Shatter (The Children of Man)

by Elizabeth C. Mock

  “His name is Mesa,” Vaughn said noticing her examination of his mount. He tossed her the purse, which she caught without looking and burrowed through the mass of people. He watched as she wriggled her way to the man from whom she had lifted the money. The man looked shocked, but shook her hand and reached into the purse to reward her. She held up her hands waving away his attempt to repay her and she disappeared back into the crowd. A few moments later she emerged behind Vaughn who tossed the coin over his shoulder.

  As soon as the first coin left his hand another appeared. "Feels good to make honest pay?"

  The girl ran her hand along the horse's flank as she walked back into Vaughn's sight. The horse whinnied happily and turned his head to nuzzle her.

  She shrugged her shoulders at his question. "Not as much fun. No challenge."

  "To not have been caught by either the city's guards or the Daniyelans yet, I'd wager you have your ear to the ground. I could use someone with that kind of information and discretion during my stay. My name is Vaughn."

  The girl ran her hand up and down Mesa’s nose bridge, but did not respond to his offer.

  He held up the other coin and explained, "For your name."

  "They call me Wes," she answered skeptical of his generosity. For all her big words, Wes hadn't seen this much money in a year’s worth of lifting.

  Vaughn took her hand and put three silver coins in it. "I'll be staying down at the Harbor at the Vine and Reef."

  With that, Vaughn vaulted back onto Mesa and took the reins from Wes. "Come by around dusk if you want a hot meal," he told her as he turned his mount into the alley that angled downhill toward the wharf.

  The smell of dank wood and oily smoke blew into the street from the door of the Vine and Reef Tavern. Vaughn landed on the ground, his boots splashing in water that had collected from the gutters, but hadn't evaporated this close to the wet air of the harbor. The stagnant, slime-filled water coated his boots as he strode into the tavern. A minstrel, perched on the counter of the bar, picked out a haunting lament on his guitar that matched the flickering of the oil lamps on the walls and the chandelier that hung opposite a second floor balcony.

  A thick murky smoke swam lazily near the two-story ceiling of the building as the sounds of chairs scraping the floor and tankards hitting tables filled the room. The bar was also filled with longshoremen from the docks who wanted some fun before heading home to their families and boisterous sailors who had just come into port. Scanning the occupants, Vaughn saw a group of sailors sitting at a table playing Four Card Brag. Vaughn smiled and headed straight for their table.

  Lifting his purse, he tossed it on the table mid-hand. "Can I buy in?"

  The sailors looked at the size of Vaughn's purse and their grins widened. One with a pockmarked face motioned for his friend next to him to make room. His friend, a man with skin the color of chocolate, spun a chair in Vaughn's direction, which Vaughn caught and twisted to face the game. Settling into the chair, he stretched his long legs out in front of him as he leaned into its spindled back.

  The first hand Vaughn watched, happy to listen to the sailors’ gossip without asking any questions. He just played his hand while reading each of the men sitting around him.

  "So," said the pockmarked sailor as he dealt four cards face down to each of the players, "I told Marcus, if he be wanting me to stay on, I get five percent cut straight off the top."

  A man wiped his nose with the back of his hand and barked a laugh. His face was sun-and-wind burned from years of working on the exposed deck of a trawler. He sniffed. "What you should've asked for be some time with that woman of his."

  All the sailors responded with grunts and laughs of agreement. "Be that as it may," the pock-marked one continued, "we be scheduled to head back down to Kilrood to transport this load of grain for the Scion."

  The red-faced man reorganized his cards left to right and back again, adding, "I normally don't stand for fetching for the Orders, but the Scion be doing right by the people here. Sending the surplus crops to help those in Kilrood after that storm that wrecked the coast is real decent. Leon nearly lost the Light's Maiden in that blow."

  Vaughn continued to listen, hoping to determine which Order's Scion they discussed in such glowing terms.

  "Aye," the dark-skinned man agreed pulling a card out of his hand and rapping the table once with his knuckles. "The Daniyelan man be a great man. Providing for those down on their luck."

  Vaughn placed the first wager tossing two bronze coins into the center.

