“All of it?” asked the Syndic.
“The greater part, hidden under a bed. The remainder must have been sold at the markets.”
The Syndic nodded. “Continue.”
“Upon realizing that we had discovered their crimes, the pair attempted to flee in their motorised vehicle, which I had the forethought to confiscate earlier. They were arrested and placed in custody pending the arrival of the Selectors, at which time they would be judged.”
“Indeed,” said the Alcaide, nodding. “And what is your opinion in this matter, Alder Sproule?”
“I advise you not to be clement.” Sproule sneered at Sal’s father as though he were something revolting. “I have seen thieves like this before, and they are rarely to be rehabilitated. We don’t want their kind here, and would be well rid of them.”
“Transportation, then, is what you request?”
“Yes, sir. Effective immediately.”
“I see.” The Syndic leaned her chin on one hand and nodded. “I have a couple of questions, though, if you would be so kind. From where did you obtain the information that these people might be in possession of the stolen goods?”
Sproule looked uncomfortable for a moment, but quickly recovered. “From my son.”
“And how did he know?”
“Apparently the thief’s son had been bragging about it at School.”
“Ah.” The Syndic leaned back in the chair, as though that explained everything. Sal bit down on an outraged retort. “We should add brazenness to our charge, then. Shouldn’t we, Dragan?”
“Yes, Nu.” The Alcaide flashed a brief smile.
“And this son of his,” the Syndic asked. “Where might he be?”
“He was released on a good behavior bond.” Sproule’s expression showed that he hadn’t been entirely happy with the agreement. “His whereabouts are presently unknown.”
“I see.” The Alcaide leaned forward, turning his attention to Sal’s father. “You--’Gershom’, wasn’t it? What do you have to say about all this?”
“That I am innocent.” Sal’s father’s gaze was on the Syndic to the Alcaide’s left, and didn’t leave her.
“Of course he would say that,” countered Alder Sproule.
The Alcaide waved a hand. “Please, let him speak.”
Sal’s father seemed to be keeping a tight rein on his emotions. “I have nothing else to say.”
“Really? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps the crowd is putting you off.” The Alcaide looked around. “Mayor Iphigenia? Mayor? Oh, there you are. Have the room cleared, please. We wish to address this man in private.”
The request took everyone by surprise--from Alder Sproule, who looked startled and suspicious, to Sal’s father, who winced but didn’t drop his eyes.
The Mayor looked puzzled, but was happy enough to oblige. “Of course. At once.” She gestured around her, and people headed for the doors.
Sproule lingered. “Are you certain this is wise? I mean, someone should remain to ensure your safety.”
“We are eminently able to defend ourselves, Alder.” The Alcaide made a shooing gesture, his eyes sharp. “Out, please. We will summon you when we have heard his side of the story and are satisfied with it--or not.”
The Alder bowed and strode out the nearest door. The door shut behind him with a click, leaving Sal’s father alone with Dragan Braham and Nu Zanshin, the highest ranking Sky Wardens in the Strand.
There was a moment’s silence. It seemed to last forever, like a nightmare without end.
Then the Alcaide cleared his throat and stood. Upright, he was much taller than Sal had expected, and solid with it. He looked like the sort of person who would command an army, not rule a decadent court. He made the Syndic beside him seem almost fragile.
“So it comes to this,” he said to the man before him. “Arrested for petty theft in a backwater town, thousands of kilometers from home and with no one to defend you. How far you have fallen, Dafis Hrvati.”
Sal’s father met his stare with a look of contempt. “Yet I still tower over you, Braham.”
The Alcaide laughed. “Is that what you think? I admire your persistence, if nothing else. Few people have the strength to maintain beliefs of such demonstrable falsity for so long.”
“Listen to you two,” interrupted the Syndic with a weary tone to her voice. “You could be brothers sparring, or father and son.”
“Spare me,” said the Alcaide.
“No, I’m serious. You’re much more alike than you care to realize.”
Sal’s father flexed his bound wrists. “Our circumstances couldn’t be more different.”
“That’s my point!” said the Alcaide, his voice rising. The Syndic touched his arm, and he shrugged her off. “Don’t shush me! They can’t overhear us--the doors and walls are charmed. And I’m entitled to a little annoyance, don’t you think? After all he’s put us through.”
“After all I’ve put you through?” Sal’s father shook his head in disbelief. “I knew you’d be unreasonable, but--”
“Stop it!” the Syndic snapped. “You two can fight it out later if you want to. I have no desire to watch it. Where is the boy, Dafis?”
“What boy?”
“Your son. Isn’t that what they called him?”
“I have no son.”
“There’s no use lying. Sproule says you came here with him. There will be other witnesses.”
“I came here with a companion, yes, but he’s not my son. He’s just a waif I picked up a couple of years back and let travel with me in exchange for labor. He’s good enough company, I’ll admit, and he does have some latent talent that might one day be put to good use, but that’s all.”
“A waif with some talent, you say,” the Alcaide said. “So you still practice, then?”
“No, never.”
“She says you used to.”
