“That’s part of why I’m here, Nan.”
“Oh?”
“You know people.”
Her eyes narrowed. “As do you.”
“But not the same sort.”
Setting her chair rocking, she regarded me with a no-nonsense stare. “Why don’t you just have out with it, Lilik? What are you planning?”
“It’s time to stop cowering from the traders.”
She shook her head. “That time was fifty years ago. I’d say it’s long past time. Wasn’t a week went by that I didn’t tell Paono that.”
“He never mentioned it.”
“Because he didn’t agree. He was afraid that standing up to the traders would get someone—me, in particular—hurt.”
“But you have friends. I know you do. When you suggested there were people who were ready to defy the traders, you weren’t just speculating.” Over the last few days, I’d thought back through the years. At least a few times a month, I’d spotted Nan out talking to the sorts of characters I wouldn’t expect an elderly woman to seek out. Blacksmiths with muscles like oxen. A flinty-eyed leatherworker who happened to keep an assortment of throwing daggers sheathed in her belt.
“It’s true. I’ve kept up contacts. Back before Paono’s parents died, I attended . . . meetings. Just talk, nothing more. We discussed how we might change things without bloodshed. Lately, I’ve heard rumors that their tone has changed.”
“Do they still meet?”
She shrugged. “Probably. I haven’t asked directly.”
“Anyone you still trust?”
“Depends. You still haven’t told me what you’re planning.”
“We won’t rescue Paono if we wait for trader help. But we need more ships than Zyri’s Promise. It’s time to quit asking and start taking. I’m talking about a resistance force.”
“And you’re going to lead it?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if her voice was skeptical, mocking, or both. Hearing the tone from Nan, one of the few people I expected to support me, I felt anger hot in my face.
“In fact, yes, I am. I may not be the best choice, but I’ll make up for it with desire. Dedication. So if you think you’re going to convince me otherwise, don’t waste your words.”
At that, Nan’s face split in a wide grin. “That’s my girl,” she said.
I blinked, confused. “But you just—”
“I just needed to know you were committed. Of course I believe in you, Lilik Boket. Now you just tell me what you want me to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
I WOKE, CONFUSED, to the sound of banging and grumbling. Da was at the stove with a skillet in hand. But the light outside was wrong for breakfast. Everything was red, as if the sun were setting.
“Da?”
“Fool traders,” he cursed.
“What is it?”
Jaret, who was covering the table with wood shavings as he whittled—injured arm awkwardly holding the thick piece of alderwood—pointed his knife at the window. “’Nother alarm.”
I blinked, peering out the wavy glass. The light beyond was not the ruddy glow of sunset, but rather the lanterns blazing red to warn of an attack.
“What time is it?”
“Almost dawn,” Da said.
“Rot,” I said, throwing off the covers.
Da spun, uncracked egg in hand. “You aren’t leaving?”
I threw a padded jacket over my linen shift, belting Tyrak to the outside. Pulling loose trousers over my underclothes, I shoved my feet into closed-toed shoes—I’d learned my lesson on stubbed toes lately.
“I need to get to the harbor,” I said, hurrying for the door.
“Lilik, you’ll just get hurt. What if it’s the Waikert?”
“It’s not,” I said. If the Waikert were attacking, we’d hear the screams. On clear nights, the sentry posts and watchtowers gave reasonable warning of a sea tribe attack, but with the fog last night, the savages would have crept into the city undetected. In fact, that’s how most attacks had come in the last five years, and a major part of the reason we were faring so poorly against them.
“Ulstats?” Da asked.
“Who else? I’m starting to think that the monster-heir’s madness lurks in every one of them.”
Laying his carving—a seal, by the looks of it—on the table, Jaret jumped to his feet. “I’m coming, then.”
I shook my head. “You can’t.”
His face screwed up, an expression that looked childish enough to justify my refusal to let him accompany me. “Why is it okay for you to go?”
“Because . . .” What could I say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Because I was wiser than him? More important? “Trader Yiltak will expect me there. I need her help, Jaret. I don’t want to deal with this.” The lie came so easily. I hoped the red light hid the guilty flush in my cheeks.
