The Betrayed (26 page)

Eventually, he saddled the mule as best as he could. Just before leaving, a pang of conscience made him pause. He produced a silver from Seamus’s purse and tossed it on the ground.

Then, struggling with the wholly alien concept of riding, he fled, riding east. The patient little mule plodded stubbornly while he dug his fingernails into the saddle. East.

CHAPTER 23

A
rmin was back in the Grand Archive, reading.

It was obvious that the eight murders were very closely related, just like the dealings of the deceased, for quite a long time before their death. What he lacked was the grand unifier, the common and mutual motive. And if the entire affair turned out to be just simple greed, he wanted to know who was behind it.

There must be something. Some clue.

Armin rubbed his weary eyes, closing them hard. Purple sparks danced inside his eyelids. All of the activities seemed related. But just like the sum of all ingredients did not make a cake, he knew the separate evidence of a giant plan did not help solve the mystery. As an investigator, he knew the subtle, catastrophic difference between facts and wishful thinking. He wanted the individual businesses to be related.

The records stared at him blankly. They had given him all they’ve got. There was nothing more. He needed to go one step further. But where?

Unconsciously, he tapped a finger against his front teeth, thinking. Missing people. Lots of workers from several branches of industry seemed to be missing. The numbers fit rather well. It seemed that Shipmaster Perano had ferried the lot of them to some unknown place. Nespos seemed most likely to point in the direction. Then, there was Shipwright Boune. Armin had almost lost the thread of his investigation with him. The man seemed superfluous in the scheme of things. But digging into the old records had finally yielded a useful piece of information. Perano had liked to gamble, after all. He had had a huge debt— to Shipwright Boune. The
Cormorant
had been mortgaged as partial payment, even though no one among Perano’s crew had known that.

Whatever he’d been involved in, Perano had probably told Boune, in exchange for his debt. It felt plausible.

But what? And where?

Armin rose. The Grand Archive had told its story. He needed a new bard.

Two things still nagged him. Money. Someone had paid for all those one-way cruises. Someone had financed the ship to sail somewhere and return empty. And then, there were the Feorans, a dark and unfriendly mystery.

He sat down. Maybe…

It took him an hour to write down a plan. He greatly hoped it would work.

Wearing a disguise was a simple thing. Being a man with a skull that looked like a perfect egg, even a few hairs anywhere about his features made for a dramatic change. Accompanied by his second wife, Galina, he was just an eccentric, rich Sirtai.

Hand in hand, they entered the bank. Armin was convinced banks were a Sirtai invention. They were quite practical at keeping one’s fortune safe. And while the rich had considered each other’s wealth as potential loot while it had still been kept in the privacy of their mansions, with their gold bunched together in the vaults of banks, they had all begun to protect the collective assets as if they were wholly their own.

Banks were guarded by the finest and most ruthless soldiers who could be hired anywhere in the world. Beneath the offices, where clerks worked and served customers, underground tunnels stretched, layer after layer, with murder holes and traps and fortifications that eventually led to the vaults where valuables were kept.

The best of all, the hired killers worked directly for the banks. They did not answer to any of the nobles. Banks were independent and milked a heavy tax from the posh to stay that way. No one wanted someone else’s mercenaries in those tunnels. The nameless, unaffiliated guards were the perfect solution.

In Eybalen, some of the bank chiefs sat on the council. Others felt too powerful to make the effort, knowing the city would not do anything against the interests of the banks. But the fragile link that some of the more meddlesome bank officials felt they needed to exert on the city was Armin’s one and only hope now.

If the banks had a say in High Council, there could be records of it somewhere. This could be his grand unifier, the solid grease that oiled the axles.

Galina was wearing a soft green dress with deep cleavage. A strategic weapon. The continentals were conservative people, ashamed of their bodies and carnal urges. They often repressed them behind masks of false morals and excessive clothing. He hoped to catch them off-balance.

“My lord, my lady, can I help you?” a clerk greeted them.

“I would like to consider depositing a hundred thousand gold marks in your bank.”

The words worked like magic. Within seconds, they were ushered into a private room, offered drinks and sweets. They were told the bank governor would see them soon.

A door opened. An elderly and well-groomed gentleman entered. He had the look of a reformed thug, one of the ambitious middle class who fought tooth and nail to become higher class. Armin was familiar with the type from his homeland. Weak men could not be bank governors in either Tuba Tuba or Eybalen.

“It is my honor. I am Elliot, the governor of Bank Trust.” The man offered his hand.

Armin accepted the customary grip, a strange gesture for him. He could not understand why people had to touch when greeting one another.

“I am Ronald Wan’der Norssin. My wife, Gladiola.”

The governor nodded. “Another one of your countrymen is in Eybalen. A famous person.”

Armin faked genuine surprise. His false brows did climb this time. “Really, what’s his name?”

Elliot rolled his eyes, thinking. “I think it’s Armin… something.”

“Armin Wan’der Markssin!” Armin cheered gleefully. “A brilliant man.” Galina dug her nails into his thigh, below the level of the mahogany desk separating them from the governor.

The bank official smiled for a moment, but no longer than necessary. “My assistant tells me you are interested in depositing a sizable amount of money in our bank. We would like to congratulate you on your choice.”