Sal’s father couldn’t hide a slight wince. “By ‘she’ you mean Seirian, I presume?”
“Of course. That’s how we know there was a child.”
Sal’s father paused to take a deep breath, as though composing himself. “There was. He died, long ago.”
“Where?”
“In the Broken Lands, between stops. He had a fever I couldn’t treat. I buried him near Yor. You’ll find his grave there, if you look hard enough.”
“The Broken Lands are thousands of kilometers across. Do you expect us to search the entire wasteland in the hope of finding a grave that might not even exist?”
“I don’t expect anything.”
“No, but it would amuse you to watch us try, I suppose. It would gain you time.”
“I’m out of time, and you know it, Braham. I don’t expect you to let me go, now you’ve found me.”
“You flatter yourself. Without the boy, you’re useless. And if you’re telling the truth--”
“If he’s telling the truth,” the Syndic snapped, “this trip was a complete waste of time.”
He turned on her. “It was you who said you sensed something. You who insisted we come! Don’t blame me if it proves fruitless.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I felt him, Dragan. I felt his mind. He was here.”
“And now? Is he here now?”
She looked away. “I don’t know. If he is here, he is well hidden.”
“Impossible. He should stand out, for his skin if nothing else.”
“My young friend is of Interior stock,” said Sal’s father. “He would fit the description in that respect.”
“How convenient,” the Alcaide sneered. “And where is he, Dafis? Produce him, prove to us that he is not the one, and we’ll let you go.”
Sal’s father shrugged. “I’d do as you say, were I able to. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I’ve been in prison, I have no way of knowing where he�
�s got to. He might not even be here any more--and I can’t say I’d blame him for running. Your constituents aren’t very hospitable in these parts.”
“No.” The Syndic allowed herself a tight-lipped smile. “They aren’t, are they? I suspect Alder Sproule would find even your skin uncomfortably light, Dragan. Under different circumstances, perhaps you too would find yourself accused of trumped-up charges before the likes of us.”
The Alcaide waved aside her comments and sat back down. “This is getting us nowhere,” he grumbled.
“Indeed,” said Sal’s father. “This entire vendetta is pointless.”
“My nephew would disagree.” The Syndic pulled a face.
“No doubt. How is Highson these days?”
“He fares well enough.” She met his gaze squarely. Even Sal could tell she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but that was nothing compared to the revelation he had received. His mother’s jilted husband was a relative of the Syndic! No wonder Sal and his father were in so much trouble.
“And Seirian?”
“She’s dead,” the Alcaide spat.
Sal’s father blanched. “No, she can’t be.”
“She is. She died five years ago--of grief, some say. She missed her son too much to live without him.”
“Is this true?” Sal’s father appealed to the Syndic, his eyes shining.
“It is true,” she admitted. “Seirian is dead.”
Sal felt something in his heart break. He had never known his mother, nor known what had happened to her, but he had always hoped that one day they would meet, somehow. If what the Syndic and Alcaide said was true, however, now they never would.
“You killed her.” Sal’s father strained at his bonds, his grief turning to rage. His face was red. “You killed her!”
“Far from it,” said the Alcaide calmly. “We made a mistake at the time, separating her from the boy. We admit that much, even though, until it was too late, we had no way of knowing that there was a child at all. When we tried to put things right, you had gone. Vanished again. And this time there was no finding you--no clues, no subtle traces to follow. You were wise not to use the Change, Dafis, otherwise we would have found you instantly. But your wisdom”--he almost snarled the word--”led to Seirian’s death. As time passed and the scent became increasingly cold, she gave up hope. She died despairing of ever seeing her child again--because you had hidden him from her. How does that feel?”
Sal’s father wept openly at the Alcaide’s words, belying his words: “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it. You killed her as surely as we did.”
“She wouldn’t have wanted him found. I know it. She didn’t want you to have him.”
“Are we so heartless?” the Syndic asked. “We can sympathize with your plight, Dafis. Give us credit for that, at least. After all, it wasn’t us personally who hunted you when you fled. We didn’t even order it. Who is to say that we don’t think our predecessors over-reacted to the situation? We wouldn’t be alone, you know, if we did. The idea of the star-struck lovers fleeing their families in order to spend eternity together is enticingly romantic. It has popular appeal, even if it is not the whole truth. We are only human, Dafis.”
“We simply can’t understand why you’re running from us.” The Alcaide frowned deeply, his puzzlement plain. “What do you think we want to do to you?”
“Not to me.”
“Sayed, then. Whoever.”
“You tell me, Braham. Why are you so desperate to find him? What is it you want? Why was Seirian so afraid of you?”
“Me?” The Alcaide raised his eyebrows. “She had no reason to be afraid of me. Now you really are imagining things.”
The tears on Sal’s father’s cheeks had dried. His expression was one of repressed fury.
“I’ve seen what you can do,” he said, his voice soft but intense. “I know what you are. You say you care, but you don’t. You don’t feel anything for people like me, for the little people. Democracy and Schools--they’re all really only there to safeguard your own survival, to ensure replacements when you don’t breed true!”