His eyes narrowed. “And because you’re a nightcaller—excuse me, a channeler—you’re part of the Trader Council now.”
“Someday, maybe,” I said with a wink that hid the truth in my words. I’d never be a member of the Trader Council, of course, but someday soon I hoped gutterborn would be as much part of the leadership as the traders were. Neither Da nor Jaret knew about the resistance yet. I’d been meaning to tell them this morning, including my plans for us to separate. But it would have to wait. And in the meantime, I’d have to think of a few resistance tasks for Jaret. Things that wouldn’t expose him to danger.
Da cracked the egg on the edge of the skillet. The innards sizzled when they hit the pan. “Just be safe, Lilik,” he said, recognizing that arguing wouldn’t sway me.
The street outside was silent except for the yowling of an alley cat, some tom confused by the early, red dawn. At the corner, light-bearers stood with stony faces, the flames burning many times brighter than usual, spitting and hissing. I dashed past without word, turning for courthouse square. As I neared the edge of the slums, a few doors cracked open, the occupants probably curious about the sound of my running feet. Faces appeared in the gaps, eyes glinting in the red light, but no one called out. Unlike the previous alarm, where lots of people had rushed to the city center for protection, the street-wise gutterborn had now decided to stay clear of the trader feud.
As I trotted into the square, I glanced at Trader Council Hall. As usual, the doors were shut, likely barred from inside. The guard duty had doubled in size, a dozen men and women standing atop the flight of stairs. By my guess, the traders were inside. I thought about trying to invite myself in, but decided it would be a waste of time. Trader Yiltak had dragged me along when she thought she could gain something by my presence. Unless I had a means to get rid of the Ulstats, she had little use for me now.
From the square, I could see down the wide avenue to the quay. Along the water, the warning fires burned brighter. Crew dashed to and fro, while dock laborers were—it appeared—relocating goods from the edge of the quay to locations deeper into the city. Most likely hoping to get them out of range of the Ulstat cannons.
Buildings blocked my view of much of the harbor, but by the actions of the people below—every few seconds, at least one person paused their work to cast a nervous glance over the water—I guessed the warships had once again passed the guardstones.
I took off toward the water at a light jog.
Something feels off, Lilik.
What do you mean? I asked.
Why aren’t the traders out?
They don’t often put themselves in danger.
But the House guards . . . the soldiers. The only people on the quay are dock and ship workers.
It was a good question, one for which I had no answer. But I trusted Tyrak’s judgment. Running a diagonal across the street, I moved to the edge so that I could slip along the fronts of buildings, ready to duck into an open door or alley mouth if necessary.
As I neared the waterfront, more of the harbor came into view. Once I could see the guardstones, towering as high as twenty men and capped with red bonf
ires bright enough to light an area three hundred paces across, I understood the alarm. The Ulstats had indeed returned, but not with just their initial three ships. Fifteen or twenty vessels now stood off Stanik’s shores, half in the harbor and half outside. If each of them were armed with the cannons the first three had brandished . . .
The traders should have acted earlier, Tyrak said. I don’t see what they can do in the face of this.
Just what I was thinking. We’ll have to surrender. Sometimes I wondered if he could read my thoughts.
I slipped into an alcove where a locked door defended the harbor master’s office. Already, my hopes for changing things with the resistance were fading. What could a handful of gutterborn armed with meat cleavers and brooms and kitchen knives do against twenty Ulstat warships. I hadn’t even realized they had such a fleet.
As I watched, a light flashed aboard one of the ships. A trail of color, red and orange, streaked skyward, sparks dribbling back to the water. It reminded me of a flaming arrow until another flash, much brighter than the first, lit the sky above the harbor. A second sun, burning in the sky. The bang was so loud I staggered backward into the building, clapping my hands over my ears. All around people yelled, screamed, and ran.
I blinked away the purple ghost of the flash, trying to orient. As the ringing in my ears lessened, a voice from the ship boomed over the water.
