Bowe walked outside.
“Not so fast, you fool. We’re not all as young as we’d like to be.”
Bowe slowed his pace down and led the old man through the village of Belldeem, following Jakelin’s directions. There was nothing remarkable about the village itself; Bowe had already passed through it on the way in. It was perhaps a hundred wooden houses separated by several dusty streets. But what was remarkable was the reaction to Jakelin. Everyone they passed stopped what they were doing, and offered him a greeting and a nod. Jakelin nodded his head in return, offering a half-smile, half-scowl. Even the boys playing in the middle of the street stopped their game and stood respectfully to the side until Bowe and Jakelin had passed.
Jakelin led them to a large house on the edge of the village and he used his stick to thump on the door.
A maid answered.
“Take me to them,” he demanded before she had a chance to speak.
“Marshal Jakelin,” she said. “I don’t think they were expecting you. The meeting has already begun.”
“I said, take me to them.” Jakelin whacked his stick against the doorframe.
The maid nodded and backed away, leading them past the main stairs and down a small corridor. She opened the door at the end and moved aside to let them in. Bowe followed Jakelin into a spacious room with a wooden floor and a large round table. Papers were strewn across the table, and sitting at it were a dozen or so men who seemed to be in the middle of an argument. It instantly stopped when they became aware of Jakelin’s presence.
Half of those at the table stood up and nodded their heads toward the old marshal. One of those standing spoke. “Marshal Jakelin, you’re here. Rianel told us you couldn’t come. He said you were too sick.”
“That’s what my son said about me, is it? Strange—never known him to worry about my health,” Jakelin said. “It wasn’t sickness that kept me away, though. I wasn’t invited to this meeting.”
There was a murmuring among those at the table as they turned to talk to one another in quiet voices. The only person who hadn’t turned to face Jakelin when he entered was the person with his back directly to him. That person now spoke. “Sit down, sit down, everyone. No need to stand.”
There were a few sideways glances, but everyone sat. The person facing away turned around in his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floorboards. “And yet you arrived despite the lack of invite,” he said. “How lucky for us.” He was a younger version of Jakelin; it was clearly the oft complained about son, Rianel.
“I can no longer see, but I still hear things.” Jakelin’s hand clutched tighter to Bowe’s forearm, his nails digging into the skin.
“The beating heart of Belldeem, you have been called,” Rianel said. “It doesn’t beat as powerfully as it used to.”
“No,” Jakelin said. “I’m not the heart of Belldeem. It’s the people who work hard here and in the countryside around it that are its heart. And you cowards in here want to tear out that heart. Have you discussed the holdings tax yet?”
“No, we were going to discuss that last,” Rianel said.
“Like I said, a bunch of cowards. The most important thing and you leave it to last. Well, are you going to do it? Are you going to gut the people of this area? Impose a tax that virtually no one can afford to pay? What will happen then when the Infernam comes around?”
“No one wants to do this, Marshal Jakelin.” The man who’d spoken when they first came in stood up again. “But what choice do we have?”
“Sit down, Marshal Galawiy,” Rianel said. Galawiy did so. “Jakelin knows the realities of the situation. He just chooses to make emotional outbursts, knowing it makes it harder on us to do our duty.” Rianel stood up. “I suggest we take a short break. I need a few moments’ discussion with my father before we continue.”
Rianel walked past Bowe and Jakelin and opened the door back into the corridor. He held it open until Bowe led Jakelin back into the corridor, then Rianel followed and the shut the door behind the three of them. “You had to come interfering, didn’t you? They’re never going to support the holdings tax after that.”
“Good. There has to be another way,” Jakelin said.
“There is no other way. When was the last time Lears listened to reason? All he cares about is getting enough shiny gold to impress Stenesso. I went blue in my face telling him that there’s no money.”
“Well, next time talk until you go purple in the face,” Jakelin said. “The ascor I worked for were smart enough to see reason, even if they thought the universe revolved around their manicured fingernails.”
