undying legion 01 - unbound man (23 page)

Laris exhaled softly. “He was a trader. He’d been away from Anstice for several years, most recently in Neysa.” She gave a tight smile. “He deserved better.”

“Any enemies? Here, or in Neysa?”

“I don’t think so.” The Trademaster spread her hands. “Kieffe looked after dozens of accounts. No doubt he made people unhappy on occasion, but no more than Eilwen here in her time. It’s part of doing business.”

“So is this, perhaps.” Soll gestured across the table. “We have Master Havilah, after all.”

“We do not kill people, Treasurer,” Havilah said levelly.

“Of course,” Soll said, with a smile that might have been either mocking or apologetic. “But others might not be so scrupulous.”

“This is foolishness!” Phemia broke in. Eilwen looked up in surprise as the old seneschal turned her anguished gaze around the table. “How can this have anything to do with Neysa? This man was killed right here. In our own home!”

Vorace laid a hand on her arm. “Phemia —”

Phemia shook it off. “Don’t ‘Phemia’ me!” She wrung her wrinkled hands. “This was done by one of our own people. A Woodtrader. Three have mercy, we’ve a killer in our midst!”

The pain in the old woman’s words was impossible to miss. Phemia had been seneschal for as long as Eilwen had been a Woodtrader, managing the innumerable mundane details involved in keeping the Guild running. Even now, as the years slowly wore her away, she continued to serve, continued to worry on behalf of the Guild.

And now, someone at that same table was betraying her, and everyone else like her.

For the first time, the wrongness of it struck Eilwen full force, like a blow to the gut; and a spark of anger flared inside. Vorace was speaking now, trying to calm Phemia’s fears, but Eilwen scarcely heard a word. The rage grew, hot and primal, filling her up like wine in a skin. Her body felt light, insubstantial, supported not by the chair but by the air all around her.
Whichever of you has done this, I swear I’m going to find you, and when I do, I’ll —

No!

With an effort of will Eilwen pulled back, gasping for air. Not that. Those days were over. She was not a killer, not any more. She closed her eyes, slowing her breathing and unclenching her fingers from the edge of the seat.
Not again. Not ever again.

“Eilwen? Are you unwell?”

Blinking, she raised her head. The entire room was staring at her. Pel sat to her right, his brow furrowed in ponderous confusion; before her, Havilah’s face was smooth save for a single questioning eyebrow. Eilwen gazed at the sea of faces, unsure what to do; and as she did, the anger stirred anew, inviting her back into its arms.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. “I need to step outside.”

It was seven paces to the door. She covered them in silence, propelled by the pressure of a dozen eyes at her back. Only when she closed the door behind her did the conversation resume, in tones too low to overhear. She sagged against the wall and closed her eyes.

Even now, one of the masters in that room was betraying the Guild. Yes, and betraying her, too. Because she was no longer the killer, no longer the traitor. She was not,
would not be
that person any more.

She was the Guild’s, and the Guild was hers.

•

With nowhere in particular to go, Eilwen found herself making her way down the stairs and out into the building’s inner garden. Several moderate-sized trees spread twisted branches over the bright flowerbeds and patchy grass: myrtles for the most part, likely selected for their tolerance of shade, which allowed them to flourish despite the high, enclosing walls. The eucalypt outside her own rooms stood at the far end of the garden, its leaves barely shifting in the sheltered air, but Eilwen ignored it, seating herself on a low, weather-worn bench and straightening her leg with a sigh.

Usually, apart from some initial discomfort on rising, her leg only pained her later in the day; but today her climb to the sixth floor had set it off early.
My token of the
Orenda
,
she thought, wincing as she rubbed the gnarled flesh around her knee.
My traitor’s mark. No matter how far I run, this will remain.

Whatever else it was, she could not call it unjust.

“Went well, huh?” Brielle stood before her, a lazy grin on her face.

“Oh, absolutely,” Eilwen said. “Still going well right now, I imagine.”

“Ha.” Brielle sat. “Do they know who did it?”

“No.” Eilwen glanced down the row of doors and windows facing onto the garden. Havilah’s suite was dark.
Still going well. Oh, yes.
“But we’re going to figure it out.”

“Are we? How?”

