The Kalis Experiments

by R A Fisher

  “My name is Silas Narn. Shenaa Marik sent me to offer a proposal to Mr. Lees. You were supposed to have gotten a messenger hawk two or three days ago letting you know I was coming. I guess it never showed up. I assume you must be Lees’s secretary, Orvaan. You fit his description, anyway.”

  The pear-shaped man behind the desk finally turned at Shenaa Marik’s name, but his expression was no more inviting.

  “Yes, I’m Orvaan.” He studied Silas a moment and snorted for good measure. “Marik. The naphtha merchant? I assume that’s who you’re referring to. You claim she’s now using foreign rabble to deliver her business proposals?”

  “As was supposed to have been explained already by way of the hawk, Miss Marik and most of her regular people are indisposed at one of her refineries. She hired me months ago as a valve operator so I could earn passage back to Fom. I have since done so, but I’d already decided to stay on with Miss Marik, who has encouraged me to work toward Skalkaad citizenship. She has rewarded my loyalty with less dangerous jobs away from the refineries, and has promised to sponsor me when my citizenship interview comes up in five or six years.” Silas eyed the scowl tugging at the corners of Orvaan’s mouth. “At least, they’re supposed to be less dangerous jobs.” He cleared his throat. “Again, at least some of that was probably explained in the hawk message you say never came.”

  Orvaan’s expression grew even darker. “So then, why are you here?”

  Silas reached into his tattered jacket and produced a folded letter, sealed with a blob of white wax and stamped with Shenaa Marik’s seal—the eight angular-pointed petals of a stylized navaras flower.

  “As I said, I have a letter to deliver. A proposition.”

  Orvaan reached out to take it, but Silas pulled it away and tucked it back into the hidden pocket of his jacket.

  “For Mr. Lees only. Ms. Marik was very clear. I’m to receive his answer in person, as any further actions I take depends on his response.”

  “Well, I’m not just going to let you in to see Mr. Lees based on your word and some mysterious letter I’m not allowed to see. He’s a busy man.” But there was a hint of hesitation in Orvaan’s voice.

  Silas rolled his eyes. “Once again, more information was supposed to have already come by a hawk. Miss Marik, Mr. Lees, and a few others suffer from some sort of mutual problem, and Miss Marik thinks she’s found a solution. She instructed me to get a response from Mr. Lees first. If Mr. Lees agrees, I’m to approach the others. If he declines, I’m to return to her. If you want more information, you’ll need to let me in to see Mr. Lees, and he can read the letter himself, then tell you about it if he wants to. Which is no more my business than this letter is yours. With all due respect.”

  Orvaan ground his teeth, mind churning. The last thing he wanted was to grant this little foreign prat some sort of perceived victory by letting him in to see Lees. But his own options were limited if the boy was telling the truth, and only Lees would know for certain. His only other choice was to take the letter by force and see for himself what it said. But if it was indeed a proposal beneficial to his boss, Lees would have him spit and roasted for blowing the opportunity, not to mention doing irreparable harm to whatever business relationship existed between Lees and Shenaa Marik. No, the only option left to him was to go into the office and ask the man himself what he should do with this urchin.

  “Wait here,” Orvaan sneered after a long silence.

  He turned and went through the door behind the desk, and locked it behind him.

  Orvaan came out sometime later to find Silas leaning back in the chair, feet propped on his desk, looking around and chewing his tongue in thought. The boy’s gaze found Orvaan as the door opened, his smile amused. The expression made the top of Orvaan’s balding head grow red with anger, but his boss had spoken.

  “Mr. Lees will see you now,” he said, through clenched teeth.

  Silas’s smile didn’t change, and the boy only offered a nod of thanks as he brushed past Orvaan into Xereks Lees’s office. Orvaan followed.

  The room was paneled in dark wood, the floor covered with a thick wool rug the color of bronze. On three walls, nine massive portraits hung of men, alternately dour and jolly-looking, all with hawkish noses, thin lips, and slanted eyes. Nine generations of Lees. The newest one hung behind the desk, in the bold, cartoonish style that had been popular among the low merchant elite the past few years, and mirrored the man seated in front of it.