“Trader Council. We demand your answer.”
Peering, I noticed a smaller boat, a skiff with just four men at the oars, floating a couple hundred paces off the quay. In the bow, Frask Ovintak stood with a speaking horn in hand.
Why does he speak for the Ulstats? Tyrak asked.
I don’t know.
Well, I understood what Frask wanted from the arrangement. With House Ovintak falling in fortune, and Frask unwilling to take responsibility for it, he’d likely accept any offer that would prop up his decaying riches. But what was the Ulstat motive? I’d expected them to send a representative from the House by now, probably one of Mieshk’s siblings. Any bargain would need a proper Ulstat signature for ratification.
Not wanting to enter the range of the cannons, I slipped around the edge of the harbor master’s office and headed for the end of the quay where a packed earth path was supported by dry-stacked seawall. Meanwhile, the Ulstat ships prowled back and forth across the harbor, out of reach of arrows, but clearly showing their power.
Though few people were around this end of the quay, a few soldiers had filtered down from the barracks, while clerks who’d likely intended to report for morning duty in the shipping offices milled at the end of side streets. I kept my hand on my dagger, just in case.
After a quarter-hour or so, shortly after the leading edge of the sun broke from the horizon, a phalanx of House guardsmen marched out onto the quay. A delegation of traders followed behind, led by Trader Yiltak.
Unwise to expose the leadership, Tyrak mused.
Look, I said. I almost pointed before realizing he would naturally follow my gaze.
Oh . . . Tyrak said, understanding.
In front of the traders, two massive guards marched at the side of Raav and his mother. Though I couldn’t see from where I sat, I guessed by their gaits that their ankles were shackled. Praviili Ovintak shuffled, head bowed, stumbling every few paces while Raav marched with small, restrained steps. Chin raised, shoulders straight, his eyes were on the harbor. Seeking his brother.
Behind the Ovintaks, another prisoner stumbled. By appearance only ten or twelve years old, the child didn’t seem to be shackled at the ankles—the Trader Council had that much decency at least. But who was the child? Another Ovintak? A cousin maybe? Raav hadn’t mentioned any additional family.
The traders might expect the sight of his family to change Frask’s mind, but I didn’t. Nonetheless, I couldn’t let Raav face this alone. I rushed forward, desperate to give him what comfort I could.
Trader Yiltak raised her own speaking horn. “The Council unanimously rejects your demands,” she said.
While she spoke, another contingent of guards appeared, marching at the sides of a team of draft horses. The horses were hitched to a heavy wagon, and upon it stood three iron cages.
After waiting for the wagon to turn onto the quayside street, setting the cages broadside to the harbor, Trader Yiltak nudged Raav’s guards. Jerking the chains that bound the Ovintaks, they led the prisoners to the wagon. From the side streets, dock workers jeered. Raav’s mother hunched her shoulders at the taunts, but Raav ignored them, never taking his eyes from Frask.
“The Trader Council has temporarily seized the assets of House Ovintak. Until such time as Ulstat forces retreat from Stanik waters, Trader Ovintak and her younger heir will be imprisoned upon the quay, as will Lakdiken Ulstat. Bombard our harbor, and you kill your future.”
An Ulstat! No doubt captured with the help of the delegate I’d tackled on the night of the first attack. For the last week, I assumed the Trader Council had been sitting idle. But clearly, they’d managed to dispatch a small force to kidnap Mieshk’s brother. That likely explained the absence of Ulstats in the rowboat. With the brother kidnapped, that left only Mieshk’s younger sister at home. Mieshk’s father wouldn’t risk his final heir. Or himself, apparently.
As for thwarting the attack, the Ulstats might be mad, but I doubted they’d sacrifice one of their children when there were other options. Trader Yiltak had apparently made the same calculation. I grimaced. Only a trader would put a child in danger like this.
One by one, the prisoners were shoved into cages. Raav’s mother crumpled to the floor and lay in a heap. From a side street, someone threw an apple core. It bounced off the woman’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice.
