When he retrieved her at the end of those four days, Iskra still had enough spirit left to glare at him with the one eye she could open. She spit on him when he turned her over to the local questor’s agent. Where the agent took her, he had no idea. Kaberco hoped her end came quickly and painlessly.
And he’d do all he could to ensure the same for her daughter.
Tarkio stretched his cramped legs as the caravan rumbled through Trofmose’s gates. His trading run to Attu had gone smoothly. The guardsmen had not given him any more attention than anyone else. Maybe Juquila was backing off. Now, as long as Tereka was safe he could breathe easy.
He filled out his bills of lading and filed them with the clerk. The clerk seemed nervous about something, not looking Tarkio in the eye, sweating, and jumping every time Tarkio made a comment.
“Everything safe with you?” Tarkio asked.
The clerk stared at the ground. “Um, me, yes. All safe with me.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Is all safe with you?” the clerk asked, though he didn’t look up.
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
The nervous man shook his head and glanced at the door to the syndic’s office.
“Tirk? Is Tirk safe?” Tarkio didn’t wait for an answer. He headed for the syndic’s office and flung open the door.
The outer office was usually filled with people waiting to see Juquila, as well as three or four clerks, their tables piled high with documents and stacks of confiscated goods. Today, it was empty except for a female clerk. She spoke without looking up from her abacus. “Peace and safety. What can I do for you?”
Tarkio took a deep breath. “Does the syndic have a few moments?”
“I’ll see.” The clerk rose and disappeared into the inner office. Tarkio paced up and down. What could have happened to my son? Why haven’t I heard anything?
After a few minutes, the clerk returned. “The syndic will see you now.”
He nodded his thanks and went into Juquila’s office to find her sitting at her battered table, writing. Tarkio stood a few feet in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. The sound of the pen scratching on the paper felt like tiny nails scraping his skin. She was toying with him. He was certain she knew something about Tirk.
Juquila wrote until she reached the end of the paper. Then she looked up. “Oh, Tarkio. Peace and safety.”
“To you as well, Juquila. You look well.” Which was true. She still had the same sultry beauty in her flawless brown skin and dark eyes that she’d had when they were teenagers, back in the days when she’d wanted to marry him. When he chose her sister, Juquila had been so angry that she tried to knife him at his wedding. The years, and her elevation to syndic, evidently had done nothing to smooth the edge off her resentment.
She raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?”
“I just returned to town and thought I’d stop in to see Tirk. Is he well?”
“Tirk? Oh, he’s safe. I sent him to check on a complaint of tainted fruit from Anbodu.”
Relief flooded Tarkio. He felt he could breathe normally again.
“I would have thought you’d be more interested in Tereka.”
“Tereka?” Tarkio’s heart lurched.
“Oh, so you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That she assaulted Tirk. After he confronted her with the documents she’s been falsifying for months. Really, Tarkio, I’m disappointed in you for not teaching her to be honest on her bills of lading.”
Tarkio’s knees went weak. He sank into the chair in front of Juquila’s table. “She did what?”
“For months now, she’s been writing one figure on the bills of lading but selling a greater amount to the vendors. Just enough that it makes her a profit, not enough to be very noticeable.”
“She wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“Tirk uncovered her little caper when he was cross-checking the bills of lading with the vendors’ accounts. Rather than turn her in, he confronted her. She assaulted him. I had no choice but to have him take her to court. We can’t allow this kind of thing, you know. Sets a bad example. And I have to treat everyone the same. To be fair to everyone.”
“But this is wrong,” Tarkio said. “Tereka wouldn’t do this.”
Juquila picked up her pen. “I’m sorry, Tarkio. We had the evidence.”
That was impossible. “What did the court decide?”
He couldn’t help but notice the glitter in Juquila’s eyes, as if she was enjoying stringing him along. “She was taken.”
Tarkio’s jaw sagged and he slumped in the chair. Only by grabbing the edge of Juquila’s table did he manage to keep from falling to the floor. “She was what?”
