undying legion 01 - unbound man (27 page)

After several days spent scouring intelligence reports for even a passing mention of the man, she’d conceded defeat. Whoever Kieffe had been working for had covered his tracks too well. She had no option but to start asking questions and hope her ignorance wouldn’t be enough to undermine the investigation right from the start.

I did all right with Dallin.
She’d confronted him with no preparation at all, goaded by the bickering between Ufeus and Brielle, and she’d come away with the lead that had given them Kieffe. And this would be easier; this time she already knew the people she’d be talking to.

A horn sounded from the public docks across the river and a passenger ferry eased away from shore, its prow turning east toward Borronor’s Crossing and the sea. As though in response, a flurry of wings rose behind her, followed by slow, deliberate beats as the cormorants flapped past her head and up into the haze-smudged sky.

The heavy slam of the main building’s rear door pulled her back to her surroundings. Pel slouched toward the quay, a simple fishing rod slung over his shoulder and a rough wooden bucket in his other hand.
Ah. At last.

Pel’s dogged interest in angling was legendary among Guild traders. As far as Eilwen knew, the man had never actually caught anything; yet every morning after breaking his fast, Pel would haul his bucket to the river’s edge and stand there, line in hand, for the better part of a bell. Some speculated that the pastime was merely a ploy to secure an hour of solitude, a notion derived largely from a junior trader’s claim to have witnessed Pel casting empty hooks into the water. Others countered that such an action might just as readily be explained by the man’s general absent-mindedness, leaving the traders roughly split between those who believed their adjunct preferred the company of fish to that of other people, and those who considered him simply incompetent at his chosen sport.

Eilwen had been part of the former camp, though her own reserve after the
Orenda
had seen her gradually drift from the social circles of her fellow traders. But the awkwardness of disturbing the man’s solitude seemed worth the chance to speak with him alone and informally. If he turned her away and she was forced to find another time, it would hardly make their subsequent conversation any more trying than would naturally be the case.

She turned, resuming her stroll along the quayside. Pel had already cast his hook and now swirled the rod slowly in mid-air, dragging the line through the water below. He frowned, leaning over to peer into the murky depths.

“A fine morning,” Eilwen said. Pel found such observations inane, she knew, but she needed something to open the conversation. She halted alongside him and turned to survey the river. “Any bites?”

She sensed Pel shake his head, and found herself picturing the expression of pained disappointment that was likely crossing his face even now. Gathering up her resolve, she pushed the image from her thoughts and ploughed on.

“I wanted to ask you about Kieffe,” she said. “What was he working on before he died?”

Her question was met with silence. Eilwen folded her arms and resisted the urge to turn her head. The swirling motion beside her slowed, then stopped.

“I don’t know,” Pel said at length. His voice sounded rougher than usual.

Eilwen frowned. “But you’re the adjunct,” she said. “You know what all the traders are doing.”

“Not Kieffe.”

“What, then?”
Someone must have told the man what he could buy or sell.
“Are you saying he worked directly for Trademaster Laris?”

Pel shifted in what might have been a slow shrug. “Maybe,” he said.

Eilwen waited. “Or?”

“Maybe he wasn’t a trader at all.”

Eilwen risked a sidelong glance. “What does that mean?”

Pel heaved a lugubrious sigh. “Not all of our traders are really traders,” he said ponderously. “Sometimes another master needs to put someone in another city. Secretly.”

Secret even from the rest of the Guild?
The revelation was unexpected, but somehow Eilwen was only mildly surprised.
A few weeks ago, I’d probably have been shocked.
“Which masters?”

“Master Caralange,” Pel said. “And Master Havilah.”

Havilah. Of course.
Disquiet whispered through her breast, but she pushed it away.
It’s not him. It can’t be.

Which left Caralange, and Laris.

“I suppose if I asked Laris who Kieffe was really working for, she’d be happy to tell me?” Eilwen said, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not. The masters’ meeting would have been the perfect opportunity for Laris to dump Kieffe on someone else. But she’d told everyone the man was just a trader, which suggested it was probably true.

So why wasn’t Pel saying the same thing?