The words hung in the still air. “I don’t know,” Eilwen said carefully. Brielle gave a sharp sigh, and Eilwen narrowed her eyes. “Are you all right?”

The last of the grin slipped away, leaving a furious glare in its wake. “No, damn it, I’m not all right,” Brielle hissed. “It’s not supposed to go like this. Enemies out there, yes. Of course. But not in here.”

“I know.” They were Woodtraders. United in common interest. Without that, what was left?

“They should have locked down the compound the moment you found that body. Nobody in or out. Drop everything until they find the murdering bastard.”

There were a dozen reasons why such a course could never have worked. Eilwen settled for the most obvious. “They who? The Guild doesn’t have the people for that sort of thing. All they have is us.”
And no idea which of us can be trusted.

“I’ve seen this before, you know,” Brielle said. “In other houses. Other companies. Hells, I learnt it from my ma before I could talk. This is how it starts.” She bared her teeth. “Distrust is death, Eilwen. There’s a reason that’s a saying.”

“We’ll find the killer,” Eilwen said. “We will.”

Brielle stood. “We’d better.”

She strode away, leaving Eilwen alone with her thoughts.
Distrust is death.
It was true enough, as far as it went. But trust was no less dangerous, in its way. And in any case, death was cunning. It came in innumerable guises, each unique, and sometimes even removing the mask wasn’t enough.

Unwelcome memories of the
Orenda
stirred within her. She had trusted, then: trusted deeply and wilfully enough to silence the doubting whisper in her heart, until at last Tammas had confessed his divided loyalties to her face, admitting that he worked not only for the Guild but also for a clandestine band of sorcerers whose name he wasn’t even supposed to know, but who called themselves
Oculus.
And then he had died, and the
Orenda
had died; but she, gods be cursed, had survived, a traitor to the Guild and to Tammas alike. A traitor to all, yet reviled by none.

Afterwards, of course, she’d tried to find out why. To her surprise, the egg she’d taken from Tammas had come to her aid. Though he’d claimed it was just a trinket, on rare occasions it would stir, dark sorcery pulsing deep within as it sensed the approach of those it considered friends — other servants of the Oculus. But none of the Oculus she confronted could tell her why the
Orenda
had been sunk, or who had given the order, and as her disappointments mounted, her questions had gradually ceased to matter.

Killing was so much easier when you didn’t have to talk first.

A lamp flared to life in Havilah’s suite, and a moment later Eilwen saw the Spymaster’s form pass before the window. She left the bench, crossing the uneven lawn to his door. It opened as she drew near, revealing Havilah’s dark hand beckoning her inside.

“You were waiting?” Havilah said, reaching behind her to close the door.

Eilwen shrugged. “What happened?”

Havilah gave her an appraising look, then turned and pulled out his chair. It squeaked as he sat. “Little,” he said. “You were there for the interesting part.”

Relief filled Eilwen, the release of a tension she hadn’t noticed was there.
Thank you for not asking.
She gave a slight nod, and he returned the gesture with a knowing eye. “That was the interesting part? Seemed like a lot of noise for not much result.”

“True. Nobody gained, but nobody lost, either.”

“So what was decided?” Eilwen said, sliding into a second chair.

Havilah gave a dismissive wave. “Nothing important. That whole meeting was just for show.”

“What?” Eilwen stared. “Well. Great. Of course it was. Thanks for telling me beforehand.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t say it was unimportant.” Havilah leaned forward. “This is a dangerous game, Eilwen. Kieffe’s body is in Phemia’s chill-chest right now. Appearances are the main thing keeping you and me from joining it.”

Eilwen shivered. “I know.”

“You did well up there,” Havilah said, his tone softening. “Of course we’ll investigate now. Everyone expects that. So long as nobody thinks we’re going to find anything, they’ll leave us alone.”

“Who’s us?”

“You. Me. Guildmaster Vorace.”

“Vorace is on our side? And you still let him go after me like that?” Eilwen bit off the question, angry at the whine in her voice. Of course Vorace had challenged her. Anything less would have invited suspicion. She grimaced, brushing the question away. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

Havilah folded his hands. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” But she’d doubted him, there in the corridor outside Kieffe’s room with the steward’s key in her hand. Did she doubt him still? She wasn’t sure.
Distrust is death, yes. But only sometimes. Only when it’s not warranted.
She tapped her fingernail against the hard wood of Havilah’s desk. “Tell me the rest of it. Like where you were while I was turning up a corpse.”