“Taken.” A satisfied smirk flitted across her face, a fleeting look of triumph. “Two days ago.”
“But she’s innocent.” Tarkio’s thoughts jumbled together. He would have to rescue her, break her out. If she was even still alive. “Where did they take her?”
“You know I have no idea. People who are taken are sent away and never seen again. Whether they live their lives somewhere else or are put to death, no one knows. Not even members of the Konament.”
This much, at least, was true. Tarkio studied Juquila’s face. She didn’t know. “So no one knows?”
“Don’t even think about trying to rescue her. That will only get you taken, too.”
“She’s no more guilty than I am.”
“Funny you should say that.” Juquila moved her inkwell to the side and shuffled the papers on her desk. “Take a look at this. Your bill of lading for your last trip to Shinroo. Twenty-five candlesticks. Is that your signature?”
“Yes.”
“The vendor’s receipt for twenty-eight candlesticks, signed on the same day.” She slapped another piece of paper on the desk.
Tarkio stared at it, his eyes widening in horror. Somehow Juquila had managed to create false receipts, probably by bribing or threatening the vendors. “Juquila, I— ”
“Say nothing. I’ll forget about this if you forget about Tereka. And leave Tirk alone. Cross me on this, and I’ll use these papers. Don’t think I won’t.” She smirked. “I’d hate to see you in an unsafe place, Tarkio.”
He struggled to keep from vaulting over the desk and wrapping his hands around her throat. Juquila had framed Tereka. And now she’d been taken. He had to find her. If he was taken, would he be taken to the same place as her? Or would that be a vain sacrifice? Maybe she was already dead. That was what he had to do. Discover if she was still alive, then figure out how to find her. “All right, Juquila. You usually know best.” He clenched his teeth together to trap the curses he wanted to hurl at her in his throat.
“Only usually?” She shook her head. “I’ll have to do better in the future.” She dipped her pen in the inkwell. “Peace and safety to you.”
“Peace and safety, Juquila.” Tarkio stood up and moved to the door. He shoved his hands into his pockets and balled his fists. He vowed he’d expose Juquila and her false documents and see justice done. But not until he found Tereka.
35
Tarkio stumbled through the outer office and onto the street. He blinked in the afternoon sunlight, his mind reeling. This couldn’t be happening. His breath rattled in his throat and he leaned against the wall of the syndic’s office, his heart fluttering and his chest tightening.
He rubbed his sweating face. He couldn’t stay there. He needed to think. Maybe a drink would help. He trudged to the nearest inn and ducked inside, grateful for the dim light. He bought a tankard of beer, looked around for a place where he could be alone, then headed for a spot away from the bar, a small table in the back corner.
The poor light had prevented him from seeing that it was occupied. By Tirk. Not really who he wanted to see.
“Da.” Tirk glanced up, then back down at his beer.
“Mind if I drink with you?” Tarkio did his best to keep his voice low, to avoi
d shouting accusations at Tirk. He sat down before his son had a chance to answer. He took a large gulp of his beer, thinking that maybe he should have ordered something stronger. “So, what’s new in your life?”
“Not much. Just a lot of work.”
Dark shadows under Tirk’s eyes meant he wasn’t sleeping. Could be due to overwork. But where did he get that faded bruise around his eye? “Work means trade is good all over.”
Tirk stared at the table. Tarkio waited as his son twisted his fingers together. “Oh, there is some news. Poales was taken.”
Tarkio thumped his tankard down, splashing beer onto the table. “Poales? It’s not possible.”
“It is. About two weeks ago.”
“What happened?” Tarkio’s voice shook.
“He’d been down south, trading around Litavye. He was returning this way from Anbodu when the caravan was attacked.”
“Let me guess. Poales defended himself and shot a few bandits.”
“Worse than that. He shot a guardsman.”
“A guardsman?” That didn’t seem like Poales at all. “Why?”
“The trader in front of him had the first fruits from the southern orchards. One of the guardsmen stopped his horse at that trader’s wagon and pointed it out. The bandits ignored the other wagons and plundered that one.”