The Syndic looked horrified. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true. Do you deny it?”
“Of course I deny it!” the words flew from the Syndic’s lips. “You’re raving, Dafis. You’re insane. You won’t accept the truth so you wrap it up in lies and throw it back at us!”
“Really?” His lips were white, his eyes slits. “You stole a mother from her child without a second thought. You killed her more surely than I ever did. I don’t want my son growing up believing that sort of behavior is acceptable.”
“Enough,” growled the Alcaide, standing with his fists clenched. “Enough!” he roared, and for a moment Sal was afraid that the Alcaide might strike his father. Instead, he swung aside and crossed the room. “Pah! We have wasted enough time with this fool.” He banged on the door. “Get in here! Take him out of our sight!” Their retinue rushed in, followed by the Alders and other local attendants. The room suddenly seemed very full, the Alcaide and Syndic much smaller.
Sal’s father was swept up in the tide of limbs and led toward the door. “You won’t get away with this, Braham!”
“Won’t we?” The Alcaide turned his gaze on Sproule, waiting expectantly before him. “Congratulations on apprehending a dangerous criminal, Alder Sproule. We have been seeking him for some time. We will not break tradition by announcing a sentence before the proper time, but I think you can safely say that he will soon be out of your hands.”
The Alder bowed deeply. “Please accept my thanks, sir. Your commendation honors me.”
The Alcaide waved him away and gestured for the Mayor to come closer. His expression had changed now that he was in public; he looked older, more tired than before, benevolent under pressure. It contrasted completely to the look of anger and annoyance he had displayed just moments before.
“We are growing weary,” he said to the Mayor. “Our long journey has taxed us, and we must rest. Could we impose upon you for a short period in which we will not be disturbed? An hour at most is all we need.”
“Of course. Anything you wish.” The Mayor waved, and an attendant approached. “I’ll arrange a room. Warden Centofanti can continue in your place until you are feeling better.” She turned away to speak to the attendant, who rushed off to do her bidding.
“Thank you,” said the Alcaide. “Your hospitality is as fine as we had heard.” He stood with a sigh and a hand on his back. Another attendant appeared to show him the way. He waited until the Syndic was also on her feet before following.
“Oh, there’s one more thing.” He waved for Sproule’s attention as they left the room. The Alder was immediately at his side. “Find me the boy that man came here with.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“We sail tomorrow. I would be very grateful if you could do it before then.”
The two men exchanged looks. “Of course. It will be done.” The Alder turned away with a determined look and hurried off.
With a slight smile and the Syndic on his arm, the Alcaide left the room.
Chapter 16. “The Art of Solitude”
Sal opened his eyes. He couldn’t take any more. He couldn’t stand aside and watch while his father was accused of killing his mother. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair!
He opened his eyes not on the laundry he had expected but on a terrible gray void swirling like water in a drain all around him. It was pulling at him, sucking him down. He flailed for balance but the floor beneath his feet had vanished. He felt himself falling--
Then a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. The gray dissolved. The laundry formed around him. Lodo had Sal’s wrist clasped tightly in both his hands. He looked relieved and angry at the same time.
“I told you not to move,” he snapped.<
br />
“You did, but I thought…” Sal stopped in mid-protest. He hadn’t thought. He was dealing with people and powers he knew next to nothing about. He had to do as he was told. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“We nearly both were. I don’t know how I would’ve explained to your father--not to mention the Syndic--that I’d lost you for good.” The old man brushed hair back from his forehead and looked down at the chalk diagram. It had been heavily scuffed by their feet. “Hmm. It’ll be a while before I can repair the damage. It’s probably quite timely, anyway. This sort of work is very taxing.”
He guided Sal out of the laundry and into the kitchen. The room was empty apart from the smell of simmering stew.
“Are you going to tell us now how you did it?” Shilly asked, following them with her hands on her hips.
Lodo produced an elaborately carved, shell-like stone from his pocket and held it up to the light. Its carvings matched those on the laundry floor. “This is one of the charms I planted yesterday. They act as eyes to people who have learned how to see through the Void Beneath. Their range and usefulness is limited, and they can be detected quite easily if someone is looking--but, as Fundelry is hardly the sort of place one would expect espionage of this sort, clearly no one was looking, and we got away with it.”
“Wait. The Void what? I’ve never heard you mention that before.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t told you about, Shilly. The Void Beneath, the Weavers, the man’kin … A whole lifetime isn’t enough to hear it all.”
“It’d help if you started somewhere,” she said, glaring.
The old man sighed. “True. Well, the Void Beneath is that which stands between a person in one place and a point in another place when that person uses the Change to connect the two places. When you look anywhere using the Change--be it into the past or the future, or into someone’s mind, or just to another place--you send part of yourself in the process. If the connection is severed, you may never get that part back. When that happens, it falls into the Void Beneath and is never recovered.”
Sal swallowed at the thought of how close he had come to disappearing into that place. He would never forget the terrible, gray emptiness that he had glimpsed.
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 25
