by E. P. Clark
***
We stopped at my orders early at a pleasant waystation, where I used the extra evening hours to buy the stationmistress and her servers a few rounds of their beer and chat with them about what was happening in Zem’. The high prices were foremost on everyone’s tongue, with much scorn being directed to merchant caravans and even traders in farm goods that had suddenly stopped coming through as they always had before, leaving the waystations and the towns that they served bereft of half their ordinary sources of supplies and income. I asked as artfully, and then as directly, as I could, what was behind this disappearance, but no one seemed to know, so eventually I gave it up and ordered everyone in my party to bed.
The next several days followed the same pattern. Although we were charged with working as speedily as possible, we had decided to keep our own horses instead of changing them at every waystation, which made our progress through the black earth district at least twice as slow as it could have been, but meant that we would be guaranteed to be on good, familiar horses on our journey across the steppe, where there were no waystations. I also insisted on stopping earlier rather than later every day so that I could ask friendly questions of the waystation mistresses and minor noblewomen with whom we lodged every night.
Everyone agreed that prices were high and trade was scarce this year, but for the first several nights, no one had any substantive theories as to why this might be the case. The only thing I accomplished was to make a number of new friends amongst the inn-keeping class, and confuse and annoy the younger members of my party. Alzhbetka thought we should be moving faster and not indulging in drinking with people she considered beneath her, and Amiran, although he was too polite to say so, obviously agreed with her. Ivan, who had experienced my information-gathering methods firsthand, understood what I was about, at least, but I could see that this was not the grand adventure he thought he had signed up for, and also that he found my continued coolness towards him puzzling and a bit hurtful. If I had planned it, I couldn’t have inflamed his ardor better, but in fact my temporary hold on my pursuit of him was entirely due to my own preoccupation with the task at hand, plus a certain reluctance to do anything too bold while the party was still becoming comfortable with one another. I didn’t want to make things any more awkward for anyone, especially me, than I had to, and I judged that simply acting as if there were nothing between us for a few days would do no harm to my eventual goal, and perhaps a great deal of good. If only I had gotten any useful information from my other activities, I would have counted myself entirely successful on all fronts, but at first it seemed that it was not to be.
A week out of Krasnograd, though, our luck changed. I had at first thought to spend the night at the large and busy waystation I knew to be located at a convenient stopping-point, but a sudden rainstorm made me decide to take shelter with a very minor noblewoman whose land we were riding through as the clouds broke. Her estate was so small that finding room for all of us and our horses strained her home and stables to bursting, but when I suggested that we ride on to the waystation as soon as the skies cleared, she nervously but vehemently disagreed, assuring me that it was an honor to put us up and that we would pass the night with every comfort.
“I have no doubt,” I said smoothly to that. “But I do not want to inconvenience you, and besides, I seek not only lodging, but information.”
“What sort of information, Valeriya Dariyevna?” she asked. Our hostess was a woman of middle years, small and colorless, clinging to nobility with the barest toehold, and it seemed unlikely that she would have been out enough in the world to have any information worth sharing with us. Which only goes to show that the gods love to humble arrogance and blindness.
“We are seeking reports,” I began delicately. “Reports of…unusual trade activities.”
She went very still, and my attention sharpened. “What sort of unusual trade activities, Valeriya Dariyevna?” she asked softly.
“Of missing children, or of trade in human flesh,” I said, just as softly. “I am sorry to bring up such distasteful subjects in your home, Olesya Annovna, but such is the mission with which the Tsarina herself has charged us.”
“Truly?” she asked, an expression like hope beginning to dawn on her face.
“Truly,” I said. “Any news, any thoughts on this subject you might have will be more than welcome, Olesya Annovna.”
“If”—she made a diffident move with her head, and then said more firmly—“If you will come with me, Valeriya Dariyevna, I have something you may find of interest.”
“Please,” I said, and she led me through her home, which was little more than a large and well-made peasant’s hut, to one of the chambers in the back, which proved to be a bedchamber that appeared to have been unused for some time.
“I would have given you this room anyway, Valeriya Dariyevna, as it’s my best, but now I think it’s even fittinger,” she said. “It was my daughter’s.”
“I see,” I said, and by the tone of her voice, I did, or at least that something terrible had happened to her daughter.
“She was always ambitious, Valeriya Dariyevna,” said Olesya Annovna softly. “She wanted to be more than the heir to some village in the middle of a not very interesting province. And I wanted what was best for her, and for her to be happy, so when she said she wanted to join a trade caravan, and start trading herself, I gave her my blessing. And at first she was happy, and every time she came back through here, she had more money and more fine things, which she shared with me. You can see all the fine things she kept in here.”
I looked around, taking in the embroidered curtains and hangings on the bed. “Did she travel to Seumi?” I asked, fingering some of the needlework.
“You have a good eye, Valeriya Dariyevna,” said Olesya Annovna, nodding at the bedclothes. “All that’s from Seumi, and she even went all the way beyond the Eastern mountains and traded with the Hordes as well—look,” she opened a wardrobe and began pulling out things, “real Eastern silk.”