  "What about you, stranger?" asked the pockmarked man. "You be a quiet one. What brung you to Lanvirdis?"

  "Time," Vaughn replied sliding his cards face down on to the table. "Harvest's almost here. Checking the market."

  "A farmer, yeah?" remarked the red-faced man. "Must be a big farm." His gaze rested significantly on Vaughn's purse.

  "Farms," Vaughn replied offhand. "You seeing or not?"

  The red-faced man snapped his cards together and tossed them on the table. "Out. It'd be a shame to waste good coin that could get me more ale on a hand like that."

  Stroking his chin, the dark-skinned man moved his hand to his purse and threw four bronze coins into the pot.

  The pockmarked man waggled a finger at his friend. "Oh no, you'll not be taking me again. Out."

  "What about you, farmer?" the dark sailor asked tilting his head causing some of his dreadlocks to spill over his shoulder.

  "You only live once," Vaughn commented tossing two more coins to join the growing pile. "So, how long's the Daniyelan Scion been in Lanvirdis?"

  "Seems like he's here every time we lay anchor in this port," commented the red-faced man. "Been nothing but good for Lanvirdis after them Virds almost wrecked this fine city."

  "One of the best harbors along the coast," agreed the pockmarked man. "Ain't no trade go in or out during the war. Darkness blighted blockades sunk anyone caught smuggling. Ain't a good time to be a sea dog, I tell you that."

  "So, how much is he paying for the surplus grain that he's sending for aid?" Vaughn inquired.

  "Paying?" The pockmarked man laughed into his mug. "It be ‘donations’ only, friend. This ain't the place to try selling it."

  Vaughn kept his expression appropriately concerned for a businessman, but repressed his true apprehension. All of the towns he had traveled through on his way to Lanvirdis had failing or weak crops this harvest. It had yet to turn into a famine, but there would be shortages this year that every country would feel.

  Yet, here in Lanvirdis Tomas advertised a surplus and took control of the grain supply in the name of aid for the struggling towns of Mergoria. Even without the shortage, Tomas as the head of the Daniyelan Order had no jurisdiction to seize these goods. The Daniyelans enforced the laws of the Light. They were the hand of justice, not charity.

  "Well, friend," Vaughn said laying down his cards to show a prial of four fours. "Let's see what you have."

  The dark-haired man cursed elaborately and threw down a purple running flush eight high. "Best bloody box in the game. That’s some darkness-blessed luck, farmer."

  Vaughn merely smiled and swept in his winnings when he saw a small figure dart into the room. Wes had come for her meal.

  Nodding to the men, Vaughn stood and hooked his purse back onto his belt. "Sers, enjoy the night."

  The men mumbled something after him as they returned to their drinks and complaining about their latest voyages. Vaughn caught Wes' gaze and motioned her to a table near the warmth of the hearth.

  "Nice to see you again," Vaughn told her as he sat draping his arm across the back of his chair. "Keep your hands to yourself since we last met?"

  Wes' eyes, the eyes of a survivor, kept darting around the room as if she expected a trap. She shrugged noncommittally, her arms across her chest, her hands shoved under her arms. She saw no cause to tell this man that she had lifted three more purses that afternoon. With the harvest coming, people flocked to the capital city
for one final trip to sell and buy goods before the snow settled in for the year, which made it her most bountiful and profitable season as well.

  "I thought not," Vaughn observed with a smile. He motioned the young serving boy over with a flick of his fingers. The boy with curly black hair wove his way through the packed tables in the low light with an efficiency born of repetition.

  "What it be?" the boy asked without any preamble or pleasantries. He was used to dealing with a gruff and narrowly focused crowd. The Vine and Reef’s patrons came to drink and gamble, not to talk with the help.

  "Mulled wine and your lightest ale and two of whatever the catch-of-the-day is," Vaughn ordered without hesitation.

  The boy grunted and bobbed his head in affirmation. "That be the cod."

  He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the sea of tables to the yells of, "Oi! More stout, boy!"

