12
At the mouth of the river, which he named for the blood of Hananja, Inunru built a city.
(Wisdom)
“What do you mean, Lin hasn’t arrived yet?” Sunandi demanded.
“Seya, Jeh Kalawe, I mean she hasn’t come.” Etissero eyed Sunandi in mild surprise. “I haven’t seen that straw-haired rascal since your delegation passed through a season ago, when you first came to the city. I would have remembered the girl: she nicked my purse the last time she was here.”
“And gave it back.”
Etissero shrugged good-naturedly. “My people part fools from their funds all the time. Our children play such games to learn the trade. They don’t usually put the mark on me, though, and even more rarely do they manage to score.” He smiled. “I could make a fine tradewife of that girl, if you sold her to me.”
“Alas, my father decided long ago that Lin and I should learn to part fools from their secrets instead.”
“A shame for both of you. There’s no money in spying.”
Sunandi shook her head in amusement, recognizing Etissero’s effort to put her at ease. Dawn had broken nearly an hour ago, and she’d spent the two hours before that in harrowing flight through the corridors of Yanya-iyan and the streets of Gujaareh. But here in the Unbelievers’ District, as the guest of a wealthy Bromarte, she could rest safely hidden in the sprawling community beyond Gujaareh’s walls. The district had grown over the centuries to house foreign merchants and other opportunists who were eager to profit from Gujaareh’s wealth, but unwilling or unable for reasons of their own faith to submit to Hananja’s Law. Outside, the streets were thick with people eager to get their business done before the full heat of the day struck. Sunandi observed them for a few moments, momentarily surprised by how odd their bustling hurry seemed after the two months she’d spent in the city. Gujaareen rarely hurried.
Well, Kisuati-reared spy-girls were supposed to hurry, and it troubled Sunandi that Lin had not yet arrived at Etissero’s. She’d had a good hour’s start on Sunandi, and that was more than enough time for her to have talked her way past a gate or hired a ferryman.
Then again—
“I had trouble getting out of the city,” Sunandi said, pulling the curtain shut. “None of my friends were on duty. That ordinarily wouldn’t have been a problem—I had enough funds to pay the toll and a bribe, and they knew from my accent that I was a foreigner. But they were more wary than usual. They questioned me closely.”
“Questioned you about what?”
“Who I was, where I was going, why I was leaving at the crack of dawn. I gave them my usual story for unusual circumstances—a timbalin-house mistress going to meet with a distributor to arrange an extra shipment.” She brushed a hand against the gown she still wore, which was made of fine pleated linen rather than the more practical hekeh. The pleats emphasized the points of her breasts, which was something that had usually worked in her favor before. Men rarely remembered her face. “I looked the part, but they barely believed me. They checked my eyes to make sure I was a timbalin addict. They wanted to know which house could afford a mistress with such high coloring.”
Etissero muttered something in his own language, then returned to Gujaareen so that she could understand him. “They’re only that keen when they’re on the watch for something. What did you say?”
“That I worked for the most expensive house in the highcaste district. That I was once an account-keeper in Kisua before I fell low, which explained the accent. And thankfully, my eyes were still bloodshot from being woken in the middle of the night by a dekado Gatherer and his little killer-in-training, so they let me through.” She sighed and ran a hand over the brief, tight curls of her hair. “I think the gods must have granted me more than my share of luck in the last few hours.”
The clan leader made no reply, and Sunandi was startled to realize he was staring at her, his face even paler than normal.
“You saw a Gatherer?”
“I told you someone tried to kill me. Though I talked him out of it.”
“No one talks a Gatherer out of killing. At the most they stay their hand for a few days. Then they come after you again.”
She sighed and went over to a bench between two carved plinths. It wasn’t padded—a Bromarte custom intended to keep their traders’ minds sharp even when they were at rest—and she winced as she sat down too hard. Too many months living in luxury. I’m becoming as soft as the Prince.
No. The Prince only seemed soft on the surface. Peacock and pleasure-hound he might be, but no one soft could play such dangerous, terrible games.
“Abeyance,” she said at last. “That’s what the Gatherer granted me while he investigates my story to see if it is true.”
“Then, my sweet Sunandi, you are a dead woman.” Etissero gazed at her solemnly.
She rubbed her face, still sleepy. “Perhaps. The fool planned to go back to his Hetawa and demand the truth from his masters. Hopefully they’ll kill him and solve my problem.”
“If they kill him, another Gatherer will be sent. The Hetawa always fulfills a commission once judgment has been rendered. They consider it a sacred duty.” Etissero folded his hands and sighed. “Damn them. I never thought I’d lose anyone to their evil, let alone two in the span of a month.”
“Don’t put me in an urn already, man—” She paused, frowning as his words penetrated. “Two?”
