Bowe was surprised to find him so talkative; from Glil’s Thardassian story, he’d expected a mute. On the other hand, he had no idea what Oamir was talking about. Bowe held out his arm, hoping to prevent the lecture from continuing. “My name is Bowe, and I’m hoping you can help me.”
Oamir looked up, frowned at the outstretched arm, and returned to searching his desk. “I’m leaning toward another Lessard—Fulton—as the third best. But, of course, the Raines hate that idea, and won’t listen to any argument that doesn’t have their man, Gway, as third best ever.” Oamir’s voice had a sleep-inducing, monotonous tone.
Oamir took a breath, and Bowe used that opportunity to break in. “How do I sell ruby-colored garnets?” He wanted to avoid hearing any more about Gway Raine and Lessard Fulton if at all possible. And avoid talk of any other long-dead Harmony players.
“They are banned. The color of garnets is generally considered unimportant, but red ones are unusual. Due to a mine discovery in Urni, a shipment recently arrived for trade. Because they looked like rubies, it was thought they’d claim a high price in Arcandis. The Lessard placed a total ban on the trading and wearing of them once the entire shipment was stolen so the thieves couldn’t profit. Garnets are among the least sought-after gems. Rubies are the most rare; only the high-ranked and richest of the Greniers have them, even though they are their family gemstone. When Greens are selected into the Raine family, they are gifted a diamond, and, similarly, an emerald for the Lessards. No one knows what happened to the Bellanger sapphires with the demise of the family. Certainly the trading ships no longer purchase them...”
Bowe rubbed his forehead and filtered out Oamir’s voice. He now understood Glil’s story. Oamir was knowledgeable, but Bowe would have to ask the right questions. Before Oamir could help him, Bowe needed to come up with a plan. He tried to fit the pieces together in his head. Who would buy these gemstones and risk the wrath of the Lessards? Marshals wouldn’t dare, escay couldn’t afford to—that left the ascor. There didn’t seem to be any reason that the other families would want to defy the Lessards, but there were always eddies and whorls within the ascorim. If only he could figure out how to nudge the current in the direction he wanted.
He was most familiar with the Raine family, but nothing suggested itself to him there. If he could understand the dynamic within the other families better, perhaps something would come to mind. Bowe tuned back into Oamir, who continued to ramble on about the early history of Arcandis. He waited for a slight pause and broke in.
“What’s the power structure within the Lessard ascor?”
“Historically—”
“I mean right now.” Bowe didn’t like to interrupt people, but it seemed like the only way to talk to Oamir.
“It is a two-headed beast. Sorani and Eolnar are the two eldest sons of Cenarro; they survived the Path together. Eolnar is the eldest, and was an Elect when he walked the Path; Sorani was his Defender.” Oamir took a breath. “Many expected Eolnar to take charge once Cenarro fell, but it was Sorani, strongly supported by his brother. They present a unified front, and attempts to drive a rift between them have failed.”
It didn’t seem to Bowe like he had much to work with there. “And the Greniers?” Bowe asked. “Also strong leadership and no malcontents?”
“Stenesso leads in his own way. He takes little heed of his fellow Guardians. His moves have been successful in growing the Grenier holdings, taking over much of what was previously controlled by the Bellangers, so his support within his own family is strong. To fortify the expanded holdings, he has raised many more marshals to ascor than is common. That has proven controversial, and some Raines and Lessards are beginning to treat these newcomers as less than full ascor. Normally only one or two marshals are raised every sexennium, but Stenesso has raised seven in the last six years.”
Perhaps the marshal-raised ascor was the key. Bowe needed to think about it further. He decided that he’d better make his escape soon, though, as Oamir had returned to discussing early history. He would come back to Oamir later when he’d figured out more. He needed to know the right questions to ask. The Green liked talking about what he knew, even if Bowe could only handle listening to it in small doses. “You want to become a newswriter?” Bowe asked Oamir.