  The fourth wall was covered from carpet to ceiling by a black and gold mural of interlocking tubes, concealing a door that must lead on to the warehouse floor.

  The man seated behind the ornate marble desk was middle-aged, with flecks of gray salting his black hair and close-trimmed beard. His hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, showing off a receding hairline. He wore a large tin pendant around his neck, fashioned in a Skalkaad Spiral. Despite the brooding, colorful portrait of himself hanging behind him, his smile was pleasant. His pale blue eyes gleamed, and if he felt any malice toward Silas Narn or concern over what the boy’s message might contain, it didn’t appear on his face.

  “Orvaan tells me you’re here representing Shenaa Marik.” Lees’s voice was smooth and baritone.

  Silas nodded.

  “So how is that old bird, anyway?”

  Silas forced a smile. “As good as she’s ever been since I’ve met her. Though I doubt she’d appreciate being called an old bird.”

  Lees grunted a throaty laugh. “Marik has always had a knack for bringing out loyalty in her employees. I’m sure she’s pleased with her continued success in that regard. Now, you have a message?”

  “Yes, sir.” Silas reached into his jacket and produced the letter, which he tossed onto the desk.

  Lees cracked the seal and was silent as his eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable. “Do you know what this says?”

  Silas nodded. “Not exactly, but I know the general details. She wants you to break a contract with someone, so she can legally do the same. Then you both can resume your business with someone with more stable prices. If you agree, I’m to go to the other merchants on my list and convince them to do the same.”

  He ignored Orvaan grating his teeth behind him.

  Lees nodded. He traced his gaze over the letter again before turning his attention back to Silas.

  “And if I decline?”

  Silas shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I know. I go back to Miss Marik and tell her you weren’t game.”

  “So my participation will determine whether she proceeds with the contract dissolution or not?”

  Silas shrugged again. “Miss Marik doesn’t want to break her contract unless everyone else does, too.”

  “Yes,” Lees nodded, “that would be the most legally expedient thing to do.”

  Silas shrugged a third time. “She seemed to think that if you were on board, the rest would be easy enough to convince. She told me to start at the top.”

  Lees’s smile was gaunt. “Flattering, but not inaccurate.” He sat in silence for a minute, thin lips pressed together. “Hmm,” he grumbled. “I realize there’s a legal precedent in what Marik seeks to do, but I must still decline. I’ve worked with Skaald for many years, and we’ve formed a trusting relationship with each other. A rare thing when one has done business in Skalkaad as long as I have. I wouldn’t throw such a commodity away for a temporary savings of tin, no matter how much tin it might be. After all, Skaald’s prices are the result of security issues that Marik and I have avoided only by chance.”

  “So that’s what you want me to tell Miss Marik?”

  “With my sincerest apologies.”

  Silas stood and bowed. “Then my business with you is done. Thank you for your time, Mr. Lees.”

  Lees remained seated as Silas turned to go. “Orvaan, please show Mr. Narn to the door.”

  The sun was setting sharp and bright into the east end of Exporter Row. Syrina bobbed out of Lees’s office and turned west toward the Dist
rict, glad to keep the light out of her eyes.

  The Row was busy this time of evening. Camel carts rumbled by in both directions, their drivers cursing and shouting at the snarling, spitting animals, themselves as ill-tempered as their beasts, which were still shaggy from the brutal winter. A few steam trucks operated by the wealthier traders bumped along the roads, too, engines bleating, not any faster than the camels in the crowd. High tide wouldn’t peak for another three or four hours, but already a steady trickle of sailors and cargo was filtering toward the docks. There was a chill to the breeze, but it was still warm for so early in the spring. The air stank of smoke and oil and fish and camel shit.

  Syrina was glad she’d been able to weasel into Lees’s office. She couldn’t glean anything concrete from the encounter, but the only reason she’d gone was to get a look around. The low merchant’s background had all but assured her that he would decline Silas’s proposal. Whatever else anyone could say about Xereks Lees, once he signed a contract, he stuck with it. Good thing, too, because if he’d accepted Marik’s non-existent offer, it could’ve made things awkward down the road.