“Different times, different ascor. And who is this?”
Bowe flushed slightly as he realized that Rianel was staring at him.
“I thought you sent him to me,” Jakelin said, frowning. “I had decided not to come; I didn’t think I had the fight anymore. But when the boy arrived today of all days, I thought you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t send him.” Rianel’s brow furrowed as he studied Bowe. “So I could have had a peaceful meeting where things got done if you didn’t turn up, boy. Who sent you to my father?”
The Guild leadership. The words were on the tip of Bowe’s tongue, but he managed to stop himself from saying them. “The chief scribes back in Arcandis knew I was looking for work,” Bowe said, relating the story Iyra had told him to tell. “A few days ago, they told me that a marshal in Belldeem had need of a scribe and sent me here with a recommendation letter. My name is Tolbert.”
“Why did you let me assume that my son sent you?” Jakelin shifted his shoulders, and he looked like he regretted that there wasn’t room in the corridor to swing his stick.
“I didn’t know who sent me—I wasn’t told. It could have been your son,” Bowe said.
“It wasn’t,” Rianel said.
“There’s something about the boy’s voice that seems familiar to me. Are you originally from the city, Tolbert? Let me see you.” Jakelin reached out toward Bowe’s face with his hands.
“Father. Stop that.” Rianel pulled his father’s hands down. “He’s an escay, and, from the looks of things, hasn’t even bathed since his journey from Arcandis.”
“What are you afraid of, Rianel? I was born an escay, as you well know, and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
“Everyone knows you were born an escay because you won’t shut up about it,” Rianel said. “Most who are raised to ascor come from a long line of marshals. It doesn’t help my chances of ever becoming an ascor when you boast about your shameful beginnings.”
“I’d rather live in the dirt than be an ascor if it meant enforcing this holdings tax,” Jakelin said.
Rianel shook his head. “I suppose it was too much to expect to have the support of my father once in my life.”
“I supported you in becoming a marshal,” Jakelin said. “Can you believe I was actually proud of you? Never believed I’d regret it. But now that you’ve turned into Lears’s sidekick while he pushes the people’s faces into the ground with this new tax...”
Bowe became aware that he had backed against the wall of the corridor and was trying to push his way through.
“You might as well stay working for him now that you’re here, Tolbert,” Rianel said. “I’m sure he has enough money hidden somewhere to be able to pay you.”
“I would do it for free just for the pleasure of working for your father,” Bowe said.
To his surprise Jakelin laughed, loud and clear. It was the laugh of someone much younger, as if he had shed his years for just a moment. “He’s been with me all afternoon, and his spirit isn’t broken yet. He’s a stayer.”
Rianel opened the door to the meeting room. “Just keep the old man out of my way from now on.” He looked at his father. “I’m going to go back and get that meeting restarted and see if I can’t undo some of the damage.” He left and closed the door behind him.
Bowe wondered if Jakelin would follow Rianel back into the meet
ing, and it seemed Jakelin was thinking the same, because there was a long silence where they both stared at the just-closed door. “Take me back to my house,” Jakelin finally said.
Bowe held out his arm and the old man took it. He dug his nails into Bowe’s arm and leaned close. “And just because you got away with one joke at my expense, don’t think I’ll allow any more.”
Bowe led Jakelin out, judiciously deciding that silence was his best reply. Jakelin directed Bowe a different way on the way back. Once again, all who passed stopped to greet him or pay their respects. Once again, Jakelin nodded to all who spoke, but he didn’t manage a smile back.
“What’s this holdings tax that you were talking about?” Bowe asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“If I’m going to read all your correspondence and write all your letters, it would be better if I understood what was going on.”
“The Guild—” Jakelin stopped suddenly and looked around, then snorted. “I guess I shouldn’t be afraid of talking about them anymore. I hear it talked about more and more out on the streets. The marshals don’t even try to stop mention of the name anymore.”
