I hope, anyway. There’s a lot of hope involved in this endeavor.
Amazingly, the first part of the plan goes off without a hitch. We take turns pulling on oars carved from an oak tabletop, driving the furniture-boat through a mild surf as the stars wheel slowly above us. Soliton turns away, a rapidly diminishing shadow—I told Hagan to take the ship farther out to sea, to make sure it isn’t spotted by some sharp-eyed lookout. After an hour, back and shoulders burning furiously, I hear the crash of waves, and Jack shouts excited directions to keep us aimed at a broad inlet lined with pebbled beaches. It’s a calm night, and before long I can roll out of the boat and wade through waist-deep water, dragging our little craft in the rest of the way.
I pause for a moment, feet in the surf, as the others start unloading. Kahnzoka. I look out at the moonlight-dappled water and test my feelings. Back to the Empire. Back to my home.
It still doesn’t feel real. The beach could be any beach. Maybe it’s because of the way I left the city, trussed in a cage.
But Tori’s here. She’s close. After so many miles, I’m almost there. Almost.
It feels strange to abandon the boat, after spending so much effort putting it together, but it’s served its purpose. We take up our packs full of treasure—more strain on my already screaming shoulders—and hike across the beach and up the low ridge beyond. That takes us to the coast road, a long, rutted dirt track that runs across the point and up to the farming and fishing villages of Kahnzoka’s hinterland. We stop in a copse of trees and wait for the sun to rise. If my memory serves, there’s a small town a few miles farther along, and in the morning we can hike in like any other group of travelers, on our way to the city to sell our wares.
So far, so good. Right?
* * *
The town is called Redtree, on account of having an enormous red tree in the square. Country folk are nothing if not rotting imaginative.
I had worried a little that the appearance of our party might attract some comment. In Kahnzoka itself, foreigners are a common sight, and almost any combination of costume and features would probably pass without notice. Out in the country, the fact that we are two Imperials, a Jyashtani, and a southerner in a weird combination of silks and scraps could have been more notable.
As it turns out, though, I needn’t have worried. Redtree is packed far beyond the town’s modest capacity for visitors. There are carts everywhere, pulled by horses, mules, donkeys, oxen, or sweating porters, all of them making as much noise as they’re capable of. Men and women with wheelbarrows make their way along the slow-moving mass of traffic, selling food, drink, and fodder at outrageous prices.
“I have to admit,” Zarun says, “I always thought you Imperials were boasting when you called your capital the greatest city in the world. But even at Horimae you don’t get stuck in traffic before you get to the walls.”
“This is … not normal.” I look over the lines of arguing carters and frown. Most of the loads are food, which is common enough, but there are other things, too, barrels and crates with a suspiciously uniform look. “Something’s happening.”
“Thirsty Jack suggests a drink,” Jack says, pointing to the town’s only tavern, creatively called The Redtree Tavern. And perhaps a wagging tongue will clarify matters.”
I glance at Meroe, who gives a little nod. The next step in the plan involves hiring a wagon to take us to the city, and the tavern is as good a place as any to start looking. I clear my throat.
“Okay,” I tell them. “Remember we’re trying to avoid notice, though. Let me do the talking.” I glare at Jack until she meets my gaze. “Understood?”
“Clever Jack will attempt to conceal her natural brilliance, lest we attract undue attention,” Jack says. “But a true diamond can never be hidden for long.”
Zarun snorts, but says nothing. I lead the way to the tavern.
* * *
The place is surprisingly crowded for mid-morning. In fact, judging by the spills and vomit on the floor, I doubt they got the chance to close last night. I edge my way around the worst of it and claim a corner table still sticky with wine. I send Zarun to get us drinks and settle in for some eavesdropping.
Most of the tables in the tavern are occupied with chattering traders, and the conversations revolve around goods and prices. I hear some numbers which make me raise an eyebrow—if people in Kahnzoka are paying that much for grain and salt fish, then something must be seriously wrong. Storms, maybe, or a failed harvest?
“If this is what you Imperials call wine,” Zarun says when he returns, “I can see why you’re always trying to steal from us. A Jyashtani dog wouldn’t deign to piss in this stuff.”
“Charming,” I mutter, as he passes wooden mugs across the table. “Now sit down and be quiet.”
“It does have a certain … piquancy,” Meroe says, wrinkling her nose at her cup. Jack drains half of hers in a single swallow.
“We’re not exactly in the Imperial Palace here,” I say, feeling a need to defend my hometown. “And even a backcountry tavern isn’t going to waste the good stuff on this lot.” I push my chair back. “Stay here. I’m going to see if I can get us a ride.”
A couple of tables up from us, a pair of young men have been discussing the day’s plan in loud voices. I’ve gathered that they have a pair of wagons, and that they were loaded with barrels of salt slitfish. Nobody who can afford not to eats slitfish, so they have to be hauling to the lower wards, and probably won’t mind carrying a few paying passengers.
The two of them look at me as I sit down, and it takes me a moment to place their expressions. I’m used to contempt from the rich and fear from the poor, at least if they know my reputation, but this is neither. They’re staring, and I’m abruptly conscious of my mismatched clothes, my ragged hair, and most of all the blue cross-hatching that wanders across my face.
This is going to take some getting used to.
“Morning, sirs,” I say. It takes an effort to speak pure Imperial, instead of the polyglot mess we use on Soliton. “My friends and I were hoping for a ride to the city, down to the Sixteenth.” I open my hand to show the gleam of silver. “We can pay.”
One of the pair, a gangly youth with a patchy beard, gives a derisive snort. The other, his older brother for a guess, looks at me with another strange expression.
“I can give you a ride,” he says, slowly, “but I’m wondering what rock you’ve been hiding under, and if you know what you’ll be riding into.”
I feel a prickle on the back of my neck. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning there ain’t no more Sixteenth,” he says. “My uncle had a little flat there, and a shop, but it’s all smoke and ashes now, and my uncle along with it. The Sixteenth is gone, friend.”
I don’t remember jumping to my feet, but I must have. The next thing I know, everyone in the room is looking at me, and the two traders are frozen in place. I feel Meroe touch me gently on the shoulder.
“Gentlemen,” she says, her Imperial fluent and correct. “Can we buy you a few drinks, and hear the whole story?”
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