Her suspicions rising, Eilwen turned. “Why are you telling me this, Pel?”

Pel looked up, and their gazes locked. His fleshy face was drawn.
He’s worried. Kieffe’s death has him rattled, and he’s decided… to trust me? Oh, gods.
She nodded once, swallowing hard, and he looked away.

“What else can you tell me?” she said softly.

He took a long, slow breath. “There’s a shop. An importer from Tan Tahis.” He paused. “Qulah.”

“I know it,” Eilwen said. Qulah’s was on the Fanon road, not far from the new estates in the south part of the city. She’d visited it regularly in her early days with the Guild, but she’d barely been back in the years since her promotion to trade factor.

“I was there last week. Kieffe came in. When he saw me, he left.”

Eilwen waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.
All right.
“One other thing,” she said. “I need access to the trade reports and transaction logs. I know Kieffe’s dealings probably aren’t in there, but there’ll be other things, details I can use to track down what he was doing…”

But Pel was already turning away. “Only Laris can give you that,” he said with exaggerated patience.

“I know, I just thought…” She trailed off.
Thought what? That Pel could go behind Laris’s back to get me the entire trading record for the past year, just so I can trawl through it and figure out what I’m even looking for?
She shook her head, feeling foolish. “Never mind.”

Pel frowned at the water before him. With a slow, deliberate hand, he lifted his fishing rod and began to swirl it back and forth above the river.

Qulah’s.
It was more than she’d had an hour ago. And it was something she could pursue without feeling like the whole Guild was looking over her shoulder.
Maybe I can get some solid information before I start parading my ignorance before Laris and Caralange.

“Pel,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

She left before he could reply. Not that he would have. It was Pel, after all.

•

The way to Qulah’s took Eilwen down the eastern thoroughfare, past the building she always avoided.
The Oculus building.
Without the egg, she had no way of distinguishing Oculus from innocent, or untrained token-bearer from sorcerer, and as she approached her usual detour she slowed, contemplating just walking on by. But the thought was foolishness, of course. She’d often come this way before, with and without the egg. The risk was not so much that she might kill someone there and then in the street, though there had been dark moments when that had seemed possible. No, the true danger was subtler, more incremental: a reminder of debts unpaid, and a reawakening of her hunger for justice. A first step down the treacherous, well-worn path that led only to more death.

She grit her teeth and took the detour.

Qulah’s Emporium was a low, single-storey affair with a flat roof, sandwiched between a weathered brick warehouse and a run-down, multi-level tenement. With its lead glass windows, elegantly carved cornices, and wide, deep-blue enamelled door, Qulah’s stood out like a beacon of refinement among its ramshackle neighbours. Even the marker stone bearing the site’s city-ordained lot number was polished to a finish smooth enough for Eilwen to see the silhouette of her own reflection. Behind it, a neatly-trimmed shrub grew from a shallow box, its leaves the same dark green as the plants on either side of the door.

Very nice,
Eilwen thought as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Qulah, you’ve done well.

Inside, the shop was no less impressive. Rich, red carpets lined the floor, thin but beautifully patterned. Eilwen ducked around a large floor lamp, glancing idly at the ivory jewellery, carved blackwood flutes, and other Tahisi exotica arranged tastefully on the low shelves. A faint, vaguely spicy scent tickled her nostrils and she smiled.
Oh, I remember this.
She closed her eyes and breathed deep.

“Can I help you?”

Lungs full, Eilwen opened her eyes and looked around. A young Tahisi man no taller than herself stood at her side, a solicitous smile on his face. She let out her breath with a rush and gave the youth a slight frown. “I’d like to speak to Qulah, thank you.”

“Of course,” said the youth, his smile unwavering. He gestured in the direction of a side counter. “My uncle will be right with you.”

Uncle, is it?
Eilwen glanced about the shop. A second Tahisi youth spoke in low tones with a moneyed, thin-haired man in the next aisle, while a third surveyed the store from a vantage point by the far wall. The last time Eilwen was here, Qulah’s only assistant had been his curt, unsmiling brother.
So the kids are finally earning their keep. I wonder if Qulah’s brought them all the way in?