“In a chocol house,” Havilah said. “Varek’s, on the Isle. I was watching a woman.”

Eilwen waited.

“Fair skin,” Havilah continued. “Pale eyes. Iron-grey hair. Looks about fifty on first glance, but probably closer to sixty. Likes cloves and nutmeg in her chocol, which she prefers cooler than most.”

“Three Rivers’ new dance partner?”

“If so, she’s not exactly single-minded in her affections. She must have met with half of Anstice in the last few days. Guilds, trading houses, moneylenders. A few I didn’t even recognise. It looked like she was already well into the city’s smaller merchantry. None of the other majors came to visit, but she received couriers from both the East Mellespen Syndicate and the Crimson Sails.”

“She’s talking to everyone,” Eilwen said. “Everyone except us.”

“Yes,” Havilah said. “Unless…”

Eilwen grimaced.
Unless.
“If someone from the Guild has already spoken to her, but is keeping it from the rest of us…” She trailed off. What would that even mean?

“She wasn’t the naive rustic, either,” Havilah continued. “She had a confidence about her. The sort that comes when you know you’re in a position of strength, and you’re so used to it that you don’t even think about it any more.”

“She’s buying,” Eilwen said. “She has to be. If she was selling, she’d wait a while before seeing someone new, and she wouldn’t bother with the minors at all. Playing them off against each other only works if she’s a buyer.”

Havilah shook his head. “I don’t think she’s playing them off. As far as I could tell, most of them walked away with some sort of agreement. If she’s buying, she’s getting a whole lot of merchandise from a whole lot of people.”

Spreading the risk.
It made sense, if your venture was too delicate or too large to entrust to a single supplier. But what could be so large as to require the services of every trading company known to Anstice?

“One other thing,” Havilah said. “The night you found Kieffe, I managed to leave the chocol house just before she left. I followed her along the river and down the western thoroughfare, but I lost her outside the old wall.”

“You lost a sixty-year-old woman?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ah, hells. A sorcerer, then.”

“Maybe,” Havilah said. “Maybe not. But it’s a possibility to be aware of.”

Eilwen shivered.
A sorcerer. Just like Tammas’s other master. Gods, please let it not be them again.
The old hunger stirred within her, loathed but precious. Grimacing, she thrust it aside.

“That’s the real question,” Havilah said, and Eilwen realised she’d missed the beginning of his thought. “If we’re being singled out for exclusion, we need to know why. And if not…”

“If we’ve taken on a new order, there’ll be evidence of it,” Eilwen said. “Especially if it’s big. Cargo unloading at the dock. Wagon movements. Something.” She looked up. “Get me the records and I can cross-check them. I know what to look for. If someone’s hiding something, I can find it.”

Havilah gave her an odd look. It took several moments for Eilwen to identify it as pride. Something shifted in her throat, and she coughed and looked away.

“What records would you need?” Havilah said. It was not so much a question as a prompt.

Contracts. Ledgers. Bills of lading and receipt.
Things a member of Havilah’s department had no business requesting, not even with a murder to investigate. Ask for them now, and they might as well announce from the rooftops what they were up to. Eilwen shook her head. “Forget it.”

“It’s a good thought,” Havilah said. “I had a similar idea. That’s what I was talking to Ged about, when…” He gestured, and Eilwen nodded.
When you heard I’d taken the key, and came looking for me.

“And?” she said.

“Nothing. Your clock was the most noteworthy request he’d had for weeks.”

Eilwen blew out her cheeks. “Unless he’s in on it, too.” And that was the barb at the end of every dangling line. When it came right down to it, everyone was suspect.
Distrust is death.

“So,” Havilah said. “You’re a master. You’re running some sort of operation behind everyone else’s back. Something big enough to kill for. What else are you doing? What’s your endgame?”

A twist of fear slithered through Eilwen’s belly.
Gods, what do I know about masters? I was just an assistant buyer, when… when it was me.
But then, perhaps there wasn’t so much difference between them. Betrayal was betrayal, after all.