“My cousin.” Etissero leaned his elbows on the desk and sighed. “You met him. Negotiator in Gujaareh for his wife’s clan; kept an ear to the ground among the merchants and common folk for me. He lived within the city’s walls—liked it there, the fool. Said it was soothing. But several days ago they found him dead in his bed. The innkeeper said it looked as though he had been Gathered. To me it looked more like he’d had a heart-seizure or something else painful in his sleep, but those Gujaareen can always read a death.”
Sunandi frowned at the dark flicker of memory brought on by Etissero’s words. They’d called Kinja’s death a heart-seizure, too. “I remember the man. Large fellow? He kept telling me how much he liked dark women.”
“The very one. Charleron.” Etissero shook his head. “Only the day before, I’d received a letter from him saying he was coming to visit. We never spoke about clan business, but he shared any interesting gossip that he heard with me. This time he’d heard something important that he wanted to tell me in person. Something about a rift between the Hetawa and the Sunset.”
Sunandi inhaled and stared at him.
“Yes, I know. And then he turned up dead. Murdering gualoh.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, pausing for a moment to master himself; Bromarte men did not cry in front of women. “The Hetawa paid for his funeral. Hired mourners and a chantress, bought him a lapis-covered urn, put him in their own special vault above the floodline. Buried him like a king after they killed him. How I hate this city.”
Silence had its own eloquence at times, so Sunandi kept hers.
It lasted only for a moment, however, until the house’s heavy wooden door—a necessity in this district, and double-locked—banged downstairs. Light quick feet on the steps told them that Etissero’s young son Saladronim had returned from his morning shift as a messenger. The boy came up the steps breathless, his cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright. He paused only long enough to offer a quick bow to Sunandi before blurting his news.
“Soldiers, Father. In the marketplace.”
Etissero frowned. Sunandi rose and went to the window. Behind her she heard the trader quizzing Saladronim; the boy’s careful recital of details and observations put a momentary smile on her lips. Kinja had not been the only one to see the merits of sharp-witted children, it seemed.
Below, in the streets, she saw what the boy meant. Amid the drab earth colors of common folk going about their business, flashes of brighter color stood out. A scattering of warriors in bronze half-torso armor moved through the crowd. Their skirts were a rusty red-orange, and their yellow headcloths swung from side to side. Searching. Cold prickled along her spine.
Etissero rose and came to the window beside Sunandi. “That isn’t the city guard. I’ve never seen men wearing those colors before.”
“I have,” Sunandi said. She stepped back from the window, crossing her arms over her breasts to stop herself from shivering. “They are the Prince’s own men, the Sunset Guard. They leave the palace only on his direct orders.”
Etissero raised an eyebrow at her. “If you weren’t Kisuati, you’d be pale now.”
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering heart. “That Gatherer was sent to kill me. Perhaps the Prince has decided to make certain the job is done properly.”
Etissero nodded slowly. Near the desk, Etissero’s son sat cross-legged on the floor, watching both of them avidly.
“You’ll have to remain here,” the trader said. “No one knows you’re in this house. Stay hidden for a few days and they’ll decide that you must have reached the trade-roads. They’ll move on, and then so can you.”
She frowned at that. “No. Kinja’s information—”
“Has waited since Kinja died, two seasons ago. Whatever recent discoveries you’ve made will survive another fourday’s delay. Leaving now means the Protectors never get this information, because those men will catch you and kill you. Better late than never, hmm?”
He was right. Sunandi began to pace, in an effort to vent her restlessness. “Very well. But not a fourday.”
“If—”
“If what I’ve learned is true, the Prince’s plans could spell destruction for us all—northerner and southerner, Gujaareen and Kisuati and everyone who trades with either land. Better in time than too late, hmm?”
Etissero sighed. “I thank the gods of wind and fortune our women care more about money than politics in the north. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go home to one like you.”
Sunandi permitted herself a small smile.
“Fine, then.” Etissero flicked the hangings around the window closed. “How do you want to do it?”
“See if Gehanu’s group is in town. I’ve traveled with them before, and they make the run from Gujaareh to Kisua often at this time of year.” She took a deep breath. “That leaves me with only one worry.”
Lin. Etissero saw her face and understood.
He went over to his son and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Fetch refreshments for our guest—figs and almonds if we have them, kanpo-nut and cheese if we don’t.” The boy jumped up and went downstairs, and Etissero eyed Sunandi. “You should build your strength for the journey. The desert is hard on the weak.”
His words chafed no less, she decided, for all that they were true. So she seated herself on the hard bench, and ate when Saladronim brought her food, and tried her best to invent new and scathing scolds to heap upon Lin when she finally arrived.