota explained. “Fielding had a habit of doing that.”

“Fielding's your Source?”

“Aye. She sometimes felt her duties were too much of a burden”—heavy sarcasm there—“and she'd take off. That the site might get into trouble in her absence either didn't occur to her or didn't concern her. So disaster struck and dozens of people died and we got sent here.”

She took off? Abandoned her post? Well, aye, one could say I'd done the same, but my Source had already been abducted.

The others were waiting for an answer. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of telling these strangers everything, but we'd planned to ask them for help. They were the only people in Middle Reach I could talk to with any hope of being understood. “We think he's been abducted,” I said, and I explained about Karish's brother's death and our theories about a possible battle over succession.

Dakota whistled. “A duke, eh?”

“But why would his relatives bring him here?” Lynch asked. “Do some of them live here?”

It sounded so weak, I was reluctant to ask, “Do you know a Source by the name of Stevan Creol?” If he had ever been in Middle Reach the others would have known about it, it was such a small place.

Recognition on all their faces. “Ah, that one,” said Wyman. “He's got flair.”