Oamir broke out of whatever monologue he was reciting to scoff at the question. “Of course not. Peddlers of cheap gossip for the masses? I’m a historian. There’s been very few in Arcandis, and as a result, not much is known about our early history. Very little is recorded about where we came from. The oldest knowledge we have are ancient children’s picture books, which aren’t much use for history.”
A smile crept onto Bowe’s face as he remembered those picture books. He’d used to love reading them. Their tattered and faded pages; the simple stories full of mythical creatures like dragons, lions, and wolves. A thought occurred to him. If Oamir wanted to write history, what was his plan for survival? “What about the Green Path?” Bowe asked.
Oamir paused, blinking rapidly. “I have no interest in that. Teenage squabbling. Recording the histories—now, that’s an important task. I found something interesting recently...”
As he began to search through his papers, Bowe turned away and exited, waving to the newswriter as he passed, though the man didn’t look up. Outside, he thought of the strange Green, and it made him sad to think that he’d have no chance to write those histories. He was like Vitarr—he didn’t have the skills to walk the Green Path, but he deserved to live. Life is only for the worthy. There were different ways that people could be worthy, and most of those ways didn’t fit on the Path.
Helion was high in the sky and the streets were empty. Escay generally thought of reasons to be inside when the the light was purple. There was no logic behind it; Helion didn’t provide as much light as the sun, but it was still bright enough; it just wasn’t as hot. But watching the violet rays bending around the dark buildings, Bowe could understand. Everything looked creepier and most dangerous in the purple light. He shivered, though it wasn’t cold. There was one more thing he wanted to do tonight, so he put aside his irrational fear.
He pulled the hood back over his head and headed back toward Drywell Square. Likely the stall would be gone by now, but it was worth the chance. He kept his head down, his thoughts focused on what Oamir had told him and how he was going to sell those ruby garnets. He was still lost in thought when a shove threw him sideways. As he fell, he half-saw the light pink uniform of a Grenier marshal. He broke his fall with his arms, making sure that he landed facedown. He didn’t want them to see his face; he didn’t think the Grenier marshals were after him, but it was better to be cautious. “Watch where you’re going, escay,” a voice snarled.
Bowe lay still for a moment before turning to look up. Two marshals were strolling away from him. That’s a disadvantage to this disguise, he thought. Being treated like an escay. Bowe guessed they’d decided to shove him to the ground rather than walking around him; he should have been paying more attention. Bowe stood, brushed himself off, and continued on his way. That brought to mind another problem. Even meeting a Grenier ascor to give him a ruby garnet would be difficult. Drakasi had warned Bowe about returning to the Fortress.
Bowe spotted the stall he was looking for and moved toward it. Behind the stall, the old woman was packing up the carvings in boxes. He had been lucky to arrive in time to catch her; most of the other stalls had already been carted off.
“Closed,” the old woman croaked as he approached.
“Why do you pretend to be an old woman?” Bowe asked, picking up the lion carving again. It was made out of a dark, heavy wood, and the artist had caught the beast in mid-stride, its mane bouncing and its tail streaming behind it.
“If it isn’t mush-for-brains,” Iyra said, the croak gone from her voice. “How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t until now,” Bowe said. “But I noticed your hands earlier—not the hands of an old woman. Something about the
m jolted my memory. And I wondered.”
“Hmm, evidence of intelligence. You can’t be the same waterlogged Green I dragged from the bay. Why did you kill poor mush-for-brains and steal his body?”
“Very funny.” Bowe didn’t let himself smile. She was still in the Guild. Even if they decided to make use of each other, that didn’t mean they were friends. “Why are you pretending to be an old woman?”
“It amuses me, and it helps with the haggling. Now I’m packing up. Give me back my lion or give me a gold piece for it.”
“A gold piece?” Bowe almost dropped the carving.
“Special price for you. Reports of your bargaining skills are legendary, and I wanted to get some of your money while I have a chance. I hear the Raine want their loan repaid.”
“Beautiful piece.” He turned it over in his hands, ignoring her barbs. “Who made it?”
Iyra snatched the carving out of his hand. “Give it back if you’re not going to buy it. What do you want?”