“Very fine.”
“Yes,” agreed Olesya Annovna dully. “If I could sell it all and get my daughter back, I would, but I can’t.”
“I am sorry.”
“Thank you, Valeriya Dariyevna. But there’s nothing…well, I don’t know. I’ll tell you my story, and let you be the judge. She traveled all over Zem’, and many times to Seumi, as you guessed, and all the way across the mountains, like I said, and grew richer and richer, and the richer she grew, the less she was like my daughter, the little girl I’d raised to love me and love our people. There was something…coarse in her. I know we must seem coarse to you as it is, Valeriya Dariyevna, we’re not fine Krasnograd ladies like what you’re used to”—“Nonsense,” I interjected, “those Krasnograd ladies are not very fine at all,” which made her smile the ghost of a smile—“but we’ve never been greedy here, and she got…greedy, and as if she didn’t care for others. And then one day…” Olesya Annovna’s voice caught, “one day…one day she didn’t come back, Valeriya Dariyevna! She didn’t come back!”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “So sorry. Did you ever discover what happened to her?”
Olesya Annovna shook her head. “No, Valeriya Dariyevna, or rather, I was told that her caravan had been set upon by bandits, but I didn’t…the man who told me, I couldn’t help but think…there was something of the lie in what he was saying. I just wasn’t sure what. But I made him give me her things, even though he didn’t want to, and I think he didn’t give me everything, but it was enough. You see, there was a packet of letters and notes in with everything else.”
“I see.”
“And in those letters, those notes, those records from her trading journeys, I found…I can’t be sure, Valeriya Dariyevna, I’m not a very lettered woman, not wise like I should be, like you are, but there were things there about how she made all the money she’d gotten, and I think…I think it was by trading children. Children from Seumi and Tansko and Rutsi and even our own
children, taken beyond the mountains and sold to the Hordes. Here.” She thrust a packet into my hands. “You’d be the better person to puzzle this out, Valeriya Dariyevna, but to my eyes that’s what it hints at. And I think…I think that must have been why she was killed. If she was killed. I never could get a clear answer about what happened to her from that man. Maybe…” she gulped, “maybe she was just captured, and traded for money like those poor children I think she was selling. Maybe the gods’ justice is harsh but true.”
“Maybe,” I said. “With your permission, Olesya Annovna, I will spend the evening going over what is in this packet. If there is any information about what I seek in there—then you will have done me and the Empress a great service. And if I glean anything about the fate of your daughter, I will tell you directly.”
“Thank you, Valeriya Dariyevna.” Tears were standing out in her eyes. “It’s terrible to think that you’ve lost your only daughter due to her own folly, and that others have suffered from it as well.”
“I am sorry,” I said for a third time. “But even if that is true, perhaps your daughter’s folly will prove to help many others.”
“I will pray for it to be true, Valeriya Dariyevna,” she said, and, saying that she would send the servants with supper and candles, left me to peruse her daughter’s trade records with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. As much as I wanted to find the clues I sought, I was afraid to find evil and unpleasantness and the revelation of things that others, especially her mother, would be better off not knowing. But since the sun was still shining brightly through the window and the light would never be better for reading, I opened the packet and began.
Chapter Thirty
Anastasiya Olesyevna, as Olesya Annovna’s daughter was named, may have been involved in questionable trading practices, but she kept her records in good order, and I was able to follow the outlines of her story from her notes and ledgers fairly easily. She had first left on her ventures six years ago, had joined a small side-caravan of one Aleftina Vasilisovna, and spent the first year in small journeys around Zem’, engaging in what, judging by her ledgers, were perfectly legal transactions.
Five years ago in the spring, however, she had joined with Aleftina Vasilisovna’s main caravan and headed out to Seumi. Anastasiya Olesyevna gave no indication what she thought of that, but it was, I knew, remarkable in and of itself: Seumi was said to be peaceful, beautiful, and rich in little other than snow, lakes, and trees, all of which we already had in abundance here in Zem’. Trade with them tended to be sporadic and confined to the towns and villages on our Northwestern border. Sending a large trading caravan from the black earth district there was not common. But Aleftina Vasilisovna herself, along with her second-in-command Anastasiya Olesyevna, had ventured out there as soon as the roads became passable after the spring muds. Seumi had no cities of the likes of Krasnograd, but they had stopped at many small towns along the coast, buying up embroidery and small craftworks, and also something that Anastasiya Olesyevna did not name specifically, but merely marked as “1” or “2” at some of their stopping-places. By the time they left Seumi, they had fifteen units of the unnamed trade goods, which they brought back to Srednerechye and sold at a high profit.
I didn’t like this at all, or rather, part of me did, but part of me didn’t want to have my worst suspicions confirmed. Srednerechye was the main town in the black earth district, and a great center for trade, second only to Krasnograd. I eyed the rest of the packet of notes with distaste, and was all too glad to be interrupted by a steady-faced serving woman, bearing the promised food and candles.