“You’re one of the marshals, right?” Bowe said. “Why would you fear other marshals overhearing you?”
“The Grenier marshals.”
“Aren’t you a Grenier marshal?”
Jakelin snorted again. “I guess I am at that. Fifteen years later, and I still have to remind myself I’m no longer a Bellanger. Still, there are two very different types of marshals in Belldeem. There are those who strut around the streets with swords and feast at Lears Mansion. And there are those of us who grew up on the land, and who know what bad weather means for crops and which family of escay live on the northern reaches. The Greniers have let us continue to choose our own type of marshals to oversee work and life on the countryside. Those you saw in that meeting, for example. Mostly marshals who worked for the Bellanger family, or sons of those who did. People like my son—though now I sometimes think a strutting sword-monkey would have been a better choice for that position.”
Bowe’s pulse quickened. It sounded like Jakelin and those other marshals were still Bellangers at heart and had never been integrated into the Grenier family. If that was true, perhaps they could be reclaimed for the Bellanger family. He cursed himself for a fool. This was where the heart of Bellanger power had been; this was where he should have come three years ago. But all he’d known was the life of Arcandis City.
Jakelin had fallen into a contemplative silence. “So, the Guild?” Bowe prompted.
“You have no problem speaking of it, either. Times are changing rapidly. Too fast for my old body.” Jakelin sighed. “The Guild have—well, I guess it’s not just the Guild. The bandits in the forest have been more active lately, it seems. We can’t afford the losses, but the Grenier marshals don’t think it’s worth it for them to try to hunt them down. But complaining about the bandits and bad weather is part of life out here. It’s the Guild that has made the large difference. They have started a campaign of sabotage throughout the countryside. Why, I have no idea. Their supporters claim them to be on the side of the escay. They have stolen plows, destroyed seed grain, burned crops, killed animals.” Anger trembled through Jakelin’s voice. “They are too cowardly to openly face the ascor, so they hurt us instead. They hurt themselves, I guess, since they’re among us, sitting at the dinner table with brothers whose crops they have burned and whose livelihoods they have destroyed.” Jakelin stabbed his stick into the ground. “Cowards, the lot of them.”
Jakelin’s hand shook against Bowe’s forearm. Bowe led him inside his house, whereupon he immediately released Bowe’s hand, walked to an armchair in the corner, and sat down.
“Forgive me, I sometimes forget that I am an old man. Time has not been kind to me, not least in that a young man’s blood still churns through my veins, heated by a young man’s passion, boiling with a young man’s rage.”
The old man was a twisted web of contradictions. Bowe understood him less the more he got to know him.
“After all that, I still haven’t answered your question,” Jakelin said.
“Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.”
“Ha. You should tell that to my son the next time he complains of my rambling.” Sadness crossed his face. “I was sure he had sent you to me, that he wanted me to come to the meeting and help stop the holdings tax being imposed. You’d think I’d have learned by now to not expect barley from a field of weeds.” His eyes closed but he continued speaking. “Only those who fully pay their taxes to the Greniers are given their place in the Refuge. Usually taxes are based on the crops produced, but with the low production this year due to the Guild’s attacks, Lears wants to impose a tax based on holdings. So farmers who have barely enough food to feed their families will be expected to pay larger taxes than usual.”
He stopped talking and his breathing regulated. He had fallen asleep. Bowe crept over to the stool by the desk and sat down. He had no idea how to use all he’d found out in the last few hours, but there was plenty to think about.
Chapter 10
Day 22
Bowe kept his hood down as he walked past the tavern. On one of the outside tables, there were several men doing some serious drinking. They weren’t the usual Grenier marshals who lived in Belldeem—these were members of the group that Dulnato had sent out looking for him. Two of them were probably the ones who had passed Bowe and Iyra in the forest. Dulnato wasn’t here, and the men seemed to be taking advantage by not looking too hard for the missing Guardian. It wasn’t likely that they’d see past the scribe’s robes to recognize Bowe from whatever description they’d been given. But it didn’t hurt to be cautious, so Bowe kept his gaze fixed firmly away as he walked past.