“Did anyone else try to fight off the bandits?”
“A few. Enough to keep the bandits from any other wagons.”
“And the fruit trader?” Too much to hope that he survived.
“They killed him before they went for his cargo.”
With a sigh, he let his shoulders slump. “Why did Poales kill the guardsman?”
“Because once the bandits left, the guardsman told the traders they should be grateful for his efforts in keeping them and their cargo safe. It seems Poales had an arrow on the string, and he just let loose with it.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill him outright and say it was the bandits.”
“It was too late. The other traders had seen Poales kill the guardsman.”
“And he was taken?”
“After a very public trial.”
Tarkio gulped his beer, allowing the bitter liquid to warm the ball of ice in his stomach. “Have you seen Tereka?”
Tirk’s mouth drooped. “Not in the past two days.”
“I heard a story she assaulted you.” Tarkio’s face and neck grew hot. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
As he slowly inhaled Tarkio told himself he had to be careful. The last thing he needed was for Tirk to run to Juquila. Not after she told him to leave the boy alone. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
Speaking softly, trying to keep any hint of accusation from his tone, he said, “I also heard you took her to court.”
“She deserved it.” Tirk crossed his arms.
Was that defiance he heard in Tirk’s voice? Or did that quaver mean something else? “How so?”
“She said some things about Mam. Rude things. And she hit me.”
Tarkio leaned his head back against the wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists under the table, trying not to betray his anger to Tirk. He studied his son’s face. So Tereka gave him that black eye. Tirk’s story was sounding very different from Juquila’s. “Why did she hit you? Not over bills of lading?”
“Bills of… How did you know about that?”
“People talk.” Tarkio considered what he should say next. “I heard all about the charges brought up in court.” He leaned forward. “I’m shocked that Tereka would lie on her bills of lading. So shocked that I can’t believe it’s true. I would hate to think that any of my children would falsify documents.”
“I wasn’t the one who did that.” Tirk pressed his lips together.
“If you didn’t, and Tereka didn’t, who did?”
“I’m not supposed to say.” Tirk’s eyes widened, as if his own admission startled him.
“Then let me guess. Your aunt was involved?” He studied Tirk’s brown eyes. “You don’t have to answer. Just nod.”
Tirk closed his eyes and nodded. “She told me we had to set an example, to prevent any other traders from doing the same thing. That we had to come down hard on her because she’s a family member.” He leaned forward and gripped the table. “But she said Tereka would just get a fine.” His breath caught. “And fail her probation. Then I’d inherit your trading licenses.” He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “They sentenced her to be taken. I swear, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Hopefully, no one had overheard Tirk. Tarkio looked around then reached over and put his hand on his son’s forearm. “Tirk, I’m disappointed in you, that you would even think of falsifying documents. And even more so that you would set your sister up like that.” Tirk stirred and Tarkio held up a hand. “I believe you that you didn’t know she’d be taken.” He wasn’t so sure he did, but Tereka was his main concern at the moment. “Do you want to help your sister? If you do, can I rely on you?
“I feel terrible.” Tirk rested his arms on the table and looked up at Tarkio. “Do you think we can rescue her?”
Just the question that would trap Tarkio in a charge of treason. “You know that’s impossible.” He bit his lip. He was missing something. “Who were the judges at the trial?”
“The questor. The ephor. And Aunt Juquila.”
Tarkio felt the prickle of anger return to his belly. “How did they vote?”
“The questor voted innocent, pending an investigation. The ephor and Aunt Juquila, guilty. When they got to sentencing, the questor wanted suspension of license until they could investigate further. Then Aunt Juquila voted for taking. I nearly wet myself. It was all I could do to not fall over on the spot.”
“And Kaberco agreed with the taking.” Tarkio took a deep breath. Kaberco and Juquila were up to something. Both were formidable enemies who never gave up once they decided on a goal. If Juquila knew Tarkio was even thinking of looking for Tereka, she’d have him taken as well. And Tarkio had no desire to come to Kaberco’s attention, not after what happened all those years ago.