This was the moment. Was he was willing the work with the Guild? Whenever he thought about it, his mind went in circles. Was it a betrayal of the ascor? Was the Guild evil? Was the Green Path corrupted? If so, should he even try to walk it? He hadn’t figured it all out in his head. But on a deep level within himself, he’d accepted working with the Guild. He just had to go through with it. He took a breath and then blurted out, “I’ve decided to accept your deal.”
“Offer’s no longer on the table.”
Bowe jerked back. After all the soul searching, he hadn’t expected to get his acceptance thrown back in his face. But when he thought about it, he realized he didn’t believe her. “I doubt that. It took a great deal of effort to save me, and there was plenty of risk in making that offer. You want this more than I do.”
“Ah, now that’s more like the cocky little lordling I rescued.” She stepped around to Bowe’s side of the stall and shook her hood back. “Do you still fear infection from filthy escay?”
Those smoky gray eyes still had an effect on him. Bowe took a step back, which made Iyra smile widely.
He wasn’t going to let her get the upper hand this time. “You need me.” His voice wasn’t as firm as he would have liked.
“We can find someone else.”
That made Bowe pause. He’d been thinking about it from his standpoint, but what about hers? Why had she saved him? She’d said it hadn’t been by chance. Why were she and the Guild interested in him? And then it hit him—the way he was unique: he was the last Bellanger. He needed to use that.
“I want your biggest garnet set into a neck clasp and given to me.”
“You exp—”
Bowe didn’t let her finish. “Yes. That’s exactly what I expect,” he said. “And you’ll do it, too. That’s the only way you’ll get anything other than a cell in the Fortress for those garnets. And have the clasp brought to me in Bellanger Mansion.”
Bowe left before she had a chance to reply.
Chapter 8
35 Days Left
Glil followed Bowe into the tailor shop. “I still can’t believe you’re going ahead with this,” he said.
“I’ve done stupider things,” Bowe replied.
“That’s not something to boast about.”
The shop was dim and compact. It looked like a hovel from the outside, but it was clean inside. Cloaks, dresses, shirts, and pants hung from the ceiling and Bowe and Glil ducked under the clothes to reach the counter. Most of the clothes were white with a dash of color, as this shop mainly sold to ascor. A row of hats circled the ceiling, pegged on hooks set high on the walls. The tailor was so short that his head was barely above the counter. He rested his arms on the wood and dry-washed his hands. Behind him, rolls of fabric filled the shelves. “How may I help you?”
Bowe pretended not to see him. He peered behind the counter and looked around. After a moment, his gaze finally fell on the tailor. “There you are. What are you doing down there?”
“Oh, a comedian. Lucky me,” the tailor said dryly. “No one has ever made fun of my size before. That’s a new one.”
“No need to be short with me,” Bowe said. When the tailor didn’t react, Bowe continued. “Fine, straight to business. Some people are no fun. We are two Greens out on the town, and we’re here to have some fun and buy some clothes.”
“I’m not here to have fun; I’m here to remind you to take this more seriously,” Glil said. “You are being too rash, risking too much on this one plan. If you don’t care about your own life, at least think about your loyal Defenders.”
Bowe looked around. “Ah, my numerous Defenders. Why don’t I take them into account? Maybe because they are invisible.”
“Not to interrupt,” the tailor broke in, “Oh—wait. I do want to interrupt. Very much so. Please make it stop. Why do two Greens want to buy ascor clothes? Shouldn’t you be out killing other Greens or some such?”
“My killing hand is a bit tired.” Bowe shook his arm. “All that slashing and beheading—nothing like a bit of shopping to take your mind off the blood and gore. Do you have anything in Bellanger azure?”
“To show off the bloodstains to maximum effect?” the tailor asked.
“No, I’m serious. Something for the ascor ball in two days, in azure.”
“He’s serious,” Glil added. “Can you talk him out of it?”
The tailor’s eyes narrowed as he realized what Bowe wanted. “You have money?”