  She turned south toward the docks, taking a casual look along the Row, memorizing faces. She didn’t think she’d roused any suspicions, but she still wanted to be certain Silas wasn’t being followed.

  Whoever he was, Orvaan hadn’t been an ordinary secretary. One of his rings had a hidden hinge where he could conceal poison or something more unpredictable. And from the way he stood, Syrina was guessing he had a knife hidden under his left pant leg. Probably other weapons, too. He was confident that he could tell when someone wasn’t being honest with him. He was probably good at it, too, when it wasn’t a Kalis doing the lying. That meant his boss had confidence in him. Lees’s profile didn’t carve him out to be the sort of guy who hired people as egotistical as Orvaan unless they had something to back it up with. Orvaan was a hit-man and an interrogator, maybe a straight-up torturer.

  One other thing was also certain—the files in the lobby that Orvaan kept pretending to be busy with weren’t going to tell her much, even if she did ever manage to see them. No successful business in Skalkaad kept their records in the most easily accessed room in the building, in plain view of anyone who wandered in. Whatever was in those cabinets was probably real in the sense that if Syrina looked into them, they would cover legitimate transactions. But she’d bet her tattoos they weren’t going to tell her what Lees was up to. The whole setup begged to show everyone who walked in how clean everything was, and only criminals were that proud of looking like they weren’t committing crime.

  Back at the Cranky Maiden, Syrina went up to Silas’s room for a while, then back down, still wearing the boy’s face. Triglav didn’t make an appearance, but she could sense him somewhere above the inn, waiting for her to come out again. Near the front door sat two inconspicuous dock men she’d seen earlier on the Row. First, a few minutes after leaving Lees’s place. Then again as she passed the piers a few blocks from the Cranky Maiden. Both were stocky, with round noses, wide-set eyes, and black hair, though one was balding and the other sported a ponytail similar to Lees’s. The latter was a head shorter. Brothers. Now they were clinging to clay mugs of glog, lifting them to their lips without drinking. Too-restless eyes settled on Silas for too long before turning away to look anywhere else.

  Syrina sauntered to the bar and ordered her own mug of glog, buying a little time while she decided what to do. She was sure her performance as Silas Narn had been flawless. The fact that Lees was so paranoid that he had the boy followed anyway didn’t bode well. If he was having Narn watched, he was going to check out his story, too. In a day, maybe two, Lees would hear back from Marik and find out that she’d never heard of the kid. Then Narn would have both low merchants on his case. Lees would keep these goons on him until then, and then hand down the order to nab him so Lees and Marik could take turns with him on the not so proverbial rack until they found out who he really worked for, then dump whatever was left of him into the harbor.

  Of course, it would never go that far. Syrina would dispose of Silas Narn long before that happened, but that in itself was going to cause problems. Lees would still find out that Narn didn’t work for Marik, and when Narn disappeared under the noses of his two hired goons, it wasn’t going to help Lees’s paranoia problem one bit.

  Well, first things first.

  Kakrik jabbed his brother with an elbow, making him dribble a few drops of brown glog onto his dusty tan work vest.

  “There he is.”

  Lasaav, who’d been staring into the crowd boiling within the Cranky Maiden with a vacant look, made an annoyed grunting sound and turned to follow his younger brother’s gaze while he dabbed at the spill with his free hand. Silas Narn stood at one end of the bar, nursing his cup.

  “Ah, yes. That’s him, all right. Good. I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to come back downstairs until tomorrow.”

  “All right, all right,” Kakrik said, his voice low despite the din of the common room. “Don’t let him catch you staring at him.”

  “He’s not paying any attention to us,” Lasaav grumbled. He turned back to face his brother. “So, now what? Does Lees want us to just follow him?”

  “That’s what Orvaan said. Whenever he goes, we follow until he gets where he’s going. Then we report back. Easy. He’s supposed to be heading north somewhere, tonight or tomorrow.”

  “If Lees knows where he’s going, then why do we have to follow him?”

  Kakrik shrugged. “Suspicious, I guess. You know how Mr. Lees can be. Not my job to ask Orvaan why the boss wants us to do anything, and it’s not yours either. Just needs to be sure the kid is who he said he was. Simple as that. Far as we’re concerned, anyway.”