The problem was how to uncover their plot. He studied Tirk. “You could help, if you want to.”
“Anything.” Tirk grabbed Tarkio’s hand.
Good. He was consumed by guilt. “Keep an eye on your aunt, especially any dealings she has with Kaberco. Just to know what they’re up to.”
“Do you think they know what happened to Tereka?”
“Your aunt doesn’t, I’m sure of it. Kaberco? Maybe. Either he or the questor know something. But, Tirk,” he waited until the boy met his eyes, “for right now, we need to act as if we believe Tereka is gone, never to be heard from again. And we need to stay away from each other. Only get in touch if you have something to tell me.” Tarkio picked up his beer and drained the mug. “If your aunt ever finds out we were here together, tell her we were having a final drink in Tereka’s memory. Right?”
Tirk nodded.
Tarkio stood up. “Peace and safety, son.” He huffed out a breath as he walked away. He’d either pulled Tirk back one step from being Juquila’s tool or sentenced himself to death.
36
Once on the street, Tarkio bit his lip, hard, stifling the desire to fall to his knees. He couldn’t break down. Not there. He ducked into another inn, one he usually avoided because of the stench of the smoking fire, damp horse, and mildew mixed with some kind of sour rot.
He bought a beer and asked for a bowl of stew. Then he collapsed into a chair in the back corner and rested his head against the wall. He hadn’t wanted to believe Juquila, that Tereka had been taken. But after talking with Tirk, he had to believe it. He pulled the neck of his tunic from his throat, his heart pounding in his eardrums. Tereka had been taken. His breath came in jagged gasps.
The innkeeper set a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. He nodded his thanks, then swallowed hard as his stomac
h heaved. He might never see Tereka again. And partly due to Tirk’s willingness to lie. He let his head droop and wrapped his arms around himself. He had to breathe, slowly, one breath at a time.
When his hands stopped shaking, he considered all he’d learned. First Poales, then Tereka. A close friend and the girl he loved like a daughter, the child he’d vowed to protect. He had failed miserably.
His stomach twisted and he hunched over, staring at his knees. How could he have let this happen? He thought about all the rumors he’d heard about people who were taken. Some said they were fed to warboars or thrown to the pirates. The most credible, in Tarkio’s mind, were that they were used as slave labor in the Prime Konamei’s mines. Or killed outright. Tears pricked his eyes and he squeezed them shut.
Then there were the hints Juquila had given him years ago. That after a public trial, there was a second, secret one that determined the person’s fate. Some were sent to the Prime Konamei’s mines. Others had their tongues cut out and were sent to toil as servants in konameis’ homes.
He pressed his lips together and screwed up his face. No, not that. He sagged against the table, envisioning Tereka, unable to speak, a servant or worse, a plaything in a konamei’s household. Even the mines would be better.
It was the not knowing that made it so agonizing. To lose someone and have no idea what had happened to them. That was what made taking such a dreaded punishment.
The fading light made Tarkio think that usually, Tereka would be on her way home soon. But she wouldn’t be. Ever. He groaned and laid his head on the table. He had to find out something. He owed it to Xico and Iskra.
Tarkio realized he had to pull himself together. He sat up and toyed with the stew he had let grow cold. Was Tereka alive? That was the first question.
One possibility pierced his soul like a fork stabbed into a piece of meat. If they found the amulets, she’d be dead. No question about it.
Had they found them? That’s the first thing to find out. He pursed his lips and scanned the room. His gaze fell on Birot, one of the jailers, seated nearby. They’d been in oppidan lectures together, the mandatory classes all teenagers attended just before they started their apprenticeships. Birot had a wife and eight daughters. He spent most of his evenings at the inn to avoid the noise and feminine chatter of his home. He must really be miserable at home to prefer this reeking, musty inn to his own hearth. Tarkio decided to give him some masculine company that evening.
Flicker of the Flame: A YA Epic Fantasy Page 20