Bowe slipped a pouch from his belt and showed the tailor the glint of gold inside.
The tailor became more animated. “I think I have one roll left. I nearly threw it out recently. I mean, who is going to wear anything with...” He trailed off. “Wait here.” He disappeared down some stairs in the corner.
Glil turned to Bowe. “Come on, give up this Bellanger stuff. I went along with staying in Bellanger Mansion—and that’s only because it beats sleeping in a doorway—but this is too much. Dressing up as a Bellanger and trying to gatecrash an ascor ball—getting refused entry is the best thing that can happen. In which case, you’ll just have wasted most of our money on clothes. I don’t even want to think about the worst case.”
“No one walks the Path without taking risks.”
“There’s a difference between taking a risk and walking into a fire and expecting not to get burned. Those balls are surrounded by marshals. Even Zidel and Reyanu couldn’t get in, and you’re still a Deadbeat as far as most are concerned.”
“Shhh. My numerous loyal but invisible Defenders think I’m an Elect. Don’t disappoint them.”
“Come on, stop making jokes. Get real.” Glil smacked a nearby cloak, causing it to swing back and forth. In the small room, the cloak hit all the other garments hanging up, and Glil and Bowe had to duck to avoid the moving clothes.
“Stop that.” The tailor had returned and was now unrolling a wide swath of azure fabric. He was short enough to stand below all the clothes.
“Amazing how you’re able to avoid the swinging garments without ducking. Do you have magical powers?” Bowe asked.
“Now that you’re potentially a paying customer, do I have to laugh at your jokes?” The tailor smoothed out the blue cloth.
“Go with your gut.”
The tailor showed his teeth in a grimace.
Bowe jumped back and grabbed Glil’s shoulder. “I told you goblins were real—they’re not just monsters in picture books.”
“Glad that you’re still finding everything amusing.” Glil turned his head away.
Bowe grabbed Glil’s shoulder. “Come on, laughing is allowed. We all fall off the Path. Best to go out in style.” Bowe had joked with Vitarr like this all the time. Vitarr understood. It was the ascor way—understanding that death was a mere falling from the Path. Bowe himself had forgotten that recently. Perhaps he’d become too upset at the deaths of Vitarr and Chalori. No, that wasn’t right—they deserved to be mourned. Still, there was no reason that Bowe couldn’t set forth on the Path with a
laugh for the dangers it held.
“There’s a difference between falling and jumping headlong to your doom.” Glil kept his face turned away.
Bowe turned to the tailor. “He’s no fun today. At least he’s not talking about his rock people, though.” The tailor raised his eyebrows. “Yes, be glad you don’t know what I’m talking about. Now, about this cloth.” Bowe ran his fingers along the soft material. The rich dark blue color was gorgeous; at least his family had good taste. “You were about to throw it out. That makes it pretty worthless.”
The tailor gave a small smile. “Might have been worthless yesterday. Today, the value’s gone up.”
“It’ll be worthless again in a few days, most likely. I have a wild thought: rather than wasting white cloth, why don’t you make my whole outfit out of this material? You’ve enough, and it’s not much good to you unless I buy it. How many other Bellangers do you expect to walk in?”
The tailor snorted out a laugh. “You can be funny when you want to be.” Then, seeing Bowe’s face, his eyes widened. “You’re not joking. You actually want me to...” He looked down at the azure cloth. “To use this as the base material for your clothing and not just as trimming? And you want to attend the ascor ball? Do you know how many fashion crimes you’ll be committing? Not to mention how you’ll be boiled alive wearing something this dark coming up to the Infernam.”
The tailor was right on all points. Bowe had never seen an ascor costume that wasn’t mostly white. And he knew that light-colored clothing was needed to deflect the heat. But now that he’d gotten the idea in his head, he liked it. Gatecrashing the ball cloaked in Bellanger blue—what a sensation he would cause.
“I’ll only be wearing it at night, so the heat won’t be too bad,” he told the tailor. “What do you say? Can you create an outfit for me in time?”
The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4) Page 9