The soft click of a side door pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Qulah crossing the floor toward her. The man’s hair was a little greyer than she recalled, and his jowls a little heavier, but his unhurried movements and air of calm attentiveness were just as she remembered them. His shirt was the colour of ink and hung to his knees; but Eilwen could tell from its drape that the fabric was pure cotton, not the half-linen weave she would have expected of an ordinary shopkeeper.
Just a humble merchant. Oh, yes.

Qulah halted before her, his head inclined in greeting. “I know you, do I not?” Though his skin was half a shade lighter than Havilah’s, his accent was almost identical. He studied her face, then broke into a smile. “Eilwen Nasareen. Of the Woodtraders, yes?”

“Qulah. It’s been too long.”

“So it has. Yet here you are.” Qulah spread his hands in a gesture encompassing both forgiveness and welcome. “I trust your visit is not simply a result of taking a wrong turn on the way to your favourite chocol house.”

The corners of Eilwen’s lips tugged upward. “You still haven’t added chocol to your selection of wares? I’m disappointed, Qulah.”

Qulah waved a dismissive hand. “There are a hundred and one stores in this city where chocol may be obtained. I have no interest in becoming the hundred and second.” He indicated an array of jars on a nearby shelf. “I can, however, offer a fine selection of okra seed. A far superior drink, and only eight scudi per pound.”

“Perhaps another time.” Eilwen hesitated, unsure how best to broach the purpose for her visit. “In truth, I’m not here to peruse your merchandise.”

“Of course not,” Qulah said smoothly. “A special order, yes?”

“After a fashion,” Eilwen said. “A colleague of mine came to see you last week, or maybe the week before. Ash hair and a narrow face. Name of Kieffe.”

“Ah.” Qulah stepped closer, his voice soft. “The first shipment arrived yesterday. Would you like to see?”

Shipment?
Eilwen inclined her head. “Certainly.”

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Qulah withdrew a small key from his sleeve and unlocked the side door, ushering her through. The passage beyond was narrow but clean. Daylight filtered dimly through thumbnail-sized holes in the high ceiling. Eilwen matched the Tahisi trader’s brisk pace as he led her through the twisting corridor to the adjoining warehouse.

The most valuable of Qulah’s wares never appeared in his shop. When the Woodtraders — or, Eilwen suspected, most of the other trading houses in Anstice — needed goods brought in from the south, they could either attempt to arrange it themselves, or they could save themselves the time and trouble and see Qulah. If said items were not technically permitted within the city bounds, the discretion of the Anstice garrison could be purchased for an additional fee, though Eilwen had no idea how Qulah had come to that arrangement. The last time the Woodtraders had attempted to reach a similar understanding with the city garrison, the man making the offer had been lucky to avoid prison.

“My apologies for not recognising you sooner,” Qulah murmured as they halted before another door. “Kieffe said he might be returning to Neysa, but he didn’t mention that you would be overseeing the order in his absence.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Eilwen said automatically. “Not really. I just…” She trailed off, thinking frantically.
Overseeing the order? What on the gods’ earth are they buying — a herd of Tahisi elephants?
“Several of us are working this assignment,” she said, striking out blindly. “Today, I have the pleasure of your company. Tomorrow, alas, it may be another.”

Qulah nodded as though unsurprised, but his voice matched her playful tone. “Then I thank Father Earth for today.” He opened the door. “There are lamps and sparkers on the wall,” he said, taking one for himself. “Watch your step.”

The warehouse was even bigger than it appeared from the street. Wooden crates of all shapes and sizes rose in stacked formations like monument stones. Muted traffic noise leaked in from the front of the building; but the two massive railed doors were positioned at the rear, presumably giving access via a more private laneway. The smell of sawdust hung in the air.

“Over here,” Qulah called, halting before a smaller stack and setting his lamp down on a pile of hessian sacks. Fetching a crowbar, he began to lever open the lid of the topmost crate. Eilwen gazed at the box with barely restrained curiosity. The crate was long, narrow, and no deeper than it was wide.
Bolts of cloth, maybe? Surely there’s more to it than that.