It had been over a week now since Bowe had started working as Jakelin’s scribe. He’d learned much more about how things operated in this part of the countryside but hadn’t come any closer to figuring out any sort of plan, and certainly not a master plan. The worst thing was that if he’d come here three years ago, at the very start, he’d have had a great many options. But now that he—and the whole reborn Bellanger family—was in hiding and on the run, he had nothing to offer Jakelin.
“Over here,” came a low voice.
Bowe looked around but didn’t see anyone.
“Here.” This time the man stepped completely out of the shadows and pointed at himself. “Can you see me now?” It was Nechil, the White Spider’s Defender. A survivor of the Green Path and now a Raine ascor.
So Bowe had been found. He guessed it had to happen at some stage, but had hoped to stay hidden for much longer than a single week. Maybe there was hope, though. The White Spider and Bowe had been allies during the Path, so Nechil might not have intended to see him captured. Bowe glanced behind to make sure that none of the Grenier marshals had noticed anything, then went over to join Nechil in a narrow alley between two houses. “What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet someone who saved your life the last time you saw them?”
“You were just doing it to help the White Spider.” Nechil had arrived at Bellanger Mansion and helped Bowe fight off Dulnato’s Defenders. He was there because the White Spider wanted to get his revenge on Dulnato, but Nechil had undoubtedly saved Bowe’s life.
“So that’s all the thanks I get.”
“I’m grateful. If you’d come to me at Bellanger Mansion sometime over the last three years, I would have thanked you properly. But you’ve caught me at a bad moment. You know, on the run and in hiding. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not glad to see you. How did you find me?”
“The White Spider suspected you’d left the city when you weren’t found after a few days. So he sent me to look for you. I know you by sight better than most of the others looking for you. Plus, I can see truer than most.” He fingered the scribe’s collar at Bowe’s neck. “It also helps that I’m not confining my search
to the bottom of a glass of ale.”
“What would the White Spider want with me?” Bowe hadn’t thought about the White Spider in a long time. His real name was Jisri. Bowe had seen him stabbed in the eye by Dulnato and fall into the sea. Bowe along with everyone else had thought him dead, but the knife had just taken out the boy’s eye. The next time he was seen, he was wearing a white mask with one eyehole and bearing the new moniker. But because of what Dulnato had done—and because Jisri’s beloved twin sister, Jadilla, had killed herself in grief while she thought him dead—the White Spider had been determined to get his revenge.
“I’m afraid he can’t leave the past behind. No matter how much I try to persuade him.”
“He still wants Dulnato dead? The Path was a long time ago. Virtually everyone who survives it has to do things they regret after.”
Nechil shrugged. “No point in telling me.”
“What’s it got to do with me?”
“Dulnato lives at the Fortress and it’s hard to get him isolated. Perhaps it would be possible to kill him in an underhand way, but the White Spider wants it done ‘right,’ in his words. He wants to be there at the end. What’s going to draw Dulnato out into the open? Dulnato’s reputation has plummeted since he botched your capture a few weeks ago. Especially since you were seen to get the better of him during the Path. Now he’s desperate to capture you.”
“You mean to use me as bait?” Bowe’s mouth felt dry. “I won’t allow it.”
“It’s not your choice. I could just shout it out to those marshals sitting outside the tavern. They seem pretty drunk, but they’d still manage to catch you.”
Nechil tried to move past, as if to do just that, but Bowe pulled him back. “And how would that help the White Spider get his revenge?”
“It wouldn’t. Just pointing out that you don’t have any good options. The White Spider considered using you without telling you about it.”
“Lovely. So I should be grateful that you’re even telling me I’m to be used as bait.”
The Treacherous Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 2) Page 11