  "Stop your yelling, Hank," called one of the few feminine voices in the pub from behind the bar. Lifting her head to peer over the counter of the bar, a woman with pale blonde hair streaked with silver said, "It's on its way. Darren has more than you to worry about."

  "C'mon now, Meggy," Hank pleaded. "Don't be cruel. A man's got to drink."

  "There's plenty to drink out in the harbor, if you'd like to go for a swim," Meggy observed dropping the wooden crate she had been searching for onto the counter with a thud. "I can show you the way, if it's too dark." She flashed the man a wide, toothy grin. Hank and his tablemates roared with laughter and went back to their conversation.

  "So, Wes," Vaughn said his attention switching back to his own table. "What do you hear about the grain markets?"

  Wes looked at him for a moment before beginning. "You want to know about grain?"

  "That's what I asked, isn't it?"

  Uncrossing her arms, Wes started tapping the edge of the table with her thumb. "Been real scarce."

  "I hear there's been a surplus."

  "Bleeding lies that is," Wes said her eyes still roaming the room. "That's what I been hearing too, but it ain't true."

  "How do you know?" Vaughn asked his eyes watching her constant fidgeting. This girl was clearly uncomfortable staying still for any stretch of time.

  "People don't notice me." Wes returned her gaze to Vaughn again and considered. "Well, normal folk don't. I hear things, see things."

  "What kind of things?"

  "Well for one there be these storehouses down by the local Daniyelan temple. They're supposed to be for the grain donations." She snorted at the last word. "This time of year, see, lots of folk from all over Nabos come here to sell and buy. Ain't half of the folk who typically come to Lanvirdis been showing up. Ain't no grain coming into the city. I don't know what be in those storehouses, but it ain't relief for no one."

  "What about the Daniyelan Scion, Tomas Segar? What do you hear about him?"

  "That pretty boy?" Wes made another unattractive noise in the back of her throat. "Aye, that one. You'd think he were the Light embodied the way women in the market prattle on about him. How he be doing right by us after our good-for-nothing king got all the men folk killed in his war."

  "You don't trust him?" Vaughn asked. "Why?"

  Wes laughed at this question. " I ain't trust no one, ser. But him, he got a cruel look to him. I knew a man who used to run the street kids like him. Seemed all pretty talk and smooth like. But he used to take the girls for himself, little ones too," Wes' gaze moved toward the door, "too little. They come back all beat up on saying how it were their fault for not being good. He had a look in his eyes when he smiled at us. Like he knew we was his. Not many caught it, but I saw it. Your man, Tomas, he got the same look. So, no. I ain't trust him."

  Vaughn nodded. "You've a sharp eye, Wes. Trust it."

  "I heard you at cards with those sailors," she said evading his advice. "You ain't a farmer. No way, no how."

  Vaughn smiled again. The boy slid their plates and mugs onto the table and Vaughn handed him some coins. The curly-headed boy bit them and pocketed the currency without a word.

  "Like I said, Wes, you've a sharp eye."

  *****

  Chapter Sixteen

  Faela rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchen of what had once been Moshurst's inn looking for a frying pan, hoping for a frying pan. Mireya had begged to stay in the town for the night. They had agreed once Eve had deemed it an acceptable risk with the green magic steadily returning.

  Yanking open the double doors of the cabinets by the ovens, she stuck her head inside and crowed jubilantly. “Success!”

  Pleased with her find, she stood spinning the cast iron pan by its handle. When she heaved the pan onto the chopping block in the middle of the large kitchens, she saw Jair leaning against the doorjamb. Pulling her hair off her neck and into a knot at the crown of her head, she said, “What can I do for you, darling?”

  Jair shrugged and entered into the kitchen switching his weight between his feet looking generally awkward. "Nothing. I don't know."

  Faela pat one of the dusty counters. "Keep me company while I cook. But before you do, can you light the oil lamp hanging from the wall. I won't be able to see anything soon."

  Jair looked around for flint and when he failed to find any, Faela said, “My bag, right-side front pocket.”