Armin spread his arms. “I have made some checks. You do offer higher insurance claims and better rates, despite slightly higher fees. Your bank seems like a sensible choice for the beginning of my business.”

Elliot crossed his legs. “Oh, you’re starting business here? If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing your idea?”

Armin let his eyes gleam conspiratorially. “It will be of great interest to the city’s dignitaries.” At his cue, Galina casually leaned. Elliot caught himself staring before he disciplined his eyes straight forward. “Rare herbs, spices, and potions to enhance stamina.”

“Stamina?” the governor asked, his eyes clouded.

“Stamina,” Armin repeated. Galina squirmed silkily.

“Ah, stamina,” Elliot said, understanding dawning. “Very sensible choice.”

Galina leaned, whispering something in Armin’s ear. He mimicked a fleeting frown. Elliot blinked once, trying to decipher this innocent expression.

“My wife just reminded me, how silly of me. Before we draw an official contract, I will need to ask you a few questions, if I may. It regards some of my smaller endeavors here in Eybalen. I would like to be sure of the status of my Caytorean assets before we proceed.”

Elliot spread his arms. “Of course.” Men could be very patient when it came to a hundred thousand gold coins.

Armin produced a list from a folder, written in Continental. He handed it over to the governor. The man read carefully, nodding once or twice as his eyes traced a familiar name. Armin had spent a lot of time and work perfecting the details, but with the whole of the Grand Archive at his disposal, it had not been too difficult.

Elliot paused when his eyes read:
Shipwright Boune.

“Something of a problem?” Armin asked.

The governor hesitated. “I have just…one of our former clients, that’s all.”

“Former?” Armin let the word sound like a death sentence. Galina leaned back.

“No, you misunderstand. Shipwright Boune was one of our more valuable clients. Alas, he passed away some time ago.”

Armin and Galina exchanged a few quick words in Sirtai. He knew that Elliot did not understand it. Squiggle and his gang were very useful in many regards, even when it came to prowling the upper city.

“I was not aware that some of my assets might be in jeopardy,” Armin said coldly. He frowned. “Was it not the responsibility of Bank Trust to inform me that a liability has occurred?”

Governor Elliot was not a man to be easily cowed. “I was not aware of any connection between you and late Shipwright Boune, so I cannot confirm your claim. But I will definitely look into it. This might require an investigation.”

Armin rose to leave. His wife followed suit. “I suggest you look into this omission. I’m afraid we will not be able to conduct business unless I can be sure there are no monetary issues regarding my assets in Eybalen. As for the investigation, my compatriot Markssin is one of the finest minds in the world. You might want to lease his services.”

Elliot quickly suppressed a look of panic. He had not yet seen a copper from this new, eccentric customer, but he could smell money. Besides, whenever people preferred their pride over money, it was always a bad sign.

Then, his head rolled the names of other people working with Ronald Wan’der Norssin. The sums rose frantically. He succumbed. “Please, my lord, have a seat. I shall remedy the situation immediately.”

Armin remained standing for a second, then sat down. People like Elliot wanted things to go their way, even if they did not know their way was someone else’s. To leave now would have angered the thug. People with power did not like to be snubbed.

“Ian!” Elliot shouted. A clerk materialized from one of the side doors. “Here’s a list. All transactions for the past…”

“Year,” Armin added.

“Year. Now.”

Ian disappeared.

They sat for a while in silence. Galina stared at Elliot without blinking, even when he met her gaze twice before lowering it uncomfortably.

The governor gathered some of his earlier composure. “What kind of business did you conduct with late Shipwright Boune?” he asked casually.

“He built and leased me his ships. Some of them were new keels, others were carracks captained by a variety of Eybalen shipmasters. I would use them when and how I saw fit.”

Elliot nodded. Sometimes, all people needed was a flake of thyme in a bowl of shit to think it was broth.

It took almost an hour for Ian to return. Armin managed the small talk quite well, giving away very little, never letting the other’s curiosity draw him toward uncharted territories. The bank clerk was followed by another man, both of them buckling under the weight of documents.

“I will keep these in my office. You are welcome to come by any time you need,” Elliot assured him.

“I might send some of my slave accountants,” Armin said, as if the matters of small numbers were too trivial for him. “What I would like to know now is the status of my assets with late Shipwright Boune.”

Elliot handed him the file. Armin suppressed a smile and opened it. He began reading patiently, going over details he had seen in the Grand Archive so many times. But now, the items had a different face, one marked in numbers.

Expenditures, earnings, loans…he pored over the pages. Here and there, he paused, wrote something in a notebook, as if he had stumbled upon a minor accountant’s mistake.

Suddenly, figures began to rise, dramatically.

“I do not recall making any large payments to Shipwright Boune on this date.” He pointed. Then, he produced a number of false accounting reports from one of his own binders, all written in Sirtai, and began to compare. Elliot was overwhelmed with details.

“Ian, here,” the governor barked. “My assistant will check if that sum was deposited in your name.” He leaned forward. “Usually, we have a very strict policy regarding the privacy of our customers. But I believe it is in the best interest of both our sides that we start our cooperation with a clean slate.”