When they put Raav in the cage, I couldn’t stop myself. I ran to the wagon. Finally, he tore his eyes from Frask, and when our gazes locked, the pain in his was almost unbearable. Not caring what the guards would do, I vaulted onto the wagon and stuck my hands through the bars. Raav’s face hardened for a moment, but then he sank to the floor, kneeling opposite me. Clasping me by the forearms, his eyes searched mine.
“Lilik,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “They can’t do this to you.”
From the edge of the quayside street, a rotten pear sailed into Raav’s cage. It landed beside him, splattering.
Raav didn’t even glance at it. “The traders don’t have a choice. It’s this or the Ulstats win.”
“Of course they have a choice.”
Rough hands fell on my shoulders, pulling me back. My arms slipped through Raav’s hands, our fingers touching for a last instant before the guards yanked me away. As they carried me off, I thrashed and struggled, desperate to get back to him.
The guards set me in front of Trader Yiltak, who looked down with disappointment. “I thought you might be a help to us,” she said, before gesturing toward the city center with her chin. “Just go, and leave trader business to those with the self-control to conduct it.”
As I stood in front of her, I met her glare. “If you’re an example of trader virtue, I’m not interested in meeting your standards.”
Chapter Nineteen
THE MORNING PASSED, and all I could think about was Raav, caged. I haunted the quay, out of sight but close enough to smell the rotten food and other refuse plastering the wagon. My chest panged when I remembered the stoic set of Raav’s shoulders. Two dozen guards surrounded the prisoners—I had no hope of getting close now, and was grateful I’d had a chance before. Just before noon, a servant from one of the trader Houses brought food for the prisoners.
As the sun passed its zenith, I finally tore myself away and went home to tell Da and Jaret what had happened. On the way, I visited a cobbler who had a room for rent above her shop, a place for me to stay while organizing my gutter army. We agreed on a price, and I handed over the coin in exchange for a key—the presence of an actual lock sold me on the place. When I returned to
the quay, Raav had been given shoes. Maybe a guard had taken pity on him where Trader Yiltak hadn’t.
For the time being, the trader ploy seemed to have worked. The Ulstat ships had withdrawn from the harbor, once against standing off the coast at a distance that prevented trader vessels from coming and going while remaining out of firing range of our city. The small Ulstat heir stared from his cage with wide, frightened eyes. Despite his relation to Mieshk, I felt sorry for him. A pair of rat carcasses had been thrown into his cage, along with the rotten food and soiled rags. Unlike the Ovintaks, who cleared the refuse from their areas, the boy seemed afraid to touch anything. Judging by his ornate clothing, filthy now, he’d probably never seen such things. But also, I suspect he was afraid to protest for fear things would get worse.
As the sun descended toward the western horizon, I made a single pass in front of the wagon. Stopping long enough to catch Raav’s eye, I nodded at him. I’d get him out of this. I had to. Chewing his lip—the only weakness he’d shown all day—he returned my nod. In front of him, a guard laid a hand on his cudgel. I took the hint and hurried away.
The first resistance meeting was supposed to be at dusk. With just an hour or two left to prepare, I hurried home. Da and Jaret needed to know what I planned, plus I wanted to take Jet’s advice about moving the meeting. Detouring through the barracks strip, I found Jet standing watch.
“Above the stilts. On the path to the graveyard,” I said.
He nodded understanding. “I’ll tell them.”
I carried the same news to Nan, and finally hurried into the itinerant camp in search of my mother. She wasn’t around, so I left word with the woman whose tent was pitched beside Mother’s jewelcrafting bench. The woman assured me she’d pass the message faithfully. Still, I chose to be vague with my words and hoped my mother would understand.
Finally, I rushed home, jacket pulled tight against the late afternoon cool—the heat wave had continued to ease. In the street in front of my home, a pair of small children played with a ball made of cork. Not very round, the ball bounced in wild directions, causing squeals and sudden chases. Unfortunately, my appearance distracted them, and the ball slipped between bars in the sewer grates. Abrupt wails followed.
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