  Lasaav frowned. “So who did he say he was?”

  Kakrik gave his brother an annoyed look. “You know as much as I do. Did you just not pay attention at all when Orvaan gave us the job this afternoon?”

  “I did,” Lasaav protested, but didn’t add anything further, and his brother rolled his eyes.

  They sat in silence for a while. Then Kakrik elbowed Lasaav again, who was ready for it this time and moved his mug to avoid another spill.

  “He’s going back upstairs,” Kakrik said.

  “I see that. Do we follow?”

  “No need. Just wait here.”

  There were another few silence-filled minutes between the two.

  “What if he’s going to bed?” Lasaav asked. “Are we supposed to stand here by the door all ni—”

  “No, and shut up. He’s coming down. Looks like he’s got his stuff. Checkin’ out late. Let’s move away from the door.”

  They jostled to a subtler vantage point toward the middle of the room, shielded from view by the growing crowd of vagrants, foreigners, and affluent citizens looking for the kinds of fun not easily found on the streets of Eheene-proper.

  Silas Narn brushed through the mob, unaware of the eyes on him, and out the front door into the District. Thirty seconds later, Kakrik and Lasaav followed.

  “I wonder what he’s doing leaving now?” Lasaav said.

  They wound through the packed dusty streets, struggling to keep track of the back of Narn’s head a half-block in front of them.

  “It’s dark out now,” Lasaav said. “He can’t take the roads north in the dark. He should at least wait until Eyerise.”

  Kakrik didn’t bother answering. And as Lasaav spoke, his voice trailed off. Narn wasn’t heading north, but south toward the public docks.

  The press of bodies grew thicker as they approached the harbor, and the tide began to reach its peak. The flow of people was still surging toward the moored ships, but like two leaves caught behind another in a river’s current, it was impossible for the brothers to get any closer to Narn than they already were. Narn’s short stature made any glimpse of him through the mass of humanity, lumbering steam trucks, and camels less and less frequent. By the time they reached the docks, the b
oy had vanished somewhere between the islands of light cast by the rows of naphtha lamps that lined the piers.

  Kakrik looked around with building panic, while Lasaav climbed up a naphtha lantern pole to see above the press, ignoring the looks of irritation cast his way by the people swarming around him. It was no use. Silas Narn was gone.

  “Well, at least we know he boarded a ship.” Lasaav hopped down from the lamp.

  “Yeah.” Kakrik scowled. “Which one?”

  Lasaav shrugged. “Well, it’s not like we don’t have anything at all to tell Mr. Lees. He thought Narn was heading north, but he got on a ship instead. That’s something. It proves the kid is a liar.”

  Kakrik took one more futile look around, desperate to spot the short form of Silas Narn on the deck of one of the nearer ships, but there was no indication as to which one he’d boarded.

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s something, I guess. Let’s get back to Mr. Lees. Orvaan’ll probably have some shit job for us to do, now that we bungled this one.”

  Thanks to her timing with the high tide, it was easy for Syrina to lose the two goons once she got to the ships. Then she slipped into the murky, frigid water of the harbor, unnoticed by the seething hoard around her. She held her breath under the hull of a N’naradin loading barge and peeled off the clothes and face of Silas Narn, then hauled it all to her favorite drainage chamber under the docks. It was muddy, damp, and cold, and stank of rotting fish. She’d used it before, and she’d stayed in worse places than that. There, she burned the whole outfit after dousing it with the naphtha she kept there for that purpose. The chamber filled with steam and gray smoke, and the scent of burning wax. And so, she thought, thus ends the life of Silas Narn.

  Syrina reflected that Lees was hearing about Narn’s disappearance right about now, which meant she wasn’t even going to get the luxury of a couple of days before the exporter found out that Narn didn’t work for Marik. Then the question became, what would Lees think? Corporate espionage, most likely. Someone trying to sabotage his relationship with Skaald. That sort of thing was common enough in Skalkaad. Or maybe, given Narn’s origins and his flight to the departing ships, a spy for the Church of N’narad. Either way, it meant the same thing for Syrina—Lees was going to beef up his watch at the warehouse before she could get back there and do anything unsavory.