“Thank you,…” I said.
“Dunya, noblewoman,” said the serving woman.
“Dunya is a girl’s nickname,” I told her with a smile. “Not the name of a grown woman of sense, as I see you are.”
“Avdotya Raisovna, then, if it pleases you, noblewoman,” said the serving woman stolidly.
“Have you been in this household for a while, Avdotya Raisovna?” I asked, smiling what I judged would be the best kind of smile to win over a solid, sensible serving woman.
“Since I was a girl, noblewoman,” answered Avdotya Raisovna. She still wasn’t smiling, but she seemed to be warming to me slightly.
“You must have known Anastasiya Olesyevna, then.”
“Since she could walk, noblewoman,” said Avdotya Raisovna, her face closing up.
“You must have been pained to lose her.”
“Of course, noblewoman.”
“Or not,” I said, looking at her face. “Avdotya Raisovna, you have no need to fear telling me the truth. It’s what I am searching for. I will be grateful for anything you can tell me, and I will not hold any…low opinion you might have of your mistress against you. Nor will I report anything you say to Olesya Annovna.”
“They say you’re from the Tsarina, noblewoman,” said Avdotya Raisovna.
“It’s true.”
“They say you’re…that you’re her sister, noblewoman.”
“Also true,” I told her. “Valeriya Dariyevna, the Tsarina’s one and only second-sister, at your service.
“What are you doing here, then, noble—Valeriya Dariyevna?” asked Avdotya Raisovna bluntly.
“Searching for slave traders,” I answered just as bluntly.
“Oh.” She drew in a great shuddering breath. “In truth?”
“In truth,” I told her soberly. “I have been commissioned by my sister, the Tsarina herself, to discover what I can of this vile trade and take steps to wipe this shame from our land.”
“Oh.” Avdotya Raisovna drew in another shuddering breath. “In that case…you had best speak with my daughter, noblewoman.”
“Gladly.”
“But not now. Not till after the household has gone to bed. Can you stay up for that, noblewoman?”
“If there is a chance it will help me in my mission? Of course. Can your daughter come to me here, or should I go to her?”
“She can come to you here, noblewoman, but it will be late, as I said.”
“Let her come. I will stay up for her, and if I fall asleep, have her wake me.”
“As you will, noblewoman,” said Avdotya Raisovna, and, answering the rest of my questions with a tight-lipped shake of her head, set out the food and candles and left me to return to Anastasiya Olesyevna’s ledgers and notes.
After selling off the fifteen unnamed units in Srednerechye, Anastasiya Olesyevna had set off, this time without Aleftina Vasilisovna, to the steppe, where—my fists clenched—she had picked up a load of steppe bows and five of the unnamed units, and brought them back to Aleftina Vasilisovna’s main caravan, at which point they set off for the Eastern mountains, where they picked up another twenty units and brought all twenty-five of their units and the rest of their goods across the mountains and sold them all to a tribe of the Hordes in exchange for massive quantities of silks and spices from the East.
Well, I thought, if these unnamed units were in fact children being sold as slaves, at least they were commanding a high price. I could not have sold Zlata for more. It was nice to think that Zemnian children were valued as highly as the best steppe battle horses and breeding stock, except that it would make stamping out the trade ten times as difficult. A horse like Zlata was the result of years of careful selection and delicate training; if instead of that all one had to do to fetch that kind of a price was to steal a few peasant children, I could understand how that would appeal to someone who wanted to get rich quickly and felt no pain at the sight of the suffering of children. Presumably a good part of the high price was because of the difficulty and danger in transporting the children through Zem’, but that was only small comfort. By making it so hard to move slaves through our land, we had made their value so high it was worth doing. Somehow I doubted that making it easier would solve the problem, though.
And I could even see why people would sell their own children to the slavers: for the price of one child, they could support the res
t of the family for years. And if the child they sold was likely to live a life of misery and poverty no matter what, if she was doomed to pain no matter what, why not let her suffering buy the others out of theirs? It was an argument that I knew, every fiber in my body knew, was flawed to its core, but I couldn’t quite put why I knew that into words.
“This is why logic is such a poor tool for making decisions,” I said out loud, and, unable to come up with a better answer to my own misgivings, went back to reading Anastasiya Olesyevna’s notes.
The next year she had gone back to Seumi and collected twenty units, but instead of delivering them to Srednerechye, it appeared she had carried on with them to the steppe, where she had—my hands curled so tightly into fists I thought my nails were going to cut right through the skin of my palms—picked up another ten units before joining up with Aleftina Vasilisovna, who had—I nearly ripped the paper in two—already gathered fifteen units from the steppe herself. They then set off together to the mountains, where they gathered another fifteen units on their way to the trading site on the Eastern side of the mountains. They sold all sixty units for an obscene profit and returned to Zem’ for the winter.