  Finding the flint, he struck it and ignited the wick of the lamp, oil still sticking to its glass bottom. He turned the dial and the flame leapt bathing the room in its dancing glow. After tucking her flint back into its pocket, he hopped up onto the nearest counter, his long legs pulled up into his chest, the balls of his feet teetering on its edge.

  Faela filled the silence to try to take the edge off of Jair's mood. "No soup for us tonight. We get to have food cooked like real, civilized people."

  "Oh?" Jair's voice perked up at the mention of food. "What're you making?"

  "I don't know yet," Faela admitted searching the kitchen for inspiration. "Something that requires a pan though."

  Jair actually smiled. "Why?"

  "Because, I never get to use one on the road." Hefting the pan in her left hand, she pointed it at him. "Would you want to carry this while hiking all day? I think not."

  "Faela?"

  "Yes, darling?" She busied herself searching to see if any food had been left that she could add to her list of assets. In some barrels tucked against the corner were some shriveled potatoes. The barrel next to it held withered green apples. "I think I can do something with this," she said to herself, bending into the barrels to retrieve her ingredients.

  "How long have you," he trailed off uncomfortably, "how long... I mean, when did you..."

  Faela peered out from under the crook of her arm, still rummaging through the barrels, and finished for him. "Have I been Gray?"

  Jair nodded.

  Palming three apples and five of the small potatoes, she untucked her shirt to use as a basket and dropped in her findings. "Over a year now."

  Jair's now silver eyes widened. "A year?" His voice cracked.

  Faela gave him a half smile. "That's right."

  "So, you've been on the run for a year?"

  "Off and on, yes." Faela deposited her tubers and fruit on the counter next to the pan and continued her scouring for more hidden treasures.

  "What," Jair broke off, "what did you do?"

  Faela froze and pushed back a stray lock of her hair that curled slightly in the cool moisture of the kitchen. "Something unforgivable."

  "As bad as upsetting the very Balance of magic?" Jair asked skeptical.

  "In its way," she evaded. "The scope of the crime does not make it any less horrific." Faela breathed in and paused before exhaling. "I betrayed everything I held dear, everything I had sworn I would be, for a man."

  Jair crossed his arms over his tented knees and rested his chin on his forearms listening.

  "You're aware of who my family is?" Faela asked as she removed her belt knife and started chopping the potatoes.

  "One of the Mercha
nt Houses of Finalaran?"

  Faela nodded and continued. "One of the largest. While the other Merchant Houses frequently do whatever is necessary to ensure their own success, anything from ambushing caravans to assassinating individuals viewed as problems, House Evensong has typically been immune, because of our size, our allies at court, but mostly because of our reputation. The Houses are ruthless in their practices to get what they want, to cement alliances, to secure trade routes, to ensure trade agreements.” She punctuated each point with a chop of her knife.

  “My great-grandfather was particularly merciless. Should a rival House attack any of our caravans, the force sent would be annihilated, save for one to take a message back, to let them know who had done this. Those allowed to die were the fortunate ones. When the one he spared would return to his House his tongue would be intact, but that was about it. Many times, he would be branded with the crescent moon and the harp."

  "Your family’s seal, like on the pendant you wear," Jair observed.

  Faela fingered the chain around her neck. "Yes. Since that time, House Evensong grew in numbers and strength. My father was a good man, gentle even. He lacked the ruthlessness of his grandfather, but the other Houses still feared our name. The Houses have long memories and one particular House had not forgotten."

  Faela stopped chopping and wiped off the starchiness that clung to the blade of her knife with the bottom of her shirt. "One of the last attacks another House made against Evensong, before my great-grandfather's death, was led by the heir of that House and he was the one who was spared. Apparently, they never forgot.

  “You have to understand, I learned this history only after this," she said indicating her eyes, "happened. But while in Kilrood I met a boy from this House. Though at the time I didn’t know it, he was the nephew of the head of his House." Faela could not bring herself to speak his name aloud.

  “He was charming, sweet even." The ghost of a smile played on her lips as she remembered that time in her life. "I never knew many people my own age. Even my parent's thought I was quite mad as a child. I only ever spent time with my siblings and Caleb was already in training in the Orders when I was born. I have a little sister. Did I ever tell you that?"